THE GAME

‘ Tis played with eyes; one uttered word

Would cast the game away.

As silent as a sailing bird,

The shift and change of play.

So many eyes to me are dear,

So many do me bless;

The hazel, deep as deep wood-mere

Where leaves are flutterless;

The brown that most bewildereth

With dusking, golden play

Of shadows like betraying breath

From some shy, hidden day;

The black whose torch is ever trimmed,

Let stars be soon or late;

The blue, a morning never dimmed,

Opposing Heaven to fate;

The grey as soft as farthest skies

That hold horizon rain;

Or when, steel-darkling, stoic-wise,

They bring the gods again;

And wavelit eyes of nameless glow,

Fed from far-risen streams;

But oh, the eyes, the eyes that know

The silent game of dreams!

Three times I've played. Once‘ twas a child,

Lap-held, not half a year

From Heaven, looked at me and smiled,

And far I went with her.

Out past the twilight gates of birth,

And past Time's blindfold day,

Beyond the star-ring of the earth,

We found us room to play.

And once a woman, spent and old

With unavailing tears,

Who from her hair's down-tangled fold

Shook out the grey-blown years,

Sat by the trampled way alone,

And lifted eyes — what themes!

I could not pass, I sat me down

To play the game of dreams.

And once... a poet's eyes they were,

Though earth heard not his strain;

And since he went no eyes can stir

My own to play again.