Charles Webster by Edgar Lee Masters — Read

The pine woods on the hill, / And the farmhouse miles away, / Showed clear as though behind a lens / Under a sky of peacock blue!

But a blanket of cloud by afternoon / Muffled the earth. And you walked the road / And the clover field, where the only sound / Was the cricket's liquid tremolo.

Then the sun went down between great drifts / Of distant storms. For a rising wind / Swept clean the sky and blew the flames / Of the unprotected stars;

And swayed the russet moon, / Hanging between the rim of the hill / And the twinkling boughs of the apple orchard.

You walked the shore in thought / Where the throats of the waves were like whip-poor-wills / Singing beneath the water and crying / To the wash of the wind in the cedar trees, / Till you stood, too full for tears, by the cot, / And looking up saw Jupiter, / Tipping the spire of the giant pine, / And looking down saw my vacant chair, / Rocked by the wind on the lonely porch --

Be brave, Beloved!