They  told  me  she  was  sad  that  day,
{Though  wherefore  tell  what  love's  soothsay,
Sooner  than  they,  did  register  ?)
And  my  heart  leapt  and  wept  to  her,
And  yet  I  did  not  speak  nor  stir.
vSo  shall  the  tongues  of  the  sea* s  foam
{Though  many  voices  therexvith  come
From  drowned  hope's  home  to  cry  to  me,)
Bewail  one  hour  the  more,  when  sea
And  wind  are  one  with  memory.
Ixxxv


THE   WOODSPURGE.
T


HE  wind  flapped  loose,  the  -wind  u-as  still,
Shaken  out  dead  from  tree  and  hill :
I  had  walked  an  at  the  wind's  will, —
I  sat  now,  for  the  wind  was  still.
Between  mj>  knees  m^  forehead  was,
Mjy  lips,  drawn  in,  said  not  Alas  !
^ly  hair  was  over  in  the  grass,
My  naked  ears  heard  the  day  pass.
Mj>  eyes,  wide  open,  had  the

Of  some  ten  weeds  to  fix  upon  ;

Among  those  few,  out  of  the  sm..
The  woodspurge  flowered,  three  cups  in  one.
run
m;
sun.
From  perfect  grief  there  need  not  be
\Nisdom  or  even  memory :
One  thing  then  learnt  remains  to  me.
The  woodspurge  has  a  cup  of  three.
Ixxxvi


THE    SEA -LIMITS.
CONSIDER  the  sea's  listless  chime:
Timers  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
l>io  furlong  further.    Since  time  was.
This  sound  hath  told  the  lapse  of  time.
No  quiet,  which  is  death's,  —  it  bath
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.
