Fantastic
I have no thoughts, no more desires—
It is green and gray like a garden
Stirred by apple-scented wind,
Quick with the sense of cool and silver joys
That come in a rainy dance
When soft hands of clouds have pushed away
The round red stupid face of the sun.
In one day, I think, the wind
Will not have had his will of the gleaming rain—
They run about with tossed hair,
The garden is silvered with their pleasure,
Cool and sweet, shining
As with arch laughter a beloved face.
The musing pool
Shattered in glancing flight by a sudden wing—
This, which no words can name,
This is my heart’s delight,
Winging I know not whither;
It has no measure.