To Some I Have Talked With by the Fire

WHILE I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes

My heart would brim with dreams about the times

When we bent down above the fading coals

And talked of the dark folk who live in souls

Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees;

And of the wayward twilight companies

Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content

Because their blossoming dreams have never bent