There swinging on a bough
That hung or floated broad and low. 
The lamp of evening, bright
With more than planetary light,
Was beautiful and free—­
A white bird swaying on the tree.

You watched and I watched,
Our eyes and hearts so surely matched. 
We saw the white bird leap, leap
Shining in his journey steep
Through that vast cold sky. 
Our hearts knew his unuttered cry—­

A cry of free delight
Spreading over the clustering night. 
Pole Hill grave and stark
Stared at the valley’s tidal dark,
The Darent glimmered wan;
But that eager planet winging on,

And singing on, went high
Into the deeps and heights of sky. 
And our thoughts rising too
Brightened the mortal darkness through
Trembled and danced and sang
Till the mute invisible heavens rang.

VI

THE DARK FIRE

Love me not less
Yet ease me of this fever,
That in my wondering heart
Burns, sinks, burns again ever.

Is it your love
In me so fiercely burning,
Or my love leaping to you
Then requickened returning?

Come not to me,
Bring not your body nearer,
Though you overleapt the miles
I could not behold you clearer.

I could not clasp you
Than in my thought more surely;
Breast to breast, heart to heart
Might cling no more securely.

I do not know you,
Seeing you, more than unseeing. 
What you are that you are
Here in my spiritual being.

Leave me you cannot,
Nor can I remove me
From the sevenfold dark fire
You have lit here since you love me.

Yet love unsure
No wilder could be burning. 
Come, go, come, go,
There’s neither leaving nor returning.

Love me, love me more. 
O, not my heart shall quaver
If the dark fire more deep
Sinks and is sevenfold sevenfold graver.

VII

THE KESTREL

In a great western wind we climbed the hill
And saw the clouds run up, ride high and sink;
And there were shadows running at our feet
Till it seemed the very earth could not be still,
Nor could our hearts be still, nor could we think
Our hearts could ever be still, our thought less fleet
Than the dizzy clouds, less than the flying wind. 
Eastward the valley and the dark steep hill
And other hills and valleys lost behind
In mist and light.  The hedges were not yet bare
Though the wind picked at them as he went by. 
The woods were fire, a fire that dense or clear
Burned steady, but could not burn up the shadows
Rooted where the trees’ roots entangled lie,
In darkness; or a flame burned solitary
In the middle of the highest of brown meadows,
Burned solitary and unconsuming where
A red tree stooped to its black shadow and