A road-worn speaker meets a carefree young woman who is blowing rose petals into the air and catching them on her fingertips. Her laughter feels even lighter than the petals, and her playful gestures seem to touch him. When he offers her his sadness, she treats it the same way—tossing it up, catching it—and for a moment it almost becomes joy. But the mood stays wistful. He calls himself a wanderer plaited with dust, someone marked by weariness, and he realizes that he may only be giving her more petals, or fresh sadnesses, to play with. The effect keeps lightness and melancholy close together: her play is delicate and lovely, but his underlying sadness does not quite disappear. The overall feeling is tender, airy, and a little rueful.
Change — Summary
I came upon a maiden Blowing rose petals in the air And catching them, as they fell, Upon quick fingertips Her laugh fell lighter than the petals And dropped little gestures upon my forehead. I gave her sadness and she blew it up As she had blown the rose petals: And it almost seemed joy as her fingers caught it. But I was only a wanderer plaited with dust, Who gave her new petals to play with.