Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/1143

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Am I a leafless branch, bowed with a load of snow; Not for warm hands to pluck, but alone in the world of cold ; Black against pale-washed sky, grey never vein'd with red ? But so the better for you, cold shape of the dark outside, You banished from rose too red for ice-green eyes to see; Chased before lambing time, ere even the snowdrops come, Poor gipsy-wraith of the snow, but knowing your brother,

and come

To him ? Then come to me. I will give you a cold, cold kiss. My roses arc dead, they too. My lips are grey. My eyes Have neither ins nor pupil. They died, and now all is white , White in a face of stone. Sister, cold lover, come.


95 8 Cargoes

OUINQUIREME of Nineveh from distant Ophir Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory, And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,

Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,

With a cargo of diamonds,

Emeralds, amethysts,

Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack

Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,

With a cargo of Tyne coal,

Road-rail, pig-lead,

Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.

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