Sweetly fell the rain on the springing grass,
The birds sang all with voices as clear as glass;
To greet the blackthorn I turned aside--
A presence too lovely to pass--
But as with worship I neared it, a man I espied
Asleep in the rain beneath the blossoming tree.
I forgot to look at the tree, I looked instead
At the man who lay so still with averted head.
Because I could not see his face
I wondered if he were dead.
My mind was full of doubt as I left the place--
But dead or alive he was a stranger to me.