III

i

When from the folds the shepherd comes

At the shut of day,

The fires are lit in valley homes,

The smoke blue and grey--

So still, so still!--hangs o'er the thatch;

So still the night falls,

My love might know me at the latch

By my heart-calls.

And hear you me, my love, this night

Where Grief and I are set?

And look you for the beacon light,

And can you see it yet?

Or is the sod too deep, my love,

Which they piled over you?

Or are you bound in sleep, my love,

Lying in the dew?

ii

When I was done with schooling days,

Turn'd sixteen,

My mother found me in a place

My own bread to win.

I had not been a month in place,

A month from the start,

When there show'd grace upon my face

That smote a man's heart.

Tho' I was young and full of play,

As full as a kitten,

I knew to reckon to a day

When his heart was smitten.

You'll pick my logic all to holes,

But here's my wonder:

It is that God should knit two souls,

And men tear them asunder.

For we were knit, no doubt of it,

I as well as he;

I peered in glass, my eyes were lit

After he'd lookt at me.

I knew not why my heart was glad,

Or why it leapt, but so 'tis,

The sharpest, sweetest pang I've had

Was when he took notice.

And 'tis not favour makes a lad

To a girl's mind,

But 'tis himself makes good of bad,

Or her stone-blind.

And men may cheer at tales of wars,

But every girl knows

What makes her eyes to shine like stars

And her face a rose.

iii

No word he said, but turned his head

After he'd lookt at me;

I coloured up a burning red,

Setting the cloth for tea.

The board was spread with cakes and bread

For farmer in his sleeves,

For mistress and the shepherd Ted;

They talkt of hogs and theaves--

But nothing ate I where I sat,

So bashful as I was,

But kept my eyes upon my plate

And pray'd the minutes pass.

Tic-toc, tic-toc from great old clock,

The long hand did creep;

And every stroke in my heart woke

Nature out of her sleep.

So once, they tell, did Gabriel

Name a young Maid

For honour and a miracle,

And few words she said;

But things have changed a wondrous deal

Since she was nam'd,

If to her room she did not steal

As if she were asham'd;

And there upon her bed to sit

Astare, as I guess,

Watching her fingers weave and knit,

Bedded in her dress,

A-thinking thoughts in her young mind

Too wild for tears to gain,

As when the roaring North-West wind

Gives no time to the rain.

iv

Give thanks, you maids, that there's your work

To keep your heart and head

From thoughts that lurk in them who shirk

Their daily round to tread.

But she goes bold who feels the hold

And colour of her love

Laid on her task like water-gold

From the lit sky above.

v

I rose with early morning light,

The meadows grey with rime,

To set the kitchen fire, and dight

The room for breakfast-time;

Or make the beds, or rinse and scour,

And all the while

A singing heart, a face aflower,

And secret smile.

So 'twas with me week in, week out,

And no more to be said;

A moment's look, a hint of doubt,

A half-turn of the head.

I had my hands as full as full,

And full of work was he--

But I learn'd in another school

After he'd lookt at me.

vi

In summer time of flowers and bees

And flies on the pane,

Before the sun could gild the trees

Or set afire the vane,

Down I must go upon my knees,

Or ply the showering mop;

Then feed the chicken, ducks and geese,

And milk the last drop.

On winter mornings dark and hard,

White from aching bed,

There were the huddled fowls in yard

All to be fed.

My frozen breath stream'd from my lips,

The cows were hid in steam;

I lost sense of my finger-tips

And milkt in a dream.

My drowsy cheek fast to her side,

The pail below my arm,

My thought leapt what might me betide,

And soon I was warm.

For that gave me a beating heart

And made me hot thro',

As when you reckon, with a start,

Someone speaks of you.

vii

And all my years of farm-service

There was no dismay,

But men and maids knew nought amiss

With their work or play;

But grew amain like tree or beast,

Labouring out their lives

Till sap and milk fill'd spine and breast,

And ripen'd men and wives.

What call had we to think of war,

We growing things?

What need had we to reckon o'er

Misdoubts or threatenings?

A soldier-lad in his red coat

Show'd up then as he past

Like a lamplighted fishing-boat

Lonely in the vast.

An aeroplane in middle sky

Might bring us to our doors,

To see her like a dragon-fly

Droning as she soars.

Long before you see her come

You can hear her throbbing,

Far, far away like a distant drum,

Near, like a thresher sobbing.

Ah, in those days of wonderment,

Wonder and delight,

No thought we spent what murder meant,

Horror in the night;

Or how a hidden dreadful plan

Like a fingering weed

Was growing up in the mind of man

From a fungus-seed!