Collected Poems 1901-1918 in Two Volumes - Volume II. | Page 6

to seven shadows in one place?Stretched black by seven poplar-trees against the sun's bright face.
She looks to left, she looks to right, and in the midst she sees A little pool of water clear and frozen 'neath the trees;?Then down beside its margent in the crusty snow she kneels, And hears a magic belfry a-ringing with sweet bells.
Clear sang the faint far merry peal, then silence on the air, And icy-still the frozen pool and poplars standing there:?Then lo! as Lucy turned her head and looked along the snow?She sees a witch--a witch she sees, come frisking to and fro.
Her scarlet, buckled shoes they clicked, her heels a-twinkling high; With mistletoe her steeple-hat bobbed as she capered by;?But never a dint, or mark, or print, in the whiteness for to see, Though danced she high, though danced she fast, though danced she lissomely.
It seemed 'twas diamonds in the air, or little flakes of frost; It seemed 'twas golden smoke around, or sunbeams lightly tossed; It seemed an elfin music like to reeds and warblers rose:?"Nay!" Lucy said, "it is the wind that through the branches flows."
And as she peeps, and as she peeps, 'tis no more one, but three, And eye of bat, and downy wing of owl within the tree,?And the bells of that sweet belfry a-pealing as before,?And now it is not three she sees, and now it is not four--
"O! who are ye," sweet Lucy cries, "that in a dreadful ring, All muffled up in brindled shawls, do caper, frisk, and spring?" "A witch, and witches, one and nine," they straight to her reply, And looked upon her narrowly, with green and needle eye.
Then Lucy sees in clouds of gold green cherry trees upgrow, And bushes of red roses that bloomed above the snow;?She smells, all faint, the almond-boughs blowing so wild and fair, And doves with milky eyes ascend fluttering in the air.
Clear flowers she sees, like tulip buds, go floating by like birds, With wavering tips that warbled sweetly strange enchanted words; And, as with ropes of amethyst, the boughs with lamps were hung, And clusters of green emeralds like fruit upon them clung.
"O witches nine, ye dreadful nine, O witches seven and three! Whence come these wondrous things that I this Christmas morning see?" But straight, as in a clap, when she of Christmas says the word, Here is the snow, and there the sun, but never bloom nor bird;
Nor warbling flame, nor gloaming-rope of amethyst there shows, Nor bunches of green emeralds, nor belfry, well, and rose,?Nor cloud of gold, nor cherry-tree, nor witch in brindled shawl, But like a dream that vanishes, so vanished were they all.
When Lucy sees, and only sees three crows upon a bough,?And earthly twigs, and bushes hidden white in driven snow,?Then "O!" said Lucy, "three times three is nine--I plainly see Some witch has been a-walking in the fields in front of me."
THE ENGLISHMAN
I met a sailor in the woods,?A silver ring wore he,?His hair hung black, his eyes shone blue,?And thus he said to me:--
"What country, say, of this round earth,?What shore of what salt sea,?Be this, my son, I wander in,?And looks so strange to me?"
Says I, "O foreign sailorman,?In England now you be,?This is her wood, and there her sky,?And that her roaring sea."
He lifts his voice yet louder,?"What smell be this," says he,?"My nose on the sharp morning air?Snuffs up so greedily?"
Says I, "It is wild roses?Do smell so winsomely,?And winy briar, too," says I,?"That in these thickets be."
"And oh!" says he, "what leetle bird?Is singing in yon high tree,?So every shrill and long-drawn note?Like bubbles breaks in me?"
Says I, "It is the mavis?That perches in the tree,?And sings so shrill, and sings so sweet,?When dawn comes up the sea."
At which he fell a-musing,?And fixed his eye on me,?As one alone 'twixt light and dark?A spirit thinks to see.
"England!" he whispers soft and harsh,?"England!" repeated he,?"And briar, and rose, and mavis,?A-singing in yon high tree.
"Ye speak me true, my leetle son,?So--so, it came to me,?A-drifting landwards on a spar,?And grey dawn on the sea.
"Ay, ay, I could not be mistook;?I knew them leafy trees,?I knew that land so witchery sweet,?And that old noise of seas.
"Though here I've sailed a score of years,?And heard 'em, dream or wake,?Lap small and hollow 'gainst my cheek,?On sand and coral break;
"'Yet now,' my leetle son, says I,?A-drifting on the wave,?'That land I see so safe and green,?Is England, I believe.
"'And that there wood is English wood,?And this here cruel sea,?The selfsame old blue ocean?Years gone remembers me.
"'A-sitting with my bread and butter?Down ahind yon chitterin' mill;?And this same Marinere'--(that's me),?'Is that same leetle Will!--
"'That very same wee leetle Will?Eating his bread and butter there,?A-looking on the broad blue sea?Betwixt his yaller hair!'
"And here be I, my son,