With wonder and delight,

 When gold-green shadows walk the world at night,

 So still, so bright.

 There at the window many a time of year,

 Strange faces peer,

 Solemn though not unkind,

 Their wits in search of something left behind

 Time out of mind;

 As if they once had lived here, and stole back

 To the window crack

 For a peep which seems to say,

 “Good fortune, brother, in your house of clay!”

 And then, “Good day!”

 I hear their footsteps on the gravel walk,

 Their scraps of talk,

 And hurrying after, reach

 Only the crazy sea-drone of the beach

 In endless speech.

3

 And often when the autumn noons are still,

 Prev. P 3/99 next