 | Collected poems of Edwin Arlington Robinson |  |
1395
KING JASPER (1935)
1397
I
Honoria, by compliment the queen,
Would have been royal anywhere, and apart
With her distinction in a multitude
Or on a throne. Whether a queen or not,
And wilfully or not, she would have drawn
Around herself invisibly a circle
For none to cross without a smile or sign
From her to say they might. If there was joy
Or glory in this for her, there was tonight
No shining record in her eyes of either;
Nor in her face, where time had faintly won
A negligible skirmish with her beauty,
Was happiness to spare. Yet everything
That other women would have suffered for,
And many enough would ardently have sold
Salvation and intelligence to possess,
Was in appearance hers. So has it been
Since envy, like a foundling, hated first
Its name, and sighed because it had no other;
Though envy, gazing in a window there
Tonight, and seeing well, might have seen less
Worth stealing there than in a toiler's cottage
Where no queens ever came. Honoria
Might have been happier had she never felt
The touch of hidden fingers everywhere,
On everything, and sometimes all but seen them.
For they were there, they were all over the house;
They followed her unseen wherever she went,
And stayed with her unseen wherever she was,
As there now by the firelight where she sat
Alone, and waited for she said not what.
Surely for nothing new. The massive wealth
Of house and home was armor too secure
For change to shake or pierce. Or, were those hands
That she felt everywhere on everything
Blasting already with unseen decay
Walls, roofs, and furniture, and all there was
For her to feel and see and never to know.
She watched the flame and wondered why it was
That she was always waiting, and for what.
The king would soon be coming down the stairs
To praise her and to worship her discreetly,
And probably to say again to her
That time, whenever he stole a year from her,
Replaced it with another loveliness
Fairer than youth—all which would have been true,
And would have been a comfort undenied,
If there were not those hands always at work
Somewhere. If she could see what they were doing,
Or say more certainly what hands they were,
Doom, when it came, would be endurable,
And understandable, as death would be.
The world outside, and with abundant reason,
Would say she was the last of things alive
To play with death, or make a picture of it;
And many would see themselves, and with more reason,
Already pictured. The queen considered that;
And hearing the king coming down the stairs,
Arranged a smile. The king deserved a smile,
And there was always one awaiting him.
Would have been royal anywhere, and apart
With her distinction in a multitude
Or on a throne. Whether a queen or not,
And wilfully or not, she would have drawn
Around herself invisibly a circle
For none to cross without a smile or sign
From her to say they might. If there was joy
Or glory in this for her, there was tonight
No shining record in her eyes of either;
Nor in her face, where time had faintly won
A negligible skirmish with her beauty,
Was happiness to spare. Yet everything
That other women would have suffered for,
And many enough would ardently have sold
Salvation and intelligence to possess,
Was in appearance hers. So has it been
Since envy, like a foundling, hated first
Its name, and sighed because it had no other;
Though envy, gazing in a window there
Tonight, and seeing well, might have seen less
Worth stealing there than in a toiler's cottage
Where no queens ever came. Honoria
Might have been happier had she never felt
The touch of hidden fingers everywhere,
On everything, and sometimes all but seen them.
For they were there, they were all over the house;
They followed her unseen wherever she went,
1398
As there now by the firelight where she sat
Alone, and waited for she said not what.
Surely for nothing new. The massive wealth
Of house and home was armor too secure
For change to shake or pierce. Or, were those hands
That she felt everywhere on everything
Blasting already with unseen decay
Walls, roofs, and furniture, and all there was
For her to feel and see and never to know.
She watched the flame and wondered why it was
That she was always waiting, and for what.
The king would soon be coming down the stairs
To praise her and to worship her discreetly,
And probably to say again to her
That time, whenever he stole a year from her,
Replaced it with another loveliness
Fairer than youth—all which would have been true,
And would have been a comfort undenied,
If there were not those hands always at work
Somewhere. If she could see what they were doing,
Or say more certainly what hands they were,
Doom, when it came, would be endurable,
And understandable, as death would be.
The world outside, and with abundant reason,
Would say she was the last of things alive
To play with death, or make a picture of it;
And many would see themselves, and with more reason,
Already pictured. The queen considered that;
And hearing the king coming down the stairs,
Arranged a smile. The king deserved a smile,
And there was always one awaiting him.
Jasper the first, King Jasper generally,
By compliment also—and by some right,
Which all might not acknowledge as divine—
Came softly in to where the queen sat waiting
For more than Jasper. Had she told him that,
And had she told him of those unseen hands,
He would have laughed at her and kissed her twice
Instead of once—which now, if not enough,
Was all that was expected. So she smiled
At him obediently and beautifully,
And the king smiled. He was a small, tight man,
With eyes that should have seen you in the dark,
And a face moulded hard and handsomely
To a deceiving candor—a face made
For men to study twice, and one for women,
If able, to forget. It was a face
Of amiable deceits and pleasant dangers,
And was withal—or would be for as long
As there were on it no annoyances—
An unoffending and a patient face.
“You may throw billiard balls or bricks at it,
And they will leave no mark,” one citizen
Had said; and several had agreed with him.
The queen would have heard nothing to resent
Had she heard that; and those invisible hands,
For ever at work, might have let something fall
That was not built to fall. If one thing fell,
She had long fancied, always with a shiver,
That all would follow. She was thinking now
Of that; and while she thought of it, she smiled
At the king watching her across the hearth
With piercing gentleness that never changed,
Or never except infrequently to pierce
Deliberately, that she might not forget
Who ruled and answered only his own questions
Of what a king had mostly on his mind
When he was silent or was not at home.
Without those eyes that were his heritage,
He might not have been king.
By compliment also—and by some right,
1399
Came softly in to where the queen sat waiting
For more than Jasper. Had she told him that,
And had she told him of those unseen hands,
He would have laughed at her and kissed her twice
Instead of once—which now, if not enough,
Was all that was expected. So she smiled
At him obediently and beautifully,
And the king smiled. He was a small, tight man,
With eyes that should have seen you in the dark,
And a face moulded hard and handsomely
To a deceiving candor—a face made
For men to study twice, and one for women,
If able, to forget. It was a face
Of amiable deceits and pleasant dangers,
And was withal—or would be for as long
As there were on it no annoyances—
An unoffending and a patient face.
“You may throw billiard balls or bricks at it,
And they will leave no mark,” one citizen
Had said; and several had agreed with him.
The queen would have heard nothing to resent
Had she heard that; and those invisible hands,
For ever at work, might have let something fall
That was not built to fall. If one thing fell,
She had long fancied, always with a shiver,
That all would follow. She was thinking now
Of that; and while she thought of it, she smiled
At the king watching her across the hearth
With piercing gentleness that never changed,
Or never except infrequently to pierce
Deliberately, that she might not forget
Who ruled and answered only his own questions
Of what a king had mostly on his mind
When he was silent or was not at home.
1400
He might not have been king.
“And so, my dear,”
The king said, “we may count the coming down
Of one more night on us, and on the chimneys—
For now we cannot see them; and that means
That we are one day older. If your face
Were the one calendar available,
There would be only as many days and nights
As we might live; for there would be no years.
You are miraculous.”
The king said, “we may count the coming down
Of one more night on us, and on the chimneys—
For now we cannot see them; and that means
That we are one day older. If your face
Were the one calendar available,
There would be only as many days and nights
As we might live; for there would be no years.
You are miraculous.”
“Oh no,” she said.
“Your chimneys are the miracle. Without them,
I might have one face, or I might have two;
Or I might have no face. It wouldn't matter.
Your chimneys are the landmark of your power.
Without them, I know best what I should be.
Why do you wait so long? I said all that
Only to make you say it was not so.”
She laughed, and had a momentary triumph
To play with.
“Your chimneys are the miracle. Without them,
I might have one face, or I might have two;
Or I might have no face. It wouldn't matter.
Your chimneys are the landmark of your power.
Without them, I know best what I should be.
Why do you wait so long? I said all that
Only to make you say it was not so.”
She laughed, and had a momentary triumph
To play with.
“You're the more miraculous,
The longer you're alive. So make the most
Of that before I swear I never said it.
But all the same, and not for the first time,
I'm wishing that your eyes were finding more
For mine to share with them, and less that's hidden.
God gave you eyes to make the world affirm
That you are not supremely among women
The most unfortunate or disconsolate.
I think so, but I like your saying so;
And that was why I waited. I'm no worse
Than when you married me; and you said then
That I was wonderful. I see no change,
Unless we say I'm older. As for you,
Astronomy and addition are both liars
When they say you are fifty. You are thirty.
If there are more years in your doubts tonight
Than thirty, they are there and nowhere else.
Who puts them there? Or what? For all I know
It's that incalculable only son
Of ours. What are we going to make of him?
Answer me that, and I'll go on my knees
To you, and make you blind with diamonds.”
The longer you're alive. So make the most
Of that before I swear I never said it.
But all the same, and not for the first time,
I'm wishing that your eyes were finding more
For mine to share with them, and less that's hidden.
God gave you eyes to make the world affirm
That you are not supremely among women
The most unfortunate or disconsolate.
I think so, but I like your saying so;
And that was why I waited. I'm no worse
1401
That I was wonderful. I see no change,
Unless we say I'm older. As for you,
Astronomy and addition are both liars
When they say you are fifty. You are thirty.
If there are more years in your doubts tonight
Than thirty, they are there and nowhere else.
Who puts them there? Or what? For all I know
It's that incalculable only son
Of ours. What are we going to make of him?
Answer me that, and I'll go on my knees
To you, and make you blind with diamonds.”
“Jasper, if diamonds would make me blind
In one direction, or in one respect,
I might be on my knees, imploring you
For baskets of them. No, it is not our son,
Although I grant you there's a problem in him.
What shall we make of him, you ask? I ask,
What shall he make of us? If you are strong,
And the world says you are, he may be stronger,
And with a wilder strength. He is still young,
And so must have his visions. If you fear
He sees today too far beyond your chimneys,
Why be alarmed? Be quiet, and let him grow.
The chimneys are still there.”
In one direction, or in one respect,
I might be on my knees, imploring you
For baskets of them. No, it is not our son,
Although I grant you there's a problem in him.
What shall we make of him, you ask? I ask,
What shall he make of us? If you are strong,
And the world says you are, he may be stronger,
And with a wilder strength. He is still young,
And so must have his visions. If you fear
He sees today too far beyond your chimneys,
Why be alarmed? Be quiet, and let him grow.
The chimneys are still there.”
“Thank God they are.
And in a proper course of time and reason
He may discover them and consider them
As more than hollow trees that are on fire—
Down where the dragon lives. His filial pride
Sees in what others have called supremacy
A smart abstraction that he calls a dragon.
Meanwhile his occupation is a woman
He calls his wife. She is too free and holy,
Or so he says, to let herself be bound
Or tangled in the flimsy nets or threads
Of church or state. So far as I'm informed,
Or have inferred, she seems to be a sort
Of charming and transfigured wasp, equipped
To sting the mightiest spiders of convention
And fly away from them as free as ever.
In my son's place—well, well, I'd rather not say.
She has enraptured him past intercession,
And I've a notion how—for I have seen her;
And you, this evening, if you will, may gauge her
With all your motherly judgment and affection.
For better or worse, you may as well accept her;
For I'm afraid you must, or lose your son.
If she is false, and I am sure she isn't,
He'll scorch himself and be a little wiser,
And will not be the first. If you see better
Than I see, let me share with you your picture
Of his improvement and his transformation.
He needed both, if ever youth needed sight;
And you, my dear, may not have seen, as I have,
New terrors that have overtaken us.
You feel them, but you do not know their nature.”
And in a proper course of time and reason
He may discover them and consider them
As more than hollow trees that are on fire—
Down where the dragon lives. His filial pride
Sees in what others have called supremacy
A smart abstraction that he calls a dragon.
Meanwhile his occupation is a woman
1402
Or so he says, to let herself be bound
Or tangled in the flimsy nets or threads
Of church or state. So far as I'm informed,
Or have inferred, she seems to be a sort
Of charming and transfigured wasp, equipped
To sting the mightiest spiders of convention
And fly away from them as free as ever.
In my son's place—well, well, I'd rather not say.
She has enraptured him past intercession,
And I've a notion how—for I have seen her;
And you, this evening, if you will, may gauge her
With all your motherly judgment and affection.
For better or worse, you may as well accept her;
For I'm afraid you must, or lose your son.
If she is false, and I am sure she isn't,
He'll scorch himself and be a little wiser,
And will not be the first. If you see better
Than I see, let me share with you your picture
Of his improvement and his transformation.
He needed both, if ever youth needed sight;
And you, my dear, may not have seen, as I have,
New terrors that have overtaken us.
You feel them, but you do not know their nature.”
“I know, though mercifully I'm a novice,
The nature of an insult. If my son
Tells me to suffer, I suppose I must.
And your new terrors, Jasper, are not new.”
The nature of an insult. If my son
Tells me to suffer, I suppose I must.
And your new terrors, Jasper, are not new.”
“Some of them are,” the king said; “and she is—
Although I should have known, and so been ready
For any such apparition as might arrive,
Early, or later, as I feared—or knew.
You cannot know, as I do, what the years
Are bringing home, but you are soon to learn.
Never mind, now. I'll sit here and see—you;
And with a son's eye try to see the stranger.
Why must you women, you pernicious ribs,
Make havoc always of awakening man?
I've not forgotten what you made of me,
After one sight of you. And I'm aware
That this fantastic and elusive sprout
Of ours would hear from us no thwarting sort
Of counsel. If I told him, as a father,
What he must do, he'd find, without a pause,
A way to make me scan with a new care
The size of my experience. If assurance
And aimlessness are strength, your hero has it.
I think it must have been your contribution
To his exuberance. It was never mine.”
Although I should have known, and so been ready
For any such apparition as might arrive,
Early, or later, as I feared—or knew.
You cannot know, as I do, what the years
1403
Never mind, now. I'll sit here and see—you;
And with a son's eye try to see the stranger.
Why must you women, you pernicious ribs,
Make havoc always of awakening man?
I've not forgotten what you made of me,
After one sight of you. And I'm aware
That this fantastic and elusive sprout
Of ours would hear from us no thwarting sort
Of counsel. If I told him, as a father,
What he must do, he'd find, without a pause,
A way to make me scan with a new care
The size of my experience. If assurance
And aimlessness are strength, your hero has it.
I think it must have been your contribution
To his exuberance. It was never mine.”
“Am I then so exuberant?” she asked.
“I might recall innumerable names
Of yours for me, but none would have that word.
Am I exuberant?”
“I might recall innumerable names
Of yours for me, but none would have that word.
Am I exuberant?”
“No, you are not—tonight.
The distance here between us is the same
As always, yet you seem so not quite here
That I'm uncertain that I'm not astray
In someone else's house, and you a stranger.
Say it's a fancy; for I'm one of those
Who thrive indifferently on mysteries.
Say it is fancy. Then say what it was
That set my fancy ranging. For you know,
My dear, and there is no-one else to tell me.
I have not watched and measured men so long
That I have not remembered there are women.
One woman I've remembered so intensely
That I may not have told her—which is wrong,
And may for many a man be perilous.
My sense of having you has like as not
Misled me, as it has a million others,
To saying not enough. If that's the matter,
Scratch me and see how instantly I bleed.
You must have an unseen sufficiency
Of little knives; and I'm of the elected
In having never felt them. Won't you tell me,
And with no slaughter, what it is you see,
Or would see if you might? If it's a ghost,
I'm chilled with interest. I have never seen one.
A ghost in a new house where none has died
Is out of order.”
The distance here between us is the same
As always, yet you seem so not quite here
That I'm uncertain that I'm not astray
In someone else's house, and you a stranger.
Say it's a fancy; for I'm one of those
Who thrive indifferently on mysteries.
Say it is fancy. Then say what it was
That set my fancy ranging. For you know,
My dear, and there is no-one else to tell me.
I have not watched and measured men so long
That I have not remembered there are women.
One woman I've remembered so intensely
1404
And may for many a man be perilous.
My sense of having you has like as not
Misled me, as it has a million others,
To saying not enough. If that's the matter,
Scratch me and see how instantly I bleed.
You must have an unseen sufficiency
Of little knives; and I'm of the elected
In having never felt them. Won't you tell me,
And with no slaughter, what it is you see,
Or would see if you might? If it's a ghost,
I'm chilled with interest. I have never seen one.
A ghost in a new house where none has died
Is out of order.”
“And why so? Some houses,
Newer than this, may well be full of them.”
Newer than this, may well be full of them.”
The king looked hard at his Honoria
Before he laughed. “And have you seen one here?
If not, you may have heard him; and if so,
You should have been asleep. Nights are alive
With noises if you lie and listen for them.”
Before he laughed. “And have you seen one here?
If not, you may have heard him; and if so,
You should have been asleep. Nights are alive
With noises if you lie and listen for them.”
“No, Jasper, I've not seen him, nor yet heard him;
And maybe only my imagination
Has let me tell myself that I have felt him.
Not only in the night; for there are ghosts,
I fancy, at all hours. When I'm alone,
By day or night, I feel mysterious hands
Doing a silent work of slow destruction.
I feel them here; and if I went down there,
And waited, I might feel them in the chimneys.
Someone is here at work, or more than one,
With hands that I shall be afraid to know
So long as they are silent and unseen.
Have you an enemy, or a friend, who died,
And might return to you to be unwelcome?”
And maybe only my imagination
Has let me tell myself that I have felt him.
Not only in the night; for there are ghosts,
I fancy, at all hours. When I'm alone,
By day or night, I feel mysterious hands
Doing a silent work of slow destruction.
I feel them here; and if I went down there,
And waited, I might feel them in the chimneys.
Someone is here at work, or more than one,
With hands that I shall be afraid to know
1405
Have you an enemy, or a friend, who died,
And might return to you to be unwelcome?”
“What thread of language is it you are spinning
As if you mean to weave a shroud of it
For all that we have been—for all we are?
What have I done so deadly different
Of late that I remain a stranger to it?
If you are too much alone when I'm away,
God knows it is your choice. I should have said,
If questioned, it was a clever way of yours
Of staying alive sometimes. But if it serves you
Only as a new way of seeing demons,
I recommend activity and fatigue—
And sleep.”
As if you mean to weave a shroud of it
For all that we have been—for all we are?
What have I done so deadly different
Of late that I remain a stranger to it?
If you are too much alone when I'm away,
God knows it is your choice. I should have said,
If questioned, it was a clever way of yours
Of staying alive sometimes. But if it serves you
Only as a new way of seeing demons,
I recommend activity and fatigue—
And sleep.”
She smiled. “It is your memory now
That sleeps. I never told you that I saw them.
I told you that I felt them.”
That sleeps. I never told you that I saw them.
I told you that I felt them.”
“I've a doubt,
My dear, if you've an inkling of what ails you.
World-weary nerves, I'll wager. If you say so,
We'll go to sea and sail around the world,
With freedom and free air for company.
There's nothing for you to ask that I'll refuse,
If it will change those anxious eyes of yours
That feel, but cannot see.”
My dear, if you've an inkling of what ails you.
World-weary nerves, I'll wager. If you say so,
We'll go to sea and sail around the world,
With freedom and free air for company.
There's nothing for you to ask that I'll refuse,
If it will change those anxious eyes of yours
That feel, but cannot see.”
Again she smiled:
“No, Jasper. You are kind; you always were—
To me. But we might sail ten thousand miles
Away from here, and I should feel those hands,
Always invisible, always at work.”
“God help us, then,” the king said; and he sat
Like a still image, gazing solemnly
At a slow-burning log that smoked and hissed
And whispered. And the thing was listening.
“No, Jasper. You are kind; you always were—
To me. But we might sail ten thousand miles
Away from here, and I should feel those hands,
Always invisible, always at work.”
1406
Like a still image, gazing solemnly
At a slow-burning log that smoked and hissed
And whispered. And the thing was listening.
Without a motion, or a glance at her
Who sat there silently, “And you,” he said,
“Are not alone permitted or condemned
To know there are somewhere some hands at work
That may destroy us if we live too long.
I feel them, as you do; but there's with me
A difference. Mine are not those of a ghost.”
Who sat there silently, “And you,” he said,
“Are not alone permitted or condemned
To know there are somewhere some hands at work
That may destroy us if we live too long.
I feel them, as you do; but there's with me
A difference. Mine are not those of a ghost.”
“I know them; and I know whose hands they are,
Jasper; and I have known for a long time.”
Jasper; and I have known for a long time.”
With a slow sigh that said less of relief
Than of lost hope restored, he studied her
With eyes that held a warmer confidence
Than had for long been hers to find in them.
A smile of an inquiring gratitude
Softened them strangely while he sighed again,
Contentedly almost. “Well, if you know them,
You know there's nothing that is here for always.
There may be a long madness on the way
To shatter a mad world that may deserve it.
I cannot answer if you ask me now
To tell you what it is those hands are doing.
Only remember, and be satisfied,
That you may fear no ghost. Only God knows
How gladly I'd exchange for a ghost's hands
The living and invincible hands I feel
All around me. For I feel them, and I see them;
And you might, if you knew them as I know them.”
The queen, with a monotony unaltered
And with no smile, said, “Jasper, I am sorry.
But mine are a ghost's hands, if yours are not.
I know your purpose, and I know those hands
Down there, and everywhere, that may have power
To crush us. If they do, I shall not care—
So long as I'm permitted not to touch them.
No, mine are the cold hands of an old ghost
That will not rest unfelt. But for the while
He stays invisible, we'll not mention him.
Let us imagine that he never was,
And say no more of him.”
Than of lost hope restored, he studied her
With eyes that held a warmer confidence
Than had for long been hers to find in them.
A smile of an inquiring gratitude
Softened them strangely while he sighed again,
Contentedly almost. “Well, if you know them,
You know there's nothing that is here for always.
There may be a long madness on the way
To shatter a mad world that may deserve it.
I cannot answer if you ask me now
To tell you what it is those hands are doing.
Only remember, and be satisfied,
That you may fear no ghost. Only God knows
How gladly I'd exchange for a ghost's hands
The living and invincible hands I feel
All around me. For I feel them, and I see them;
And you might, if you knew them as I know them.”
1407
And with no smile, said, “Jasper, I am sorry.
But mine are a ghost's hands, if yours are not.
I know your purpose, and I know those hands
Down there, and everywhere, that may have power
To crush us. If they do, I shall not care—
So long as I'm permitted not to touch them.
No, mine are the cold hands of an old ghost
That will not rest unfelt. But for the while
He stays invisible, we'll not mention him.
Let us imagine that he never was,
And say no more of him.”
They said no more.
He sat there, with the face of a man baffled,
And found in hers no answer. Silently
They sat alone, the king and queen together;
And silently they turned, hearing at last
A new sound, and a murmur of young voices.
He sat there, with the face of a man baffled,
And found in hers no answer. Silently
They sat alone, the king and queen together;
And silently they turned, hearing at last
A new sound, and a murmur of young voices.
II
Jasper the second, commonly the prince,
By compliment again, came radiantly
Into a room where radiance, rightly brought,
Might have been welcomed and appreciated
With less of an inclement hesitancy
Than was to meet the prince and his companion,
For whom was no escape. A strong young hand
Held hers and brought her along confidently;
And strong young arms, had she been obstinate,
Would instantly have seized and carried her
Into that room where now the king and queen
Sat quietly and stared. The prince, with eyes
Alive with laughter and rebellious joy,
And with a pink face crowned and animated
With golden hair that was unruly always,
Came leading in with him a slight young woman,
Impredicably firm, fair to behold,
And more amused than scared.
By compliment again, came radiantly
Into a room where radiance, rightly brought,
Might have been welcomed and appreciated
With less of an inclement hesitancy
Than was to meet the prince and his companion,
For whom was no escape. A strong young hand
Held hers and brought her along confidently;
And strong young arms, had she been obstinate,
Would instantly have seized and carried her
Into that room where now the king and queen
Sat quietly and stared. The prince, with eyes
Alive with laughter and rebellious joy,
1408
With golden hair that was unruly always,
Came leading in with him a slight young woman,
Impredicably firm, fair to behold,
And more amused than scared.
“Father and mother,
I have brought Zoë home with me tonight,”
Said the prince, happily, “for you to see.
Zoë's a lazy name, but not so Zoë.
Zoë is intricate and industrious,
And sees all through you. So be kind to her,
And make her one of you, so far as wisdom—
Or prudence, if you say so—may permit.
When she was young, the wisest man alive,
Before he died, gave her a little knife
That's like a needle. But she doesn't use it,
And you need have no fear. Zoë's a prophet,
And wishes you no evil. Zoë's an angel,
Which means a messenger. All there is of her
That's not a wonderment to be observed
Is mind and spirit—which are invisible
Unless you are awake. Yes, we are married,
Mother—under the stars and under God,
As we see deity, and have bound ourselves
Therefore as loyally and sacredly
Together as if two bishops and their wives
Had tucked us in. Zoë, don't scowl at me.
It's well for mother to be agitated,
Occasionally, for she draws and follows
A line too fixed and rigid, and too thin
For her development. Mother, will you see Zoë,
And say if there came ever, except yourself,
Anything half so near to the divine,
Or anything half so satisfactory
Out of God's crucible.”
I have brought Zoë home with me tonight,”
Said the prince, happily, “for you to see.
Zoë's a lazy name, but not so Zoë.
Zoë is intricate and industrious,
And sees all through you. So be kind to her,
And make her one of you, so far as wisdom—
Or prudence, if you say so—may permit.
When she was young, the wisest man alive,
Before he died, gave her a little knife
That's like a needle. But she doesn't use it,
And you need have no fear. Zoë's a prophet,
And wishes you no evil. Zoë's an angel,
Which means a messenger. All there is of her
That's not a wonderment to be observed
Is mind and spirit—which are invisible
Unless you are awake. Yes, we are married,
Mother—under the stars and under God,
As we see deity, and have bound ourselves
Therefore as loyally and sacredly
Together as if two bishops and their wives
Had tucked us in. Zoë, don't scowl at me.
