"Well, I will leave you in peace," said I, "Though of this poignancy You should fight free:
"Your friend, O other me, is dead; You know not what you say."
- "That do I! And at his green-gra.s.sed door By night"s bright galaxy I bend a knee."
- The yew-plumes moved like mockers" beards, Though only boughs were they, And I seemed to go; yet still was there, And am, and there haunt we Thus bootlessly.
THE SINGING WOMAN
There was a singing woman Came riding across the mead At the time of the mild May weather, Tameless, tireless; This song she sung: "I am fair, I am young!"
And many turned to heed.
And the same singing woman Sat crooning in her need At the time of the winter weather; Friendless, fireless, She sang this song: "Life, thou"rt too long!"
And there was none to heed.
WITHOUT, NOT WITHIN HER
It was what you bore with you, Woman, Not inly were, That throned you from all else human, However fair!
It was that strange freshness you carried Into a soul Whereon no thought of yours tarried Two moments at all.
And out from his spirit flew death, And bale, and ban, Like the corn-chaff under the breath Of the winnowing-fan.
"O I WON"T LEAD A HOMELY LIFE"
(To an old air)
"O I won"t lead a homely life As father"s Jack and mother"s Jill, But I will be a fiddler"s wife, With music mine at will!
Just a little tune, Another one soon, As I merrily fling my fill!"
And she became a fiddler"s Dear, And merry all day she strove to be; And he played and played afar and near, But never at home played he Any little tune Or late or soon; And sunk and sad was she!
IN THE SMALL HOURS
I lay in my bed and fiddled With a dreamland viol and bow, And the tunes flew back to my fingers I had melodied years ago.
It was two or three in the morning When I fancy-fiddled so Long reels and country-dances, And hornpipes swift and slow.
And soon anon came crossing The chamber in the gray Figures of jigging fieldfolk - Saviours of corn and hay - To the air of "Haste to the Wedding,"
As after a wedding-day; Yea, up and down the middle In windless whirls went they!
There danced the bride and bridegroom, And couples in a train, Gay partners time and travail Had longwhiles stilled amain! . . .
It seemed a thing for weeping To find, at slumber"s wane And morning"s sly increeping, That Now, not Then, held reign.
THE LITTLE OLD TABLE
Creak, little wood thing, creak, When I touch you with elbow or knee; That is the way you speak Of one who gave you to me!
You, little table, she brought - Brought me with her own hand, As she looked at me with a thought That I did not understand.
- Whoever owns it anon, And hears it, will never know What a history hangs upon This creak from long ago.
VAGG HOLLOW
Vagg Hollow is a marshy spot on the old Roman Road near Ilchester, where "things" are seen. Merchandise was formerly fetched inland from the ca.n.a.l-boats at Load-Bridge by waggons this way.
"What do you see in Vagg Hollow, Little boy, when you go In the morning at five on your lonely drive?"
"--I see men"s souls, who follow Till we"ve pa.s.sed where the road lies low, When they vanish at our creaking!
"They are like white faces speaking Beside and behind the waggon - One just as father"s was when here.
The waggoner drinks from his flagon, (Or he"d flinch when the Hollow is near) But he does not give me any.
"Sometimes the faces are many; But I walk along by the horses, He asleep on the straw as we jog; And I hear the loud water-courses, And the drops from the trees in the fog, And watch till the day is breaking.
"And the wind out by Tintinhull waking; I hear in it father"s call As he called when I saw him dying, And he sat by the fire last Fall, And mother stood by sighing; But I"m not afraid at all!"
THE DREAM IS--WHICH?
I am laughing by the brook with her, Splashed in its tumbling stir; And then it is a blankness looms As if I walked not there, Nor she, but found me in haggard rooms, And treading a lonely stair.
With radiant cheeks and rapid eyes We sit where none espies; Till a harsh change comes edging in As no such scene were there, But winter, and I were bent and thin, And cinder-gray my hair.
We dance in heys around the hall, Weightless as thistleball; And then a curtain drops between, As if I danced not there, But wandered through a mounded green To find her, I knew where.