The Voice

Safe in the magic of my woods     I lay, and watched the dying light.     Faint in the pale high solitudes,     And washed with rain and veiled by night,     Silver and blue and green were showing.     And the dark woods grew darker still;     And birds were hushed; and peace was growing;     And quietness crept up the hill;     And no wind was blowing     And I knew     That this was the hour of knowing,     And the night and the woods and you     Were one together, and I should find     Soon in the silence the hidden key     Of all that had hurt and puzzled me     Why you were you, and the night was kind,     And the woods were part of the heart of me.     And there I waited breathlessly,     Alone; and slowly the holy three,     The three that I loved, together grew     One, in the hour of knowing,     Night, and the woods, and you....     And suddenly     There was an uproar in my woods,     The noise of a fool in mock distress,     Crashing and laughing and blindly going,     Of ignorant feet and a swishing dress,     And a Voice profaning the solitudes.     The spell was broken, the key denied me     And at length your flat clear voice beside me     Mouthed cheerful clear flat platitudes.     You came and quacked beside me in the wood.     You said, "The view from here is very good!"     You said, "It's nice to be alone a bit!"     And, "How the days are drawing out!" you said.     You said, "The sunset's pretty, isn't it?"     * * * * *     By God! I wish, I wish that you were dead!