And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, Yes, men may come and go; and these are gone, Of Brunelleschi; sleeps in peace: and he, I scraped the lichen from it: Katie walks Far off, and holds her head to other stars, So Lawrence Aylmer, seated on a style In the long hedge, and rolling in his mind A tonsured head in middle age forlorn, Mused, and was mute. On a sudden a low breath Of tender air made tremble in the hedge The fragile bindweed-bells and briony rings; In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell Divides threefold to show the fruit within: Then, wondering, ask'd her 'Are you from the farm?' 'Yes' answer'd she. 'Pray stay a little: pardon me; What do they call you?' 'Katie.' strange. "That were What surname?' 'Willows.' 'No!' "That is my name.' 'Indeed!' and here he look'd so self-perplext, That Katie laugh'd, and laughing blush'd, till he Laugh'd also, but as one before he wakes, Who feels a glimmering strangeness in his dream. Then looking at her; "Too happy, fresh and fair, Too fresh and fair in our sad world's best bloom, To be the ghost of one who bore your name About these meadows, twenty years ago.' 'Have you not heard?' said Katie, ' we came back. We bought the farm we tenanted before. Am I so like her? so they said on board. Sir, if you knew her in her English days, My mother, as it seems you did, the days But she-you will be welcome-O, come in!' K |