Irradiations XVI

An ant crawling up a grass-blade, And above it, the sky. I shall remember these when I die: An ant and a butterfly And the sky.

The grass is full of forget-me-nots and poppies: Through the air darts many a fly. The ant toils up its grass-blade, The careless hours go by.

The grass-blades bow to the feet of the lazy hours: They walk out of the wood, showering shadows on flowers. Their robes flutter vaguely far off there in the clearing: I see them sometimes from the corner of my eye.