A heron’s blue wing skim across the pond,
Where gulf clouds fleeted in a fleecy herd,
Reflected fair? I claim the blue and let
My heart to gambol with the sky-herd there.
At midday did I not then find
A rod of gold, and sun’s flowers,
Bounded in by wheat’s betasseled stalks?
I claim the gold as mine, to cast my dream.
And then at stormtide did I catch the sun,
Becrimsoned in his anger; and from his height