Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/347

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SLOPE of summer sprinkled over

With sweet tow-headed pigmy clover

Melts suddenly to emerald air

Between the moving leaves: for where

The terrace plunges noiselessly,

A woven wall of appletree

(Bearing instead of apples now

The redwinged blackbird on the bough,)

Enchants the lawn of sun-stained green

To seem as though it had not been.

From where I sit, no roots are there

Nor gnarly trunks show anywhere:

Only the thick-leaved upper boughs

Close-clustered for the robin's house.

And tall above them up the sky

The clear lake quivers like some high

Wind-ruffled huge crystalline tree

Whose roots like theirs are hid from me.

It must have light and air and room,

With clouds for leaves and hills for bloom,

Those pale blue hills that flower along

The living branches wild and strong—

I hear you laugh and say:

"Why make

A tree of crystal from the lake?

Of course you may if you prefer

Shape forests out of lake-water,

Great stems of sapphire, shedding light!

''I understand you. It's all right.''

But since you are in fantastic mood,

Build me a shelter in that wood

To keep June sounds and colours in,

And shut out the infernal din

Of war my ears have heard and heard

Until no meaning lights the word!"

Well, when it's done and you come home,

Lift up the latch of gilded foam