Arbaces, and Phenomenon, and the rest, Till, not to die a listener, I arose, And with me Philip, talking still; and so I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I move the sweet forget-me-nots I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I loiter round my cresses; 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 By the long wash of Australasian seas 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 On eyes a bashful azure, and on hair 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.' That were strange. What surname ? ' 'Willows.' 'No!' my name.' 'That is '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 back. not heard?' said Katie, 'we came We bought the farm we tenanted before. Sir, if you knew her in her English days, My mother, as it seems you did, the days That most she loves to talk of, come with me. My brother James is in the harvest-field: But she-you will be welcome-O, come in!' I |