FRONTIER

Fancy was it, or wind at most

That rapped upon my door?

I rise, a not unwilling host,

And look out on the moor.

Star-hushed, the gold-horizoned night

Lies luminously deep,

And nothing earthly is in sight

Save the great hills asleep;

No chuckle from a startled grouse

Nor pee-wit’s fretting falls,

But something round about the house

Importunately calls,

That calling, cannot shape the word,

And, knocking, is not seen,

Yet will not pass my house unheard,

For all a world’s between.

My brother self who, night and day,

With lovely Death doth dwell,

And needeth silence for a way

And night his news to tell.

Come in, come in, 0 brother mine

Though the heart’s fire burn low,

My spirit hath sore need of thine

Reality to know.

Rend me with wisdom’s piercing bliss

Thy soul discarnate girds;

Hurt me with life’s sharp flowering kiss

Too meaningful for words.

Then, brother, if the frontier calls

And if you will, Good-bye!

Leave me to love these simple walls

And earth’s prosaic sky.