IN this wood—how the hazels have grown!—I left a treasure all my ownOf childish kisses and laughter and pain;Left, till I might come back againTo take from the familiar earthMy hoarded secret and count its worth.And all the spider-work of the years,All the time-spun gossamers,Dewed with each succeeding spring;And the piled up leaves the Autumns flingTo the sweet corruption of death on death....At the sudden stir of my spirit’s breathAll scattered. New and fair and brightAs ever it was, before my sightThe treasure lay, and nothing missed.So having handled all and kissed,I put them back, adding one newAnd precious memory of you.
IN this wood—how the hazels have grown!—I left a treasure all my ownOf childish kisses and laughter and pain;Left, till I might come back againTo take from the familiar earthMy hoarded secret and count its worth.And all the spider-work of the years,All the time-spun gossamers,Dewed with each succeeding spring;And the piled up leaves the Autumns flingTo the sweet corruption of death on death....At the sudden stir of my spirit’s breathAll scattered. New and fair and brightAs ever it was, before my sightThe treasure lay, and nothing missed.So having handled all and kissed,I put them back, adding one newAnd precious memory of you.
IN this wood—how the hazels have grown!—I left a treasure all my ownOf childish kisses and laughter and pain;Left, till I might come back againTo take from the familiar earthMy hoarded secret and count its worth.And all the spider-work of the years,All the time-spun gossamers,Dewed with each succeeding spring;And the piled up leaves the Autumns flingTo the sweet corruption of death on death....At the sudden stir of my spirit’s breathAll scattered. New and fair and brightAs ever it was, before my sightThe treasure lay, and nothing missed.So having handled all and kissed,I put them back, adding one newAnd precious memory of you.
Printed at The Vincent Works, Oxford.