In Winchester, be taught of me,
The fairies seize your wrist.
Their gowns are caught in every tree;
—But if you have no eyes to see,
Then sure, it's only mist.
CYCLING IN OCTOBER
O the wind blowing round me, the wind
blowing round me, the same wind that
blew when the grey world was green!
The high hills before me, the brown hills before
me, that stand in their places where Death
has not been.
The blue sky over my head is singing, is singing,
is singing, as loudly as I.
For Death was only a seeming, a dreaming,
and Life is as clouds that fade and fly.
The strong hills vanish, as thin clouds vanish,
as I shall vanish, my dream, my pain;
But all my dreams and I the dreamer, clouds
and hills shall sing again.
Then birds of October, hills of October, winds
of October, wrap me round.
Carry me forward, road of October, sped on
the wheels of light and sound.
For the birds are on wings now and I am on
wings now over the white road the dead
men trod.
And there are no dead men, there are no dead
men, but living men only and dead men
are God!
THE SHEPHERD
"Ah me," the shepherd said
Who dwelt beside a fold
Upon the Northern hills.
"Ah me, 'tis bitter cold,
My oldest friends be dead.
And O a humming fills
My nid-nod-nodding head."
The guns lie in the beams.
The shepherd feeds the fire
With fingers old and numb.
The lamplight flickers higher.
A double winter seems
Surely to have come.
The old friends hover nigher
In simple shepherd dreams.
The frost lies on the fells.
The moon's a great white flower.
The stars have cruel hearts.
And loud and very clear,
With sudden silly starts,
The old clock ticks and tells
The changing of the hour.
But the shepherd hears the bells
No other man may hear.
A look's within his eyes
I have not seen before
In shepherd North or South.
The old head sinketh lower.
The shadows fall and rise
Along the earthen floor.
—God wot, he'll go no more
Beneath the windy skies.