From the Pavilion
All month from the pavilion I look forth
Across the pool to where the willow tree
Flings long green pennons to the water's rim.
The small peach bears a load all blossomy
But presently she lets it downward fall
Petal by petal from her listless hands
Intent on listening to the beating wings
Of swift spring days flying from southern lands.
Beneath the crested eaves the wind-bells praise
Hawk days, dove days, and darting swallow days.
Across the pool to where the willow tree
Flings long green pennons to the water's rim.
The small peach bears a load all blossomy
But presently she lets it downward fall
Petal by petal from her listless hands
Intent on listening to the beating wings
Of swift spring days flying from southern lands.
Beneath the crested eaves the wind-bells praise
Hawk days, dove days, and darting swallow days.
