VI. IN THE HAY-LOFT.

The darkness in the loft is sweet and warm

With the stored hay... darkness intensified

By one bright shaft that enters through the wide

Tall doors from under fringes of a storm

Which makes the doomed sun brighter. On the hay,

Perched mountain-high they sit, and silently

Watch the motes dance and look at the dark sky

And mark how heartbreakingly far away

And yet how close and clear the distance seems,

While all at hand is cloud — brightness of dreams

Unrealisable, yet seen so clear,

So only just beyond the dark. They wait,

Scarce knowing what they wait for, half in fear;

Expectance draws the curtain from their fate.