'Valiant she was, and comradely, and bold; High-mettled; all her thoughts a challenge, like gay ships Adventurous, with treasure in the hold. I met her with the lesson put into my lips, 'Spoke reason to her, and she bowed her head, Having no argument, and giving up the strife. She said I should be free. I think she said That, for the asking, she would give me all her life.' And still they led him onwards, and he still Looked back towards her standing there; and they, content, Cheered him and praised him that he did their will. The gradual distance hid them, and she turned, and went. EVENING When little lights in little ports come out, Quivering down through water with the stars, And all the fishing fleet of slender spars Range at their moorings, veer with tide about; When race of wind is stilled and sails are furled, And underneath our single riding-light The curve of black-ribbed deck gleams palely white, And slumbrous waters pool a slumbrous world; --Then, and then only, have I thought how sweet Old age might sink upon a windy youth, Quiet beneath the riding-light of truth, Weathered through storms, and gracious in retreat. * * * * * EDWARD SHANKS THE ROCK POOL This is the sea. In these uneven walls A wave lies prisoned. Far and far away Outward to ocean, as the slow tide falls, Her sisters through the capes that hold the bay Dancing in lovely liberty recede. Yet lovely in captivity she lies, Filled with soft colours, where the wavering weed Moves gently and discloses to our eyes Blurred shining veins of rock and lucent shells Under the light-shot water; and here repose Small quiet fish and dimly glowing bells Of sleeping sea-anemones that close Their tender fronds and will not now awake Till on these rocks the waves returning break. THE GLADE We may raise our voices even in this still glade: Though the colours and shadows and sounds so fleeting seem, We shall not dispel them. They are not made Frailly by earth or hands, but immortal in our dream. We may touch the faint violets with the hands of thought, Or lay the pale core of the wild arum bare; And for ever in our minds the white wild cherry is caught, Cloudy against the sky and melting into air. This which we have seen is eternally ours, No others shall tread in the glade which now we see; Their hands shall not touch the frail tranquil flowers, Nor their hearts faint in wonder at the wild white tree. MEMORY In silence and in darkness memory wakes Her million sheathed buds, and breaks That day-long winter when the light and noise And hard bleak breath of the outward-looking will Made barren her tender soil, when every voice Of her million airy birds was muffled or still. One bud-sheath breaks: One sudden voice awakes.