Classic Poem

The winds run warm on the waves of the grass
that lifts like a scented sea.
No sound of the surf, no sob of the tides;
but the drone of the drowsy bee
Is drawing me out from the purple shades
to wade in the daffodils,
Where the long green billows go drifting by
to lap the feet of the hills.

Like the snow-white spume on the shattered waves
the daisies twist and cream,
Over their heads in a painted mist the myriad
insects gleam.
And the still sea sways in the sun's soft breath
and breaks on the green, green sand,
Till I bare my limbs to the noiseless surf
and wade from the silent land.

The pale stalks eddy from knee to waist and rise
to my sun-flecked face;
Cool on my lips is the daisy foam and the spray
of the Queen Anne's lace.
With half-shut eyes and outstretched arms I swim
through the scented heat.
Oh, never were broad sea winds so warm,
nor Southern seas so sweet?