The Shepherd Boy

When the red moon hangs over the fold,
And the cypress shadow is rimmed with gold,
O little sheep, I have laid me low,
My face against the old earth's face,
Where one by one the white moths go,
And the brown bee has his sleeping place,
And then I have whispered, ' Mother, hear,
For the owls are awake and the night is near,
And whether I lay me near or far,
No lips shall kiss me,
No eye shall miss me,
Saving the eye of a cold white star.'
And the old brown woman answers mild,
‘Rest you safe on my heart, O child :
Many a shepherd, many a king,
I fold them safe from their sorrowing.
Gwenever's heart is bound with dust,
Tristram dreams of the dappled doe,
But the bugle moulders, the blade is rust ;
Stilled are the trumpets of Jericho,
And the tired men sleep by the walls of Troy.
Little and lonely,
Knowing me only,
Shall I not comfort you, shepherd boy ? '
When the wind wakes in the apple tree,
And the shy hare feeds on the wild fern stem,
I say my prayers to the Trinity,
The prayers that are three and the charms that are seven,
To the angels guarding the towers of heaven ;
And I lay my head on her raiment's hem,
Where the young grass darkens the strawberry star,
Where the iris buds and the bellworts are.
All night I hear her breath go by,
Under the arch of the empty sky ;
All night her heart beats under my head,
And I lie as still as the ancient dead,
Warm as the young lambs there with the sheep.
I and no other,
Close to my Mother,
Fold her hands in my hands and sleep,