A Letter To One Far Away

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!