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GRAPES FROM THORNS, by                    
First Line: When the golden wood on golden days
Last Line: But not the story.
Subject(s): Grapes


When the golden wood on golden days
Lay still in the sun;
When sumach in the swamp was all ablaze
Came one
Who bent to me. Bright was my amaze
At the wonder and the beauty of his ways.
He with his Spanish eyes and scarlet cloak
Showed me the magic blue in bonfire smoke;
Showed me polished chestnuts under stiff faded leaves;
"There are fallen-moon pumpkins and corn in sheaves."
And "Listen -- the bells are ringing in the town --
Promise you will always wear a leaf-green gown."

Here in the golden woods I walk alone,
For he of the Spanish eyes and scarlet cloak is gone.
Sorry enough was I to see him go,
For in my own way I loved him so.
But sorrier far was I to know that he
Saw not the beauty that he showed to me.
To bind me, hold me fast, he used it merely.
To use it thus he saw so clearly --
"Beauty is a chain. Invisible but strong
To bind her to me. To make her love me long."

The barberry bush is hung with jewels bright.
The ripening apples fall
In the lane by the wandering gray wall.
Across the river the hills stretch out.
They seem
Like old drowsy dragons, a-drowsing in a dream.
Black crows turn westward in the amber light.
They scatter, cawing in their sombre flight.
On the hilltop where the tall pines sing
The small quick-silver squirrels bring
Nuts for the long white nights to come
When Corydon a-cold blows on his thumb.

I walk the golden woods alone;
Was there someone ever here who now is gone?
Who told me tales of autumn's glory?
The story teller I've forgot --
But not the story.





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