The Crucifixion of Man A Narrative Poem: By George Barlow |
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A MAN'S CONFESSION |
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 | The Crucifixion of Man |  |
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II. A MAN'S CONFESSION
I.
Ere I plunge into the darkness, fling the gift of life away,
Yet some words my soul would utter: I who cannot love nor pray
Still can lodge my final protest, still with steady nerve can dare,
With the pistol on my table and the pen within my hand,
To hurl forth a final utterance that the world will understand,
And she too, of all fair women whom I found most fickle and fair.
Yet some words my soul would utter: I who cannot love nor pray
Still can lodge my final protest, still with steady nerve can dare,
With the pistol on my table and the pen within my hand,
To hurl forth a final utterance that the world will understand,
And she too, of all fair women whom I found most fickle and fair.
Ere I plunge into the darkness—ere I lull this weary brain
By the cold touch of a bullet into pulseless peace again—
Yet once more, and for the last time, some relief my soul would seek,
Looking Godward, looking lifeward, looking deathward, with clear eyes,
For I pass my sorrow onward; just the brain it is that dies,
But my vengeance yet is living,—giant-throated, this shall speak.
By the cold touch of a bullet into pulseless peace again—
Yet once more, and for the last time, some relief my soul would seek,
Looking Godward, looking lifeward, looking deathward, with clear eyes,
For I pass my sorrow onward; just the brain it is that dies,
But my vengeance yet is living,—giant-throated, this shall speak.
Yea, though I myself be silent, yet my vengeance shall survive,
Deathless ever, active ever, wholly quenchless, wholly alive;
I shall still impress the living, bursting through death's prison bars:
I shall leave the cold dead resting in their dark inactive graves;
I shall flash along the lightning, I shall thunder through the waves,
I shall shine amid the sunlight, I shall glitter through the stars!
Deathless ever, active ever, wholly quenchless, wholly alive;
I shall still impress the living, bursting through death's prison bars:
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I shall flash along the lightning, I shall thunder through the waves,
I shall shine amid the sunlight, I shall glitter through the stars!
Though men struggle to forget me, they shall not forget me—nay,
My strong influence in the wide world shall be greater day by day
For I leave my curse on all things, and a curse can work its will
When a blessing would be powerless in this world of piteous pain,
Would sink down in the dark waters, never seen to rise again
—When love's last star is extinguished, hate's red star shall burn on still.
My strong influence in the wide world shall be greater day by day
For I leave my curse on all things, and a curse can work its will
When a blessing would be powerless in this world of piteous pain,
Would sink down in the dark waters, never seen to rise again
—When love's last star is extinguished, hate's red star shall burn on still.
For I leave my vengeance active in a living human frame,
Operative through a woman—thus I incarnate my aim—
For our child shall grow to beauty, and shall carry on the crime:
When you listened to my love-suit, you conspired to take away
All the starlight from the darkness, all the sunlight from the day,
Aye, to make the whole world sadder through unmeasured lapse of time.
Operative through a woman—thus I incarnate my aim—
For our child shall grow to beauty, and shall carry on the crime:
When you listened to my love-suit, you conspired to take away
All the starlight from the darkness, all the sunlight from the day,
Aye, to make the whole world sadder through unmeasured lapse of time.
To our child you have given your beauty: to our child I give my brain,—
All the sense of wrong within it, all the throbbing sense of pain;
She shall wreak a noble vengeance on the world of men and things:
As her beauty ever ripens, as it blossoms like a rose,
So, be sure, a dead man's vengeance in the world he has quitted grows,
Ripens into perfect blossom, spreads yet wider steadier wings.
All the sense of wrong within it, all the throbbing sense of pain;
She shall wreak a noble vengeance on the world of men and things:
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So, be sure, a dead man's vengeance in the world he has quitted grows,
Ripens into perfect blossom, spreads yet wider steadier wings.
Where the father's hand is powerless, there the daughter's hand can smite,
For the one bears keen sword-anger, but the other brings delight:
When the strong men quailed at Samson, then Delilah brought him low,
And when Sisera went trampling o'er pale thousands in his day,
When nor sword nor lance could reach him, nor could warriors' curses stay,
Just a nail and hammer slew him, and a woman struck the blow.
For the one bears keen sword-anger, but the other brings delight:
When the strong men quailed at Samson, then Delilah brought him low,
And when Sisera went trampling o'er pale thousands in his day,
When nor sword nor lance could reach him, nor could warriors' curses stay,
Just a nail and hammer slew him, and a woman struck the blow.
So our daughter's hand most tender, when she grows to riper years,
Shall add more of pain and sorrow than a host of swords and spears
Ever added, to the total of the world's vast sum of grief:
As through her its sorrow deepens, as through her its pain-pangs grow,
Fear not—I shall be recipient of the rapture, I shall know—
Through my ghostly veins will ripple a large current of relief.
Shall add more of pain and sorrow than a host of swords and spears
Ever added, to the total of the world's vast sum of grief:
As through her its sorrow deepens, as through her its pain-pangs grow,
Fear not—I shall be recipient of the rapture, I shall know—
Through my ghostly veins will ripple a large current of relief.
Now to tell you—ere I enter the eternal realm of night—
All my story, all that happened in the regions of the light,
For this world, they say, is sunlit, though the sun for me grew dim:
I would tell you just what happened, that your woman's soul may see
Why I chose you for a scape-goat, why the very heart of me
Changed from hope to hopeless horror, and from love to hatred grim.
All my story, all that happened in the regions of the light,
For this world, they say, is sunlit, though the sun for me grew dim:
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Why I chose you for a scape-goat, why the very heart of me
Changed from hope to hopeless horror, and from love to hatred grim.
Unto you I was as Satan? I had been as Christ to one.
I spread darkness round your footpath? I had been as stars and sun
To another: I had loved her, but had sworn not to degrade.
I was married, I was fettered, but I swore my love should be
If that love were full of passion, full yet more of purity;
Ours should be the grandest love-song Love the poet ever made.
I spread darkness round your footpath? I had been as stars and sun
To another: I had loved her, but had sworn not to degrade.
I was married, I was fettered, but I swore my love should be
If that love were full of passion, full yet more of purity;
Ours should be the grandest love-song Love the poet ever made.
Ours should be the love of angels—love of soul, with nothing base,
Love that craved the kiss of sunlight, and could look God in the face;
What man's past had failed in doing, we two lovers would achieve:
I by perfect noble passion would redeem the race of man;
She by tender perfect passion stay the curse that first began
When love changed to lower feeling in the trembling heart of Eve.
Love that craved the kiss of sunlight, and could look God in the face;
What man's past had failed in doing, we two lovers would achieve:
I by perfect noble passion would redeem the race of man;
She by tender perfect passion stay the curse that first began
When love changed to lower feeling in the trembling heart of Eve.
We were helpers of the future, we were love's strong pioneers
Sent to open out a pathway for the use of future years
Through the thickets of wild passion, and love's darkling lowe deeps;
Sent to mankind with this message—“Lo! one pair of lovers, one,
Climbs at last from old-world darkness towards the fair light of the sun,
Dares at last, alone it may be, to attempt love's loftier steeps.”
Sent to open out a pathway for the use of future years
Through the thickets of wild passion, and love's darkling lowe deeps;
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Climbs at last from old-world darkness towards the fair light of the sun,
Dares at last, alone it may be, to attempt love's loftier steeps.”
