Thus things around. No answerer I . . . Meanwhile the winds, and rains, And Earth’s old glooms and pains Are still the same, and gladdest Life Death neighbours nigh. THE IMPERCIPIENT (AT A CATHEDRAL SERVICE) THAT from this bright believing band An outcast I should be, That faiths by which my comrades stand Seem fantasies to me, And mirage-mists their Shining Land, Is a drear destiny. Why thus my soul should be consigned To infelicity, Why always I must feel as blind To sights my brethren see, Why joys they’ve found I cannot find, Abides a mystery. Since heart of mine knows not that ease Which they know; since it be That He who breathes All’s Well to these Breathes no All’s-Well to me, My lack might move their sympathies And Christian charity! I am like a gazer who should mark An inland company Standing upfingered, with, “Hark! hark! The glorious distant sea!” And feel, “Alas, ’tis but yon dark And wind-swept pine to me!” Yet I would bear my shortcomings With meet tranquillity, But for the charge that blessed things I’d liefer have unbe. O, doth a bird deprived of wings Go earth-bound wilfully! * * * * * Enough. As yet disquiet clings About us. Rest shall we. [Picture: Sketch of inside of church] AT AN INN WHEN we as strangers sought Their catering care, Veiled smiles bespoke their thought Of what we were. They warmed as they opined Us more than friends— That we had all resigned For love’s dear ends. And that swift sympathy With living love Which quicks the world—maybe The spheres above, Made them our ministers, Moved them to say, “Ah, God, that bliss like theirs Would flush our day!” And we were left alone As Love’s own pair; Yet never the love-light shone Between us there! But that which chilled the breath Of afternoon, And palsied unto death The pane-fly’s tune. The kiss their zeal foretold, And now deemed come, Came not: within his hold Love lingered-numb. Why cast he on our port A bloom not ours? Why shaped us for his sport In after-hours? As we seemed we were not That day afar, And now we seem not what We aching are. O severing sea and land, O laws of men, Ere death, once let us stand As we stood then! THE SLOW NATURE (AN INCIDENT OF FROOM VALLEY) “THY husband—poor, poor Heart!—is dead— Dead, out by Moreford Rise; A bull escaped the barton-shed, Gored him, and there he lies!” —“Ha, ha—go away! ’Tis a tale, methink, Thou joker Kit!” laughed she. “I’ve known thee many a year, Kit Twink, And ever hast thou fooled me!”