For sweet looks the earth from the roads of the sky,
And in heaven are no cool grasses.
Ever listening
Are the leaves of the slim dryanda,
Whose heart is the harp of the Spring-wind.
A dryanda-tree is my lover,
And my thoughts are the leaves that listen.
Autumn, Autumn, touch not my leaf-thoughts!
Cast them not down when the pool is grey,
And the teal no more sail two and two