Smoke

They stood like men that hear immortal speech Moving among their branches, and like trees We stood and watched them, and in our still branches Echoes of that immortal music stirred. October days had touched their breasts with light, With yellow light and red light and wan green; And the gray cloud that grew from low to high Made the warm light more warm, the green more wan. We stood and watched them and in our still branches We felt the warm light glow, though now the rain Was loud upon the leaves. And standing there You cried, "O, that sweet smell, where is the fire? Where is the fire?" For sharp upon the rain The smell came of a wood fire and clung round Hanging upon our branches, till we saw No more those lighted trees nor heard the rain-- Knew only the deep echoes and the smell Of a wood fire that breathed its smoke across From some near hearth, or undiscovered world.