Surprise [1]

You seemed brave but lost in the ambush of clover,
The clover-thick valley spread out to the south
Of the wide-summer meadow, forlorn in the sunlight
Big-eyed and solemn with a sob in your mouth.

Perhaps you’d been sick with the fever of dreaming
And awakened alone? You pretended to be
When I called, an innocent, terrified youngster
Who had smelled of the flower and been stung by the bee.

Well, I came and I found you and pleased myself when you
Seemed touched by my word that the truth was what stung
Wherever you found it— then I felt the dagger!
You were old as deceit and I’d thought you were young.