Martha
Once, once upon a time....
Over and over again,
Martha would tell us her stories,
In the hazel glen.
Hers were those clear gray eyes You watch, and the story seems Told by their beautifulness Tranquil as dreams.
She'd sit with her two slim hands Clasped round her bended knees;
While we on our elbows lolled,
And stared at ease.
Her voice and her narrow chin,
Her grave small lovely head,
Seemed half the meaning Of the words she said. "Once…Once upon a time…" Like a dream you dream in the night,
Fairies and gnomes stole out In the leaf-green light.
And her beauty far away Would fade, as her voice ran on,
Till hazel and summer sun And all were gone:— All fordone and forgot;
And like clouds in the height of the sky,
Our hearts stood still in the hush Of an age gone by.
Walter de la Mare
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