The Three Hills, and Other Poems Part 2

THE ROOF

I

When the clouds hide the sun away The tall slate roof is dull and grey, And when the rain adown it streams 'Tis polished lead with pale-blue gleams.

When the clouds vanish and the rain Stops, and the sun comes out again, It s.h.i.+mmers golden in the sun Almost too bright to look upon.

But soon beneath the steady rays The roof is dried and reft of blaze, 'Tis dusty yellow traversed through By long thin lines of deepest blue.

Then at the last, as night draws near, The lines grow faint and disappear, The roof becomes a purple mist A great square darkening amethyst

Which sinks into the gathering shade Till separate form and colour fade, And it is but a patch which mars The beauty of a field of stars.

II

It stands so lonely in the sky The sparrows never come anigh, The glossy starlings seldom stop To preen and chatter on the top.

For a whole week sometimes up there No wing-wave stirs the quiet air, The roof lies silent and serene As though no life had ever been;

Till some bright afternoon, athwart The edge two sudden shadows dart, And two white pigeons with pink feet Flutter above and pitch on it.

Jerking their necks out as they walk They talk awhile their pigeon-talk, A low continuous murmur blent Of mock reproaches and content.

Then cease, and sit there warm and white An hour, till in the fading light They wake, and know the close of day, Flutter above, and fly away,

Leaving the roof whereon they sat As 'twas before, a peaceful flat Expanse, as silent and serene As though no life had ever been.

TREETOPS

There beyond my window ledge, Heaped against the sky a hedge Of huge and wavering treetops stands With mult.i.tudes of fluttering hands.

Wave they, beat they to and fro, Never stillness may they know, Plunged by the wind and hurled and torn Anguished, purposeless, forlorn.

"O ferocious, O despairing, In huddled isolation faring Through a scattered universe, Lost coins from the Almighty's purse!"

"No, below you do not see The firm foundations of the tree; Anch.o.r.ed to a rock beneath We laugh in the hammering tempest's teeth."

"Boughs like men but burgeons are On an adamantine star; Men are myriad blossoms on A staunch and cosmic skeleton."

IN THE PARK

This dense hard ground I tread These iron bars that ripple past, Will they unshaken stand when I am dead And my deep thoughts outlast?

Is it my spirit slips, Falls, like this leaf I kick aside; This firmness that I feel about my lips, Is it but empty pride?

Mute knowledge conquers me; I contemplate them as they are, Faint earth and shadowy bars that shake and flee, Less hard, more transient far

Than those unbodied hues The sunset flings on the calm river; And, as I look, a swiftness thrills my shoes And my hands with empire quiver.

Now light the ground I tread, I walk not now but rather float; Clear but unreal is the scene outspread, Pitiful, thin, remote.

Poor vapour is the gra.s.s, So frail the trees and railings seem, That, did I sweep my hand around, 'twould pa.s.s Through them, as in a dream.

G.o.dlike I fear no changes; Shatter the world with thunders loud, Still would I ray-like flit about the ranges Of dark and ruddy cloud.

SONG

There is a wood where the fairies dance All night long in a ring of mushrooms daintily, By each tree bole sits a squirrel or a mole, And the moon through the branches darts.

Light on the gra.s.s their slim limbs glance, Their shadows in the moonlight swing in quiet unison, And the moon discovers that they all have lovers, But they never break their hearts.

They never grieve at all for sands that run, They never know regret for a deed that's done, And they never think of going to a shed with a gun At the rising of the sun.

TOWN

Mostly in a dull rotation We bear our loads and eat and drink and sleep, Feeling no tears, knowing no meditation-- Too tired to think, too clogged with earth to weep.

Dimly convinced, poor groping wretches, Like eyeless insects in a murky pond That out and out this city stretches, Away, away, and there is no beyond.

No larger earth, no loftier heaven, No cleaner, gentler airs to breathe. And yet, Even to us sometimes is given Visions of things we otherwhiles forget.

Some day is done, its labour ended, And as we brood at windows high, A steady wind from far descended, Blows off the filth that hid the deeper sky;

There are the empty waiting s.p.a.ces, We watch, we watch, unwinking, pale and dumb, Till gliding up with noiseless paces Night sweeps o'er all the wide arch: Night has come.

Not that sick false night of the city, Lurid and low and yellow and obscene, But mother Night, pure, full of pity, The star-strewn Night, blue, potent and serene.

O, as we gaze the clamour ceases, The turbid world around grows dim and small, The soft-shed influence releases Our shrouded spirits from their dusty pall.

No more we hear the turbulent traffic, Not scorned but unremembered is the day; The Night, all luminous and seraphic, Has brushed its heavy memories away.