Once to wake proud in a burst of sunlight
as bearing news of real significance,
to risk cold coffee for this native hour

The dark gray receding tide uncovers
New reaches of white sand, and underfoot 
Dry bony driftwood moves into the shade

                                Early and late‚
                                Though turning grief
  May twist at springing love or halfpast life,

We woke together, arm in arm,
    Deep in the summer loft,
Over the sleeve of ravelled sill

Passing out of a great city 
A flower in confusion, 
I, the speaker, and you, the listener;

He fears the tiger standing in the way.
The tiger takes its time, it smiles and growls.
Like moons, the two blank eyes tug at his bowels.

We planted it in May of thirty-three.
Strange times for us. How could a child explain
The helpless eagle on the ice-box door,

Bright sunlight! And the summer is a sword
Goading our sense; the very times conspire
With us to pierce that beauty; such a youth

My artifice you thought designed
    For another end;
You have your own inventions, and

Your will is done. Its promise, that I fled,
Drove me from friends and from the high homeland,
Where bear-grass stung like snakebite and my skin