p. 15

The Lady Poverty was fair: But she has lost her looks of late, With change of times and change of air. Ah slattern, she neglects her hair, Her gown, her shoes. She keeps no state As once when her pure feet were bare.

Or—almost worse, if worse can be— She scolds in parlours; dusts and trims, Watches and counts. Oh, is this she Whom Francis met, whose step was free, Who with Obedience carolled hymns, In Umbria walked with Chastity?

p. 16Where is her ladyhood? Not here, Not among modern kinds of men; But in the stony fields, where clear Through the thin trees the skies appear; In delicate spare soil and fen, And slender landscape and austere.

p. 16

p. 17THE FOLD

p. 17

Behold, The time is now! Bring back, bring back Thy flocks of fancies, wild of whim. Oh lead them from the mountain-track—  Thy frolic thoughts untold. Oh bring them in—the fields grow dim—  And let me be the fold.

Behold, The time is now! Call in, O call Thy posturing kisses gone astray For scattered sweets. Gather them all To shelter from the cold. Throng them together, close and gay, And let me be the fold!

p. 18CRADLE-SONG AT TWILIGHT

p. 18

The child not yet is lulled to rest. Too young a nurse, the slender Night So laxly holds him to her breast That throbs with flight.

He plays with her and will not sleep. For other playfellows she sighs; An unmaternal fondness keep Her alien eyes.

p. 19THE ROARING FROST

p. 19

A flock of winds came winging from the North, Strong birds with fighting pinions driving forth With a resounding call!

Where will they close their wings and cease their cries— Between what warming seas and conquering skies—  And fold, and fall?

p. 20PARENTAGE

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