XI

     Howbeit the season of the dancing blood,
     Forgot was horse of mare, yea, mare of horse: 
     Reversed, each head at either’s flank, they stood. 
     Whereat the Goddess, in a dim remorse,
     Laid hand on them, and smacked; and her touch pricked. 
     Neighing within, at either’s flank they licked;
     Played on a moment’s force
     At courtship, withering to the crazy nod.

     XII

     The nod was that we gather for consent;
     And mournfully amid the group a dame,
     Interpreting the thing in nature meant,
     Her hands held out like bearers of the flame,
     And nodded for the negative sideways. 
     Keen at her Mistress glanced Iambe:  rays
     From the Great Mother came: 
     Her lips were opened wide; the curse was rent.

     XIII

     She laughed:  since our first harvesting heard none
     Like thunder of the song of heart:  her face,
     The dreadful darkness, shook to mounted sun,
     And peal on peal across the hills held chase. 
     She laughed herself to water; laughed to fire;
     Laughed the torrential laugh of dam and sire
     Full of the marrowy race. 
     Her laughter, Gods! was flesh on skeleton.

     XIV

     The valley people huddled, broke, afraid,
     Assured, and taking lightning in the veins,
     They puffed, they leaped, linked hands, together swayed,
     Unwitting happiness till golden rains
     Of tears in laughter, laughter weeping, smote
     Knowledge of milky mercy from that throat
     Pouring to heal their pains: 
     And one bold youth set mouth at a shy maid.

     XV

     Iambe clapped to see the kindly lusts
     Inspire the valley people, still on seas,
     Like poplar-tops relieved from stress of gusts,
     With rapture in their wonderment; but these,
     Low homage being rendered, ran to plough,
     Fed by the laugh, as by the mother cow
     Calves at the teats they tease: 
     Soon drove they through the yielding furrow-crusts.

     XVI

     Uprose the blade in green, the leaf in red,
     The tree of water and the tree of wood: 
     And soon among the branches overhead
     Gave beauty juicy issue sweet for food. 
     O Laughter! beauty plumped and love had birth. 
     Laughter!  O thou reviver of sick Earth! 
     Good for the spirit, good
     For body, thou! to both art wine and bread!

     Earth and A wedded woman

     I

     The shepherd, with his eye on hazy South,
     Has told of rain upon the fall of day. 
     But promise is there none for Susan’s drouth,
     That he will come, who keeps in dry delay. 
     The freshest of the village three years gone,
     She hangs as the white field-rose hangs short-lived;
     And she and Earth are one
     In withering unrevived. 
     Rain!  O the glad refresher of the grain! 
     And welcome waterspouts, had we sweet rain!