I: Old Talk

Old Eyelot sees what never is. She says: “Pale lights move on the hill, Deep in the air are treasuries.”

She says: “I never go to mill Wood-way but something walks with me, So go wood-way I always will.

Wood-walking, I go mad to see What will die out just as I turn To catch it by the crooked tree.

I pass the bush that I saw burning With wild black flame at full of moon. That was a sight to set one learning

What things one merely doubts at noon. A-well, I know not what I learned. God send that you may learn it soon.

Windows for walls, thoughts that have turned Back into folk, gateways of horn, And the wild hearts that men have burned,

These things I see. And ay, one morn I saw the little people bear Away my little child new-born.

They gave her food yielded in air, Honey and rose-down. I looked and she was very fair.

So when the people of the town (Who did not know) believed her dead And wrapped her in a cloudy gown

I did not mourn. I only said: “She is the daughter of the Day And with the Night she has been wed.

“I am the mother of that one Born for two worlds. And I am she Who sees more things than moon and sun And little stars will ever see.”

* * *

Old Eyelot sees what never is. She says: “Green lights move on the leas, Deep in the air are treasuries.” I wonder what old Eyelot sees?