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 Upon a bank I sat, a child made seer
Of one small primrose flowering in my mind.
Better than wealth it is, I said, to find One small page of Truth's manuscript made clear.
I looked at Christ transfigured without fear-- The light was very beautiful and kind, And where the Holy Ghost in flame had signed I read it through the lenses of a tear.
And then my sight grew dim, I could not see The primrose that had lighted me to Heaven, And there was but the shadow of a tree Ghostly among the stars.
The years that pass Like tired soldiers nevermore have given Moments to see wonders in the grass.

by Patrick Kavanagh
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