It fell on a day I was happy,

And the winds, the concave sky,

The flowers and the beasts in the meadow

Seemed happy even as I;

And I stretched my hands to the meadow,

To the bird, the beast, the tree:

"Why are ye all so happy?"

I cried, and they answered me.

What sayest thou, Oh meadow,

That stretches so wide, so far,

That none can say how many

Thy misty marguerites are?

And what say ye, red roses,

That o'er the sun-blanched wall

From your high black-shadowed trellis

Like flame or blood-drops fall?

"We are born, we are reared, and we linger

A various space and die;

We dream, and are bright and happy,

But we cannot answer why."

 Prev. P 2/70 next