Sharing was beyond his skill; Shyly yet, he made essay: Sought to dip, and share, and fill Heart's-desire, from day to day. But their eyes, some foreign way, Looked at him; and he was still. Last, he reached his arms to sleep, Where the Vision waited, dim, Still beyond some deep-on-deep. And the darkness folded him, Eager heart and weary limb.-- All day long, he kept the sheep. THE LONG LANE All through the summer night, down the long lane in flower, The moon-white lane, All through the summer night,--dim as a shower, Glimmer and fade the Twain: Over the cricket hosts, throbbing the hour by hour, Young voices bloom and wane. Down the long lane they go, and past one window, pale With visions silver-blurred; Stirring the heart that waits,--the eyes that fail After a spring deferred. Query, and hush, and Ah!--dim through a moon-lit veil, The same one word. Down the long lane, entwined with all the fragrance there; The lane in flower somehow With youth, and plighted hands, and star-strewn air, And muted 'Thee' and 'Thou':-- All the wild bloom and reach of dreams that never were, --Never to be, now. So, in the throbbing dark, where ebbs the old refrain, A starved heart hears. And silver-bright, and silver-blurred again With moonlight and with tears. All the long night they go, down the long summer lane, The long, long years. _Ah but, Belovèd, men may do All things to music;--march, and die; And wear the longest vigil through, ... And say good-by. All things to music!--Ah, but where Peace never falls upon the air;-- These city-ways of dark and din Where greed has shut and barred them in! And thundering, swart against the sky, That whirlwind,--never to go by-- Of tracks and wheels, that overhead Beat back the senses with their roar And menace of undying war,-- War--war--for daily bread!_ _All things to silence! Ah, but where Men dwell not, but must make a lair;-- And Sorrow may not sit alone, Nor Love hear music of its own; And Thought that strives to breast that sea Must struggle even for memory. Day-long, night-long,--besieging din To thrust all pain the deeper in!-- And drown the flutter of first-breath; And batter at the doors of Death. To lull their dearest:--watch their dead; While the long thunders overhead, Gather and break for evermore, Eternal tides--eternal War, War--war--Bread--bread!_ ALISON'S MOTHER TO THE BROOK Brook, of the listening grass, Brook of the sun-fleckt wings, Brook of the same wild way and flickering spell! Must you begone? Will you forever pass, After so many years and dear to tell?-- Brook of all hoverings ... Brook that I kneel above; Brook of my love.