It looks childishly bright
Given the merest splash of light.
In the fastest rivers on clean rocks,
In runnels of rain,
With the first luminous daffodil
Framed in the window,
With slick motion on wet brick
And on chestnut leaves, heavy and low.

It is all tremble and grass moving
And iron lying still.
There is gutter-splash waterfalling
Slapping the dark concrete,
Waiting under window sills,
Running, gutter-gurgling down
To hollows below the street.

There is laughter in its leaping.
It mutters as it slips away
With quiet drum-rolls in the trees
And the whisper of crowds
In the grass on the greenest hills.