 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
241
LIVE-BAIT
The weir was fragrant, with the scent
Of falling streams and trailing weeds;
The careful angler leaned intent,
And cast his net beyond the reeds:
Three silvery dace imprisoned there
Were dragged all gasping to the air.
Of falling streams and trailing weeds;
The careful angler leaned intent,
And cast his net beyond the reeds:
Three silvery dace imprisoned there
Were dragged all gasping to the air.
One from the dripping net he took,
And squeezed his tender body hard,
And pierced him with his cruel hook
That all his limber mouth was marred:
Then cast him where the stream gushed out
To be a bait for Master Trout.
And squeezed his tender body hard,
And pierced him with his cruel hook
That all his limber mouth was marred:
Then cast him where the stream gushed out
To be a bait for Master Trout.
So all that golden afternoon
He strove and swam—now dangled high,
Now plunged afresh: and oh, so soon
As he hath gained his liberty,
Must swing and flicker, sorely spent
Within the dazzling firmament.
He strove and swam—now dangled high,
Now plunged afresh: and oh, so soon
As he hath gained his liberty,
Must swing and flicker, sorely spent
Within the dazzling firmament.
242
At evensong he sobbed and died.
I know not! but did God forget
That day upon the water side,
Or cast him sternly in the net?
Oh broken dreams, oh cruel lot!
Would I could think that God forgot!
I know not! but did God forget
That day upon the water side,
Or cast him sternly in the net?
Oh broken dreams, oh cruel lot!
Would I could think that God forgot!
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |