Page:Poems, Savage, 1882.djvu/49

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OUTER AND INNER

I may not wander in the woods And smell the fragrant gums, Where naught of weary life intrudes, And only healing comes. For Winter, cheerless Winter, reigns! The conquered Summer dies. Her victor lords it o'er the plains, And sweeps the dreary skies. But, driven thus within my door, I find a world as fair, In which dwell all the gone-before,—The wise, the good, the rare. Suns of a thousand summers past Shine on me from my grate,―A light from out the æons vast That antedate all date. And all the singers of all lands, In type's strange magic kept, Wake their sweet songs at my commands, Where in the leaves they've slept. And, while I dream above the page, Summer is in the sky; I watch the July lightnings rage, Or hear some brook purl by.

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