Part 5 (2/2)

Memory fades, must the remembered Peris.h.i.+ng be?

Oh, when this my dust surrenders Hand, foot, lip, to dust again, May those loved and loving faces Please other men!

May the rusting harvest hedgerow Still the Traveller's Joy entwine, And as happy children gather Posies once mine.

Look thy last on all things lovely, Every hour. Let no night Seal thy sense in deathly slumber Till to delight Thou have paid thy utmost blessing; Since that all things thou wouldst praise Beauty took from those who loved them In other days.

JOHN DRINKWATER

DEER

Shy in their herding dwell the fallow deer.

They are spirits of wild sense. n.o.body near Comes upon their pastures. There a life they live, Of sufficient beauty, phantom, fugitive Treading as in jungles free leopards do, Printless as evelight, instant as dew.

The great kine are patient, and home-coming sheep Know our bidding. The fallow deer keep Delicate and far their counsels wild, Never to be folded reconciled To the spoiling hand as the poor flocks are; Lightfoot, and swift, and unfamiliar, These you may not hinder, unconfined Beautiful flocks of the mind.

MOONLIT APPLES

At the top of the house the apples are laid in rows, And the skylight lets the moonlight in, and those Apples are deep-sea apples of green. There goes A cloud on the moon in the autumn night.

A mouse in the wainscot scratches, and scratches, and then There is no sound at the top of the house of men Or mice; and the cloud is blown, and the moon again Dapples the apples with deep-sea light.

They are lying in rows there, under the gloomy beams; On the sagging floor; they gather the silver streams Out of the moon, those moonlit apples of dreams, And quiet is the steep stair under.

In the corridors under there is nothing but sleep.

And stiller than ever on orchard boughs they keep Tryst with the moon, and deep is the silence, deep On moon-washed apples of wonder.

SOUTHAMPTON BELLS

I

Long ago some builder thrust Heavenward in Southampton town His spire and beamed his bells, Largely conceiving from the dust That pinnacle for ringing down Orisons and Noels.

In his imagination rang, Through generations challenging His peal on simple men, Who, as the heart within him sang, In daily townfaring should sing By year and year again.

II

Now often to their ringing go The bellmen with lean Time at heel, Intent on daily cares; The bells ring high, the bells ring low, The ringers ring the builder's peal Of tidings unawares.

And all the bells might well be dumb For any quickening in the street Of customary ears; And so at last proud builders come With dreams and virtues to defeat Among the clouding years.

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