Poetry
Museum Piece
THAT afternoon in the Museum I felt my spirit die from the present, Slip from the clasp of loved hand And touch the dust of a lost land. There I met a Saxon child, Upon her finger-bones a ring Whose gold was faded, as in Spring Rainwashed primroses shine.
A little garnet blind with time Was set within it, shared the sleep Of milkwhite skin and August hair, That hair of Autumn wheat, with deep Sunflecks, and the windy shadows Kissing the gold, and settling there Like happy thought on innocence.
But now the garnet glowed, the gold Clung to living flesh that gleamed And pulsed as the blood flowed beneath. From the awakened eyes there streamed The light of mind : and I heard breath Make music in her mouth, not old " Harsh rustling from the grave of thought, But tenderness, sweet enquiry, Quick with suspense, rapid with running After life, after colour, tasting these With timid, child-bold ecstasies.
It was a voice I knew, calling "Father! Father 1 " in the Saxon speech ; Falling, on my heart, falling From a century where I could not reach, Shouting over her shoulder as she ran "I have left a message I Make haste Follow me, Father Follow Follow I ".
Striving after her, to come to her side And clasp my darling, my spirit died.
Echoed in my ears "Make haste Make haste I ".
And the faith of that eager " Follow ! Follow !
Then the dust of the Museum settled low, The dust of time and human waste, And I said, my voice drawn thin and hollow, Said to my loved one "Shall we go ? " RICHARD CHURCH.
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