II

Like children on a sunny shore
The rhododendrons thrive
Which never any spring before
Have been so much alive.

Each metal bough benignly lit
With yellow candle flames;
The tree is holy, hallow it
With sacramental names.

Paris, 1919


III

Against my wall the summer weaves
Profundities of dusky leaves,
And many-petaled stars full-blown
In constellated whiteness sown;
I contemplate with lazy eyes
My small estate in Paradise,
And very comforting to me
Is this familiarity.

Paris, 1919