ORANGE SYMPHONY

Now that all the world is filled

With armies clamouring;

Now that men no longer live and die, one by one,

But in vague indeterminate multitudes:

Now that the trees are coppery towers,

Now that the clouds loom southward,

Now that the glossy creeper

Spatters the walls like spilt wine:

I will go out alone,

To catch strong joy of solitude

Where the treelines, in gold and scarlet,

Swing strong grape-cables up the smouldering face of the hill.