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And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows ! Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edgeThat's the wise thrush ; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture ! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower -Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower !
106. FROM ONE WORD MORE'
Your heart instructs you.
Dante once prepared to paint an angel :
You and I would rather see that angel,
God be thanked, the meanest of His creatures
Oh, their Rafael of the dear Madonnas,
107. AFTER TAKE the cloak from his face, and And are lost in the solemn and at first
strange Let the corpse do its worst. Surprise of the change. How he lies in his rights of a
Ha, what avails death to erase
His offence, my disgrace ? man ! Death has done all death
I would we were boys as of old
In the field, by the fold: And, absorbed in the new life he
His outrage, God's patience, man's leads,
scorn He recks not, he heeds
Were so easily borne. Nor his wrong nor my vengeance I stand here now, he lies in his -both strike
place : On his senses alike,
Cover the face.
108. FROM 'A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL'
Sees it and does it :
Dies ere he knows it.
His hundred 's soon hit:
Misses an unit.
Let the world mind him !
Seeking shall find Him.
Ground he at grammar ;
While he could stammer
He settled Hoti's business-let it be !
Properly based Oun-
Dead from the waist down.
Hail to your purlieus,
Swallows and curlews !
Live, for they can, there.
Bury this man there?
Lightnings are loosened,
Peace let the dew send !
109. THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING
's at the spring,
The lark 's on the wing ;
All 's right with the world !
This is a spray the Bird clung to,
Making it blossom with pleasure,
Fit for her nest and her treasure.
Oh, what a hope beyond measure
Thrilled in a minute erratic,
Oh, what a fancy ecstatic
True, but there were sundry WHAT's become of Waring
jottings, Since he gave us all the slip,
Stray-leaves, fragments, blurrs Chose land-travel or seafaring,
and blottings, Boots and chest or staff and
Certain first steps were achieved scrip,
Already which '-(is that your Rather than pace up and down
meaning ?) Any longer London-town ?
‘Had well borne out whoe'er
believed Who'd have guessed it from his In more to come!' But who lip
goes gleaning Or his brow's accustomed bearing, Hedge-side chance-blades, while On the night he thus took ship
full-sheaved Or started landward ?-little car
Stand cornfields by him ? Pride,
o'erweening For us, it seems, who supped Pride alone,
puts forth such together
claims (Friends of his too, I remember) O'er the day's distinguished And walked home through the
merry weather, The snowiest in all December.
Meantime, how much I loved him, I left his arm that night myself
I find out now I've lost him : For what 's-his-name's, the new
I, who cared not if I moved him,
Who could so carelessly accost prose-poet
him, That wrote the book there, on the shelf
Henceforth never shall get free
Of his ghostly company.
to glide away Like a ghost at break of day ? Never looked he half so gay !
When I last saw Waring ...' He was prouder than the Devil : (How all turned to him who How he must have cursed our spoke--revel !
You saw Waring? Truth Aye, and many other meetings,
joke? Indoor visits, outdoor greetings, In land-travel, or sea-faring ?) As up and down he paced this 'We were sailing by Triest, London,
Where a day or two we harboured : With no work done, but great A sunset was in the West, works undone,
When, looking over the vessel's Where scarce twenty knew his side,
One of our company espied Why not, then, have earlier A sudden speck to larboard. spoken,
And, as sea-duck flies and Written, bustled ? Who's to
At once, so came the light craft If your silence kept unbroken ?
With its sole lateen sail that trims
Who looked up with his kingly
throat, Said somewhat, while the other
shook His hair back from his eyes to
look Their longest at us ; then the boat, I know not how, turned sharply.
round, Laying her whole side on the sea As a leaping fish does ; from the
lee, Into the weather, cut somehow Her sparkling path beneath our
And so went off, as with a bound,
passed, And neither time nor toil could
mar Those features : so I saw the last Of Waring !’-You? Oh, never
star Was lost here, but it rose afar ! Look East, w whole new
thousands are ! In Vishnu-land what Avatar ?
And one, half-hidden by his side
112. YOU'LL LOVE ME YET
Your love's protracted growing:
From seeds of April's sowing.
Not love, but, may be, like !
A grave's one violet:
R. BROWNING (Pippa Passes).