[Pg 2]

And looked forth for the Day-god who had blazed

His heart away and died at sundown. Far

In the gray west faded a loitering star.

It seemed that I had wandered through long years,

A life of years, still seeking gropingly

A thing I dared not name; now I could see

In the still dawn a hope, in the soft tears

Of the deep-hearted violets a breath

Of kinship, like the herald voice of Death.

Slow moved the morning; where the hill was bare

Woke a reluctant breeze. Dimly I knew

My Day was come. The wind-blown blossoms threw

Their breath about me, and the pine-swept air

Grew to a shape, a mighty, formless thing,

A phantom of the wood's imagining.

[Pg 3]

And as I gazed, spell-bound, it seemed to move

Its tendril limbs, still swaying tremulously

As if in spirit-doubt; then glad and free

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