Towards democracy, S. 77

Towards Democracy 63

I hear beyond the sound of the hone and strickle, and look in the eyes of the Mower, under the shade of his broad straw hat.

It comes and recedes again, and comes nearer.

The little waves lip up against the great black ship as she glides down river—

O sailor sitting on a plank over the side, beware!

The ship itself, the rigging, the tidal river, the docks, the wharves, and long busy streets, and country beyondthe shows of life and death—

Who makes and who unmakes them?

I touch you lightly. I am the spray.

I touch you that you remember, and forget not who | you are.

XE

I look upon him who makes all things.

I sit at his feet in silence as he lights his pipe, and - feel the careless resting of his fingers upon my neck.

I see the ‘fire leaping in the grate; I see.the nodding of grasses and blackberry sprays in the hedges; I hear the long surge and hush of the wind ;

I hear his voice speaking to me.

O rivers and hills of Albion, O clouds that sail from the Atlantic to the North Sea, and wrinkled old Abbeys and modern towers and streets of heavily laden drays,

Behind your masks I am aware of an impercepiible change: surely it must be the appearance of a Face.