– 57 –

Appel

These insect-calling scents call me out also
Into the blazing noon or the short twilight
Or the unblemished sweetnesses of dawn;

Scents that were cloying within closed casements
Borne on the free winds are soul-reviving spices,
Lures to fill up the lungs with youth-renewing airs.

Memorial smells, summons to the unconscious,
Secret balms, restoring innocent gladness,
Calling us back to sincere gladness and joy.

Honeysuckles, thymes, jasmines, pinks, lavenders,
Aromatic trees, fragrant herbs.

So, long ago, I think, the Syrian Shepherd
Inhaled the sweet airs of his hills and valleys,
Drew in his breath and sang: Yahweh sustains me:
Lifted his head, and went his way rejoicing.