For Brightfield, Fair Host

On newer ties that bind old friends,

affections grow, or change, or end.

Aged affectations to apprehend

the weighty flow'r sweet romance sends.

Tensions grow and branches bend

But interchanged, they lift again.

That bud which, budding, obscures the roots.

The petal asking, "thorn or shoot"

As truth betrayed by its own voice

decides its verity and makes its choice.

Oh, Spring, oh Spring,

Thou, Lady, spring.

Thine eyes art fair.

This is no slight

'gainst thine flaxen hair.

But though you set your glade grown there

Time now has come to move, to pare.

Oh, Brightfield, Brightfield

find your song.

Have no questions

after thinking long,

and smile, oh, smile, find unkempt joy

and let it loose, sing life, not noise.

Thou art made a saint today

by precious hands which, precious, lay

thine absolution upon thy brow.

Oh, rugged one,

most honest, sir,

I say thee this

Do take it sure,

This is thy time

And this is her.

Do let thy rhyme

and meter flow

for fem'nine song

to sing, to go

above, above

and then below.

Thou art the rhythm, let thy drums beat

and let thine step fall with tired feet.

Oh, to both, as this is said,
remember, remember, if pairing heads.
Do melt dark rock and feel no shame
in glory of thine asphalt flame,
In cul-de-sac of snowy lane.

Oh, Spirit, Ghost, flow ever free,

let souls find rest, let eyes now see,

Let joy be full in most pow'rful name.

And set, in hearts, your perfect reign,

Now cleansed of every smallest stain.