POETRY.
"I SEE THIS SWEET NIGHT PASSING."
IN the fields at Green Fern Farm the grass is aglow
With dew like daisies tipped by an April moon.
The shadows are heavy in labouring rows, they are deep, They hide young violets that dappled the day below Tall hedges of hawthorn, the shadows are hedges asleep.
. . . The moon is falling, the sweet night passes, and soon The daisy-pale dew and the shadows will dwindle away, And again the white wild violets dapple the day.
But a shadow is here that lies deeper, it will stay, Even when the fields at Green Fern Farm bleach under the sun-brazed hours That dry the last dews out of grass and fern And the shadowless. flowers, Even then will that shadow linger, it will trouble the skies And the earth for ever, for on my heart it lies. . . .
THOMAS MOULT.
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