On Greenest Grass

ON greenest grass the lace of lights
Beneath the shadowing tree
Trembles, as when eyes more than lips
Are smiling silently.
Its motion, all but motionless,
Is like a dancer’s feet
Half-still, half-stirred, ere music throb
To float them on its beat.
Is it a music ears can hear?
Or in a world so jarred
With inward wrong, is it a sound
Too happy to be heard?
O tell me, tell me! Could I slip
The time’s perversity,
There would be music in the air
And I the trembling tree.
A spirit smiling to itself
Seems in those leaves to live, —
And for a moment, lost in it,
This world I can forgive.