It's well for mother to be agitated,
Occasionally, for she draws and follows
A line too fixed and rigid, and too thin
For her development. Mother, will you see Zoë,
And say if there came ever, except yourself,
Anything half so near to the divine,
1409
Out of God's crucible.”
The queen said nothing.
The king said, “Will you children please sit down;
And while your mother and I prepare ourselves
For gravity, will you say a little more?
My words are now for you, my son. The lady,
Later, may tell her story. We shall hear it
With a becoming interest.”
The king said, “Will you children please sit down;
And while your mother and I prepare ourselves
For gravity, will you say a little more?
My words are now for you, my son. The lady,
Later, may tell her story. We shall hear it
With a becoming interest.”
“I shall not,”
The queen said, trembling. “If this means the end
Of my world, and if I have lost my way
In a new wilderness, with no road back
To where I was, I'd rather be there alone,
And die there, than go on. If you two strangers
Tell me this house is yours—and it seems now
No longer to be ours—your father, Jasper,
Will answer as he will. I have no voice,
And I have been content, as it appears,
To be without one. If I leave you now,
I shall say nothing that I might regret.”
She rose, and the prince laughed affectionately.
“Mother, your manners are immaculate,
Majestical, and somewhat serpentine.”
The queen said, trembling. “If this means the end
Of my world, and if I have lost my way
In a new wilderness, with no road back
To where I was, I'd rather be there alone,
And die there, than go on. If you two strangers
Tell me this house is yours—and it seems now
No longer to be ours—your father, Jasper,
Will answer as he will. I have no voice,
And I have been content, as it appears,
To be without one. If I leave you now,
I shall say nothing that I might regret.”
She rose, and the prince laughed affectionately.
“Mother, your manners are immaculate,
Majestical, and somewhat serpentine.”
“Whatever they are to you, others have borne them
With no complaint,” she said. “If they have served
And are outworn, new manners will forget them.”
And quietly, with a pallor-covered rage
Half-blinding her, she walked out like a queen.
With no complaint,” she said. “If they have served
And are outworn, new manners will forget them.”
And quietly, with a pallor-covered rage
Half-blinding her, she walked out like a queen.
The prince looked at his father ruefully,
And laughed again: “I should have said, and sworn,
There was a curiosity in all mothers
That would have mastered her, even though she burned
Inside until she died spontaneously.
Don't worry, Zoë. She is not going to die—
If I know mother.”
And laughed again: “I should have said, and sworn,
1410
That would have mastered her, even though she burned
Inside until she died spontaneously.
Don't worry, Zoë. She is not going to die—
If I know mother.”
“You don't know anything yet,
My son,” the king said; and he shut his jaws
Until his teeth ached, while he gazed at Zoë
With half-shut eyes that had a smile in them,
Which was acknowledged with no trepidation,
Or manifest surprise, by one in hers.
My son,” the king said; and he shut his jaws
Until his teeth ached, while he gazed at Zoë
With half-shut eyes that had a smile in them,
Which was acknowledged with no trepidation,
Or manifest surprise, by one in hers.
“I'm glad you like me—if you do,” she said;
“For I shall not remain where I'm unwelcome
To Jasper's father. I could never do that.”
“For I shall not remain where I'm unwelcome
To Jasper's father. I could never do that.”
“You might not,” said the king. “And Jasper's mother?
In chemistry there are several elements
That will not yet combine—though I suspect
They must; and when they do, they'll all be one.
But that's far off; and we are still the slaves,
I fear, of our ingrained affinities.
We may not say, ‘Now this one I will love,’
Nor may we say, ‘Now this one will love me.’
I doubt, my child, if you and Jasper's mother
Will ever combine. It's not your chemistry.”
In chemistry there are several elements
That will not yet combine—though I suspect
They must; and when they do, they'll all be one.
But that's far off; and we are still the slaves,
I fear, of our ingrained affinities.
We may not say, ‘Now this one I will love,’
Nor may we say, ‘Now this one will love me.’
I doubt, my child, if you and Jasper's mother
Will ever combine. It's not your chemistry.”
“I know that,” she replied, “and I am sorry.
But there's a world far larger than your house
For us to live in. Jasper knows already
That I should not improve here, or be happy,
With your frown watching me. You are not frowning
Now, and you should not. I am not wicked.
I am only as I came, as Jasper says it,
Out of God's crucible—although I'm not so perfect
As he has painted me. If I'm not evil,
And I am not, it is your chemistry
That shows me clearer than it has shown those
Who wrought it, the long monstrousness of life
That most have suffered and a few been crowned for.
You have been crowned, and that is why you like me.”
But there's a world far larger than your house
For us to live in. Jasper knows already
That I should not improve here, or be happy,
With your frown watching me. You are not frowning
Now, and you should not. I am not wicked.
I am only as I came, as Jasper says it,
Out of God's crucible—although I'm not so perfect
1411
And I am not, it is your chemistry
That shows me clearer than it has shown those
Who wrought it, the long monstrousness of life
That most have suffered and a few been crowned for.
You have been crowned, and that is why you like me.”
King Jasper stared at her until she laughed,
And then away from her and at the fire
A while. At last he laughed at her, and then,
Not knowing what else to say, he said,
“I like you, but I'm still afraid of you;
And I'm not one much given to being afraid
Of man or woman. If that's a compliment,
Say it is yours. I shall not cancel it.”
And then away from her and at the fire
A while. At last he laughed at her, and then,
Not knowing what else to say, he said,
“I like you, but I'm still afraid of you;
And I'm not one much given to being afraid
Of man or woman. If that's a compliment,
Say it is yours. I shall not cancel it.”
“Hear, hear!” the prince exclaimed. “The old one sees.
Zoë, I said he would. If you ask father,
He'll say that I was always a bit crazy
For not having eyes like his to see as his do
More in his chimneys, where the dragon lives,
Than in the nearness of a younger dragon.
He'll say that I am headstrong and ungrateful,
And then be penitent; for he knows better.
He knows more than he tells. Now tell me, father,
If I did well or ill in fetching Zoë
For you to see. I'm sorry about mother.”
Zoë, I said he would. If you ask father,
He'll say that I was always a bit crazy
For not having eyes like his to see as his do
More in his chimneys, where the dragon lives,
Than in the nearness of a younger dragon.
He'll say that I am headstrong and ungrateful,
And then be penitent; for he knows better.
He knows more than he tells. Now tell me, father,
If I did well or ill in fetching Zoë
For you to see. I'm sorry about mother.”
“My son, there's many a question safer left
With silence,” the king said, and gazed at Zoë,
Whose dark eyes challenged his with hidden triumph.
“An answer, if I made one, might resemble
One of those decimals that extend themselves
And end nowhere. A repetend, we called it,
When I was sent to school. Am I still there?”
With silence,” the king said, and gazed at Zoë,
Whose dark eyes challenged his with hidden triumph.
“An answer, if I made one, might resemble
One of those decimals that extend themselves
And end nowhere. A repetend, we called it,
When I was sent to school. Am I still there?”
“I can see pupils, father, older than you,
Going to Zoë to be educated,
And fast as rabbits go. If you learn only
A little from her of all she knows of you,
You'll say, ‘Who's this?’ to the first looking-glass
Wherein you see a stranger.”
1412
And fast as rabbits go. If you learn only
A little from her of all she knows of you,
You'll say, ‘Who's this?’ to the first looking-glass
Wherein you see a stranger.”
The king fixed
A gaze of indecision on the prince;
Then one on Zoë, who commanded it,
Mostly with her warm eyes. “With you for teacher,
I might go back to school again,” he said,
“And might be punished.”
A gaze of indecision on the prince;
Then one on Zoë, who commanded it,
Mostly with her warm eyes. “With you for teacher,
I might go back to school again,” he said,
“And might be punished.”
“You might,” said the prince,
“Be rulered on both hands until they bled,
And come again next day for more of it.
Zoë can be ferocious, if incited;
She can be merciless, and all for love;
And not for love of one, or two, or three.
Father, be careful. It is not too late
For you to drive us out and shut the door
Against us and the dark, and make believe
That you have seen and heard the last of us.
We shall be here, and you may feel our presence.
We may still touch you with invisible hands.
Whether or not you see us here again
Is not the immortal point, for we are here;
And if we stay, you will know more of Zoë,
And more of me. I'm sorry about mother.”
So the prince finished, laughing at his father
With an affection unmistakable,
For which the king was glad. But while he listened,
His eyes were tethered and held invincibly
By those eyes of a woman—laughing eyes,
Of which he was afraid. The fears he felt
Were not the tinglings of inveiglement;
They were unsought inept awakenings
Of truth he long had fancied was asleep,
Knowing truth never sleeps. And why, he wondered,
And why at this unreal disarming moment,
Must he be told once more of hands at work
That were invisible? And the more he wondered,
The more his house was a place filled with hands
That were invisible. Did the woman see them?
And was that why her eyes were laughing at him?
“Be rulered on both hands until they bled,
And come again next day for more of it.
Zoë can be ferocious, if incited;
She can be merciless, and all for love;
And not for love of one, or two, or three.
Father, be careful. It is not too late
For you to drive us out and shut the door
Against us and the dark, and make believe
That you have seen and heard the last of us.
We shall be here, and you may feel our presence.
We may still touch you with invisible hands.
Whether or not you see us here again
Is not the immortal point, for we are here;
And if we stay, you will know more of Zoë,
And more of me. I'm sorry about mother.”
So the prince finished, laughing at his father
With an affection unmistakable,
For which the king was glad. But while he listened,
His eyes were tethered and held invincibly
By those eyes of a woman—laughing eyes,
Of which he was afraid. The fears he felt
1413
They were unsought inept awakenings
Of truth he long had fancied was asleep,
Knowing truth never sleeps. And why, he wondered,
And why at this unreal disarming moment,
Must he be told once more of hands at work
That were invisible? And the more he wondered,
The more his house was a place filled with hands
That were invisible. Did the woman see them?
And was that why her eyes were laughing at him?
His eyes were asking, and she answered them:
“Invisible hands are not so comforting
As hands that we may recognize and hold.
I'd rather see them. I should be terror-sick
For days if I should feel them and not see them—
Especially all alone and in the dark.
The mightiest are the blindest; and I wonder
Why they forget themselves in histories
They cannot read because they have no sight.
What useless chronicles of bloody dust
Their deeds will be sometime! And all because
They cannot see behind them or before them,
And cannot see themselves. For them there must
Be multitudes of cold and unseen hands
That reach for them and touch them horribly
When they're alone. If I were Queen of the World,
And had no eyes, I should feel cold hands always,
And certainly die shrieking; for those hands
Would strangle me.”
“Invisible hands are not so comforting
As hands that we may recognize and hold.
I'd rather see them. I should be terror-sick
For days if I should feel them and not see them—
Especially all alone and in the dark.
The mightiest are the blindest; and I wonder
Why they forget themselves in histories
They cannot read because they have no sight.
What useless chronicles of bloody dust
Their deeds will be sometime! And all because
They cannot see behind them or before them,
And cannot see themselves. For them there must
Be multitudes of cold and unseen hands
That reach for them and touch them horribly
When they're alone. If I were Queen of the World,
And had no eyes, I should feel cold hands always,
And certainly die shrieking; for those hands
Would strangle me.”
“If you were Queen of the World,”
The king said, with a wry laugh that accused him,
“Beauty and love would reign—though probably
Not for so long as you conceive they might.
If years have taught me more than a child knows,
That world of yours would soon be a red desert
Of the same bloody dust that you have seen
So confidently coming. I see no man
Who looks to me as if the crown of the world
Would not come down so quickly over his eyes
That he would soon be blinder than he was
Before he wore it. And with a right respect
For you, my child, and for all restless women
Who'd see this world turned neatly upside down,
I fear that you might find the same absurd
And abused atom that was here before.
Sorrow and admiration, and esteem,
Forbid my seeing a woman wearing it
For more than a few days.”
The king said, with a wry laugh that accused him,
“Beauty and love would reign—though probably
Not for so long as you conceive they might.
1414
That world of yours would soon be a red desert
Of the same bloody dust that you have seen
So confidently coming. I see no man
Who looks to me as if the crown of the world
Would not come down so quickly over his eyes
That he would soon be blinder than he was
Before he wore it. And with a right respect
For you, my child, and for all restless women
Who'd see this world turned neatly upside down,
I fear that you might find the same absurd
And abused atom that was here before.
Sorrow and admiration, and esteem,
Forbid my seeing a woman wearing it
For more than a few days.”
“Zoë, hurrah
For father!” cried the prince, applauding him
With joyful palms. “He has said everything
That every other king with a top-hat,
And a wrong understanding of the part
That he was given to play, has said no better.
Father's an old dog, Zoë. If you stroke him,
He'll treasure the attention, for he likes you,
And value it the more because he fears you.
But you may teach him nothing. He knows more
Than pride and habit and uneasy caution
Will give him tongue to say; and he knows you—
More than he dares. So, Zoë, don't annoy him;
And for the sake of all who are too old
To see the coming of what they have called for,
Don't prick him, for the joy of seeing him wince,
With your old wise man's knife that's like a needle.
Now father's wondering what we mean by that.
So, don't excite him. I'll sound an older theme,
Father—a thing your memory may have lost
Among the noises of your coronation.
I'm trying, and vainly, to find anywhere,
On any wall in this commodious house,
A picture that so far as I have sought
Is nowhere here. After a sad sojourn—
Till I found Zoë—among the ruins of time
In ancient cities, and among more pictures
Than are alive, there's one I've not seen yet
That follows me. You said a thousand times,
When I was young—Zoë, don't laugh at me—
That you would have old Hebron hanging here,
Because he was your friend. I saw young Hebron
Down there among your chimneys yesterday,
Measuring them with a sardonic eye
As if they were not yours. I did not know him.
He has been long away; and I'd have prayed
He might have stayed there. But he did know me,
And was no happier for the sight of me.
His eyes, as I went by him, held for me
As much love in them as a bulldog's hold
For rats—yet he was patient, and restrained
His tongue from saying he wished that I was dead.
Father, why not hang Hebron—the old man—
In a good place, where you may look at him
And say he was your friend? You owe him that,
And there's a rumor that you may owe more.”
For father!” cried the prince, applauding him
With joyful palms. “He has said everything
That every other king with a top-hat,
And a wrong understanding of the part
That he was given to play, has said no better.
Father's an old dog, Zoë. If you stroke him,
He'll treasure the attention, for he likes you,
And value it the more because he fears you.
But you may teach him nothing. He knows more
Than pride and habit and uneasy caution
Will give him tongue to say; and he knows you—
More than he dares. So, Zoë, don't annoy him;
And for the sake of all who are too old
To see the coming of what they have called for,
Don't prick him, for the joy of seeing him wince,
With your old wise man's knife that's like a needle.
Now father's wondering what we mean by that.
So, don't excite him. I'll sound an older theme,
1415
Among the noises of your coronation.
I'm trying, and vainly, to find anywhere,
On any wall in this commodious house,
A picture that so far as I have sought
Is nowhere here. After a sad sojourn—
Till I found Zoë—among the ruins of time
In ancient cities, and among more pictures
Than are alive, there's one I've not seen yet
That follows me. You said a thousand times,
When I was young—Zoë, don't laugh at me—
That you would have old Hebron hanging here,
Because he was your friend. I saw young Hebron
Down there among your chimneys yesterday,
Measuring them with a sardonic eye
As if they were not yours. I did not know him.
He has been long away; and I'd have prayed
He might have stayed there. But he did know me,
And was no happier for the sight of me.
His eyes, as I went by him, held for me
As much love in them as a bulldog's hold
For rats—yet he was patient, and restrained
His tongue from saying he wished that I was dead.
Father, why not hang Hebron—the old man—
In a good place, where you may look at him
And say he was your friend? You owe him that,
And there's a rumor that you may owe more.”
“My son, when you are older,” said the king,
Smiling a scowl away, “you will have learned
That all who have climbed higher than the rest
Owe the dead more than pictures. If the dead,
And the long-dead before them, should return
With ledgers telling us where our debts are cast,
We should know more than fate sees necessary.
If Hebron was my friend, I was his friend.
He died, I lived. And there was no crime there—
Unless you say there's crime in being alive;
And I'm not certain you might not say that,
If you might startle someone. When I die,
As I shall, soon or late, you will survive
Surprisingly. I want you to be sorry,
But not to wither away; for then my works
Would all be lost and scattered. So preserve
Yourself, my son. With Zoë, I think you will.”
Smiling a scowl away, “you will have learned
That all who have climbed higher than the rest
Owe the dead more than pictures. If the dead,
And the long-dead before them, should return
With ledgers telling us where our debts are cast,
We should know more than fate sees necessary.
1416
He died, I lived. And there was no crime there—
Unless you say there's crime in being alive;
And I'm not certain you might not say that,
If you might startle someone. When I die,
As I shall, soon or late, you will survive
Surprisingly. I want you to be sorry,
But not to wither away; for then my works
Would all be lost and scattered. So preserve
Yourself, my son. With Zoë, I think you will.”
The king felt Zoë's eyes, and felt once more
In them the far-off laughter of a language
That might have been Etruscan or Minoan,
For all he made of it until she spoke:
“I mean to make the best I can of him,
But when am I to know how much of him
Is his, or mine, or yours, or maybe Hebron's?
I cannot read your ledgers of the dead.”
In them the far-off laughter of a language
That might have been Etruscan or Minoan,
For all he made of it until she spoke:
“I mean to make the best I can of him,
But when am I to know how much of him
Is his, or mine, or yours, or maybe Hebron's?
I cannot read your ledgers of the dead.”
The king compressed his mouth into a line
Of careful thought. “I'm not so sure of that,”
He said. “Who was your father—and your mother?”
Of careful thought. “I'm not so sure of that,”
He said. “Who was your father—and your mother?”
“I don't know,” she said, smiling. “I was found,
Once on a time; and someone called me Zoë.”
Once on a time; and someone called me Zoë.”
The king appraised her as he might the grace
Of an escaped and unafraid wild thing
That sought his love, and yet might one day bite him.
After some time he said, “Well, well. So, so.
It may not be important. Your two eyes,
And what you see with them, and what's behind them,
Are more for you, and for your preservation
Than are the names of unremembered parents.
Parents are everywhere, and incidental.
If you had known yours, they would never have known
Their child. I wonder, when I look at him,
If I know mine.”
Of an escaped and unafraid wild thing
That sought his love, and yet might one day bite him.
After some time he said, “Well, well. So, so.
It may not be important. Your two eyes,
And what you see with them, and what's behind them,
Are more for you, and for your preservation
Than are the names of unremembered parents.
1417
If you had known yours, they would never have known
Their child. I wonder, when I look at him,
If I know mine.”
“Who knows a child, knows God,”
She said. “Yet even if you and he were strangers,
You must have been companions—which all fathers
And sons, alas, are not. For he has told me
Of times, which he believes were long ago,
When you would hold him on your knees and read
‘Sindbad the Sailor.’ He remembers best
The Old Man of the Sea.” She laughed at that,
As if the story, or the name, concealed
A source of untold mirth.
She said. “Yet even if you and he were strangers,
You must have been companions—which all fathers
And sons, alas, are not. For he has told me
Of times, which he believes were long ago,
When you would hold him on your knees and read
‘Sindbad the Sailor.’ He remembers best
The Old Man of the Sea.” She laughed at that,
As if the story, or the name, concealed
A source of untold mirth.
“Yes, I remember,”
The king said; and she fancied that he trembled.
The king said; and she fancied that he trembled.
“And you remember, father,” said the prince,
Like one excited unexplainably,
“How Sindbad finished him. He cracked his head
With a large rock, while the old fellow slept.
If ever you feel him on your shoulders, father,
Remember Sindbad's way. If that should miss,
One of your chimneys may fall down on him;
And that would crush him surely. Good night, father;
Zoë and I are going upstairs to sleep—
Unless you change your mind and banish us
Outside, into the dark. There is still time.
I'm sorry about mother.”
Like one excited unexplainably,
“How Sindbad finished him. He cracked his head
With a large rock, while the old fellow slept.
If ever you feel him on your shoulders, father,
Remember Sindbad's way. If that should miss,
One of your chimneys may fall down on him;
And that would crush him surely. Good night, father;
Zoë and I are going upstairs to sleep—
Unless you change your mind and banish us
Outside, into the dark. There is still time.
I'm sorry about mother.”
“Good night—father!”
Zoë said, smiling; and she kissed his lips
With a warmth too compelling and long-clinging
To be the seal of home.
Zoë said, smiling; and she kissed his lips
With a warmth too compelling and long-clinging
To be the seal of home.
1418
“Father, beware
Of Zoë's ways and means. Unyoke yourself
Immediately—and, if you must, by force;
Or God knows what may happen in this house.”
The prince's eyes were flashing with delight
Unqualified, and his words had the tension
Of an unfilial glee.
Of Zoë's ways and means. Unyoke yourself
Immediately—and, if you must, by force;
Or God knows what may happen in this house.”
The prince's eyes were flashing with delight
Unqualified, and his words had the tension
Of an unfilial glee.
“Good night—my children,”
The king said. When he found he was no longer
The prisoner of those arms and lips and eyes,
It seemed a privilege never felt before,
Nor estimated, merely to stand there,
Unshackled for a moment, and forget.
Because he was a king, he could afford
The dispensation of at least a smile:
“Good night,” he said. “Good night—and go away.
I cannot send you, Zoë, into the dark.
I don't know what you are, or what you mean—
But here you must remain till I know more.
And you, my son: I don't know what I'm doing,
Or if your mother was right.”
The king said. When he found he was no longer
The prisoner of those arms and lips and eyes,
It seemed a privilege never felt before,
Nor estimated, merely to stand there,
Unshackled for a moment, and forget.
Because he was a king, he could afford
The dispensation of at least a smile:
“Good night,” he said. “Good night—and go away.
I cannot send you, Zoë, into the dark.
I don't know what you are, or what you mean—
But here you must remain till I know more.
And you, my son: I don't know what I'm doing,
Or if your mother was right.”
“She is no mother
For me, I fear,” said Zoë; “and I'm wretched
That I should be an outlaw, if no worse,
In her too swift and fierce interpretations.
But there are some of us who cannot change;
And as we were, we are. And the world turns
Like a mill grinding minutes into years,
In which we live until we are no longer,
And can do no more harm. Father, sleep well.”
She laughed; and when he looked up, they had vanished.
For me, I fear,” said Zoë; “and I'm wretched
That I should be an outlaw, if no worse,
In her too swift and fierce interpretations.
But there are some of us who cannot change;
And as we were, we are. And the world turns
Like a mill grinding minutes into years,
In which we live until we are no longer,
And can do no more harm. Father, sleep well.”
She laughed; and when he looked up, they had vanished.
Like one who for the first time in his life
Knows that he is alone, the king sat watching,
And seeing not what they were, nor why they were,
The few last sparks of a forgotten fire.
They died; and there was nothing but white ashes,
And the king watching them. When he stood up,
And stretched himself erect and absolute,
A clock struck two. The lighted room was cold,
Too large, and empty; and the king was cold.
He shivered as he moved himself away
To the dim-lighted hall, and at the door
He stayed—as if that large and lighted room
That was there now might not be there tomorrow.
The Old Man of the Sea, King Jasper said,
Unheard; and like a man who was afraid
To be alone, he put out the last light.
Knows that he is alone, the king sat watching,
1419
The few last sparks of a forgotten fire.
They died; and there was nothing but white ashes,
And the king watching them. When he stood up,
And stretched himself erect and absolute,
A clock struck two. The lighted room was cold,
Too large, and empty; and the king was cold.
He shivered as he moved himself away
To the dim-lighted hall, and at the door
He stayed—as if that large and lighted room
That was there now might not be there tomorrow.
The Old Man of the Sea, King Jasper said,
Unheard; and like a man who was afraid
To be alone, he put out the last light.
III
King Jasper lay for lonely hours awake
That night, turning himself incessantly,
As kings will when their crowns are troubling them.
For well he knew, and latterly too well,
That age, as it came on, was giving him eyes
To see more surely the dark way behind him
That he had climbed, with opportunity
And enterprise to drive him, and to mock him
Whenever he looked back. If they had been
Two giants lashing him to his attainment
Of high desire that was a fever in him,
They would have been for that no mightier drivers
Than their two voices were. So the king told
His listening doubts until it was all true;
And his doubts told the darkness and the hours,
Who had no mercy, or may not have heard,
Until a clock struck five. There was no hope
Of sleep deceiving him; for there was more
Tonight than those diminishing small voices
Of opportunity and enterprise
To trouble him. There was a new voice now
That had a warning in it, and a laughter,
Which might be carelessness, or might be scorn,
Or both—or might be triumph, holding him
As a cat holds a bird. There in the dark
It might be death. He heard it, and he felt it;
And still remembered a clock striking five.
With sleep no longer even a theme of hope
To save him as a doom-defying refuge,
He counted those lost hours until he saw them
Like dead friends he had slain; and then he slept.
That night, turning himself incessantly,
As kings will when their crowns are troubling them.
For well he knew, and latterly too well,
That age, as it came on, was giving him eyes
To see more surely the dark way behind him
That he had climbed, with opportunity
And enterprise to drive him, and to mock him
Whenever he looked back. If they had been
Two giants lashing him to his attainment
Of high desire that was a fever in him,
They would have been for that no mightier drivers
Than their two voices were. So the king told
His listening doubts until it was all true;
And his doubts told the darkness and the hours,
Who had no mercy, or may not have heard,
Until a clock struck five. There was no hope
Of sleep deceiving him; for there was more
1420
Of opportunity and enterprise
To trouble him. There was a new voice now
That had a warning in it, and a laughter,
Which might be carelessness, or might be scorn,
Or both—or might be triumph, holding him
As a cat holds a bird. There in the dark
It might be death. He heard it, and he felt it;
And still remembered a clock striking five.
