An hundred warblers in the nearest aching gap, <br />it seems as though it loved its aching <br />filled with hyper-ikonistic misery. <br />I did not expect such staggering wealth <br />to come to me by dawn-delivered stealth, <br />though morning is the time and spring <br />the way love knows of its best being. <br /> <br />All through the leaves a burning <br />rush of gilded, swift, whirling wing. <br />All warblers of the world have come <br />to me, and are in me living <br />I only cool retreat and humble shade giving, <br />my leaves with excess of sun trampled. <br /> <br />I said an hundred warblers came <br />to me, <br />and now that I am clear, what it <br />was, was very near <br />it was but two, or three, <br />But how they fastened me.<br /><br />Marsden Hartley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/warblers/
