Men, Women and Ghosts [3]
Had the weeds Been duly taken out Under the 'spaliered pears, and were these lying Nailed snug against the sunny bricks and drying Their leaves and satisfying all their needs?
VI
She picked a stone up with a little pout, Stones looked so ill in well-kept flower-borders. Where should she put it? All the paths about Were strewn with fair, red gravel by her orders. No stone could mar their sifted smoothness. So She hurried to the river. At the edge She stood a moment charmed by the swift blue Beyond the river sedge. She watched it curdling, crinkling, and the snow Purfled upon its wave-tops. Then, "Hullo, My Beauty, gently, or you'll wriggle through."
VII
The Lady Eunice caught a willow spray To save herself from tumbling in the shallows Which rippled to her feet. Then straight away She peered down stream among the budding sallows. A youth in leather breeches and a shirt Of finest broidered lawn lay out upon An overhanging bole and deftly swayed A well-hooked fish which shone In the pale lemon sunshine like a spurt Of silver, bowed and damascened, and girt With crimson spots and moons which waned and played.
VIII
The fish hung circled for a moment, ringed And bright; then flung itself out, a thin blade Of spotted lightning, and its tail was winged With chipped and sparkled sunshine. And the shade Broke up and splintered into shafts of light Wheeling about the fish, who churned the air And made the fish-line hum, and bent the rod Almost to snapping. Care The young man took against the twigs, with slight, Deft movements he kept fish and line in tight Obedience to his will with every prod.
IX
He lay there, and the fish hung just beyond. He seemed uncertain what more he should do. He drew back, pulled the rod to correspond, Tossed it and caught it; every time he threw, He caught it nearer to the point. At last The fish was near enough to touch. He paused. Eunice knew well the craft -- "What's got the thing!" She cried. "What can have caused -- Where is his net? The moment will be past. The fish will wriggle free." She stopped aghast. He turned and bowed. One arm was in a sling.
X
The broad, black ribbon she had thought his basket Must hang from, held instead a useless arm. "I do not wonder, Madam, that you ask it." He smiled, for she had spoke aloud. "The charm Of trout fishing is in my eyes enhanced When you must play your fish on land as well." "How will you take him?" Eunice asked. "In truth I really cannot tell. 'Twas stupid of me, but it simply chanced I never thought of that until he glanced Into the branches. 'Tis a bit uncouth."
XI
He watched the fish against the blowing sky, Writhing and glittering, pulling at the line. "The hook is fast, I might just let him die," He mused. "But that would jar against your fine Sense of true sportsmanship, I know it would," Cried Eunice. "Let me do it." Swift and light She ran towards him. "It is so long now Since I have felt a bite, I lost all heart for everything." She stood, Supple and strong, beside him, and her blood Tingled her lissom body to a glow.
XII
She quickly seized the fish and with a stone Ended its flurry, then removed the hook, Untied the fly with well-poised fingers. Done, She asked him where he kept his fishing-book. He pointed to a coat flung on the ground. She searched the pockets, found a shagreen case, Replaced the fly, noticed a golden stamp Filling the middle space. Two letters half rubbed out were there, and round About them gay rococo flowers wound And tossed a spray of roses to the clamp.
XIII
The Lady Eunice puzzled over these. "G. D." the young man gravely said. "My name Is Gervase Deane. Your servant, if you please." "Oh, Sir, indeed I know you, for your fame For exploits in the field has reached my ears. I did not know you wounded and returned."
"But just come back, Madam. A silly prick To gain me such unearned Holiday making. And you,
VI
She picked a stone up with a little pout, Stones looked so ill in well-kept flower-borders. Where should she put it? All the paths about Were strewn with fair, red gravel by her orders. No stone could mar their sifted smoothness. So She hurried to the river. At the edge She stood a moment charmed by the swift blue Beyond the river sedge. She watched it curdling, crinkling, and the snow Purfled upon its wave-tops. Then, "Hullo, My Beauty, gently, or you'll wriggle through."
VII
The Lady Eunice caught a willow spray To save herself from tumbling in the shallows Which rippled to her feet. Then straight away She peered down stream among the budding sallows. A youth in leather breeches and a shirt Of finest broidered lawn lay out upon An overhanging bole and deftly swayed A well-hooked fish which shone In the pale lemon sunshine like a spurt Of silver, bowed and damascened, and girt With crimson spots and moons which waned and played.
VIII
The fish hung circled for a moment, ringed And bright; then flung itself out, a thin blade Of spotted lightning, and its tail was winged With chipped and sparkled sunshine. And the shade Broke up and splintered into shafts of light Wheeling about the fish, who churned the air And made the fish-line hum, and bent the rod Almost to snapping. Care The young man took against the twigs, with slight, Deft movements he kept fish and line in tight Obedience to his will with every prod.
IX
He lay there, and the fish hung just beyond. He seemed uncertain what more he should do. He drew back, pulled the rod to correspond, Tossed it and caught it; every time he threw, He caught it nearer to the point. At last The fish was near enough to touch. He paused. Eunice knew well the craft -- "What's got the thing!" She cried. "What can have caused -- Where is his net? The moment will be past. The fish will wriggle free." She stopped aghast. He turned and bowed. One arm was in a sling.
X
The broad, black ribbon she had thought his basket Must hang from, held instead a useless arm. "I do not wonder, Madam, that you ask it." He smiled, for she had spoke aloud. "The charm Of trout fishing is in my eyes enhanced When you must play your fish on land as well." "How will you take him?" Eunice asked. "In truth I really cannot tell. 'Twas stupid of me, but it simply chanced I never thought of that until he glanced Into the branches. 'Tis a bit uncouth."
XI
He watched the fish against the blowing sky, Writhing and glittering, pulling at the line. "The hook is fast, I might just let him die," He mused. "But that would jar against your fine Sense of true sportsmanship, I know it would," Cried Eunice. "Let me do it." Swift and light She ran towards him. "It is so long now Since I have felt a bite, I lost all heart for everything." She stood, Supple and strong, beside him, and her blood Tingled her lissom body to a glow.
XII
She quickly seized the fish and with a stone Ended its flurry, then removed the hook, Untied the fly with well-poised fingers. Done, She asked him where he kept his fishing-book. He pointed to a coat flung on the ground. She searched the pockets, found a shagreen case, Replaced the fly, noticed a golden stamp Filling the middle space. Two letters half rubbed out were there, and round About them gay rococo flowers wound And tossed a spray of roses to the clamp.
XIII
The Lady Eunice puzzled over these. "G. D." the young man gravely said. "My name Is Gervase Deane. Your servant, if you please." "Oh, Sir, indeed I know you, for your fame For exploits in the field has reached my ears. I did not know you wounded and returned."
"But just come back, Madam. A silly prick To gain me such unearned Holiday making. And you,