Page:The Happy Marriage and Other Poems.pdf/92

 The first hepatica grew green; And brief, too brief, New Haven Junes, Green mornings, harbor-smelling noons, And twilights flat on the shadowy turf Washed with the footfalls' shallow surf, With a drifting voice far off and sweet, And the rumble of wheels on the Chapel Street, Drowsing and talking whimsily Of Noah's ark and a life at sea. I can remember springs more near, Yet never when the winter's clear And there's an earthy smoke about And sluggard black flies blunder out, Never do I remember these, But seeing tint the apple trees I see the orchards north from Meaux Haggard with dust where the wagons go, And smelling plow lands under rain