Page:Reuben and other poems.pdf/11

 Opposite, looking landward, with the lap Of garden spread between, a small house stood, Square, solid, of grey stone, its painted door And shutters of a weather-stain’d sea-blue, Its slanted roof of pigeon-purple slate Splash’d into brightness by the broidering rings And rounds of orange lichen. Dappled too, And crusted, was each twig of every tree With massèd lichen, hoary, silver-gold, Greenish or russet. For the sea, though hid, Was not far off; on stone and bark she wrote Her salty runes, refresh’d the brooding air With her frank breath, and with her mighty voice The stately stillness more majestic made; Never remitting from that shelter’d spot Plain signs of her eternal neighbourhood.

Yet, solitary tho’ the place might be, And to strong influences subjected, drear Or lonely it was not. Small sights and sounds Pleasantly occupied it all day long— Hens clucking ’neath the bushes; the black goat Calling, from shed or pasture-tether; bees From clover, sainfoin, or the low gold crowns Of honey-vetch, with music coming home Up thro’ the garden to the door-seat, where Their pale straw houses glisten’d to the sun. And from within came sounds—Pilot’s loud bark, Or Reuben’s whistle, or the low sweet voice Of Mercy, singing at her housewifry.