I found the frail, Unspun light of dawn, The irony of shadows, Upon the murmuring face — I let the sunlight sweep Calling me in by the still, Idling stream. The sun breaks, A warmth suffuses My wild threads of thoughts, Scattering petals, Over the thistles, The birds—hungry, sparrows, Glinting cheerful, In verdant stirrings. I drink of these brief moments— Between shriveled sighs, The sibilant murmurs, A visceral hush, Of swirling life, Entangled in golden lace— Come and let your vivid spirit Breathe forth, even upon the barren ground. Let us pillow ourselves within This earth-shaking clarity— The waking beauty unfolds, In trembling arcs—you are All things wrought, holding in!

• Hilda Doolittle