O young ones of a darker day, In art's wan colours clad, Whose very love and hate are grey-- Whose very sin is sad.
Pass on: one agony long-drawn Was merrier than your mirth, When hand-in-hand came death and dawn, And spring was on the earth.
THE OUTLAW
Priest, is any song-bird stricken? Is one leaf less on the tree? Is this wine less red and royal That the hangman waits for me?
He upon your cross that hangeth, It is writ of priestly pen, On the night they built his gibbet, Drank red wine among his men.
Quaff, like a brave man, as he did, Wine and death as heaven pours-- This is my fate: O ye rulers, O ye pontiffs, what is yours?
To wait trembling, lest yon loathly Gallows-shape whereon I die, In strange temples yet unbuilded, Blaze upon an altar high.
BEHIND
I saw an old man like a child, His blue eyes bright, his white hair wild, Who turned for ever, and might not stop, Round and round like an urchin's top.
'Fool,' I cried, 'while you spin round, 'Others grow wise, are praised, are crowned.' Ever the same round road he trod, 'This is better: I seek for God.'
'We see the whole world, left and right, Yet at the blind back hides from sight The unseen Master that drives us forth To East and West, to South and North.
'Over my shoulder for eighty years I have looked for the gleam of the sphere of spheres.' 'In all your turning, what have you found?' 'At least, I know why the world goes round.'
THE END OF FEAR
Though the whole heaven be one-eyed with the moon, Though the dead landscape seem a thing possessed, Yet I go singing through that land oppressed As one that singeth through the flowers of June.
No more, with forest-fingers crawling free O'er dark flint wall that seems a wall of eyes, Shall evil break my soul with mysteries Of some world-poison maddening bush and tree.
No more shall leering ghosts of pimp and king With bloody secrets veiled before me stand. Last night I held all evil in my hand Closed: and behold it was a little thing.
I broke the infernal gates and looked on him Who fronts the strong creation with a curse; Even the god of a lost universe, Smiling above his hideous cherubim.
And pierced far down in his soul's crypt unriven The last black crooked sympathy and shame, And hailed him with that ringing rainbow name Erased upon the oldest book in heaven.
Like emptied idiot masks, sin's loves and wars Stare at me now: for in the night I broke The bubble of a great world's jest, and woke Laughing with laughter such as shakes the stars.
THE HOLY OF HOLIES
'Elder father, though thine eyes Shine with hoary mysteries, Canst thou tell what in the heart Of a cowslip blossom lies?
'Smaller than all lives that be, Secret as the deepest sea, Stands a little house of seeds, Like an elfin's granary,
'Speller of the stones and weeds, Skilled in Nature's crafts and creeds, Tell me what is in the heart Of the smallest of the seeds.'
'God Almighty, and with Him Cherubim and Seraphim, Filling all eternity-- Adonai Elohim.'
THE MIRROR OF MADMEN
I dreamed a dream of heaven, white as frost, The splendid stillness of a living host; Vast choirs of upturned faces, line o'er line. Then my blood froze; for every face was mine.
Spirits with sunset plumage throng and pass, Glassed darkly in the sea of gold and glass. But still on every side, in every spot, I saw a million selves, who saw me not.
I fled to quiet wastes, where on a stone, Perchance, I found a saint, who sat alone; I came behind: he turned with slow, sweet grace, And faced me with my happy, hateful face.
I cowered like one that in a tower doth bide, Shut in by mirrors upon every side; Then I saw, islanded in skies alone And silent, one that sat upon a throne.
His robe was bordered with rich rose and gold, Green, purple, silver out of sunsets old; But o'er his face a great cloud edged with fire, Because it covereth the world's desire.
But as I gazed, a silent worshipper, Methought the cloud began to faintly stir; Then I fell flat, and screamed with grovelling head, 'If thou hast any lightning, strike me dead!
'But spare a brow where the clean sunlight fell, The crown of a new sin that sickens hell. Let me not look aloft and see mine own Feature and form upon the Judgment-throne.'
Then my dream snapped: and with a heart that leapt I saw across the tavern where I slept, The sight of all my life most full of grace, A gin-damned drunkard's wan half-witted face.
E.C.B.
Before the grass grew over me, I knew one good man through and through, And knew a soul and body joined Are stronger than the heavens are blue.
A wisdom worthy of thy joy, O great heart, read I as I ran; Now, though men smite me on the face, I cannot curse the face of man.
I loved the man I saw yestreen Hanged with his babe's blood on his palms. I loved the man I saw to-day Who knocked not when he came with alms.
