Head and Bottle

4 0 00

Head and Bottle

The downs will lose the sun, white alyssum

Lose the bees’ hum;

But head and bottle tilted back in the cart

Will never part

Till I am cold as midnight and all my hours

Are beeless flowers.

He neither sees, nor hears, nor smells, nor thinks,

But only drinks,

Quiet in the yard where tree trunks do not lie

More quietly.