- magazine : New numbers
- numero : 12 - 1914
- date : 01 avril 1914
- catégorie : Culture & arts
In dream, again within the clean, cold hell
Of glazed and aching silence he was trapped;
And, closing in, the blank walls of his cell
Crushed stifling on him . . . when the bracken snapped,
Caught in his clutching fingers: and he lay
Awake upon his back among the fern,
Her day out from the workhouse-ward, she stands,
A grey-haired woman, decent and precise,
With prim black bonnet and neat paisley shawl,
Among the other children by the stall,
And with grave relish eats a penny ice.
" What fettle, mate ? " to me he said
As he went by
With lifted head
And laughing eye,
Where, black against the dawning red,
The pit-heaps cut the sky :
" What fettle, mate ?
Humming and creaking, the car down the street
Ivumbered and lurched through thunderous gloam;
Bearing us, spent and dumb with the heat,
From office and counter and factory home
A catch for singing
Said the Old Young Man to the Young Old Man :
" Alack, and well-a-day ! "
Said the Young Old Man to the Old Young Man :
" The cherry-tree's in flourish ! "
Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat'ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond,
But is there anything Beyond ?
This life cannot be All, they swear,
For how unpleasant, if it were !
I know not how these men or those may take
Their first glad measure of love's character,
Or whether one should let the summer make
Love's festival, and one the falling year.
The end of the world
HUFF, the Farmer.
SHALE, the Labourer.
SOLLERS, the Wainwright.
MERRICK, the Smith.
VINE, the Publican.
WARP, the Molecatcher.
Men and Women of the Village