A long day spent at Chatelard for sketching; A glowing sky above; another sky As clear the lake beneath; towards it stretching The vines and long white walls where melons lie. We set our easels in a small oasis Of orchard-shade, and wearied with the glare Of noon, our eyes sought on each other's faces A rest in reading love, no secret there. And in that love was nothing to remind us How we were leaving other things undone, And Chatelard rose gloomily behind us, And cast a broad black shadow from the sun. The chatty magpies whirl'd into the thickets, The deep datura's breath grew over-sweet, The finches left their trilling to the crickets, The glow-worms glimmer'd faintly at our feet. The yellowing tendrils quiver'd on the trestle, The night-wind found a word still to be said, And made her heedless hands but closer nestle In mine -- and yet the love was but half-read. * * * A long day spent for sketching! -- Who'd discover A sketch in those unfinish'd shades and lines? For now my heart alone can there recover The sense of glowing slopes and torrid vines. O Chatelard! she left me when your orchard Grew cold and bare with Summer and the sun, And death has left my heart all cleft and tortured, And stopp'd the loving ere the sketch was done. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE MOUNTAIN FASTNESS by HAYDEN CARRUTH TO GOD THE FATHER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS FLEMING HELPHENSTINE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON REMEMBRANCE by EMILY JANE BRONTE ONE WAY OF LOVE by ROBERT BROWNING ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS by ROBERT BURNS |