They  found   a   woman's   body   at   a   spot

called  Rocky  Shallow,
Where  the  Froom  stream  curves  amid  the

moorland,  washed  aground,


A  SOUND  IN  THE  NIGHT    225

And   they   searched    about   for    him,   the
yeoman,    who    had    darkly   known
her,
But  he  could  not  be  found.
And   the  bride  left   for  good-and-all    the

farmstead  once  a  castle,
And  in  a  county  far  away  lives,  mourns,

and  sleeps  alone,
And    thinks    in    windy   weather   that   she

hears  a  woman  crying,
And  sometimes  an  infant's  moan.
ON  A  DISCOVERED  CURL
OF  HAIR

WHEN    your   soft   welcomings   were
said,

This  curl  was  waving  on  your  head,
And    when    we    walked    where    breakers

dinned

It  sported  in  the  sun  and  wind,
And  when  I  had  won  your  words  of  grace
It  brushed  and  clung  about  my  face.
Then,  to  abate  the  misery
Of  absentness,  you  gave  it  me.
Where  are  its  fellows  now  ?     Ah,  they
For  brightest  brown  have  donned  a  gray,
And  gone  into  a  caverned  ark,
Ever  unopened,  always  dark  !

Yet  this  one  curl,  untouched  of  time,
Beams  with  live  brown  as  in  its  prime,
So  that  it  seems  I  even  could  now
Restore  it  to  the  living  brow
By  bearing  down  the  western  road
Till  I  had  reached  your  old  abode.
February  1913.
