The Woodspurge

The wind flapped loose, the wind was still,
Shaken out dead from tree and hill:
I had walked on at the wind's will,  
I sat now, for the wind was still.

Between my knees my forehead was
My lips, drawn in, said not Alas!
My hair was over in the grass
My naked ears heard the day pass

My eyes, wide open, had the run
Of some ten weeds to fix upon 
Among those few, out of the sun
The woodspurge flowered, three cups in one

From perfect grief there need not be
Wisdom or even memory
One thing then learnt remains to me
The woodspurge has a cup of three