HERE they went with smock and crook,
Toild in the sun, lolld in the shade,
Here they muddled
out the brook
And here their hatchet cleard the glade:
Harvest-supper woke their wit,
their wooings lit.
From this church they led their brides,
From this church themselves were led
Sat to take their beer and bread.
Names are gonewhat men they were
These their cottages
Names are vanishd, save the few
In the old brown Bible scrawld;
These were men of pith
Whom the city never calld;
Scarce could read or hold a quill,
Built the barn, the forge, the mill.
On the green they watchd their sons
Playing till too dark to see,
As their fathers watchd them
As my father once watchd me;
While the bat and beetle flew
On the warm air webbd with dew.
Men from whom my ways begin,
Here I know you by your ground
I know you not within
There is silence, there survives
Not a moment of your lives.
Like the bee that now is blown
Honey-heavy on my hand,
From his toppling tansy-throne
green tempestuous land
Im in clover now, nor know
Who made honey long ago.
TO-DAYS house makes to-morrows road;
I knew these heaps of stone
When they were walls
of grace and might,
The countrys honour, arts delight
That over fountaind silence showd
Inheritance has found fresh work,
Disunion union breeds;
Beauty the strong, its difference
Has matter fit for flood and frost.
Heres the true blood that will not shirk
Lifes new-commanding needs.
With curious costly zeal, O man,
Raise orrery and ode;
How shines your tower, the only one
that especial site and stone!
And even the dreams confusion can
Sustain to-morrows road.
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