Black and grey walkers,
Each bird watches the wave approaching
Its neared end, its bounded sounds.

Every bird makes the same decision
At the same time, whether
The marsh water
Could really be paler,
Or more untidy,

If sun and shade are equally
Divided on the grass.

In the shaded light of our houses,
The snowflake’s branching lies flat,
In spite of the angel’s advice
To view such emotions as are seasonal
With the tulip’s innocent alertness.

The work of the sapphire
Is called shining and spoken
By the self-sustaining lightness
Of the male deity of day:

Those rays which to themselves are all eye.