and grey, And when the rain adown it streams 'Tis polished lead with pale-blue gleams. When the clouds vanish and the rain Stops, and the sun comes out again, It shimmers golden in the sun Almost too bright to look upon. But soon beneath the steady rays The roof is dried and reft of blaze, 'Tis dusty yellow traversed through By long thin lines of deepest blue. Then at the last, as night draws near, The lines grow faint and disappear, The roof becomes a purple mist A great square darkening amethyst Which sinks into the gathering shade Till separate form and colour fade, And it is but a patch which mars The beauty of a field of stars. II It stands so lonely in the sky The sparrows never come anigh, The glossy starlings seldom stop To preen and chatter on the top. For a whole week sometimes up there No wing-wave stirs the quiet air, The roof lies silent and serene As though no life had ever been; Till some bright afternoon, athwart The edge two sudden shadows dart, And two white pigeons with pink feet Flutter above and pitch on it. Jerking their necks out as they walk They talk awhile their pigeon-talk, A low continuous murmur blent Of mock reproaches and content. Then cease, and sit there warm and white An hour, till in the fading light They wake, and know the close of day, Flutter above, and fly away, Leaving the roof whereon they sat As 'twas before, a peaceful flat Expanse, as silent and serene As though no life had ever been. TREETOPS There beyond my window ledge, Heaped against the sky a hedge Of huge and wavering treetops stands With multitudes of fluttering hands. Wave they, beat they to and fro, Never stillness may they know, Plunged by the wind and hurled and torn Anguished, purposeless, forlorn.  "O ferocious, O despairing, In huddled isolation faring Through a scattered universe, Lost coins from the Almighty's purse!"  "No, below you do not see The firm foundations of the tree; Anchored to a rock beneath We laugh in the hammering tempest's teeth."  "Boughs like men but burgeons are On an adamantine star; Men are myriad blossoms on A staunch and cosmic skeleton."     IN THE PARK This dense hard ground I tread These iron bars that ripple past, Will they unshaken stand when I am dead And my deep thoughts outlast? Is it my spirit slips, Falls, like this leaf I kick aside; This firmness that I feel about my lips, Is it but empty pride? Mute knowledge conquers me; I contemplate them as they are, Faint earth and shadowy bars that shake and flee, Less hard, more transient far Than those unbodied hues The sunset flings on the calm river; And, as I look, a swiftness thrills my shoes And my hands with empire quiver. Now light the ground I tread, I walk not now but rather float; Clear but unreal is the scene outspread, 

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