Robert Fitzgerald - 1910-1985
The evergreen shadow and the pale magnolia Stripping slowly to the air of May Stood still in the night of honey trees, At rest above a star pool with my friends, Beside the grove most fit for elegies I made my phrase to out-enchant the night. The epithalamion, the hush were due, For I had fasted and gone blind to see What night must be beyond our passages; Those stars so chevalier in fearful heaven Could not but lay their steel aside and come With a grave glitter into my low room. Vague though the population of the earth Lay stretched and dry below the cypresses, It was not round-about but in my night, Bone of my bone, as an old man might say; And all its stone weighed my mortality; The pool would be my body and my eyes, The air my garment and material Whereof that wateriness and mirror lived— The colorable, meek and limpid world. Though I had sworn my element alien To the pure mind of night, the cold princes, Behold them there, and both worlds were the same. The hearts' planet seemed not so lonely then, Seeing what kin it found in that reclining. And ah, though sweet the catch of your chorales, I heard no singing there among my friends; But still the great waves, the lions shining, And infinite still the discourse of the night.