REMINISCENCE

REMINISCENCE

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.