A Memory Of Interlachen Poem by Annie Adams Fields

THERE is a light in darkness which the soul
Can never know until the sense hath crept
From height to height across the shadowless peaks
Which sentinel thy valley; there are deeps
In thy green hollows, where still thought can lie
Through summer noons unended, glad with dreams;
There, too, is twilight, sudden-black with storm,
When thunder speaks from the unapproachable hills,
And earth shakes at the arrows of his light;
There have I heard a cithern's tinkling sound,
And hollow bursts of laughter from the hall,
While awful thunder shook the world again.
There have I seen pale clouds retreat before
The glory of God's coming and day die
In lingering splendor on the voiceless Horn;
And while keen players bent around their board
I've watched the gold of distant stars appear
Circling in music over yon white brows.