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.