Once more the windless days are he
Quiet of autumn, when the year
Halts and looks backward and draws
Before it plunges into death.
Silver of mist and gossamers,

My green aquarium of phantom fish,
Goggling in on me through the mist
My rotting leaves and fields spong
My few clear quiet autumn days—I
I could leave all, clearness and m

A petal drifted loose
From a great magnolia bloom,
Your face hung in the gloom,
Floating, white and close.
We seemed alone: but another

Dear absurd child—too dear to my c
God made your soul for pleasure, n
It cleaves no way, but angled broa
Impinges with a slabby-bellied sou
Full upon life, and on the rind of

Darkness had stretched its colour,
Deep blue across the pane:
No cloud to make night duller,
No moon with its tarnish stain;
But only here and there a star,

I had remarked—how sharply one obs
When life is disappearing round th
Of yet another corner, out of sigh
I had remarked when it was “good l
And “a good journey to you,” on he

Noon with a depth of shadow beneat
Shakes in the heat, quivers to the
Half shaded, half sunlit, a great
Glistens purple and golden: the fl
Cool in their panniers of snow: si

Oh wind-swept towers,
Oh endlessly blossoming trees,
White clouds and lucid eyes,
And pools in the rocks whose unplu
With who knows what of subtlety

Instants in the quiet, small sharp
Pierce my spirit with a thrust who
Baffles even the grasp of time.
Oh that I might reflect them
As swiftly, as keenly as they shin

I am getting on well with this ane
When suddenly I recall
The many times I have told it of
And all the worked-up phrases, and
Of voice, well timed in the crisis