  You chase the blue butterflies, The shining dew is shaken by your feet, That are white in the young grasses; Swift, you hesitate, poised; And they elude you; fluttering In the windless gold. SÀÏ is small, But a little child, With little sorrows; Yet her tears shine with laughter, Her face comes and goes between the wet leaves, As a face in sleep Comes and goes between green shadows, As moving lights hide and shine in the marshes. Lest she should hide from mine eyes In the shadow. I bring her pale honey in a comb, apples Sweet and smelling; and leave them beside me; Then comes she softly. There is a bee in the willow-weed, From flower to flower it climbs, and I watch it Till the honey and apples are eaten. SÀÏ is quite close to me; now she has gone She has forgotten me. SÀÏ is small, But a little child. |
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