A Bivouac

I THINK I have come far enough ; and I
Among these fallen fence-rails here shall lie,
And breathe the clean smell of gray wood, while sleep
Steals over me beneath the wide, pure sky.
All’s wrapt in moonlight ; while the shadows creep,
— Slow dial-hands that bring no hour of dread, —
I shall lie still and hark ; and I shall hear
Scarce any sound save yonder wakeful cheep,
— Some dreaming bird ; and far, far, far away,
In night so far the sky seems much more near,
The railroad’s four-timed warning of the way ;
Save only these, the silence of the dead.
Wild-carrot blooms nod round my quiet bed,
Spice-scented, pale ; and each wan grassy spear,
Each mullein-lance and purple-flowering thorn,
Guards well the place for sleep from all save Morn ;
Here shall I sink then, all remembrance fled,
Forgotten Raucousness, forgotten Scorn,
Forgotten Wisdom, and forgotten Fear ;
My limbs drowsed, and the last sound in my ear
The soft clash of the long green leaves of corn.