a hawk of light thy love hath caught me. IV And I shall get no peace from eucharist, Nor doling out strange prayers before the rood, To match the peace that thine hands' touch entails; Nor doth God's light match light shed over me When thy caught sunlight is about me thrown, Oh, for the very ruth thine eyes have told, Answer the rune this love of thee hath taught me. V After an age of longing had we missed Our meeting and the dream, what were the good Of weaving cloth of words? Were jewelled tales An opiate meet to quell the malady Of life unlived? In untried monotone Were not the earth as vain, and dry, and old, For thee, O Perfect Light, had I not sought thee? VI Calais, in song where word and tone keep tryst Behold my heart, and hear mine hardihood! Calais, the wind is come and heaven pales And trembles for the love of day to be. Calais, the words break and the dawn is shown. Ah, but the stars set when thou wast first bold, Turn! lest they say a lesser light distraught thee. VII O ivory thou, the golden scythe hath mown Night's stubble and my joy. Thou royal souled, Favour the quest! Lo, Truth and I have sought thee OCTAVE Fine songs, fair songs, these golden usuries A Her beauty earns as but just increment, And they do speak with a most ill intent Who say they give when they pay debtor's fees. I call him bankrupt in the courts of song Who hath her gold to eye and pays her not, Defaulter do I call the knave who hath got Her silver in his heart, and doth her wrong. SONNET If on the tally-board of wasted days They daily write me for proud idleness, Let high Hell summons me, and I confess, No overt act the preferred charge allays. To-day I thought—what boots it what I thought? Poppies and gold! Why should I blurt it out? Or hawk the magic of her name about Deaf doors and dungeons where no truth is bought? Who calls me idle? I have thought of her. Who calls me idle? By God's truth I've seen The arrowy sunlight in her golden snares. Let him among you all stand summonser Who hath done better things! Let whoso hath been With worthier works concerned, display his wares! BALLATETTA The light became her grace and dwelt among Blind eyes and shadows that are formed as men Lo, how the light doth melt us into song:  The broken sunlight for a healm she beareth Who hath my heart in jurisdiction. In wild-wood never fawn nor fallow fareth So silent light; no gossamer is spun So delicate as she is, when the sun Drives the clear emeralds from the bended grasses Lest they should parch too swiftly, where she passes. MADRIGALE Clear is my love but shadowed By the spun gold above her, Ah, what a petal those bent sheaths discover! The olive wood hath hidden her completely. She was gowned that discreetly The leaves and shadows 

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