With sleep no longer even a theme of hope
To save him as a doom-defying refuge,
He counted those lost hours until he saw them
Like dead friends he had slain; and then he slept.
Not even a king may say what he shall dream,
Or what his dream shall tell. And so it was
For Jasper there asleep. His years behind him
Were like a desert now, and were before him—
A fearsome endlessness of rocks and hills
That he must climb, and climb, and climb for ever.
Here there was no beginning, and no end;
And here there was no life. Nothing alive,
He knew, could stay and live in such a place;
And it was then he knew that he was dead.
Not even a lizard or a leaf could live
Where no life was; and here not even the dead
Would stay. He was alone, and he was lost.
There was to be no friend or guide or servant
For one who in his life had climbed so high
That he had been a king. No suffering shade
With sins innumerable to expiate,
And fouler far than Jasper's, would have earned
So lonely and laborious a damnation
As this that had no end. No vicious God
Conceivable to mortal fears or throes
Could have found joy in this enormity
Of a king toiling endlessly along,
Alone and aching, and to no arrival
Or last release. Yet so it was all written,
And in a language ineradicable,
For Jasper's anguish, though he read nowhere,
And heard nowhere, the sentence that he knew
So fearfully was his.
Or what his dream shall tell. And so it was
For Jasper there asleep. His years behind him
Were like a desert now, and were before him—
A fearsome endlessness of rocks and hills
That he must climb, and climb, and climb for ever.
Here there was no beginning, and no end;
And here there was no life. Nothing alive,
He knew, could stay and live in such a place;
And it was then he knew that he was dead.
Not even a lizard or a leaf could live
Where no life was; and here not even the dead
Would stay. He was alone, and he was lost.
There was to be no friend or guide or servant
For one who in his life had climbed so high
That he had been a king. No suffering shade
With sins innumerable to expiate,
And fouler far than Jasper's, would have earned
So lonely and laborious a damnation
As this that had no end. No vicious God
Conceivable to mortal fears or throes
1421
Of a king toiling endlessly along,
Alone and aching, and to no arrival
Or last release. Yet so it was all written,
And in a language ineradicable,
For Jasper's anguish, though he read nowhere,
And heard nowhere, the sentence that he knew
So fearfully was his.
So the king toiled
Along, alone and aching, and forbidden,
By some command that was immovable
And unrevealed, to rest or even to pause.
If high rocks had no level way around them,
He must climb up, and up, and at the top
See more of them ahead, and more and more,
As far as there was distance. On and up,
And down again, and up again he labored,
His one companion a perfidious hope
That after time from some eventual summit
Hope might appear revealed, though far before him,
As more than a false torture that so long
Had whipped and failed him. No, there was nothing there;
There was no hope. He groaned again for gazing
Too far ahead of him, and for too long.
And then a joy that of a sudden smote him,
Until it was a fear, so blinded him
With fear and joy at once that had he then
Been given the power and will, he would have fallen,
And on his quaking knees would have cried out,
“For God's love, do not vanish! Whatever you are,
Wait—if you only wait for me to kill me.
If you may kill the dead, you will do well.
But wait, and stay for me—if you are there!”
He could not say the words, but now he felt
At last the sound of hope like deafening bells
Within him while he gazed and wept and strove
To make his feet go faster. Where he looked,
There was a growing speck that presently
Became a shape that had the form of man;
And now it had two arms that waved a welcome.
Along, alone and aching, and forbidden,
By some command that was immovable
And unrevealed, to rest or even to pause.
If high rocks had no level way around them,
He must climb up, and up, and at the top
See more of them ahead, and more and more,
As far as there was distance. On and up,
And down again, and up again he labored,
His one companion a perfidious hope
That after time from some eventual summit
Hope might appear revealed, though far before him,
As more than a false torture that so long
Had whipped and failed him. No, there was nothing there;
There was no hope. He groaned again for gazing
Too far ahead of him, and for too long.
And then a joy that of a sudden smote him,
Until it was a fear, so blinded him
With fear and joy at once that had he then
Been given the power and will, he would have fallen,
And on his quaking knees would have cried out,
“For God's love, do not vanish! Whatever you are,
Wait—if you only wait for me to kill me.
If you may kill the dead, you will do well.
But wait, and stay for me—if you are there!”
He could not say the words, but now he felt
1422
Within him while he gazed and wept and strove
To make his feet go faster. Where he looked,
There was a growing speck that presently
Became a shape that had the form of man;
And now it had two arms that waved a welcome.
Once more the king would shout, but had no force
To sound the joy that filled him. He could only
Half lift his heavy arms, and in such wise
Make as he might a sign that would say little
Of a divine delirium, past belief
Or record, that suffused and stupefied
Credulity that might still be illusion,
Leaving him lonelier than he was before.
To sound the joy that filled him. He could only
Half lift his heavy arms, and in such wise
Make as he might a sign that would say little
Of a divine delirium, past belief
Or record, that suffused and stupefied
Credulity that might still be illusion,
Leaving him lonelier than he was before.
As a forestalling of malicious truth
Too terrible to be met with confirmation
Of more than blasting loss, he shut his eyes
For the few steps that he could make without them;
And sick with hope, and with a cruel fear
Of seeing, he dared slowly to open them.
He raised them, and with joy that was by now
A sort of madness in him, he strove on,
Until a gaunt frail shape that was a man
Whom he remembered hailed him with a voice
Of welcome that was like an accusation,
Or like affection with a venom in it.
King Jasper, listening, looked at him and shivered,
As if a snake had smiled.
Too terrible to be met with confirmation
Of more than blasting loss, he shut his eyes
For the few steps that he could make without them;
And sick with hope, and with a cruel fear
Of seeing, he dared slowly to open them.
He raised them, and with joy that was by now
A sort of madness in him, he strove on,
Until a gaunt frail shape that was a man
Whom he remembered hailed him with a voice
Of welcome that was like an accusation,
Or like affection with a venom in it.
King Jasper, listening, looked at him and shivered,
As if a snake had smiled.
“I saw you coming,
And here we are,” said Hebron. In his voice
There was a poison of calm enmity
That was not there when Hebron was alive;
And on his face there was a crafty scorn
That was no part of Hebron. Death had changed him.
Or was it a king's fear that wrought the change
In one the king had crushed and left infirm,
To starve on lies and perish? Jasper quailed
As no king should; and while those eyes were on him,
He was a king no longer.
And here we are,” said Hebron. In his voice
There was a poison of calm enmity
That was not there when Hebron was alive;
1423
That was no part of Hebron. Death had changed him.
Or was it a king's fear that wrought the change
In one the king had crushed and left infirm,
To starve on lies and perish? Jasper quailed
As no king should; and while those eyes were on him,
He was a king no longer.
“It's a grief
Beyond a name,” said Hebron, “that we two
May not sit here together and rest ourselves,
And talk of old years that are drowned in time,
Till your poor feet might cease to swell and ache
And your poor legs have comfort. But as long
As you are doomed to climb, I'll follow you
And talk. You must be tired of going alone
Over these rocks that are so much like mountains;
And I was always one of those who drew
Refreshment, like sweet water from a spring,
From unrestrained and easy conversation.
Jasper, there was a time, and many a time,
When you and I had more to tell each other
Than a long night would hold; and I remember—
Yes, Jasper, more than once—dawn coming in
To find you still alert, assuring me
Of peace renewed, and health, and independence,
And God knows what incalculable gold—
All to reward my genius, and repay
The price of those diseased and foodless years
That were to cost my life. Don't suffer, Jasper,
Or seem to be distressed on my account;
For I can climb as well as you, and listen
As well as I may talk. And if my feet
Should fail, you would not leave me here alone.
Jasper, your heart would be a fiery coal
Within you, should you leave me twice behind you,
And let me die. I have died once for you,
And that should be enough. If it is not,
You hate yourself more than you hated me
When you had finished me and seen me safe,
As you believed, and buried. Never believe,
Jasper, that when you bury us we are safe;
For more than sometimes it is only then
That we are truly known as things alive—
Things to be feared and felt, with unseen hands
That reach for you and touch you in the dark.
You do not love us then.”
Beyond a name,” said Hebron, “that we two
May not sit here together and rest ourselves,
And talk of old years that are drowned in time,
Till your poor feet might cease to swell and ache
And your poor legs have comfort. But as long
As you are doomed to climb, I'll follow you
And talk. You must be tired of going alone
Over these rocks that are so much like mountains;
And I was always one of those who drew
Refreshment, like sweet water from a spring,
From unrestrained and easy conversation.
Jasper, there was a time, and many a time,
When you and I had more to tell each other
Than a long night would hold; and I remember—
Yes, Jasper, more than once—dawn coming in
To find you still alert, assuring me
Of peace renewed, and health, and independence,
And God knows what incalculable gold—
All to reward my genius, and repay
The price of those diseased and foodless years
That were to cost my life. Don't suffer, Jasper,
Or seem to be distressed on my account;
For I can climb as well as you, and listen
As well as I may talk. And if my feet
Should fail, you would not leave me here alone.
Jasper, your heart would be a fiery coal
1424
And let me die. I have died once for you,
And that should be enough. If it is not,
You hate yourself more than you hated me
When you had finished me and seen me safe,
As you believed, and buried. Never believe,
Jasper, that when you bury us we are safe;
For more than sometimes it is only then
That we are truly known as things alive—
Things to be feared and felt, with unseen hands
That reach for you and touch you in the dark.
You do not love us then.”
“Hebron, I swear,”
The king began, not with a royal voice,
And then began again: “Hebron, I swear
That I have never hated you alive,
Or dead. I may have been afraid of you,
But that was not from greed—”
The king began, not with a royal voice,
And then began again: “Hebron, I swear
That I have never hated you alive,
Or dead. I may have been afraid of you,
But that was not from greed—”
“May the fiends have him
Who tells me it was that! Who says it was?”
Asked Hebron; and his question sent with it
A laugh that was for Jasper like a blow.
“Your words are faster than your feet, old friend,
And have a surer sense of destiny.
O king, beware of words. When they are said,
They are like minutes that have ticked and gone,
And are still ticking. Men have died hearing them.
And I've a son somewhere who may be heard.
He never loved you, Jasper, for he knew you—
Long before I did. You were afraid of him,
Far down inside you, without knowing why.
I never knew him. He was a dark child.”
King Jasper, groaning while he climbed, said, “Hebron,
It was for power that I neglected you—
So selfishly. It was for power, not gold.
Between the two there was, could you have seen it,
The difference there has always been between
Daylight and lightning. You could not have known
My demon of ambition; for in you,
Hebron, he never dwelt.”
Who tells me it was that! Who says it was?”
Asked Hebron; and his question sent with it
A laugh that was for Jasper like a blow.
“Your words are faster than your feet, old friend,
And have a surer sense of destiny.
O king, beware of words. When they are said,
They are like minutes that have ticked and gone,
And are still ticking. Men have died hearing them.
And I've a son somewhere who may be heard.
He never loved you, Jasper, for he knew you—
Long before I did. You were afraid of him,
Far down inside you, without knowing why.
I never knew him. He was a dark child.”
1425
It was for power that I neglected you—
So selfishly. It was for power, not gold.
Between the two there was, could you have seen it,
The difference there has always been between
Daylight and lightning. You could not have known
My demon of ambition; for in you,
Hebron, he never dwelt.”
“I hear you, Jasper;
And I still follow you, albeit my feet
Are now less lightsome than I said they were.
I'll tell you something, Jasper. First of all,
You are a liar. You have always been one;
Wherefore, by logic and chronology,
You must have been a liar when you were born,
And probably before. I can forgive,
With my accretions of new comprehension,
Jasper, all such incriminating trifles;
And as for that, or leastwise in a measure,
I forgive everything. I'm only showing
To you the picture you have never cherished
Of you and me together before I died.
By then, old comrade, we were far along—
Or you were, Jasper—yet you never said so.
You never made me see, or let me guess
What you were doing with what I had done.
Did you know what it was that you were doing
While you enlarged your dream, and swelled and changed,
Till you were more a monster than a man?
When I was gone, men said you were a king;
But you were more. You were almost a kingdom;
And you forgot that kingdoms are not men.
They are composite and obscure creations
Of men, and in a manner are comparable
To moving and unmanageable machines,
And somehow are infernally animated
With a self-interest so omnivorous
That ultimately they must eat themselves.
You cannot eat yourself very long and live,
Jasper; and that's about what you were doing
Before I found you here. There's not much left,
And the prince knows it. He's not alarmed;
For he has Zoë, and seeks no other crown.
Jasper, could you go possibly more slowly?
I'm faint with a fatigue, or a prostration,
That will no longer let me follow you;
And I was never strong.”
And I still follow you, albeit my feet
Are now less lightsome than I said they were.
I'll tell you something, Jasper. First of all,
You are a liar. You have always been one;
Wherefore, by logic and chronology,
You must have been a liar when you were born,
And probably before. I can forgive,
With my accretions of new comprehension,
Jasper, all such incriminating trifles;
And as for that, or leastwise in a measure,
I forgive everything. I'm only showing
To you the picture you have never cherished
Of you and me together before I died.
By then, old comrade, we were far along—
Or you were, Jasper—yet you never said so.
You never made me see, or let me guess
What you were doing with what I had done.
Did you know what it was that you were doing
While you enlarged your dream, and swelled and changed,
Till you were more a monster than a man?
When I was gone, men said you were a king;
But you were more. You were almost a kingdom;
And you forgot that kingdoms are not men.
They are composite and obscure creations
Of men, and in a manner are comparable
1426
And somehow are infernally animated
With a self-interest so omnivorous
That ultimately they must eat themselves.
You cannot eat yourself very long and live,
Jasper; and that's about what you were doing
Before I found you here. There's not much left,
And the prince knows it. He's not alarmed;
For he has Zoë, and seeks no other crown.
Jasper, could you go possibly more slowly?
I'm faint with a fatigue, or a prostration,
That will no longer let me follow you;
And I was never strong.”
“God help us, Hebron!
If I might rest, I should be glad to sleep
On these eternal rocks and rise no more,
Nor wake again. I'm like your mechanism,
Driven by some command that is not mine
To mount, with hardly strength in me to move,
One height and then another.”
If I might rest, I should be glad to sleep
On these eternal rocks and rise no more,
Nor wake again. I'm like your mechanism,
Driven by some command that is not mine
To mount, with hardly strength in me to move,
One height and then another.”
“That's a pity,”
Said Hebron, with a humor not amusing,
“And a sad hindrance I had not foreseen;
Yet for the sake of old associations,
And for some gratitude that's in arrears,
Necessity, too frequently a tyrant,
Forbids me, Jasper, to climb unassisted
This huge and hard upheaval here before us
Of cruel granite. Hell must have quaked here, Jasper;
For there was never on earth a desolation
Like this, or one so foreign or forlorn.
We might be on the moon. Make ready, Jasper,
For I can limp no farther. I'll spring up
As lightly as a bird, and on your shoulders
I'll ride so comfortably and quietly
That you'll say I'm a squirrel. I was never
A man of weight, for I was always lean.
You made me so; and with a private zeal
That I was not to share, you kept me so—
Until I died. Be thankful now for that,
And praise your fate that I'm not corpulent;
For that would be the devil.”
Said Hebron, with a humor not amusing,
“And a sad hindrance I had not foreseen;
Yet for the sake of old associations,
And for some gratitude that's in arrears,
Necessity, too frequently a tyrant,
Forbids me, Jasper, to climb unassisted
This huge and hard upheaval here before us
Of cruel granite. Hell must have quaked here, Jasper;
For there was never on earth a desolation
Like this, or one so foreign or forlorn.
We might be on the moon. Make ready, Jasper,
For I can limp no farther. I'll spring up
1427
I'll ride so comfortably and quietly
That you'll say I'm a squirrel. I was never
A man of weight, for I was always lean.
You made me so; and with a private zeal
That I was not to share, you kept me so—
Until I died. Be thankful now for that,
And praise your fate that I'm not corpulent;
For that would be the devil.”
“For God's mercy,
Hebron, if there's a place in you for mercy,
Take your damned weight away!” King Jasper reeled
And swayed and staggered, praying that he might fall;
But soon he knew, more cruelly than before,
That he was not to fall. He must go on,
Upholding as he went, and with endurance
More terrible to confess than death would be
To greet and recognize, the crushing load
Of malice that he carried.
Hebron, if there's a place in you for mercy,
Take your damned weight away!” King Jasper reeled
And swayed and staggered, praying that he might fall;
But soon he knew, more cruelly than before,
That he was not to fall. He must go on,
Upholding as he went, and with endurance
More terrible to confess than death would be
To greet and recognize, the crushing load
Of malice that he carried.
“No, no, Jasper;
You are not saying that. You have been here
So long, and you have gone so long alone
Over these rocks, that your tongue, too long quiet,
Says the first word that moves it. It's your tongue,
Jasper, not you, that holds no gratitude
For this convenient privilege, long denied,
Of lifting your old friend from where you left him,
Ditched and half way to death, and helping him
Over these difficult hills. It's your turn, Jasper.
Did you suppose you would have all for nothing?
With Hebron in his grave for lack of gold
That was already gleaming, and was his
To share, did you believe that he would stay there?
Say no, or nothing. If you tell more lies,
Jasper, to me, I'll tickle you under the chin
With my rough heels, and urge you to go faster.”
You are not saying that. You have been here
So long, and you have gone so long alone
Over these rocks, that your tongue, too long quiet,
Says the first word that moves it. It's your tongue,
Jasper, not you, that holds no gratitude
For this convenient privilege, long denied,
Of lifting your old friend from where you left him,
Ditched and half way to death, and helping him
Over these difficult hills. It's your turn, Jasper.
Did you suppose you would have all for nothing?
With Hebron in his grave for lack of gold
That was already gleaming, and was his
To share, did you believe that he would stay there?
1428
Jasper, to me, I'll tickle you under the chin
With my rough heels, and urge you to go faster.”
Sick with a torture and a weight of pain
Beyond the grasp of fancy, Jasper staggered
And stumbled while he climbed with aching feet
Those endless hills, up one and down another,
And always, with a mute and anguished prayer
That he might fall and die. But while he slipped
And swayed and reeled, half blinded and half mad,
With Hebron's weight a clinging misery
Never to cease, never to be thrown off,
He knew as well as he knew Hebron's voice
The quality and the source of his endurance,
And that he must climb on, and on always,
Over those hills and those eternal rocks.
So Jasper, like a demon-driven beast,
Under a yoke too heavy to be borne,
Suffered and answered nothing; for in silence,
Even while he strove and ached, there was a respite
That was a sort of rest, but not for long.
Beyond the grasp of fancy, Jasper staggered
And stumbled while he climbed with aching feet
Those endless hills, up one and down another,
And always, with a mute and anguished prayer
That he might fall and die. But while he slipped
And swayed and reeled, half blinded and half mad,
With Hebron's weight a clinging misery
Never to cease, never to be thrown off,
He knew as well as he knew Hebron's voice
The quality and the source of his endurance,
And that he must climb on, and on always,
Over those hills and those eternal rocks.
So Jasper, like a demon-driven beast,
Under a yoke too heavy to be borne,
Suffered and answered nothing; for in silence,
Even while he strove and ached, there was a respite
That was a sort of rest, but not for long.
“Jasper, I fear that you forget your friend,
And with your friend your manners. I remember
When words came out of you so copiously
That my two ears were not enough to hold them.
Had the Lord given me three, I might have heard
Some that were never said—the most important,
As I learned when too little was left of me
For use or care. You reckoned well your time,
And mine. You knew then that your need of me
Was done; and that another sick year or two
For me would not be long for you to wait.
There was no more of me that you required
For your development and ascendency
Than my accommodating disappearance.
To kill me outright would have been imprudent
And hazardous, and was not compulsory.
Your lies assured me there was nothing then
Forthcoming or in view for either of us;
And so I died for lack of means to live,
And you became a king. For there was brain
Under my skull, richer than yours. You knew it,
Jasper; and you sustained it on your promise,
And on your lies, till all of it was yours
That you might use. That was unfriendly, Jasper;
And there's a waiting debt of explanation
That clamors to be paid. Come now, the truth.
I know the truth, but I shall know it better
When you distress yourself enough to tell it.
I know it will be hard—as hard for you
As you made death for me. Have you forgotten?
You groan as if you carried on your shoulders
More than one trivial man's ill-nourished weight;
And I've a fear you do. You stumble, Jasper,
Like one who has had wine.”
And with your friend your manners. I remember
When words came out of you so copiously
That my two ears were not enough to hold them.
Had the Lord given me three, I might have heard
Some that were never said—the most important,
As I learned when too little was left of me
For use or care. You reckoned well your time,
And mine. You knew then that your need of me
Was done; and that another sick year or two
For me would not be long for you to wait.
There was no more of me that you required
1429
Than my accommodating disappearance.
To kill me outright would have been imprudent
And hazardous, and was not compulsory.
Your lies assured me there was nothing then
Forthcoming or in view for either of us;
And so I died for lack of means to live,
And you became a king. For there was brain
Under my skull, richer than yours. You knew it,
Jasper; and you sustained it on your promise,
And on your lies, till all of it was yours
That you might use. That was unfriendly, Jasper;
And there's a waiting debt of explanation
That clamors to be paid. Come now, the truth.
I know the truth, but I shall know it better
When you distress yourself enough to tell it.
I know it will be hard—as hard for you
As you made death for me. Have you forgotten?
You groan as if you carried on your shoulders
More than one trivial man's ill-nourished weight;
And I've a fear you do. You stumble, Jasper,
Like one who has had wine.”
“Hebron, have mercy!
Leave me, and let me see no more of you.
Was I not paying in full before you found me?
Leave me, and let me die. I lied because
Your way was never mine. If you had lived,
Your freaks of caution, and your hesitations,
And your uncertainties—if once you saw
Before you what was only yours to take,
And hold, and say was yours—would have been clogs
And obstacles that would have maddened me,
And might have tempted me to worse than lies.
I told you lies that were akin to truth;
And I believed there was for you a glory
In your accomplishment that neither power
Nor gold would buy. And I believe it still.”
Leave me, and let me see no more of you.
Was I not paying in full before you found me?
Leave me, and let me die. I lied because
Your way was never mine. If you had lived,
Your freaks of caution, and your hesitations,
And your uncertainties—if once you saw
Before you what was only yours to take,
And hold, and say was yours—would have been clogs
And obstacles that would have maddened me,
And might have tempted me to worse than lies.
I told you lies that were akin to truth;
1430
In your accomplishment that neither power
Nor gold would buy. And I believe it still.”
“n=Jasper, if there's in you another jewel
Of balderdash as precious and as rare
As that one was, save it and treasure it
Against an imminent hour of last despair.
From now to then, I think we might go faster.”
Of balderdash as precious and as rare
As that one was, save it and treasure it
Against an imminent hour of last despair.
From now to then, I think we might go faster.”
“Hebron, if anything left of you is human,
Will it not hear me, and at last have mercy?
Now that you have the truth you knew before,
What else are you to torture out of me?
Tell me the name of it when you have found it,
And then it will be yours. You know the truth,
You would have been between me and my fate,
Which made of me a king.”
Will it not hear me, and at last have mercy?
Now that you have the truth you knew before,
What else are you to torture out of me?
Tell me the name of it when you have found it,
And then it will be yours. You know the truth,
You would have been between me and my fate,
Which made of me a king.”
“A king of what,
Your majesty,” asked Hebron, “are you now?
If you're a king, long live the king, say I;
And let me ride as a contented subject
On the king's back. I'm not uncomfortable;
And if I'm heavier than I was at first,
Do you guess why? It is because I'm changing,
Jasper. Yes, I am changing into gold.
I am the gold that you said would be mine—
Before you stole it, and became a king.
Fear not, old friend; you cannot fall or die,
Unless I strangle you with my gold fingers.
Now you may feel them, and how hard they are,
And cold. They are as cold and hard as death,
For they are made of death.”
Your majesty,” asked Hebron, “are you now?
If you're a king, long live the king, say I;
And let me ride as a contented subject
On the king's back. I'm not uncomfortable;
And if I'm heavier than I was at first,
Do you guess why? It is because I'm changing,
Jasper. Yes, I am changing into gold.
I am the gold that you said would be mine—
Before you stole it, and became a king.
Fear not, old friend; you cannot fall or die,
Unless I strangle you with my gold fingers.
Now you may feel them, and how hard they are,
And cold. They are as cold and hard as death,
For they are made of death.”
1431
“Hebron, have mercy!
Leave me—or strangle me, and let me die!
Kill me—for I can carry you no farther.
You are as heavy as the world is, Hebron!
Hebron! Have mercy! Leave me, or let me die.”
Leave me—or strangle me, and let me die!
Kill me—for I can carry you no farther.
You are as heavy as the world is, Hebron!
Hebron! Have mercy! Leave me, or let me die.”
“No, I am not so heavy as the world is.
Jasper, you magnify me, and exalt me.
I am as heavy as no more of it
Than you said would be mine. Had you been king
Of the world, Jasper, you might be carrying now
The world's weight, maybe, and be far worse off
Than you are while you're carrying only me.
Jasper, I don't know what the world would weigh
If it were made of gold. It would be heavy,
And it would hurt you. I don't know how much.
I only know that you were a blind king,
And that your burden is no more than I am.
Jasper, suppose we go a little faster.
You cannot fall yet, and I'm riding nicely.
If only we might have the sight of water,
We'd say that I'm the Old Man of the Sea,
And you Sindbad the Sailor. If I should kick
Your ribs a bit with my gold heels, who knows
That we might not ascend this hill before us,
Which is a rough one, like an antelope,
Or like a young horse, for the love of running.
Yes, here we are. I said so. And who's that?
Who is that woman waving her white arms,
And laughing at you, Jasper? Is it Zoë?
