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But you have sheltered love so long
That love is part
Of your straight towering,
Lifting you straighter still,
As heart lifts heart—
That love is part
Of your straight towering,
Lifting you straighter still,
As heart lifts heart—
Hush—
How the Whip-poor-will
Wails from his bush,
The thrush
Is garrulous with delight,
There is a rapture in that liquid monotone:
"Bob-White! Bob-White!"
(Dear living stone!)
***
In the great room below,
Where arches hold the listening spaces,
Flames crackle, toss and gleam
In the red fire-places;
Memories dream—
Of other memories, perhaps,
Of other lives;
Of births
And of re-births that men deem death;
Of voices, foot-steps tapping the stone floor,
And faces—faces—
How the Whip-poor-will
Wails from his bush,
The thrush
Is garrulous with delight,
There is a rapture in that liquid monotone:
"Bob-White! Bob-White!"
(Dear living stone!)
***
In the great room below,
Where arches hold the listening spaces,
Flames crackle, toss and gleam
In the red fire-places;
Memories dream—
Of other memories, perhaps,
Of other lives;
Of births
And of re-births that men deem death;
Of voices, foot-steps tapping the stone floor,
And faces—faces—
Beyond, the open door,
The meadow drowsy with the moon,
The meadow drowsy with the moon,
60
