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Played out to me
The sweet Sicilian sailors' tune；
And I knew not if late or soon
My day would be：
A day of sunshine beryl…bright
And windless； yea； think as I might；
I could not say；
Even to within years' measure； when
One would be at my side who then
Was far away。
When hard utilitarian times
Had stilled the sweet Saint…Peter's chimes
I learnt to see
That bale may spring where blisses are；
And one desired might be afar
Though near to me。
THE FIGURE IN THE SCENE
It pleased her to step in front and sit
Where the cragged slope was green；
While I stood back that I might pencil it
With her amid the scene；
Till it gloomed and rained；
But I kept on； despite the drifting wet
That fell and stained
My draught； leaving for curious quizzings yet
The blots engrained。
And thus I drew her there alone；
Seated amid the gauze
Of moisture； hooded； only her outline shown；
With rainfall marked across。
Soon passed our stay；
Yet her rainy form is the Genius still of the spot；
Immutable； yea；
Though the place now knows her no more； and has known her not
Ever since that day。
From an old note。
〃WHY DID I SKETCH〃
Why did I sketch an upland green；
And put the figure in
Of one on the spot with me？ …
For now that one has ceased to be seen
The picture waxes akin
To a wordless irony。
If you go drawing on down or cliff
Let no soft curves intrude
Of a woman's silhouette；
But show the escarpments stark and stiff
As in utter solitude；
So shall you half forget。
Let me sooner pass from sight of the sky
Than again on a thoughtless day
Limn； laugh； and sing； and rhyme
With a woman sitting near； whom I
Paint in for love； and who may
Be called hence in my time！
From an old note。
CONJECTURE
If there were in my kalendar
No Emma； Florence； Mary；
What would be my existence now …
A hermit's？wanderer's weary？ …
How should I live； and how
Near would be death； or far？
Could it have been that other eyes
Might have uplit my highway？
That fond； sad； retrospective sight
Would catch from this dim byway
Prized figures different quite
From those that now arise？
With how strange aspect would there creep
The dawn； the night； the daytime；
If memory were not what it is
In song…time； toil； or pray…time。 …
O were it else than this；
I'd pass to pulseless sleep！
THE BLOW
That no man schemed it is my hope …
Yea； that it fell by will and scope
Of That Which some enthrone；
And for whose meaning myriads grope。
For I would not that of my kind
There should； of his unbiassed mind；
Have been one known
Who such a stroke could have designed；
Since it would augur works and ways
Below the lowest that man assays
To have hurled that stone
Into the sunshine of our days！
And if it prove that no man did；
And that the Inscrutable； the Hid；
Was cause alone
Of this foul crash our lives amid；
I'll go in due time； and forget
In some deep graveyard's oubliette
The thing whereof I groan；
And cease from troubling； thankful yet
Time's finger should have stretched to show
No aimful author's was the blow
That swept us prone；
But the Immanent Doer's That doth not know；
Which in some age unguessed of us
May lift Its blinding incubus；
And see； and own：
〃It grieves me I did thus and thus！〃
LOVE THE MONOPOLIST
（Young Lover's Reverie）
The train draws forth from the station…yard；
And with it carries me。
I rise； and stretch out； and regard
The platform left； and see
An airy slim blue form there standing；
And know that it is she。
While with strained vision I watch on；
The figure turns round quite
To greet friends gaily； then is gone 。 。 。
The import may be slight；
But why remained she not hard gazing
Till I was out of sight？
〃O do not chat with others there；〃
I brood。 〃They are not I。
O strain your thoughts as if they were
Gold bands between us； eye
All neighbour scenes as so much blankness
Till I again am by！
〃A troubled soughing in the breeze
And the sky overhead
Let yourself feel； and shadeful trees；
Ripe corn； and apples red；
Read as things barren and distasteful
While we are separated！
〃When I come back uncloak your gloom；
And let in lovely day；
Then the long dark as of the tomb
Can well be thrust away
With sweet things I shall have to practise；
And you will have to say！〃
Begun 1871： finished …
AT MIDDLE…FIELD GATE IN FEBRUARY
The bars are thick with drops that show
As they gather themselves from the fog
Like silver buttons ranged in a row；
And as evenly spaced as if measured； although
They fall at the feeblest jog。
They load the leafless hedge hard by；
And the blades of last year's grass；
While the fallow ploughland turned up nigh
In raw rolls； clammy and clogging lie …
Too clogging for feet to pass。
How dry it was on a far…back day
When straws hung the hedge and around；
When amid the sheaves in amorous play
In curtained bonnets and light array
Bloomed a bevy now underground！
BOCKHAMPTON LANE。
THE YOUTH WHO CARRIED A LIGHT
I saw him pass as the new day dawned；
Murmuring some musical phrase；
Horses were drinking and floundering in the pond；
And the tired stars thinned their gaze；
Yet these were not the spectacles at all that he conned；
But an inner one； giving out rays。
Such was the thing in his eye； walking there；
The very and visible thing；
A close light； displacing the gray of the morning air；
And the tokens that the dark was taking wing；
And was it not the radiance of a purpose rare
That might ripe to its accomplishing？
What became of that light？ I wonder still its fate！
Was it quenched ere its full apogee？
Did it struggle frail and frailer to a beam emaciate？
Did it thrive till matured in verity？
Or did it travel on； to be a new young dreamer's freight；
And thence on infinitely？
1915。
THE HEAD ABOVE THE FOG
Something do I see
Above the fog that sheets the mead；
A figure like to life indeed；
Moving along with spectre…speed；
Seen by none but me。
O the vision keen！ …
Tripping along to me for love
As in the flesh it used to move；
Only its hat and plume above
The evening fog…fleece seen。
In the day…fall wan；
When nighted birds break off their song；
Mere ghostly head it skims along；
Just as it did when warm and strong；
Body seeming gone。
Such it is I see
Above the fog that sheets the mead …
Yea； that which once could breathe and plead！ …
Skimming along with spectre…speed
To a last tryst with me。
OVERLOOKING THE RIVER STOUR
The swallows flew in the curves of an eight
Above the river…gleam
In the wet June's last beam：
Like little crossbows animate
The swallows flew in the curves of an eight
Above the river…gleam。
Planing up shavings of crystal spray
A moor…hen darted out
From the bank thereabout；
And through the stream…shine