Cricket , chirring in the autumn twilight,
Little kinsman,
I, like you, the unknown path must follow
Into darkness, —
One day into darkness.
Would I might, with your ecstatic buoyance,
Fare forth singing!

The cricket and the greshope wenten hem to fight,
With helme and haburjone all redy dight;
The flee bare the baner as a doughty knight;
The cherubud trumped with all his might.

The hare sete upon the hill and chappind her shone,
And swere by the knappes which were ther-upon
That she would not rise ne gon
Till she see twenty houndes and a won.

The milner sete upon the hill,
And all the hennes of the town drew him till.
The milner said: " Shew, henne, shew!
I may not shake my bagge for you."

The creek, shining,
out of the deep woods
comes with the rippling of
water over the pebbly bottom,

moving between
banks crowded with raspberry
bushes, the ripe red
berries in their short season

to deepen slowly
among tall pines, athletes in
the wind, then the swampy
ground low-lying and damp

where sunlight strikes
glints on the gliding surface
of the clear cold
creek winding towards the shore

of the lake, blue,
not far through reeds and rushes,
where with a plunge, a small

1. Creation's Lord, we give thee thanks That this thy world is incomplete;
2. That thou hast not yet finished man; That we are in the making still,
That battle calls our marshaled ranks; That work awaits our hands and feet;
As friends who share the Maker's plan, As sons who know the Father's will.

3. What though the kingdom long delay,
And still with haughty foes must cope?
It gives us that for which to pray,
A field for toil and faith and hope.

4. Since what we choose is what we are,
And what we love we yet shall be,

TO COLIN

Crashed through the woods that lumbering Coach. The dust
Of flinted roads bepowdering felloe and hood.
Its gay paint cracked, its axles red with rust,
It lunged, lurched, toppled through a solitude

Of whispering boughs, and feathery, nid-nod grass.
Plodded the fetlocked horses. Glum and mum,
Its ancient Coachman recked not where he was,
Nor into what strange haunt his wheels were come.

Crumbling the leather of his dangling reins;
Worn to a cow's tuft his stumped, idle whip;

Cranmer was parson of this parish
And said Our Father beside barns
Where my grandfather worked without praying.

From the valley came the ring of metal
And the horses clopped down the track by the stream
As my mother saw them.

The Wiltshire voices floated up to him
How should they not overcome his proud Latin
With We depart answering his Nunc Dimittis ?

One evening he came over the hillock
To the edge of the churchyard already filled with bones
And saw in the smithy his own fire burning.

NIGHT .

The crackling embers on the hearth are dead:
The indoor note of industry is still;
The latch is fast; upon the window sill
The small birds wait not for their daily bread;
The voiceless flowers—how quietly they shed
Their nightly odours:—and the household rill,
Murmurs continuous dulcet sounds that fill
The vacant expectation, and the dread
Of listening night. And haply now she sleeps;
For all the garrulous noises of the air
Are hush'd in peace; the soft dew silent weeps,
Like hopeless lovers for a maid so fair—

FROM THE ZUNI AMERICAN INDIAN

Locust, locust, playing a flute,
 Locust, locust, playing a flute!
Away up on the pine-tree bough,
  Closely clinging,
 Playing a flute,
 Playing a flute!

Coy in a covert of the glossy bracken
My love and I sat warm, enchanted, silent,
And watched one tree against the molten azure;

Its leaves were fretted gold-work in the sunset,
And on a bough that glistered like vermilion,
A roseate bird of paradise sat preening.

Alas! my love arose and went in anger:
The east wind blew, and all the sky grew leaden,
The bloom and gloss from off the bracken faded.

And, in the hueless larch that I was watching,
On one brown branch, caught by the storms and broken,

A Cowboy hat, and underneath
Two weapons flashing from a sheath
Of knitted brows, brows that are clear
Of storm or wrath. Perhaps once a year
A woman, she, and with such eyes
Like watch dogs kenneled in her brain,
Woe to the fool who gropes,
Likewise to him who views her with disdain.

A queen self-crowned by self-reliance,
The laws, she holds them in defiance,
Laughs long and loud at sheriff's writ,
And somehow that's the last of it.
But who is she? So indiscreet
Who over-rides you on the street
Not caring whoever you are