Driftwood

This poem I just rediscovered in Fifty Years of American Poetry seems very appropriate for Halloween. So, to Devil's Night!

Witter Bynner
Driftwood

Come, warm your hands
From the cold wind of time.
I have built here under the moon,
A many-colored fire
With fragments of wood
That have been part of a tree
And part of a ship.

Were leaves more real,
Or driven nails,
Or fingers of builders,
Than these burning violets?
Come, warm your hands
From the cold wind of time.
There's a fire under the moon.