Edward Shanks

As a hot traveller Going through stones and sands, Who sees clear water stir Amid the weary lands, Takes in his hollowed hands The clean and lively water, That trickles down his throat Like laughter, like laughter,

So when you come to me Across these parched places And all the waste I see Flowered with your graces, I take between my hands Your face like a rare cup, Where kisses mix with laughter, And drink and drink them up Like water, like water.

Hawthorn above, as pale as frost, Against the paling sky is lost : On the pool's dark sheet below, The candid water-daisies glow.

As I came up and saw from far The water littered, star on star, I thought the may had left its hedge To float upon the pool's dark edge.

From Amberley to Storrington, From Storrington to Amberley, From Amberley to Washington You cannot see or smell the sea. But why the devil should you wish To see the home of silly fish ?

Since I prefer the earth and air, The fish may wallow in the sea And live the life that they prefer, If they will leave the land to me, So wish for each what he may wish, The earth for me, the sea for fish.

The husht September afternoon was sweet With rich and peaceful light. I could not hear On either side the sound of moving feet Although the hidden road was very near. The laden wood had powdered sun in it, Slipped through the leaves, a quiet messenger To tell me of the golden world outside Where fields of stubble stretched through counties wide.

And yet I did not move. My head reposed Upon a tuft of dry and scented grass And, with half-seeing eyes, through eyelids closed, I watched the languid chain of shadows pass, Light as the slowly moving shade imposed By summer clouds upon a sea of glass, And strove to banish or to make more clear The elusive and persistent dream of her.

And then I saw her, very dim at first, Peering for nuts amid the twisted boughs, Thought her some warm-haired dryad, lately burst Out of the chambers of her leafy house, Seeking for nuts for food and for her thirst Such water as the woodland stream allows, After the greedy summer has drunk up All but a drain within the mossy cup.

Then I, beholding her, was still a space And marked each posture as she moved or stood, Watching the sunlight on her hair and face. Thus with calm folded hands and quiet blood I gazed until her counterfeited grace Faded and left me lonely in the wood, Glad that the gods had given so much as this, To see her, if I might not have her kiss.

Along the branches of the laden tree The ripe fruit smiling hang. The afternoon Is emptied of all things done and things to be. Low in the sky the inconspicuous moon Stares enviously upon the mellow earth, That mocks her barren girth.

Ripe blackberries and long green trailing grass Are motionless beneath the heavy light : The happy birds and creeping things that pass Go fitfully and stir as if in fright, That they have broken on some mystery In bramble or in tree.

This is no hour for beings that are maiden ; The spring is virgin, lightly afraid and cold, But now the whole round earth is ripe and laden And stirs beneath her coverlet of gold And in her agony a moment calls . . . A heavy apple falls.

Before the downs in their great horse-shoes rise, I know a village where the Adur runs, Blown by sweet winds and by beneficent suns Visited and made ripe beneath kind skies. Light and delight are in the children's eyes And there the mothers sit, the fortunate ones, Blest in their daughters, happy in their sons, And the old men are beautiful and wise.

There stand the downs, great, close, tall, friendly, still, Linked up by grassy saddles, hill on hill, And steep the village in unending peace And to the north the plains in order lie, Heavy with crops and woods alternately And lively with low sounds that never cease.

My heart is like a meadow, Where clouds go over, Dappling the mingled grass and clover With mingled sun and shadow, With light that will not stay And shade that sails away.

Your heart is like an orchard, That has the sun for ever in its leaves, Where, on the grass beneath the trees, There falls the shadow of the fruit That ripen there for me.

The wild duck fly over From river to river And so the young lover Goes roving for ever.

They fly together, He walks alone : No maiden can tether Him with her moan.

At the bursting of blossom On her breast his head ; He has left her bosom Ere the apples are red.

Across the valley, Singing he goes. In highway and alley He seeks a new rose.

Tell me, O maidens, You who all day In lyrical cadence Dance and play,

Why do you proffer Your sweets to one, Who takes all you offer And leaves you to moan ?