I took the ferry, I crossed the river, I ran almost through the little batch Of fishermen's shacks. I climbed the winding road of the hill, And dove in a shadowy quiet Of paths of moss and dancing leaves, And straight stretched limbs of giant pines On patches of sky. I ran to the top of the bluff Where the lodge-house stood. And there the sunlit lake burst on me And wine-like air. And below me was the beach Where the serried lines of hurrying water Came up like rank on rank of men And fell with a shout on the rocks! I plunged, I stumbled, I ran Down the hill, For I thought I saw you, And it was you, you were there! And I shall never forget your cry, Nor how you raised your arms and cried, And laughed when you saw me. And there we were with the lake And the sun with his ruddy search-light blaze Stretching back to lost Chicago. The sun, the lake, the beach, and ourselves Were all that was left of Time, All else was lost. You were making a camp. You had bent from the bank a cedar bough And tied it down. And over it flung a quilt of many colors, And under it spread on the voluptuous silt Gray blankets and canvas pillows. I saw it all in a glance. And there in dread of eyes we stood Scanning the bluff and the beach, Lest in the briefest touch of lips We might be seen. For there were eyes, or we thought There were eyes, on the porch of the lodge, And eyes along the forest's rim on the hill, And eyes on the shore. But a minute past there was no sun, Only a star that shone like a match which lights To a blue intenseness amid the glow of a hearth. And we sat on the sand as dusk came down In a communion of silence and low words. Till you said at last: "We'll sup at the lodge, Then say good night to me and leave As if to stay overnight in the village. But instead make a long detour through the wood And come to the shore through that ravine, Be here at the tent at midnight." And so I did. I stole through echoless ways, Where no twigs broke and where I heard My heart beat like a watch under a pillow. And the whippoorwills were singing. And the sound of the surf below me Was the sound of silver-poplar leaves In a wind that makes no pause.... I hurried down the steep ravine, And a bat flew up at my feet from the brush And crossed the moon. To my left was the lighthouse, And black and deep purples far away, And all was still. Till I stood breathless by the tent And heard your whispered welcome, And felt your kiss.