INFLUENCES
When woods of home grow dark,
I grow dark too.
Images of strange power
Fill me and thrill me that hour,
Sombre of hue.
The woods of Dunsinane
I walk, and know
What storms did shake Macbeth,
That brought on Duncan’s death,
And his own woe.
Strange whispers chill the blood
Of evil breath;
Such rumours as did stir
Witch and foul sorcerer
On the lone heath.
No power have these on me;
I know too well
Their weakness to condemn.
Spring will exorcise them
With one bluebell.
AFTER-GLOW
[To F. W. Harvey]
Out of the smoke and dust of the little room
With tea-talk loud and laughter of happy boys,
I passed into the dusk. Suddenly the noise
Ceased with a shock, left me alone in the gloom,
To wonder at the miracle hanging high
Tangled in twigs, the silver crescent clear.—
Time passed from mind. Time died; and then we were
Once more at home together, you and I.
The elms with arms of love wrapped us in shade
Who watched the ecstatic West with one desire,
One soul uprapt; and still another fire
Consumed us, and our joy yet greater made:
That Bach should sing for us, mix us in one
The joy of firelight and the sunken sun.