Poems (Nora May French)/In Camp

by Nora May French

IN CAMP

I

AS down I bent with eager lips Above the stones and cresses cool—The yellow tent, the little moon,  I found within my twilight pool.

The fringing trees, the floating moon,  The bubble tent—I passed them by, And sipped a tiny, shattered star,  Deep drinking from that mirrored sky.

II

My tent is shadowed day and night  With leaves that shift in moon and sun; Across its walls of lucent white  The lovely varied tracings run;

And black and slender, quickly sped,  I watch the little feet at dawn—A sudden oriole overhead,  A darting linnet come and gone.