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Harriet Monroe - A Letter To One Far Away
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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!
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