17

You, unsuspecting, wear me too –And angels know the rest.I hide myself within my flower,That, fading from your vase,You, unsuspecting, feel for meAlmost a loneliness.

In a Cathedral Aisle,And understood no word it said—Yet held my breath, the while—And risen up—and gone away,A more Berdardine Girl—Yet—know not what was done to meIn that old Chapel Aisle.

So pretty—so ashamed!So hidden in her leafletsLest anybody find—So breathless till I passed here—So helpless when I turnedAnd bore her struggling, blushing,Her simple haunts beyond!For whom I robbed the Dingle—For whom I betrayed the Dell—Many, will doubtless ask me,But I shall never tell!

Yet confident they runAm I, from symptoms that are pastAnd Series that are done—I find my feet have further Goals—I smile upon the AimsThat felt so ample—Yesterday—Today’s—have vaster claims—I do not doubt the self I wasWas competent to me—But something awkward in the fit—Proves that—outgrown—I see—

Four—have recovered the Land—Forty—gone down together—Into the boiling Sand—Ring—for the Scant Salvation—Toll—for the bonnie Souls—Neighbor—and friend—and Bridegroom—Spinning upon the Shoals—How they will tell the Story—When Winter shake the Door—Till the Children urge—But the Forty—Did they—come back no more?Then a softness—suffuse the Story—And a silence—the Teller’s eye—And the Children—no further question—And only the Sea—reply—

Though its hallucinationIs last that leaves –Tomorrow – thou RetrieverOf every tare –Of Alibi art thouOr ownest where?