Let us go, let us go, To the grass above the water! Where there is the song of larks, Where the wind runs and dances, Where the edge of the sun lies softly, The undulating trees whisper their secrets;
Bring me a sprig of ephemeral blooms, To hang by the flowery lane! Oh, there I shall name every creature, From the finch of summer to the spider unseen.

• Ezra Pound