54 THE WEAVER Strange fires and frosts burnt out the seasons' dross, I watched slow Powers the woven cloth reveal, While God stood counting out His gain and loss, And Day and Night pushed on the heavy wheel. Held close against the breast of living Powers hours Minding through sun and shower the loom of life. The big winds, harsh and clear and strong and salt, Blew through my soul and all the world rang true, THE WEAVER 55 In all things born I knew no stain or fault, My heart was soft to every flower that grew. The cabbages in my small garden patch Were rooted in the earth's heart; wings un seen Throbbed in the silence under the dark thatch, And brave birds sang long ere the boughs were green. Once did I labour at the living stuff That holds the fire, the water and the wind; Now do I weave the garments coarse and rough That some vain men have made for vain mankind. THE DESOLATE ARMY In the world's wars we have no lot nor part, No tattered flag, no sound of trampling feet Thrills the dark caverns of a nation's heart For us, no battle song makes danger sweet. In the world's praise and love we have no place, We have not turned the drunkard from his wine Nor toiled to build fine dwellings for the race Nor burnt new incense at an ancient shrine. THE DESOLATE ARMY 57 Yet have we seen a glimpse of radiant forms Behind the blackness of these smoke-stained hours, Where wisdom shines beyond all clouds and storms, And pity dwells amongst the steadfast powers. Then divine madness fills the heart and brain Of the pale army passionately proud,— We toil on dimly through much strife and strain To unveil those radiant brows unto the crowd. THE LAND TO A LANDLORD You hug to your soul a handful of dust, And you think the round world your sacred trust But the sun shines, and the wind blows, O the bracken waves and the foxgloves flame, And none of them ever has heard your name Near and dear is the curlew's cry, You are merely a stranger passing by. |