The Waking (1948)

I strolled across An open field; The sun was out; Heat was happy. This way!This way! The wren's throat shimmered, Either to other, The blossoms sang. The stones sang, The little ones did, And flowers jumped Like small goats. A ragged fringe Of daisies waved; I wasn't alone In a grove of apples. Far in the wood A nestling sighed; The dew loosened Its morning smells. I came where the river Ran over stones: My ears knew An early joy. And all the waters Of all the streams Sang in my veins That summer day.