verdant swale appeared to me
disburthened of perspicacity
by sunset vaulted o'er. What kine
left the budded quicks will in time
lack the evening star, bedded fast
beyond the gable-wall, and copsed
in barn light's slumbrous, languid air.
From fane, then, to meet you there,
light glinting through the trees, and moss
soft underfoot, soft leaves, I crost
'til, gleaming in a bower's frame,
in golds, alit, the riverbank,
long light shaking o'er river's glass,
charged me light where now you pass.
for April Gornik
Trees: drawing by April Gornik