From a Car-Window
Pines, and a blur of lithe young grasses;
Gold in a pool, from the western glow;
Spread of wings where the last thrush passes—
And thoughts of you as the sun dips low.
Quiet lane, and an irised meadow...
(How many summers have died since then?)...
I wish you knew how the deepening shadow
Lies on the blue and green again!
Dusk, and the curve of field and hollow
Etched in gray when a star appears:
Sunset,... twilight,... and dark to follow,...
And thoughts of you thro’ a mist of tears.
Ruth Guthrie Harding