Ah! those steeps of lofty passion, we would climb them hand in hand:
Though no frail foot dared to follow, though no soul should understand,
We would carry out the Ideal,—here at last on earth should be
One immense love such as Jesus, had he gazed in woman's eyes
With a heart that throbbed with passion, would have brought her from the skies,
Full of fathomless far sunlight, stolen from eternity.
Though no frail foot dared to follow, though no soul should understand,
We would carry out the Ideal,—here at last on earth should be
One immense love such as Jesus, had he gazed in woman's eyes
With a heart that throbbed with passion, would have brought her from the skies,
Full of fathomless far sunlight, stolen from eternity.
Ours should be the perfect union; yes, the touch of lip or hand,
Mortal, meant immortal union in some unseen heavenly land
Where the God who first designed us would accomplish all things well:
Every joy was but precursor of delights more tender far
—As the one sweet silver vessel which we call the evening star
Is the first of a flotilla vaster far than tongue can tell.
Mortal, meant immortal union in some unseen heavenly land
Where the God who first designed us would accomplish all things well:
Every joy was but precursor of delights more tender far
—As the one sweet silver vessel which we call the evening star
Is the first of a flotilla vaster far than tongue can tell.
So I dreamed—and then in action strove to carry out the thing;
Toiled to fill her life with sunshine, made her garden in the spring
Golden with the sunny crocus, rich in summer with the rose;
Made her house a fairy palace,—oh! the dainty things we bought,
And each dainty gift the product of some special loving thought—
Oh! through giving, not receiving, a strong man's pure passion grows.
Toiled to fill her life with sunshine, made her garden in the spring
Golden with the sunny crocus, rich in summer with the rose;
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And each dainty gift the product of some special loving thought—
Oh! through giving, not receiving, a strong man's pure passion grows.
Did a finger ache? I sorrowed. Did she sigh? I was in grief.
Was the trouble real or fancied? Heaven and earth for her relief
I would move, past words delighted when her smile flashed forth again,
For of all sweet smiles of women hers was loveliest, so I deemed:
All her life I shaped to beauty, day and night I only dreamed
Of one thing—how best to shield her from the least slight shadow of pain.
Was the trouble real or fancied? Heaven and earth for her relief
I would move, past words delighted when her smile flashed forth again,
For of all sweet smiles of women hers was loveliest, so I deemed:
All her life I shaped to beauty, day and night I only dreamed
Of one thing—how best to shield her from the least slight shadow of pain.
Then there came one day in summer—how the sun shone out that day!—
When my heart, for ever pondering how to please her, found a way:—
We had seen, bright in a hot-house, on the afternoon before
Such a wonderful white lily,—in its London home it dreamed
Doubtless of the tropic sunshine, and of sister-flowers that gleamed
White against the dark-green foliage, on some far-off tropic shore.
When my heart, for ever pondering how to please her, found a way:—
We had seen, bright in a hot-house, on the afternoon before
Such a wonderful white lily,—in its London home it dreamed
Doubtless of the tropic sunshine, and of sister-flowers that gleamed
White against the dark-green foliage, on some far-off tropic shore.
I would buy it, I would bear it down in triumph—yes, that night!—
To the little house in Chelsea,—in the morning pure and white
In the flower-box at her window it should shine against the sun:
She should wake and she should find it, guess whose hand had placed it there,
Stirred the mould, and set it deeply with such loving thought and care
—So the sudden scheme flashed through me,—and no sooner schemed, than done.
To the little house in Chelsea,—in the morning pure and white
In the flower-box at her window it should shine against the sun:
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Stirred the mould, and set it deeply with such loving thought and care
—So the sudden scheme flashed through me,—and no sooner schemed, than done.
Off I hastened—bought the lily—and that night beneath the moon
Climbed up softly to her window, while the gentle air of June
Breathed soft perfume round about me from the clove pinks and the stocks
—Standing safely on a broad limb of the shadowy chestnuttree
Set the pure white lily firmly where she could not fail to see
In the centre of the blossoms in the blue-tiled window-box.
Climbed up softly to her window, while the gentle air of June
Breathed soft perfume round about me from the clove pinks and the stocks
—Standing safely on a broad limb of the shadowy chestnuttree
Set the pure white lily firmly where she could not fail to see
In the centre of the blossoms in the blue-tiled window-box.
Then I stooped one foot, descending through the chestnut's leafy gloom,
But ... I stopped—a thrill shot through me ... were there voices in the room?...
Should I look? for through the crevice of the blind I well might see—
Should I look? or should I banish the dark cursed thought and go,
The cold cursed thought that froze me, and that blocked my pulses' flow?
So I doubted, and the moment was a soul's eternity.
But ... I stopped—a thrill shot through me ... were there voices in the room?...
Should I look? for through the crevice of the blind I well might see—
Should I look? or should I banish the dark cursed thought and go,
The cold cursed thought that froze me, and that blocked my pulses' flow?
So I doubted, and the moment was a soul's eternity.
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Then I looked—and saw quite plainly, for the gas was burning there
Turned half down, a woman smiling, with her neck and bosom bare,
Half reclining and half sitting,—standing close beside her one,
Handsome, evil-eyed, dark-bearded—the girl's lover, that was plain:
Twice I looked, and still I doubted—but I did not look again,
For I heard her say, “My darling!” What of doubt was left me? None.
Turned half down, a woman smiling, with her neck and bosom bare,
Half reclining and half sitting,—standing close beside her one,
Handsome, evil-eyed, dark-bearded—the girl's lover, that was plain:
Twice I looked, and still I doubted—but I did not look again,
For I heard her say, “My darling!” What of doubt was left me? None.
Then I felt as if all history had been leading up to this,
To the horror of their rapture, to the horror of their kiss,
Even from the far-off shaping of the golden firstling star:
God had set the worlds in motion—in my madness, so it seemed—
Just to torture me and damn me, made the moon for this that gleamed
Through the window, on their curtain leaving one long silver bar.
To the horror of their rapture, to the horror of their kiss,
Even from the far-off shaping of the golden firstling star:
God had set the worlds in motion—in my madness, so it seemed—
Just to torture me and damn me, made the moon for this that gleamed
Through the window, on their curtain leaving one long silver bar.
Fragrance came up from the garden,—still the roses there were fair,
Still the sweet heart of the summer breathed its bounty through the air,
Doubtless in the houses round us slept true wives in many a room;
But within me from that moment grew a darkness far more deep
Than the darkness of the mountains where the sombre stormclouds sleep,
And a depth of horror deeper than the wild sea's deepest tomb.
Still the sweet heart of the summer breathed its bounty through the air,
Doubtless in the houses round us slept true wives in many a room;
But within me from that moment grew a darkness far more deep
Than the darkness of the mountains where the sombre stormclouds sleep,
And a depth of horror deeper than the wild sea's deepest tomb.
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Daily has the horror deepened,—it has made the summer strange,
On all faces round about me stamped a darkness and a change,
Made my thoughts unreal within me, and the world outside me dim:
If I see a pure sweet woman, then I mark within her face
Signs of deadly treason coming—yea, in all men I can trace
Something of the devil's likeness, being of one sex with him.
On all faces round about me stamped a darkness and a change,
Made my thoughts unreal within me, and the world outside me dim:
If I see a pure sweet woman, then I mark within her face
Signs of deadly treason coming—yea, in all men I can trace
Something of the devil's likeness, being of one sex with him.
Ah, true madness had been mercy! there is madness of a kind
Worse beyond all words and sadder, though the eyes of men are blind
To its agony and horror, than the madness counted such.
