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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355386" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ken</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The town is old and very steep<br> A place of bells and cloisters and grey towers,<br>And black-clad people walking in their sleep—<br> A nun, a priest, a woman taking flowers<br> To her new grave; and watched from end to end<br> By the great Church above, through the still hours:<br> But in the morning and the early dark<br>The children wake to dart from doors and call<br>Down the wide, crooked street, where, at the bend,<br> Before it climbs up to the park,<br>Ken's is in the gabled house facing the Castle wall.<br> <br>When first I came upon him there<br>Suddenly, on the half-lit stair,<br>I think I hardly found a trace<br>Of likeness to a human face<br> In his. And I said then<br>If in His image God made men,<br>Some other must have made poor Ken—<br>But for his eyes which looked at you<br>As two red, wounded stars might do.<br> <br>He scarcely spoke, you scarcely heard,<br>His voice broke off in little jars<br>To tears sometimes. An uncouth bird<br> He seemed as he ploughed up the street,<br>Groping, with knarred, high-lifted feet<br> And arms thrust out as if to beat<br> Always against a threat of bars.<br> <br> And oftener than not there'd be<br> A child just higher than his knee<br>Trotting beside him. Through his dim<br> Long twilight this, at least, shone clear,<br> That all the children and the deer,<br> Whom every day he went to see<br>Out in the park, belonged to him.<br> <br> &quot;God help the folk that next him sits<br> He fidgets so, with his poor wits,&quot;<br>The neighbours said on Sunday nights<br>When he would go to Church to &quot;see the lights!&quot;<br> Although for these he used to fix    <br> His eyes upon a crucifix<br> In a dark corner, staring on<br> Till everybody else had gone.<br> And sometimes, in his evil fits,<br>You could not move him from his chair—<br>You did not look at him as he sat there,<br> Biting his rosary to bits.<br>While pointing to the Christ he tried to say,<br> &quot;Take it away&quot;.<br> <br> Nothing was dead:<br>He said &quot;a bird&quot; if he picked up a broken wing,<br> A perished leaf or any such thing<br> Was just &quot;a rose&quot;; and once when I had said<br> He must not stand and knock there any more,<br> He left a twig on the mat outside my door.<br> <br> Not long ago<br>The last thrush stiffened in the snow,<br> While black against a sullen sky<br> The sighing pines stood by.<br>But now the wind has left our rattled pane<br>To flutter the hedge-sparrow's wing,<br>The birches in the wood are red again<br> And only yesterday<br>The larks went up a little way to sing<br> What lovers say<br> Who loiter in the lanes to-day;<br> The buds begin to talk of May<br> With learned rooks on city trees,<br> And if God please<br> With all of these<br>We, too, shall see another Spring.<br> <br>But in that red brick barn upon the hill<br> I wonder—can one own the deer,<br>And does one walk with children still<br> As one did here?<br> Do roses grow<br>Beneath those twenty windows in a row—<br> And if some night<br>When you have not seen any light<br>They cannot move you from your chair<br> What happens there?<br> I do not know.<br> <br> So, when they took<br>Ken to that place, I did not look<br>After he called and turned on me<br>His eyes. These I shall see—</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charlotte+Mary+Mew">Charlotte Mary Mew</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355386" data-title="Ken de Charlotte Mary Mew" data-description="The town is old and very steep
 A place of bells and cloisters and grey towers,
And black-clad people walking in their sleep—
 A nun, a priest, a woman taking flowers
 To her new grave; and watched from end to end
 By the great Church above, thr..."></div>
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