J. C. Squire, ed. A Book of Women’s Verse. 1921.
By Alice Meynell (18471922)In Manchester Square
(In memoriam T. H.)
T
The crossing-sweeper’s brush to which he clung,
One-handed, twisted, dwarfed, scanted of breath,
Although his hair was young.
Dwarfed, twisted, goblins in the frosty drouth,
Gnarled, crippled, blackened little stems askance,
On long hills to the South.
Shall proffer clusters in that vineyard wide.
And oh! his might, his sweet, his wine, his song,
His stature, since he died!