XXIX

It is evening, and the earth

Wraps her shoulders in an old blue shawl.

Afar off there clink the polychrome points of the stars,

Indefatigable, after all these years!

Here upon earth there is life, and then death,

Dawn, and later nightfall,

Fire, and the quenching of embers:

But why should I not remember that my night is dawn in another part of the world,

If the idea fits my fancy?

Dawns of marvellous light, wakeful, sleepy, weary, dancing dawns,

You are rose petals settling through the blue of my evening:

I light my pipe to salute you,

And sit puffing smoke in the air and never say a word.