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Or； remote in that black cupboard；
Watch the pink worms writhing upward
At the smell of rain；
Boys and girls that lie
Whispering in the hedges；
Do not let me die；
Mix me with your pledges；
Boys and girls that slowly walk
In the woods； and weep； and quarrel；
Staring past the pink wild laurel；
Mix me with your talk；
Do not let me die！
Farmers at your raking；
When the sun is high；
While the hay is making；
When； along the stubble strewn；
Withering on their stalks uneaten；
Strawberries turn dark and sweeten
In the lapse of noon；
Shepherds on the hills；
In the pastures； drowsing
To the tinkling bells
Of the brown sheep browsing；
Sailors crying through the storm；
Scholars at your study； hunters
Lost amid the whirling winter's
Whiteness uniform；
Men that long for sleep；
Men that wake and revel；
If an old song leap
To your senses' level
At such moments； may it be
Sometimes； though a moment only；
Some forgotten； quaint and homely
Vehicle of me！
Women at your toil；
Women at your leisure
Till the kettle boil；
Snatch of me your pleasure；
Where the broom…straw marks the leaf；
Women quiet with your weeping
Lest you wake a workman sleeping；
Mix me with your grief！
Boys and girls that steal
From the shocking laughter
Of the old； to kneel
By a dripping rafter
Under the discolored eaves；
Out of trunks with hingeless covers
Lifting tales of saints and lovers；
Travelers； goblins； thieves；
Suns that shine by night；
Mountains made from valleys；
Bear me to the light；
Flat upon your bellies
By the webby window lie；
Where the little flies are crawling；
Read me； margin me with scrawling；
Do not let me die！
Sexton； ply your trade！
In a shower of gravel
Stamp upon your spade！
Many a rose shall ravel；
Many a metal wreath shall rust
In the rain； and I go singing
Through the lots where you are flinging
Yellow clay on dust！
ALMS
My heart is what it was before；
A house where people come and go；
But it is winter with your love；
The sashes are beset with snow。
I light the lamp and lay the cloth；
I blow the coals to blaze again；
But it is winter with your love；
The frost is thick upon the pane。
I know a winter when it comes：
The leaves are listless on the boughs；
I watched your love a little while；
And brought my plants into the house。
I water them and turn them south；
I snap the dead brown from the stem；
But it is winter with your love；
I only tend and water them。
There was a time I stood and watched
The small； ill…natured sparrows' fray；
I loved the beggar that I fed；
I cared for what he had to say；
I stood and watched him out of sight；
Today I reach around the door
And set a bowl upon the step；
My heart is what it was before；
But it is winter with your love；
I scatter crumbs upon the sill；
And close the window；and the birds
May take or leave them； as they will。
INLAND
People that build their houses inland；
People that buy a plot of ground
Shaped like a house； and build a house there；
Far from the sea…board； far from the sound
Of water sucking the hollow ledges；
Tons of water striking the shore；
What do they long for； as I long for
One salt smell of the sea once more？
People the waves have not awakened；
Spanking the boats at the harbor's head；
What do they long for； as I long for；
Starting up in my inland bed；
Beating the narrow walls； and finding
Neither a window nor a door；
Screaming to God for death by drowning；
One salt taste of the sea once more？
TO A POET THAT DIED YOUNG
Minstrel； what have you to do
With this man that； after you；
Sharing not your happy fate；
Sat as England's Laureate？
Vainly； in these iron days；
Strives the poet in your praise；
Minstrel； by whose singing side
Beauty walked； until you died。
Still； though none should hark again；
Drones the blue…fly in the pane；
Thickly crusts the blackest moss；
Blows the rose its musk across；
Floats the boat that is forgot
None the less to Camelot。
Many a bard's untimely death
Lends unto his verses breath；
Here's a song was never sung：
Growing old is dying young。
