When All the Visitors Are Gone

When all the visitors are gone
The glass shall fall from the window frame
With the reflection of the fire
And brass and damask thereupon,
Also the face of which I tire,
And I shall go as once I came
Out through the ringing threadless dark
Moving aloft, and let my feet
Drift through the tips of poplar trees.
Sightless I’ll see the quiet park
Divested of its finities,
Without the change, the cold or heat.
The smallest squill that decks the root,
The grub beneath the matted stone
I shall bear with me as they are,
The flower one thing, one thing the fruit;
Even the rolling shimmering star
Most I shall know when most alone.
Most I shall love you then, old friends,
Simply within the verb to be,
Without the wish for interchange
Or the remembrance of our ends,
And toward the God shall slowly range
Uncaring if He cares for me.