I HAVE loved clearness. Sea-tide over shoal —
Sky before sunrise, purer than its star —
Green light of ferns — a spring’s steep silvery bowl —
Blue halo of a candle-flame — the far
White emptiness round midnight moons.
All these
I have loved, hoarding. And clear simple minds —
Children with thoughts they do not know are dreams —
Men with straight eyes that no bad shadow blinds—
Women whose laughter has no barb. It seems
Such are most precious of Life’s largesses.
Only the blurred and tangled things I fear.
O Death, I shall not care how strange you seem —
How far from Life — if you are only clear:
Not the sick crowded darkness of a dream,
But clear — clear — clear — like dawn’s cold verities!