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Poem	Not to sleep all the night long, for pure joy, Counting no sheep and careless of chimes Welcoming the dawn confabulation Of birch, her children, who discuss idly Fanciful details of the promised coming - Will she be wearing red, or russet, or blue, Or pure white? - whatever she wears, glorious: Not to sleep all the night long, for pure joy, This is given to few but at last to me, So that when 1 laugh and stretch and leap from bed I shall glide downstairs, my feet brushing the carpet In courtesy to civilized progression, Though, did 1 wish, I could soar through the open window And perch on a branch above, acceptable ally Of the birds still alert, grumbling gently together.
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