Can a man be sane for ever, though God's angels round him came
Thronging with their gifts of comfort, who in one wild flash of flame
Has beheld his life's one darling slay a life's love at a touch?
Worse beyond all words and sadder, though the eyes of men are blind
To its agony and horror, than the madness counted such.
Can a man be sane for ever, though God's angels round him came
Thronging with their gifts of comfort, who in one wild flash of flame
Has beheld his life's one darling slay a life's love at a touch?
Yes, a deadlier sword of anguish passed throughout my soul that night,
Though the whole blue heaven above me was a maze of starry light
And the earth seemed one wide altar on that balmy night of June,—
Yes, a keener pang shot through me than the pang the sailor feels
On the lonely midnight ocean, when his ship beneath him reels
And he sees the white-lipped breakers in the pale light of the moon.
Though the whole blue heaven above me was a maze of starry light
And the earth seemed one wide altar on that balmy night of June,—
Yes, a keener pang shot through me than the pang the sailor feels
On the lonely midnight ocean, when his ship beneath him reels
And he sees the white-lipped breakers in the pale light of the moon.
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Figures fail one—weak are figures—for the soul it is that gives
Life its rapture and its horror; not to every man who lives
Comes that one grim deadly moment when the live God disappears,—
When the soul is left to travel Godless, loveless, to its doom,
With God gulfed within the darkness of a never-opening tomb
And love buried in the blackness of the unreturning years.
Life its rapture and its horror; not to every man who lives
Comes that one grim deadly moment when the live God disappears,—
When the soul is left to travel Godless, loveless, to its doom,
With God gulfed within the darkness of a never-opening tomb
And love buried in the blackness of the unreturning years.
Miles I wandered in my madness, hardly heeding where I went,
Till I found myself at Richmond, with the darkness well nigh spent;
All the air seemed full of triumph, for another night was done:
Clear as on the mountain-summits or the waste sea's boundless foam,
Pure as ever over Venice, golden as on stately Rome,
Over sin-stained weary London rose the splendour of the sun.
Till I found myself at Richmond, with the darkness well nigh spent;
All the air seemed full of triumph, for another night was done:
Clear as on the mountain-summits or the waste sea's boundless foam,
Pure as ever over Venice, golden as on stately Rome,
Over sin-stained weary London rose the splendour of the sun.
II.
There it rose, the golden sun-flame, changeless since it poured its light
Over chaos, hurling arrows through the dark heart of the night;
Changeless since its fiery splendour lit the first blue surging deep:
Changeless since it changed the waters of the first sea into gold,
Watching over the sea-desert where no ship's sail flashed of old;
Changeless since it saw creation quit the depths of shoreless sleep.
Over chaos, hurling arrows through the dark heart of the night;
Changeless since its fiery splendour lit the first blue surging deep:
Changeless since it changed the waters of the first sea into gold,
Watching over the sea-desert where no ship's sail flashed of old;
Changeless since it saw creation quit the depths of shoreless sleep.
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There it shone, the mighty sun-flame, changeless ever and supreme;
Changeless since it saw the blossoms on the banks of Eden gleam;
Changeless since the first rose loved it, since that rose's heart was won—
For the rose had feared the darkness, but the darkness passed away,
For the conquering sun's great passion had created glowing day,
And it kissed the first rose, saying, “Lo! thy bridegroom is the sun.”
Changeless since it saw the blossoms on the banks of Eden gleam;
Changeless since the first rose loved it, since that rose's heart was won—
For the rose had feared the darkness, but the darkness passed away,
For the conquering sun's great passion had created glowing day,
And it kissed the first rose, saying, “Lo! thy bridegroom is the sun.”
There it beamed, the eternal sun-flame, changeless since the rivers heard
In the far-off past its mandate and obeyed the solar word,
Leaping down the craggy mountains, each with laughter on its tongue:
Changeless since the primal forest with its wilderness of boughs
Felt the sun within its branches rest and revel and carouse,
Then when Nature was a maiden, when her eyes and lips were young.
In the far-off past its mandate and obeyed the solar word,
Leaping down the craggy mountains, each with laughter on its tongue:
Changeless since the primal forest with its wilderness of boughs
Felt the sun within its branches rest and revel and carouse,
Then when Nature was a maiden, when her eyes and lips were young.
There it flashed, the wondrous sun-fire, changeless since the ancient days
When on woodland after woodland, silent mountains, shipless bays,
Houseless meadows, voiceless prairies, reed-swamps brown before and dun,
Came its light to colour all things and its giant voice to say,
“Mighty were the works of darkness, mightier am I far than they;
Rise and worship at my footstool, am not I your lord the sun?”
When on woodland after woodland, silent mountains, shipless bays,
Houseless meadows, voiceless prairies, reed-swamps brown before and dun,
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“Mighty were the works of darkness, mightier am I far than they;
Rise and worship at my footstool, am not I your lord the sun?”
Strong as ever, grand as ever, since the far-off wondrous day
When the first man rose to worship, as it dawned amid the grey
Rolling vapours, and the first man knew the deadly night was done,—
Knew the stars were but as servants, knew the night was but a dream,
Knew the god of the gold arrows was the god o'er all supreme,
Rose erect and glad to worship and to bow before the sun.
When the first man rose to worship, as it dawned amid the grey
Rolling vapours, and the first man knew the deadly night was done,—
Knew the stars were but as servants, knew the night was but a dream,
Knew the god of the gold arrows was the god o'er all supreme,
Rose erect and glad to worship and to bow before the sun.
Full of peerless light for ever, changeless since the wondrous hour
When, while Eden all around them at his touch brake into flower,
Morning saw the first fair woman and her bridegroom wholly one;
While a voice from the far morning said, “Ye dreamed within the night,
But the stars' pale dreams are over—Now embrace beneath my light!
Am not I the lord of passion, as of all things, I the sun?”
When, while Eden all around them at his touch brake into flower,
Morning saw the first fair woman and her bridegroom wholly one;
While a voice from the far morning said, “Ye dreamed within the night,
But the stars' pale dreams are over—Now embrace beneath my light!
Am not I the lord of passion, as of all things, I the sun?”
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Changeless ever, though creation since has passed before its gaze;
Not defrauded of an arrow, never baffled in its blaze,
Though the hearts of men were broken and were bowed beneath its light:
Never dimming its full splendour, though the hearts of men were dim;
Fields where battle's thousands weltered, desperate shipwreck, murder grim,
What were these unto the sun's heart? Hardly a passing shadow of night.
Not defrauded of an arrow, never baffled in its blaze,
Though the hearts of men were broken and were bowed beneath its light:
Never dimming its full splendour, though the hearts of men were dim;
Fields where battle's thousands weltered, desperate shipwreck, murder grim,
What were these unto the sun's heart? Hardly a passing shadow of night.
Morn by morn for countless ages has its glory risen the same;
Still it swallows the wild darkness in its torrid gulf of flame;
Still the eternal sun is victor, still it triumphs in its might:
Taking over from the darkness all its sorrow, all its dreams,
Still it mocks them with its sunlight,—as it mocks the starry gleams,
Till the trembling star-ships founder in the ocean of its light.
Still it swallows the wild darkness in its torrid gulf of flame;
Still the eternal sun is victor, still it triumphs in its might:
Taking over from the darkness all its sorrow, all its dreams,
Still it mocks them with its sunlight,—as it mocks the starry gleams,
Till the trembling star-ships founder in the ocean of its light.
