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Variation from a Theme by Marsden Hartley
Hartley, summer was plainly for you,
remarker of joined clearnesses, plover noticer,
savorer of `infant clams' and campestris, among the opulence,
`the look of bright everlastingness'
But it is not for me, in summer
it seems there's nothing to do
but continue what's become obvious, greens
overlapping soberly, whitening sky,
stationary August.
An upper rocky fi eld, and the way
begins to open, a few bright
stubble stalks leaning among the clods, nearby,
and red light fl ickering in the distance, on the blue fl ats
where they're burning off the cattails in the sloughs,
And `shall the cold fl owing waters
that come from another place
be forsaken?' -- I'm on my way
up to a wind-swept place
of darkness, snow, and some lights, and further on
a granite cave, icy water on its walls
black fl ecked with white and pink, the good
lair dark I dream to; start down fresh from.