Minstrel； what is this to you：
That a man you never knew；
When your grave was far and green；
Sat and gossipped with a queen？
Thalia knows how rare a thing
Is it； to grow old and sing；
When a brown and tepid tide
Closes in on every side。
Who shall say if Shelley's gold
Had withstood it to grow old？
WRAITH
〃Thin Rain； whom are you haunting；
That you haunt my door？〃
Surely it is not I she's wanting；
Someone living here before
〃Nobody's in the house but me：
You may come in if you like and see。〃
Thin as thread； with exquisite fingers；
Have you seen her； any of you？
Grey shawl； and leaning on the wind；
And the garden showing through？
Glimmering eyes；and silent； mostly；
Sort of a whisper； sort of a purr；
Asking something； asking it over；
If you get a sound from her。
Ever see her； any of you？
Strangest thing I've ever known；
Every night since I moved in；
And I came to be alone。
〃Thin Rain； hush with your knocking！
You may not come in！
This is I that you hear rocking；
Nobody's with me； nor has been！〃
Curious； how she tried the window；
Odd； the way she tries the door；
Wonder just what sort of people
Could have had this house before 。 。 。
EBB
I know what my heart is like
Since your love died：
It is like a hollow ledge
Holding a little pool
Left there by the tide；
A little tepid pool；
Drying inward from the edge。
ELAINE
OH； come again to Astolat！
I will not ask you to be kind。
And you may go when you will go；
And I will stay behind。
I will not say how dear you are；
Or ask you if you hold me dear；
Or trouble you with things for you
The way I did last year。
So still the orchard； Lancelot；
So very still the lake shall be；
You could not guessthough you should guess
What is become of me。
So wide shall be the garden…walk；
The garden…seat so very wide；
You needs must thinkif you should think
The lily maid had died。
Save that； a little way away；
I'd watch you for a little while；
To see you speak； the way you speak；
And smile；if you should smile。
BURIAL
Mine is a body that should die at sea！
And have for a grave； instead of a grave
Six feet deep and the length of me；
All the water that is under the wave！
And terrible fishes to seize my flesh；
Such as a living man might fear；
And eat me while I am firm and fresh；
Not wait till I've been dead for a year！
MARIPOSA
Butterflies are white and blue
In this field we wander through。
Suffer me to take your hand。
Death comes in a day or two。
All the things we ever knew
Will be ashes in that hour；
Mark the transient butterfly；
How he hangs upon the flower。
Suffer me to take your hand。
Suffer me to cherish you
Till the dawn is in the sky。
Whether I be false or true；
Death comes in a day or two。
THE LITTLE HILL
OH； here the air is sweet and still；
And soft's the grass to lie on；
And far away's the little hill
They took for Christ to die on。
And there's a hill across the brook；
And down the brook's another；
But； oh； the little hill they took；
I think I am its mother！
The moon that saw Gethsemane；
I watch it rise and set：
It has so many things to see；
They help it to forget。
But little hills that sit at home
So many hundred years；
Remember Greece； remember Rome；
Remember Mary's tears。
And far away in Palestine；
Sadder than any other；
Grieves still the hill that I call mine；
I think I am its mother！
DOUBT NO MORE THAT OBERON
Doubt no more that Oberon
Never doubt that Pan
Lived； and played a reed； and ran
After nymphs in a dark forest；
In the merry； credulous days；
Lived； and led a fairy band
Over the indulgent land！
Ah； for in this dourest； sorest
Age man's eye has looked upon；
Death to fauns and death to fays；
Still the dog…wood dares to raise
Healthy tree； with trunk and root
Ivory bowls that bear no fruit；
And the starlings and the jays
Birds that cannot even sing
Dare to come again in spring！
LAMENT
Listen； children：
Your father is dead。
From his old coats
I'll make you little jackets；
I'll make you little trousers
From his old pants。
There'll be in his pockets
Things he used to put there；
Keys and pennies
Covered with tobacco；
Dan shall have the