For Children Only

THROUGH endless early cool of grass
The white-footed children pass in play,
Parting a fragrant way through clover
While waves of dew break over their feet.

No paths so endless nor so sweet
As these the children beat at morn;
So light no leaves are torn they run
Over the flowers like sun and snow.

What use in asking where they go?
These paths that lightly flow by loss
Of silver footprints cross forever,
By no endeavor to be charted.

Sometimes the wistful early-hearted
Wander back where the parted grass
Shows that the children pass in play.
They look and they turn away.