 | Between Doubting and Daring |  |
19
A Lost Friend
From westward tramped, about this countryside
He had come long since, nor more of him was known.
For miles around his basket's tinware shone,
Blanching a sunbeam; lean and wistful-eyed
He ever was of look; a wordless lay
He crooned, as if went by a wild bee's drone:
That low faint humming foretold his coming,
And said he had left behind a lonesome way.
He had come long since, nor more of him was known.
For miles around his basket's tinware shone,
Blanching a sunbeam; lean and wistful-eyed
He ever was of look; a wordless lay
He crooned, as if went by a wild bee's drone:
That low faint humming foretold his coming,
And said he had left behind a lonesome way.
Halting anon, he scarce made longer stay
Than thistletufts that fitful breezes guide,
Save only where the bridge with arch too wide
O'ervaults the road-crossed river. If close of day
Had brought him thither, oft on the wall's flagged ledge
He would lean to watch the ripples as they hied,
With murmuring soft, foam-frosted at the edge.
Than thistletufts that fitful breezes guide,
Save only where the bridge with arch too wide
O'ervaults the road-crossed river. If close of day
Had brought him thither, oft on the wall's flagged ledge
He would lean to watch the ripples as they hied,
With murmuring soft, foam-frosted at the edge.
Drought cast o'er all the land one summer-tide
A dumbing spell: lake-water lapt the sedge
Low sunk; no runlet 'neath the dusty hedge
Sped, under greenery glancing half espied;
Shrunken from crystal brim, the dripless well
Mocked not in faery forge a tinkling sledge,
Nor, knolled from elfin towers, a gleeful knell.
A dumbing spell: lake-water lapt the sedge
Low sunk; no runlet 'neath the dusty hedge
Sped, under greenery glancing half espied;
Shrunken from crystal brim, the dripless well
Mocked not in faery forge a tinkling sledge,
Nor, knolled from elfin towers, a gleeful knell.
Then on a morn his face paused by a door,
There many a day unseen, and straightway told
Of sorrow fallen anew on sorrow old,
For, graven afresh, grief's charactery it bore.
‘Since last I came this road, my luck was bad,’
Quoth he: ‘Great lack falls oft on little store;
So now I have lost the kindest friend I had.
There many a day unseen, and straightway told
20
For, graven afresh, grief's charactery it bore.
‘Since last I came this road, my luck was bad,’
Quoth he: ‘Great lack falls oft on little store;
So now I have lost the kindest friend I had.
‘Two hours the sun was down below yon ridge,
And left the darkest sky of all this year,
When yestereve I came to where I'd hear
Herself discoursing underneath the bridge.
She had many a pleasant voice, yet still the same;
'Twas lief I listened. Whiles when I was near
Calling she seemed naught else but my own name.
And left the darkest sky of all this year,
When yestereve I came to where I'd hear
Herself discoursing underneath the bridge.
She had many a pleasant voice, yet still the same;
'Twas lief I listened. Whiles when I was near
Calling she seemed naught else but my own name.
‘Full sure I made I'd hear her voice aright,
The sooner that I walked so late and lone.
A kindly word she had for every stone:
I must have heard her speaking through the night.
I heard no sound. The world kept hushed as death.
In troth I knew. Yet there for glimmer of light
I waited sick at heart, and held my breath.
The sooner that I walked so late and lone.
A kindly word she had for every stone:
I must have heard her speaking through the night.
I heard no sound. The world kept hushed as death.
In troth I knew. Yet there for glimmer of light
I waited sick at heart, and held my breath.
‘And what I had known, when dawn crept back again,
My eyes beheld; for stirless as yon hill
She lay, cleft through, where, thrust out grey and chill,
A shingle-bar with sharp-edged blade had ta'en
The life of her, struck silent so. Thinks I
Mayhap she called me from those shadows still,
And I far off, that now can ne'er come nigh.
My eyes beheld; for stirless as yon hill
She lay, cleft through, where, thrust out grey and chill,
A shingle-bar with sharp-edged blade had ta'en
The life of her, struck silent so. Thinks I
Mayhap she called me from those shadows still,
And I far off, that now can ne'er come nigh.
21
‘But he who furthest fares belike more ill
Meets not than he who bides while all things change;
For both must see them yet grown drear and strange;
Aye, both pass oft through open doorways, till
They find a sudden wall built up instead.’
With that he turned his lonelier world to range,
And now his path along crooned never an echoed song,
Because the old kind voice he loved was dead.
Meets not than he who bides while all things change;
For both must see them yet grown drear and strange;
Aye, both pass oft through open doorways, till
They find a sudden wall built up instead.’
With that he turned his lonelier world to range,
And now his path along crooned never an echoed song,
Because the old kind voice he loved was dead.
| Between Doubting and Daring | |