Page:Fiddler's Farewell.djvu/65

Abrigada

I had been told
A foolish tale:
Of stone, dank, cold.
But you,
Erect to winter storm,
To clutch of frosty-fingered gale,
Are warm.

I thought that stone was silent too,
Unmoved by beauty,
Unaware of season or of mirth,
(Stern sister of quiet earth),
But I hear laughter, singing, as I lay
My face against your gray
Surely I hear a rhythm of near waves
And sense the leaping spray,
Mixed with wild-rose and honeysuckle,
Budding sassafras,
And the cool breath of pungent leafy bay?

I knew that walls were sheltering
And strong,

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