Or else they stand and sniff the wind,
Thine eyes grow full of tender care:
And made my lips and music wed,
Or only gazea little while;
Remembering all that shaken hair
The ravens of unresting thought;
The Two Trees
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
In the dim glass the demons hold,
The glass of outer weariness,
Gaze no more in the bitter glass.
The shaking of its leafy head
Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
From joy the holy branches start,
Broken boughs and blackened leaves.
Made when God slept in times of old.
In those great ignorant leafy ways;
And shake their ragged wings; alas!
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.
Gyring, spiring to and fro
There the Joves a circle go,
BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart,
There, through the broken branches, go
The flaming circle of our days,
The demons, with their subtle guile.
Gaze no more in the bitter glass
Flying, crying, to and fro,
Have dowered the stars with metry light;
Lift up before us when they pass,
For ill things turn to barrenness
Cruel claw and hungry throat,
The changing colours of its fruit
The holy tree is growing there;
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
That the stormy night receives,
Roots half hidden under snows,
Has given the waves their melody,
For there a fatal image grows
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
And how the winged sandals dart,
