Volume Ii Part 37 (1/2)

From twig to twig the spider weaves At noon his webbing fine.

So near to mute the zephyrs flute That only leaflets dance.

The sun draws out of hazel leaves A smell of woodland wine.

I wake a swarm to sudden storm At any step's advance.

II

Along my path is bugloss blue, The star with fruit in moss; The foxgloves drop from throat to top A daily lesser bell.

The blackest shadow, nurse of dew, Has orange skeins across; And keenly red is one thin thread That flas.h.i.+ng seems to swell.

III

My world I note ere fancy comes, Minutest hushed observe: What busy bits of motioned wits Through antlered mosswork strive.

But now so low the stillness hums, My springs of seeing swerve, For half a wink to thrill and think The woods with nymphs alive.

IV

I neighbour the invisible So close that my consent Is only asked for spirits masked To leap from trees and flowers.

And this because with them I dwell In thought, while calmly bent To read the lines dear Earth designs Shall speak her life on ours.

V

Accept, she says; it is not hard In woods; but she in towns Repeats, accept; and have we wept, And have we quailed with fears, Or shrunk with horrors, sure reward We have whom knowledge crowns; Who see in mould the rose unfold, The soul through blood and tears.

NATURE AND LIFE

I

Leave the uproar: at a leap Thou shalt strike a woodland path, Enter silence, not of sleep, Under shadows, not of wrath; Breath which is the spirit's bath In the old Beginnings find, And endow them with a mind, Seed for seedling, swathe for swathe.

That gives Nature to us, this Give we her, and so we kiss.

II

Fruitful is it so: but hear How within the sh.e.l.l thou art, Music sounds; nor other near Can to such a tremor start.

Of the waves our life is part; They our running harvests bear: Back to them for manful air, Laden with the woodland's heart!

That gives Battle to us, this Give we it, and good the kiss.

DIRGE IN WOODS

A wind sways the pines, And below Not a breath of wild air; Still as the mosses that glow On the flooring and over the lines Of the roots here and there.

The pine-tree drops its dead; They are quiet, as under the sea.

Overhead, overhead Rushes life in a race, As the clouds the clouds chase; And we go, And we drop like the fruits of the tree, Even we, Even so.

A FAITH ON TRIAL

On the morning of May, Ere the children had entered my gate With their wreaths and mechanical lay, A metal ding-dong of the date!

I mounted our hill, bearing heart That had little of life save its weight: The crowned Shadow poising dart Hung over her: she, my own, My good companion, mate, Pulse of me: she who had shown Fort.i.tude quiet as Earth's At the shedding of leaves. And around The sky was in garlands of cloud, Winning scents from unnumbered new births, Pointed buds, where the woods were browned By a mouldered beechen shroud; Or over our meads of the vale, Such an answer to sun as he, Brave in his gold; to a sound, None sweeter, of woods flapping sail, With the first full flood of our year, For their voyage on l.u.s.treful sea: Unto what curtained haven in chief, Will be writ in the book of the sere.

But surely the crew are we, Eager or stamped or bowed; Counted thinner at fall of the leaf.

Grief heard them, and pa.s.sed like a bier.

Due Summerward, lo, they were set, In volumes of foliage proud, On the heave of their favouring tides, And their song broadened out to the cheer When a neck of the ramping surf Rattles thunder a boat overrides.

All smiles ran the highways wet; The worm drew its links from the turf; The bird of felicity loud Spun high, and a South wind blew.