The sweet, steady humming
Of time, and leans again
In the light of the lamp, outside
The gray and dripping day,
Its light entering the window and setting
Its pewter-colored shine
on the back of his hand, his books
In reach, the three or four people
He loves best, at their own doings
In the near middle distance
Of his life this wintry day
As he enters his fi ftieth year,
Let it go on,
That sweet hum, let there be
No end to it, ever.
At moments when he looks around
Quite happy with things -- driving
Through town this afternoon,
Heading home, looking forward
To dinner and the evening with her,
The town so pleasant in the clear, late light
Refl ected from the white undersides of clouds
Pushing out over the rooftops
From the mountains, the air
Chill, fresh off the ocean --