Last night
I sat at the porch
Waiting for you to come.
The cicadas were already in tune
The cricketers chirping in mellow;
The nights inner rumble
Lulled me to a swift ramble.
I came by the Tom’s midnight garden
At Gracemore
Which paraded the fields on the right
To the end of the woods.
I hurried, up the winding course
And a few miles out
Polaris was on sight.
I took the northern pass
And soon I was on Orion’s path
I advanced west
As far as the thawing lake
East of the Morning Star.
When the western edge drawn near
I was startled by a gentle voice
And when I opened my eyes
You were gone with the early morn dew.