On a summer night

We two, on a night when stars were gone,

Counted the lights,

The island lights, that blinked now off, now on.

We counted the trees,

Such as we saw, standing dark and straight.

We heard the clock,

And counted the stroke, and know the hour was late,

I counted the smell

Of the pines in, too, fragrant and clean,

And I thought, "What is it for, what does this counting mean?"

And kissed you.

Shaken and sweet as a slender pine you were,

Sure and still

As the light that signalled but did not stir.