SMOKE

They stood like men that hear immortal speech

Moving among their branches, and like trees

We stood and watched them, and in our still branches

Echoes of that immortal music stirred.

October days had touched their breasts with light,

With yellow light and red light and wan green;

And the gray cloud that grew from low to high

Made the warm light more warm, the green more wan.

We stood and watched them and in our still branches

We felt the warm light glow, though now the rain

Was loud upon the leaves.

And standing there

You cried, “O, that sweet smell, where is the fire?

Where is the fire?” For sharp upon the rain

The smell came of a wood fire and clung round

Hanging upon our branches, till we saw

No more those lighted trees nor heard the rain —

Knew only the deep echoes and the smell

Of a wood fire that breathed its smoke across

From some near hearth, or undiscovered world.