The Last Ball Before Dawn

I played where the hillside folded, One tune as the light grew thin. From under the earth came an answer, The notes I had not woven in. I followed the sound through the heather, Where nobody's doorway should stand. The hill opened wide to the moonlight; A stranger held out his hand. His coat smelled of rain in the orchard, His palm held the warmth of July. I left my old harp by the doorway And watched all the stars hurry by. At the last ball before dawn, Let the years go rolling on. Keep your hand against my waist, Give me time enough to waste. There are winters past the doorway, There is summer in your breath. At the last ball before dawn, I had nothing to regret. Beyond him the branches were whitening, Then heavy with apples again. The hem of my dress brushed the clover; Outside, it was buried in rain. I thought of the lamp in our window, The fingers that trimmed it for me. He turned, and the thought slipped behind him Like land disappearing at sea. “How long?” And he smiled at the ceiling. “One dance,” said the mouths all around. But out where the thorn tree had blossomed, Its trunk lay split on the ground. I wanted his hand at my waist still. I wanted the lamp burning low. I reached for my harp in the doorway. His fingers were last to let go. At the last ball before dawn, I could hear the years roll on. Took your hand away from mine, Stepped across the silver line. There was frost beyond the doorway, There was summer on your breath. At the last ball before dawn, I had one thing to regret. The hill wore the shape I remembered. No road led away through the thorn. I played, but the tune had an ending It never had carried before.