FIRE IN THE DUSK
When your white hands have lost their fairy power,
Like dimpling water flash and charm no more,
Quick pride of grace is still, closed your bright eyes—
I still must think, under those Northern skies,
Some influence shall remain of all that sweet;
Some flower of courage braving Easter sleet;
Colour to stir tears in tenderest skies;
Music of light. Your Autumn beeches shall
Set passion blazing in a heart until
Colour you gave be fashioned in formal line
On line; another’s beauty prove divine,
And all your wandering grace shall not be lost
To earth, being too precious, too great of cost—
Last wonder to awake the divine spark,
A lovely presence lighting Summer’s dark;
Though dust your frame of flesh, such dust as makes
Blue radiance of March in hidden brakes....
Pass from your body then, be what you will,
Whose light-foot walk outdanced the daffodil,
Since Time can but confirm you and fulfil
That hidden crescent power in you—Old Time,
Spoiler of pride, and towers, and breath, and rhyme,
Yet on the spirit impotent of power and will.
TURMUT-HOEING
I straightened my back from turmut-hoeing
And saw, with suddenly opened eyes,
Tall trees, a meadow ripe for mowing,
And azure June’s cloud-circled skies.
Below, the earth was beautiful
Of touch and colour, fair each weed,
But Heaven’s high beauty held me still,
Only of music had I need.
And the white-clad girl at the old farm,
Who smiled and looked across at me,
Dumb was held by that strong charm
Of cloud-ships sailing a foamless sea.
IN A WARD
(To J. W. H.)
O wind that tosses free
The children’s hair;
Scatters the blossom of
Apple and pear;
Blow in my heart, touch me,
Gladden me here.
You have seen so many things—
Blow in and tell
Tales of white sand and golden
’Gainst the sea swell.
Bring me fine meadow-thoughts,
Fresh orchard smell.
Here we must stare through glass
To see the sun—
Stare at flat ceilings white
Till day is done:
While you, sunshine, starshine,
May out and run.