We thought our nerves were lean and starving
and the night was meat and drink,
thought we heard the crickets cry
their trite and certain solace
to a solitary warbler’s plaint,
and water lick its lips beneath
the bridge we thought we stood upon,
and thought the dark surrounding us
was tangled in the leaves above,
was spread serenely past the moon,
just paling in the holy sphere
about that goldly-brimming globe.
We thought the air, the night, the world
was steeped in God and seeping truth.
Our ears were ringing oracles;
Our eyes were dreaming visions;
Our nerves had lost their bearings
in the maze they made of innocence.