Part 16 (2/2)

He lived to lose the heart he loved And drink but bitter wine.

He wrought a woe he knew not of, He failed his fondest quest, Now sing a psalter, read a prayer May all souls find their rest.

Amen.

IN MICHIGAN

You wrote: ”Come over to Saugatuck And be with me on the warm sand, And under cool beeches and aromatic cedars.”

And just then no one could do a thing in the city For the lure of far places, and something that tugged At one's heart because of a June sky, And stretches of blue water, And a warm wind blowing from the south.

What could I do but take a boat And go to meet you?

And when to-day is not enough, But you must live to-morrow also; And when the present stands in the way Of something to come, And there is but one you would see, All the interval of waiting is a wall.

And so it was I walked the landward deck With flapping coat and hat pulled down; And I sat on the leeward deck and looked At the streaming smoke of the funnels, And the far waste of rhythmical water, And at the gulls flying by our side.

There was music on board and dancing, But I could not take part.

For above all there was the bluest sky, And around us the urge of magical distances.

And just because you were in the violins, And in everything, and were wholly the world Of sense and sight, It was too much. One could not live it And make it all his own-- It was too much.

And I wondered where the rest could be going, Or what they thought of water and sky Without knowing you.

But at four o'clock there was a rim, A circled edge of rainbow color Which suspired, widened and narrowed under your gaze: It was the phantasy of straining eyes, Or land--and it was land.

It was distant trees.

And then it was dunes, bluffs of yellow sand.

We began to wonder how far it was-- Five miles, or ten miles-- Surely only five miles!-- But at last whatever it was we swung to the end.

We rounded the lighthouse pier, Almost before we knew.

We slowed our speed in a dizzy river of black, We drifted softly to dock.

I took the ferry, I crossed the river, I ran almost through the little batch Of fishermen's shacks.

I climbed the winding road of the hill, And dove in a shadowy quiet Of paths of moss and dancing leaves, And straight stretched limbs of giant pines On patches of sky.

I ran to the top of the bluff Where the lodge-house stood.

And there the sunlit lake burst on me And wine-like air.

And below me was the beach Where the serried lines of hurrying water Came up like rank on rank of men And fell with a shout on the rocks!

I plunged, I stumbled, I ran Down the hill, For I thought I saw you, And it was you, you were there!

And I shall never forget your cry, Nor how you raised your arms and cried, And laughed when you saw me.

And there we were with the lake And the sun with his ruddy search-light blaze Stretching back to lost Chicago.

The sun, the lake, the beach, and ourselves Were all that was left of Time, All else was lost.

You were making a camp.

You had bent from the bank a cedar bough And tied it down.

And over it flung a quilt of many colors, And under it spread on the voluptuous silt Gray blankets and canvas pillows.

I saw it all in a glance.

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