And who is he that laughs to see his father
A kingly beast of burden? He's your son,
Jasper. Are you not sorry that he was born?
They call for you together, beckoning you
To cross this narrow chasm. It's narrow enough
To tempt you, and yet wide enough to swallow
And hide you if you leap. With me to carry,
You know the burden of your worth, and feel it,
As it accumulates with every step
An overpowering slow solidity
That clings, and cripples you the while it grows.
You said I might have crippled you, and I will.”
Jasper, you magnify me, and exalt me.
I am as heavy as no more of it
Than you said would be mine. Had you been king
Of the world, Jasper, you might be carrying now
The world's weight, maybe, and be far worse off
Than you are while you're carrying only me.
Jasper, I don't know what the world would weigh
If it were made of gold. It would be heavy,
And it would hurt you. I don't know how much.
I only know that you were a blind king,
And that your burden is no more than I am.
Jasper, suppose we go a little faster.
You cannot fall yet, and I'm riding nicely.
If only we might have the sight of water,
We'd say that I'm the Old Man of the Sea,
And you Sindbad the Sailor. If I should kick
Your ribs a bit with my gold heels, who knows
That we might not ascend this hill before us,
Which is a rough one, like an antelope,
Or like a young horse, for the love of running.
Yes, here we are. I said so. And who's that?
Who is that woman waving her white arms,
And laughing at you, Jasper? Is it Zoë?
And who is he that laughs to see his father
A kingly beast of burden? He's your son,
Jasper. Are you not sorry that he was born?
They call for you together, beckoning you
To cross this narrow chasm. It's narrow enough
1432
And hide you if you leap. With me to carry,
You know the burden of your worth, and feel it,
As it accumulates with every step
An overpowering slow solidity
That clings, and cripples you the while it grows.
You said I might have crippled you, and I will.”
“For God's love, Hebron, let me go to her!
I feel a meaning flaming in her eyes
For me that I must read. And there's a promise
Of more than I possess. Hebron, have mercy!
Leave me, and let me leap across this place
And hold her in my arms and say she's mine.”
I feel a meaning flaming in her eyes
For me that I must read. And there's a promise
Of more than I possess. Hebron, have mercy!
Leave me, and let me leap across this place
And hold her in my arms and say she's mine.”
“And why not?” said the prince, with a grimace
That was not his before. “Come, father, come!
Shake off that living load of death you carry
That was your life and your philosophy,
And here you are. One jump, and she is yours.
Come, father, come!” The prince danced up and down,
And Zoë danced; and the two danced together,
Each with a beckoning glee that chilled the king
To fury and despair.
That was not his before. “Come, father, come!
Shake off that living load of death you carry
That was your life and your philosophy,
And here you are. One jump, and she is yours.
Come, father, come!” The prince danced up and down,
And Zoë danced; and the two danced together,
Each with a beckoning glee that chilled the king
To fury and despair.
“Yes, father, yes!”
Cried Zoë, calling him with her arms, and laughing.
“Throw off the monster that is holding you
And crushing your poor shoulders to the ground.
Throw him away—and let him fall down screaming
Into the darkness that you see between us.
He'll fall for a long time, and never come back—
Or not as he is now. If you could see him
As truly as you feel him, just as I do,
You would see then your kingdom and your power
And glory—and as it is, and is to be.
He does not love you, father. Come to your son
And daughter, and be loved.”
Cried Zoë, calling him with her arms, and laughing.
“Throw off the monster that is holding you
And crushing your poor shoulders to the ground.
Throw him away—and let him fall down screaming
Into the darkness that you see between us.
He'll fall for a long time, and never come back—
Or not as he is now. If you could see him
As truly as you feel him, just as I do,
You would see then your kingdom and your power
1433
He does not love you, father. Come to your son
And daughter, and be loved.”
“You hear her, Jasper,”
Said Hebron, rowelling with his heels of gold
The king that carried him. “Her implication
Would be that I am gross and treacherous,
Malicious and vindictive. And if I am,
Who made me so? Answer me that, my king,
Before you leap. You may still feel her arms
Around you, and from the promise in her eyes
Decipher your salvation, though I doubt it.
You cannot leave her; and there's yet a chance,
Almost as large as a mosquito's ears,
That you and I may clear this chasm together.
If you leap with a free forgetfulness
Of me, and with a faith, and fervently,
We may not fall—though I suspect we shall;
For while we wait, moments accumulating
Are making me a load that is no lighter.
The prince and Zoë, I see, are occupied
And entertained while you are marking time
With anxious feet that are a toil to lift.
The more you wait, the mightier you must be
For your performance. And time has a voice
That says to me that you may wait no longer.
So let us leap, and hope. Jump, Jasper, jump!
If we go down together, I shall not die—
For you have killed me once, though I'm alive
In spite of dying, and heavier than you dreamed
The growing ghost of a dead friend could be.
You did it slowly, but you did it well,
And so that's over. One of life's awkward laws
Forbids my dying again for a friend's pleasure.”
By now King Jasper knew for what it was
That awful weight of gold that was alive
And breaking him. Below him he could see
That narrow gorge of darkness, and imagine
Unfathomable depth and emptiness
Wherein to fall; and he heard Zoë calling,
Barely two steps across from where he stood
And swayed and staggered, and raised painfully
One foot and then the other, because he must.
Said Hebron, rowelling with his heels of gold
The king that carried him. “Her implication
Would be that I am gross and treacherous,
Malicious and vindictive. And if I am,
Who made me so? Answer me that, my king,
Before you leap. You may still feel her arms
Around you, and from the promise in her eyes
Decipher your salvation, though I doubt it.
You cannot leave her; and there's yet a chance,
Almost as large as a mosquito's ears,
That you and I may clear this chasm together.
If you leap with a free forgetfulness
Of me, and with a faith, and fervently,
We may not fall—though I suspect we shall;
For while we wait, moments accumulating
Are making me a load that is no lighter.
The prince and Zoë, I see, are occupied
And entertained while you are marking time
With anxious feet that are a toil to lift.
The more you wait, the mightier you must be
For your performance. And time has a voice
That says to me that you may wait no longer.
So let us leap, and hope. Jump, Jasper, jump!
If we go down together, I shall not die—
For you have killed me once, though I'm alive
In spite of dying, and heavier than you dreamed
The growing ghost of a dead friend could be.
You did it slowly, but you did it well,
And so that's over. One of life's awkward laws
Forbids my dying again for a friend's pleasure.”
1434
That awful weight of gold that was alive
And breaking him. Below him he could see
That narrow gorge of darkness, and imagine
Unfathomable depth and emptiness
Wherein to fall; and he heard Zoë calling,
Barely two steps across from where he stood
And swayed and staggered, and raised painfully
One foot and then the other, because he must.
“Come, father, come!” the prince cried; and his eyes
Flashed with a stinging glee that pierced the king
Like an unseen hot sword.
Flashed with a stinging glee that pierced the king
Like an unseen hot sword.
And Zoë, holding
Her hands halfway across from where she laughed
And waited, said again, “Come, father, come!
You know you are my father, and you knew it
When first you found that I was in your house,
And there to stay, because you are my father.
Without you, I should never have been born.
Without you and your folly, and your shrewd eyes
That saw so much at once that they saw nothing,
Time would have had no need or place for me,
Or for the coming trouble I must behold
Because you gave to me unwittingly
My being. You should have thought of that before
You buried your brain and eyes in golden sand,
And in your personal desert saw the world.”
Her hands halfway across from where she laughed
And waited, said again, “Come, father, come!
You know you are my father, and you knew it
When first you found that I was in your house,
And there to stay, because you are my father.
Without you, I should never have been born.
Without you and your folly, and your shrewd eyes
That saw so much at once that they saw nothing,
Time would have had no need or place for me,
Or for the coming trouble I must behold
Because you gave to me unwittingly
My being. You should have thought of that before
You buried your brain and eyes in golden sand,
And in your personal desert saw the world.”
She danced and laughed, and the prince danced and laughed;
And both held out their hands to him and cried,
“Jump, father, jump!”
And both held out their hands to him and cried,
“Jump, father, jump!”
And Hebron, heavier still
Than ever, said, “Jasper, there is no more time.
There's only enough for you to say to Zoë
That you are Zoë's father. Are you, Jasper?”
Than ever, said, “Jasper, there is no more time.
1435
That you are Zoë's father. Are you, Jasper?”
“Yes, I am Zoë's father,” Jasper groaned.
“My folly and I together, for centuries,
Have been the forebears of her parentage.
But I can say no more. Hebron, have pity!
For you are breaking me. My bones will hold
Your cursed weight no longer. Zoë! Zoë!
Tell him to let me die!”
“My folly and I together, for centuries,
Have been the forebears of her parentage.
But I can say no more. Hebron, have pity!
For you are breaking me. My bones will hold
Your cursed weight no longer. Zoë! Zoë!
Tell him to let me die!”
She laughed at him,
And holding out her arms again, said only,
“Jump, father, jump!”
And holding out her arms again, said only,
“Jump, father, jump!”
King Jasper's eyes met hers,
Which held him like a charmed and helpless prey,
Without a will to choose, and without power
To stand there longer on the sickening verge
Of a bleak narrow cleft that he was never
To cross—never with Hebron's deadly weight
So crushing him that he could only plunge
And fall. Dashing away the last of hope
As he might a weak insect stinging him,
King Jasper shut his eyes for the vain leap
That even for one in hell must be the last.
He plunged, and instantly felt Hebron's weight
Releasing him from its intolerable
And awful clutch; and with a joy like none
To be believed, he found he was not falling.
He was alive and upright on safe rock
That he could feel beneath him, and should see
When his eyes dared to open. He had crossed
Incredibly that chasm; and where he stood
He was no more the slave of weight or motion.
All but his eyes believed. They would not open
Until the prince explained—maliciously,
And with a cynic jeering in a voice
That half was his and half was no man's voice:
Which held him like a charmed and helpless prey,
Without a will to choose, and without power
To stand there longer on the sickening verge
Of a bleak narrow cleft that he was never
To cross—never with Hebron's deadly weight
So crushing him that he could only plunge
And fall. Dashing away the last of hope
As he might a weak insect stinging him,
King Jasper shut his eyes for the vain leap
That even for one in hell must be the last.
He plunged, and instantly felt Hebron's weight
Releasing him from its intolerable
And awful clutch; and with a joy like none
To be believed, he found he was not falling.
He was alive and upright on safe rock
That he could feel beneath him, and should see
When his eyes dared to open. He had crossed
Incredibly that chasm; and where he stood
He was no more the slave of weight or motion.
1436
Until the prince explained—maliciously,
And with a cynic jeering in a voice
That half was his and half was no man's voice:
“Well, father, after all 't was but a matter
Of seeing what might be done, and doing it first.
If you had waited longer, someone else
Might have come first, and might have stolen Zoë
Away from both of us. Open your eyes,
Father, for God's sake. Don't say you are blind.
You are old enough to see.”
Of seeing what might be done, and doing it first.
If you had waited longer, someone else
Might have come first, and might have stolen Zoë
Away from both of us. Open your eyes,
Father, for God's sake. Don't say you are blind.
You are old enough to see.”
King Jasper felt
A shaft of cold go through him, and forgot
That he was free once more to stand alone,
And that the weight of Hebron grown to gold
Was off his breaking shoulders. Indecision,
Worse than no hope, still held him until, slowly,
He looked and saw. He saw the prince before him,
And feared him, knowing not why; and he saw Hebron,
A shape of living gold that once was his
And was now hating him; and he saw Zoë,
Fairer to see than woman born of woman
Was yet on earth to be.
A shaft of cold go through him, and forgot
That he was free once more to stand alone,
And that the weight of Hebron grown to gold
Was off his breaking shoulders. Indecision,
Worse than no hope, still held him until, slowly,
He looked and saw. He saw the prince before him,
And feared him, knowing not why; and he saw Hebron,
A shape of living gold that once was his
And was now hating him; and he saw Zoë,
Fairer to see than woman born of woman
Was yet on earth to be.
“You do not know me,”
She said, with a calm hatred in her eyes;
You never shall. Why did you not go down—
Down there, where you belong? Why are you here?
No,—come no nearer, for I've this to save me.
The wise man, when he gave it to me, told me
That one day I might use it—against you,
Perhaps, or one not you, yet of your making,
As I am. Are you trying to make me love you?
If I am beautiful and desirable,
Evil and ignorance have made me so—
Evil not mine, but yours. No—come no nearer.
This knife, you see, has a blade like a needle
To pierce you and your folly unless you hear me.”
She said, with a calm hatred in her eyes;
You never shall. Why did you not go down—
Down there, where you belong? Why are you here?
No,—come no nearer, for I've this to save me.
The wise man, when he gave it to me, told me
That one day I might use it—against you,
Perhaps, or one not you, yet of your making,
As I am. Are you trying to make me love you?
If I am beautiful and desirable,
1437
Evil not mine, but yours. No—come no nearer.
This knife, you see, has a blade like a needle
To pierce you and your folly unless you hear me.”
“I hear you—but I cannot let you go!”
The king cried, leaning towards her, his arms hungry
To seize her and to hold her ... “Zoë! Zoë!”
The king cried, leaning towards her, his arms hungry
To seize her and to hold her ... “Zoë! Zoë!”
He saw the knife upraised in her small hand
And he saw fire of anger and malignance
Burning in her bright eyes; and then he felt
Steel in his heart, and sank there at her feet.
And he saw fire of anger and malignance
Burning in her bright eyes; and then he felt
Steel in his heart, and sank there at her feet.
“Poor king! Poor fool!” she said, and laughed at him
As once he clutched the edge of that cold chasm,
Before he fell. For he was falling now
Into a darkness that was colder still;
And while he fell, he could see far above him
Three faces mocking him; and while he saw them,
He could hear Zoë's laughter singing down
Like vengeance down from paradise to the damned.
There was a falling long and horrible
Into a darkness where he felt the death
Of time beneath him; and then, suddenly,
There was an end of that; and there was daylight
Where now the king lay trembling on his bed,
Not sure at first that he was there alive.
He was not sure that he was there at all—
Till pain apprised him sorely of a wound
That ached where Zoë's knife had found his heart.
As once he clutched the edge of that cold chasm,
Before he fell. For he was falling now
Into a darkness that was colder still;
And while he fell, he could see far above him
Three faces mocking him; and while he saw them,
He could hear Zoë's laughter singing down
Like vengeance down from paradise to the damned.
There was a falling long and horrible
Into a darkness where he felt the death
Of time beneath him; and then, suddenly,
There was an end of that; and there was daylight
Where now the king lay trembling on his bed,
Not sure at first that he was there alive.
He was not sure that he was there at all—
Till pain apprised him sorely of a wound
That ached where Zoë's knife had found his heart.
IV
The palace of a convalescent king
Who eats and drinks and takes his air again,
Yet knows he has a wound that will not heal,
May show itself, to those who are not in it,
The same today as it was yesterday.
When told the king was ill, a few were sorry,
More were indifferent, and the rest, rejoicing,
Prayed for the worst because he was a king,
And therefore better dead—but not so clearly
Because a righteous envy may have called him
A criminal or a knave. They could be knaves
And criminals inconspicuously themselves,
And quietly, and without being kings.
So there was indignation and chagrin
In many a bosom when King Jasper's face,
Though pinched and worn, was evidence undismayed
That he still reigned the master denizen
Of his uncertain and inquiring realm,
Which had the sound of more unheard vibrations
Than a king cares to feel.
Who eats and drinks and takes his air again,
1438
May show itself, to those who are not in it,
The same today as it was yesterday.
When told the king was ill, a few were sorry,
More were indifferent, and the rest, rejoicing,
Prayed for the worst because he was a king,
And therefore better dead—but not so clearly
Because a righteous envy may have called him
A criminal or a knave. They could be knaves
And criminals inconspicuously themselves,
And quietly, and without being kings.
So there was indignation and chagrin
In many a bosom when King Jasper's face,
Though pinched and worn, was evidence undismayed
That he still reigned the master denizen
Of his uncertain and inquiring realm,
Which had the sound of more unheard vibrations
Than a king cares to feel.
Honoria,
The queen, sat watching at a window for him
Till he came riding home in lonely state
And with his unshared thoughts, which had so long
Been visible doubts, and had for no brief time
Been graven and ineradicable fears,
And were not his alone; for their slow virus
Had found its way to her before the prince
Brought Zoë home. She had felt unseen hands
All round her long before those eyes of Zoë's—
Those cruel, wistful, scornful, pitying eyes—
Had said to her so plainly what they saw,
And what those hands were doing; for Zoë, she knew,
Saw what the king saw, and she hated Zoë
The more for seeing so much that was to be
Because it must be.
The queen, sat watching at a window for him
Till he came riding home in lonely state
And with his unshared thoughts, which had so long
Been visible doubts, and had for no brief time
Been graven and ineradicable fears,
And were not his alone; for their slow virus
Had found its way to her before the prince
Brought Zoë home. She had felt unseen hands
All round her long before those eyes of Zoë's—
Those cruel, wistful, scornful, pitying eyes—
Had said to her so plainly what they saw,
And what those hands were doing; for Zoë, she knew,
Saw what the king saw, and she hated Zoë
The more for seeing so much that was to be
Because it must be.
1439
When the king came in,
“Jasper,” she said, “I have been slow to tell you
That this great house of ours, which once I thought
So safe and ample and inviolable,
Is too small for two women. Jasper's wife—
If that's what you encourage him to call her—
Must go, or I shall. I have said everything
To her that fear and sorrow and decency
Permit, and a world more to her in silence
That only scorn or triumph or contempt
Would suffer twice.”
“Jasper,” she said, “I have been slow to tell you
That this great house of ours, which once I thought
So safe and ample and inviolable,
Is too small for two women. Jasper's wife—
If that's what you encourage him to call her—
Must go, or I shall. I have said everything
To her that fear and sorrow and decency
Permit, and a world more to her in silence
That only scorn or triumph or contempt
Would suffer twice.”
“I'm sure that Zoë suffers,
In Zoë's way, because you cannot love her.
God knows, Honoria, that I have suffered,
And you know; and the worst you have to say,
To scare yourself, is nonsense. She has told me,
Time and again, and for your sake, my dear,
That Jasper's father's house is the wrong home
For both of them with one of them unwelcome.
But I have told her that I find in her
The one among the daughters of the world
That I would have called mine. She will not go;
She cannot go. I shall not let her go.
And this that I have said to her, my daughter,
I'm saying to you, my wife. You will not go;
You cannot go. I shall not let you go.
You are the queen; and queens have obligations.
The king would have a wrecked and empty reign
Without his queen; and there's the world as well.
The world, with an eye always for the worst,
Would not spare Zoë. So long as there's a woman,
The world sees what it will, and says the rest.”
The queen's eyes flashed: “I am not Zoë's mother.
I should leave her to you. She calls you ‘father,’
And laughs at you, and fears and honors you,
As a cat fears and venerates a mouse.”
In Zoë's way, because you cannot love her.
God knows, Honoria, that I have suffered,
And you know; and the worst you have to say,
To scare yourself, is nonsense. She has told me,
Time and again, and for your sake, my dear,
That Jasper's father's house is the wrong home
For both of them with one of them unwelcome.
But I have told her that I find in her
The one among the daughters of the world
That I would have called mine. She will not go;
She cannot go. I shall not let her go.
And this that I have said to her, my daughter,
I'm saying to you, my wife. You will not go;
You cannot go. I shall not let you go.
You are the queen; and queens have obligations.
The king would have a wrecked and empty reign
Without his queen; and there's the world as well.
The world, with an eye always for the worst,
Would not spare Zoë. So long as there's a woman,
The world sees what it will, and says the rest.”
The queen's eyes flashed: “I am not Zoë's mother.
I should leave her to you. She calls you ‘father,’
1440
As a cat fears and venerates a mouse.”
“A king—and now a mouse. These transmutations
Of mine should be a somewhat lively trial
For one so little in love with change as you.
Be what they will, you are not going away.
See where you are. Take one full look, and see
This one place that is yours. Take one more look
And say how long you would live anywhere else,
Or wish to live, without it, and all alone.
It is your home, your world. You cannot leave it.
Nor could I leave it either, unless to die;
And if I died, you would still cling to it,
Because it is your world. It is not Zoë's;
And you need have no fear of her usurping
A world that makes her weep when she's alone.”
Of mine should be a somewhat lively trial
For one so little in love with change as you.
Be what they will, you are not going away.
See where you are. Take one full look, and see
This one place that is yours. Take one more look
And say how long you would live anywhere else,
Or wish to live, without it, and all alone.
It is your home, your world. You cannot leave it.
Nor could I leave it either, unless to die;
And if I died, you would still cling to it,
Because it is your world. It is not Zoë's;
And you need have no fear of her usurping
A world that makes her weep when she's alone.”
“How do you know so well why Zoë weeps
When she's alone? If you're not her confessor—
And I've a notion you are not quite that—
There must be peep-holes, or a place where sighs
And whispers are made audible unawares.
I am not spiteful; I am incredulous
Of a king seen so pliable all at once;
And that's what I'd be fearing more than changes,
If Zoë, whatever she is, were not the source
And evident inspiration of it all.
If you have built your kingdom on a quicksand
Of self and fate, why should I fear the truth?
And why should I fear Zoë, wishing the while
That I might whip the creature from the house?
You know, as I know, nothing would come of that
But a catastrophe. Yet—I must hate her.
I am not jealous; I am afraid of her;
And you are more afraid of her than I am.
That's why you love her; and that's natural.
There is a fear that loves, and one that hates.”
When she's alone? If you're not her confessor—
And I've a notion you are not quite that—
There must be peep-holes, or a place where sighs
And whispers are made audible unawares.
I am not spiteful; I am incredulous
Of a king seen so pliable all at once;
And that's what I'd be fearing more than changes,
If Zoë, whatever she is, were not the source
And evident inspiration of it all.
If you have built your kingdom on a quicksand
Of self and fate, why should I fear the truth?
And why should I fear Zoë, wishing the while
That I might whip the creature from the house?
You know, as I know, nothing would come of that
But a catastrophe. Yet—I must hate her.
I am not jealous; I am afraid of her;
1441
That's why you love her; and that's natural.
There is a fear that loves, and one that hates.”
“Honoria,” the king said, “there are times
When I could hold you in my arms and love you
Alone and inexpressibly for your brain.”
When I could hold you in my arms and love you
Alone and inexpressibly for your brain.”
“That's not one of our more volcanic notions
Of love on fire, but it's a compliment,
Of sorts, and we are never too cold for them.
Of love on fire, but it's a compliment,
Of sorts, and we are never too cold for them.
“Well, don't throw acid at me. If you do,
You will not like my face—which, I confess
Was never too beautiful. It is well for men
That women love the man—or what they learn
Too often was not the man, but their mistake—
More than they love Apollo. As for Zoë,
She does not love me. No, for she pities me
For what she knows that I'm afraid to learn.
But even a king may love the one he fears,
And have her in his house and wonder what
She is, and why he cannot let her go.
Honoria, unless you wish this house
To fall, be not so merciless to Zoë.
You cannot hurt her, and she might help you
To meet what's coming. You only waste yourself
In hating her because you fear to love her.
If you must hate, why not as well hate me?”
You will not like my face—which, I confess
Was never too beautiful. It is well for men
That women love the man—or what they learn
Too often was not the man, but their mistake—
More than they love Apollo. As for Zoë,
She does not love me. No, for she pities me
For what she knows that I'm afraid to learn.
But even a king may love the one he fears,
And have her in his house and wonder what
She is, and why he cannot let her go.
Honoria, unless you wish this house
To fall, be not so merciless to Zoë.
You cannot hurt her, and she might help you
To meet what's coming. You only waste yourself
In hating her because you fear to love her.
If you must hate, why not as well hate me?”
“No, Jasper, there may not be time,” she said,
And thought; and leaning forward held his hands
And looked into his eyes until tears rolled
From hers. “Today we'll say no more of hating.
Your reign was more a system than a sin,
And I've a fear that it is almost over.
And I am not so sure as I supposed
That I shall go away. Those little voices
That live within us all are saying to me
That neither of us shall be alone here long.
Don't think—not even of me. You are not well.
Long before Zoë came, you waited for her.
We are not stricken so swiftly as you were,
Or seldom are, without some warning touch
That may for love or kindness be concealed,
Or scoffed away. You are the sort of monarch
Who would have told me nothing. Be quiet now,
And for a while forget that there are kings.
Do not forget that we have had each other.
I like to fancy that I'm still at least
More than a decoration, or an item
That happens to be alive and to wear clothes.
So let me know it, or at least believe it.
We have no longer the same wealth of time
To spend that once we measured as too large
To count. If that was folly, there's none, surely,
In having not quite the last of what remains.
If you should want me and not find me here,
You would not like the change that I should leave
Behind me, or the ghosts, or the new silence.
Think only of old hours now that were pleasant,
And they'll almost come back ... No, they will not—
Not yet. I can hear someone at the door—
Someone, whoever he is, I wish had waited,
Or had not come. I cannot tell you why.”
And thought; and leaning forward held his hands
And looked into his eyes until tears rolled
From hers. “Today we'll say no more of hating.
Your reign was more a system than a sin,
1442
And I am not so sure as I supposed
That I shall go away. Those little voices
That live within us all are saying to me
That neither of us shall be alone here long.
Don't think—not even of me. You are not well.
Long before Zoë came, you waited for her.
We are not stricken so swiftly as you were,
Or seldom are, without some warning touch
That may for love or kindness be concealed,
Or scoffed away. You are the sort of monarch
Who would have told me nothing. Be quiet now,
And for a while forget that there are kings.
Do not forget that we have had each other.
I like to fancy that I'm still at least
More than a decoration, or an item
That happens to be alive and to wear clothes.
So let me know it, or at least believe it.
We have no longer the same wealth of time
To spend that once we measured as too large
To count. If that was folly, there's none, surely,
In having not quite the last of what remains.
