THE blue above, the sheep-shorn grass beneath,
Over the shoulder of the Down we sped,
And saw the picture of the world outspread
Where Solent winds beyond the purple heath.
And sudden, waked as by the salt sea breath,
I felt the earth forlorn, because the tread
Of one who taught my earliest steps had fled,
And he in cold attainder lay of death.

Then with my tears a kindling triumph strove,
It was such joy to this poor heart of mine
To be so shrewdly stung of long lost love;
To know it living by a bleeding sign,
And, in the hungry, shaping tooth thereof,
Feel it at work to make my soul divine.