Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, IN A WOOD CLEARING, by WILSON PUGSLEY MACDONALD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IN A WOOD CLEARING, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: All night I wearied utterly of the pillow of darkness
Last Line: And the wash of her hair that fell about me like rain.
Subject(s): Forests; Woods


I

ALL night I wearied utterly of the pillow of darkness
In hope of the dawn, knowing it should bring me,
In one soft word, a joy that is past understanding.
Now stirs the morning breeze with thoughts of the clover
Bent by the bees, with thoughts of the balsam-trees;
But I go with dreams sweeter by far -- with dreams of a maiden
Sloping to loveliness up from her finger-tips.

High in the wilderness there is a clearing
That gluts itself all day with the sunshine.
Here is the rain soonest forgotten; here the slim shadows
Of bending trees run in and away again,
Like children at play. Here I come this high morning,
Robed in the freshness of dawn, and here I wait
In a delicious confusion, knowing not whether
'Tis my heart that beats or her step that falls
On the wood mosses of gray, green, and silver.

And here, splashed by sun, I sit wondering
Which shall bend lower the head of the clover --
The bee or the wind: the transparent dragon-flies,
Hovering, watch with me, and the birch leaves applaud,
Their green-gloved fingers joyously clapping.

She comes now out of the wood, her long hair tossing
Darkness out of its tangle. The woodpecker thumps
On the tree to out-distance my heart.
Now I know who taught the willow its grace
And the flower its abundance of sweetness -- now I know
Where the curve in the wind found its pattern.

II

All day we sat in a clearing, under a great tree,
Holding the leash of the runaway hours in our hands.
Sometimes we shut our eyes and offered vague guesses
Which was the voice of the lake at our feet,
And which was the cry of the cool, liquid poplar --
That mimic of water. Thus we were startled by dusk
Ere we were quite aware the young dawn had departed.
How easily slips night into the forest; it is black wine
Into black wine. What a fine tussle with light in this clearing
Hath darkness! Proudly it gains this place.

It was she who spoke first of the home-going --
Perhaps, in a woman's way, just to be sure in her heart
That I was reluctant to leave her. So we stayed:
Stayed till the bronze moon grew pale from its climbing,
Stayed till the night was an octoroon lovely to see.
The air was so silent that even the whip-poor-wills dared not sing;
Nor could we hear aught save the rhythmic advance of our hearts
And the wash of her hair that fell about me like rain.





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