The Circle of Affection and Other Pieces in Prose and Verse

by Duncan Campbell Scott



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
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
Over Deepwood.

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

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
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,

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