THE MUSICAL BOX

Lifelong to be

Seemed the fair colour of the time;

That there was standing shadowed near

A spirit who sang to the gentle chime

Of the self-struck notes, I did not hear,

I did not see.

Thus did it sing

To the mindless lyre that played indoors

As she came to listen for me without:

“O value what the nonce outpours -

This best of life — that shines about

Your welcoming!”

I had slowed along

After the torrid hours were done,

Though still the posts and walls and road

Flung back their sense of the hot-faced sun,

And had walked by Stourside Mill, where broad

Stream-lilies throng.

And I descried

The dusky house that stood apart,

And her, white-muslined, waiting there

In the porch with high-expectant heart,

While still the thin mechanic air

Went on inside.

At whiles would flit

Swart bats, whose wings, be-webbed and tanned,

Whirred like the wheels of ancient clocks:

She laughed a hailing as she scanned

Me in the gloom, the tuneful box

Intoning it.

Lifelong to be

I thought it. That there watched hard by

A spirit who sang to the indoor tune,

“O make the most of what is nigh!”

I did not hear in my dull soul-swoon -

I did not see.