While walking in the fading light Of fading April’s final
Sunday, I paused beneath the bending leaves Of a tree that
grows between the road And mirror of the river’s Platinum
reflecting surface, Just to seat myself and take some Weight
from off my feet, To clear my head so that it might Be a clear
April’s-Sunday–night- And-starry sky of luminous ideas, Not
the dusty road of echoing footsteps past.