University of Virginia Library

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142

Whirled Stars.

The rain has ceased falling softly through the dusk. A cool green wind flows through the deeps of air. The stars are as wind-whirled fruit blown upward from the tree-tops. Full-orbed, and with a pulse of flame, the moon leads a tide of quiet light over the brown shores of the world.

But here, here where I stand upon the brown shores of the world, in the shine of that quiet flame where, full-orbed, the moon uplifts the dark, I think only of the stars as wind-whirled fruit blown upward from the tree-tops. I think only of that wind that blew upon the tree-tops, where the whirling stars spun in a mazy dance, when, at last, the rain had ceased falling softly through the dusk. O wind-whirled stars, O secret falling rain!