Some days my thoughts are just cocoons -- all cold, and dull, and blind,

They hang from dripping branches in the grey woods of my mind;

And other days they drift and shine -- such free and flying things!

I find the gold-dust in my hair, left by their brushing wings.

My life is a tree,

Yoke-fellow of the earth;

Pledged,

By roots too deep for remembrance,

To stand hard against the storm,

To fill by Place.

(But high in the branches of my green tree there is a wild bird singing:

Wind-free are the wings of my bird: she hath built no mortal nest.)

The flame of my life burns low

Under the cluttered days,

Like a fire of leaves.

But always a little blue, sweet-smelling smoke

Goes up to God.

Karle Wilson Baker Bibliography - a bibliography.