Pastorale

Thracian oak rooted in Virginia hillside,

Deep is the cold spring, rising to a pool,

Yellow wings alight, drink, swing up to high branches

In clear drops of water the bird notes fall.

The Greek shepherd broke black bread with a sharp vintage

From dry gourd. He piped to wandering bells,

Here are no hooves, no bleat on the afternoon air.

Silent the valleys, the blue breasted hills.

Sharing intimate food and quiet laughter

Held in the strong tree's life, the warm noon smell,

Stretched above roots for bed and shelter

Though to no piping I have come at your will.

Day as long as the length of summer

Summer as brief as the singing mountain day,

Pipe shepherd, flow stream, winds blow soft over,

Soon follows winter with the heart run dry.