DAYS AND SEASONS I

Winds blowing over the white-capped bay,

Winds wet with the eager breath of spray,

Warm and sweet from the oceans we have dreamed of;

From gardens of Cathay.

The empty factory windows, row on row,

Warm sullenly beneath the afterglow,

Burn topaz out of dust and dim the flare

Of the street-lamps below.

In the smoky park the dingy plane-trees stir,

Green branches in the twilight fade and blur;

A lonely girl walks slowly through the square

And the wind speaks to her.

Speaks of the sunset scattered on the sea,

And the spring blowing northward radiantly;

Flaming in lightning from cyclonic dark,

Dreams of delights to be.

Tomorrow there will be orchards filled with fruit,

And song of meadow lark and song of flute;

Far from the city there are lover's fields,

Lips eloquent and mute.

Warm are the winds out of the ebbing day,

Blowing the ships and the spring into the bay,

I smell the cherry blossoms falling gaily

In gardens of Cathay.