If you should want me and not find me here,
You would not like the change that I should leave
Behind me, or the ghosts, or the new silence.
Think only of old hours now that were pleasant,
And they'll almost come back ... No, they will not—
Not yet. I can hear someone at the door—
Someone, whoever he is, I wish had waited,
Or had not come. I cannot tell you why.”
She frowned and rose, and left him watching her,
Unhappily, until she was not there;
And soon a new face was confronting him,
And one so much not hers that for a moment
His eyes betrayed him, and a stranger smiled.
King Jasper knew the smile, if not the man;
It was a dark and understanding smile,
With contemplating and consuming eyes
That gave it a slow fire of confidence;
It was a smile of pleasure without honor,
Or the right kind of joy.
Unhappily, until she was not there;
And soon a new face was confronting him,
And one so much not hers that for a moment
1443
King Jasper knew the smile, if not the man;
It was a dark and understanding smile,
With contemplating and consuming eyes
That gave it a slow fire of confidence;
It was a smile of pleasure without honor,
Or the right kind of joy.
“My name is Hebron,”
The stranger said. The words came consciously
Through sensual hard lips that slowly twisted
Into a colder smile.
The stranger said. The words came consciously
Through sensual hard lips that slowly twisted
Into a colder smile.
“Your name was brought,”
The king said. “It is one of the few names
That would have been an entrance for its owner.
I'm still not half myself, and so to many
I cannot be at home. Your name is Hebron—
Which is indeed the last of names that I,
Of all men, should forget.”
The king said. “It is one of the few names
That would have been an entrance for its owner.
I'm still not half myself, and so to many
I cannot be at home. Your name is Hebron—
Which is indeed the last of names that I,
Of all men, should forget.”
“I thank you, sir,”
Young Hebron said. “Your chairs, like all about you,
Are thrones of comfort and magnificence.
It is a privilege and a rarity, sir,
For me to sit so near you in this one,
And to see you—at last. I have been long
Away, in other lands, but never so far
But that your name has followed me, or met me,
And had for me the promise of a welcome
That I may have imagined, or invented.
My father, as I dare say you remember,
Was also an inventor, and too intense
And too ingenuous for our vicious world,
Which might have overthrown him with surprise
And sorrow, if he had lived to know it better.
You and my father, if I'm not astray,
Were friends, and in a manner—in some manner—
Were partners; and I may have said in haste,
Or carelessly, some light words of his dying
Before he found life out. The more I see
Of this that's yours, and think of what was his,
The more it seems a pity my father died.
If he had been allowed to live, who knows
That he might not have owned as grand and vast
A place as any? For almost thirty years
I have been old enough to ask myself
What ails this world; and I have found an answer.”
Young Hebron said. “Your chairs, like all about you,
Are thrones of comfort and magnificence.
It is a privilege and a rarity, sir,
For me to sit so near you in this one,
And to see you—at last. I have been long
Away, in other lands, but never so far
But that your name has followed me, or met me,
And had for me the promise of a welcome
That I may have imagined, or invented.
My father, as I dare say you remember,
Was also an inventor, and too intense
And too ingenuous for our vicious world,
Which might have overthrown him with surprise
1444
You and my father, if I'm not astray,
Were friends, and in a manner—in some manner—
Were partners; and I may have said in haste,
Or carelessly, some light words of his dying
Before he found life out. The more I see
Of this that's yours, and think of what was his,
The more it seems a pity my father died.
If he had been allowed to live, who knows
That he might not have owned as grand and vast
A place as any? For almost thirty years
I have been old enough to ask myself
What ails this world; and I have found an answer.”
“Then you are the most enviable young man,
Perhaps,” King Jasper said, with hesitation,
“Of all men, young or old, who are alive
And asking. You have learned more in thirty years
Than I have learned in more than twice as many.
Oh, no offence. For I have heard before
The voice of honest and eternal youth
Before it fades away, and its illusions
Are found and served again for the same issue.”
Perhaps,” King Jasper said, with hesitation,
“Of all men, young or old, who are alive
And asking. You have learned more in thirty years
Than I have learned in more than twice as many.
Oh, no offence. For I have heard before
The voice of honest and eternal youth
Before it fades away, and its illusions
Are found and served again for the same issue.”
“I see what's here to see,” young Hebron answered,
In easy tones that might have been the voice
Of patience pardoning an interruption,
“And ask, being somewhat of a philosopher,
Which of you two is the more fortunate:
Whether it's you, King Jasper, having all this—
Or whether it's he, my father, having a few
Dark feet of earth, forgotten and undisturbed,
To call his house? That's a cold question, sir,
That has for centuries been debatable.
I doubt if even a king would have an answer
Prepared and certified. If I might press
One of those buttons, and so bring my father
Back to share what he lost, and live again,
And die again, I should know how God feels
When he can't sleep o'nights.”
In easy tones that might have been the voice
Of patience pardoning an interruption,
“And ask, being somewhat of a philosopher,
Which of you two is the more fortunate:
Whether it's you, King Jasper, having all this—
Or whether it's he, my father, having a few
Dark feet of earth, forgotten and undisturbed,
To call his house? That's a cold question, sir,
That has for centuries been debatable.
I doubt if even a king would have an answer
1445
One of those buttons, and so bring my father
Back to share what he lost, and live again,
And die again, I should know how God feels
When he can't sleep o'nights.”
Young Hebron smiled,
And waited. The king said, “If I were where
Your father is, and you should bring me back,
I might go far to find my way to thank you
For doing what God saw fit to leave undone.
And since I was your father's friend, and you
Are my friend's son, one pleasantry, I trust,
May be left out: it irks and humbles me
When you say I'm a king. I am no king;
And I'd rejoice if you might have my knowledge
Of an uneven sport of circumstance
That gave all this to me, and to your father—
Well, you have told me, and I have no heart
To use your words, and after thirty years.
I knew you only as a watchful child.
You were dark, even then; and you were mostly silent.”
And waited. The king said, “If I were where
Your father is, and you should bring me back,
I might go far to find my way to thank you
For doing what God saw fit to leave undone.
And since I was your father's friend, and you
Are my friend's son, one pleasantry, I trust,
May be left out: it irks and humbles me
When you say I'm a king. I am no king;
And I'd rejoice if you might have my knowledge
Of an uneven sport of circumstance
That gave all this to me, and to your father—
Well, you have told me, and I have no heart
To use your words, and after thirty years.
I knew you only as a watchful child.
You were dark, even then; and you were mostly silent.”
“Silent—or maybe sulky. For I felt
Precociously that ill fate had my father
Marked, for no fault, indelibly for disaster.
Now why should a child, before he could use words
That were not his, feel such a thing as that?”
Precociously that ill fate had my father
Marked, for no fault, indelibly for disaster.
Now why should a child, before he could use words
That were not his, feel such a thing as that?”
King Jasper might not have been listening:
“I have been searching you, your face and eyes,
To find your father in them. He was fair,
And slight. Your mother was dark. Yes, I remember.”
“I have been searching you, your face and eyes,
To find your father in them. He was fair,
And slight. Your mother was dark. Yes, I remember.”
“She must have been. But she was dead before
My memory was alive, or born. My father
Said once that my complexion and my eyes
Were hers; and that's as far as I dare lean
On heritage, for my mother was beautiful.
She would have liked this house—if she had lived,
And father had lived. I'm not sure that I shouldn't
Myself—if it were mine, or if my wits
And qualities were like yours. We cannot all
Be kings. I beg your pardon. Forgive me, sir.”
My memory was alive, or born. My father
1446
Were hers; and that's as far as I dare lean
On heritage, for my mother was beautiful.
She would have liked this house—if she had lived,
And father had lived. I'm not sure that I shouldn't
Myself—if it were mine, or if my wits
And qualities were like yours. We cannot all
Be kings. I beg your pardon. Forgive me, sir.”
King Jasper laughed, though not with royal joy:
“Your modesty disowns you, and I question
If there's a need of it. You have the air
Of a strong son—who might build, if he would,
His house to his own taste and preference.”
“Your modesty disowns you, and I question
If there's a need of it. You have the air
Of a strong son—who might build, if he would,
His house to his own taste and preference.”
Young Hebron made a new smile with his lips:
“I shall embalm your compliment. My father,
I'm sure, would have been cheered and stimulated,
Could he have heard his old friend saying it
So late as this to a son so undeserving,
Whose house will be the world. He cannot own it;
And what he cannot own he cannot lose.”
“I shall embalm your compliment. My father,
I'm sure, would have been cheered and stimulated,
Could he have heard his old friend saying it
So late as this to a son so undeserving,
Whose house will be the world. He cannot own it;
And what he cannot own he cannot lose.”
“The vision of youth is never to be dismissed
Too lightly or too soon,” King Jasper said.
“Yet if the years were mine to meet the wager,
I'd give you odds that would astonish you
Against your seeing at sixty half so clearly
What seems today so fixed and feasible,
And on the side of nature. The more sound
And solid it feels now to your conviction,
The more, I fear, will be the wound it leaves
When wisdom crowds it out. There's always then
A festering, at the best; for I have seen it,
And for a season fancied that I felt it.
Yes. I have had my dream, and had my sun
And stars to light my phantom of a world
That was not God's and never shall be man's.
And I was nearer then to being a king
Than I shall be again. And you, young man,
Are nearer the mirage of your desires
Than a few years will find you. See the most
Of a deceiving picture while you may,
And while it shines.”
Too lightly or too soon,” King Jasper said.
“Yet if the years were mine to meet the wager,
I'd give you odds that would astonish you
Against your seeing at sixty half so clearly
What seems today so fixed and feasible,
And on the side of nature. The more sound
And solid it feels now to your conviction,
The more, I fear, will be the wound it leaves
When wisdom crowds it out. There's always then
A festering, at the best; for I have seen it,
1447
Yes. I have had my dream, and had my sun
And stars to light my phantom of a world
That was not God's and never shall be man's.
And I was nearer then to being a king
Than I shall be again. And you, young man,
Are nearer the mirage of your desires
Than a few years will find you. See the most
Of a deceiving picture while you may,
And while it shines.”
“I shall not fail in that,”
Young Hebron said, “or fail to thank you, sir,
For your co-operation and your counsel.
Not all men on your eminence, I suspect,
Would so indulge the groping or the lowly,
The disinherited, or the unworthy.
He who sees only evil in high places
Has not employed his eyes. With a new range
And focus, he might see less; he might see more.
Only God knows what he might see and learn, sir.
It may be well for us that we learn slowly.
So long as we are safe and insulated
Against the fire of lightning, if it strikes,
We are at ease with restless elements
That are at large as never they were before.
When we have met next time, I shall have weighed
And tasted your prescription carefully.”
Young Hebron said, “or fail to thank you, sir,
For your co-operation and your counsel.
Not all men on your eminence, I suspect,
Would so indulge the groping or the lowly,
The disinherited, or the unworthy.
He who sees only evil in high places
Has not employed his eyes. With a new range
And focus, he might see less; he might see more.
Only God knows what he might see and learn, sir.
It may be well for us that we learn slowly.
So long as we are safe and insulated
Against the fire of lightning, if it strikes,
We are at ease with restless elements
That are at large as never they were before.
When we have met next time, I shall have weighed
And tasted your prescription carefully.”
Young Hebron, smiling, rose; and the king rose,
More as if pulled erect by strings and wires
Than by his will: “I'm sorry that your father,
Who saw the child, might not have seen the son
And man. He would have treasured the son more
Than all this trash of mine that you call power.”
“I have not called it power, though I believe.
The world would name it so, and with a reason.
Would you not call it power?”
More as if pulled erect by strings and wires
Than by his will: “I'm sorry that your father,
Who saw the child, might not have seen the son
And man. He would have treasured the son more
Than all this trash of mine that you call power.”
1448
The world would name it so, and with a reason.
Would you not call it power?”
The king laughed,
And with an effort beamed uneasily:
“Call it what name you will, and come again.
Infirmity forbids an open door;
Yet a few have an entrance, and are welcome.
My old friend's son will never find it locked.”
And with an effort beamed uneasily:
“Call it what name you will, and come again.
Infirmity forbids an open door;
Yet a few have an entrance, and are welcome.
My old friend's son will never find it locked.”
“I thank you, sir,” young Hebron said, and fixed
His hot eyes on the king until they burned him.
“If I have wearied you with my intrusion,
Surely you will forgive and understand me.
My native curiosity, and my pride
In seeing my father's friend here in his palace,
Would warrant—or, I might say, would command—
One pilgrimage at least to this that's here,
And is all yours.” His eyes resumed their leisure
In their renewed appraisal of the place,
And his lips changed into a colder smile:
“I came, and saw—like Caesar, you remember;
And I shall go away from here amazed
With admiration, and with some regret
That I might not have brought with me my father
To meet his old friend in his old friend's house.
“Besides,” he said, still smiling at his host,
“And as was only fair and natural,
I came to see the king. I thank you, sir.”
His hot eyes on the king until they burned him.
“If I have wearied you with my intrusion,
Surely you will forgive and understand me.
My native curiosity, and my pride
In seeing my father's friend here in his palace,
Would warrant—or, I might say, would command—
One pilgrimage at least to this that's here,
And is all yours.” His eyes resumed their leisure
In their renewed appraisal of the place,
And his lips changed into a colder smile:
“I came, and saw—like Caesar, you remember;
And I shall go away from here amazed
With admiration, and with some regret
That I might not have brought with me my father
To meet his old friend in his old friend's house.
“Besides,” he said, still smiling at his host,
“And as was only fair and natural,
I came to see the king. I thank you, sir.”
He turned, and he was half-way to the door,
When a sound made him tremble, and a face
With two dark startled eyes in it transfixed him.
“Your pardon—oh, your pardon, if you please!”
Said Zoë to King Jasper. “I heard voices—
I thought I recognized ...”
When a sound made him tremble, and a face
With two dark startled eyes in it transfixed him.
“Your pardon—oh, your pardon, if you please!”
1449
I thought I recognized ...”
“Zoë is lying,”
The king said to himself, “and with a purpose.
I shall know more of that.” Then he said, “Zoë,
This is my old friend's only son, young Hebron.
Zoë is my son's wife.”
The king said to himself, “and with a purpose.
I shall know more of that.” Then he said, “Zoë,
This is my old friend's only son, young Hebron.
Zoë is my son's wife.”
“I know,” said Hebron.
Driving a smile into his flaming eyes,
He fed his admiration till she wondered
If all her clothes were on. “I should have known
The lady Zoë with no presentation.
Praise beyond language, yet inadequate,
Had left me skeptical and unprepared.
Beauty, I learn at last, was only a word
Until today—a toy for tongues and ears
To trifle with because they were not eyes.
If you devour me longer, Madam Zoë,
I shall become fantastic, and your slave;
And you might pardon that.”
Driving a smile into his flaming eyes,
He fed his admiration till she wondered
If all her clothes were on. “I should have known
The lady Zoë with no presentation.
Praise beyond language, yet inadequate,
Had left me skeptical and unprepared.
Beauty, I learn at last, was only a word
Until today—a toy for tongues and ears
To trifle with because they were not eyes.
If you devour me longer, Madam Zoë,
I shall become fantastic, and your slave;
And you might pardon that.”
“When you were born,”
Said Zoë, not caring what else her eyes might say,
“I think the gods endowed you with more words
Than one man's portion. I dislike you, sir,
And will devour no more of your attention.”
Said Zoë, not caring what else her eyes might say,
“I think the gods endowed you with more words
Than one man's portion. I dislike you, sir,
And will devour no more of your attention.”
He smiled as if no barb had entered him:
“Yet I dare say that we shall meet again.
Auf wiedersehen. Commend me to the prince.
I'm sorry that my sorrow leaves with you,
And with the king, a portrait so remote,
So false and clouded and intangible.
Once more, I thank you, sir.”
“Yet I dare say that we shall meet again.
Auf wiedersehen. Commend me to the prince.
I'm sorry that my sorrow leaves with you,
And with the king, a portrait so remote,
So false and clouded and intangible.
Once more, I thank you, sir.”
1450
When he was gone,
The queen came swiftly from another door,
With eyes wild, and her majesty forgotten.
“Who was that man!” she cried. “I saw his face,
And heard his voice; and I'm afraid of him.
Jasper, who was that man?”
The queen came swiftly from another door,
With eyes wild, and her majesty forgotten.
“Who was that man!” she cried. “I saw his face,
And heard his voice; and I'm afraid of him.
Jasper, who was that man?”
“That man was Hebron—
Young Hebron,” said the king. He waited then
Till pain had mercy on him, when he smiled
As a king should. “And Zoë, it would appear,
Is not the victim yet of his persuasions.
At last you two have achieved harmony.
I shall do better in a chair, I think ...
Zoë, it hurts to tell so lovely a work
Of God's that it's a bright-eyed little liar,
But why did you come plunging in just then,
To say what most it was that wasn't so?”
Young Hebron,” said the king. He waited then
Till pain had mercy on him, when he smiled
As a king should. “And Zoë, it would appear,
Is not the victim yet of his persuasions.
At last you two have achieved harmony.
I shall do better in a chair, I think ...
Zoë, it hurts to tell so lovely a work
Of God's that it's a bright-eyed little liar,
But why did you come plunging in just then,
To say what most it was that wasn't so?”
“My Jasper saw him first. We were upstairs.
He called me to the window and said ‘Zoë,
Here is young Hebron coming. I fear the Greeks,
And even if they bring nothing but themselves.
Go down, and somehow have a look at him,
And hear him speak, and tell me what he is.
I know before you tell me, but go down,
And then come back, and say if you smelt sulphur.’
I did, and so did you. Why was he here,
Father, and what was he so long in saying?”
He called me to the window and said ‘Zoë,
Here is young Hebron coming. I fear the Greeks,
And even if they bring nothing but themselves.
Go down, and somehow have a look at him,
And hear him speak, and tell me what he is.
I know before you tell me, but go down,
And then come back, and say if you smelt sulphur.’
I did, and so did you. Why was he here,
Father, and what was he so long in saying?”
“He brought his incubated filial tribute
Of my friend Hebron's only son.”
Of my friend Hebron's only son.”
“I hate him,”
The Queen said; “and if I had heavenly strength
To smite him with a wish before he goes
One step from where he is, my God would thank me
For doing his work so promptly and so well.”
The Queen said; “and if I had heavenly strength
To smite him with a wish before he goes
1451
For doing his work so promptly and so well.”
“So, so,” the king said; and a lonely smile
Crept over his wan face into his eyes.
“Well, well. And I believe you would, my darling.
Young Hebron has a grievance; and for those
Whose eyes are lighted with a brain on fire,
A grievance is a mission, a religion,—
Very much like yours, my love. For where's the use
Of Christ dying on a cross, and you being told
To love your enemies, if you'll only hate them
Harder, and worse and worse? ... No, I don't hate him.”
Crept over his wan face into his eyes.
“Well, well. And I believe you would, my darling.
Young Hebron has a grievance; and for those
Whose eyes are lighted with a brain on fire,
A grievance is a mission, a religion,—
Very much like yours, my love. For where's the use
Of Christ dying on a cross, and you being told
To love your enemies, if you'll only hate them
Harder, and worse and worse? ... No, I don't hate him.”
“No, you don't hate him,” said the queen, and laughed
Her scorn into her words. “You wouldn't do that.
You are too gentle, and too magnanimous.
You would not injure an anemone.
No, you don't hate him; you are afraid of him.
And so am I.”
Her scorn into her words. “You wouldn't do that.
You are too gentle, and too magnanimous.
You would not injure an anemone.
No, you don't hate him; you are afraid of him.
And so am I.”
“And so am I,” said Zoë,
Now calmly, to the queen. “Also, I hate him—
His ignorance, I should say—and his inflamed
Assurance of his power to serve the world
When he is doing his ruinous worst in it;
Which is his way, and the world's way, of growing.
Madam, forgive me—and don't answer me
Unless your reason lets you. Just a fancy—
A vain one and a wild one, probably—
Has touched me, and has left a memory
That's like a pleasant sting. It might be folly;
It might be hope. Madam, I cannot give
My hand to you until I have had yours—
Yet I might hope. With the same thing to hate,
We might—almost—be friends.”
Now calmly, to the queen. “Also, I hate him—
His ignorance, I should say—and his inflamed
Assurance of his power to serve the world
When he is doing his ruinous worst in it;
Which is his way, and the world's way, of growing.
Madam, forgive me—and don't answer me
Unless your reason lets you. Just a fancy—
A vain one and a wild one, probably—
Has touched me, and has left a memory
That's like a pleasant sting. It might be folly;
It might be hope. Madam, I cannot give
My hand to you until I have had yours—
1452
We might—almost—be friends.”
The queen subdued
A smile by the old way of biting it
Before it happened. For a wavering instant
She hesitated. “You are a skilful child,”
She said, and would have laughed, if she had dared,
Before she disappeared, leaving the king
And Zoë alone together.
A smile by the old way of biting it
Before it happened. For a wavering instant
She hesitated. “You are a skilful child,”
She said, and would have laughed, if she had dared,
Before she disappeared, leaving the king
And Zoë alone together.
Zoë sat watching
The doorway where the queen so quietly
Had passed and vanished. “I may call you ‘father,’”
She said, “and you don't care; and if I might,
I'd call her ‘mother.’ But how shall I do that,
While she sees only the bad serpent in me
That is not there, and she knows is not there?
A pride like hers, with its unwillingness
To see, may be as long a woe for women
As women are for men.”
The doorway where the queen so quietly
Had passed and vanished. “I may call you ‘father,’”
She said, “and you don't care; and if I might,
I'd call her ‘mother.’ But how shall I do that,
While she sees only the bad serpent in me
That is not there, and she knows is not there?
A pride like hers, with its unwillingness
To see, may be as long a woe for women
As women are for men.”
“Are you a woe
For men? You might be, the Lord knows,” he said.
“It may be well for me that I'm not younger,
And that you are the savior of my son.
Without you, he might one day climb a rainbow,
And hurt himself severely.”
For men? You might be, the Lord knows,” he said.
“It may be well for me that I'm not younger,
And that you are the savior of my son.
Without you, he might one day climb a rainbow,
And hurt himself severely.”
“I might be one.
I might be, if you ask, a woe for men;
I might be, and I may be. The wise one,
Who found me lost in a morass of men
With eyes like Hebron's, and in danger there
Of doubting all eyes and of losing mine,
Told me, when he had carried me away
And opened them, and made me see with them,
That I must always be alone with them.
But now that I have Jasper, who sees also,
I wonder if the wise one always knew.”
I might be, if you ask, a woe for men;
I might be, and I may be. The wise one,
Who found me lost in a morass of men
With eyes like Hebron's, and in danger there
Of doubting all eyes and of losing mine,
1453
And opened them, and made me see with them,
That I must always be alone with them.
But now that I have Jasper, who sees also,
I wonder if the wise one always knew.”
“He may have known,” the king said, with a frown
Of thoughtfulness: “He might, if he were here,
Tell me just why I was afraid of you
When first you came. Was it a month ago?
It seems a year ago—ages ago—
And seems no time at all. Are you released
From time? Or, where you are, does time forget?
I think that's it. I rather fancy, Zoë,
That I have found it. You may call me father,
If you don't mind my calling you my mother.
How old are you! ... Forgive me—you don't know.”
Of thoughtfulness: “He might, if he were here,
Tell me just why I was afraid of you
When first you came. Was it a month ago?
It seems a year ago—ages ago—
And seems no time at all. Are you released
From time? Or, where you are, does time forget?
I think that's it. I rather fancy, Zoë,
That I have found it. You may call me father,
If you don't mind my calling you my mother.
How old are you! ... Forgive me—you don't know.”
“I don't know; and I'd say it was no matter.
The wise one never cared enough to ask.
Now tell me something, father. Must the queen
Punish her soul for ever to make herself
Believe she hates me? If she did at first,
There's no dark reason why. But now—she knows.”
The wise one never cared enough to ask.
Now tell me something, father. Must the queen
Punish her soul for ever to make herself
Believe she hates me? If she did at first,
There's no dark reason why. But now—she knows.”
“She knows, but she must wait; and while I wait,
I'll tell you of a dream that I had, Zoë,
All about you. I dreamed you had a knife—
You have one, Zoë—and you struck me with it,
Into my heart. Now why should you do that?”
He smiled, but she found sorrow in his eyes
That made a mist in hers.
I'll tell you of a dream that I had, Zoë,
All about you. I dreamed you had a knife—
You have one, Zoë—and you struck me with it,
Into my heart. Now why should you do that?”
He smiled, but she found sorrow in his eyes
That made a mist in hers.
“All about me—
All—all?” she asked. “I don't believe you, father.
Not quite.” She looked at him insistently,
And with untiring silence while she waited:
“All about me? And was there nothing else?
Father, was there no more of it—than me?”
All—all?” she asked. “I don't believe you, father.
1454
And with untiring silence while she waited:
“All about me? And was there nothing else?
Father, was there no more of it—than me?”
“Yes, there was more of it than you,” he said.
“You are too comprehensive to be happy
In such a world as this. We men have made it;
And we have made, to now, a shambles of it.”
“You are too comprehensive to be happy
In such a world as this. We men have made it;
And we have made, to now, a shambles of it.”
“And you will see it worse than it is now,”
Said Zoë. “And wrong prophets, like this Hebron,
Will sing of blood while others bleed for them.
They cannot know. Only a few may know;
And they, the wise one said, must go alone.
He may not always have been absolute
In his foreknowing of time and man and me,
Though he believed he was; and I did, then—
Till Jasper found me. ... All about me, you say
The dream was? I forget. You say it wasn't.
Was Hebron in it? Your old friend, I mean—
This Hebron's father. And you say that I
It was who struck my knife into your heart?
It was not I who struck you to the heart,
Father; it was yourself, and with my knife.
It's all as clear to me as a new moon.
You laughed, and said you were afraid of me,
Father, when first you saw me in your house.
