One wading a Fall meadow finds on all sides
the Queen Anne's Lace lying like lilies
on water; it glides
so from the walker, it turns
dry grass to a lake, as the slightest shade of you
valleys my mind in fabulous blue Lucernes.
The beautiful changes as a forest is changed
by a chameleon's tuning his skin to it;
as a mantis, arranged
on a green leaf, grows
into it, makes the leaf leafier, and proves
any greenness is greener than anyone knows.
Your hands hold roses always in a way that says
they are not only yours; the beautiful changes
in such kind ways,
wishing ever to sunder
things and Thing's selves for a second finding, to lose
for a moment all that it touches back to wonder.
—Richard Wilbur
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