Interim
“Love is all” I said; I know not then What word to use but whispered down; An echo in nature’s hollow ground.
The purple globe defends the train, The cloudy sky stretches for miles, With that solitude where many smiles And only the fern in silence frown.
Swept through the vision as here— Where is the dress of quiet trains? Alas the sway of life resumes.
Where sunbeams thrust the feeling sighs, The heart in gentle delight, For all the past quietness dies.
As pitching up to June’s hot breath, Upon the soft, golden limbs, That sway where the flowers drop their death.
- Edna St Vincent Millay