The crackle of the sinking fire in the grate, The far train, the slow echo in the coombe, The ear that hears fire, train and echo and all.
The loveliness that is the secret shape Of once-seen, sweet and oft-dreamed loveliness, The brain that builds shape, memory, dream and all ...
A white moon stares Time's thinning fabric through, And makes substantial insubstantial seem, And shapes immortal mortal as a dream; And eye and brain flicker as shadows do Restlessly dancing on a cloudy wall.
"Are you awake, Gemelli, This frosty night?" "We'll be awake till reveille, Which is Sunrise," say the Gemelli, "It's no good trying to go to sleep: If there's wine to be got we'll drink it deep, But rest is hopeless to-night, But rest is hopeless to-night."
"Are you cold too, poor Pleiads, This frosty night?" "Yes, and so are the Hyads: See us cuddle and hug," say the Pleiads, "All six in a ring: it keeps us warm: We huddle together like birds in a storm: It's bitter weather to-night, It's bitter weather to-night."
"What do you hunt, Orion, This starry night?" "The Ram, the Bull and the Lion And the Great Bear," says Orion, "With my starry quiver and beautiful belt I am trying to find a good thick pelt To warm my shoulders to-night, To warm my shoulders to-night."
"Did you hear that, Great She-bear, This frosty night?" "Yes, he's talking of stripping _me_ bare Of my own big fur," says the She-bear. "I'm afraid of the man and his terrible arrow: The thought of it chills my bones to the marrow, And the frost so cruel to-night! And the frost so cruel to-night!"
"How is your trade, Aquarius, This frosty night?" "Complaints is many and various And my feet are cold," says Aquarius, "There's Venus objects to Dolphin-scales, And Mars to Crab-spawn found in my pails, And the pump has frozen to-night, And the pump has frozen to-night."
TO LUCASTA ON GOING TO THE WARS-- FOR THE FOURTH TIME
It doesn't matter what's the cause, What wrong they say we're righting, A curse for treaties, bonds and laws, When we're to do the fighting! And since we lads are proud and true, What else remains to do?
Lucasta, when to France your man Returns his fourth time, hating war, Yet laughs as calmly as he can And flings an oath, but says no more, That is not courage, that's not fear--Lucasta he is Fusilier, And his pride sends him here.
