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LOLLINGDON DOWNS AND OTHER POEMS
I
So I have known this life,
These beads of coloured days,
This self the string.
What is this thing?
Not beauty; no; not greed,
O, not indeed;
Not all, though much;
Its colour is not such.
It has no eyes to see,
It has no ears,
It is a red hour's war
Followed by tears.
It is an hour of time,
An hour of road,
Flesh is its goad,
Yet, in the sorrowing lands,
Women and men take hands.
7
