[Pg 387]

XXVI

—Say it let the rock's heart out, its meaning, the thing

All was made for, devised, ruled out gradually, planned—

Ah, that sea-shell, perhaps—since it lies, such a ring

Of pure colour, a cup full of sunbeams, to stand

(Say, in Lent) at the priest's hand—(no king!)

XXVII

Blame the cleft then? Praise rather! So—just a chance gone!

Had you said—"Save the seed and secure souls in flower"—

Ah, how time laughs, years palpitate, pro grapples con,

Till one day you shrug shoulders—"Well, gone, the good hour!"

Till one night—"Is God off now? or on?"

[Pg 388]

IV

UP THE SPOUT

I

Hi! Just you drop that! Stop, I say!

Shirk work, think slink off, twist friend's wrist?

Where that spined sand's lined band's the bay—

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