Six tin cans and a pile of dirt And the air smiles like a mother-- The wind blows in and the wind blows out As they play with each other. Sparrows on the fence and clothes on the line And somewhere someone's laughter-- The wind blows in and the wind blows out And it could not blow much softer! Three little girls and one little boy Out in the first warm weather-- The wind blows in and the wind blows out While they play together. SONG Hi! hi! hi! On this green morning My soul is as taut as a greenwood-bow, Feeling the sap in it mounting so, Needs but a jog to loose without warning An arrow into the infinite sky-- Hi! hi! hi! On this green morning! A BUST BY RODIN, KNOWN AS CERES With rhythmic feet and garments flowing free Draw near, draw near, bring largesse in full hand; Move as to music of the saraband Stately, before this Woman-deity. Woman's--these billows of thick hair that roll Down the billowing breasts of her, and close Shadows of pain and mirth in firm repose-- This delicate mask drawn tight across a soul! A Goddess--Ultima Thule in her eye; For the sad wisdom of its steady gaze, Fixed on far, wintry fields and frozen ways, Goes out to larger things than you or I: The Titan-sap makes gods of the spring hours, And Earth renews its children and its flowers! THE FLOWER'S WAY I have stood long in the night Under a star; I have stood still with shadowy head And arrowy leaves outspread Under its trembling light Where green things are. I have crept close to the grass Where the beetles dart, And the humming-bird and the dragon-fly Were visions in the sky, And the mendicant bees that pass Rifled my heart. I have lain long in the day Under the sun, With my burning face in the arms of the wind, And my petals unconfin'd And my virginal robes a-sway-- Thus joy is won! THE TREE'S WAY The high trees are honest folk; They do not stand so much aloof Up under heaven's roof, Altho they are earth's fairest cloak. Their lives are very calm and slow; They wait for coming things to come, They wait, they rest, they ponder some Purpose forgotten long ago Like quiet folk; And sometimes I am moved to stroke Hand-greeting as I pass them near, And often I am sure I hear An answer from these stately folk! CHILDREN What a garden of surprise Out beyond my window lies! Fancy, when the night is there Gentle trees with drooping hair Rocking, rocking cradle-wise Little stars with yellow eyes! VERSES TO A LITTLE CHILD (From Hofmannsthal)