- These are the days when birds come back,
- A very few, a bird or two,
- To take a backward look.
- These are the days when skies put on
- The old, old sophistries of June,--
- A blue and gold mistake.
- Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee,
- Almost thy plausibility
- Induces my belief,
- Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,
- And softly through the altered air
- Hurries a timid leaf!
- Oh, sacrament of summer days,
- Oh, last communion in the haze,
- Permit a child to join,
- Thy sacred emblems to partake,
- Thy consecrated bread to break,
- Taste thine immortal wine!
I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners, to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.
And when they all were seated,
A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
My mind was going numb.
And then I heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead, again.
Then space began to toll
As all the heavens were a bell,
And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race,
Wrecked, solitary, here.
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