Resting their sack on the stones, by the drenched wayside,
Looking at us with their lightless eyes
through the driving rain, and then out again
To the rocks, and the long white line of the tide:
Frozen ghosts that were children once,
husband and wife, father, and mother,
Looking at us with those frozen eyes;
have you ever seen anything quite so chilled
or so old?
But we – with our arms about each other,
We did not feel the cold!
Was thinkin’ the toss and the call in the breast of the loverSo everlastin’ as the sea.Heer’s the same little fishes that sputter an swim,Wi’ the moon’s old glim on the grey, wet sand;An’ him no more to me mor me to himThan the wind goin’ over my hand.
But no man can move mountains in a day.So this hard thing is yet to do.But first I want your life:–before I die I want to seeThe world that lies behind the strangeness of your eyes,There is nothing gay or green there for my gathering, it may be,Yet on brown fields there liesA haunting purple…
At harvest-time that a bide and woo.When us was wed she turned afraidOf love and me and all things human;Like the shut of winter’s dayHer smile went out, and `twadn’t a woman-More like a little frightened fay.One night, in the Fall, she runned away.‘Out ‘mong the sheep, her be,’ they said,Should properly have been abed;But…
the gardens.For days there has been the grate of the saw, the swish ofthe branches as they fall,The crash of the trunks, the rustle of trodden leaves,With the ‘Whoops’ and the ‘Whoa’, the loud common talk,the loud common laughs of the men, above it all.I remember one evening of a long past SpringTurning in at…
Over my head the curlews call, And now there is the night wind in my hair;My heart is against the grass and the sweet earth, – it has gone still, at last;It does not want to beat any more,And why should it beat?This is the end of the journey.The Thing is found.This is the end…
I had not noticed her beforeShe snatched my eyes and threw them back to me:She did not speak till we came out into the night,Paused at this bench beside the klosk on the quay.God knows precisely what she said–I left to her the twisted skein,Though here and there I caught a thread,–Something, at first, about…
