The Lotus-Eaters

O you whose feet beat happy on the fields
who climb the golden beach, to topple where
the sun and waves are dreams, and falling through
savageries of colour, seek your friends
O you whose feet beat happy on the fields
who skim the lakes of thought, who are the plants
hungering at the side in beanstalk throngs
O you who hold night-parties, jangle words
like money, and in love would rake the sky
O you whose feet rest happy on the fields
lean back in planes, and gliding up to sleep,
arm-chaired in clouds, too tired even to purr,
walk softly over dreams of withered snow
and have your flesh stroked as by the sea