They have come early into the town.
Dark as plowed earth the rising and the setting out
On the creek-bed road, down the stony waters of Troublesome,
Down the cold thin flowing, willow-dark and waking.
They have come early to Justice, following the water’s sound
Out of the beechwood hollows.
Why the dark journey? Was the landmark moved?
Perhaps it walked alone, wanting to stir itself
And rest slantwise upon another place.
Will Justice gladden your summer’s plowing?
The jury sits upon the bench.
The judge sleeps in his chair, and the noon-bright hills
Crowd the tall windows, spreading their enormous curtain
Against the light’s pouring, heat-waved and burning.
They have sat long upon the bench, with Justice droning
Out of a hornet’s throat.
Do not indict me. Let me shake your hand.
If the landmark wanders I shall take your part.
My testimony is sound. I swear by the hills,
By these eternal landmarks of the heart.