carmine contours of the clouds
the white sliver of the new moon.
It was a world in flower
and the soul of it was I.
I the fragrant soul of the meadows
that expands at flower-time and reaping-time.
I the peaceful soul of the herds
that tinkle half-hidden by the tall grass.
I the soul of the forest that sways in waves
like the sea, and has as far horizons.