| |
| ACROSS the school-ground it would start | |
| To light my eyes, that yellow gleam— | |
| The window of the flaming heart, | |
| The chimney of the tossing dream. | |
| The scuffed and wooden porch of Heaven, | 5 |
| The voice that came like a caress, | |
| The warm kind hands that once were given | |
| My carelessness. | |
| |
| It was a house you would not think | |
| Could hold such sacraments in things | 10 |
| Or give the wild heart meat and drink | |
| Or give the stormy soul high wings | |
| Or chime small voices to such mirth | |
| Or crown the night with stars and flowers | |
| Or make upon this quaking earth | 15 |
| Such steady hours. | |
| |
| Yet, that in storm it stood secure, | |
| And in the cold was warm with love, | |
| Shall its similitude endure | |
| Past trophies that men weary of, | 20 |
| Where two were out of fortune’s reach, | |
| Building great empires round a name | |
| And ushering into casual speech | |
Dim worlds aflame.
The Yale Review | |
| |
