Poem by Ina Donna Coolbrith

A Hope

IT befell me on a day —
Long ago; ah, long ago!
When my life was in its May,
In the May - month of the year.
All the orchards were like snow
With pink - flushes there and here;
And a bird sang, building near,
And a bird sang far away,
Where the early twilight lay.

Long ago! ah, long ago!
Youth's sweet May passed quite away
May that never more is May!
Yet I hear the nightingale
Singing far adown the vale
Where the early twilight lies,
Singing sad, and sweet, and strong
And I wonder if the song
May be heard in Paradise!

1. Two
2. The Captive of the White City
3. Just for a Day
4. Bret Harte (A stir of pines in the forest)
5. Withheld

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