Why did you laugh? You knew there was a knife
That I was hiding.”
Said Zoë. “And wrong prophets, like this Hebron,
Will sing of blood while others bleed for them.
They cannot know. Only a few may know;
And they, the wise one said, must go alone.
He may not always have been absolute
In his foreknowing of time and man and me,
Though he believed he was; and I did, then—
Till Jasper found me. ... All about me, you say
The dream was? I forget. You say it wasn't.
Was Hebron in it? Your old friend, I mean—
This Hebron's father. And you say that I
It was who struck my knife into your heart?
It was not I who struck you to the heart,
Father; it was yourself, and with my knife.
It's all as clear to me as a new moon.
You laughed, and said you were afraid of me,
Father, when first you saw me in your house.
Why did you laugh? You knew there was a knife
That I was hiding.”
“I knew that you hid something.
Should I have said I was afraid of you,
If I had not known that? And if I laughed,
Tell me what else there was for me to do.”
Should I have said I was afraid of you,
If I had not known that? And if I laughed,
Tell me what else there was for me to do.”
“We were all laughing, and were all afraid,”
Said Zoë. “I was afraid for you and Jasper;
He was afraid for me, and for his mother;
You were afraid of time, and you still fear it.
Is it worth fearing, when so little is left?
I'm not afraid of it. I'm only incensed
With destiny somewhat, and sorry for man
Always; and for the curse of time on man
That shrieks to him unheard from history.
All a man sees is less than what he is
Without it, if he knew. Is he ever to know?
Look, father, look. You see down there below you,
And far from you—you cannot know how far—
Your chimneys, and your kingdom going in smoke.
Father, when they are gone, as they will go,
Where will your kingdom be? When they are gone,
There's not much else of it that will be left
To be a monument. Your kingdom creaks
And shakes while we are talking. I can feel it;
And you had felt it long before I came—
Long, long before. Father, are you afraid
Of me because you know I have a knife?
The wise one had it once; now it is mine.
Father, you should not be afraid of knives,
For you have used too many. If one of them
Has wounded you unseen, and in the heart,
Is it unnatural? And are you surprised?
Now look at me, and laugh, as you did first,
And say you love me; for I know you must.”
1455
He was afraid for me, and for his mother;
You were afraid of time, and you still fear it.
Is it worth fearing, when so little is left?
I'm not afraid of it. I'm only incensed
With destiny somewhat, and sorry for man
Always; and for the curse of time on man
That shrieks to him unheard from history.
All a man sees is less than what he is
Without it, if he knew. Is he ever to know?
Look, father, look. You see down there below you,
And far from you—you cannot know how far—
Your chimneys, and your kingdom going in smoke.
Father, when they are gone, as they will go,
Where will your kingdom be? When they are gone,
There's not much else of it that will be left
To be a monument. Your kingdom creaks
And shakes while we are talking. I can feel it;
And you had felt it long before I came—
Long, long before. Father, are you afraid
Of me because you know I have a knife?
The wise one had it once; now it is mine.
Father, you should not be afraid of knives,
For you have used too many. If one of them
Has wounded you unseen, and in the heart,
Is it unnatural? And are you surprised?
Now look at me, and laugh, as you did first,
And say you love me; for I know you must.”
“I love you; and I fear you,” said the king,
“And for I know not what. Why do you say
The chimneys will be gone? Why should they go?”
“Father! O Father! A king should not say that.
He should know better than to ask an answer
That aches in him already, and in his heart.
Now laugh at me again, and go to sleep;
And please have no more dreams—or none of me.
It is all Hebron's work ... Which Hebron, father?
There are two Hebrons, and there always will be.”
“And for I know not what. Why do you say
The chimneys will be gone? Why should they go?”
“Father! O Father! A king should not say that.
He should know better than to ask an answer
That aches in him already, and in his heart.
1456
And please have no more dreams—or none of me.
It is all Hebron's work ... Which Hebron, father?
There are two Hebrons, and there always will be.”
V
The king had no more dreams. He saw without them,
And with no useless need of asking longer
What they were doing, those unceasing hands
That long had haunted the foreboding queen,
Warning her of their work. He saw them now,
Pulling his world around him, and his house,
Dimly and irretrievably to pieces,
Leaving on everything an unclean dust
That he could feel and could not wash away.
Here where he sat he saw them; and far down
Below him, where the chimneys had so long
Been changeless, and as near to the eternal
As he had striven to see, there were those hands
At work that wrought by no command of his,
But for an older and a mightier master.
Once in a while, as he sat gazing down
Upon his power today, he felt a thrust
Sharper than Zoë's knife; and it would be
Just then that he believed a chimney trembled,
And may have shaken. If he gazed again,
And saw them firm, he would sigh thankfully
For peace that was like hunger for a food
That he had not yet found, and had a price
He could not pay, and was too far from him
For ships to bring it now. To know it was,
Was of itself a refuge. Though denied,
It served—until another chimney trembled,
If all but imperceptibly, while those hands
That had no age or number multiplied
And wrought on mercilessly because they knew
There were no kings of earth mighty enough
To make them rest. There would be kings always,
Crowned or uncrowned, or all would be alike—
A thought so monstrous that King Jasper shivered
As long as it was in him. But no kings,
Crowned or uncrowned, would have now, or in ages
Unpictured and unshadowed, power to stay
Those hands, if they were given their work to do.
Now he could see; and he could ask in vain
If earlier sight would have seen far enough
To read for what they were the fire and gold
Of shining lies that opportunity
Had held and waved until they were all true.
He did not know. Zoë had come too late
To make a new king of a stricken one
Whose retribution was a world's infection.
He gazed, and far away, and far below him,
The chimneys were unshaken and unchanged.
They were as firm as they had always been,
Since they were built. He knew they were alive;
He knew they were still breathing; and he knew
Their breath was fire and life. But all the while
He saw them, there were those hands, never ceasing,
Never to be appeased. Zoë had come
Too late; yet he was happier with her near him,
Although he knew that with her in his house,
Beauty and truth and death were there together,
Watching and pitying him, and laughing at him
Because he was a king. He wondered why
Her scorn that she had buried in gentleness
Till it was almost love might not be love;
And he believed it was. He must believe it;
Or, with his heart still bleeding where her knife
Had struck him, he must crumple, or go mad.
If he sat staring longer at the chimneys,
One of them soon would shake, and then another;
Or one of them might fall; or all of them
Might fall, and go down horribly with a crash
That might shake even his house down on his head.
Would anyone weep for that? King Jasper sighed
For gratitude to Zoë that she had come
So far to tell him the best way to learn
That his indomitable reign was ending.
Without her presence, and without the wound
Of his awakening that her knife had made,
Approaching hours would be enormities
Of a slow and unendurable dissolution
That would be fire to feel and death to know.
But Zoë had come, and that was best. He feared her
But not as men fear death, or women years.
In his mind there was a turmoil of endurance
That would save him till his kingdom was a grave;
In his heart there was a wound of revelation
That would ache until his triumph was a name.
In a future that he fancied there without her
There were silences that soon would be a rumbling
And a music and a marching of destruction
Destroying itself and him in storm and folly;
In his fear there was a numbness of defiance,
Like a spell to foil an onslaught of illusion;
In his pride there was a calm and overwhelming
Recognition of irrevocable changes.
And with no useless need of asking longer
What they were doing, those unceasing hands
That long had haunted the foreboding queen,
Warning her of their work. He saw them now,
Pulling his world around him, and his house,
Dimly and irretrievably to pieces,
Leaving on everything an unclean dust
That he could feel and could not wash away.
Here where he sat he saw them; and far down
Below him, where the chimneys had so long
Been changeless, and as near to the eternal
As he had striven to see, there were those hands
At work that wrought by no command of his,
But for an older and a mightier master.
Once in a while, as he sat gazing down
Upon his power today, he felt a thrust
Sharper than Zoë's knife; and it would be
Just then that he believed a chimney trembled,
And may have shaken. If he gazed again,
And saw them firm, he would sigh thankfully
For peace that was like hunger for a food
That he had not yet found, and had a price
He could not pay, and was too far from him
For ships to bring it now. To know it was,
Was of itself a refuge. Though denied,
It served—until another chimney trembled,
If all but imperceptibly, while those hands
1457
And wrought on mercilessly because they knew
There were no kings of earth mighty enough
To make them rest. There would be kings always,
Crowned or uncrowned, or all would be alike—
A thought so monstrous that King Jasper shivered
As long as it was in him. But no kings,
Crowned or uncrowned, would have now, or in ages
Unpictured and unshadowed, power to stay
Those hands, if they were given their work to do.
Now he could see; and he could ask in vain
If earlier sight would have seen far enough
To read for what they were the fire and gold
Of shining lies that opportunity
Had held and waved until they were all true.
He did not know. Zoë had come too late
To make a new king of a stricken one
Whose retribution was a world's infection.
He gazed, and far away, and far below him,
The chimneys were unshaken and unchanged.
They were as firm as they had always been,
Since they were built. He knew they were alive;
He knew they were still breathing; and he knew
Their breath was fire and life. But all the while
He saw them, there were those hands, never ceasing,
Never to be appeased. Zoë had come
Too late; yet he was happier with her near him,
Although he knew that with her in his house,
Beauty and truth and death were there together,
Watching and pitying him, and laughing at him
Because he was a king. He wondered why
Her scorn that she had buried in gentleness
Till it was almost love might not be love;
And he believed it was. He must believe it;
Or, with his heart still bleeding where her knife
1458
If he sat staring longer at the chimneys,
One of them soon would shake, and then another;
Or one of them might fall; or all of them
Might fall, and go down horribly with a crash
That might shake even his house down on his head.
Would anyone weep for that? King Jasper sighed
For gratitude to Zoë that she had come
So far to tell him the best way to learn
That his indomitable reign was ending.
Without her presence, and without the wound
Of his awakening that her knife had made,
Approaching hours would be enormities
Of a slow and unendurable dissolution
That would be fire to feel and death to know.
But Zoë had come, and that was best. He feared her
But not as men fear death, or women years.
In his mind there was a turmoil of endurance
That would save him till his kingdom was a grave;
In his heart there was a wound of revelation
That would ache until his triumph was a name.
In a future that he fancied there without her
There were silences that soon would be a rumbling
And a music and a marching of destruction
Destroying itself and him in storm and folly;
In his fear there was a numbness of defiance,
Like a spell to foil an onslaught of illusion;
In his pride there was a calm and overwhelming
Recognition of irrevocable changes.
“Well, father,” said the prince, a fortnight after
Young Hebron's apparition, “this world of yours
Is with us yet. We don't say for how long,
And that's why I am here with this to tell you:
I'm your begotten son, Jasper the second,
By compliment the prince; and it's like this:
I said to Zoë that it might be as well
For you and mother to remove yourselves,
With items appertaining to your comfort,
And a few bits of raiment and adornment,
All in a trunk or two, away from here
Till we know more. There are bad wings in the air
That might be wings of hell-birds watching us,
Themselves unseen; and there's a breath of sulphur
That Zoë and I don't like. I said to Zoë,
‘Father and mother must go away from here;’
And Zoë said, ‘Yes, they must.’ So there you are.
Your late ophidian visitor, I suppose—
Young Hebron—has not honored us again.”
Young Hebron's apparition, “this world of yours
Is with us yet. We don't say for how long,
And that's why I am here with this to tell you:
I'm your begotten son, Jasper the second,
1459
I said to Zoë that it might be as well
For you and mother to remove yourselves,
With items appertaining to your comfort,
And a few bits of raiment and adornment,
All in a trunk or two, away from here
Till we know more. There are bad wings in the air
That might be wings of hell-birds watching us,
Themselves unseen; and there's a breath of sulphur
That Zoë and I don't like. I said to Zoë,
‘Father and mother must go away from here;’
And Zoë said, ‘Yes, they must.’ So there you are.
Your late ophidian visitor, I suppose—
Young Hebron—has not honored us again.”
“Not yet, my son,” the king said. Far below him
He saw the chimneys that were still alive,
And still were life. “Why should he come again?
I know he will, but why? Has not the world
Room for that man without his coming to me?
I do not want him, and I told him so
While I was asking him to come again.
I know men best when I can see around them,
As well as through them. ... Yes, I can hear the wings,
And I could wish your mother might not hear them.”
He saw the chimneys that were still alive,
And still were life. “Why should he come again?
I know he will, but why? Has not the world
Room for that man without his coming to me?
I do not want him, and I told him so
While I was asking him to come again.
I know men best when I can see around them,
As well as through them. ... Yes, I can hear the wings,
And I could wish your mother might not hear them.”
“If you can hear the wings that Zoë and I
Have heard, and still believe you cannot see
Around this man—father, I'll take your crown off
And wear the thing myself, while there is time.
Zoë, come in, and listen. Father can hear
The wings, yet cannot see around young Hebron.
Father and mother must be sent away.”
Have heard, and still believe you cannot see
Around this man—father, I'll take your crown off
And wear the thing myself, while there is time.
Zoë, come in, and listen. Father can hear
The wings, yet cannot see around young Hebron.
Father and mother must be sent away.”
“Your mother must be taken away, my son,”
The king said, sadly. “As for you and Zoë,
If I had wishes that would say aloud
That they would let you follow her, and leave me
Alone to listen, and to hear the wings ...”
The king said, sadly. “As for you and Zoë,
1460
That they would let you follow her, and leave me
Alone to listen, and to hear the wings ...”
“And smell the sulphur, father. Don't forget
The sulphur, or the place from where it comes.
Down there they blend it so insidiously
With heavenly fumes and vapors of all sorts
That we inhale it in this air of ours
As if it were sweet breath from endless fields
Of roses; and we think those fields were planted,
By the Lord's orders, for what we have done,
And for ourselves alone. You have done well,
Father; and you have done a deal of evil
In doing it handsomely. But a king, father,
Whose roses have long roots that find their way
To regions where the gardeners are all devils,
May as well know there is a twilight coming,
When roses that were never so sweet before
Will smell for what they are. Nothing in this
Is more revealing or more terrifying
Than any man's life—could we but know the seeds
And roots and branches of it that have lived
And gone, and are forgotten. It's not you, father;
For you are passing, and you cannot change.
It's not you, father; and it's not your crown
That matters now. If Hebron comes again,
Hear him, and learn from his red rhetoric
How little he knows that millions who know less
Might yet be taught by kings—if kings were not
So royally occupied in their not seeing
Sometimes an inch or two ahead of them.
Oh yes, I mean you, father—but obliquely,
Or say inclusively, or indirectly,
Or some such word. Whichever commends itself,
Be certain, father, always, that I love you;
And all of you that is most honorable
I'll cherish for as long as I shall Zoë;
And that's as long as life. If Hebron comes,
Regard him as you would a coming curse
That you and your defections have invited.
I do not know the way now to avoid him.
Young Hebron is the Young Man of the Sea.”
The sulphur, or the place from where it comes.
Down there they blend it so insidiously
With heavenly fumes and vapors of all sorts
That we inhale it in this air of ours
As if it were sweet breath from endless fields
Of roses; and we think those fields were planted,
By the Lord's orders, for what we have done,
And for ourselves alone. You have done well,
Father; and you have done a deal of evil
In doing it handsomely. But a king, father,
Whose roses have long roots that find their way
To regions where the gardeners are all devils,
May as well know there is a twilight coming,
When roses that were never so sweet before
Will smell for what they are. Nothing in this
Is more revealing or more terrifying
Than any man's life—could we but know the seeds
And roots and branches of it that have lived
And gone, and are forgotten. It's not you, father;
For you are passing, and you cannot change.
It's not you, father; and it's not your crown
That matters now. If Hebron comes again,
Hear him, and learn from his red rhetoric
How little he knows that millions who know less
Might yet be taught by kings—if kings were not
So royally occupied in their not seeing
Sometimes an inch or two ahead of them.
Oh yes, I mean you, father—but obliquely,
Or say inclusively, or indirectly,
Or some such word. Whichever commends itself,
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And all of you that is most honorable
I'll cherish for as long as I shall Zoë;
And that's as long as life. If Hebron comes,
Regard him as you would a coming curse
That you and your defections have invited.
I do not know the way now to avoid him.
Young Hebron is the Young Man of the Sea.”
King Jasper, nodding his appreciation
As with a doubt, made a forgiving face:
“Strange music for a father from a son,
Perhaps, and yet a music that has in it
A tune that even the worldly and unworthy
May recognize, and more or less remember.
I have heard one much like it in my life
Before, somewhere, my son; and I still hear it,
Humming above me like an earnest bee,
Who cannot find his way out through a window
That will not open for him. If your Zoë,
Who knows her task—and it's a lonely one—
Has fixed herself on you as the best thing
There is of extant youth for her to mould
And animate, I'll pray, and in her presence,
That she may quicken this awakening brain
Of yours with less intelligence or more tact.”
As with a doubt, made a forgiving face:
“Strange music for a father from a son,
Perhaps, and yet a music that has in it
A tune that even the worldly and unworthy
May recognize, and more or less remember.
I have heard one much like it in my life
Before, somewhere, my son; and I still hear it,
Humming above me like an earnest bee,
Who cannot find his way out through a window
That will not open for him. If your Zoë,
Who knows her task—and it's a lonely one—
Has fixed herself on you as the best thing
There is of extant youth for her to mould
And animate, I'll pray, and in her presence,
That she may quicken this awakening brain
Of yours with less intelligence or more tact.”
“Very well, father. That was on its way,
And it was easy said, and there's no scratch.
Now there's another tune that is worth hearing,
Father, and it's the one that I'll play next.
Listen: are you to go away with mother,
Or are you to stay here—with Zoë and me?
You know your mind. This flower of extant youth,
So far as you may credit him with owning
A sort of dormant or potential vision,
Sees here a question of how little or much
It's worth to live. The price and value vary,
I'm told; and there's not one may tell another
Whether it's always best or not to pay.”
And it was easy said, and there's no scratch.
Now there's another tune that is worth hearing,
Father, and it's the one that I'll play next.
Listen: are you to go away with mother,
Or are you to stay here—with Zoë and me?
You know your mind. This flower of extant youth,
So far as you may credit him with owning
A sort of dormant or potential vision,
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It's worth to live. The price and value vary,
I'm told; and there's not one may tell another
Whether it's always best or not to pay.”
King Jasper sat as if he had not heard,
And saw below him, far away, the chimneys
That had been there so long. For the first time,
And with a new fear that was like a beak
That burrowed in his heart, he thought of them
As a tall forest where wild fire had raged
And swept, and left them there to be no more
Than cold memorials with no life in them.
He saw them, and he saw they were not dead—
Not yet. They were alive, and were still breathing.
He knew that; for he saw their smoky breath
Over his kingdom like a peaceful cloud
Wherein there were no storms that he could see,
And surely was no lightning. All there was
To frighten him was an innumerable
And ceaseless multitude of shadowy hands,
Always at work, doing he knew not what,
Yet always and mysteriously at work.
And saw below him, far away, the chimneys
That had been there so long. For the first time,
And with a new fear that was like a beak
That burrowed in his heart, he thought of them
As a tall forest where wild fire had raged
And swept, and left them there to be no more
Than cold memorials with no life in them.
He saw them, and he saw they were not dead—
Not yet. They were alive, and were still breathing.
He knew that; for he saw their smoky breath
Over his kingdom like a peaceful cloud
Wherein there were no storms that he could see,
And surely was no lightning. All there was
To frighten him was an innumerable
And ceaseless multitude of shadowy hands,
Always at work, doing he knew not what,
Yet always and mysteriously at work.
“You do not answer, father,” said the prince;
“And if you tell me there's no more to show you,
I shall not be unfilial or obnoxious.
If Hebron comes, ask him how old he is,
And say that Zoë knows; and ask him next,
As once, in your first error, you asked Zoë,
If he believes the world would heal itself
Of all its inward sores if it were turned
Suddenly upside down; and ask him last
How many hours he thinks he'd be a-walking
From here to Sirius if his eyes were out
And facing the wrong way. Your asking him
Will make no difference, and will do no good.
I mention it as a way to pass the time.
There may be still some time.”
“And if you tell me there's no more to show you,
I shall not be unfilial or obnoxious.
If Hebron comes, ask him how old he is,
And say that Zoë knows; and ask him next,
As once, in your first error, you asked Zoë,
If he believes the world would heal itself
Of all its inward sores if it were turned
Suddenly upside down; and ask him last
How many hours he thinks he'd be a-walking
From here to Sirius if his eyes were out
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Will make no difference, and will do no good.
I mention it as a way to pass the time.
There may be still some time.”
“You come to me
Too late with your inspired advice, my son,”
The king said wearily; “and as you yourself
Observe, there may be no deliverance in it.
Hebron was here again this afternoon;
And having wished me well so venomously,
And with such unction, that I might have shot him
Had I the means at hand, he soon produced
A friendly trap that he had made for me
Of hate's last word that he calls compromise.”
Too late with your inspired advice, my son,”
The king said wearily; “and as you yourself
Observe, there may be no deliverance in it.
Hebron was here again this afternoon;
And having wished me well so venomously,
And with such unction, that I might have shot him
Had I the means at hand, he soon produced
A friendly trap that he had made for me
Of hate's last word that he calls compromise.”
“Father, I wonder whether it's best or not,
Sometimes, to tell a fellow that he's a liar,
And see what comes, or to be gracious with him,
And hope that nothing comes of being a liar
Myself for listening and for hearing more.
He means capitulation and surrender.”
Sometimes, to tell a fellow that he's a liar,
And see what comes, or to be gracious with him,
And hope that nothing comes of being a liar
Myself for listening and for hearing more.
He means capitulation and surrender.”
“Yes, I know what he means,” the king said, smiling
Remotely, as if nothing mattered now;
“But these abrupt discoveries of hot youth
Must not be thrown at me too suddenly,
And not too frequently. When a man hears
The scythe of time as I do, only Zoë
Knows how it sounds to him. Safely aside,
She may not hear it; yet she feels and sees it,
With sorrow for me, and pity, and some love;
Not much, but still a little. Zoë, my son
And you, together, may be the king and queen
Of a new kingdom that will be far larger
Than mine, than many of mine, if both of you
Should live; and to my son I owe today
Homage and honor for your finding him,
And for his knowing you. There's more in this
Than kings who know their crowns are counterfeits,
And cannot die without them, will confess
To any but you. I was afraid of you
When first I saw you. Be so kind then, Zoë,
As to remember that I told you so.
You know the vengeance hidden in my words,
And you know they are true.”
Remotely, as if nothing mattered now;
“But these abrupt discoveries of hot youth
Must not be thrown at me too suddenly,
And not too frequently. When a man hears
The scythe of time as I do, only Zoë
Knows how it sounds to him. Safely aside,
She may not hear it; yet she feels and sees it,
With sorrow for me, and pity, and some love;
Not much, but still a little. Zoë, my son
And you, together, may be the king and queen
Of a new kingdom that will be far larger
Than mine, than many of mine, if both of you
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Homage and honor for your finding him,
And for his knowing you. There's more in this
Than kings who know their crowns are counterfeits,
And cannot die without them, will confess
To any but you. I was afraid of you
When first I saw you. Be so kind then, Zoë,
As to remember that I told you so.
You know the vengeance hidden in my words,
And you know they are true.”
“Father, I know
That if you were to strive with all your soul
And skill, you could not lie to me,” said Zoë.
“Now rest; and if you can, sleep for a while,
And have no dreams of me. Too many dreams
Are dangerous; they are not good for kings.”
She laughed and kissed him quickly on his forehead,
And singing softly led the prince away.
That if you were to strive with all your soul
And skill, you could not lie to me,” said Zoë.
“Now rest; and if you can, sleep for a while,
And have no dreams of me. Too many dreams
Are dangerous; they are not good for kings.”
She laughed and kissed him quickly on his forehead,
And singing softly led the prince away.
After an hour the king could not have told
The queen if he had slept or had been dead:
“Yes, I have rested—if you call it rest
To feel your kingdom crumbling down all round you,
And yourself buried in the dust of it.
There's always rest in burial, I suppose,
If we are dead, but there's a difference
If we are still alive. A sprightly note
Like this, now you are here, will serve as well
As a lugubrious or ambiguous one
To say how swiftly we may change our minds.
For a long time—it seems long, if it's not—
I have been dandling, like a worn-out plaything,
A shapeless hope that somehow you and Zoë
Might love each other a little; or, failing that,
That you might hate her less. But now I'm grateful,
Harsh as it sounds, that you are what you are,
And that you cannot change. For you knew best
What you were saying when you told me once
That this house was too small for both of you.
That's one sharp reason, and a fortunate
And ample one, why you must go from here.
You said you must, and now I say you must.
It may not be for always; but for now,
Here is no place for you. I cannot go;
I'm fixed here like a tree; and all my life
Is planted here as firm as are my chimneys.
They are there, and still alive; and I am here,
And I am still alive. Our son and Zoë
Are here; and if they stay, they choose their peril.
They are beyond the range of my protection,
And are as free to die, if they like dying,
As you are free to live. There is death here,
Honoria; and that's the other reason
Why you must listen, and must go away.
God knows it will be lonely and unreal
Without you here, but nothing has been real
Since Zoë came. There is no sorrow for me
In that; my sorrow is her coming so late—
So long too late. But there's time yet for you—
For you to go away; and you must go.
Honoria, you must go.”
The queen if he had slept or had been dead:
“Yes, I have rested—if you call it rest
To feel your kingdom crumbling down all round you,
And yourself buried in the dust of it.
There's always rest in burial, I suppose,
If we are dead, but there's a difference
If we are still alive. A sprightly note
Like this, now you are here, will serve as well
As a lugubrious or ambiguous one
To say how swiftly we may change our minds.
For a long time—it seems long, if it's not—
I have been dandling, like a worn-out plaything,
A shapeless hope that somehow you and Zoë
Might love each other a little; or, failing that,
1465
Harsh as it sounds, that you are what you are,
And that you cannot change. For you knew best
What you were saying when you told me once
That this house was too small for both of you.
