XL
She sweeps with many-colored brooms,And leaves the shreds behind;Oh, housewife in the evening west,Come back, and dust the pond!
You dropped a purple ravelling in,You dropped an amber thread;And now you ‘ve littered all the EastWith duds of emerald!
And still she plies her spotted brooms,And still the aprons fly,Till brooms fade softly into stars—And then I come away.