Then came the fallow deer with delicate steps,
Printing their steps around her as she stooped,
And their antlers burned with little flames at the tip,
Little daggers of gold at every point,
Pricket and sorel and buck, and the doe with her fawn.
And she knew that she neared the end of the garden path,
And the deer and the buried candles travelled with her,
But still she knew that she would not make an end
Of setting her plants before the shroud came round her.
I have seen in the Virginia forest
Cool pallid light of an undersea day;
Coral of the isles arose, encrusted spray,
Branches submerged and overhead wild shell.
What was it then I saw? Flashing sea-scale,
Flicker of tail? Sea-bud, sunlight or syren
Smiling, which even in a boy might move
Felicity, or failing scatter foam as hail?
What did I then? Rose, swam or sank.
The end was moss. Around me April chuckled,
The catbird cried upon a dogwood bough,
And day came crashing through pale judas-bud.
Perspectives are Precipices
Sister Anne, Sister Anne,
Do you see anybody coming?
I see a distance of black yews
Long as the history of the Jews.
I see a road sunned with white sand,
Wide plains surrounding silence. And