THE CRUCIFIXION
And the centurion who stood by said:
Truly this was a son of God.
Not long ago but everywhere I go
There is a hill and a black windy sky.
Portent of hill, sky, day's eclipse I know:
Hill, sky, the shuddering darkness, these am I.
The dying at His right hand, at His left
I am—the thief redeemed and the lost thief;
I am the careless folk; I those bereft,
The Well-Belov'd, the women bowed in grief.
The gathering Presence that in terror cried,
In earth's shock, in the Temple's veil rent through,
I; and a watcher, ignorant, curious-eyed,
I the centurion who heard and knew.
THE FIDDLING LAD
"There'll be no roof to shelter you;
You'll have no where to lay your head.
And who will get your food for you?
Star-dust pays for no man's bread.
So, Jacky, come give me your fiddle
If ever you mean to thrive."
"I'll have the skies to shelter me,
The green grass it shall be my bed,
And happen I'll find somewhere for me
A sup of drink, a bit of bread;
And I'll not give my fiddle
To any man alive."
And it's out he went across the wold,
His fiddle tucked beneath his chin,
And (golden bow on silver strings)
Smiling he fiddled the twilight in;
And fiddled in the frosty moon,
And all the stars of the Milky Way,
And fiddled low through the dark of dawn,
And laughed and fiddled in the day.