I AM THE ONE.

I am the one whom ringdoves see

Through chinks in boughs

When they do not rouse

In sudden dread,

But stay on cooing, as if they said:

‘Oh; it's only he.’

I am the passer when up-eared hares,

Stirred as they eat

The new-sprung wheat,

Their munch resume

As if they thought; ‘He is one for whom

Nobody cares.’

Wet-eyed mourners glance at me

As in train they pass

Along the grass

To a hollowed spot,

And think: ‘No matter; he quizzes not

Our misery.’

I hear above: ‘We stars must lend

No fierce regard

To his gaze, so hard

Bent on us thus,—

Must scathe him not. He is one with us

Beginning and end.’

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