Part 10 (1/2)

How sang the others all around?

Piercing and harsh, a maddening sound, With 'Pretty Poll, Tuwit-tuwoo Peewit, Caw Caw, Cuckoo-Cuckoo.'

How went the song, how looked the bird?

If I could tell, if I could show With one quick phrase, one lightning word, I'd learn you more than poets know; For poets, could they only catch Of that forgotten tune one s.n.a.t.c.h, Would build it up in song or sonnet, And found their whole life's fame upon it.

ROCKY ACRES

This is a wild land, country of my choice, With harsh craggy mountain, moor ample and bare.

Seldom in these acres is heard any voice But voice of cold water that runs here and there Through rocks and lank heather growing without care.

No mice in the heath run nor no birds cry For fear of the dark speck that floats in the sky.

He soars and he hovers rocking on his wings, He scans his wide parish with a sharp eye, He catches the trembling of small hidden things, He tears them in pieces dropping from the sky: Tenderness and pity the land will deny, Where life is but nourished from water and rock, A hardy adventure, full of fear and shock.

Time has never journeyed to this lost land, Crakeberries and heather bloom out of date, The rocks jut, the streams flow singing on either hand, Careless if the season be early or late.

The skies wander overhead, now blue now slate: Winter would be known by his cold cutting snow If June did not borrow his armour also.

Yet this is my country beloved by me best, The first land that rose from Chaos and the Flood, Nursing no fat valleys for comfort and rest, Trampled by no hard hooves, stained with no blood Bold immortal country whose hill-tops have stood Strongholds for the proud G.o.ds when on earth they go, Terror for fat burghers in far plains below.

D.H. LAWRENCE

SEVEN SEALS

Since this is the last night I keep you home, Come, I will consecrate you for the journey.

Rather I had you would not go. Nay come, I will not again reproach you. Lie back And let me love you a long time ere you go.

For you are sullen-hearted still, and lack The will to love me. But even so I will set a seal upon you from my lip, Will set a guard of honour at each door, Seal up each channel out of which might slip Your love for me.

I kiss your mouth. Ah, love, Could I but seal its ruddy, s.h.i.+ning spring Of pa.s.sion, parch it up, destroy, remove Its softly-stirring, crimson welling-up Of kisses! Oh, help me, G.o.d! Here at the source I'd lie for ever drinking and drawing in Your fountains, as heaven drinks from out their course The floods.

I close your ears with kisses And seal your nostrils; and round your neck you'll wear-- Nay, let me work--a delicate chain of kisses.

Like beads they go around, and not one misses To touch its fellow on either side.

And there Full mid-between the champaign of your breast I place a great and burning seal of love Like a dark rose, a mystery of rest On the slow bubbling of your rhythmic heart.