Part 8 (2/2)

These are three ghosts I keep.

These are three sumach-red dogs I run with.

All of it wraps and knots to a riddle: I have the moon, the timberline, and you.

All three are gone -- and I keep all three.

Spring in Carmel. [George Sterling]

O'er Carmel fields in the springtime the sea-gulls follow the plow.

White, white wings on the blue above!

White were your brow and breast, O Love!

But I cannot see you now.

Tireless ever the Mission swallow Dips to meadow and poppied hollow; Well for her mate that he can follow, As the buds are on the bough.

By the woods and waters of Carmel the lark is glad in the sun.

Harrow! Harrow! Music of G.o.d!

Near to your nest her feet have trod Whose journeyings are done.

Sing, O lover! I cannot sing.

Wild and sad are the thoughts you bring.

Well for you are the skies of spring, And to me all skies are one.

In the beautiful woods of Carmel an iris bends to the wind.

O thou far-off and sorrowful flower!

Rose that I found in a tragic hour!

Rose that I shall not find!

Petals that fell so soft and slowly, Fragrant snows on the gra.s.ses lowly, Gathered now would I call you holy Ever to eyes once blind.

In the pine-sweet valley of Carmel the cream-cups scatter in foam.

Azures of early lupin there!

Now the wild lilac floods the air Like a broken honey-comb.

So could the flowers of Paradise Pour their souls to the morning skies; So like a ghost your fragrance lies On the path that once led home.

On the emerald hills of Carmel the spring and winter have met.

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