[C. A. Marris]
The Half-Wit said: "I walked with Him—
God—as He went His lonely way.
Tenderly, tremulously, the slim
Tall trees leant down to pray.
"I bent no knee, I who am I,
A God myself, enwrapt with flame,
Who storms all night across the sky
And calls each star by name.
"His forehead shone incarnadin'd,
The flowers they sang about His feet,
His voice was like a silken wind
From thickets summer-sweet.
"Complacently He bade me turn
To mark His handicraft … to note
A hill with living glory burn,
A fleet of clouds afloat,
"New grass up-springing after rain,
New wings astir within the nest,
A tired bee laden with his gain,
A beauty-haunted West.
"I, God as He was God, stood still
In the deep hush horizon-wide,
Remembering a shape of ill—
A wistful lad, wide-eyed,
"Who from his cradle crawled to know
Whatever else the years might send,
That like a maimed thing he must go
Unto his desperate end."