WILLOW POLLEN Fleur de Lys on Lake Champlain, June 3, 1920
Reading edition
The rain upon my roof is the rain of apple blossoms, At my feet the water willows stand knee-deep in rushes; A swaying mirror for the sun the lake swings and tips, Spilling broken drowsy shadows and silver leaves. In the willow pollen the bees hum; In the apple bloom the bees hum; Fluttering up like a begging hand The ash tree twirls its mystic seven-fold leaf, The thrush its song. O beautiful world, what are you? And who made you? Are you no more than a fragrant dream, A jewelled crust of loam for sun to shine upon, A swaying mirror, Willow pollen, A twirling song, A crumbling leaf?