28 THE INCOMING OF SUMMER 

 grooved the stones, and the millstaff proven 

 their setting. The millwheel is very old 

 and will soon turn no more, but still the 

 human sorrow and the hunger goes on. 



Across the way stand dark yew trees 

 beneath whose stillness the grave-stones, 

 patched with gray and orange lichens, throw 

 their shadows upon the grass. The suns 

 of summer have bleached them, autumnal 

 rains washed them, wintry frosts worked 

 graven patterns upon the ancient letterings. 

 The stream flowed then as now, many 

 times had the swallows returned to their 

 mortared houses under the rafters and up 

 the broad chimneys think of all the beauty 

 repeated. Centuries of apple blossom, 

 scented beanfields and floating thistledown; 

 all the happiness of harvest garnered; all 

 the hunger and the misery of man, ever 

 striving with his neighbour. Can you not 

 see what the dandelion tells ? The swallows 

 on the beam know no passage of time 

 they look forward to no happiness they 



