Thy Hill Leave Not

Thy hill leave not, O Spring,     Nor longer leap down to the new-green'd Plain.     Thy western cliff-caves keep     O Wind, nor branch-borne Echo after thee complain     With grumbling wild and deep.     Let Blossom cling     Sudden and frozen round the eyes of trees,     Nor fall, nor fall.     Be still each Wing,     Hushed each call.     So was it ordered, so     Hung all things silent, still;     Only Time earless moved on, stepping slow     Up the scarped hill,     And even Time in a long twilight stayed     And, for a whim, that whispered whim obeyed.     There was no breath, no sigh,     No wind lost in the sky     Roamed the horizon round.     The harsh dead leaf slept noiseless on the ground,     By unseen mouse nor insect stirred     Nor beak of hungry bird.     Then were voices heard     Mingling as though each     Earth and grass had individual speech.     --Has evening fallen so soon,     And yet no Moon?     --No, but hark: so still     Was never the Spring's voice adown the hill!     I do not feel her waters tapping upon     The culvert's under stone.     --And if 'tis not yet night a thrush should sing.     --Or if 'tis night the owl should his far echo bring     Near, near.--And I     Should know the hour by his long-shaking distant cry.     --But how should echo be? The air is dead,     No song, no wing,     --No footfall overhead     Of beast,--Or labourer passing, and no sound     Of labourer's Good-night, good-night, good-night!     --That we, here underground,     Take to ourselves and breathe unheard Good-night!     --O, it is lonely now with not one sound     Neath that arched profound,     --No throttled note     Sweet over us to float,     --No shadow treading light     Of man, beast, bird.     --If, earth in dumb earth, lie we here unstirred,     --Why, brother, it were death renewed again     If sun nor rain,     --O death undying, if no dear human touch nor sound     Fall on us underground!