Then the wrack tattered and the stars appeared, Millions of stars that seemed to speak in fire; A byre-cock cried aloud that morning neared, The swinging wind-vane flashed upon the spire. And soon men looked upon a glittering earth, Intensely sparkling like a world new-born; Only to look was spiritual birth, So bright the raindrops ran along the thorn. So bright they were, that one could almost pass Beyond their twinkling to the source, and know The glory pushing in the blade of grass, That hidden soul which makes the flowers grow. That soul was there apparent, not revealed; Unearthly meanings covered every tree; That wet grass grew in an immortal field; Those waters fed some never-wrinkled sea. The scarlet berries in the hedge stood out Like revelations, but the tongue unknown; Even in the brooks a joy was quick; the trout Rushed in a dumbness dumb to me alone. All of the valley was aloud with brooks; I walked the morning, breasting up the fells, Taking again lost childhood from the rooks, Whose cawing came above the Christmas bells. I had not walked that glittering world before, But up the hill a prompting came to me, 'This line of upland runs along the shore: Beyond the hedgerow I shall see the sea.' And on the instant from beyond away That long familiar sound, a ship's bell, broke The hush below me in the unseen bay. Old memories came: that inner prompting spoke. And bright above the hedge a seagull's wings Flashed and were steady upon empty air. 'A Power unseen,' I cried, 'prepares these things; 'Those are her bells, the 'Wanderer' is there.' So, hurrying to the hedge and looking down, I saw a mighty bay's wind-crinkled blue Ruffling the image of a tranquil town, With lapsing waters glittering as they grew. And near me in the road the shipping swung, So stately and so still in such great peace That like to drooping crests their colours hung, Only their shadows trembled without cease. I did but glance upon those anchored ships. Even as my thought had told, I saw her plain; Tense, like a supple athlete with lean hips, Swiftness at pause, the 'Wanderer' come again-- Come as of old a queen, untouched by Time, Resting the beauty that no seas could tire, Sparkling, as though the midnight's rain were rime, Like a man's thought transfigured into fire. And as I looked, one of her men began To sing some simple tune of Christmas Day; Among her crew the song spread, man to man, Until the singing rang across the bay; And soon in other anchored ships the men Joined in the singing with clear throats, until The farm-boy heard it up the windy glen, Above the noise of sheep-bells on the hill. Over the water came the lifted song-- Blind pieces in a mighty game we swing; Life's battle is a conquest for the strong; The meaning shows in the defeated thing. * * * * * HAROLD MONRO MILK FOR THE CAT