by Harriet Monroe
Dear Wanderer-
The sky is gray,
With flecks of blue
The clouds rush over.
A bird is singing
Far away,
And butterflies
Taste of the clover.
Under the trees
My hammock swings,
And a brave breeze-
The restless rover-
Flutters the leaves
And stirs the grasses
And, whispering riddles,
Lightly passes.
Day after day
My friend and I
Climb up the hills
And search the valleys;
Dip in the brook
That ripples by
And through clear pools
Serenely dallies.
All green and gold,
All song and sweetness,
The old earth is
For summer's pleasure;
Who kisses and goes,
Whose love is fleetness,
Who gives but a season
But gives without measure.
Away with time!-
His wand I capture,
He rules no more
For this brief minute.
The years are gone-
Once more the rapture,
The night of stars
With the secret in it.
Ah, if you were here
Should I grant, I wonder,
The whole round truth
For a birthday token-
How today, tomorrow,
Together, asunder,
We are-no, hush!-
It is best unspoken.
Oh, the truest truth-
No words dare say it!
It hides in the heart
From the poor tongue's treason;
And the deepest joy-
We may never pray it.
It comes and goes
With nor rule nor reason.
Look up!-the sun
Through the clouds' gray portal!
And see-white plumes
In the blue below it!
Behold the dream,
Wide-winged, immortal!
Did I hear your voice?
You are here-I know it!
Last updated August 29, 2017