118 . Buffalo Creek

A TIMID child with heart oppressed

By images of sin,

I slunk into the bush for rest,

And found my fairy kin.

The fire I carried kept me warm:

The friendly air was chill.

The laggards of the lowing storm

Trailed gloom along the hill.

I watched the crawling monsters melt

And saw their shadows wane

As on my satin skin I felt

The fingers of the rain.

The sunlight was a golden beer,

I drank a magic draught;

The sky was clear and, void of fear,

I stood erect and laughed.

And sudden laughter, idly free,

About me trilled and rang,

And love was shed from every tree,

And little bushes sang.

The bay of conscience’ bloody hound

That tears the world apart

Has never drowned the silent sound

Within my happy heart.