Page:Veil other poems .djvu/54

 {{c|SOTTO VOCE

{{sm| {To Edward Thomas)}}}}

HE haze of noon wanned silver-grey The soundless mansion of the sun; The air made visible in his ray, Like molten glass from furnace run, Quivered o'er heat-baked turf and stone And the flower of the gorse burned on— Burned softly as gold of a child's fair hair Along each spiky spray, and shed Almond-like incense in the air Whereon our senses fed.

At foot—a few sparse harebells: blue And still as were the friend's dark eyes That dwelt on mine, transfixed through With sudden ecstatic surmise. 'Hst!' he cried softly, smiling, and lo, Stealing amidst that maze gold-green, I heard a whispering music flow From guileful throat of bird, unseen:—