The thief's feet bruised wet lavender 



Into sweet sharp surprise ; 

 The orchard, full of pears and joy, 



Smiled like a gold sunrise ; 

 But the blind house stared down on him 



With strange, white-lidded eyes. 



He stood at the world's secret heart 



In the haze-wrapt mystery ; 

 And fat pears, mellow on the lip. 



He supped like a honey-bee ; 

 But the apples he crunched with sharp white teeth 



Were pungent, like the sea. 



And this was the oldest garden joy. 



Living and young and sweet. 

 And the melting mists took radiance, 



And the silence a rhythmic beat. 

 For the day came stealing stealthily, 



A thief, upon furtive feet. 



And the walls that ring this world about 



Quivered like gossamer, 

 Till he heard, in the other worlds beyond, 



The other peoples stir. 

 And met strange, sudden, shifting eyes 



Through the filmy barrier. . , . 



ROSE MACAULAY. 



41 



