Page:Lollingdon Downs and other poems, Masefield, 1917.djvu/22

16 The ivy drifts,

The votive urns

Are all left void when Fortune turns,

The god is but a marble for the kerns

To break with hammers; a tale, a dream.

O Beauty, let me know again

The green earth cold, the April rain, the quiet waters figuring sky,

The one star risen.

So shall I pass into the feast

Not touched by King, merchant or priest,

Know the red spirit of the beast,

Be the green grain;

Escape from prison.