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Once on the
kind of day called "weather breeder,"
When the heat
slowly hazes and the sun
By its own power seems to be
undone,
I was half boring through, half climbing
through
A swamp of cedar. Choked with oil of cedar
And scurf of plants, and weary and over-heated,
And
sorry I ever left the road I knew,
I paused and
rested on a sort of hook
That had me by the coat as
good as seated,
And since there was no other way to
look,
Looked up toward heaven, and there against the
blue,
Stood over me a resurrected tree,
A tree
that had been down and raised again-
A barkless
spectre. He had halted too,
As if for fear of
treading upon me.
I saw the strange position of his
hands-
Up at his shoulders, dragging yellow strands
Of wire with something in it from men to men.
"You
here?" I said. "Where aren't you nowadays
And what's
the news you carry-if you know?
And tell me where
you're off for-Montreal?
Me? I'm not off for anywhere
at all.
Sometimes I wander out of beaten ways
Half
looking for the orchid Calypso."
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