Poetry
The Empty Swing BY clear of moon on winter nights The child-swing in the paddock green
Beside the farm of lonely lights
Moves idly, pushed by hands unseen—
Up and down, to and fro— Or is it winds that shake it so ?
The swing is listless, and the seat Without the girl the carters knew ; Somewhere her blossom-beauty flew ; At morning-shine or sunset-beat To and fro, up and down, No longer toss her locks of brown.
Yes, but a fairy sits and swings Where once were child and fairy too ; Grave-eyed and staring at her shoe, Deserted all night long she sings To and fro, up and down, Wondering how the change has grown.
For all As grown-up now and old ; Like bent grey women ache the boughs ; The laughter dies from round the house ; She swings and stares in moonshine cold, High and low, to and fro,
half aware what griefs we know.
GEOFFREY JOHNSON.
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