Sweet water's dimpling laugh from tap or spring; Holes in the ground; and voices that do sing; Voices in laughter, too; and bodies' pain, Soon turned to peace; and the deep-panting train; Firm sands; the little dulling edge of foam; That browns and dwindles as the wave goes home; And washen stones, gay for an hour, the cold Graveness of iron; moist black earthen mould; Sleep; and high places; footprints in the dew; And oaks; and brown horse-chestnuts, glossy-new; And new-peeled sticks; and shining pools on grass; -- All these have been my loves. From "The Great Lover," 1914.
