AS I WAS A-WALKING

Sweetly fell the rain on the springing grass, The birds sang all with voices as clear as glass; To greet the blackthorn I turned aside— A presence too lovely to pass— But as with worship I neared it, a man I espied Asleep in the rain beneath the blossoming tree. I forgot to look at the tree, I looked instead At the man who lay so still with averted head. Because I could not see his face I wondered if he were dead. My mind was full of doubt as I left the place— But dead or alive he was a stranger to me.