Part 15

THE LEAF

This silver-edged geranium leaf Is one sign of a bitter grief Whose symbols are a myriad more; They cluster round a carven stone Where she who sleeps is never alone For two hearts at the core,

Bound with her heart make one of three, A trinity in unity, One sentient heart that grieves; And myriad dark-leaved memories keep Vigil above the triune sleep,-- Edged all with silver are the leaves.

A MYSTERY PLAY

CHARACTERS

The Father. The Child. Death. Angels. Two Travellers.

* * * * *

The even settles still and deep, In the cold sky the last gold burns, Across the colour snow flakes creep. Each one from grey to glory turns Then flutters into nothingness; The frost down falls with mighty stress Through the swift cloud that parts on high; The great stars shrivel into less In the hard depth of the iron sky.

* * * * *

The Child:

What is that light, dear father, That light in the dark, dark sky?

The Father:

Those are the lights of the city And the villages thereby.

The Child:

There must be fire in the city To throw that yellow glare; And fire in the little villages On all the hearthstones there.

The Father, musing:

Yea, flames are on the hearthstones; The ovens are full of bread, But here the coals are dying And the flames are dead.

The Child:

What is the cold, dear father? It stings like an angry bee. Wherever it stings my hand turns white, See!

The Father:

The cold is a beast, my dear one, With his paws he tears at the thatch, His breath is a curse and a warning, You can see it creep on the latch.

The Child:

If 'tis a wolf, dear father, That lies with his paw on the floor, Let us heat the spade in the embers And drive him away from the door.

Angels:

God is the power of growth, In the snail and the tree, God is the power of growth In the heart of the man.

The Child:

Did you not hear the singing, Voices overhead? Mother's voice and Ruth's voice, Voices of the dead.

The Father, musing: