Who still remembers and will not forget, Who gives us light and warmth and daily food; And glories half unveiled, whereon to set 12. A dream there is wherein we are fain to scream, When I was young I deemed that sweets are sweet: And to be relished more, and more desired, And more to be pursued on eager feet, On feet untired, and still on feet though tired. 13. Shame is a shadow cast by sin: yet shame 14. When Adam and when Eve left Paradise The twain had wrought on such a different wise? Their term of life and die when God should will; Lie down and sleep, and having slept arise. Boast not against us, O our enemy! To-day we fall, but we shall rise again; We grope to-day, to-morrow we shall see: What is to-day that we should fear to-day? A morrow cometh which shall sweep away Thee and thy realm of change and death and pain. 15. Let woman fear to teach and bear to learn, It next was his to give and her's to take; Till man deemed poison sweet for her sweet sake, I think so; as we love who works us ill, Love in a dominant embrace holds fast His frailer self, and saves without her will. 16. Our teachers teach that one and one make two : The wider total suits the common run; A groping stroll perhaps may do us good; If cloyed we are with much we have understood, If tired of half our dusty world and ways, If sick of fasting, and if sick of food ;And how about these long still-lengthening days? 17. Something this foggy day, a something which Has set me dreaming of the winds that play And turn the topmost edge of waves to spray : Ah pleasant pebbly strand so far away, So out of reach while quite within my reach, As out of reach as India or Cathay ! I am sick of where I am and where I am not, I am sick of foresight and of memory, I am sick of all I have and all I see, I am sick of self, and there is nothing new; Oh weary impatient patience of my lot!- 18. So late in Autumn half the world's asleep, And half the wakeful world looks pinched and pale; For dampness now, not freshness, rides the gale ; And cold and colourless comes ashore the deep With tides that bluster or with tides that creep; Now veiled uncouthness wears an uncouth veil Of fog, not sultry haze; and blight and bale Have done their worst, and leaves rot on the heap. So late in Autumn one forgets the Spring, Forgets the Summer with its opulence, The callow birds that long have found a wing, The swallows that more lately gat them hence: Will anything like Spring, will anything Like Summer, rouse one day the slumbering sense? 19. Here now is Winter. Winter, after all, Is not so drear as was my boding dream |