And that morning over London, as I stood on Richmond Hill,
I could see the great sun rising—but the darkness' horror still
Bore my heart down, even deadlier for the splendour of its light.
What had happened in the darkness? Could the pure and lordly sun
Take no umbrage at the foulness of the deed that had been done?
Was he heedless of the horrors, the adulteries, of the night?
I could see the great sun rising—but the darkness' horror still
Bore my heart down, even deadlier for the splendour of its light.
What had happened in the darkness? Could the pure and lordly sun
Take no umbrage at the foulness of the deed that had been done?
Was he heedless of the horrors, the adulteries, of the night?
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Yes, he poured his golden glory over houses, towers, and trees:
Through the foliage round about me sighed a gentle summer breeze:
One would think in all God's kingdom there were no such thing as night!
At my feet the grasses quivered, and the daisies on the bank
Seemed to whisper, “Lo! he rises, grander far than when he sank;
Virgin are we for the sun's kiss, see our robes of snowy white!”
Through the foliage round about me sighed a gentle summer breeze:
One would think in all God's kingdom there were no such thing as night!
At my feet the grasses quivered, and the daisies on the bank
Seemed to whisper, “Lo! he rises, grander far than when he sank;
Virgin are we for the sun's kiss, see our robes of snowy white!”
Far away the river glittered, bright beneath the morning sun;
It was flowing straight towards London, where the deadly deed was done
Which had made for me the darkness wholly victor over light,—
Flowing onward, ever onward, never faltering in its flow:
Though the hearts of men are broken, though our hopes may fade and go,
Never one blue ripple pauses in its ocean-seeking flight.
It was flowing straight towards London, where the deadly deed was done
Which had made for me the darkness wholly victor over light,—
Flowing onward, ever onward, never faltering in its flow:
Though the hearts of men are broken, though our hopes may fade and go,
Never one blue ripple pauses in its ocean-seeking flight.
River, sun, they both are heartless—though a million sins were done
Doubtless last night in the city, does it matter to the sun?
Is the sun's pure virgin lustre marred by foulness of the night?
Is the sun one whit less joyous, as he shakes his golden hair,
Laughing, loose upon the tide-stream of the sinless morning air,
In that murder's face is quailing from before his piercing light?
Doubtless last night in the city, does it matter to the sun?
Is the sun's pure virgin lustre marred by foulness of the night?
Is the sun one whit less joyous, as he shakes his golden hair,
Laughing, loose upon the tide-stream of the sinless morning air,
In that murder's face is quailing from before his piercing light?
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In the night, in London's darkness, maybe murder has been done;
Lo! a body, gashed and bleeding, prostrate lies before the sun;
'Tis the body of a woman, hacked to pieces in the night:
But the sun smiles at the windows of the live ones just the same,
Glitters on the happy bridegroom, cheers the agéd with his flame,
Greets the swans upon the water with a flash of loving light.
Lo! a body, gashed and bleeding, prostrate lies before the sun;
'Tis the body of a woman, hacked to pieces in the night:
But the sun smiles at the windows of the live ones just the same,
Glitters on the happy bridegroom, cheers the agéd with his flame,
Greets the swans upon the water with a flash of loving light.
Oh! of all things dark and deadly is there, tell me, is there one
Quite so dark and quite so deadly as the brightness of the sun,
Sent to tell us that all evil has for ever taken flight?
—This it should tell—but it tells us that for ever evil reigns,
That for ever and for ever sin's red dripping dagger stains
Even the glory of the sunrise with its streaks of lurid light.
Quite so dark and quite so deadly as the brightness of the sun,
Sent to tell us that all evil has for ever taken flight?
—This it should tell—but it tells us that for ever evil reigns,
That for ever and for ever sin's red dripping dagger stains
Even the glory of the sunrise with its streaks of lurid light.
This it tells us—that in London, when the empire of the sun
Ceases, then the darkling empire of some devil is begun,
Till the moon grows pale for horror and the stars give little light:
Was there ever horror deadlier than the horror that has changed
All my soul into a furnace full of hell-fire, and estranged
All my being, yes for ever, from the faith in God and right?
Ceases, then the darkling empire of some devil is begun,
Till the moon grows pale for horror and the stars give little light:
Was there ever horror deadlier than the horror that has changed
All my soul into a furnace full of hell-fire, and estranged
All my being, yes for ever, from the faith in God and right?
Now the glory of the sunlight, heightening ever, maybe falls
On the house wherein I left them—now it lights their bed-room walls
And they wake, not knowing death's hand was so near them in the night:
For the hand of love is death's hand, when the deadly deed is done
That in one man's heart for evermore extinguishes the sun
And for evermore must poison even the sources of the light.
On the house wherein I left them—now it lights their bed-room walls
And they wake, not knowing death's hand was so near them in the night:
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That in one man's heart for evermore extinguishes the sun
And for evermore must poison even the sources of the light.
Ah! they knew not—little matter—let them wake and smile and kiss
In the very room I gave her—let them seek a moment's bliss,
Even one wild other moment at the ending of the night!
Well it was to leave them living; it is life that must repay,
And their future bears a dagger, since I threw my own away,
And made over into Fate's hand mine, the lover's final right.
In the very room I gave her—let them seek a moment's bliss,
Even one wild other moment at the ending of the night!
Well it was to leave them living; it is life that must repay,
And their future bears a dagger, since I threw my own away,
And made over into Fate's hand mine, the lover's final right.
Let them wake, and let him leave her—let her gently then begin
To forget him for a moment and to turn her thoughts from sin,
Making ready to receive me, when some hours have winged their flight:
Let it be—she will seem lovelier in the fragrant afternoon
Of this lovely month of sinless spotless balmy perfect June
For the kisses of her lover and the pleasures of the night.
To forget him for a moment and to turn her thoughts from sin,
Making ready to receive me, when some hours have winged their flight:
Let it be—she will seem lovelier in the fragrant afternoon
Of this lovely month of sinless spotless balmy perfect June
For the kisses of her lover and the pleasures of the night.
In the afternoon she expects me,—she would let me enter there;
She would let me bend and kiss her, kiss her throat and raven hair;
On her cheeks no blush would mantle (Did her cheeks blush in the night?)
She would greet me even gladly, with a gladness hardly feigned;
She would show the broken lily, sorrow at its beauty stained,
Grieve at soils upon the petals that were once so pure and white.
She would let me bend and kiss her, kiss her throat and raven hair;
On her cheeks no blush would mantle (Did her cheeks blush in the night?)
She would greet me even gladly, with a gladness hardly feigned;
She would show the broken lily, sorrow at its beauty stained,
Grieve at soils upon the petals that were once so pure and white.
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She would tell me how she found it lying there beneath the sun,
Wondered how the stalk was broken, how the sad sad deed was done
—Now the sun has wholly risen, and all London basks in light:
But for me the night has fallen; for my spirit evermore
Will be darkness over London, over mountain, sea, and shore,—
Darkness mute and everlasting—I am lost within the night!
Wondered how the stalk was broken, how the sad sad deed was done
—Now the sun has wholly risen, and all London basks in light:
But for me the night has fallen; for my spirit evermore
Will be darkness over London, over mountain, sea, and shore,—
Darkness mute and everlasting—I am lost within the night!
So I thought, in the wild anguish of that far-off summer morn
When my hope was changed to horror and my love of God to scorn,
When I saw the devil victor and before him God abased.
