Pity me not because the light of day At close of day no longer walks the sky; Pity me not for beauties passed away From field and thicket as the year goes by; Pity me not the waning of the moon, Nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea, Nor that a man’s desire is hushed so soon, And you no longer look with love on me. This have I known always: love is no more Than the wide blossom which the wind assails; Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore, Strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales. Pity me that the heart is slow to learn What the swift mind beholds at every turn. I SHALL GO BACK I shall go back again to the bleak shore And build a little shanty on the sand In such a way that the extremest band Of brittle seaweed will escape my door But by a yard or two, and nevermore Shall I return to take you by the hand; I shall be gone to what I understand And happier than I ever was before. The love that stood a moment in your eyes, The words that lay a moment on your tongue, Are one with all that in a moment dies, A little under-said and over-sung; But I shall find the sullen rocks and skies Unchanged from what they were when I was young. THE PEAR TREE In this squalid, dirty dooryard, Where the chickens scratch and run, White, incredible, the pear tree Stands apart and takes the sun, Mindful of the eyes upon it, Vain of its new holiness, Like the waste-man’s little daughter In her first communion dress. WILD SWANS I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over;— And what did I see I had not seen before? Only a question less or a question more; Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying. Tiresome heart, forever living and dying! House without air! I leave you and lock your door! Wild swans, come over the town, come over The town again, trailing your legs and crying! _Mary Carolyn Davies_