Come To Me When Thou Art Restless Done.

Hath thou seen the birth of a butterfly?
hath thou held a sleeping cocoon?
hath thou heard its tenant heave and sigh
and expect its freedom soon?
If nay then tell me if thou hath,
smelled the first rain of the season,
seen the wet leaves on the path,
and if nay then do state for what reason,
thou say the world is more than these,
sights and sounds and fragrances,
yellow fields in the autumn breeze,
the matters regarding the heart that is?
But see O blinded by the white
cotton dreams and so it seems,
the rippling pond within the light,
the approaching shadows of the night.
Among them I along with thee,
but bales of past, drops of now,
darkness you and darkness me,
if not love then do tell us how,
lie in wake until eternity,
shun this faith, erase these signs
by the powers that let us be,
part the endowed true grapevines.
Close thine eyes O thinking one,
do not ask, what thou dost not know,
come to me under the knowing sun,
come to me when thou art restless done.