The Meeting

THE old coach-road through a common of furze, With knolls of pine, ran white; Berries of autumn, with thistles, and burrs, And spider-threads, droop’d in the light.

The light in a thin blue veil peered sick; The sheep grazed close and still; The smoke of a farm by a yellow rick Curled lazily under a hill.

No fly shook the round of the silver net; No insect the swift bird chased; Only two travellers moved and met Across that hazy waste.

One was a girl with a babe that throve, Her ruin and her bliss; One was a youth with a lawless love, Who clasped it the more for this.

The girl for her babe hummed prayerful speech; The youth for his love did pray; Each cast a wistful look on each, And either went their way.