The pine woods on the hill, <br />And the farmhouse miles away, <br />Showed clear as though behind a lens <br />Under a sky of peacock blue! <br />But a blanket of cloud by afternoon <br />Muffled the earth. And you walked the road <br />And the clover field, where the only sound <br />Was the cricket's liquid tremolo. <br />Then the sun went down between great drifts <br />Of distant storms. For a rising wind <br />Swept clean the sky and blew the flames <br />Of the unprotected stars; <br />And swayed the russet moon, <br />Hanging between the rim of the hill <br />And the twinkling boughs of the apple orchard. <br />You walked the shore in thought <br />Where the throats of the waves were like whippoorwills <br />Singing beneath the water and crying <br />To the wash of the wind in the cedar trees, <br />Till you stood, too full for tears, by the cot, <br />And looking up saw Jupiter, <br />Tipping the spire of the giant pine, <br />And looking down saw my vacant chair, <br />Rocked by the wind on the lonely porch -- <br />Be brave, Beloved!<br /><br />Edgar Lee Masters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/charles-webster/
