Classic Poem

I will walk the sunny wood,
Deep and tranquil as my mood,
And watch how the honeyed sunlight is
Hung in the great boughs of the trees,
And the pattern the branchwork weaves
Under the panoply of leaves,
And how high up two butterflies
Pass, vaulting, out into the skies.
Or, entering a silent glade,
Draw a sharp breath and stand dismayed
At beauty which doth straight present
Such a spasm of ravishment
Sight is confused, and doth confess
Her wreck in voiceless tenderness:
Seeing the flower-decked cherry-trees —
Unruffled ever by any breeze,
Unburned by bright dawn's fiery chill —
Standing celestially still. . . .

Or lay me down 'neath chestnut boughs,
And drowse and dream and dream and drowse,
Drunk with the greenness overhead,
Until a blossom of sharp red,
Shook from her high and scalding place,
Splash with chill scent my upturned face.