Hush!--for thy sake I even faced The knowledge that is worse than hell; And loved the man I saw but now Hanging head downwards in the well.
THE DESECRATERS
Witness all: that unrepenting, Feathers flying, music high, I go down to death unshaken By your mean philosophy.
For your wages, take my body, That at least to you I leave; Set the sulky plumes upon it, Bid the grinning mummers grieve.
Stand in silence: steep your raiment In the night that hath no star; Don the mortal dress of devils, Blacker than their spirits are.
Since ye may not, of your mercy, Ere I lie on such a hearse, Hurl me to the living jackals God hath built for sepulchres.
AN ALLIANCE
This is the weird of a world-old folk, That not till the last link breaks, Not till the night is blackest, The blood of Hengist wakes. When the sun is black in heaven, The moon as blood above, And the earth is full of hatred, This people tells its love.
In change, eclipse, and peril, Under the whole world's scorn, By blood and death and darkness The Saxon peace is sworn; That all our fruit be gathered, And all our race take hands, And the sea be a Saxon river That runs through Saxon lands.
Lo! not in vain we bore him; Behold it! not in vain, Four centuries' dooms of torture Choked in the throat of Spain, Ere priest or tyrant triumph-- We know how well--we know-- Bone of that bone can whiten, Blood of that blood can flow.
Deep grows the hate of kindred, Its roots take hold on hell; No peace or praise can heal it, But a stranger heals it well. Seas shall be red as sunsets, And kings' bones float as foam, And heaven be dark with vultures, The night our son comes home.
THE ANCIENT OF DAYS
A child sits in a sunny place, Too happy for a smile, And plays through one long holiday With balls to roll and pile; A painted wind-mill by his side Runs like a merry tune, But the sails are the four great winds of heaven, And the balls are the sun and moon.
A staring doll's-house shows to him Green floors and starry rafter, And many-coloured graven dolls Live for his lonely laughter. The dolls have crowns and aureoles, Helmets and horns and wings. For they are the saints and seraphim, The prophets and the kings.
THE LAST MASQUERADE
A wan new garment of young green Touched, as you turned your soft brown hair And in me surged the strangest prayer Ever in lover's heart hath been.
That I who saw your youth's bright page, A rainbow change from robe to robe, Might see you on this earthly globe, Crowned with the silver crown of age.
Your dear hair powdered in strange guise, Your dear face touched with colours pale: And gazing through the mask and veil The mirth of your immortal eyes.
THE EARTH'S SHAME
Name not his deed: in shuddering and in haste We dragged him darkly o'er the windy fell: That night there was a gibbet in the waste, And a new sin in hell.
Be his deed hid from commonwealths and kings, By all men born be one true tale forgot; But three things, braver than all earthly things, Faced him and feared him not.
Above his head and sunken secret face Nested the sparrow's young and dropp
ed not dead. From the red blood and slime of that lost place Grew daisies white, not red.
And from high heaven looking upon him, Slowly upon the face of God did come A smile the cherubim and seraphim Hid all their faces from.
VANITY
A wan sky greener than the lawn, A wan lawn paler than the sky. She gave a flower into my hand, And all the hours of eve went by.
Who knows what round the corner waits To smite? If shipwreck, snare, or slur Shall leave me with a head to lift, Worthy of him that spoke with her.
A wan sky greener than the lawn, A wan lawn paler than the sky. She gave a flower into my hand, And all the days of life went by.
Live ill or well, this thing is mine, From all I guard it, ill or well. One tawdry, tattered, faded flower To show the jealous kings in hell.
THE LAMP POST
Laugh your best, O blazoned forests, Me ye shall not shift or shame With your beauty: here among you Man hath set his spear of flame.
Lamp to lamp we send the signal, For our lord goes forth to war; Since a voice, ere stars were builded, Bade him colonise a star.
Laugh ye, cruel as the morning, Deck your heads with fruit and flower, Though our souls be sick with pity, Yet our hands are hard with power.
We have read your evil stories, We have heard the tiny yell Through the voiceless conflagration Of your green and shining hell.
And when men, with fires and shouting, Break your old tyrannic pales; And where ruled a single spider Laugh and weep a million tales.
This shall be your best of boasting: That some poet, poor of spine. Full and sated with our wisdom, Full and fiery with our wine,
Shall steal out and make a treaty With the grasses and the showers, Rail against the grey town-mother, Fawn upon the scornful flowers;
Rest his head among the roses, Where a quiet song-bird sounds, And no sword made sharp for traitors, Hack him into meat for hounds.
