VIII
Summer’s Armies
Some rainbow coming from the fair!Some vision of the world CashmereI confidently see!Or else a peacock’s purple train,Feather by feather, on the plainFritters itself away!
The dreamy butterflies bestir,Lethargic pools resume the whirOf last year’s sundered tune.From some old fortress on the sunBaronial bees march, one by one,In murmuring platoon!
The robins stand as thick to-dayAs flakes of snow stood yesterday,On fence and roof and twig.The orchis binds her feather onFor her old lover, Don the Sun,Revisiting the bog!
Without commander, countless, still,The regiment of wood and hillIn bright detachment stand.Behold! Whose multitudes are these?The children of whose turbaned seas,Or what Circassian land?