Page:Poems by Ingelow, Jean.djvu/24

This page has been validated.
4
Divided.
iii.A dappled sky, a world of meadows,Circling above us the black rooks flyForward, backward; lo, their dark shadowsFlit on the blossoming tapestry—
Flit on the beck, for her long grass partethAs hair from a maid's bright eyes blown back;And, lo, the sun like a lover dartethHis flattering smile on her wayward track.
Sing on! we sing in glorious weatherTill one steps over the tiny strand.So narrow, in sooth, that still togetherOn either brink we go hand in hand.
The beck grows wider, the hands must sever.On either margin, our songs all done,We move apart, while she singeth ever,Taking the course of the stooping sun.
He prays, 'Come over'—I may not follow;I cry, 'Return'—but he cannot come:We speak, we laugh, but with voices hollow;Our hands are hanging, our hearts are numb.
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.