Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/119

 Shakes its old sapless arms at me, And would my madness mock! The slaves are saucy—well they know Good service did they long ago.

I've lived two lives: The first is past Some hundred years or more; But still the present is o'ercast With visionings of yore. This tree, this rock that's cushioned sweet With tufts of savoury thyme, That unseen river which doth greet Our ears with its rude rhyme, Were then as now—they form the chain That links the present with past pain.

Sweet Flesh and Blood! how deadly chill These milk-white fingers be! The feathery ribs of ice-bound rill Seem not so cold to me;— But press them on this burning brow Which glows like molten brass, 'Twill thaw them soon; then thou shalt know How ancient visions pass