Through the months that followed after I lived on, though I despaired:
Then I met you in the autumn, very lovely, raven-haired,
Brown-eyed, girlish, lithe of figure, bright of heart and soul, and—chaste.
When my hope was changed to horror and my love of God to scorn,
When I saw the devil victor and before him God abased.
Through the months that followed after I lived on, though I despaired:
Then I met you in the autumn, very lovely, raven-haired,
Brown-eyed, girlish, lithe of figure, bright of heart and soul, and—chaste.
Chaste—the one word brought my vengeance, clear at last, before my sight.
Of one sex, you, with the sinner, she who in one single night
Had slain God within his palace, murdered Christ behind the stars—
Of one sex, you, with the woman whom of all I loved alone
Might by loving me bring vengeance, might by loving me atone,
Might let daylight through the window of my prison, atween the bars.
Of one sex, you, with the sinner, she who in one single night
Had slain God within his palace, murdered Christ behind the stars—
Of one sex, you, with the woman whom of all I loved alone
Might by loving me bring vengeance, might by loving me atone,
Might let daylight through the window of my prison, atween the bars.
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Annie—just the very name, too—just the name that I adored,
Just the name that I had worshipped, brought in prayer before the Lord,
Many and many a time invoking sweetest blessings on her head:
Annie—you, the second Annie, should be bearer of the sin
Of the raven-haired first Annie—I would strain each nerve to win
All your soul as she had won mine, she who left it dark and dead.
Just the name that I had worshipped, brought in prayer before the Lord,
Many and many a time invoking sweetest blessings on her head:
Annie—you, the second Annie, should be bearer of the sin
Of the raven-haired first Annie—I would strain each nerve to win
All your soul as she had won mine, she who left it dark and dead.
Could I love you? did it matter? You should love me—that was all!
You were good and chaste and noble (so was I once)—you should fall.
I would carry out God's purpose—I, the witness of his plan.
I had watched him work in London—I could do the very same
In the country in October, I could plot a woman's shame
Just as cunningly as he did; there is genius, even in man!
You were good and chaste and noble (so was I once)—you should fall.
I would carry out God's purpose—I, the witness of his plan.
I had watched him work in London—I could do the very same
In the country in October, I could plot a woman's shame
Just as cunningly as he did; there is genius, even in man!
God was far away, safeguarded—he who wrought the monstrous crime;
He who wrought the woman's nature, shaping it from endless time,
Working in it leaven of darkness, through unknown ancestral ways
Guiding down the stream of evil that should issue in the sea
Of vast horror that had driven all the manhood out of me,
All the manhood, all the godhead, all the dreams of summer days.
He who wrought the woman's nature, shaping it from endless time,
Working in it leaven of darkness, through unknown ancestral ways
Guiding down the stream of evil that should issue in the sea
Of vast horror that had driven all the manhood out of me,
All the manhood, all the godhead, all the dreams of summer days.
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God was far away, safeguarded by his angel-armies, there
Far above the loftiest summit, far beyond the starlit air,
Safe, far out of reach, defiant—he who labouring in the gloom,
He who toiling, ever toiling, had amassed the ancestral force
That within one woman's nature took to-day its certain course;
He who built up passion's rapture, then set frenzy in its room:
Far above the loftiest summit, far beyond the starlit air,
Safe, far out of reach, defiant—he who labouring in the gloom,
He who toiling, ever toiling, had amassed the ancestral force
That within one woman's nature took to-day its certain course;
He who built up passion's rapture, then set frenzy in its room:
He who saw my prayers mount upward, pure and snowy-winged and strong—
Bent in seeming to receive them, took vast trouble to prolong
All the glory and the beauty and the splendour of my dream;
He who watched the years of sorrow and the years of passion chained
And the anguish of the spirit that for love's own sake refrained,
Far he was beyond the storm-clouds, past the farthest starry gleam!
Bent in seeming to receive them, took vast trouble to prolong
All the glory and the beauty and the splendour of my dream;
He who watched the years of sorrow and the years of passion chained
And the anguish of the spirit that for love's own sake refrained,
Far he was beyond the storm-clouds, past the farthest starry gleam!
Him I could not reach for ever—I could carry on his plan:
I a dwarf, a human pigmy, I a mere frail son of man,
I could imitate his manner, I could sin as well as he:—
True he wrote in blood, the master—I could write a line in lake;
True he slew his millions daily—here was one for me to take,
Just one woman; I could help him to blot out her purity.
I a dwarf, a human pigmy, I a mere frail son of man,
I could imitate his manner, I could sin as well as he:—
True he wrote in blood, the master—I could write a line in lake;
True he slew his millions daily—here was one for me to take,
Just one woman; I could help him to blot out her purity.
I could do as I had been done by, I could render back to God
All the darkness of that morning when the great sun golden-shod
Sprang up radiant over London and my soul was full of night:
I a human weak mere trifler, I a mortal, child of time,
I could make my vengeance deathless, I could sin a sin sublime,
I could keep one corner hell-dark, though the whole world swam in light.
All the darkness of that morning when the great sun golden-shod
Sprang up radiant over London and my soul was full of night:
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I could make my vengeance deathless, I could sin a sin sublime,
I could keep one corner hell-dark, though the whole world swam in light.
God had changed a woman's nature, he had given a woman's frame
To a villain to make sport of, he had given to sin and shame
Her my whole life's love and darling, he had led me to despair—
Should I shrink now, should I waver? I could make the ruin spread;
I could tear the wreath of blossoms from another sinless head;
Lo! a heart with heaven within it—I could plant hell's horror there.
To a villain to make sport of, he had given to sin and shame
Her my whole life's love and darling, he had led me to despair—
Should I shrink now, should I waver? I could make the ruin spread;
I could tear the wreath of blossoms from another sinless head;
Lo! a heart with heaven within it—I could plant hell's horror there.
Was no pity left within me? No: sweet pity's soul was slain
In the darkness everlasting, in the unsounded gulf of pain,
Far beyond the faintest comfort or the smallest gleam of light.
Pity dies of inanition, withers wholly—that is well:
Nought survives but blindest instinct, soulless craving—that is hell;
In man's soul the eternal horror, round his path the eternal night.
In the darkness everlasting, in the unsounded gulf of pain,
Far beyond the faintest comfort or the smallest gleam of light.
Pity dies of inanition, withers wholly—that is well:
Nought survives but blindest instinct, soulless craving—that is hell;
In man's soul the eternal horror, round his path the eternal night.
Oh! they speak of Christ's redemption and they prate about his woe:
Could his pity ever reach me, could he help and lift me? No.
Far beyond the reach of Jesus, I had sunk within the deep.
Though he rose up on that vessel on the Galilean sea,
Stilled the waves and angry tempest, he would wake not now for me;
He was powerless, nought could rouse him from two thousand years of sleep.
Could his pity ever reach me, could he help and lift me? No.
Far beyond the reach of Jesus, I had sunk within the deep.
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Stilled the waves and angry tempest, he would wake not now for me;
He was powerless, nought could rouse him from two thousand years of sleep.
He had vanished, he was helpless, lost amid the mists of time;
God his Father stood convicted of the authorship of crime;
Nothing right was left to lean on, nothing hopeful to believe.
From the far-off sunny morning when the red-gold apple swung
Tempting woman's lips and fancy every human action hung
Poised in flawless chain of sequence, dating from the folly of Eve.
