Zion, distant and fair.
We hanged up our harps
On the trees that are there.
WHO?
| 1ST STRANGER. | WHO walks with us on the hills? |
| 2ND STRANGER. | I cannot see for the mist. |
| 3RD STRANGER. | Running water I hear, |
| Keeping lugubrious tryst | |
| With its cresses and grasses and weeds, | |
| In the white obscure light from the sky. | |
| 2ND STRANGER. | Who walks with us on the hills? |
| WILD BIRD. | Ay!... Aye!... Ay!... |
A RIDDLE
THE mild noon air of Spring again
Lapped shimmering in that sea-lulled lane.
Hazel was budding; wan as snow
The leafless blackthorn was a-blow.