Pardon Me, Sir William

by ST, early 1980s

That time of year thou mayest in me behold
When budding blossoms do splendidly unfold
And make all pink what rightly all is green;
A bird that flits from bloom to bloom--a hungry calf unweaned.
In me thou seest the bright forenoon of day:
Sun in full sight, yet not at apex,
Rises still upward, eager on its way . . . 
And present sees few clouds, and they be but specks.
In me thou seest such kindling of a fire
That thinketh itself the darkness to light,
That yearneth for all t'once to be heaped on the pyre,
Though it knoweth t'would smother this fire of small height--
     Still, it catches quickly each bestowal of the Master
     Who warms to the glow of seeing me burn the brighter.