And that other night, When the river rippled with faint spears Of street lights vaguely reflected. Grey The evening, like an opal; low, A grey moon shrouded in sea fog: Air pregnant with spring; rasp of my steps Beside the lapping water; within The dark. Down the worn out years a sob Of broken loves; old pain Of dead farewells; and one face Fading into grey.... A silver web has the moon spun, A silver web over all the sky. In her flooding glory, one by one, Like gnats in a web the stars die. * * * * * ROBERT HILLYER FOUR SONNETS FROM A SONNET-SEQUENCE I Quickly and pleasantly the seasons blow Over the meadows of eternity, As wave on wave the pulsings of the sea Merge and are lost, each in the other's flow. Time is no lover; it is only he That is the one unconquerable foe, He is the sudden tempest none can know, Winged with swift winds the none may hope to flee. Fair child of loveliness, these endless fears Are nought to us; let us be gods of stone, And set our images beyond the years On some high mount where we can be alone. And thou shalt ever be as now thou art, And I shall watch thee with untroubled heart. II Then judge me as thou wilt, I cannot flee, I cannot turn away from thee forever, For there are bonds that wisdom cannot sever And slaves with souls far freer than the free. Such strong desires the universal Giver With unknown plan has buried deep in me That the exquisite joy of watching thee Has dominated all my life's endeavor. Thou weariest of having me so near, I feel the scorn thou hast within thy heart, And yet thy face has never seemed so dear As now, when I am minded to depart. Though thou shouldst drive me hence, I love thee so That I would watch thee when thou dost not know. III Fly, joyous wind, through all the wakened earth Now when the portals of the dawn outpour A myriad wonders from the radiant store Of spring's deep passion and loud-ringing mirth. Cry to the world that I despair no more, Heart greets my heart and hope has proved its worth; Fly where the legions of the sun have birth, Chant everywhere and everywhere adore. Circle the basking hills in fragrant flight, Shout Rapture! Rapture! if sweet sorrow passes, And whisper low in intimate delight My love-song to the undulating grasses. Grief is no more, love rises with the spring, O fly, free wind, and Rapture! Rapture! sing. IV Long after both of us are scattered dust And some strange souls perchance shall read of thee, Finding the yearnings that have crushed from me These poor confessions of my love and trust, I know how misinterpreted will be These lines, for men will laugh, or more unjust, Thinking not once of love, but only lust, Will stain the vesture of our memory.