I came down late to see the summer out, Down where the lake lets go its held-in light, The path still warm, the goldenrod devout, The air a psalm the pines had learned of night.
II. The Watch
I took my place upon the cooling stone And watched a single sail refuse the night, As if the hour were something held on loan, And no one yet had come to claim the light.
III. The Passing
Low to the shine, the shorebirds thread the reed And read what small inscription tides have made, They do not pause to name what draws the need, Nor grieve the summer they will not impede.
IV. The Sign
A breeze consulted then my open coat And, having asked, released what it had known. Far out, the bell-buoy sounded one clear note, An unseen vespers rung above the bent And gilded water. Nothing there was done The dune had laid its shadow on the sand A hand's breadth farther than the day began, As if some quiet hand had moved the land.
V. The Turning Home
I rose. The lake kept counsel with the wind. Lord of the light that lingers and departs, Teach me the grace of seasons as they rescind, To carry autumn in unhurried hearts, And, when the maples take their pulpit dye, And frost lays out the pine's high evensong, To bear the shortening day without a frown, Trusting the fire that does not need be shown.
