You chase the blue butterflies,
The shining dew is shaken by your feet,
That are white in the young grasses;
Swift, you hesitate, poised;
And they elude you; fluttering
In the windless gold.
Sai is small,
But a little child,
With little sorrows;
Yet her tears shine with laughter,
Her face comes and goes between the wet leaves,
As a face in sleep
Comes and goes between green shadows,
As moving lights hide and shine in the marshes.
I shall not look at her,
Lest she should hide from mine eyes
In the shadow.
I bring her pale honey in a comb, apples
Sweet and smelling; and leave them beside me;
Then comes she softly.
There is a bee in the willow-weed,
From flower to flower it climbs, and I watch it
Till the honey and apples are eaten.
Sai is quite close to me; now she has gone
She has forgotten me.
Sai is small,
But a little child.