  IN the room where I was sleeping The sun came to the floor; Its silent thought went leaping To where in woods of yore It felt the sun before. At noon the rain was slanting In gray lines from the west; A hurried child all panting It pattered to my nest, And smiled when sun-caressed. At eve the wind was flying Bird-like from bed to chair, Of brown leaves sere and dying It brought enough to spare, And dropped them here and there. At night-time without warning, I felt almost to pain The soul of the sun in the morning, And the soul of the wind and rain In my sleeping-room remain. |
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