XL

SHE sweeps with many-colored brooms,

And leaves the shreds behind;

Oh, housewife in the evening west,

Come back, and dust the pond!

 

You dropped a purple ravelling in,

You dropped an amber thread;

And now you ‘ve littered all the East

With duds of emerald!

 

And still she plies her spotted brooms,

And still the aprons fly,

Till brooms fade softly into stars —

And then I come away.