Marjorie Pickthall

See, the grass is full of stars, Fallen in their brightness; Hearts they have of shining gold, Rays of shining whiteness. Buttercups have honeyed hearts, Bees they love the clover, But I love the daisies' dance All the meadow over. Blow, O blow, you happy winds, Singing summer's praises, Up the field and down the field A-dancing with the daisies.

When the first dark had fallen around them And the leaves were weary of praise, In the clear silence Beauty found them And shewed them all her ways. In the high noon of the heavenly garden Where the angels sunned with the birds, Beauty, before their hearts could harden, Had taught them heavenly words. When they fled in the burning weather And nothing dawned but a dream, Beauty fasted their hands together And cooled them at her stream. And when day wearied and night grew stronger, And they slept as the beautiful must, Then she bided a little longer, And blossomed from their dust.