Upon an April noontime rain,
Like one by adage made immortal
My busy stride arrested
Where a blossom spry, precocious
My worldly gaze invested
Twice in lavender—a crocus.
And looking so, I crossed a sphered portal
Down, down the stalk of pulsing green
A vestige of the springtime dew
Pursued the course it wended
With an industry and vigor
The place at which it ended
Altered not by all its rigor
Refracting every sage and purple hue
How little could you guess, mused I,
Had you a soul to spark such thoughts,
As you glisten, move, and thrive
That the end of ev’ry pursuit,
Carried on as on you strive,
Is blackened loam and flower root,
To sink there hidden ‘midst the woody knots.
Or might you pause a moment there,
To contemplate the distant sky
Blue, gold, gray, but never green,
Stars at nightfall, star by day
Glow in unreflected sheen.
The sun which burns you now away
Inspires dreams which make your fancies fly;
Down, down the streams and river bends,
To join the Water Great beyond?
Or rise now, invisible
To resurrected, fall anew?
Perhaps gone; indivisible
From naught, to keep the sky its blue?
Or be reborn into a crocus frond?
All that and more, O liquid drop!
Let faith nor doubt destroy thy bliss!
All this that you now perceive
Must be in part, but know whereas
Time will surely give its leave
Uniting you with all that is.
The grand design is grander still than this!
The drop continues on its way,
And soon I headed off on mine,
Striding back to hearth and home;
I’d tarried long beyond my time.
Water drops and bits of loam
Yield naught, no matter how the rhyme
Lest tended by the plow and by the tine.