At full afternoon slowly the branches Stirred as of old and fragrant with flowers Touched with a breath of wind look down and wonder To where--far below--is the delicate water. Here should be peace as was peace and splendour Of hearts’ first stirrings, the eye to the hills Turned, the call of the perilous margins Life just beginning, but life well begun. Here by the well we played (you remember) (Then too the grasses grew at the edges Tempting small hands but tempt now no longer) Here by the well we dreamed after playing. Have you forgotten (or has death no mercy) How bright the days were and how the evening Softer than sleep laid her mysterious Hands on the garden soothing and changing. Here at the well side we loved after dreaming Since we had played by it, since we had dreamed. Here at the well side love that was wakened Sank like a stone, but leaving no ripple. Here are our shapes that play dream love quarrel, Here are our dreams (and if there were dreamers, If we were not like our visions a dream) All is not over--is all then over? Here is the well and the delicate water Far below gleaming, the starred white branches Fragrant with flowers. Here is the noontide, Even the grasses grow at the edges. What then is gone? If we were the dreamers (And not a dream) then all must be over. I an old man cold, fruitless and lonely, Watch by the water, which you cannot see. But if we two are dreams of a dreamer, All is not over, and here together Age falls from me, and from you the mantle Death seemed to cast, and here by the well side Lifted again is the voice of your singing, Golden again are the perilous margins, Sweet are your eyes and young and immortal Our hearts are set to the day and the hills. JUDAS. Not I, oh Christ, not I betrayed thee But He was traitor, He who made thee Born of a village carpenter With such immortal longings stir As stretched beyond the world and found In God himself the final wound. Through me thou wast by soldiers taken By Him, by Him on the Cross forsaken. THE NIGHT. Be quiet bird Be silent all That e’er were heard And cease to call. Drop perfume rose And flowers white Put off your shows For see ’tis night. Soft creatures slow Begin to pass, And thousands grow From out the grass. With deep low whirr The air is full And through the fir The moon shines cool. There is no pain Sorrow is dead Slow Charles’ wain Wheels overhead. There is no grief All things have ease No bough or leaf Stirs on the trees. OTHER SONNETS. THREE SONNETS OF LOVE. I. AT NOONTIDE SEEKING.