Coming awake


WHEN I woke, the lake-lights were quivering on the
The sunshine swam in a shoal across and across,
And a hairy, big bee hung over the primulas
In the window, his body black fur, and the sound
     of him cross.
There was something I ought to remember: and yet 
I did not remember. Why should I? The running lights 
And the airy primulas, oblivious Of the impending bee—
they were fair enough sights.


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