(Maine Coast—1917)
Life went whistling a tune between the plum and the cherry,
Rolling a blossom of pink like almonds under his tongue,
Looked at us all as we grew, and made exceedingly merry.
“Lord! how I’ll dibble and prune, when you aren’t so beautifully young!
There was moon like a spilling of milky sap from the sky
And the tree of the sky was a candle of creamy flame,
Each white-fire-leaf of a star distinct; and old wind went by
Hooded in dark and ashamed as it whispered some muttering name.
We were huddled up in the launch like a sleepy parcel of birds.