Page:The Happy Marriage and Other Poems.pdf/49

 Curled hazy blue above the backs Of comfortable chimney stacks. New England, not Arcadia, She gardened her phenomena, And tamed her asphodels to grow To roses in a scarlet row. New England fenced from Avalon, The curtains of her peace were drawn Against the peering of the moon, And crickets shuffled down the tune Of Pan among the lilac leaves. From far away he saw her eaves As shelter against every doubt, And understood what was shut out When doors swung back to shut him in,— But what of that! It was no sin To bolt with iron from the blaze Of staring moon on empty ways And bar the shutters to the sound