June—To Alison

Rain drizzling in the high blue pines,
A misty tangle of loose lines,
Here in the hollow wood had ceased,
Except when by the wind released
From broad leaves and the bent tree-tops
Rattled a shower of thunder-drops;
Then sudden shafts of light shot through
As the sky dried to pools of blue.

I idled while the hot sun toiled
And thick with steam the moist wood boiled,
Watching on the wet-blackened boughs
Raindrops dark and mysterious
Shining along their silver rows
(Strange as the level eye looked close.
Small trees in each to see outlined)
And hazel buds, green, soft and blind.

Four years ago this day of June,
Clear in the sky, a thread-thin moon
I saw you first, you weak, I strong,
As small tit's chip and thrush's song;
Still with increase of strength we grow
Like nut or raindrop in a row,
You fattening in your fringed sheath,
I gathering strength to drop beneath.
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