And he turned his back
On the pack?

Even he couldn't tell the strange enchanted reason Why fall should suddenly be so fair a season!

Spring Comes to a Small Town

The pool players
That all winter long have lingered lazily
over the green-topped tables
Half-somnolent in the cloud of cigarette smoke,
Are seen lounging at precarious angles
Against the nearest tobacconist's windows.

Teen-age boys and girls link arms, and
Roller-skate on the paved streets,
Shoulders touching; and laughter like
a living thing between them.
Later, in the summer they will dance on Saturday evenings
Under gaudy Chinese lanterns.
And the prophecy of spring will be fulfilled.

A short stout lady bustles off her doorstep
Broom in hand
To do a little sweeping;
Her knitted suit fits closely
Like the sleek, green plumage of a plump
soft bird.

Babies… babies — everywhere
Bouncing busily in their prams —
Eyes like bits of rain-washed sky…
And everyone exclaiming as they ride past
"Isn't he a darling!"

Old, old gentlemen taking little walks,
Their canes tapping the sidewalk
More and more confidently.
You can see how they feel about the sun,
It's a downright comfort!

Everything looks suddenly clean and shining.
The lettuce in the fruit-shop window
has a fresh-cut look
Like an accidental bouquet;
It suddenly becomes imperative to
speak to someone
And it doesn't matter in the least
If a perfect stranger goes white with surprise
When you tell them "It's a lovely day!"…
In no uncertain terms.

Spring comes to a small town
In rather a special sort of way!
After all, she can't add an awful lot to
Fifth Avenue,
But there's room for just her kind of glamour
On Main Street!

For a Brown Dog

And the rusted spade turned in the dark earth
And we committed his body to the dust —
His little brown dog's body
That three minutes before
Had jumped for joy
And emitted joyous barks.

(But you couldn't go out and shoot the motorist
Who had run over him…
Especially when it was a woman
Who had shed appropriate tears!)

Only, you could burn inside with a fierce flame
Because he wouldn't come running to you
Any more
With a grin on his face
And his funny little plume of a tail
Frantic with love!

The rusted spade turned in the dark earth
And something of you went into the ground
With the little brown dog's body!

Right out of Pickwick

Right out of Pickwick! You would have said:
His quaint neat figure
Rotund, but tapered.
His trousers looked to be always peg-top,
Narrowing down to his shining foot gear.
His woollen vests were from far-famed Bond Street,
Checked, and horsey and dear to his heart.
You might have thought him a figure for laughter;
You might have laughed and said "Humpty Dumpty!"
If you hadn't known him, and hadn't loved him
He was Uncle Reg to the young and the old —
He was Uncle Reg and his heart was gold…

He'd been a Banker for many years
And then he'd retired, to the laughter and tears
Of nursing his mother… delicate… old…
But precious to him. She thought him a bold
Brave knight, who chose to stay at her side.
You hardly saw him, when she first died!

When Kathie, his niece, married the mayor —
A tall young Scotsman with sandy hair —
In his high silk hat, that sat "just so",
Old Uncle Reg was a regular Beau.
His cravat was faultess, his dignity sweet…
From his topper top, to his gleaming feet! …

On birthdays, in fine Spencerian hand
A letter would come. The words were grand
And the style heroic. In dark green ink
Uncle Reg would say, "I think
You the fairest lady this side of the sea
Who wears her birthdays with gaiety.
You have my wishes for scores and scores."
And the letters were signed "Admiringly, Yours."

There'd come a bottle of fine liqueur
At Christmas. A gift was always the best
With a label. He thought it a very test
Of friendship. You thought a person was dear and fine
So you gave him your choicest, rarest wine!

He was at his best when the lights were high
And laughter gleamed in the dancer's eye;
He never would ask for your hand outright,
But would seek your partner, and there in sight
Would ask permission to squire you round
In a waltz; he was light as a blowing feather!
His conversation was always whether
The party was fun for you. Compliments came to his lips more swift
Than the dancing music's whirling lift.

He was no relation to us, by blood…
He was "Uncle" because of the great warm flood
Of affection. We adopted him right from the time we met…
And he's Uncle Reg in our memory yet.

And there's never a birthday or Christmas night
When the candles burn high and the eyes are bright
But a gentle whimsical courtly ghost
Sits at our table. We miss him most
Anniversary times!

"Right out of Pickwick," you would have said,
If you'd seen hire strolling along the street,
His neat small figure against the sky.

But Uncle Reg was a symbol, too
Of the way the Quality used to do
What was expected. He knew the rules
And he carried them out, to the last fine letter.
Somewhere I think his dear small ghost
Treads a gay measure … murmuring, "Most
Sweet gracious lady …" to some slim shade
Who finds him a gallant entrancing Blade!

Man is a Lonely One

Man is a lonely one.
How close he huddles to his hearth and house,
Walks quiet as a mouse
Down echoing streets… Gathers about him neighbours,
Friends,
Puts up with being bored
While endless, pointless stories
Roll from indifferent lips.

He does not like to wake
In an empty house.
His spouse is his retreat from single-ness,
His friendly bosom that will take him in
And quiet his awareness,
Lull him to comfort and insentient peace;
Build tender walls about his shivering self;
Gather within the crescent of her arms
The core of his alarms.
Man is a lonely one.
He builds himself a shelter from the night,
Turns himself inward where the lamplight falls,
Takes comfort in the stoutness of four walls.
Only when he strides out to face a gun
Suddenly… strickenly, bravely
He is one!
War breaks his shell, and spews him forth alone
Into a world most savagely his own!

This Bitter Brew

This is a bitter brew
Mixed with my own hand,
I recall how the herbs grew
Flowering over the land.

How the wind blew sweet
And your eyes held the sun,
And this need grew in my heart
That will never be quite done.

A cloud furled like midnight
Covered the rising sea
And slipt like a raven shadow
Bitterly over me.

You knew the sudden knowledge