God his Father stood convicted of the authorship of crime;
Nothing right was left to lean on, nothing hopeful to believe.
From the far-off sunny morning when the red-gold apple swung
Tempting woman's lips and fancy every human action hung
Poised in flawless chain of sequence, dating from the folly of Eve.
From the night when Adam kissed her, through the ages as they swept
Ever darkening ever onward as sin's turbid torrents leapt
Down the channel of human history, not one chance had been for man:—
All was certain, fixed and deadly. God the living lord of crime
Sat serene above the crime-floods, heedless, cruel, vast, sublime,
And the bitter death of Jesus was one portion of his plan.
Ever darkening ever onward as sin's turbid torrents leapt
Down the channel of human history, not one chance had been for man:—
All was certain, fixed and deadly. God the living lord of crime
Sat serene above the crime-floods, heedless, cruel, vast, sublime,
And the bitter death of Jesus was one portion of his plan.
Every death was fixed and certain, every rose's wasted bloom,
Every human cry of horror, every tear shed at a tomb;
Every sword had left its scabbard at the high God's certain call:
Yes, the human will might struggle, but the end was foreordained,
Sure, inevitable, monstrous; yes, our human swords were stained,
But the sword of the Creator was the reddest sword of all.
Every human cry of horror, every tear shed at a tomb;
Every sword had left its scabbard at the high God's certain call:
Yes, the human will might struggle, but the end was foreordained,
Sure, inevitable, monstrous; yes, our human swords were stained,
But the sword of the Creator was the reddest sword of all.
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And my darling in that bed-room—human hands had wrought the deed?
Never! straight from God our anguish, our pollution, must proceed:
He it was whose lips had kissed her and had left her beauty blurred;
He it surely was—none other—who with lewd hand had seduced
Her I worshipped, her I died for,—who had seen her tresses loosed,
Who had felt her warm lips moisten, who exulted when she erred.
Never! straight from God our anguish, our pollution, must proceed:
He it was whose lips had kissed her and had left her beauty blurred;
He it surely was—none other—who with lewd hand had seduced
Her I worshipped, her I died for,—who had seen her tresses loosed,
Who had felt her warm lips moisten, who exulted when she erred.
Loving Jesus could not help me; who had helped him when he died,
When he felt the cold spear traverse with its iron point his side?
Who had leant from heaven to help him, when he murmured “I despair”?
No: the truth was clear and certain. God was helpless in the sky;
Either helpless, or else wicked. Christian creeds were just a lie.
Not one human moan brought answer from the heights of starlit air.
When he felt the cold spear traverse with its iron point his side?
Who had leant from heaven to help him, when he murmured “I despair”?
No: the truth was clear and certain. God was helpless in the sky;
Either helpless, or else wicked. Christian creeds were just a lie.
Not one human moan brought answer from the heights of starlit air.
Clear and certain seemed the truth then,—yes, the wicked must succeed.
I had worshipped truth and beauty, acted up to love's own creed,
Prayed and suffered for the woman, chained up passion for her sake:
What was my reward, God's answer? Just to fling her body down
For the human lustful devil to dishonour and discrown;
God had smiled upon the villain, let the true man's whole heart break.
I had worshipped truth and beauty, acted up to love's own creed,
Prayed and suffered for the woman, chained up passion for her sake:
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For the human lustful devil to dishonour and discrown;
God had smiled upon the villain, let the true man's whole heart break.
That was justice, that was mercy, that was God's most noble deed—
Thus to let the wicked triumph, and the hideous wrong succeed;
Thus to bend at Satan's footstool, and to make the righteous bend.
This it was to trust Jehovah and to lean upon his word:
Surely of every faith the bible's was most amply proved absurd,
For the Lord of heaven was hostile, or at best a feeble friend.
Thus to let the wicked triumph, and the hideous wrong succeed;
Thus to bend at Satan's footstool, and to make the righteous bend.
This it was to trust Jehovah and to lean upon his word:
Surely of every faith the bible's was most amply proved absurd,
For the Lord of heaven was hostile, or at best a feeble friend.
Many came and proffered comfort—“Lean on loving God,” they said:
(Oh! the horror of the mockery, for the loving God was dead;
He had vanished from my vision, and a Fiend ruled in his room!)
“Trust the deathless love of Jesus—he has suffered for our sakes,
He is surely close and helpful; when the human sad heart breaks,
Lo! his sun of love is shining on the outskirts of the gloom.
(Oh! the horror of the mockery, for the loving God was dead;
He had vanished from my vision, and a Fiend ruled in his room!)
“Trust the deathless love of Jesus—he has suffered for our sakes,
He is surely close and helpful; when the human sad heart breaks,
Lo! his sun of love is shining on the outskirts of the gloom.
“He has suffered—worse than you do—he has borne our every pain;
He has loved—and more than you did—he has died, and he will reign
Now in endless light for ever with the Father there on high
Where each sorrow is wholly ended, where each sin is put away,
Where the night is merged for ever in the glory of the day:
He can soften every anguish, he can soothe our every sigh.
He has loved—and more than you did—he has died, and he will reign
Now in endless light for ever with the Father there on high
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Where the night is merged for ever in the glory of the day:
He can soften every anguish, he can soothe our every sigh.
“He, the tender-hearted Saviour, has exhausted human grief:
His most holy pain was endless—yours, a human pang, is brief;
In the Garden did not blood-drops from his suffering forehead flow?
Is there any pang he knows not? any wound he cannot heal?
Take your trouble to the Saviour—he is human, he can feel:
He has drunk the cup of anguish, he has drained the dregs of woe.”
His most holy pain was endless—yours, a human pang, is brief;
In the Garden did not blood-drops from his suffering forehead flow?
Is there any pang he knows not? any wound he cannot heal?
Take your trouble to the Saviour—he is human, he can feel:
He has drunk the cup of anguish, he has drained the dregs of woe.”
How the whole soul spurned the comfort, for the love of truth was there!
Something strong and pure and godlike through the anguish of despair
Spoke out straight and stern and solemn—“What of Jesus? Could he know,
He who never felt the wonder of a woman's loving kiss,
Passion's rapture, passion's torture, passion's madness, passion's bliss?
Had he seen a woman's dagger slay his Father at a blow?
Something strong and pure and godlike through the anguish of despair
Spoke out straight and stern and solemn—“What of Jesus? Could he know,
He who never felt the wonder of a woman's loving kiss,
Passion's rapture, passion's torture, passion's madness, passion's bliss?
Had he seen a woman's dagger slay his Father at a blow?
“How could he, the gentle Jesus who ‘exhausted human pain,’
Ever comprehend the madness that surged wildly through my brain
When I stood and watched the sunrise on that perfect summer morn?
When the sun had power to ravish all wide Nature with its light,
Not the power in one man's spirit to exterminate the night,
All the horror and defiance, all the fierceness and the scorn.
Ever comprehend the madness that surged wildly through my brain
When I stood and watched the sunrise on that perfect summer morn?
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Not the power in one man's spirit to exterminate the night,
All the horror and defiance, all the fierceness and the scorn.
“Had he loved in strong men's manner, had he loved with sweet desire
(Noble, pure as heaven—conceded!)—had his heart with passion's fire
Ever flamed out and exulted, ever throbbed and ever glowed,
Had he loved in man's strong fashion, then and only then, I say,
Could his heart have apprehended what one human heart that day
Felt of fathomless wild anguish,—had he trodden the self-same road.
