(Crazed by Walter de la Mare (1873–1956)
I know a pool where nightshade preens
Her poisonous fruitage in the moon;
Where the frail aspen her shadow leans
In midnight, cold a-swoon.
I know a meadow flat with gold -
A million, million burning flowers
In noon-sun’s thirst their buds unfold
Beneath his blazing showers.
I saw a crazed face, did I,
Stare from the lattice of a mill,
Where the lank sails clacked idly by
High on a windy hill.
