Poetry Archives

I never knew the earth had so much gold—
 The fields run over with it, and this hill,
Hoary and old,
 Is young with buoyant blooms that flame and thrill.

Such golden fires, such yellow—lo, how good
 This spendthrift world, and what a lavish God—
This fringe of wood,
 Blazing with buttercup and goldenrod.

You too, beloved, are changed.  Again I see
 Your face grow mystical, as on that night
You turned to me,
 And all the trembling world—and you—were white.

Aye, you are touched; your singing lips grow dumb;
 The fields absorb you, color you entire . . .
And you become
 A goddess standing in a world of fire!