I think this life is like a flowered field

I think this life is like a flowered field,
   A buzzing mountain meadow, and every bloom
A day and every blade a night, that yield
   To us their joys. Into this brilliant womb
We burst, both you and I, a doe and hart,
   From out the twilight of the crags and trees:
Bewildered by the bright, we stop, we start —
   Bedazzled by the dancing of the breeze —
Until, as though to break the spell, we spring
   Into the dizzy air — and coming down
      Again we run and tease each other on —
Now we race, now we rest, now we lie and dream —
   And coming over to the further bound,
      We leap back to the trees and so are gone.