A shout, a curse, and a face aghast,
And the human quarry is laired at last.
The human quarry with clay-clogged hair
And eyes of terror who waits them there.
That glares and crouches and rising then
Hurls clods and curses at dogs and men.
Until the blow of a gun-butt lays
Him stunned and bleeding upon his face.
A rope; a prayer; and an oak-tree near,
And a score of hands to swing him clear.
A grim, black thing for the setting sun
And the moon and the stars to look upon.
THE FOREST OF SHADOWS
Deep in the hush of a mighty wood
I came to a place of dread and dream,
And forms of shadows, whose shapes elude
The searching swords of the sun’s dim gleam,
Builders of silence and solitude.
And there, where a glimmering water crept
From rock to rock with a slumberous sound,
Tired to tears, on the mossy ground,
Under a tree I lay and slept.
Was it the heart of an olden oak?
Was it the soul of a flower that died?
Or was it the wild-rose there that spoke,
The wilding lily that palely sighed?—
For all on a sudden it seemed I awoke:
And the leaves and the flowers were all intent
On a visible something of light and bloom—
A presence, felt as a wild perfume,
Or beautiful music, that came and went.
And all the grief I had known was gone,
And all the anguish of heart and soul;
And the burden of care that had made me wan
Lifted and left me young and whole
As once in the flush of my youth’s dead dawn.
And lo! it was night. And the oval moon,
A silvery spectre, paced the wood:
And there in its light, like snow, she stood,
As starry still as a star a-swoon.