Cambridge Poets 1900–1913

J. C. Squire. Is it that now a year has passed Of vain pursuit of glittering things, Of fruitless searching , shouting , running , And greedy lies and candour cunning , Here as I stand the year above Sudden the heats and the strivings fail And fall away , a fluctuant veil, And the fixed familiar stones restore The old appearance -buried core , The moveless and essential me, The eternal personality Alone enduring first and last ? No, this I have known in other ways, In other places, other days. Not only here , on this one peak , Do fixity and beauty speak Of the delusiveness of change Of the transparency of form , The bootless stress of minds that range , The awful calm behind the storm . In many places , many days , The invaded soul receives the rays Of countries she was nurtured in , Speaks in her silent language strange To that beyond which is her kin . Even in peopled streets at times A metaphysic arm is thrust Through the partitioning fabric thin , 173