THE FRUIT OF DAY
Night is the fruit of day, a shining fruit, Of a dark apple of the moonless hoursSprung from the mists of earth, a tree whose root Packed with the perfume of a million flowersDrinks at the well-spring of our secret thoughtTill, sap and stem, the final aim have wrought.
Where the blue bough of Heaven earthward dips, Dawn was the rosy pricking of the bud,The paling stars were clipt for silver pips, But when the warm noon came to mellow flood,It brought the petals of the finished flowerTill thrifty Twilight, in her moth-grey bower,
Moulds with mysterious fingers, Night's full globe Of blossom-trembling hedges by the rill,Where hands unseen have caught the stealthy robe That rustles, to hushed laughters, up the hill:Fate, plucking from Life's tree a varied lootWill drop into our laps our cherished fruit!
A child at play beside the long lagoon Finds Night come down a sun-kist apricotGrass-yellow as a lifting harvest moon All firm and wholesome flesh: no creeping rotMaking the roughened stone a tomb, to hideThe myriad writhing worms that lurk inside!