That's one sharp reason, and a fortunate
And ample one, why you must go from here.
You said you must, and now I say you must.
It may not be for always; but for now,
Here is no place for you. I cannot go;
I'm fixed here like a tree; and all my life
Is planted here as firm as are my chimneys.
They are there, and still alive; and I am here,
And I am still alive. Our son and Zoë
Are here; and if they stay, they choose their peril.
They are beyond the range of my protection,
And are as free to die, if they like dying,
As you are free to live. There is death here,
Honoria; and that's the other reason
Why you must listen, and must go away.
God knows it will be lonely and unreal
Without you here, but nothing has been real
Since Zoë came. There is no sorrow for me
In that; my sorrow is her coming so late—
So long too late. But there's time yet for you—
For you to go away; and you must go.
Honoria, you must go.”
“You say I must,”
Then queen replied, smiling invincibly,
“But saying is not compelling. I shall stay,
Jasper. Zoë has made me change myself.
A changing woman is not so fabulous
That a man has to gasp. If Zoë at first
Offended or misled me with a freedom
That may have seemed an insult or a challenge
To me and to tradition, yet was neither,
Offence is nothing now but a small cloud
That's hardly to be seen. There's a clear sky
Today—so clear a sky that a mist coming
To cover it would be welcome. But no mist
Or fog that I can find is on its way
To comfort or confuse me any longer;
There are those unseen hands, and more of them
Than ever, at work while I am saying this.
Now I can hear them; I can hear things breaking;
And I can almost see the dust they make
Where they are falling. You too are hearing them,
Jasper; and that's why you are telling me
That I must go away. I shall not go.
No matter by what secretive or avenging
Or vicious means it came, here is my house,
My home, my world; and anywhere else than here
There is no place for me. I have prepared
And sworn myself to stay. I shall not go.
And if you say I must—well, we shall see.”
Then queen replied, smiling invincibly,
“But saying is not compelling. I shall stay,
Jasper. Zoë has made me change myself.
A changing woman is not so fabulous
That a man has to gasp. If Zoë at first
Offended or misled me with a freedom
1466
To me and to tradition, yet was neither,
Offence is nothing now but a small cloud
That's hardly to be seen. There's a clear sky
Today—so clear a sky that a mist coming
To cover it would be welcome. But no mist
Or fog that I can find is on its way
To comfort or confuse me any longer;
There are those unseen hands, and more of them
Than ever, at work while I am saying this.
Now I can hear them; I can hear things breaking;
And I can almost see the dust they make
Where they are falling. You too are hearing them,
Jasper; and that's why you are telling me
That I must go away. I shall not go.
No matter by what secretive or avenging
Or vicious means it came, here is my house,
My home, my world; and anywhere else than here
There is no place for me. I have prepared
And sworn myself to stay. I shall not go.
And if you say I must—well, we shall see.”
King Jasper looked at her as only once
Or twice, or maybe three times, he had looked
In all his life before, and felt the same
Defeat that, when she willed it, would be there.
When it was there, he tried always to laugh,
And always failed. “I'm sorry, my dear,” he said,
In a slow frozen way that frightened her,
As if it came from him and was not his,
“But you must go. I'm sorry, but you must go.”
Or twice, or maybe three times, he had looked
In all his life before, and felt the same
Defeat that, when she willed it, would be there.
When it was there, he tried always to laugh,
And always failed. “I'm sorry, my dear,” he said,
In a slow frozen way that frightened her,
As if it came from him and was not his,
“But you must go. I'm sorry, but you must go.”
“And where?” she said; and saying it, smiled at him
As only women who know before they ask
May dare to smile. She waited for no answer,
But threw herself against him, and her arms
Around him, and so held him while she kissed him;
And then she said, “Jasper, whatever you are,
Whatever you may have done that men will do
To crown themselves, you have been good to me;
And I believe that you have loved me, Jasper—
All a king can. Zoë knows more than you
Of where we are, and I am sorry for her;
For there is a great loneliness in knowing.
She and our son together may live to see
Firmer and higher forms rise out of ashes
Than all your chimneys, which to you are temples,
Built high for your false gods of a small heaven
That is not going to last for you much longer.
You knew from the beginning of your ascent
How false they were; and many a time at night
You may have heard them telling you in the dark
All that you never meant for me to know.
But there were those hands, always. Never mind them;
There's only a little more for them to do.
Jasper, I love you. I have always loved you.
You are not paying for that.”
As only women who know before they ask
May dare to smile. She waited for no answer,
1467
Around him, and so held him while she kissed him;
And then she said, “Jasper, whatever you are,
Whatever you may have done that men will do
To crown themselves, you have been good to me;
And I believe that you have loved me, Jasper—
All a king can. Zoë knows more than you
Of where we are, and I am sorry for her;
For there is a great loneliness in knowing.
She and our son together may live to see
Firmer and higher forms rise out of ashes
Than all your chimneys, which to you are temples,
Built high for your false gods of a small heaven
That is not going to last for you much longer.
You knew from the beginning of your ascent
How false they were; and many a time at night
You may have heard them telling you in the dark
All that you never meant for me to know.
But there were those hands, always. Never mind them;
There's only a little more for them to do.
Jasper, I love you. I have always loved you.
You are not paying for that.”
Before he felt
That he was left alone, he saw his wife
Already on the stairs, and going slowly
Upward—until there was no more of her.
Racked with an indecision worse to know
Than anguish in the flesh, he was alone;
He was alone as he had been but once
In life before—when Zoë had laughed at him
And left him by the fire the night she came
To change and frighten him, as if one king's
Illusions going while his throne was trembling
Were no distress for her, and no more news
Than a tree falling. But his thoughts were far
From Zoë while he watched those quiet stairs
Where the queen was before she paused and vanished.
There was a voice that whispered, ‘Follow her’;
And then there was another that asked, ‘Why?’
And sounded to King Jasper like God's voice,
That was to be obeyed. So he went back;
And in a room where there was a new silence,
He sat alone, forbidding himself to think,
When Zoë and the prince came in together,
Intolerably at ease, and with no sorrow
Or fear on their young faces.
That he was left alone, he saw his wife
Already on the stairs, and going slowly
Upward—until there was no more of her.
Racked with an indecision worse to know
Than anguish in the flesh, he was alone;
He was alone as he had been but once
In life before—when Zoë had laughed at him
And left him by the fire the night she came
To change and frighten him, as if one king's
Illusions going while his throne was trembling
Were no distress for her, and no more news
1468
From Zoë while he watched those quiet stairs
Where the queen was before she paused and vanished.
There was a voice that whispered, ‘Follow her’;
And then there was another that asked, ‘Why?’
And sounded to King Jasper like God's voice,
That was to be obeyed. So he went back;
And in a room where there was a new silence,
He sat alone, forbidding himself to think,
When Zoë and the prince came in together,
Intolerably at ease, and with no sorrow
Or fear on their young faces.
“Well then, father,”
Young Jasper said, giving himself a chair,
“What think you of the good God and his works?
Or do you believe the Devil is all there is,
And we are phases of him? Zoë and I
Believe in both. We say the Devil is here,
And shall be here so long as kings insist
That he is God, and bend their willing knees
In adoration of his omnipotence.
Father, you have been rather adept at that
For a long time. Zoë knew all about it—
So don't reproach her. Things that are gone from us
Are not worth mourning for unless we miss them
Because we owe them tears. Now there's a dragon
Down there among the chimneys. He lives there,
And has of late been restless and unwell;
And Zoë knows why. Father, if we should lose him,
How much would there be left?”
Young Jasper said, giving himself a chair,
“What think you of the good God and his works?
Or do you believe the Devil is all there is,
And we are phases of him? Zoë and I
Believe in both. We say the Devil is here,
And shall be here so long as kings insist
That he is God, and bend their willing knees
In adoration of his omnipotence.
Father, you have been rather adept at that
For a long time. Zoë knew all about it—
So don't reproach her. Things that are gone from us
Are not worth mourning for unless we miss them
Because we owe them tears. Now there's a dragon
Down there among the chimneys. He lives there,
And has of late been restless and unwell;
And Zoë knows why. Father, if we should lose him,
How much would there be left?”
“Nothing, my son,”
His father said; “or enough not to starve on.
You know. Why do you ask?”
His father said; “or enough not to starve on.
You know. Why do you ask?”
1469
“Zoë, hear that.
Father has loved the dragon all his life,
And has admired and exhibited him
Since he began to grow. But now he knows
The dragon is sick, and has not long to live;
He knows the dragon is eating his own tail.
Is he undone for that? Has he forgotten
To smile? Not father.”
Father has loved the dragon all his life,
And has admired and exhibited him
Since he began to grow. But now he knows
The dragon is sick, and has not long to live;
He knows the dragon is eating his own tail.
Is he undone for that? Has he forgotten
To smile? Not father.”
“Now will you, for God's sake,
Be quiet awhile!” the king cried; and he groaned
In helplessness. “If you know what you are doing,
You might remember that a few still live
Who are not dancing yet with you on ashes.
No, Zoë, I was not saying that to you,
And I should not have said it. Please forgive me.”
Be quiet awhile!” the king cried; and he groaned
In helplessness. “If you know what you are doing,
You might remember that a few still live
Who are not dancing yet with you on ashes.
No, Zoë, I was not saying that to you,
And I should not have said it. Please forgive me.”
He rose and slowly walked away from them
Out of their sight; and then there was a silence.
“I don't like that,” the prince said, finally.
“Something is here that I have not found out.
There are more things and meanings in this house
Than I have yet a name for.”
Out of their sight; and then there was a silence.
“I don't like that,” the prince said, finally.
“Something is here that I have not found out.
There are more things and meanings in this house
Than I have yet a name for.”
“And there's one thing,”
Zoë said, with fear and sorrow in her voice,
“Of which I'm not so sure as you are, Jasper.
Are you so certain you could leave all this—
That you could leave your dragon, as you call it,—
That you could leave your father and your mother
When they might need you most? It's all too soon,
And all too far from those last words of one
That was my master, and my only father.
I'm like a child trying to be at home
In the wrong house. The wise one said to me
That I must always go my way alone;
And I have hoped, with you, that when he said it
He was too old to know. Was he too old?
I tire myself with asking, and still search
Myself for more than I dare find in me.
For you are one—you are the only one—
With heart and sight to feel and see with mine.
Your wisdom and your vision were asleep;
And then I found you—and was not alone.
Somehow you knew; and only God knows how
Or why it was, and is. We two together
Might be an instrument alive with music
The world has yet no ear for, but may learn.
Are you still sure that you will leave all this,
To go alone with me?”
Zoë said, with fear and sorrow in her voice,
“Of which I'm not so sure as you are, Jasper.
Are you so certain you could leave all this—
That you could leave your dragon, as you call it,—
That you could leave your father and your mother
When they might need you most? It's all too soon,
And all too far from those last words of one
That was my master, and my only father.
I'm like a child trying to be at home
In the wrong house. The wise one said to me
That I must always go my way alone;
1470
He was too old to know. Was he too old?
I tire myself with asking, and still search
Myself for more than I dare find in me.
For you are one—you are the only one—
With heart and sight to feel and see with mine.
Your wisdom and your vision were asleep;
And then I found you—and was not alone.
Somehow you knew; and only God knows how
Or why it was, and is. We two together
Might be an instrument alive with music
The world has yet no ear for, but may learn.
Are you still sure that you will leave all this,
To go alone with me?”
“Zoë, this house
Was never my home, and it must not be yours.
My only home is where you say is best
For you and me. Is there no knowledge in that?
No heart, no sight? The wise one was adrift
With his last warning. Are we not here together?
You are distraught; and this is no right air
For you to breathe; and it's as wrong for me.
Home is not in this house for either of us.
Something has happened here since yesterday,
And father knows. I have it. I'll ask mother.”
Was never my home, and it must not be yours.
My only home is where you say is best
For you and me. Is there no knowledge in that?
No heart, no sight? The wise one was adrift
With his last warning. Are we not here together?
You are distraught; and this is no right air
For you to breathe; and it's as wrong for me.
Home is not in this house for either of us.
Something has happened here since yesterday,
And father knows. I have it. I'll ask mother.”
“No, you will not, my son; you will not ask.”
King Jasper had come slowly down the stairs,
No sound announcing him. “You need not ask;
For I have brought for you your mother's answer.
Here is this letter that she left for you
And Zoë to read. Your mother, her life long,
Said sorrow had no other friend than silence.
It was her way—and may have been the best.
You will not ask. Your mother is dead, my son.”
King Jasper had come slowly down the stairs,
No sound announcing him. “You need not ask;
For I have brought for you your mother's answer.
Here is this letter that she left for you
And Zoë to read. Your mother, her life long,
Said sorrow had no other friend than silence.
1471
You will not ask. Your mother is dead, my son.”
VI
King Jasper, for a month incarcerate
In his own castle, and without a queen
To serve him with her grace and her cool beauty,
Sat waiting, as the prince and Zoë knew,
And he knew, for the night that must come soon,
And with it the reward of his last freedom,
Which he hoped would be darkness, and no dreams.
When he told Zoë that, she said, “No God,
No Law, no Purpose, could have hatched for sport
Out of warm water and slime, a war for life
That was unnecessary, and far better
Never had been—if man, as we behold him,
Is all it means. Father, if I were you,
I should not think too vigorously today
Of what it means. Your doing it only shows
That even a king, when he is vexed and worn,
Is a bit fearful of his imperfections.
You cannot have the past, and cannot want it;
You must have what's to be, and cannot help it.
If it is all, there's nothing to be feared;
If it is nothing, it is not worth fearing.”
In his own castle, and without a queen
To serve him with her grace and her cool beauty,
Sat waiting, as the prince and Zoë knew,
And he knew, for the night that must come soon,
And with it the reward of his last freedom,
Which he hoped would be darkness, and no dreams.
When he told Zoë that, she said, “No God,
No Law, no Purpose, could have hatched for sport
Out of warm water and slime, a war for life
That was unnecessary, and far better
Never had been—if man, as we behold him,
Is all it means. Father, if I were you,
I should not think too vigorously today
Of what it means. Your doing it only shows
That even a king, when he is vexed and worn,
Is a bit fearful of his imperfections.
You cannot have the past, and cannot want it;
You must have what's to be, and cannot help it.
If it is all, there's nothing to be feared;
If it is nothing, it is not worth fearing.”
“Your pliant logic forgets compensation,”
King Jasper said. “No, Zoë, it's not the price
I'm paying, that I resent; it's the worse folly
Than mine, that mine shall have to suffer for
When I'm forgotten. There would be no kings
If there were none to suffer.”
King Jasper said. “No, Zoë, it's not the price
I'm paying, that I resent; it's the worse folly
Than mine, that mine shall have to suffer for
When I'm forgotten. There would be no kings
If there were none to suffer.”
“There might be,”
Zoë said, smiling. “We should all be kings,
Or queens, if we could see ourselves in others.
But that's a long, long way from where we are;
And a few suffocatings and blood-drenchings
Of helpless heroes who will not know why,
Or what it means, will show the devil's ahead,
With banners and with music of all nations.
The devil is an impartial patriot,
Unprejudiced as he is promiscuous.
Today the devil is more than God. Tomorrow
He will be more, and more. Out of it all
He'll come with crutches, and not the devil he was.
Father, don't ask me when, for I don't know.
Suppose you go to sleep. You're laughing at me,
And that's as well as saying you aren't afraid.
You call it compensation, but how many
Resplendent and more shining sinners than you
Have had their sainted end, and, unsuspected,
Gone gloriously, and with heart-shaking strains
Attending them to their small paradise
Of worms without a king. If retribution
Were general and inevitable, and assured,
Our bleeding progress upward from the mud
Might have been longer had there been no kings,
Or queens, or other ambitious anthropoids
Without a conscience before history.
If I were you, I should give Hebron's ghost
My crown of glory, and leave the rest to God.
I don't say what God is, but it's a name
That somehow answers us when we are driven
To feel and think how little we have to do
With what we are.”
Zoë said, smiling. “We should all be kings,
1472
But that's a long, long way from where we are;
And a few suffocatings and blood-drenchings
Of helpless heroes who will not know why,
Or what it means, will show the devil's ahead,
With banners and with music of all nations.
The devil is an impartial patriot,
Unprejudiced as he is promiscuous.
Today the devil is more than God. Tomorrow
He will be more, and more. Out of it all
He'll come with crutches, and not the devil he was.
Father, don't ask me when, for I don't know.
Suppose you go to sleep. You're laughing at me,
And that's as well as saying you aren't afraid.
You call it compensation, but how many
Resplendent and more shining sinners than you
Have had their sainted end, and, unsuspected,
Gone gloriously, and with heart-shaking strains
Attending them to their small paradise
Of worms without a king. If retribution
Were general and inevitable, and assured,
Our bleeding progress upward from the mud
Might have been longer had there been no kings,
Or queens, or other ambitious anthropoids
Without a conscience before history.
If I were you, I should give Hebron's ghost
My crown of glory, and leave the rest to God.
I don't say what God is, but it's a name
That somehow answers us when we are driven
To feel and think how little we have to do
With what we are.”
“If I were a sick cat,
Zoë, I might not mind your stroking me,
And smoothing me,” the king said: “Go away.”
So Zoë stroke the king, and went away—
But only as far as to another room,
Where the prince greeted her with a lost look
Of conflict in his eyes, and with a smile
For sight of her. “Zoë, if all my thoughts
Were deeds,” he said, “I should take you and father
Away from here. But force would only kill him.
Father will never go.”
Zoë, I might not mind your stroking me,
And smoothing me,” the king said: “Go away.”
1473
But only as far as to another room,
Where the prince greeted her with a lost look
Of conflict in his eyes, and with a smile
For sight of her. “Zoë, if all my thoughts
Were deeds,” he said, “I should take you and father
Away from here. But force would only kill him.
Father will never go.”
“And you,” she said,
“Will stay with him as long as he is here.
Nature is more than love, more than all knowledge.
If you should leave him to die here alone,
Nature would bind your knowledge with hard knots
That neither my love nor your philosophy
Would ever untie. He cannot go from here.
His kingdom and his power and his glory
Are with him still, and here. He cannot go—
Nor you; but I must go, for I must live.
My father—my wise father, not the king—
Told me I must, and saw for me the means
To live when he was gone. ‘For you must live,’
He said to me, ‘and sometimes wonder why;
And you must always go your way alone.’
And those words follow me. If we have found
Ourselves, and in each other, why should nature
Sunder us—just for that? I'm like a child
Trying to find the answer; and all the while
I know it, and am afraid because I know it.
With you, because I love you, I'm a waif
Afraid of nature, and of going so far
Alone—if I must go.”
“Will stay with him as long as he is here.
Nature is more than love, more than all knowledge.
If you should leave him to die here alone,
Nature would bind your knowledge with hard knots
That neither my love nor your philosophy
Would ever untie. He cannot go from here.
His kingdom and his power and his glory
Are with him still, and here. He cannot go—
Nor you; but I must go, for I must live.
My father—my wise father, not the king—
Told me I must, and saw for me the means
To live when he was gone. ‘For you must live,’
He said to me, ‘and sometimes wonder why;
And you must always go your way alone.’
And those words follow me. If we have found
Ourselves, and in each other, why should nature
Sunder us—just for that? I'm like a child
Trying to find the answer; and all the while
I know it, and am afraid because I know it.
With you, because I love you, I'm a waif
Afraid of nature, and of going so far
Alone—if I must go.”
“You are not going
Alone,” he said, seizing her ravenously;
“For you are going with me. If not at once
Well, shall we love each other any better
If we sit scared and shivering while we wait
For what's to come, and only watch the clock
And count its hours until my father dies?
Your wise one, even with eyes all over him,
Could not have seen so far as to see that.”
Alone,” he said, seizing her ravenously;
1474
Well, shall we love each other any better
If we sit scared and shivering while we wait
For what's to come, and only watch the clock
And count its hours until my father dies?
Your wise one, even with eyes all over him,
Could not have seen so far as to see that.”
“No,” she said, thoughtfully, “he never saw that.
I love you, but I cannot love your picture.
Please leave me out of it. There are some others
That we had best forget; they are too vague
To name, and too malevolent to remember.
They are like fires that once were lights, but now
Are smoke and embers. So forget everything,
Except your father.”
I love you, but I cannot love your picture.
Please leave me out of it. There are some others
That we had best forget; they are too vague
To name, and too malevolent to remember.
They are like fires that once were lights, but now
Are smoke and embers. So forget everything,
Except your father.”
“Are you to be forgotten?”
He was still holding her and searching her
For more than she would say.
He was still holding her and searching her
For more than she would say.
“No—nor your mother,
Nothing was left for her. So, like your father,
And like yourself, she could not go from here—
Save only by one door that she could see;
And that was a closed door. She opened it,
And now she is not here. She was not made
For changes; and wherever she is today
Is better for her than this. Your father waits,
And even smiles a little. He says my knife
Found his heart first one night while he was dreaming,
And left him as he is. But he knows better:
He knows my knife had found him long before
I came. All that he did not know before
Was whose knife it might be that he had felt
Before he dreamed of me. He knows me now,
And wishes I might love him as a father.
He says he is my father—which is more
Than I supposed he knew. I hope he goes
Before us—for if we are here too long
We may not fare so well.”
Nothing was left for her. So, like your father,
And like yourself, she could not go from here—
Save only by one door that she could see;
And that was a closed door. She opened it,
And now she is not here. She was not made
For changes; and wherever she is today
Is better for her than this. Your father waits,
And even smiles a little. He says my knife
Found his heart first one night while he was dreaming,
And left him as he is. But he knows better:
He knows my knife had found him long before
I came. All that he did not know before
Was whose knife it might be that he had felt
1475
And wishes I might love him as a father.
He says he is my father—which is more
Than I supposed he knew. I hope he goes
Before us—for if we are here too long
We may not fare so well.”
“Zoë, I think
If you were led one night by skeletons
To a new grave, and saw yourself there dead,
You would not be distressed or interested.
You'd only say to them, ‘You call it Zoë,
Yet I'm still here alive; for I must live.
Cover that up, and let's go somewhere else.’
I think that's what you'd say. ... But tell me, Zoë,
What's under this? If we have found ourselves,
As you say, in each other, you might say more.”
If you were led one night by skeletons
To a new grave, and saw yourself there dead,
You would not be distressed or interested.
You'd only say to them, ‘You call it Zoë,
Yet I'm still here alive; for I must live.
Cover that up, and let's go somewhere else.’
I think that's what you'd say. ... But tell me, Zoë,
What's under this? If we have found ourselves,
As you say, in each other, you might say more.”
“Jasper,” she said, “you know that place of ours
Outside, above this house, where we look down
And far away to where we see the chimneys,
And where your dragon lives. I was up there
This afternoon alone and found a rock—
Just a flat rock that lay there, for no reason;
And I said to myself, and for no reason,
‘What's under it?’ I could not lift the rock;
And what was under it I cannot tell you.
And like as not there was not anything ...
What have I said? Why do you look at me
As if you were afraid?”
Outside, above this house, where we look down
And far away to where we see the chimneys,
And where your dragon lives. I was up there
This afternoon alone and found a rock—
Just a flat rock that lay there, for no reason;
And I said to myself, and for no reason,
‘What's under it?’ I could not lift the rock;
And what was under it I cannot tell you.
And like as not there was not anything ...
What have I said? Why do you look at me
As if you were afraid?”
“Because I am,”
He said, and held her closer while he gazed
Into her silent eyes and felt her trembling,
For the first time. “Zoë, if you should die ...”
She smiled, as if to pay a debt she owed,
And drew his face slowly to hers and kissed him
Until he could not see. “I shall not die,”
She said, letting him go, “for I must live.
The wise one said I must.”
He said, and held her closer while he gazed
Into her silent eyes and felt her trembling,
For the first time. “Zoë, if you should die ...”
1476
And drew his face slowly to hers and kissed him
Until he could not see. “I shall not die,”
She said, letting him go, “for I must live.
The wise one said I must.”
“The wise one said
That you must live, Zoë, and go alone,”
The prince replied. “Have I forgotten that?”
That you must live, Zoë, and go alone,”
The prince replied. “Have I forgotten that?”
“There may have been a blemish in his wisdom,
For we are still together, and still breathing.
So are the chimneys. They are still alive,
But less alive than they were yesterday.
Jasper, I fear the dragon is no better,”
Said Zoë.
For we are still together, and still breathing.
So are the chimneys. They are still alive,
But less alive than they were yesterday.
Jasper, I fear the dragon is no better,”
Said Zoë.
“The dragon is dying,” said the prince,
And sat there, staring absently away,
Far off and far below him, at the chimneys;
And while he stared at them he did not see them.
“I was not thinking of the dragon, Zoë,”
He said, and drew her towards him till she sank
And rested in his arms. And they were silent
Longer than there was light; and after twilight
They were there still, and silent.
And sat there, staring absently away,
Far off and far below him, at the chimneys;
And while he stared at them he did not see them.
“I was not thinking of the dragon, Zoë,”
He said, and drew her towards him till she sank
And rested in his arms. And they were silent
Longer than there was light; and after twilight
They were there still, and silent.
After dark,
King Jasper, with a restive wilfulness
That would not yield either to pleas or warnings,
Went back to the same place and the same chair
That he sought always to find solitude,
And a king's privilege to be left alone,
If so he would. He was alone tonight,
With only a dark window fronting him
For company. He watched, and saw the chimneys
Although they were invisible in the gloom
That lay now on his kingdom like an ocean
Holding an unseen and mysterious life
That he could feel was near, and coming nearer.
“But it may not be life; it may be death,”
He thought, and smiled, remembering Zoë's reasons
Why dying was not worth fearing. He believed her—
Until he saw, far down and far away,
A shining and a rising of wild light
That never was there before.
