And where were hills of blue, Blind drifts of vapour blow, And the names of former dwellers few, If any, people know, And instead of a voice that called, “Come in, Dears,” Time calls, “Pass below!” THE OCCULTATION WHEN the cloud shut down on the morning shine, And darkened the sun, I said, “So ended that joy of mine Years back begun.” But day continued its lustrous roll In upper air; And did my late irradiate soul Live on somewhere? LIFE LAUGHS ONWARD RAMBLING I looked for an old abode Where, years back, one had lived I knew; Its site a dwelling duly showed, But it was new. I went where, not so long ago, The sod had riven two breasts asunder; Daisies throve gaily there, as though No grave were under. I walked along a terrace where Loud children gambolled in the sun; The figure that had once sat there Was missed by none. Life laughed and moved on unsubdued, I saw that Old succumbed to Young: ’Twas well. My too regretful mood Died on my tongue. THE PEACE-OFFERING IT was but a little thing, Yet I knew it meant to me Ease from what had given a sting To the very birdsinging Latterly. But I would not welcome it; And for all I then declined O the regrettings infinite When the night-processions flit Through the mind! “SOMETHING TAPPED” SOMETHING tapped on the pane of my room When there was never a trace Of wind or rain, and I saw in the gloom My weary Belovéd’s face. “O I am tired of waiting,” she said, “Night, morn, noon, afternoon; So cold it is in my lonely bed, And I thought you would join me soon!” I rose and neared the window-glass, But vanished thence had she: Only a pallid moth, alas, Tapped at the pane for me. _August_ 1913. THE WOUND I CLIMBED to the crest, And, fog-festooned, The sun lay west Like a crimson wound: Like that wound of mine Of which none knew, For I’d given no sign That it pierced me through. A MERRYMAKING IN QUESTION “I WILL get a new string for my fiddle, And call to the neighbours to come, And partners shall dance down the middle Until the old pewter-wares hum: And we’ll sip the mead, cyder, and rum!” From the night came the oddest of answers: A hollow wind, like a bassoon, And headstones all ranged up as dancers, And cypresses droning a croon, And gurgoyles that mouthed to the tune. “I SAID AND SANG HER EXCELLENCE” (_Fickle Lover’s Song_) I SAID and sang her excellence: They called it laud undue. (Have your way, my heart, O!) Yet what was homage far above The plain deserts of my olden Love Proved verity of my new.