Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu/43

 HE sun is clear of bird and cloud,
 * The grass shines windless, grey and still,

In dusky ruin the owl dreams on,
 * The cuckoo echoes on the hill;

Yet soft along Alulvan's walks
 * The ghost at noonday stalks.

His eyes in shadow of his hat
 * Stare on the ruins of his house;

His cloak, up-fastened with a brooch,
 * Of faded velvet grey as mouse,

Brushes the roses as he goes:
 * Yet wavers not one rose.

The wild birds in a cloud fly up
 * From their sweet feedinp in the fruit;

The droning of the bees and flies
 * Rises gradual as a lute;

Is it for fear the birds are flown,
 * And shrills the insect-drone?

Thick is the ivy over Alulvan,
 * And crisp with summer-heat its turf;