At night I hear the far wild geese Honk in frost-bitten heavens, under Arcturus. Though I seem to cease Outside myself and sleep in peace, I drowse awake and wonder.
I know torn thistles by the creek Hang hairy with the frost; the tented Brown acres of the corn stretch bleak And ghostly in the moonlight, weak In hollows bitter-scented.
Dream back the ways we strolled at morn Through woods of summer ever singing; Moon-trysts beneath the crooked thorn, The tasselled meads of cane and corn Their restless shadows swinging....
I stand and oar our boat among The dripping lilies of the river; I reach her hat the grape-vine long Struck in the stream; we sing a song, That song ... I wake and shiver.
And then my feverish mind reverts To our sad words and sadder parting In days long gone; and, oh! it hurts Within here, for the soul asserts Mine the fool fault from starting.
And I must lie awake and think Of her with such regrets as gladly No unrebuking conscience shrink; And hear the wild-fowls' clangor sink Through plaintive starlight sadly.
When all are overflown and deep The stoic night is left forsaken, For company I well would weep, Since all my spirit fears to sleep, Sleep of such visions shaken.
Grave visions of dead deeds that flaw Our waking hours, ever haunting; Else were we, lacking love and law, Rude scare-crow things of sticks and straw Undaunted and undaunting.
The sun a splintered splendor was In sober trees that broke and blurred, That afternoon we went together In droning hum and whirling buzz, Where hard the dinning locust whirred, Through fields of golden-rod a-feather.
So sweet it was to look and lean To your young face and feel the light Of eyes that fondled mine unsaddened! The laugh that left lips more serene; The words that blossomed like the white Life-everlasting there and gladdened.
Maturing Summer, you were fraught With wiser beauties then than now Parades rich Autumn's red November; This stuns: there dreams no subtle thought As then on hinting bush and bough-- But now I am alone, remember.
Through iron-weeds and roses And bronzing beech and oak, Old porches it discloses, Above the briars and roses Fall's feeble sunbeams soak.
Neglected walks that tangle The dodder-strangled grass; Its chimney shows one angle Heaped with dead leaves that spangle The paths that round it pass.