Smoke

They stood like men that hear immortal speech     Moving among their branches, and like trees     We stood and watched them, and in our still branches     Echoes of that immortal music stirred.     October days had touched their breasts with light,     With yellow light and red light and wan green;     And the gray cloud that grew from low to high     Made the warm light more warm, the green more wan.     We stood and watched them and in our still branches     We felt the warm light glow, though now the rain     Was loud upon the leaves.     And standing there     You cried, "O, that sweet smell, where is the fire?     Where is the fire?" For sharp upon the rain     The smell came of a wood fire and clung round     Hanging upon our branches, till we saw     No more those lighted trees nor heard the rain--     Knew only the deep echoes and the smell     Of a wood fire that breathed its smoke across     From some near hearth, or undiscovered world.