If all those gracious presences might see
That, though we hurt them once, they shall not die
Until we also wither, we who keep
Vigil on these sweet meadows where they sleep.

Pomfret, 1919


X - WHEN THE DOOR WAS OPEN

Lonely as music from afar,
Hung the new moon and one white star,
Above the poplars black and tall
That sentineled the garden wall;
Four black poplars beyond the wall,
Two on each side of the garden gate,
In silhouette against the wide
Pale sky of the late eventide.
Close was the garden and serene.
The leaning reeds in quiet state
About the pool, merged in the green
Of misty leaves and hanging vines.
The fireflies spun their silver lines
Across the deeper atmosphere,
And through the silence came the clear
Persistent tuning of the frogs
From dank recesses of the bogs.

Beyond the garden I could see
The glimmer of uncertain meadows,