THEY say the blue king jays have flown
From woods of Westchester:
So I am off for Luthany,
But I shall make no stir;
For who fair Luthany would see,
Must set him forth alone.
In screwing winds last night the snow
Creaked like an angry jinn;
And two old men from up the State
Said, "Bears went early in,"—
Half pausing by my ice-locked gate,—
"March will be late to blow."
So I for Luthany am bound,
And I shall take no pack;
You cannot find the way, you know,
With feet that make a track,
But light as blowing leaf must go,
And you must hear a sound
That's like a singing strange and high
Of birds you've never seen;
Then two ghosts come; as doves they move,
While you must walk between;
And one is Youth and one is Love,
Who say, "We did not die."
The harp-built walls of Luthany
Are builded high and strong,
To shelter singer, fool and seer;
And glad they live, and long.
All others die who enter there,
But they are safe, these three.