FOR G.

All night under the moon

Plovers are flying

Over the dreaming meadows of silvery light,

Over the meadows of June,

Flying and crying--

Wandering voices of love in the hush of the night.

All night under the moon,

Love, though we're lying

Quietly under the thatch, in silvery light

Over the meadows of June

Together we're flying--

Rapturous voices of love in the hush of the night.

1915

HOME

I. RETURN

Under the brown bird-haunted eaves of thatch

The hollyhocks in crimson glory burned

Against black timbers and old rosy brick,

And over the green door in clusters thick

Hung tangled passion-flowers, when we returned

To our own threshold: and with hand on latch

We stood a moment in the sunset gleam

And looked upon our home as in a dream.

Rapt in a golden glow of still delight

Together on the threshold in the sun

We stood rejoicing that we two had won

To this deep golden peace ere day was done,

That over gloomy plain and storm-swept height

We two, O love, had won to home ere night.

II. CANDLE-LIGHT

Where through the open window I could see

The supper-table in the golden light

Of tall white candles--brasses glinting bright

On the black gleaming board, and crockery

Coloured like gardens of old Araby--

In your blue gown against the walls of white

You stood adream, and in the starry night

I felt strange loneliness steal over me.

You stood with eyes upon the candle flame

That kindled your thick hair to burnished gold,

As in a golden spell that seemed to hold

My heart's love rapt from me for evermore...

And then you stirred, and opening the door,

Into the starry night you breathed my name.

III. FIRELIGHT

Against the curtained casement wind and sleet

Rattle and thresh, while snug by our own fire

In dear companionship that naught may tire

We sit--you listening, sewing in your seat

Half-dreaming in the glow of light and heat,

I reading some old tale of love's desire

That swept on gold wings to disaster dire

Then rose re-orient from black defeat.

I close the book, and louder yet the storm

Threshes without. Your busy hands are still;

And on your face and hair the light is warm,

As we sit gazing on the coals' red gleam

In a gold glow of happiness, and dream

Diviner dreams the years shall yet fulfil.

IV. MIDNIGHT