Part 15 (1/2)

Who speaks? Death has his silent messengers.

And there was more than silence in this room

While you were gazing at me from the wall And wondering how you'd match your dreams with mine, If, mastering time's illusion, you could call Me back to share your vanished candle-s.h.i.+ne.

THRUSHES

Tossed on the glittering air they soar and skim, Whose voices make the emptiness of light A windy palace. Quavering from the brim Of dawn, and bold with song at edge of night, They clutch their leafy pinnacles and sing Scornful of man, and from his toils aloof Whose heart's a haunted woodland whispering; Whose thoughts return on tempest-baffled wing; Who hears the cry of G.o.d in everything, And storms the gate of nothingness for proof.

EVERYONE SANG

Everyone suddenly burst out singing; And I was filled with such delight As prisoned birds must find in freedom, Winging wildly across the white Orchards and dark-green fields; on--on--and out of sight.

Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted; And beauty came like the setting sun: My heart was shaken with tears; and horror Drifted away ... O, but Everyone Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.

EDWARD SHANKS

A NIGHT-PIECE

Come out and walk. The last few drops of light Drain silently out of the cloudy blue; The trees are full of the dark-stooping night, The fields are wet with dew.

All's quiet in the wood but, far away, Down the hillside and out across the plain, Moves, with long trail of white that marks its way, The softly panting train.

Come through the clearing. Hardly now we see The flowers, save dark or light against the gra.s.s, Or glimmering silver on a scented tree That trembles as we pa.s.s.

Hark now! So far, so far ... that distant song ...

Move not the rustling gra.s.ses with your feet.

The dusk is full of sounds, that all along The muttering boughs repeat.

So far, so faint, we lift our heads in doubt.

Wind, or the blood that beats within our ears, Has feigned a dubious and delusive note, Such as a dreamer hears.

Again ... again! The faint sounds rise and fail.

So far the enchanted tree, the song so low...

A drowsy thrush? A waking nightingale?

Silence. We do not know.