Part 16 (1/2)

1915.

BLACK SONG

I.--AT BRAYDON

Day wanes slowly; On the hill no sound Save the wind uttering Chords low ... few ... profound.

How the west smokes and quivers!

It sears, it blinds my sight; I am burned out wholly, Hide me from the light.

Within dear arms yoke me, Gather me. I am sped Into your little bosom Press, hide my childish head.

How long I have struggled I know not; but the past Seems twice livelong, Beaten at the last!

My soul leaps and shudders In pain none understands; With your clear voice calm it, Soothe it with your hands.

I can say only --So lost am I, so distressed-- ”I love you: I am tired.”

You must guess the rest.

I love you: I am tired.

I give you my soul, It hurts me. Hate has lamed it.

Take it; make it whole.

_Late Summer_, 1916.

II.--MIDDAY ON THE EDGE OF THE DOWNS

Stillness falls and a glare.

The woods in darkness lie.

The fields are stretched and stare Under the empty sky.

Vacant the ways of the air, Along which no birds fly.

Only the high sun's flare Spills on the empty sky.

I lift my aching eyes From the dry wilderness: Across me a peewit flies With gestures meaningless....

Mine are his piping cries At this world's emptiness!

1913.

III.--IN DORSETs.h.i.+RE

Cold and bare the sunlight Drifted across the hill, Round which the sea wind's current Unfathomable and chill, From dawn to silver sunset Poured now faint, now shrill.