Remember the days of our first happiness,
how strong we were, how dazed by passion,
lying all day, then all night in the narrow bed,
sleeping there, eating there too: it was summer,
it seemed everything had ripened
at once.  And so hot we lay completely uncovered.
Sometimes the wind rose; a willow brushed the window.

But we were lost in a way, didn't you feel that?
The bed was like a raft; I felt us drifting
far from our natures, toward a place where we'd discover nothing.
First the sun, then the moon, in fragments,
stone through the willow.
Things anyone could see.

Then the circles closed.  Slowly the nights grew cool;
the pendant leaves of the willow
yellowed and fell.  And in each of us began
a deep isolation, though we never spoke of this,
of the absence of regret.
We were artists again, my husband.
We could resume the journey.

Poet: Louise Gluck
Poem: Summer
Poem of the Day: Apr 21 2010

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, Summer, has received 5 comments. Click here to read them, and perhaps post a comment of your own.