The Sower
The sower
is out, the sun
Raised from the night
still blinks at him
in golden season.
Sweetest earth!
and flowery grass;
The small flowers, perfect
and pale,
are dotted like spindles
about his toes.
Cheers! the seeds
fall free—and fly to the fields.
O, to be
young
as rain
of the flowers!
- William Carlos Williams