(continued)
SELF-UNCONSCIOUS
Along the way He walked that day, Watching shapes that reveries limn, And seldom he Had eyes to see The moment that encompassed him.
Bright yellowhammers Made mirthful clamours, And billed long straws with a bustling air, And bearing their load Flew up the road That he followed, alone, without interest there.
From bank to ground And over and round They sidled along the adjoining hedge;
Sometimes to the gutter Their yellow flutter Would dip from the nearest slatestone ledge.
The smooth sea-line With a metal shine, And flashes of white, and a sail thereon, He would also descry With a half-wrapt eye Between the projects he mused upon.
Yes, round him were these Earth's artistries, But specious plans that came to his call Did most engage His pilgrimage, While himself he did not see at all.
Dead now as sherds Are the yellow birds, And all that mattered has passed away;
Yet God, the Elf, Now shows him that self As he was, and should have been shown, that day.
O it would have been good Could he then have stood At a focussed distance, and conned the whole, But now such vision Is mere derision, Nor soothes his body nor saves his soul.
Not much, some may Incline to say, To see therein, had it all been seen.
Nay! he is aware A thing was there That loomed with an immortal mien.
