IN MANCHESTER SQUARE

1903

("In Memoriam" T.H.)

The paralytic man has dropped in death

The crossing-sweeper's brush to which he clung,

One-handed, twisted, dwarfed, scanted of breath,

Although his hair was young.

I saw this year the winter vines of France,

Dwarfed, twisted, goblins in the frosty drouth --

Gnarled, crippled, blackened little stems askance
On long hills to the South.

Great green and golden hands of leaves ere long
Shall proffer clusters in that vineyard wide.

And O his might, his sweet, his wine, his song,
His stature, since he died!

End of title

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