THE PESSIMIST
You that have snarled through the ages, take your answer and go-- I know your hoary question, the riddle that all men know. You have weighed the stars in a balance, and grasped the skies in a span: Take, if you must have answer, the word of a common man.
Deep in my life lies buried one love unhealed, unshriven, One hunger still shall haunt me--yea, in the streets of heaven; This is the burden, babbler, this is the curse shall cling, This is the thing I bring you; this is the pleasant thing.
'Gainst you and all your sages, no joy of mine shall strive, This one dead self shall shatter the men you call alive. My grief I send to smite you, no pleasure, no belief, Lord of the battered grievance, what do you know of grief?
I only know the praises to heaven that one man gave, That he came on earth for an instant, to stand beside a grave, The peace of a field of battle, where flowers are born of blood. I only know one evil that makes the whole world good.
Beneath this single sorrow the globe of moon and sphere Turns to a single jewel, so bright and brittle and dear That I dread lest God should drop it, to be dashed into stars below.
You that have snarled through the ages, take your answer and go.
A FAIRY TALE
All things grew upwards, foul and fair: The great trees fought and beat the air With monstrous wings that would have flown; But the old earth clung to her own, Holding them back from heavenly wars, Though every flower sprang at the stars.
But he broke free: while all things ceased, Some hour increasing, he increased. The town beneath him seemed a map, Above the church he cocked his cap, Above the cross his feather flew Above the birds and still he grew.
The trees turned grass; the clouds were riven; His feet were mountains lost in heaven; Through strange new skies he rose alone, The earth fell from him like a stone, And his own limbs beneath him far Seemed tapering down to touch a star.
He reared his head, shaggy and grim, Staring among the cherubim; The seven celestial floors he rent, One crystal dome still o'er him bent: Above his head, more clear than hope, All heaven was a microscope.
A PORTRAIT
Fair faces crowd on Christmas night Like seven suns a-row, But all beyond is the wolfish wind And the crafty feet of the snow.
But through the rout one figure goes With quick and quiet tread; Her robe is plain, her form is frail-- Wait if she turn her head.
I say no word of line or hue, But if that face you see, Your soul shall know the smile of faith's Awful frivolity.
Know that in this grotesque old masque Too loud we cannot sing, Or dance too wild, or speak too wide To praise a hidden thing.
That though the jest be old as night, Still shaketh sun and sphere An everlasting laughter Too loud for us to hear.
FEMINA CONTRA MUNDUM
The sun was black with judgment, and the moon Blood: but between I saw a man stand, saying, 'To me at least The grass is green.
'There was no star that I forgot to fear With love and wonder. The birds have loved me'; but no answer came-- Only the thunder.
Once more the man stood, saying, 'A cottage door, Wherethrough I gazed That instant as I turned--yea, I am vile; Yet my eyes blazed.
'For I had weighed the mountains in a balance, And the skies in a scale, I come to sell the stars--old lamps for new-- Old stars for sale.'
Then a calm voice fell all the thunder through, A tone less rough: 'Thou hast begun to love one of my works Almost enough.'
TO A CERTAIN NATION
We will not let thee be, for thou art ours. We thank thee still, though thou forget these things, For that hour's sake when thou didst wake all powers With a great cry that God was sick of kings.
Leave thee there grovelling at their rusted greaves, These hulking cowards on a painted stage, Who, with imperial pomp and laurel leaves, Show their Marengo--one man in a cage.
These, for whom stands no type or title given In all the squalid tales of gore and pelf; Though cowed by crashing thunders from all heaven. Cain never said, 'My brother slew himself.'
Tear you the truth out of your drivelling spy, The maniac whom you set to swing death's scythe. Nay; torture not the torturer--let him lie: What need of racks to teach a worm to writhe?
Bear with us, O our sister, not in pride, Nor any scorn we see thee spoiled of knaves, But only shame to hear, where Danton died, Thy foul dead kings all laughing in their graves.
Thou hast a right to rule thyself; to be The thing thou wilt; to grin, to fawn, to creep: To crown these clumsy liars; ay, and we Who knew thee once, we have a right to weep.
THE PRAISE OF DUST
'What of vile dust?' the preacher said. Methought the whole world woke, The dead stone lived beneath my foot, And my whole body spoke.
'You, that play tyrant to the dust, And stamp its wrinkled face, This patient star that flings you not Far into homeless space.
'Come down out of your dusty shrine The living dust to see, The flowers that at your sermon's end Stand blazing silently.
'Rich white and blood-red blossom; stones, Lichens like fire encrust; A gleam of blue, a glare of gold, The vision of the dust.
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