Vega
To. T.S.
These winter evenings it is far
Down in the west, the steadfast star;
And late at night so low it lies
The houses hide it from my eyes
As I go down the lonely street,
The white snow creaking under my feet.
But summer nights when I explore
A moon-drenched field, a star-washed shore,
It marks the zenith in the sky,
Our great blue steadfast star; and I
Remember how that August night
We stood together in its light.
How on the table, when the sun
Was down and all the chores were done,
You opened out the map, and we
All gathered round the lamp to see
Your great gnarled finger slow devise
The constellations on the skies;
How we went groping up the hill
That rose behind the house, until
Upon the top we stood amazed
By all the splendid skies, and gazed
And found at last at Lyra's peak
The steadfast star we planned to seek
All this and more my memory fills:
The yellow dunes, the deep green hills,
The sound the midnight breezes make,
And far across the gleaming lake
The glory of the morning view;
But most of all I think of you.
Father and friend, whom all men find
Faithful, indulgent and most kind;
Whose rugged patriarchal strength
Years have not sapped in all their length:
Of all the goodness that you are,
My token is our steadfast star.
The above text is taken from After-Walker (1930). The poem was first published in the December 1920 issue of The Liberator, where the dedicatee is named in full: Thomas Smurthwaite, Cline's father-in-law. Smurthwaite (1850-1929) and his wife Lu had a large family, and lived in a house above southern shore of Portage Lake, several miles north of Manistee, which is on the eastern shore of Lake Michigan.
