William H. Simpson

From “In Hopi-land and Other Lands”

DO you remember those rare intimacies

Of August twilights, around a pine-knot flame?

And the luring intricacies

Of paths leading to shaded nooks of no name?

Have you memory also

Of trout, at the end of a taut line,

Poised for the instant,

Like a swift sword-gleam,

Over a flashing, dashing, rollicking stream?