He set to build the manor-hall, And shaped the turrets there, And the broad newelled stair, And the cool well for crystal water; He built for me that manor-hall, And planted many trees withal, But no rose anywhere. And as he planted never a rose That bears the flower of love, Though other flowers throve A frost-wind moved our souls to sever Since he had planted never a rose; And misconceits raised horrid shows, And agonies came thereof. “I’ll mend these miseries,” then said I, And so, at dead of night, I went and, screened from sight, That nought should keep our souls in severance, I set a rose-bush. “This,” said I, “May end divisions dire and wry, And long-drawn days of blight.” But I was called from earth—yea, called Before my rose-bush grew; And would that now I knew What feels he of the tree I planted, And whether, after I was called To be a ghost, he, as of old, Gave me his heart anew! Perhaps now blooms that queen of trees I set but saw not grow, And he, beside its glow— Eyes couched of the mis-vision that blurred me— Ay, there beside that queen of trees He sees me as I was, though sees Too late to tell me so! ST. LAUNCE’S REVISITED SLIP back, Time! Yet again I am nearing Castle and keep, uprearing Gray, as in my prime. At the inn Smiling close, why is it Not as on my visit When hope and I were twin? Groom and jade Whom I found here, moulder; Strange the tavern-holder, Strange the tap-maid. Here I hired Horse and man for bearing Me on my wayfaring To the door desired. Evening gloomed As I journeyed forward To the faces shoreward, Till their dwelling loomed. If again Towards the Atlantic sea there I should speed, they’d be there Surely now as then? . . . Why waste thought, When I know them vanished Under earth; yea, banished Ever into nought. POEMS OF 1912–13 _Veteris vestigia flammae_ THE GOING WHY did you give no hint that night That quickly after the morrow’s dawn, And calmly, as if indifferent quite, You would close your term here, up and be gone Where I could not follow With wing of swallow To gain one glimpse of you ever anon! Never to bid good-bye, Or give me the softest call, Or utter a wish for a word, while I Saw morning harden upon the wall, Unmoved, unknowing That your great going Had place that moment, and altered all.