Cuckoo! In a meadow prone At last I lie, my wits my own; And in my hand I clasp the flower To counteract that magic power; The cuckoo-flower, in a lilac sheet Under body, head and feet. Above me apple-blossoms fleck The cloudless sky, a neighbouring beck With many a happy gurgle goes Down to the farm through alder-rows. Strange it is, and it is sweet, To hear the distant mill-wheel beat, And the kindly cries of men Turning the cattle home again, The clank of pails and all the shades Of laughter of the busy maids. Now is come the evening star, And my limbs new-blooded are. So beside the stream I choose A path that patient anglers use, Which with many twists and turns Brings me where a candle burns, A lowly light, through cottage pane Seen and hid and seen again. Cuckoo! Now you call in vain. I am far and I am free From all woodland wizardry! * * * * * JAMES STEPHENS IN THE POPPY FIELD Mad Patsy said, he said to me, That every morning he could see An angel walking on the sky; Across the sunny skies of morn He threw great handfuls far and nigh Of poppy seed among the corn; And then, he said, the angels run To see the poppies in the sun. A poppy is a devil weed, I said to him--he disagreed; He said the devil had no hand In spreading flowers tall and fair Through corn and rye and meadow land, By garth and barrow everywhere: The devil has not any flower, But only money in his power. And then he stretched out in the sun And rolled upon his back for fun: He kicked his legs and roared for joy Because the sun was shining down, He said he was a little boy And would not work for any clown: He ran and laughed behind a bee, And danced for very ecstasy. IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING I thought I heard Him calling. Did you hear A sound, a little sound? My curious ear Is dinned with flying noises, and the tree Goes--whisper, whisper, whisper silently Till all its whispers spread into the sound Of a dull roar. Lie closer to the ground, The shade is deep and He may pass us by. We are so very small, and His great eye, Customed to starry majesties, may gaze Too wide to spy us hiding in the maze; Ah, misery! the sun has not yet gone And we are naked: He will look upon Our crouching shame, may make us stand upright Burning in terror--O that it were night! He may not come ... what? listen, listen, now-- He is here! lie closer ... 'Adam, where art thou?' THE LONELY GOD So Eden was deserted, and at eve Into the quiet place God came to grieve. His face was sad, His hands hung slackly down Along his robe; too sorrowful to frown He paced along the grassy paths and through The silent trees, and where the flowers grew Tended by Adam. All the birds had gone Out to the world, and singing was not one To cheer the lonely God out of His grief-- The silence broken only when a leaf Tapt lightly on a leaf, or when the wind, Slow-handed, swayed the bushes to its mind.