THE stars that open and shut      Fall on my shallow breast
     Like stars on a pool.
 
     The soft wind, blowing cool
     Laps little crest¹ after crest
     Of ripples² across my breast.
 
     And dark grass under my feet
     Seems to dabble³ in me
     Like grass in a brook⁴.
 
     Oh, and it is sweet
     To be all these things, not to be
     Any more myself.
 
     For look,
     I am weary of myself!