radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers; And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours, Dreaming of moths that drink them under the moon;
Sweet water's dimpling laugh from tap or spring; Holes in the ground; and voices that do sing;
Voices in laughter, too; and body's pain,
clean-gleaming, Ringed with blue lines; and feathery, faery dust; Wet roofs, beneath the lamp-light; the strong crust Of friendly bread; and many-tasting food;
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.