CONSPIRACIES

The valley seemed a single throat Singing when the blackbird sang, So true complete and pure his note, And through so clean an air it rang: Trees in a golden rapture stood Unshaken; their dark shadows fell And lay locked by the river-flood In level quiet: blackbird’s bell And hollow-shining air and tree And river made conspiracy And cast on me a spell. Deep in my heart the holy stream, The stream of quietude, was born, Whose waters wandering clouds of dream And marvellous idle shapes adorn; My breath was like the breath of a child Asleep,—yet rooted in repose, Multitudinous swift and wild My branching, flowering thoughts arose. So heart, breath, mind, while I spoke no word, Conspired. Suddenly I heard My song with the blackbird’s close.