All the world is in your eye
that bends like a reed;
the wind–your brush,
With what strokes the world is made
the downy moon, the sun inlaid,
and fields of lemon freckled jade.
And ‘though I’m fearless,
and dance among the dying days,
in you, I’m seen–
your pastels, ring’d–
such joy and solace for my westering heart!