Snippets and odd ends folded by, forgotten, With camphor on a top shelf, hard to find, Now wake to this most happy resurrection, To Dinda playing toss with a reel of cotton And staring at the blind. Dinda in sing-song stretching out one hand Calls for the playthings; mother does not hear: Her mind sails far away on a patchwork Ocean, And all the world must wait till she touches land, So Dinda cries in fear, Then Mother turns, laughing like a young fairy, And Dinda smiles to see her look so kind, Calls out again for playthings, playthings, playthings, And now the shadows make an Umbrian "_Mary Adoring_," on the blind. KIT LOGAN AND LADY HELEN Here is Kit Logan with her love-child come To Lady Helen's gate: Then down sweeps Helen from the Italian room, She, with her child of hate. Kit's boy was born of violent hot desire, Helen's of hate and dread: Poor girl, betrayed to union with the Squire, Loathing her marriage bed. _Kit Logan, who is father to your boy?_ But Helen knows, too well: Listen what biting taunts they both employ, Watch their red anger swell. Yet each would give her undying soul to be Changed to the other's place. Kit from the wet road's tasking cruelty Looks up to silk and lace, Helen looks down at rags, her fluttering pride Caught in this cage of glass, Eager to trudge, thieve, beg by the road-side, Or starving to eat grass ... Silence. Wrath dies. For Woman's old good name Each swears a sister's oath; Weeping, they kiss; to the Squire's lasting shame, Who broke the heart in both. DOWN Downstairs a clock had chimed, two o'clock only. Then outside from the hen-roost crowing came. But why should Shift-wing call against the clock, Three hours from dawn? The shutters click and knock, And he remembers a sad superstition Unfitting for the sick-bed--Turn aside, Distract, divide, ponder the simple tales That puzzled childhood; riddles, turn them over, Half-riddles, answerless, the more intense!-- Lost bars of music tinkling with no sense Recur, drowning uneasy superstition.