The Three Hills, and Other Poems Part 5

Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.

High on a down we found him last, Shy as a hare, he fled as fast; How could we clasp him or ever he pa.s.sed?

Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.

How could we cling to his limbs that shone, Ravish his cheeks' red gonfalon, Or the wild-skin cloak that he had on?

Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.

For the wind of his feet still straightly shaping, He loosed at our b.r.e.a.s.t.s from his eyes escaping One crooked swift glance like a javelin leaping.

Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.

And his feet pa.s.sed over the sunset land From the place forlorn where a forlorn band Watching him flying we still did stand.

Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.

Vanishing now who would not stay To the blue hills on the verge of day.

O soft! soft! Music play, Fading away, (Fleet are his feet And his heart apart) Fading away.

IN AN ORCHARD

Airy and quick and wise In the shed light of the sun, You clasp with friendly eyes The thoughts from mine that run.

But something breaks the link; I solitary stand By a giant gully's brink In some vast gloomy land.

Sole central watcher, I With steadfast sadness now In that waste place descry 'Neath the awful heavens how

Your life doth dizzy drop A little foam of flame From a peak without a top To a pit without a name.

IN A CHAIR

He room is full of the peace of night, The small flames murmur and flicker and sway, Within me is neither shadow, nor light, Nor night, nor twilight, nor dawn, nor day.

For the brain strives not to the goal of thought, And the limbs lie wearied, and all desire Sleeps for a while, and I am naught But a pair of eyes that gaze at a fire.

A DAY

I. MORNING

The village fades away Where I last night came Where they housed me and fed me And never asked my name.

The sun shines bright, my step is light, I, who have no abode, Jeer at the stuck, monotonous Black posts along the road.

II. MIDDAY

The wood is still, As here I sit My heart drinks in The peace of it.

A something stirs I know not where Some quiet spirit In the air.

O tall straight stems!

O cool deep green!

O hand unfelt!

O face unseen!

III. EVENING

The evening closes in, As down this last long lane I plod; there patter round First heavy drops of rain.

Feet ache, legs ache, but now Step quickens as I think Of mounds of bread and cheese And something hot to drink.

IV. NIGHT

Ah! sleep is sweet, but yet I will not sleep awhile Nor for a s.p.a.ce forget The toil of that last mile;

But lie awake and feel The cool sheets' tremulous kisses O'er all my body steal ...

Is sleep as sweet as this is?

THE MIND OF MAN

I

Beneath my skull-bone and my hair, Covered like a poisonous well, There is a land: if you looked there What you saw you'd quail to tell.

You that sit there smiling, you Know that what I say is true.

My head is very small to touch, I feel it all from front to back, An eared round that weighs not much, Eyes, nose-holes, and a pulpy crack: Oh, how small, how small it is!

How could countries be in this?

Yet, when I watch with eyelids shut, It glimmers forth, now dark, now clear, The city of Cis-Occiput, The marshes and the writhing mere, The land that every man I see Knows in himself but not in me.

II

Upon the borders of the weald (I walk there first when I step in) Set in green wood and smiling field, The city stands, unstained of sin; White thoughts and wishes pure Walk the streets with steps demure.