Nebuchadnezzar

My body is weary to death of my mischievous brain;

I am weary forever and ever of being brave;

Therefore I crouch on my knees while the cool white rain

Curves the clover over my head like a wave.

The stem and the frosty seed of the grass are ripe;

I have devoured their strength; I have drunk them deep;

And the dandelion is gall in a thin green pipe,

But the clover is honey and sun and the smell of sleep.