And, therefore, have I kept the ground,
As ’twere quite holy, year by year;
The great wind lowers to a sound
Of sighing as it passes near;
And seldom doth a man intrude
Upon the hallowed solitude,
And never but to shed a tear.
So, if it be thou come, alas,
For sake of sorrow long and deep,
I—Death, the flowers, and leaves, and grass—
Thy grief-fellows, do mourn and weep:
Or if thou come, with life’s whole need
To rest a life-long space indeed,
I too and they do guard thy sleep.
Moreover, sometimes, while all we
Have kept the grave with heaviness,
The weary place hath seemed to be
Not barren of all blessedness:
Spent sunbeams rest them here at noon,
And grieving spirits from the moon
Walk here at night in shining dress.
And there is gazing down on all
Some great and love-like eye of blue,
Wherefrom, at times, there seem to fall
Strange looks that soothe the place quite through;
As though indeed, if all love’s sweet
And all life’s good should prove a cheat,
They knew some heaven that might be true.
—It is a tender voice like this
That comes to me in accents fair:
Well; and through much of love and bliss,
It seemeth not a thing quite bare
Of comfort, e’en to be possest
Of that one spot of earth for rest,
Among the willow trees down there.
BISCLAVARET.
Bisclaveret ad nun en Bretan,
Garwall l’apelent li Norman.
Jadis le poët-hum oïr,
E souvent suleit avenir,
Humes plusurs Garwall devindrent
E es boscages meisun tindrent.
Marie de France: Lais.
IN either mood, to bless or curse,
God bringeth forth the breath of man;
No angel sire, no woman nurse
Shall change the work that God began: