The man of shining face and eye, Like Moses' after Sinai.
1916.
"I LOOKED UP FROM MY WRITING"
I looked up from my writing, And gave a start to see, As if rapt in my inditing, The moon's full gaze on me.
Her meditative misty head Was spectral in its air, And I involuntarily said, "What are you doing there?""Oh, I've been scanning pond and hole And waterway hereabout For the body of one with a sunken soul Who has put his life-light out.
"Did you hear his frenzied tattle?
It was sorrow for his son Who is slain in brutish battle, Though he has injured none.
"And now I am curious to look Into the blinkered mind Of one who wants to write a book In a world of such a kind."Her temper overwrought me, And I edged to shun her view, For I felt assured she thought me One who should drown him too.
THE COMING OF THE END
How it came to an end!
The meeting afar from the crowd, And the love-looks and laughters unpenned, The parting when much was avowed, How it came to an end!
It came to an end;
Yes, the outgazing over the stream, With the sun on each serpentine bend, Or, later, the luring moon-gleam;It came to an end.
It came to an end, The housebuilding, furnishing, planting, As if there were ages to spend In welcoming, feasting, and jaunting;It came to an end.
It came to an end, That journey of one day a week:
("It always goes on," said a friend, "Just the same in bright weathers or bleak;")But it came to an end.