Page:Wessex poems and other verses (IA wessexpoemsother00hard).pdf/146

 A feeling stirred in me and strengthened That she was not my Love, But she of the garth, who lay rapt in Her long reverie.

And thence till to-day I persuade me That this was the true one; That Death stole intact her young dearness And innocency.

Frail-witted, illuded they call me; I may be. 'Tis better To dream than to own the debasement Of sweet Cicely.

Moreover I rate it unseemly To hold that kind Heaven Could work such device—to her ruin And my misery.

So, lest I disturb my choice vision, I shun the West Highway, Even now, when the knaps ring with rhythms From blackbird and bee;