Richard Wilbur

For Ellen

On eyes embarked for sleep the only night
Goes off, and there is nothing that you know
So well, it may not monster in this sea,
The vine leaves pat the screen. Viciously free,
The wind vaults over the roof with Mister Crow
To drop his crooked laughter in your night.

And morning’s cannonades of brightness come
To a little utter blueness in your eyes.
You stagger goldenly, bestowing blue;
Blue heal-all breaks the pavingstone where you
Expect it, and you laugh in pure surprise
At the comic ripple hurdling to his slum.

But sometime you will look at the lazy sun
Hammocked in clouds, dead-slumbering in the sky.
That casual fire will blister blue, and night
Will strand its fears; then with a starker sight
And newer darker love, you will supply
The world of joy which never was begun.