"But 'tis your grave and constant mind
Beckon'd me to you,
Too good, too sweet, too fond, too kind,
For me to be untrue.
So trust me, lass, I'll not be false
While I do live,
For we two go where Nature calls,
As I believe."
viii
Trust! Oh, I could have sunk to ground
And lain under his feet!
To have his praise was like a wound,
Throbbing and deadly sweet;
A wound that lets the welling blood
Ebb from the vein,
Merging the hurt in drowsihood,
And hushing down the pain.
High destiny of Nature's calling,
Foil'd and frustrate!
Just then the evil tide was crawling
To drown love in hate.
[V]
i
The meadows wear a cloth of gold,
The trees wear green;
Upon the down in dimpled fold
The white lambs glean;
Deep blue the skyey canopy,
Soft the wind's fan:
Behold the earth as it might be
If man lov'd man!
Summer is soon; the next new moon
Will see the yellowing wheat;
Then will be harvest, Earth's high boon
To them that work for it.
The reapers swink, the heat-waves blink
Across the drowsy fen—
Now let hearts shrink from scythes that drink
The blood of young men!
ii
As I stood at my open door
I caught a flying word:
Two strangers past, "Then that means war——"
That was what I heard.
'Twas ten o'clock, a summer's day,
My love on the hill.
"Then that means war," I heard them say,
And my heart stood still.