NOW I AM A PLANT, A WEED ...
NowI am a plant, a weed,Bending and swingingOn a rocky ledge;And now I am a long brown grassFluttering like flame;I am a reed;An old shell singingFor ever the same;A drift of sedge;A white, white stone;A bone;Until I passInto sand again,And spin and blowTo and fro, to and fro,On the edge of the seaIn the fading light—For the light fades.But if you were to come you would not say:“She is not waiting here for me;She has forgotten.” Have we not in playDisguised ourselves as weed and stones and grassWhile the strange ships did passGently, gravely, leaving a curl of foamThat uncurled softly about our island home ...Bubbles of foam that glittered on the stoneLike rainbows? Look, darling! No, they are gone.And the white sails have melted into the sailing sky ...1917.
NowI am a plant, a weed,Bending and swingingOn a rocky ledge;And now I am a long brown grassFluttering like flame;I am a reed;An old shell singingFor ever the same;A drift of sedge;A white, white stone;A bone;Until I passInto sand again,And spin and blowTo and fro, to and fro,On the edge of the seaIn the fading light—For the light fades.But if you were to come you would not say:“She is not waiting here for me;She has forgotten.” Have we not in playDisguised ourselves as weed and stones and grassWhile the strange ships did passGently, gravely, leaving a curl of foamThat uncurled softly about our island home ...Bubbles of foam that glittered on the stoneLike rainbows? Look, darling! No, they are gone.And the white sails have melted into the sailing sky ...1917.
NowI am a plant, a weed,Bending and swingingOn a rocky ledge;And now I am a long brown grassFluttering like flame;I am a reed;An old shell singingFor ever the same;A drift of sedge;A white, white stone;A bone;Until I passInto sand again,And spin and blowTo and fro, to and fro,On the edge of the seaIn the fading light—For the light fades.
But if you were to come you would not say:“She is not waiting here for me;She has forgotten.” Have we not in playDisguised ourselves as weed and stones and grassWhile the strange ships did passGently, gravely, leaving a curl of foamThat uncurled softly about our island home ...Bubbles of foam that glittered on the stoneLike rainbows? Look, darling! No, they are gone.And the white sails have melted into the sailing sky ...
1917.