The starry brocade of the summer night Is linked to us as part of our estate; And every bee that wings its sidelong flight Assurance of a sweeter, fairer fate.

The very serpents bite their tails; the bees forget to sting, For a language so celestial setteth up a wondering. And the touch of absent mindedness is more than any line, Since direction counts for nothing when the gods set up a sign.

The starry brocade of the summer night Is linked to us as part of our estate; And every bee that wings its sidelong flight Assurance of a sweeter, fairer fate.

When you return, the youngest of the seers, Released from fetters of ancestral pose, There will be beauty waiting down the years Revisions of the ruby and the rose.

I linger on the flathouse roof, the moonlight is divine. But my heart is all aflutter like the washing on the line.

The world is growing gentle, But few know what she owes To the understanding lily And the judgment of the rose.

In the darkness, who would answer for the color of a rose, Or the vestments of the May moth and the pilgrimage it goes?