Louis Golding

VERY full of laughter is the old man.

The air is full of wings

Of the little birds of laughter,

Which the old man flings

From his mouth up to the rafter

In the white-washed ceiling

That vibrates with his laughter

And quivers and sings;

Till the little birds come stealing

To the lips whence they came,

And you only hear the laughter

In the shaking of the flame,

In the tapping of the leaves,

And you only hear the laughter

Very faintly if at all;

Until, as you drowse, suddenly, once more,

He awakes with a roar,

And the laughter goes flapping from the ceiling to the wall.

Very full of laughter is the old man.

Very full of laughter is the old man?…

I know not what I say,

I mistrust what I hear.

There’s an evil tongue licking where the log-fires play,

The round cat heaves with a laughter and a fear.

There are wells lying deeper

Than the laughter in his eyes,

There are glooms lying deeper

Than the lost lands of the sleeper,

There are sounds behind the laughter

Which I dare not follow after,

There’s a choked heart tolling and a dumb child cries.

There’s an old mouth full of laughter,

But a dumb heart cries.