Sanctuary Sunshine House Sonnets

by Bliss Carman

Illustrations by Whitman Bailey




When the October woods in Orient dyes
Are at their peak of splendor, and the bloom
Of Indian summer lies upon the Hills,
There is a hushed expectancy, as if
Some medieval city on a morn,
Emblazoned with pure gold and scarlet gems,
Waited entranced a silver trumpet call
To sound its fanfare for triumphal news.
And then across the sunburnt valley comes—
No sudden cry of any victory,
Nor answering tumult of the charmed scene—
Only, repeated like a litany
Of the fond heart, a bluebird’s plaintive note,
Homesick for April, native of the Spring.