What chaos have the winds blown?
In frailty, the feathered clumps sway, You with them as they mirror. The perching wheels of tincture, In elaborate airs forgotten—
Let us consume the dark of wind. Again, leaves break, bend slender Against vaulted shades, where laughter Bubbling flickers over gray— Disguising—between tears of rushing— In old holes of hollow leaves. For the colors of jumped-up weeds, near, And each soft blossom, In hollow rings of urban, broken down, I wake and skim dreams around the whirlpool— Be, to be the drift of the world!

• Hilda Doolittle