In the mists, grew over the glittering,
Ruthless, holy and wise,
I grew up in the old park grandparents,
And the sun is golden curls.
Not extinguished wildfire,
But, fumes drawn by the sun,
Arrow I rushed frenzy,
Kissing air unfamiliar.
And the hosts were persons,
Always and forever adult strangers,
But I loved the birds taking off,
And the boat, and paddle boat.
I swam in a creek
Bottomless backwaters and muddy,
Where frail island surrounded
Wall spruce cozy.
And there branchy spruce
I put the board and was flying with her,
And I melted my swing,
And sleepy wind blew softly.
And it was, how on Christmas Day,
When the game was given the gift of,
And life was rising blue steam
For leaf-star blue.
July 1905