(Noble, pure as heaven—conceded!)—had his heart with passion's fire
Ever flamed out and exulted, ever throbbed and ever glowed,
Had he loved in man's strong fashion, then and only then, I say,
Could his heart have apprehended what one human heart that day
Felt of fathomless wild anguish,—had he trodden the self-same road.
“Ah! if Jesus in the night-time, in the garden where his brow
Dripped with deathless holy blood-drops—so the Churches tell us now—
If he, loving in man's fashion Mary, Mary Magdalene—
If he, gazing through the branches of the olive-thickets there,
Had seen Judas kiss her bosom and his hand caress her hair,
Gazing—gazing—ever gazing—through the thickets' leafy screen:
Dripped with deathless holy blood-drops—so the Churches tell us now—
If he, loving in man's fashion Mary, Mary Magdalene—
If he, gazing through the branches of the olive-thickets there,
Had seen Judas kiss her bosom and his hand caress her hair,
Gazing—gazing—ever gazing—through the thickets' leafy screen:
“If he gazing, ever gazing, with eyes fastened to the spot,
Had seen Mary's sweet face changing as she swiftly there forgot,
Spurred by force and stress of passion, all the lessons he had taught;
If he gazing, ever gazing, had within the traitor's eyes
Marked the triumph of his treason and the triumph of his lies,
Joy of triumph over Mary, joy of every lustful thought:
Had seen Mary's sweet face changing as she swiftly there forgot,
Spurred by force and stress of passion, all the lessons he had taught;
If he gazing, ever gazing, had within the traitor's eyes
Marked the triumph of his treason and the triumph of his lies,
Joy of triumph over Mary, joy of every lustful thought:
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“If he gazing, ever gazing (God, will my eyes ever cease
To behold what once I gazed at, till the deep grave brings me peace?”)—
If he gazing, ever gazing, had beheld the woman bend
Kissing Judas on the forehead, and had heard the woman say,
‘Jesus is my friend and teacher and I love him in the day,
But at night I love you, darling—you are dearer than a friend!’
To behold what once I gazed at, till the deep grave brings me peace?”)—
If he gazing, ever gazing, had beheld the woman bend
Kissing Judas on the forehead, and had heard the woman say,
‘Jesus is my friend and teacher and I love him in the day,
But at night I love you, darling—you are dearer than a friend!’
“If he, ever gazing, listening, had with horror seen and heard
What I picture, what I speak of, then I grant you might a word
Real and straight and clear of Jesus with some aptitude have rung.
No: his life was spared the horror. Through the darkness when he died
Came no sense that one he worshipped would be sleeping at the side,
Yes, that very night, of Judas, while upon the cross he hung.
What I picture, what I speak of, then I grant you might a word
Real and straight and clear of Jesus with some aptitude have rung.
No: his life was spared the horror. Through the darkness when he died
Came no sense that one he worshipped would be sleeping at the side,
Yes, that very night, of Judas, while upon the cross he hung.
“Not a sense that, while the starlight watched him slowly growing pale,
While the red blood slowly stiffened round the sides of every nail,
She he worshipped would be dreaming, not of heavenly life begun,
Only of the traitor's kisses—that the morning would disclose
Jesus dead upon the gibbet, Mary blushing as a rose
Blushes at the morning message of the warm lips of the sun.”
While the red blood slowly stiffened round the sides of every nail,
She he worshipped would be dreaming, not of heavenly life begun,
Only of the traitor's kisses—that the morning would disclose
Jesus dead upon the gibbet, Mary blushing as a rose
Blushes at the morning message of the warm lips of the sun.”
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Others brought me other comfort—comfort—comfort of a kind!
Saying, “God is very loving, though the eyes of man are blind;
In the flesh she has erred against you, in the body she has sinned,
But the soul is safe for ever; stately, queenly, virgin-pure,
This in heaven will surely wait you, so you struggle and endure:
All her real self she will give you”—but such words passed like the wind.
Saying, “God is very loving, though the eyes of man are blind;
In the flesh she has erred against you, in the body she has sinned,
But the soul is safe for ever; stately, queenly, virgin-pure,
This in heaven will surely wait you, so you struggle and endure:
All her real self she will give you”—but such words passed like the wind.
“As a spirit she will love you, as an angel very fair
She will wait beyond the sunset, or within the bright blue air”:—
Could that help me? could that lift me? could that stay the stroke of doom?
If she gave me all her beauty in the life beyond the grave
Would that change the fact of horror that on earth she freely gave
To a villain all her sweetness, all her pure soft earthly bloom?
She will wait beyond the sunset, or within the bright blue air”:—
Could that help me? could that lift me? could that stay the stroke of doom?
If she gave me all her beauty in the life beyond the grave
Would that change the fact of horror that on earth she freely gave
To a villain all her sweetness, all her pure soft earthly bloom?
What is soul, and what is spirit? No, the villain after all
Wins the beauty of the woman, is exalted by her fall;
He obtains what he has toiled for, his reward is large and grand.
Woman gives him what he longs for,—gives the villain his delight
Through the sweet wild frenzied moments of the starlit summer night:
Judas kisses where he pleases—Jesus may but kiss her hand.
Wins the beauty of the woman, is exalted by her fall;
He obtains what he has toiled for, his reward is large and grand.
Woman gives him what he longs for,—gives the villain his delight
Through the sweet wild frenzied moments of the starlit summer night:
Judas kisses where he pleases—Jesus may but kiss her hand.
Yes: the villain is the victor. If through centuries of pain,
She an angel, I an angel, I may win her, still 'tis plain
Then there will be something wanting, somewhat even then amiss.
Still the angel is the loser, and the selfish soul that sins,
Wastes, destroys, defiles, dishonours, is the happy soul who wins:
The good shepherd wins affection, but the robber wins the kiss.
She an angel, I an angel, I may win her, still 'tis plain
Then there will be something wanting, somewhat even then amiss.
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Wastes, destroys, defiles, dishonours, is the happy soul who wins:
The good shepherd wins affection, but the robber wins the kiss.
So I sinned—with noble fulness—took you wholly to my heart;
Used, to conquer you and win you, all love's boundless ceaseless art—
Love and passion simulated, for my power of love was gone:—
Won the prize methinks the sooner, being in earnest now no more;
When a man's too much in earnest, on himself he shuts the door;
Let his passion seem nigh setting—soon will woman's passion dawn!
Used, to conquer you and win you, all love's boundless ceaseless art—
Love and passion simulated, for my power of love was gone:—
Won the prize methinks the sooner, being in earnest now no more;
When a man's too much in earnest, on himself he shuts the door;
Let his passion seem nigh setting—soon will woman's passion dawn!
Then I felt, deep in my spirit, when the sweet strange sin was done,
What the dim woods feel in autumn at the swift touch of the sun,—
Something radiant, something sun-bright, seemed to flash along my soul:
For my soul had changed its posture—sin no longer seemed the same;
Woman now was not an angel, but a tigress-heart to tame;
Man was hunter, no more lover, and hell's portal was the goal.
What the dim woods feel in autumn at the swift touch of the sun,—
Something radiant, something sun-bright, seemed to flash along my soul:
For my soul had changed its posture—sin no longer seemed the same;
Woman now was not an angel, but a tigress-heart to tame;
Man was hunter, no more lover, and hell's portal was the goal.
There was rapture in the darkness, there was glory now in crime;
Aye, the deadlier now the sinning, by so much the more sublime
Did it seem to one soul-maddened, spirit-frenzied and distraught:—
All the sins of all the nations were one sin within my brain:
Having ruined you and wrecked you, what a victory I should gain!
