His eyes are quickened so with grief, He can watch a grass or leaf Every instant grow; he can Clearly through a flint wall see, Or watch the startled spirit flee From the throat of a dead man. Across two counties he can hear, And catch your words before you speak. The woodlouse or the maggot's weak Clamour rings in his sad ear; And noise so slight it would surpass Credence:--drinking sound of grass, Worm talk, clashing jaws of moth Chumbling holes in cloth: The groan of ants who undertake Gigantic loads for honour's sake, Their sinews creak, their breath comes thin: Whir of spiders when they spin, And minute whispering, mumbling, sighs Of idle grubs and flies. This man is quickened so with grief, He wanders god-like or like thief Inside and out, below, above, Without relief seeking lost love. FOX'S DINGLE Take now a country mood, Resolve, distil it:-- Nine Acre swaying alive, June flowers that fill it, Spicy sweet-briar bush, The uneasy wren Fluttering from ash to birch And back again, Milkwort on its low stem, Spread hawthorn tree, Sunlight patching the wood, A hive-bound bee.... Girls riding nim-nim-nim, Ladies, trot-trot, Gentlemen hard at gallop, Shouting, steam-hot. Now over the rough turf Bridles go jingle, And there's a well loved pool, By Fox's Dingle, Where Sweetheart, my brown mare, Old Glory's daughter, May loll her leathern tongue In snow-cool water. THE GNAT The shepherd Watkin heard an inner voice Calling "My creature, ho! be warned, be ready!" Calling, "The moment comes, therefore be ready!" And a third time calling, "Creature, be ready!" This old poor man mistook the call, which sounded Not for himself, but for his pensioner. Now (truth or phantasy) the shepherd nourished Fast in his brain, due earnings of transgression, A creature like to that avenging fly Once crept unseen in at King Herod's ear, Tunnelling gradually inwards, upwards, Heading for flowery pastures of the brain, And battened on such grand, presumptuous fare As grew him brazen claws and brazen hair And wings of iron mail. Old Watkin felt A like intruder channelling to and fro. He cursed his day and sin done in past years, Repentance choked, pride that outlawed his heart, So that at night often in thunderous weather Racked with the pain he'd start From sleep, incontinently howling, leaping, Striking his hoar head on the cottage walls, Stamping his feet, dragging his hair by the roots. He'd rouse the Gnat to anger, send it buzzing Like a huge mill, scraping with metal claws At his midpoint of being; forthwith tumble With a great cry for Death to stoop and end him.