Late Resolution

If I were not so tired the fire not so low the room unlistening . . . the heart eager to go beyond the doorstep's border where the long shadows fall and a new world waiting to an unspoken call —

If I were not so tired from the journeys trod, if the green fields scented and the warm velvet sod were not passing pageants and the dreams in my head all of snow on the hill like cloud-fleece spread

in blanket ripples . . . dazzling memory like wine — I would join with my brother in a World Design.