Or strew me on water
Till I know again its slipping hands of dream,
And see its golden deep of sand shadowed with memories,
And feel its cradling touch soft as your moving breast
In closeness beyond the reach of words!
Or toss me as a feather
To some little shepherd moon and flock of stars
Where, in the slow-rolling of prodigious hours
Round the blown crust of other worlds,
Space beyond space,
I shall find you,—even as here!
AGAIN?
To my Home on Lake Champlain
Shall I come again?
Again to see the reeds,
Yellowing now?
“Bye and bye!
Bye and bye!”
Lake rushes cry.
Shall I come again
To these willow leaves
Falling now?
Their joy was brief!
The willow leaf
Knows grief.
Shall I breathe again
Gray balsam dripping amber
On the mould?
What knows the year
Of any fear,—
Of any amber tear!