King Jasper, with a restive wilfulness
That would not yield either to pleas or warnings,
Went back to the same place and the same chair
That he sought always to find solitude,
And a king's privilege to be left alone,
If so he would. He was alone tonight,
1477
For company. He watched, and saw the chimneys
Although they were invisible in the gloom
That lay now on his kingdom like an ocean
Holding an unseen and mysterious life
That he could feel was near, and coming nearer.
“But it may not be life; it may be death,”
He thought, and smiled, remembering Zoë's reasons
Why dying was not worth fearing. He believed her—
Until he saw, far down and far away,
A shining and a rising of wild light
That never was there before.
“You see it, father!”
The prince cried, rushing in. “I should have said
It was not coming yet—as we all say,
After it happens.”
The prince cried, rushing in. “I should have said
It was not coming yet—as we all say,
After it happens.”
“Yes, your father sees it,”
Zoë said, calmly; “and he sees nothing else.
Why should he, when his kingdom is on fire,
See you, or me? If you and I were lying
At his feet dead, he would not see us yet—
Or, seeing us, he would say that for some reason
We were there dead. He would know what we were.
But this thing that has come, even though he knew
That it must come, in one way or another,
Is more than a king's fear to see too soon
The least invisible of things imminent
Will recognize at once as Nemesis.
And if our voices found their way to him,
He would hear only sound somewhere behind him,
Like a rat grinding, or like hands unceasing
That he has heard before.”
Zoë said, calmly; “and he sees nothing else.
Why should he, when his kingdom is on fire,
See you, or me? If you and I were lying
At his feet dead, he would not see us yet—
Or, seeing us, he would say that for some reason
We were there dead. He would know what we were.
But this thing that has come, even though he knew
That it must come, in one way or another,
Is more than a king's fear to see too soon
The least invisible of things imminent
Will recognize at once as Nemesis.
And if our voices found their way to him,
He would hear only sound somewhere behind him,
Like a rat grinding, or like hands unceasing
That he has heard before.”
1478
If the king listened,
Or heard, there was no sign; for in that light
He could see chimneys that were no delusions
Of a nostalgic fancy. One light followed
Another, wherever the planted spawn of doom
Bloomed into flame and rose to find the sky
And burn the firmament. He had forgotten
Zoë, and all that she had said of death.
Here was a death worth dying; here was a pyre
Of life worth dying for. He glorified it,
And reverenced it, until he saw himself
The body and fact and apex of it all,
And a world humbled by the noise and shine
Of a king leaving it. Silent he sat,
And saw. There was a nameless exultation
In having all this alive, not leaving it
As a memorial and an after-show
For friends and strangers. Joy and fear together
Filled the king's cup till only fear was left
For him to taste—fear and astonishment
And revelation that must be a lie,
Or an insane illusion. While he watched
His glory going, and so magnificently,
And trembled as it went, a shaken chimney—
The tallest and the mightiest of them all—
Fell with a crash and insult of lost sound
That must have agitated and deranged
Earth and the stars. All else that he could see
Might be a dream, or a majestic fiction,
With Hebron, like a wizard in his grave,
Inspiring it; but in this fall and ruin
And end that was epitomized and real
Against that fury of light, no kings alive
Could not know what was falling.
Or heard, there was no sign; for in that light
He could see chimneys that were no delusions
Of a nostalgic fancy. One light followed
Another, wherever the planted spawn of doom
Bloomed into flame and rose to find the sky
And burn the firmament. He had forgotten
Zoë, and all that she had said of death.
Here was a death worth dying; here was a pyre
Of life worth dying for. He glorified it,
And reverenced it, until he saw himself
The body and fact and apex of it all,
And a world humbled by the noise and shine
Of a king leaving it. Silent he sat,
And saw. There was a nameless exultation
In having all this alive, not leaving it
As a memorial and an after-show
For friends and strangers. Joy and fear together
Filled the king's cup till only fear was left
For him to taste—fear and astonishment
And revelation that must be a lie,
Or an insane illusion. While he watched
His glory going, and so magnificently,
And trembled as it went, a shaken chimney—
The tallest and the mightiest of them all—
Fell with a crash and insult of lost sound
That must have agitated and deranged
Earth and the stars. All else that he could see
Might be a dream, or a majestic fiction,
With Hebron, like a wizard in his grave,
Inspiring it; but in this fall and ruin
And end that was epitomized and real
Against that fury of light, no kings alive
Could not know what was falling.
1479
“You saw it, father,”
The prince said, “and you might almost have heard it.
If it must come, it may as well come tonight;
For this will be as apt a night as any,
Maybe, for blindness to be burning itself
Alive—but not to die ... There goes another.
Don't see it, father, unless you, as we do—
Zoë and I—believe, since they are going,
That all of them had best be down at once,
And done with. They are not worth watching, father.
And if their falling so inevitably,
And finally, is no sight for a king's eyes,
Shut them, and do not see it. Nothing is left
Down there for you, or me; and surely nothing
To let me leave you here alone with Zoë.
And if I should go down, and were seen there,
There's a vast chance that I might not come back—
From doing no good.”
The prince said, “and you might almost have heard it.
If it must come, it may as well come tonight;
For this will be as apt a night as any,
Maybe, for blindness to be burning itself
Alive—but not to die ... There goes another.
Don't see it, father, unless you, as we do—
Zoë and I—believe, since they are going,
That all of them had best be down at once,
And done with. They are not worth watching, father.
And if their falling so inevitably,
And finally, is no sight for a king's eyes,
Shut them, and do not see it. Nothing is left
Down there for you, or me; and surely nothing
To let me leave you here alone with Zoë.
And if I should go down, and were seen there,
There's a vast chance that I might not come back—
From doing no good.”
The king replied, and calmly,
“No, it would do no good. I should not love you,
My son, or prize you more, for being a fool.
Trouble, I knew, and had foreseen, was coming—
But not so suddenly, and with no sign.”
“No, it would do no good. I should not love you,
My son, or prize you more, for being a fool.
Trouble, I knew, and had foreseen, was coming—
But not so suddenly, and with no sign.”
“Father, because you are a king, perhaps,
Your words are not your thoughts. They have had always
A sort of covering lightness to conceal
The most of what they meant when they said least.
Habit is much like love—stronger than death.
This is not trouble, father; this is war.”
Your words are not your thoughts. They have had always
A sort of covering lightness to conceal
The most of what they meant when they said least.
Habit is much like love—stronger than death.
This is not trouble, father; this is war.”
“Yes, I know what it is,” the king said, faintly:
“I'll say no more. There is no more to say.”
The prince, with hesitation chilling him
With sorrow and uncertainty, said, “Father,
I waited before saying it, but this house
Is empty—save for you and Zoë and me—
And might as well be a forgotten island
In a forsaken ocean. How it was done,
Or when, or by what miracle of deceit
And treachery, I know not. There is no calling
From here; and if we called, and someone came—
What then? You cannot go away from here;
And if ten giants were telling you that you must,
You would not understand them. You would say
That mother's way out was right. It may have been.
See, father—or don't see. There goes another.
They will all go ... Father—what is it! Father!”
“I'll say no more. There is no more to say.”
1480
With sorrow and uncertainty, said, “Father,
I waited before saying it, but this house
Is empty—save for you and Zoë and me—
And might as well be a forgotten island
In a forsaken ocean. How it was done,
Or when, or by what miracle of deceit
And treachery, I know not. There is no calling
From here; and if we called, and someone came—
What then? You cannot go away from here;
And if ten giants were telling you that you must,
You would not understand them. You would say
That mother's way out was right. It may have been.
See, father—or don't see. There goes another.
They will all go ... Father—what is it! Father!”
“Zoë,” the king said. “Zoë—Zoë—my son ...
You found him, and you knew him. ... You together ...
I don't know ... You know ... Zoë—Zoë—the knife!
Zoë—and you—together ...”
You found him, and you knew him. ... You together ...
I don't know ... You know ... Zoë—Zoë—the knife!
Zoë—and you—together ...”
That was all
The king said, and the prince said nothing more;
And that would have been strange, had not just then
The sound of a loud shot shaken the room
With noise that might have been the crash of judgment
On a dishonored world where only Zoë
Was left with ears that were alive, and eyes
To see the prince lying still where he had fallen
Between her and the king, with not a word
For either, and with a bullet through his brain.
The king said, and the prince said nothing more;
And that would have been strange, had not just then
The sound of a loud shot shaken the room
With noise that might have been the crash of judgment
On a dishonored world where only Zoë
Was left with ears that were alive, and eyes
To see the prince lying still where he had fallen
Between her and the king, with not a word
For either, and with a bullet through his brain.
The king heard nothing, and saw no more fire
Below him, and saw no more chimneys falling.
No matter how many of them were still to fall,
The king would not have cared. He was asleep;
And on his face there was a gratefulness
For a last wound that he no longer felt;
And on as much as death had left of him
There was a final peace.
Below him, and saw no more chimneys falling.
No matter how many of them were still to fall,
1481
And on his face there was a gratefulness
For a last wound that he no longer felt;
And on as much as death had left of him
There was a final peace.
Zoë found time,
Before she learned that she was still alive
To sorrow and to passion, for thanksgiving
To change and fate that there was neither king
Nor queen now in the house to know what else
Was there. The prince, lying silent at her feet,
Was more than she would see, while on her knees
She touched and felt him, and knew what it was
That once had held her in its arms and laughed,
And loved her, and was happy having her there.
Now it was long ago. The wise one knew
That she must go alone, waiting for time
And life to blind themselves in finding her,
And sometime to have eyes. Tears, filling hers,
Were merciful at first, and for a spell
Made her forget that while she was alone
With two that would not answer if she spoke,
She could feel eyes of one somewhere behind her
Who might not wait.
Before she learned that she was still alive
To sorrow and to passion, for thanksgiving
To change and fate that there was neither king
Nor queen now in the house to know what else
Was there. The prince, lying silent at her feet,
Was more than she would see, while on her knees
She touched and felt him, and knew what it was
That once had held her in its arms and laughed,
And loved her, and was happy having her there.
Now it was long ago. The wise one knew
That she must go alone, waiting for time
And life to blind themselves in finding her,
And sometime to have eyes. Tears, filling hers,
Were merciful at first, and for a spell
Made her forget that while she was alone
With two that would not answer if she spoke,
She could feel eyes of one somewhere behind her
Who might not wait.
“You see him,” said Young Hebron,
“There where I laid him for your majesty
The king to see. Is he not beautiful?
Look, look, your majesty. Have you no eyes
To see the son and heir of all your power
And glory that you have stolen? And, down there,
Do you see the fire and light that you have kindled
So slowly and so thoroughly? Do you see it,
Your majesty? Oh, yes, you must have seen it.
Now look away from it, and see this thing
Down here that would have carried your torch along,
And maybe lighted with it merrier fires,
Larger than yours. Look, look, your majesty!
Have you no interest? And have you no pride?”
“There where I laid him for your majesty
The king to see. Is he not beautiful?
Look, look, your majesty. Have you no eyes
To see the son and heir of all your power
And glory that you have stolen? And, down there,
Do you see the fire and light that you have kindled
So slowly and so thoroughly? Do you see it,
Your majesty? Oh, yes, you must have seen it.
1482
Down here that would have carried your torch along,
And maybe lighted with it merrier fires,
Larger than yours. Look, look, your majesty!
Have you no interest? And have you no pride?”
Young Hebron, coming forward, found the king
Indifferent in his chair, and Zoë kneeling
Over the prince, whose torch was hers to carry
Unseen by time and man. “You are too late,”
She said from where she knelt. Her eyes, now clear
To shine with all the grief and fiery scorn
That lighted them, saw leering there before her
The stained and heated face of a lust-drunken
Demoniac, who in his task and frenzy
Of twice-avenging hate had not forgotten
The one sight he had had of Zoë's face,
Or the untold enigma of her beauty,
Or the clear scorn of her supremacy,
Or Zoë's last word one day.
Indifferent in his chair, and Zoë kneeling
Over the prince, whose torch was hers to carry
Unseen by time and man. “You are too late,”
She said from where she knelt. Her eyes, now clear
To shine with all the grief and fiery scorn
That lighted them, saw leering there before her
The stained and heated face of a lust-drunken
Demoniac, who in his task and frenzy
Of twice-avenging hate had not forgotten
The one sight he had had of Zoë's face,
Or the untold enigma of her beauty,
Or the clear scorn of her supremacy,
Or Zoë's last word one day.
“You are too late,”
She said to him again. Now she had risen,
And was erect and unafraid before him,
Her eyes afire with scorn, and had he known it,
With a despairing pity. “And you have done
Your work so well that I see nothing for me
To do but go. Leave me, and let your madness
Be the one medicine that will ease a little
Your blistered hatred of all things there are
That are not you, or yours, and cannot be.
Leave me, and let your poor, sick, stricken soul
Suffer until it feels; and let it feel
Until it sees. You will have died meanwhile,
But who knows death? Why am I not afraid,
With death all round me, and with you before me?
You are not far enough yet out of the jungle
Of poisoned heat where you have groped and grown
To be the thing you are. Leave me, I say.
I said your work was done. Did you suppose
That I was lying to you, or was mistaken?
I have made my mistakes, but none so large
Or gross as yours would be in your delusion
Of doing worse wrong to me than fate already
Has let you do. Now I see partly why.
But even fate has its ends, as roads and rivers
Have theirs; and if we gaze ahead for them,
Sometimes, if all is clear, we may foresee them.
What more than death is left here in this house
For you to gloat on or to linger for?
The father and the mother and the son
Have had their tribulations and are gone.
When all are buried, there will be three graves
For you to visit and blaspheme unhindered—
If you will let me go. They will not care.
Will not three be sufficient—with all the others
That you are filling and are yet to fill,
Without a fourth?”
She said to him again. Now she had risen,
And was erect and unafraid before him,
Her eyes afire with scorn, and had he known it,
With a despairing pity. “And you have done
Your work so well that I see nothing for me
To do but go. Leave me, and let your madness
Be the one medicine that will ease a little
Your blistered hatred of all things there are
That are not you, or yours, and cannot be.
Leave me, and let your poor, sick, stricken soul
Suffer until it feels; and let it feel
Until it sees. You will have died meanwhile,
But who knows death? Why am I not afraid,
1483
You are not far enough yet out of the jungle
Of poisoned heat where you have groped and grown
To be the thing you are. Leave me, I say.
I said your work was done. Did you suppose
That I was lying to you, or was mistaken?
I have made my mistakes, but none so large
Or gross as yours would be in your delusion
Of doing worse wrong to me than fate already
Has let you do. Now I see partly why.
But even fate has its ends, as roads and rivers
Have theirs; and if we gaze ahead for them,
Sometimes, if all is clear, we may foresee them.
What more than death is left here in this house
For you to gloat on or to linger for?
The father and the mother and the son
Have had their tribulations and are gone.
When all are buried, there will be three graves
For you to visit and blaspheme unhindered—
If you will let me go. They will not care.
Will not three be sufficient—with all the others
That you are filling and are yet to fill,
Without a fourth?”
“One more mistake of yours,
My lady Zoë, and an unworthy one
For such a piece of nature's work as you are
To waste your time and fire and eloquence
In making. Your three graves will be enough—
Oh, quite enough. If you are teaching fear
To tell you that a fourth will be for you,
Tell fear to sleep in it, and to stay dead.
Let fear be as dead as these two things are dead,
Which only by God's negligence had life.
Let fear be the least echo of a thought
That has no voice. Are you afraid of me?
God! If you are, you do not know me, Zoë.
You do not know that you and I together
Are God's elected who shall fire the world
With consecrated hate and sacrifice,
Leaving it warm for knowledge, and for love.
You are too tender, Zoë, to know knowledge.
You have it, and it only frightens you;
You have it, you are overflowing with it;
And there are gleams of it that I must have.
Nothing that's only one was ever itself.
You do not know that yet; you are too young.
You may have had your dolls, and a few playthings
You may have thought were men. That's one of them—
Down there; and you may say what he is worth.
Zoë, you read without your alphabet.
You do not yet know love.”
My lady Zoë, and an unworthy one
For such a piece of nature's work as you are
To waste your time and fire and eloquence
In making. Your three graves will be enough—
Oh, quite enough. If you are teaching fear
To tell you that a fourth will be for you,
Tell fear to sleep in it, and to stay dead.
Let fear be as dead as these two things are dead,
Which only by God's negligence had life.
Let fear be the least echo of a thought
1484
God! If you are, you do not know me, Zoë.
You do not know that you and I together
Are God's elected who shall fire the world
With consecrated hate and sacrifice,
Leaving it warm for knowledge, and for love.
You are too tender, Zoë, to know knowledge.
You have it, and it only frightens you;
You have it, you are overflowing with it;
And there are gleams of it that I must have.
Nothing that's only one was ever itself.
You do not know that yet; you are too young.
You may have had your dolls, and a few playthings
You may have thought were men. That's one of them—
Down there; and you may say what he is worth.
Zoë, you read without your alphabet.
You do not yet know love.”
With a quick plunge
He seized her; and before she could resist him,
He smeared her lips with his hot mouth, and laughed,
Holding her at arms' length and leering at her
With uninformed assurance of possession.
That only sickened and awakened her
To calm necessity. She did not shriek,
Or struggle, or swoon; she stood and looked at him,
As a child frightened might look innocently
At a mad, prowling stranger who had found her
In a still house alone.
He seized her; and before she could resist him,
He smeared her lips with his hot mouth, and laughed,
Holding her at arms' length and leering at her
With uninformed assurance of possession.
That only sickened and awakened her
To calm necessity. She did not shriek,
Or struggle, or swoon; she stood and looked at him,
As a child frightened might look innocently
At a mad, prowling stranger who had found her
In a still house alone.
“So then,” he chuckled,
Pinching her shoulders with his greedy fingers,
“My lady Zoë is not unteachable.
Your knowledge is your safety and your armor
Against impatience and irreverent haste.
You don't know yet how gentle a man like me,
So long as he's not misinterpreted,
Or thwarted by she-devils or she-saints,
May show and prove himself. Which of the two
You are, we'll see. You may be saint or devil—
Or both. We'll see.”
Pinching her shoulders with his greedy fingers,
“My lady Zoë is not unteachable.
Your knowledge is your safety and your armor
Against impatience and irreverent haste.
1485
So long as he's not misinterpreted,
Or thwarted by she-devils or she-saints,
May show and prove himself. Which of the two
You are, we'll see. You may be saint or devil—
Or both. We'll see.”
“Which of the two I am,
She said, “is more than you may learn of me
When you have crushed my bones till I can't speak.”
She said it slowly, and with what he thought
Was the beginning of a yielding smile
In unrevealing eyes. She felt his hands
Relaxing, and stood silent while she felt
Possession in his laugh. ... “Why do you watch
The clock so thoughtfully? Are minutes precious?
What are your minutes worth tonight?” she asked.
She said, “is more than you may learn of me
When you have crushed my bones till I can't speak.”
She said it slowly, and with what he thought
Was the beginning of a yielding smile
In unrevealing eyes. She felt his hands
Relaxing, and stood silent while she felt
Possession in his laugh. ... “Why do you watch
The clock so thoughtfully? Are minutes precious?
What are your minutes worth tonight?” she asked.
He left her free: “Yes, in this house they are.
Your clock is true—as this is that I tell you:
In a few minutes there will be no house.
The servants of his late damned majesty,
There in his chair, were all my slaves and agents.
This house is mined and woven with doom and flame
That hides and waits for no more than a spark.
So, come with me; and when you know me, help me
To light for blinded man the fire of truth.
Yes, you must come with me; for I must have you.
One glimpse of you said that.”
Your clock is true—as this is that I tell you:
In a few minutes there will be no house.
The servants of his late damned majesty,
There in his chair, were all my slaves and agents.
This house is mined and woven with doom and flame
That hides and waits for no more than a spark.
So, come with me; and when you know me, help me
To light for blinded man the fire of truth.
Yes, you must come with me; for I must have you.
One glimpse of you said that.”
She moved a little
Away from him, and held him with a look
That angered him with fear of the unknown
In her that mocked him while she said, “My dream,
And only distant vision of a purpose,
Has always been to make those who are blinded,
Like you, begin to see. Before we go,
Give me one lonely moment with these two
Who loved me. One of them was too old and worn
To change, or live; and one of them was too young
And wise to die. In him that you see lying
So quiet, there's half of me that you have killed.
Why would you kill the rest of me, I wonder.”
She knelt beside the prince, and falling on him,
Fondled his upturned face for the last time,
And laid his hands together. And then she went
To the king's chair; and for a moment hidden,
Was only heard. “Poor king!” she said; “poor father!”
And then, appearing with her hands behind her,
She waited while she said, “Poor prince! Poor love!
I loved you, and he killed you; and I must live,
And go alone—all as the wise one said.”
Away from him, and held him with a look
That angered him with fear of the unknown
In her that mocked him while she said, “My dream,
And only distant vision of a purpose,
1486
Like you, begin to see. Before we go,
Give me one lonely moment with these two
Who loved me. One of them was too old and worn
To change, or live; and one of them was too young
And wise to die. In him that you see lying
So quiet, there's half of me that you have killed.
Why would you kill the rest of me, I wonder.”
She knelt beside the prince, and falling on him,
Fondled his upturned face for the last time,
And laid his hands together. And then she went
To the king's chair; and for a moment hidden,
Was only heard. “Poor king!” she said; “poor father!”
And then, appearing with her hands behind her,
She waited while she said, “Poor prince! Poor love!
I loved you, and he killed you; and I must live,
And go alone—all as the wise one said.”
“Come!” cried a wolfish voice. “No more of this.
You are not going alone. You go with me.
You will forget this carrion of the past,
And pity yourself for the lost pride and tears
That you have wasted in remembering it.
Come—there is no more time. ... What have you there
Behind you? Will you speak? Damn you, I think
You will.”
You are not going alone. You go with me.
You will forget this carrion of the past,
And pity yourself for the lost pride and tears
That you have wasted in remembering it.
Come—there is no more time. ... What have you there
Behind you? Will you speak? Damn you, I think
You will.”
“Yes, I will speak, and you shall listen.
I am a woman, and have changed my mind.
I am not going. I am not going—with you.”
I am a woman, and have changed my mind.
I am not going. I am not going—with you.”
“You are not going? You are not going—with me?
God—are you mad! Would you rather stay here and die—
With me?”
God—are you mad! Would you rather stay here and die—
With me?”
1487
“No, I should not like that,” she said.
“I'd rather die here alone, if I must die.
But I must live.”
“I'd rather die here alone, if I must die.
But I must live.”
He cursed, and rushed at her,
And hardly saw the narrow flash of steel
Before he felt it in his throat and sank
Like a slain weight of hot mortality
That still had breath to speak. “Zoë,” it said,
“For God's sake, go away. ... You cannot die—
With me...Zoë!... I know...”
And hardly saw the narrow flash of steel
Before he felt it in his throat and sank
Like a slain weight of hot mortality
That still had breath to speak. “Zoë,” it said,
“For God's sake, go away. ... You cannot die—
With me...Zoë!... I know...”
“You do not know,”
She said, “You cannot know. You think you know,
But only because you hear death telling you.
If you should live, time would have room for you,
And folly worse than this. It's well for folly
That centuries are so many, and far to count.
Fools against fools have a long time to fight.”
She said, “You cannot know. You think you know,
But only because you hear death telling you.
If you should live, time would have room for you,
And folly worse than this. It's well for folly
That centuries are so many, and far to count.
Fools against fools have a long time to fight.”
“Zoë—I know,” he groaned. “Look in my eyes—
Look once—and go ... Zoë, for God's sake, go!
Go—go—for you must live ...”
Look once—and go ... Zoë, for God's sake, go!
Go—go—for you must live ...”
Zoë looked once
Into his eyes, and said, “Yes, I must live—
And I believe you know. And I believe,
If you should live, that you would soon forget.
Poor fool! Poor clamoring soul! It says it knows,
Only because it feels too late the knife
Of knowledge it has lost.”
Into his eyes, and said, “Yes, I must live—
And I believe you know. And I believe,
If you should live, that you would soon forget.
Poor fool! Poor clamoring soul! It says it knows,
Only because it feels too late the knife
Of knowledge it has lost.”
“Zoë—I know ...
I know, and you must live ... because I know.
There's no time ... Go away—out of this house.
For you must live ... I know! ...”
I know, and you must live ... because I know.
1488
For you must live ... I know! ...”
At last outside,
And half-way to the place where many a time
She and the prince had felt a shadow on them,
And on the king's house that was under them,
And on the chimneys, breathing power and smoke,
Below them, far away, Zoë, alone,
Fled upward through the darkness. She was hearing
Crashes and rumblings in the house behind her
That she had left; and over her shoulder now,
She could see flame within that filled the windows
With more than fire and light. More than a house
Was burning; and far below her more than chimneys
Were falling. ... Now she could rest, and she could see
Two fires at once that were a kingdom burning.
In one of them there was the king himself,
The prince, and their destroyer. In the other,
With chimneys falling on him while he burned,
There was a dragon dying. ... Nothing alive
Was left of Jasper's kingdom. There was only
Zoë. There was only Zoë—alone.
And half-way to the place where many a time
She and the prince had felt a shadow on them,
And on the king's house that was under them,
And on the chimneys, breathing power and smoke,
Below them, far away, Zoë, alone,
Fled upward through the darkness. She was hearing
Crashes and rumblings in the house behind her
That she had left; and over her shoulder now,
She could see flame within that filled the windows
With more than fire and light. More than a house
Was burning; and far below her more than chimneys
Were falling. ... Now she could rest, and she could see
Two fires at once that were a kingdom burning.
In one of them there was the king himself,
The prince, and their destroyer. In the other,
With chimneys falling on him while he burned,
There was a dragon dying. ... Nothing alive
Was left of Jasper's kingdom. There was only
Zoë. There was only Zoë—alone.
| Collected poems of Edwin Arlington Robinson | |