LYRICS
41
3.
His subtle throat is broken on the air;
(Reproachfulness, outbreast the wind)
That pointed eye, narrow hands, the fluted bone
Lie with the forest fall.
Yet with the year, shall, with the wrinkling leaves,
The frail shell break, the fragile monster breathe, and,
Falling, wing find air: and talk to god
Much like his grandfather in his time.
4.
Tonight sweet heart I think in graves of the wild earth forgotten,
Straws of old harvest whom the sun ignores,
Bones, and their bran, congratulate.
I do not think they pity us.
They pity less than they are glad.
All that was ardent and which now is air:
Warms round our wrestling here.
Heal, hardy air, harm in earth.
And yield these lungs the while to breathe
It takes to whisper out that worth
Whose cloudy forehead you enwreathe.
Not for your ease or pleasing was the air
Mild, the while past, and loving with the earth.
What for the seethe of health up breadth of summer
I cannot guess, but doubtless not for us.
Cruellest and dingiest of the squatters we
Who wring and craft and tease this field apart.
From the huge kindness of their kingdom's edge
The citizens peer seldom but to hide.
However, there are harms about the heart
We never dealt us, but can only serve.
Serve them then as we must, to further harm,