All the Roman emperors' passions would clink glasses in my thought.
Aye, the deadlier now the sinning, by so much the more sublime
Did it seem to one soul-maddened, spirit-frenzied and distraught:—
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Having ruined you and wrecked you, what a victory I should gain!
All the Roman emperors' passions would clink glasses in my thought.
All the crimes of ancient Venice, where within the summer gloom
On one side an arras waited in the glory of her bloom
Often, moulded so divinely, some sweet woman wondrous fair,
On the other side the dagger that should curtly with its gleam
Veto kisses, cool caresses, and bring death into the dream,
Leaving just a stiff dead body on the marble palace-stair—
On one side an arras waited in the glory of her bloom
Often, moulded so divinely, some sweet woman wondrous fair,
On the other side the dagger that should curtly with its gleam
Veto kisses, cool caresses, and bring death into the dream,
Leaving just a stiff dead body on the marble palace-stair—
All the crimes of ancient Venice, where one knew not what might be,
Beauty's kiss, or coward's stiletto,—then a plunge within the sea
Of a corpse at sullen midnight,—or again at perfect morn
Glances full of eager passion from dark eyes of lovely light,
Love begotten in the sunshine and accomplished in the night,
Or a cast-off lover poisoned, when love changes into scorn—
Beauty's kiss, or coward's stiletto,—then a plunge within the sea
Of a corpse at sullen midnight,—or again at perfect morn
Glances full of eager passion from dark eyes of lovely light,
Love begotten in the sunshine and accomplished in the night,
Or a cast-off lover poisoned, when love changes into scorn—
All the old Italian love-crimes, all, I now should understand:
See Lucretia Borgia waiting with the poison in her hand;
Feel the rapture in my spirit that a thousand lovers felt;
Goodness surely had its glory—sin was full of rapture too,
And that rapture I would fathom. Just as goodness once I knew,
So I now would know its converse—let the cards be freshly dealt!
See Lucretia Borgia waiting with the poison in her hand;
Feel the rapture in my spirit that a thousand lovers felt;
Goodness surely had its glory—sin was full of rapture too,
And that rapture I would fathom. Just as goodness once I knew,
So I now would know its converse—let the cards be freshly dealt!
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Yes, of all the prizes waiting, all the soul of man can win,
Is there any prize so noble as the prize they call a sin?
Even the pureness of a woman for the immense unspoken prize:
Her to chase and her to conquer—her to tempt sweet day by day,
Till at last with rush of rapture all her soul she flings away
And you know yourself victorious by the hunger in her eyes.
Is there any prize so noble as the prize they call a sin?
Even the pureness of a woman for the immense unspoken prize:
Her to chase and her to conquer—her to tempt sweet day by day,
Till at last with rush of rapture all her soul she flings away
And you know yourself victorious by the hunger in her eyes.
If God kept this prize from Jesus, yet he has another son
And an elder, even Satan, and he loves him—though we shun
In our timid folly Satan, yet God loves him passing well:
Jesus is the younger only; on the elder God bestows
Not the lily, not the snowdrop, but the fiery-glowing rose,
Even woman—born that Satan might decoy her into hell.
And an elder, even Satan, and he loves him—though we shun
In our timid folly Satan, yet God loves him passing well:
Jesus is the younger only; on the elder God bestows
Not the lily, not the snowdrop, but the fiery-glowing rose,
Even woman—born that Satan might decoy her into hell.
God gave empire unto Jesus, many a rapture vast and grand,
Made him ruler of the nations, lord of many a lovely land,
Him the ages still shall worship, to the very end of time;
But to Satan God gave rapture far diviner even than this—
Woman's soul and woman's body, woman's worship, woman's kiss:
Jesus wins the worn-out beauties, Satan wins them in their prime.
Made him ruler of the nations, lord of many a lovely land,
Him the ages still shall worship, to the very end of time;
But to Satan God gave rapture far diviner even than this—
Woman's soul and woman's body, woman's worship, woman's kiss:
Jesus wins the worn-out beauties, Satan wins them in their prime.
—Then another thought. 'Twas something, I a mortal, I so small,
Still to feel that I could wrestle with the living Lord of all;
That in me the weak blind mortal there was somewhat strangely strong:
Just a verse or two, a stanza, of my poem, it might be
(Even as you hear a gull's cry through the storm-wind and the sea)
Might be heard for all God's chanting, might outsound the Eternal's song.
Still to feel that I could wrestle with the living Lord of all;
That in me the weak blind mortal there was somewhat strangely strong:
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(Even as you hear a gull's cry through the storm-wind and the sea)
Might be heard for all God's chanting, might outsound the Eternal's song.
I, confused, defeated, battered, wrecked and ruined—I, distraught,
Still maintained intact within me one indomitable thought,
Even the thought that where was justice there was heaven, and where were lies
There was hell and there was Satan: aye, though Satan still might pose
As a God within the Churches, with a surplice like the snows
And his hands upon the thunder and the fire-bolts of the skies.
Still maintained intact within me one indomitable thought,
Even the thought that where was justice there was heaven, and where were lies
There was hell and there was Satan: aye, though Satan still might pose
As a God within the Churches, with a surplice like the snows
And his hands upon the thunder and the fire-bolts of the skies.
I could dwell within the forest of my dark thoughts, in the cave
Of mine anguish, silent, lonely as the lone rock in the wave:—
Though God flashed the stars like torches all across the midnight air,
I could darken still my cavern—or could bid my lantern shine
Unextinguished for his starlight; cave and lantern both were mine,
Mine the majesty of sorrow, mine the kinghood of despair.
Of mine anguish, silent, lonely as the lone rock in the wave:—
Though God flashed the stars like torches all across the midnight air,
I could darken still my cavern—or could bid my lantern shine
Unextinguished for his starlight; cave and lantern both were mine,
Mine the majesty of sorrow, mine the kinghood of despair.
That is all—my heart seems easier—that is all I have to say;
Life is strange—I cannot right it save by flinging life away
As a man's stern strong last protest, as a man's firm clear appeal
To the Power that lies behind God, if such Power indeed there be,
Even as the mightier storm-wind is behind the mightiest sea—
To the Power that solves the secrets that the viewless years conceal.
Life is strange—I cannot right it save by flinging life away
As a man's stern strong last protest, as a man's firm clear appeal
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Even as the mightier storm-wind is behind the mightiest sea—
To the Power that solves the secrets that the viewless years conceal.
Now I pass into the darkness. Will the darkness of death's night
Ever open out before me, and reveal a wondrous light?
Shall I cast my burden from me, as the sun casts off night's gloom?
Truly I know not, but I enter the vast darkness without fear:
Not one star is left to light me through life's utter blackness here;
Have the stars, maybe, migrated to the skies beyond the tomb?
Ever open out before me, and reveal a wondrous light?
Shall I cast my burden from me, as the sun casts off night's gloom?
Truly I know not, but I enter the vast darkness without fear:
Not one star is left to light me through life's utter blackness here;
Have the stars, maybe, migrated to the skies beyond the tomb?
She's quiet—the candle's quite burnt out—
The moon falls soft on her face;
Is she living still? ... I almost doubt ...
She must once have had beauty, grace.
I can see the charm that drew James on,
I can understand her fall:
If she looked like that when the moonlight shone,
I can understand it all!
| The Crucifixion of Man | |