what laughing chains the water wove and threw!
i learned to catch the trout's moon whisper; i
drifted how many hours i never knew.
but, watching, saw that fleet young crescent die,---

and one star; swinging, take its place, alone,
cupped in the larches of the mountain pass---
until, immortally, it bled into the dawn.
i left my sleek boat nibbling margin grass...

a larch is a tree and this poem is talking about trees on a mountainside they cup a star that hangs suspended in the sky somewhere between heaven and earth they hold it and shelter it protect it never knowing quite where it belongs or where to go it lies there vaguely swinging back and forth...humming a little...