Page:Dreams and Images.djvu/231

 In bloom," I said,   "What further lack the bees, That they buzz so loud, Like a restless cloud, Among the orchard trees?" No voice in the air, from Sedgemoor field,  Moan'd out how Grey and the horse had reel'd;  Met me no ghost, with haunting eyes,  That westward pointed 'mid its sighs,  And pull'd apart a bloody vest,  And show'd the sword-gash in his breast.

Empty hives, and flitting bees, and sunny morning hours; I snipp'd the blossom'd lavender, and the pinks, and the gillyflowers; No petal trembled in my hold— I saw not the dead stretched stark and cold On the trampled turf at the shepherd's door, In the cloak and the doublet Monmouth wore, With Monmouth's scarf and headgear on, And the eyes, not clos'd, of my soldier son; I knew not how, ere the cocks did crow, the fight was fought in the dark, With naught for guide but the enemy's guns, when the flint flash'd out a spark, Till, routed at first sound of fire, the cavalry broke and fled, And the hoofs struck dumb, where they spurn'd the slain, and the meadow stream ran red; I saw not the handful of horsemen spur through the dusk, and out of sight, My soldier son at the Duke's left hand, and Grey that rode on his right.