at world rides,
You have no league with anything we are:
Your life is all entangled in the tides
Of goblin moons and musics and a star.

You talk to us of what the moment brings,
Of earnest men and worlds of work-a-day,
Of stocks and stores and half a hundred things,--
And all the while, your soul is leagues away,
Troubling old ghostly gardens where it goes,
Motlied with moonlight and your dominoes.

REVELATION

Walking these long, late twilights of the Spring,
Where all the fret of life seems nothing worth,
And grief, itself, a half-forgotten thing,
Less keen than these cool odours of the earth,--
I sometimes think we find the secret gate
That gives on gardens of enchanted light,
Restoring glories that we lost of late,
To quiet wisdom and more certain sight.

A holier mood will haunt our stubborn will,
Till we shall see revealments through the grass,
And stop, abashed, before a daffodil,
A shining weed, a stone on ways we pass,
Stand with bared head before the evening star,
And know these holy things for what they are.

DISCOVERY

I shall discover ... after all and all ...
From what alembic issues forth the Spring,
What cryptic finger, moving by a wall,
Leaves tulip writs in tulip colouring;
I shall have knowledge of the tug and grip
Of tender roots where they are thrust and curled,
And what frail doors are opened to let slip
The hidden spear into the lighted world.

So I shall know the mint of daffodils,
In darkened rooms where colour comes to birth,
The mouldy chamber where the rose distils
A sweetness that is Summer for the earth ...
And all the strange, alchemic, secret spell,
I shall discover, ... but I shall not tell.

FOR BOB: A DOG

(_In Memoriam_)

You, who would never leave us to our sleeping,
But ever nosed us out of bed to play,
How can we ever think of you as keeping
So strangely still, as stirless as the clay?
We cannot think you dead to games and laughter;
Surely in some bright place beyond the sun,
Girls race and play, and you go racing after,
And lie across their feet when games are done.

Who knows, but in our separate times and places
When we have slept the last, last sleep away,
You yet may come, your nose against our faces,
And wake us to our bright, immortal p