BEAUTY on your wings -- flying the far blue, Flower of man's heart whom no God made; Star, leaf-breath, and gliding shadow, Fly with me too, awhile! Bring me knowledge: How the pansies are made, and the cuckoos' song! And the little owls, grey in the evening, three on a gate; The gold-cups a-field, the flight of the swallow; The eyes of the cow who has calved; The wind passing from ash-tree to ash-tree! For thee shall I never cease aching? Do the gnats ache that dance in the sun? Do the flowers ache, or the bees rifling their gold? Is it I only who ache? Beauty! Fulfil me! Cool the heart of my desire! |