  NIGHT-SOUNDSFaintly through my window come Sounds of things unheard by day, Things that nightly speak and play, But by day again go dumb. Uncouth owls, with shuddering cry, Flap great wings in horrid grief Flap and swoop on journeys brief, Hooting long and miserably. Lurching in unsteady flight Comes a lean bat, singing shrill, Stumbles on my window sill, And staggers off into the night. Wild duck, waking on the marsh, Din against my sleepy senses; Like the wind on creaking fences Comes their croaking, faint and harsh. There’s a little bush I hear Muttering, frightened, half-asleep; Now a leafy voice, more deep, Rustles vague comfort, soothes its fear. Water flows not as by day. A new tone through its voice has crept. Streams that in daylight laughed and leapt And had humorous things to say, Speak so gravely now, and mutter Of things secret, scarcely guessed, Winds’ and Waters’ veiled unrest, Griefs too big for man to utter. Of the days before man came The days when man shall be no more, And Earth again be ruled by Four, Air and Water, Earth and Flame. Now a sudden silence falls; Until like rocking, silver boats Come the curlew’s ripply notes How far the curious music calls! And sweet twitters whisper clearly
From the tree tops dimly seen Piping from the shadowy green That the dawn is here, or nearly. ‘A STRONGER THAN HE SHALL COME UPON HIM...’And then he was seized by one who was stronger than he, Seized and tamed and bound and forced to obey; From the swinging choice of evil or good he was free; Good was no longer; evil had vanished away He left to another the gain or loss of the day. Was he driven or drawn? What matter? He was content. He yielded him, body and soul, to the whirl of War As one yields to the high sea-wind, and is buffered, bent To his will, when, shouting, he stamps in over the shore Triumphant, driving all things like dust before. Can aught but a rock stand firm, or question his might Who tosses the leaves and clouds from a hand so strong? The trees and grasses bow in awe of his might, And men in the mountains, hearing his giant-song, Yield, and are hurried—whirled—hounded along. Thus he yielded to War, who was stronger than he— No time to think—no time to ponder and weigh— He was swept like a straw on the wind—and yet he knew himself free Was it freedom or bondage, this? In truth, it were hard to say; But, slave or king, he bowed his head to obey. COLOURFlowers, thick as stars, lay Splashed about the roadway— Flowers nodding up and down, Gold, lilac, fern-brown, Colour in which to drown. The Channel was a dark blue streak, With pools rosy like the cheek Of a girl too shy to speak, And coloured clouds went tossing past, Warm and windy, Vivid and quaint, Faint and eager and vast. Colour, thick as dust, lay Spattered about the highway— Colour so bright that one would think White, blue, cherry-pink Were made to clutch and drink, Colour that made one stop and say, ‘Earth, are you Heaven to-day?’ Colour that made one pray. Lumps of colour, liquid and cool, Cool and near, Clear and gay Tumbled about my way. |
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