A Dark Month | Page 5

heard
Still to
speak some ever more delightful word.
All the mists that swim
Round the dawns that grow less dim
Still

wax brighter and more bright with hope of him.
All the suns that rise
Bring that day more near our eyes
When the
sight of him shall clear our clouded skies.
All the winds that roam
Fruitful fields or fruitless foam
Blow the
bright hour near that brings his bright face home.
XXI
I hear of two far hence
In a garden met,
And the fragrance blown
from thence
Fades not yet.
The one is seven years old,
And my friend is he:
But the years of
the other have told
Eighty-three.
To hear these twain converse
Or to see them greet
Were sweeter
than softest verse
May be sweet.
The hoar old gardener there
With an eye more mild
Perchance than
his mild white hair
Meets the child.
I had rather hear the words
That the twain exchange
Than the songs
of all the birds
There that range,
Call, chirp, and twitter there
Through the garden-beds
Where the
sun alike sees fair
Those two heads,
And which may holier be
Held in heaven of those
Or more worth
heart's thanks to see
No man knows.
XXII
Of such is the kingdom of heaven,
No glory that ever was shed

From the crowning star of the seven
That crown the north world's
head,

No word that ever was spoken
Of human or godlike tongue,
Gave
ever such godlike token
Since human harps were strung.
No sign that ever was given
To faithful or faithless eyes
Showed
ever beyond clouds riven
So clear a Paradise.
Earth's creeds may be seventy times seven
And blood have defiled
each creed:
If of such be the kingdom of heaven,
It must be heaven
indeed.
XXIII
The wind on the downs is bright
As though from the sea:
And
morning and night
Take comfort again with me.
He is nearer to-day,
Each night to each morning saith,
Whose return
shall revive dead May
With the balm of his breath.
The sunset says to the moon,
He is nearer to-night
Whose coming
in June
Is looked for more than the light.
Bird answers to bird,
Hour passes the sign on to hour,
And for joy
of the bright news heard
Flower murmurs to flower.
The ways that were glad of his feet
In the woods that he knew

Grow softer to meet
The sense of his footfall anew.
He is near now as day,
Says hope to the new-born light:
He is near
now as June is to May,
Says love to the night.
XXIV
Good things I keep to console me
For lack of the best of all,
A child
to command and control me,
Bid come and remain at his call.
Sun, wind, and woodland and highland,
Give all that ever they gave:


But my world is a cultureless island,
My spirit a masterless slave.
And friends are about me, and better
At summons of no man stand:

But I pine for the touch of a fetter,
The curb of a strong king's hand.
Each hour of the day in her season
Is mine to be served as I will:

And for no more exquisite reason
Are all served idly and ill.
By slavery my sense is corrupted,
My soul not fit to be free:
I
would fain be controlled, interrupted,
Compelled as a thrall may be.
For fault of spur and of bridle
I tire of my stall to death:
My sail
flaps joyless and idle
For want of a small child's breath.
XXV
Whiter and whiter
The dark lines grow,
And broader opens and
brighter
The sense of the text below.
Nightfall and morrow
Bring nigher the boy
Whom wanting we
want not sorrow,
Whom having we want no joy.
Clearer and clearer
The sweet sense grows
Of the word which hath
summer for hearer,
The word on the lips of the rose.
Duskily dwindles
Each deathlike day,
Till June rearising rekindles

The depth of the darkness of May.
XXVI
"In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in
his sphere."
Stars in heaven are many,
Suns in heaven but one:
Nor for man may
any
Star supplant the sun.

Many a child as joyous
As our far-off king
Meets as though to
annoy us
In the paths of spring.
Sure as spring gives warning,
All things dance in tune:
Sun on
Easter morning,
Cloud and windy moon,
Stars between the tossing
Boughs of tuneful trees,
Sails of ships
recrossing
Leagues of dancing seas;
Best, in all this playtime,
Best of all in tune,
Girls more glad than
Maytime,
Boys more bright than June;
Mixed with all those dances,
Far through field and street
Sing their
silent glances,
Ring their radiant feet.
Flowers wherewith May crowned us
Fall ere June be crowned:

Children blossom round us
All the whole year round.
Is the garland worthless
For one rose the less,
And the feast made
mirthless?
Love, at least, says yes.
Strange it were, with many
Stars enkindling air,
Should but one
find any
Welcome: strange it were,
Had one star alone won
Praise for light from far:
Nay, love needs
his own one
Bright particular star.
Hope and recollection
Only lead him right
In its bright reflection

And collateral light.
Find as yet we may not
Comfort in its sphere:
Yet these days will
weigh not
When it warms us here;
When full-orbed it rises,
Now divined afar:
None in all the skies is

Half so good