At peace here — I feel you about me.
Do not think that I disdain your fine clothing,
The distinction of your robes clinging about the shoulders,

The magnificence of your ruddy hair, the grace of your distinguished bearing
As you move athwart me — here keeping
Pace to your splendors with my heart beats!

Surely the air were bare indeed
Were I not reaching up into it continually
To feel you passing.

But mighty and many as you are
There is one I have never seen among you,
Some small passer it may be: it is she keeps me waiting.

When she comes — if she come — in the end,
I shall spring up beside her well at ease
And we will join you all wherever you may be circling.


 = Leon Branton