Moments of Vision | Page 5

bygone
look.
I lipped rough rhymes of chance, not choice,
I thought not what my
words might be;
There came into my ear a voice
That turned a
tenderer verse for me.
TIMING HER
(Written to an old folk-tune)
Lalage's coming:
Where is she now, O?
Turning to bow, O,
And
smile, is she,
Just at parting,
Parting, parting,
As she is starting

To come to me?
Where is she now, O,
Now, and now, O,
Shadowing a bough, O,

Of hedge or tree

As she is rushing,
Rushing, rushing,
Gossamers
brushing
To come to me?
Lalage's coming;
Where is she now, O;
Climbing the brow, O,
Of

hills I see?
Yes, she is nearing,
Nearing, nearing,
Weather
unfearing
To come to me.
Near is she now, O,
Now, and now, O;
Milk the rich cow, O,

Forward the tea;
Shake the down bed for her,
Linen sheets spread
for her,
Drape round the head for her
Coming to me.
Lalage's coming,
She's nearer now, O,
End anyhow, O,
To-day's
husbandry!
Would a gilt chair were mine,
Slippers of vair were
mine,
Brushes for hair were mine
Of ivory!
What will she think, O,
She who's so comely,
Viewing how homely

A sort are we!
Nothing resplendent,
No prompt attendant,
Not
one dependent
Pertaining to me!
Lalage's coming;
Where is she now, O?
Fain I'd avow, O,
Full
honestly
Nought here's enough for her,
All is too rough for her,

Even my love for her
Poor in degree.
She's nearer now, O,
Still nearer now, O,
She 'tis, I vow, O,

Passing the lea.
Rush down to meet her there,
Call out and greet her
there,
Never a sweeter there
Crossed to me!
Lalage's come; aye,
Come is she now, O! . . .
Does Heaven allow,
O,
A meeting to be?
Yes, she is here now,

Here now, here now,

Nothing to fear now,
Here's Lalage!
BEFORE KNOWLEDGE
When I walked roseless tracks and wide,
Ere dawned your date for
meeting me,
O why did you not cry Halloo
Across the stretch
between, and say:
"We move, while years as yet divide,
On closing lines which--though
it be
You know me not nor I know you -
Will intersect and join

some day!"
Then well I had borne
Each scraping thorn;
But the winters froze,

And grew no rose;
No bridge bestrode
The gap at all;
No shape
you showed,
And I heard no call!
THE BLINDED BIRD
So zestfully canst thou sing?
And all this indignity,
With God's
consent, on thee!
Blinded ere yet a-wing
By the red-hot needle thou,

I stand and wonder how
So zestfully thou canst sing!
Resenting not such wrong,
Thy grievous pain forgot,
Eternal dark
thy lot,
Groping thy whole life long;
After that stab of fire;

Enjailed in pitiless wire;
Resenting not such wrong!
Who hath charity? This bird.
Who suffereth long and is kind,
Is not
provoked, though blind
And alive ensepulchred?
Who hopeth,
endureth all things?
Who thinketh no evil, but sings?
Who is divine?
This bird.
"THE WIND BLEW WORDS"
The wind blew words along the skies,
And these it blew to me
Through the wide dusk: "Lift up your eyes,
Behold this troubled tree,
Complaining as it sways and plies;
It is a limb of thee.
"Yea, too, the creatures sheltering round -
Dumb figures, wild and tame,
Yea, too, thy fellows who abound -
Either of speech the same
Or far and strange--black, dwarfed, and
browned,

They are stuff of thy own frame."
I moved on in a surging awe
Of inarticulateness
At the pathetic Me I saw
In all his huge distress,
Making self-slaughter of the law
To kill, break, or suppress.
THE FADED FACE
How was this I did not see
Such a look as here was shown
Ere its
womanhood had blown
Past its first felicity? -
That I did not know
you young,
Faded Face,
Know you young!
Why did Time so ill bestead
That I heard no voice of yours
Hail
from out the curved contours
Of those lips when rosy red;
Weeted
not the songs they sung,
Faded Face,
Songs they sung!
By these blanchings, blooms of old,
And the relics of your voice -

Leavings rare of rich and choice
From your early tone and mould -

Let me mourn,--aye, sorrow-wrung,
Faded Face,
Sorrow-wrung!
THE RIDDLE

I
Stretching eyes west
Over the sea,
Wind foul or fair,
Always
stood she
Prospect-impressed;
Solely out there
Did her gaze rest,

Never elsewhere
Seemed charm to be.
II
Always eyes east
Ponders she now -
As in devotion -
Hills of
blank brow
Where no waves plough.
Never the least
Room for
emotion
Drawn from the ocean
Does she allow.
THE DUEL
"I am here to time, you see;
The glade is well-screened--eh?--against
alarm;
Fit place to vindicate by my arm
The honour of my spotless wife,

Who scorns your libel upon her life
In boasting intimacy!
"'All hush-offerings you'll spurn,
My husband. Two must come; one
only go,'
She said. 'That he'll be you I know;
To faith like ours Heaven will be
just,
And I shall abide in fullest trust
Your speedy glad return.'"
"Good. Here am also I;
And we'll proceed without more waste of
words
To warm your cockpit. Of the swords
Take you your choice. I shall
thereby
Feel that on me no blame can lie,
Whatever Fate accords."

So stripped they there, and fought,
And the swords clicked and
scraped, and the onsets sped;
Till the husband fell; and his shirt was red
With streams from his
heart's hot cistern. Nought
Could save him now; and the other,
wrought
Maybe to pity, said:
"Why did you