Classic Poem

Here where the brown leaves fall
From elm and chestnut and plane-tree;
Here where the brown leaves drift
Along the paths to the lake
Where the waterfowl breast the waves
That are ridged by the wind, —

You spoke of your art and life,
Of men you had known who betrayed you,
Men who fell short of friendship
And women who fell short of love;
But, abiding beyond them, your art
Held you to life, transformed it, became it,
And so you were free.

And I told you of all my weakness, —
My growing strength to resist
The appeal to my heart and eyes
Of sorrowful, beautiful things;
And the strength of this outer husk
I had permitted to grow and protect me
Was its pitiful measure.

You said: There are cracks in the husk.
It grew to your measure perhaps once;
But your heart breaks through it, and soon
It will fall away from you.
Like a tree content with its fate,
You would not have known it was there
If it had grown to remain.

The cold wind blew the brown leaves
On to the lovers beneath,
Who crept close together for warmth
And closer still for love.

The peacocks perched in the branches
Hawked their harsh cry at the golden
Round moon that loomed over the tree-tops.

And the sound of our feet on the gravel
For a time was answer enough
To the broken mesh of our thoughts.

I said: I have wife and children,
A girl and a boy: I love them;
The gold of their hair is all the gold
Of my thoughts; the blue of their eyes
Is all the purity of my vision;
The rhythm of their life is more to be watched
Than the cadences of my poems.

And you asked me:
Have you taken refuge behind them?
Do you not fear to lose your life
In saving it for them?
Be brave! The water is deep,
The waves run high; but you are a swimmer:
Strike out!

The cold wind blew the brown leaves
Deeper and deeper into the dusk;
The peacocks had hushed their cries;
The moon had turned her gold into silver,
And between the black lace of two trees
One star shone clearly.

O night!
Have I deserved your beauty?