I Am the One

I am the one whom ringdoves see
            Through chinks in boughs
            When they do not rouse
            In sudden dread,
But stay on cooing, as if they said:
            ‘Oh; it's only he.’

I am the passer when up-eared hares,
            Stirred as they eat
            The new-sprung wheat,
            Their munch resume
As if they thought; ‘He is one for whom
            Nobody cares.’

Wet-eyed mourners glance at me
            As in train they pass
            Along the grass
            To a hollowed spot,
And think: ‘No matter; he quizzes not
            Our misery.’

I hear above: ‘We stars must lend
            No fierce regard
            To his gaze, so hard
            Bent on us thus,—
Must scathe him not. He is one with us
            Beginning and end.’