THE KITE

It was a day

All blue and lifting white,

When I went into the fields with Frank

To fly his kite.

The fields were aged, bare,

Shut between houses everywhere.

All the way there

The wind tugged at the kite to take it

Untethered, toss and break it;

But Frank held fast, and I

Walked with him admiringly;

In his light brave and fine

How bright was mine!

We tailed the kite

While the wind flapped its purple face

And yellow head.

Frank's yellow head

Was scarcely higher, and not so bright.

“Let go!” he cried, and I let go

And watched the kite

Swaying and rising so

That I was rooted to the place,

Watching the kite

Rise into the blue,

Lifting its head against the white

Against the sun,

Against the height

That far-off, farther drew;

Shivering there

In that fine air

As we below shivered with delight

And fear.

There it floated

Among the birds and clouds at ease

Of others all unnoted,

Swimming above the ranked stiff trees.

And I lay down, looking up at the sky,

The clouds and birds that floated

By others still unnoted,

And that swaying kite

Specking the light:

Looking up at the sky,

The birds and clouds that drew

Nearer, leaving the blue,

Stooping, and then brushing me,

With such tenderness touching me

That I had still lain there

In those fields bare,

Forgetting the kite;

For every cloud was now a kite

Streaming with light.