David Herbert Lawrence
When the bare feet of
the baby beat across the grass
The little white feet nod like white flowers
in the wind,
They poise and run like ripples lapping across the
water;
And the sight of their white play among the grass
Is like a little
robin’s song, winsome,
Or as two white butterflies settle in the cup of one
flower
For a moment, then away with a flutter of wings.
I long for
the baby to wander hither to me
Like a wind-shadow wandering over the water,
So that she can stand on my knee
With her little bare feet in my hands,
Cool like syringa buds,
Firm and silken like pink young peony flowers.
