MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE

The clouds had made a crimson crown About the mountains high. The stormy sun was going down In a stormy sky. Why did you let your eyes so rest on me, And hold your breath between? In all the ages this can never be As if it had not been.

About the little chambers of my heart Friends have been coming—going—many a year. The doors stand open there. Some, lightly stepping, enter; some depart. Freely they come and freely go, at will. The walls give back their laughter; all day long They fill the house with song. One door alone is shut, one chamber still.

We were young, we were merry, we were very very wise, And the door stood open at our feast, When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes, And a man with his back to the East. O still grew the hearts that were beating so fast, The loudest voice was still. The jest died away on our lips as they passed, And the rays of July struck chill. The cups of red wine turned pale on the board, The white bread black as soot, The hound forgot the hand of her lord, She fell down at his foot. Now let me lie where the dead dog lies, Ere I sit me down again at a feast, When there passes a woman with the West in her eyes, And a man with his back to the East.