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john4525

LY HOUSE
One without looks in to-night
Through the curtain-chink
From the sheet of glistening white;
One without looks in to-night
As we sit and think
By the fender-brink.
We do not discern those eyes
Watching in the snow;
Lit by lamps of rosy dyes
We do not discern those eyes
Wonderingaglow
Fourfootedtiptoe.
THE SELFSAME SONG
A bird bills the selfsame song
With never a fault in its flow
That we listened to here those long
Long years ago.
A pleasing marvel is how
A strain of such rapturous rote
Should have gone on thus till now
Unchanged in a note On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Published aaaadcza[link widoczny dla zalogowanych] Is mortal man
More pure than He who made him!
But it's not the selfsame bird. - No: perished to dust is he . . . As also are those who heard?
39
That song with me.
THE WANDERER
There is nobody on the road
But I
And no beseeming abode
I can try
For shelterso abroad
I must lie.
The stars feel not far up
And to be
The lights by which I sup
Glimmeringly
Set out in a hollow cup
Over me.
They wag as though they were
Panting for joy
Where they shineabove all care
And annoy
And demons of despair -
Life's alloy.
Sometimes outside the fence
Feet swing past
Clock-likeand then go hence
Till at last
There is a silencedense
Deepand vast.
A wandererwitch-drawn
To and fro
T