Larkspur

Blue morning and the beloved,
The hill-garden and I...

Blue morning and the beloved,
Leaning, laughing and plucking,
Plucking wet roses...

(She among the roses,
I among the larkspur,
Bob-white, warbler, meadowlark, bobolink,
Song, sun,
And still morning air.)

I snipped off a larkspur blossom of china-blue
And held it,
A blossom against the sky...

And heaven opened out
In one small flower-face...

And the beloved,
Plucking roses, plucking roses, old-fashioned roses,
Lifted her face
With eyes of china-blue.

(She among the roses,
I among the larkspur,
Bee-hum, brown-mole, downy chick, humming-bird:
Light, dew,
And laughter of my love.)

James Oppenheim