PAST

More than we know thou knewest Of all light and sweetness, Thou that fairly grewest To thy brief completeness: Hear how the hills mourn for thee! Thou hearest but thou heedest not. Were the green hills born for thee Lightly thus to be forgot? Knowing but small fairness, Seeing but the shadow Even of earth’s rareness In an earthly meadow, Yet we live in thought thereof, And our deepest heart of being Hath a garment wrought thereof, Meetly fair for heaven’s seeing. But thy vail is finer, More thou hadst: yet fleddest To a thing diviner Than the light thou sheddest: Vain is the sweet praise of thee, What we sing but poor thou deemest, Alien from the ways of thee; But we thirst for what thou dreamest. Haply now thou sendest Down the airs of even, Word of where thou wendest In the ways of heaven; But the quiet hath taken thee, And though quick with longing calleth Many a voice to waken thee, Silence on thine answer falleth. More than we know thou knewest Of all light and sweetness, Thou that fairly grewest To thy brief completeness: Hear how the hills mourn for thee! Thou hearest but thou heedest not. Were the green hills born for thee Lightly thus to be forgot? 1918.