POETRY.
THE RUIN.
CONE are the coloured princes : gone echo : gone laughter. Drips the blank roof : and the moss creeps after.
Dead is the crumbled chimney ; all mellowed to rotting The wall-tints, and the floor-tints, from the spotting Of rain ; from wind, and the slow appetite Of patient mould, and of the worms that bite At beauty all their innumerable lives.
But the sudden nip of knives ; The lady aching for her stiffening lord ; The passionate-fearful bride, And beaded pallor clamped to the torment board ; Leave they no ghosts, no memories by the stairs ?
No sheeted glimmer treading floorloss ways ?
No haunting melody of lovers' airs, Nor stealthy chill upon the noon of days ?
No : for the crumbling walls have long forgotten What passionate hearts beneath the grass lie rotten.
Only from roofs and chimneys pleasantly sliding Tumbles the rain in the early hours : Patters its thousand feet on the flowers, Cools its small grey feet in the grasses.
151. Ysgol Fach, Talsarnau, N. Wales.
RICHARD HUGHES.
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