The Circle of Affection and Other Pieces in Prose and Verse

by Duncan Campbell Scott


 

SPRING MIDNIGHT: DEEPWOOD

To My Friend Arthur S. Bourinot


 

MIDNIGHT over Deepwood:
Stars that are named are near,
Neither aloof nor lonely,
Homecomers only to the upland meadows.
They find the familiar shadows
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Where the Mere like a pearl, lustrous and still,
Is clasped in the double-shade
Of the wood and the hill;
Even the Galaxy out of the Deep
Draws near and drifts like a wreath of wood-smoke
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Over Deepwood.

There is no sigh in the air
To trouble the tranquil mood:
Hush has fallen
Where the shy wood-thrush

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Will build her nest and sing
Deep in the breast of the wood.
Birches glimmer in the dusk
Haunting the hollows and knolls,
The silver wraiths of trees
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That were happy once in the heart of the wood.

No wild thing ventures a call
In the trance of the quietude;
An Autumn beech-leaf ready to fall
Clings to the tree,

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Ferns wait to unfold,
Each wood-daffodil
Hides the gold in her hood,
Trilliums linger to flower,
Sleep is one with the hour,
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Deep in the solitude
Over Deepwood.