Later Poems

by Bliss Carman




AT the end of the road through the wood
I see the great moon rise.
The fields are flooded with shine,
And my soul with surmise.

What if that mystic orb

With her shadowy beams,
Should be the revealer at last
Of my darkest dreams!

What if this tender fire
In my heart’s deep hold

Should be wiser than all the lore
Of the sages of old!