Ii

Thus meet we five, in this still place, At this point of time, at this point in space. —My guests parade my new-penned ink, Or bang at the lamp-glass, whirl, and sink. “God’s humblest, they!” I muse. Yet why? They know Earth-secrets that know not I.

MAX GATE, 1899.

THE CAGED THRUSH FREED AND HOME AGAIN (VILLANELLE)

“MEN know but little more than we, Who count us least of things terrene, How happy days are made to be!

“Of such strange tidings what think ye, O birds in brown that peck and preen? Men know but little more than we!

“When I was borne from yonder tree In bonds to them, I hoped to glean How happy days are made to be,

“And want and wailing turned to glee; Alas, despite their mighty mien Men know but little more than we!

“They cannot change the Frost’s decree, They cannot keep the skies serene; How happy days are made to be

“Eludes great Man’s sagacity No less than ours, O tribes in treen! Men know but little more than we How happy days are made to be.”

BIRDS AT WINTER NIGHTFALL (TRIOLET)

AROUND the house the flakes fly faster, And all the berries now are gone From holly and cotoneaster Around the house. The flakes fly!—faster Shutting indoors that crumb-outcaster We used to see upon the lawn Around the house. The flakes fly faster, And all the berries now are gone!

MAX GATE.

THE PUZZLED GAME-BIRDS (TRIOLET)

THEY are not those who used to feed us When we were young—they cannot be— These shapes that now bereave and bleed us? They are not those who used to feed us,— For would they not fair terms concede us? —If hearts can house such treachery They are not those who used to feed us When we were young—they cannot be!