II.—MIDDAY ON THE EDGE OF THE DOWNS
Stillness falls and a glare.
The woods in darkness lie.
The fields are stretched and stare
Under the empty sky.
Vacant the ways of the air,
Along which no birds fly.
Only the high sun's flare
Spills on the empty sky.
I lift my aching eyes
From the dry wilderness:
Across me a peewit flies
With gestures meaningless....
Mine are his piping cries
At this world's emptiness!
1913.
III.—IN DORSETSHIRE
Cold and bare the sunlight
Drifted across the hill,
Round which the sea wind's current
Unfathomable and chill,
From dawn to silver sunset
Poured now faint, now shrill.
"How to comfort you,
Share any part?
Even to understand you
Too deep an art!
Yet I'd comfort you,
Tear out my heart."