Читать книгу Poems, 1908-1919 - Drinkwater John - Страница 10

THE WOOD

I walked a nut-wood’s gloom. And overhead

A pigeon’s wing beat on the hidden boughs,

And shrews upon shy tunnelling woke thin

Late winter leaves with trickling sound. Across

My narrow path I saw the carrier ants

Burdened with little pieces of bright straw.

These things I heard and saw, with senses fine

For all the little traffic of the wood,

While everywhere, above me, underfoot,

And haunting every avenue of leaves,

Was mystery, unresting, taciturn.

… … . …

And haunting the lucidities of life

That are my daily beauty, moves a theme,

Beating along my undiscovered mind.