POETRY.
GARDENER'S SONG.
" WIND, come run to help me : Flash your wings, I see you clearly." I waited till he stretched them wide Down sailing through the sparkling tide ; Now he helps me floating here.
At my side he rides above Wherever on my work I rove, If at a tree's foot stooping low, He sways the branches to and fro, In green shade waiting.
When I fear the staring sun By my ears I feel him run, He can make me all the shadow To hide in while I walk the meadow, By cool air quickened.
Lawn and hill are just the same, Cool and happy at his name, The hanging wood which is his home Rings with bird-songs while we roam, Together working.
While I nurse and prune, he sows Deft at the labour that he knows, The seed-pods with his plumes to touch, Not too soft, nor overmuch, With wide wings scattering.
So does the seed float down the air While loudly shines the sun's gold hair, And in and out the strands there fly The floating birds who call and cry, Their harvest reaping.
The seed, like grains of gold, they take And for their airy roofs they make, Where for their store they heap it high, And all the leaves and branches nigh Ring while they glisten.
Most the wind has scattered wide, Like yellow sand for air's strong tide, Here is my harvest that I wait, The sunny waves run here to mate, With the gold sand lying.
Come, wind, make me quick a shade For, like a bee, I rob and raid, The offspring of this love to snare And take their increase for my share, In hot sun reaping. SACHEVERELL SITWELL.
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