From the rills that reason slandered, From the rose that never grew, From the tinder of the flowerless fern Rise the frontiers of the new.
How strange to all adventurers Who push the leaves away, And see the Future turn her face And show us Yesterday.
Nathalia Crane's two short stanzas are a puzzle that rewards a slow read. The first one lists strange places where something new might come from: streams that reason has "slandered," a rose that never bloomed, dry kindling from a fern that never flowered. These are things that are missing, mocked, or unfinished, yet the speaker says the "frontiers of the new" rise from them. Newness, in other words, springs from what looks barren or doubtful.
The second stanza turns to the explorers who push through the leaves, as if hacking into a jungle. They expect to find the Future waiting. Instead the Future turns her face and shows them Yesterday. The tone is quiet and a little amazed. The word "strange" admits surprise rather than disappointment. The poem seems to suggest that progress and the past are tangled together, so that every step forward uncovers something old. The mood is mysterious and reflective, with a faint, pleasing dizziness.