Although you sit in a room that is gray,
Except for the silver Of the straw-paper,
And pick At your pale white gown;
Or lift one of the green beads Of your necklace,
To let it fall;
Or gaze at your green fan Printed with the red branches of a red willow;
Or, with one finger,
Move the leaf in the bowl— The leaf that has fallen from the branches of the forsythia Beside you… What is all this?
I know how furiously your heart is beating.