human
What are these people about? And the small herbs at their feet look up and whisper back,--
gpt
We will go and see. So the small herbs pack themselves up in the least possible bundles, and wait until the wind steals to them at night and whispers,--
human
Come with me. Then they go softly with it into the great city,--one to a cleft in the pavement, one to a spout on the roof, one to a seam in the marbles over a rich gentleman's bones, and one to the grave without a stone where nothing but a man is buried,--and there they grow, looking down on the generations of men from mouldy roofs, looking up from between the less-trodden pavements, looking out through iron cemetery-railings. Listen to them, when there is only a light breath stirring, and you will hear them saying to each other,--
gpt
Wait awhile! The words run along the telegraph of those narrow green lines that border the roads leading from the city, until they reach the slope of the hills, and the trees repeat in low murmurs to each other,--
human
Wait awhile!