Another short poem from long ago (found in Way Stations):




A slow wind blows through the night,
carrying summer in puffs of sighs.
Far off there in the valley hollows
a yellow lamp swings to and fro.

Tree-bark, tree-limbs creaking,
the muffled sounds in the warm air,
and overhead thin clouds hurrying
under a wheeling shroud of stars.

Day will impress our crafty cities
with silver and bronze, the filigree
of spiderwebs, moldering iron,
the legible engraving of farewells.

Night, and heavy-hearted woodlands,
and the rustling of uncut grasses
in the children's books, a lamp
throwing a wide circle in the wind.