I have minded me
Of the noon-day brightness,
And the crickets' drowsy
Singing in the sunshine. . . .
I have minded me
Of the slim marsh-grasses
That the winds at twilight,
Dying, scarcely ripple. . . .
And I cannot sleep.
I have minded me
Of a lily-pond,
Where the waters sway
All the moonlit leaves
And the curled long stems. . . .
And I cannot sleep.