THE WOODSPURGE.

THE wind flapped loose, the wind was still, Shaken out dead from tree and hill:

I had walked on at the wind's will,

I sat now, for the wind was still.

forehead

was,

Between knees my
my
My lips, drawn in, said not Alas!
My hair was over in the grass,
My naked ears heard the day pass

My eyes, wide open, had the run
Of some ten weeds to fix upon,
Among those few, out of the sun,

The woodspurge flowered, three cups in one.

From perfect grief there need not be

Wisdom or even memory:

One thing then learnt remains to me,

The woodspurge has a cup of three.

THE HONEYSUCKLE.

I PLUCKED a honeysuckle where
The hedge on high is quick with thorn,
And climbing for the prize, was torn,
And fouled my feet in quag-water;

And by the thorns and by the wind
The blossom that I took was thinn'd,

And yet I found it sweet and fair.

Thence to a richer growth I came,
Where, nursed in mellow intercourse,
The honeysuckles sprang by scores,

Not harried like my single stem,
All virgin lamps of scent and dew.
So from my hand that first I threw,
Yet plucked not any more of them.

A YOUNG FIR-WOOD.

THESE little firs to-day are things

To clasp into a giant's cap,

Or fans to suit his lady's lap.

From many winters many springs

Shall cherish them in strength and sap,

Till they be marked upon the map, A wood for the wind's wanderings.

All seed is in the sower's hands:

And what at first was trained to spread Its shelter for some single head,Yea, even such fellowship of wands,May hide the sunset, and the shade Of its great multitude be laid

Upon the earth and elder sands.

THE SEA-LIMITS.

CONSIDER the sea's listless chime: Time's self it is, made audible,The murmur of the earth's own shell. Secret continuance sublime

Is the sea's end: our sight may pass No furlong further. Since time was, This sound hath told the lapse of time.

No quiet, which is death's, it hath

-

The mournfulness of ancient life,
Enduring always at dull strife.

As the world's heart of rest and wrath,
Its painful pulse is in the sands.
Last utterly, the whole sky stands,
Gray and not known, along its path.

Listen alone beside the sea,

Listen alone among the woods;

Those voices of twin solitudes

Shall have one sound alike to thee:

Hark where the murmurs of thronged men

Surge and sink back and surge again,

Still the one voice of wave and tree.

Gather a shell from the strown beach
And listen at its lips: they sigh
The same desire and mystery,
The echo of the whole sea's speech.
And all mankind is thus at heart
Not anything but what thou art:

And Earth, Sea, Man, are all in each.