A Drifting Petal

If I, athirst by a stream, should kneel With never a blossom or bud in sight, Till down on the theme of its liquid night The moon-white tip of a sudden keel,     A fairy boat, Should dawn and float To my hand, as only the Gods deserve, The cloud-like curve, The loosened sheaf, The ineffable pink of a lotus leaf,— I should know, I should feel, that far away On the dimpled rim of a brighter day A thought had blossomed, and shaken free One sheath of its innermost soul for me.