| wagon-wheel |
| Of beauty’s cruelty and wisdom’s chatter— |
| Out of that raving tide—is drawn betwixt |
| Deformity
of body and of mind. |
|
|
|
|
| Aherne. Were not our beds far off I’d ring the bell, |
| Stand under the rough
roof-timbers of the hall |
| Beside the castle door, where all is stark |
| Austerity, a place set out for wisdom |
| That
he will never find; I’d play a part; |
| He would never know me after all these years |
| But take me for
some drunken country man; |
| I’d stand and mutter there until he caught |
| ‘Hunchback and saint and fool,’
and that they came |
| Under the three last crescents of the moon, |
| And then I’d stagger out. He’d crack
his wits |
| Day after day, yet never find the meaning. |
|
|
|
|
| And then he laughed to think that what seemed hard |
| Should
be so simple—a bat rose from the hazels |
| And circled round him with its squeaky cry, |
| The light in
the tower window was put out. |