The Shadow On The Stone

I WENT by the Druid stone That broods in the garden white and lone, And I stopped and looked at the shifting shadows That at some moments fall thereon From the tree hard by with a rhythmic swing, And they shaped in my imagining To the shade that a well-known head and shoulders Threw there when she was gardening.

I thought her behind my back, Yea, her I long had learned to lack, And I said: “I am sure you are standing behind me, Though how do you get into this old track?” And there was no sound but the fall of a leaf As a sad response; and to keep down grief I would not turn my head to discover That there was nothing in my belief.

Yet I wanted to look and see That nobody stood at the back of me; But I thought once more: “Nay, I’ll not unvision A shape which, somehow, there may be.” So I went on softly from the glade, And left her behind me throwing her shade, As she were indeed an apparition— My head unturned lest my dream should fade.

Begun 1913: finished 1916.

IN THE GARDEN (M. H.)

WE waited for the sun To break its cloudy prison (For day was not yet done, And night still unbegun) Leaning by the dial.

After many a trial— We all silent there— It burst as new-arisen, Throwing a shade to where Time travelled at that minute.

Little saw we in it, But this much I know, Of lookers on that shade, Her towards whom it made Soonest had to go.

1915.