Lifelong to be

Seemed the fair colour of the time;

That there was standing shadowed near

A spirit who sang to the gentle chime

Of the self-struck notes, I did not hear,

   I did not see.

   Thus did it sing

To the mindless lyre that played indoors

As she came to listen for me without:

“O value what the nonce outpours—

This best of life—that shines about

   Your welcoming!”

   I had slowed along

After the torrid hours were done,

Though still the posts and walls and road

Flung back their sense of the hot-faced sun,

And had walked by Stourside Mill, where broad

   Stream-lilies throng.

   And I descried

The dusky house that stood apart,

And her, white-muslined, waiting there

In the porch with high-expectant heart,

While still the thin mechanic air

   Went on inside.

   At whiles would flit

Swart bats, whose wings, be-webbed and tanned,

Whirred like the wheels of ancient clocks:

She laughed a hailing as she scanned

Me in the gloom, the tuneful box

   Intoning it.

   Lifelong to be

I thought it.  That there watched hard by

A spirit who sang to the indoor tune,

“O make the most of what is nigh!”

I did not hear in my dull soul-swoon—

   I did not see.