With expectance of goodly harvest and rain in Spring To such as perform the will of the Jealous King. To his priestly servants hearken! The syllables die. 40 Now up from the congregation issues a sigh As of stopped breath slow released. But here stands one Who has kept his feet though the others fell like stone, Who prays with outstretched palms, standing alone, To a God who is speechless, not to be known by touch, By sight, sound, scent. And I cry, “Not overmuch Do I love this juggling blasphemy, O High Priest. Or do you deny your part here? Then, at least, An honest citizen of this honest town May preach these nightmare apparitions down, 50 These blundering, perfumed noises come to tell No more than a priest-instructed folk knows well. Out, meddlesome Imps, whatever Powers you be, Break not true prayer between my God and me.” TO ANY SAINT You turn the unsmitten other cheek, In silence welcoming God’s grace, Disdaining, though they scourge, to speak, Smiling forgiveness face to face. You plunge your arms in tyrant flame, From ravening beasts you do not fly, Calling aloud on one sweet Name, Hosannah-singing till you die. So angered by your undefeat, Revenge through Christ they meditate, Disciples at the bishop’s feet They learn this newer sort of hate, This unresisting meek assault On furious foe or stubborn friend, This virtue purged of every fault By furtherance of the martyr’s end, This baffling stroke of naked pride, When satires fail and curses fail To pierce the justice’s tough hide, To abash the cynics of the jail. Oh, not less violent, not less keen And barbèd more than murder’s blade! “The brook,” you sigh, “that washes clean, The flower of love that will not fade!” A DEWDROP The dewdrop carries in its eye Snowdon and Hebog, sea and sky, Twelve lakes at least, woods, rivers, moors, And half a county’s out-of-doors: Trembling beneath a wind-flower’s shield In this remote and rocky field. But why should man in God’s Name stress The dewdrop’s inconspicuousness When to lakes, woods, the estuary, Hebog and Snowdon, sky and sea, This dewdrop falling from its leaf Can spread amazement near to grief, As it were a world distinct in mould Lost with its beauty ages old? A VALENTINE