From The Window

Tall poplars in the sun Are quivering, and planes, Forgetting the day gone, Its cold un-August rains; But with me still remains The sight of beaten corn, Crushed flowers and forlorn, The summer’s wasted gains-- Yet pools in secret lanes Abrim with heavenly blue Life’s wonder mirror anew. I must forget the pains Of yesterday, and do Brave things--bring loaded wains The bare brown meadows through, I must haste, I must out and run, Wonder, till my heart drains Joy’s cup, as in high champagnes Of blue, where great clouds go on With white sails free from stains Full-stretched, on fleckless mains-- With captain’s joy of some proud galleon.