Records of a clothes line

At bed-time we went out and brought the clothes in from the line;
 They bore the scents of Autumn dusk, as old kegs smell of wine.
 The ripened sweet of apple trees, the blue grapes' subtle tang
 Were in the clean and dewy folds that we had left to hang.
 The wind had blown the hearty smoke of bonfires through their weft,
 Blent with the garden musk of flowers the early frost had left;
 We folded them with slow delight, and caught the rich perfume
 Of melons ripened with the corn, which filled the evening room.
 We smoothed the soft and pliant sheets, and felt the hands of Night
 Who passed and brushed them gently with fingers cool and white.
 And from the colored pile of towels rose scent of mint and sage,
 The faint, sweet records of the pool, like thoughts upon a page-
 At bed-time we went out and got the clothes to fold away,
 But we had brought in billowed heaps the whole bright Autumn day.

AGNES L. PORTER.