very blood that owns Bare hills, cold silver on a sky of slate, A thread of water, churned to milky spate Streaming through slanted pastures fenced with stones. 

   I love those skies, thin blue or snowy gray, Those fields sparse-planted, rendering meager sheaves; That spring, briefer than apple-blossom's breath, Summer, so much too beautiful to stay, Swift autumn, like a bonfire of leaves, And sleepy winter, like the sleep of death. 

    SANCTUARY 

   This is the bricklayer; hear the thud Of his heavy load dumped down on stone.   His lustrous bricks are brighter than blood, His smoking mortar whiter than bone. 

   Set each sharp-edged, fire-bitten brick Straight by the plumb-line's shivering length; Make my marvelous wall so thick Dead nor living may shake its strength. 

   Full as a crystal cup with drink Is my cell with dreams, and quiet, and cool.... Stop, old man! You must leave a chink; How can I breathe? _You can't, you fool!_ 

    THE LION AND THE LAMB 

   I saw a Tiger's golden flank, I saw what food he ate, By a desert spring he drank; The Tiger's name was Hate. 

   Then I saw a placid Lamb Lying fast asleep; Like a river from its dam Flashed the Tiger's leap. 

   I saw a Lion tawny-red, Terrible and brave; The Tiger's leap overhead Broke like a wave. 

   In sand below or sun above He faded like a flame. The Lamb said, "I am Love";   "Lion, tell your name." 

   The Lion's voice thundering Shook his vaulted breast,   "I am Love. By this spring, Brother, let us rest." 

    THE CHURCH-BELL 

   As I was lying in my bed I heard the church-bell ring; Before one solemn word was said A bird began to sing. 

   I heard a dog begin to bark And a bold crowing cock; The bell, between the cold and dark, Tolled. It was five o'clock. 

   The church-bell tolled, and the bird sang, A clear true voice he had; The cock crew, and the church-bell rang, I knew it had gone mad. 

   A hand reached down from the dark skies, It took the bell-rope thong, The bell cried 

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