Wild honey from various thyme By Michael Field [i.e. K. H. Bradley and E. E. Cooper] |
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TURNING HOMEWARD |
 | Wild honey from various thyme |  |
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TURNING HOMEWARD
We leave thy mountain vale, we, last of thoseMost loath to turn away: we leave thee, but
For hoof-print up their steeps and icy rut,
To thy inviolate hills, the winter snows
Suspended on the sky and soon, one knows,
To cover up thy grave. Each signal hut
As we descend and wind about is shut;
All closes as we saw thy coffin close:
And we are turning homeward, ah, how drear!
What is there now of memory that is warm,
Of life that is not memory? At our feet,
By the shrunk torrent, folded from the storm,
Two lusty lambs, pressing their mother's teat,
Drink and are glad: we feel another year.
| Wild honey from various thyme | |