The brown, the bronze, the gray, the red
Of weed and briar ran riot
Flush to dark woodland walls that led
To nooks of whispering quiet.
Long, feathering bursts of golden-rod
Ran golden woolly patches—
Bloom-sunsets of the withered sod
The dying summer catches.
Then o'er the hills, loose-tumbling rolled—
O'erleaping expectation—
The sunset, flaming marigold,
A system's conflagration:
And homeward turning, she and I
Went as one self in being—
God met us in the earth and sky
And Love had purged our seeing.
3.
Say, my dear, O my dear,
These are the eves for speaking;
There is no wight will work us spite
Beneath the sunset's streaking.
Yes, my dear, O my dear,
These are the eves for telling;
To walk together in starry weather
Ere springs o' the moon are welling.
O my dear, yes, my dear,
These are the dusks for staying;
When twilight dreams of night who seems
Among long-purples praying.
"No, my dear!"—"Yes, my dear!"
These are the nights to kiss it
Times twice-a-twenty: they grow a-plenty
On lips that will not miss it.
4.
To dream where silence sleeps
A sorrow's sleep that sighs;
Where all heaven's azure peeps
Blue from one wildflower's eyes
Where, in reflecting deeps,—
Of cloudier woods and skies,—
Another gray world lies.