I liked this poem as a child.
Swift things are beautiful,
Swallows and deer,
and lightning that falls,
Bright veined and clear,
Rivers and meteors,
Wind in the wheat,
The strong withered horse,
The runners sure feet.
And slow things are beautiful,
The closing of the day,
The pause of the wave,
Their curved downward spray,
The ember that crumbles,
The opening of a flower,
and the ox that moves on,
In the quiet of power.
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