Pastoral

I ask some value in this song, tea, to other senses.

Maybe the virtue of stripes and blades alone,

unfurl into the pale, uniting stems,

while there is little,

up along the edge.

You may pass over, beyond their echoes.

Flower beyond the wall, bring that answer.

Uncertain, your face is—I walk, yet I’m bright with them.

Some lost place sings back of you, run to the field.

fist to leading rises, in fellowship indeed.

• William Carlos Williams