IN the slumberous minutes of the afternoon, When the brown murmur of the bees Sinks to the shadow of a sound, Burdensome with the promise of its own activity; When the grass lies close upon the earth Full of the light that it has drunk And heavy with the glory of the sun; When the trees let fall their draperies about them And stand aloof from all the land around; When waters sink into themselves And when the air Hangs motionless and visible; Then will I come to you beside a poppied bank, Below us rushes that stand garlanded with dreams, And we will lie beside each other there And travel forth, intangible and mingled each in each, Towards the disappearing edges of the sky, Borne on wards past the tortoise hours By the unfaltering pinions of our love. |