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The heir of Rookwood.
I filled the weary days
Creeping from room to room, like some wild thing
Crippled and caged. My nature was athirst.
I had Sir Hugh's deep love of space and freedom,
His passion for brute beauty. Him I feared
And worshipped. From the oriels, sometimes,
I watched him with his dogs. One stood upright,
Steadying his paws upon his master's breast;
One crouched against his feet, and one had thrust
His muzzle through the hollowed hand. Ere long,
My cousin Arthur with his gun and pointers
Came up the lawn. Away together went
The uncle and boy nephew, leaving me
All passionate sorrow. Then I stole to watch
Ernestine at her broidery; else I heard
My sister Marian reading from those bards
Who flung the glittering lance of prophecy
Down the long future. When Sir Hugh returned,
Perhaps he bore me through the lawns awhile
On his broad breast; perhaps, when twilight came,
I nestled to his feet and heard him tell
His field exploits—and Arthur's—then break off
Creeping from room to room, like some wild thing
Crippled and caged. My nature was athirst.
I had Sir Hugh's deep love of space and freedom,
His passion for brute beauty. Him I feared
And worshipped. From the oriels, sometimes,
I watched him with his dogs. One stood upright,
Steadying his paws upon his master's breast;
One crouched against his feet, and one had thrust
His muzzle through the hollowed hand. Ere long,
My cousin Arthur with his gun and pointers
Came up the lawn. Away together went
The uncle and boy nephew, leaving me
All passionate sorrow. Then I stole to watch
Ernestine at her broidery; else I heard
My sister Marian reading from those bards
Who flung the glittering lance of prophecy
Down the long future. When Sir Hugh returned,
Perhaps he bore me through the lawns awhile
On his broad breast; perhaps, when twilight came,
I nestled to his feet and heard him tell
His field exploits—and Arthur's—then break off
