245

It was far from the
Noise and from the lights
Of the house, where the
Apples had begun to fall

I was speaking, some words
I do not remember, and
You were there, dressed in
The fire of your age.

It was a fine gathering,
The windows and doors flung
Wide, and a soft glow of lamps.
They had spoken to me of you.

Stars! How the future captures us—
I could not know then how.