III. A Fall of Rain
It was at day-break my thought said: “The moon makes chequered chestnut-shade There by the south-side where the vine Grapples the wall; and if it shine This evening thro' the boughs and leaves, And if the wind with silence weaves More silence than itself, each stalk Of flower just swayed by it, we'll walk, Mary and I, when every fowl Hides beak and eyes in breast, the owl Only awake to hoot.”—But clover Is beaten down now, and birds hover, Peering for shelter round; no blade Of grass stands sharp and tall; men wade Thro' mire with frequent plashing sting Of rain upon their faces. Sing, Then, Mary, to me thro' the dark: But kiss me first: my hand shall mark Time, pressing yours the while I hark.
IV. Sheer Waste
Is it a little thing to lie down here Beside the water, looking into it, And see there grass and fallen leaves interknit, And small fish sometimes passing thro' some bit Of tangled grass where there's an outlet clear?
And then a drift of wind perhaps will come, And blow the insects hovering all about Into the water. Some of them get out; Others swim with sharp twitches; and you doubt Whether of life or death for other some.
Meanwhile the blueflies sway themselves along Over the water's surface, or close by; Not one in ten beyond the grass will fly That closely skirts the stream; nor will your eye Meet any where the sunshine is not strong.
After a time you find, you know not how, That it is quite a stretch of energy To do what you have done unconsciously,— That is, pull up the grass; and then you see You may as well rise and be going now.
So, having walked for a few steps, you fall Bodily on the grass under the sun, And listen to the rustle, one by one, Of the trees' leaves; and soon the wind has done For a short space, and it is quiet all;
Except because the rooks will make a caw Just now and then together: and the breeze Soon rises up again among the trees, Making the grass, moreover, bend and tease Your face, but pleasantly. Mayhap the paw
Of a dog touches you and makes you rise Upon one arm to pat him; and he licks Your hand for that. A child is throwing sticks, Hard by, at some half-dozen cows, which fix Upon him their unmoved contented eyes.