| |
| ALL day long he kept the sheep:— | |
| Far and early, from the crowd, | |
| On the hills from steep to steep, | |
| Where the silence cried aloud; | |
| And the shadow of the cloud | 5 |
| Wrapt him in a noonday sleep. | |
| |
| Where he dipped the water’s cool, | |
| Filling boyish hands from thence, | |
| Something breathed across the pool | |
| Stir of sweet enlightenments; | 10 |
| And he drank, with thirsty sense, | |
| Till his heart was brimmed and full. | |
| |
| Still, the hovering Voice unshed, | |
| And the Vision unbeheld, | |
| And the mute sky overhead, | 15 |
| And his longing, still withheld! | |
| —Even when the two tears welled, | |
| Salt, upon that lonely bread. | |
| |
| Vaguely blessèd in the leaves, | |
| Dim-companioned in the sun, | 20 |
| Eager mornings, wistful eyes, | |
| Very hunger drew him on; | |
| And To-morrow ever shone | |
| With the glow the sunset weaves. | |
| |
| Even so, to that young heart, | 25 |
| Words and hands and Men were dear; | |
| And the stir of lane and mart | |
| After daylong vigil here. | |
| Sunset called, and he drew near, | |
| Still to find his path apart. | 30 |
| |
| When the Bell, with gentle tongue, | |
| Called the herd-bells home again, | |
| Through the purple shades he swung, | |
| Down the mountain, through the glen; | |
| Towards the sound of fellow-men,— | 35 |
| Even from the light that clung. | |
| |
| Dimly too, as cloud on cloud, | |
| Came that silent flock of his: | |
| Thronging whiteness, in a crowd, | |
| After homing twos and threes; | 40 |
| With the longing memories | |
| Of all white things dreamed and vowed. | |
| |
| Through the fragrances, alone, | |
| By the sudden-silent brook, | |
| From the open world unknown, | 45 |
| To the close of speech and book; | |
| There to find the foreign look | |
| In the faces of his own. | |
| |
| Sharing was beyond his skill; | |
| Shyly yet, he made essay: | 50 |
| Sought to dip, and share, and fill | |
| Heart’s-desire, from day to day. | |
| But their eyes, some foreign way, | |
| Looked at him; and he was still. | |
| |
| Last, he reached his arms to sleep, | 55 |
| Where the Vision waited, dim, | |
| Still beyond some deep-on-deep. | |
| And the darkness folded him, | |
| Eager heart and weary limb.— | |
| All day long, he kept the sheep. | 60 |
| |
