Being out of heart with government I took a broken root to fling Where the proud, wayward squirrel went, Taking delight that he could spring; And he, with that low whinnying sound That is like laughter, sprang again And so to the other tree at a bound. Nor the tame will, nor timid brain, Bred that fierce tooth and cleanly limb And threw him up to laugh on the bough; No government appointed him. I THE MAGI Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye, In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones, And all their helms of silver hovering side by side, And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more, Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied, The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor. II THE DOLLS A doll in the doll-maker's house Looks at the cradle and balls: 'That is an insult to us.' But the oldest of all the dolls Who had seen, being kept for show, Generations of his sort, Out-screams the whole shelf: 'Although There's not a man can report Evil of this place, The man and the woman bring Hither to our disgrace, A noisy and filthy thing.' Hearing him groan and stretch The doll-maker's wife is aware Her husband has heard the wretch, And crouched by the arm of his chair, She murmurs into his ear, Head upon shoulder leant: 'My dear, my dear, oh dear, It was an accident.' A COAT I made my song a coat Covered with embroideries Out of old mythologies From heel to throat; But the fools caught it, Wore it in the world's eye As though they'd wrought it. Song, let them take it For there's more enterprise In walking naked. * * * * * _While I, from that reed-throated whisperer_ _Who comes at need, although not now as once_ _A clear articulation in the air_ _But inwardly, surmise companions_ _Beyond the fling of the dull ass's hoof,_ _--Ben Jonson's phrase--and find when June is come_ _At Kyle-na-no under that ancient roof_ _A sterner conscience and a friendlier home,_ _I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs,_ _Those undreamt accidents that have made me_ _--Seeing that Fame has perished this long while_ _Being but a part of ancient ceremony--_ _Notorious, till all my priceless things_ _Are but a post the passing dogs defile._ FROM THE GREEN HELMET AND OTHER POEMS HIS DREAM I swayed upon the gaudy stern The butt end of a steering oar, And everywhere that I could turn Men ran upon the shore. And though I would have hushed the crowd There was no mother's son but said, 'What is the figure in a shroud Upon a gaudy bed?' And fishes bubbling to the brim Cried out upon that thing beneath, --It had such dignity of limb-- By the sweet name of Death.