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On the gravel； and the thrift Of the borders。 Just a plate of current fashion；
Tripping by in high…heeled； ribboned shoes。 Not a softness anywhere
about me； Only whalebone and brocade。 And I sink on a seat in the shade
Of a lime tree。 For my passion Wars against the stiff brocade。 The
daffodils and squills Flutter in the breeze As they please。 And I weep； For
the lime…tree is in blossom And one small flower has dropped upon my
bosom。
And the plashing of waterdrops In the marble fountain Comes down
the garden…paths。 The dripping never stops。 Underneath my stiffened gown
Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin； A basin in the midst
of hedges grown So thick； she cannot see her lover hiding； But she guesses
he is near； And the sliding of the water Seems the stroking of a dear Hand
upon her。 What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown！ I should like to see it
lying in a heap upon the ground。 All the pink and silver crumpled up on
the ground。
I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths； And he would
stumble after； Bewildered by my laughter。 I should see the sun flashing
from his sword…hilt and the buckles on his shoes。 I would choose To
lead him in a maze along the patterned paths； A bright and laughing maze
for my heavy…booted lover； Till he caught me in the shade； And the buttons
of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me； Aching； melting；
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Men； Women and Ghosts
unafraid。 With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops； And the
plopping of the waterdrops； All about us in the open afternoon I am very
like to swoon With the weight of this brocade； For the sun sifts through the
shade。
Underneath the fallen blossom In my bosom； Is a letter I have hid。 It
was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke。 〃Madam； we
regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell Died in action Thursday
se'nnight。〃 As I read it in the white； morning sunlight； The letters squirmed
like snakes。 〃Any answer； Madam；〃 said my footman。 〃No；〃 I told him。
〃See that the messenger takes some refreshment。 No； no answer。〃 And I
walked into the garden； Up and down the patterned paths； In my stiff；
correct brocade。 The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun；
Each one。 I stood upright too； Held rigid to the pattern By the stiffness of
my gown。 Up and down I walked； Up and down。
In a month he would have been my husband。 In a month； here；
underneath this lime； We would have broke the pattern； He for me； and I
for him； He as Colonel； I as Lady； On this shady seat。 He had a whim That
sunlight carried blessing。 And I answered； 〃It shall be as you have said。〃
Now he is dead。
In Summer and in Winter I shall walk Up and down The patterned
garden…paths In my stiff； brocaded gown。 The squills and daffodils Will
give place to pillared roses； and to asters； and to snow。 I shall go Up and
down； In my gown。 Gorgeously arrayed； Boned and stayed。 And the
softness of my body will be guarded from embrace By each button； hook；
and lace。 For the man who should loose me is dead； Fighting with the
Duke in Flanders； In a pattern called a war。 Christ！ What are patterns
for？
Pickthorn Manor
I
How fresh the Dartle's little waves that day！ A steely silver；
underlined with blue； And flashing where the round clouds； blown away；
Let drop the yellow sunshine to gleam through And tip the edges of the
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Men； Women and Ghosts
waves with shifts And spots of whitest fire； hard like gems Cut
from the midnight moon they were； and sharp As wind through leafless
stems。 The Lady Eunice walked between the drifts Of blooming cherry…
trees； and watched the rifts Of clouds drawn through the river's azure
warp。
II
Her little feet tapped softly down the path。 Her soul was listless；
even the morning breeze Fluttering the trees and strewing a light swath
Of fallen petals on the grass； could please Her not at all。 She brushed a
hair aside With a swift move； and a half…angry frown。 She stopped
to pull a daffodil or two； And held them to her gown To test the colours；
put them at her side； Then at her breast； then loosened them and tried
Some new arrangement； but it would not do。
III
A lady in a Manor…house； alone； Whose husband is in Flanders with
the Duke Of Marlborough and Prince Eugene； she's grown Too apathetic
even to rebuke Her idleness。 What is she on this Earth？ No woman
surely； since she neither can Be wed nor single； must not let her mind
Build thoughts upon a man Except for hers。 Indeed that were no dearth
Were her Lord here； for well she knew his worth； And when she
thought of him her eyes were kind。
IV
Too lately wed to have forgot the wooing。 Too unaccustomed as a
bride to feel Other than strange delight at her wife's doing。 Even at the
thought a gentle blush would steal Over her face； and then her lips would
frame Some little word of loving； and her eyes Would brim and
spill their tears； when all they saw Was the bright sun； slantwise Through
burgeoning trees； and all the morning's flame Burning and quivering round
her。 With quick shame She shut her heart and bent before the law。
V
He was a soldier； she was proud of that。 This was his house and she
would keep it well。 His honour was in fighting； hers in what He'd left her
here in charge of。 Then a spell Of conscience sent her through the
orchard spying Upon the gardeners。 Were their tools about？ Were
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Men； Women and Ghosts
any branches broken？ Had the weeds