 | The Poems and Plays of William Vaughn Moody |  |
113
SECOND COMING And Later Poems
115
SECOND COMING
Once, by an arch of ancient stone,
Beneath Italian olive-trees
(In pentecostal youth, too prone
To visions such as these),
Beneath Italian olive-trees
(In pentecostal youth, too prone
To visions such as these),
And now a second time, to-day,
Yonder, an hour ago! 'T is strange.
—The hot beach shelving to the bay,
That far white mountain range,
Yonder, an hour ago! 'T is strange.
—The hot beach shelving to the bay,
That far white mountain range,
The motley town where Turk and Greek
Spit scorn and hatred as I pass;
Seraglio windows, doors that reek
Sick perfume of the mass;
Spit scorn and hatred as I pass;
Seraglio windows, doors that reek
Sick perfume of the mass;
The muezzin cry from Allah's tower,
French sailors singing in the street;
The Western meets the Eastern power,
And mingles—this is Crete.
French sailors singing in the street;
The Western meets the Eastern power,
And mingles—this is Crete.
Yonder on snowy Ida, Zeus
Was cradled; through those mountain haunts
The new moon hurried, letting loose
The raving Corybants,
Was cradled; through those mountain haunts
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The raving Corybants,
Who after thrid the Cyclades
To Thebes of Cadmos, with the slim
Wild god for whom Euripides
Fashioned the deathless hymn.
To Thebes of Cadmos, with the slim
Wild god for whom Euripides
Fashioned the deathless hymn.
And yonder, ere in Ajalon
Young Judah's lion ramped for war,
Dædalus built the Knossian
House of the Minotaur.
Young Judah's lion ramped for war,
Dædalus built the Knossian
House of the Minotaur.
—'T is strange! No wonder and no dread
Was on me; hardly even surprise.
I knew before he raised his head
Or fixed me with his eyes
Was on me; hardly even surprise.
I knew before he raised his head
Or fixed me with his eyes
That it was he; far off I knew
The leaning figure by the boat,
The long straight gown of faded hue;
The hair that round his throat
The leaning figure by the boat,
The long straight gown of faded hue;
The hair that round his throat
Fell forward as he bent in speech
Above the naked sailor there,
Calking his vessel on the beach,
Full in the noonday glare.
Above the naked sailor there,
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Full in the noonday glare.
Sharp rang the sailor's mallet-stroke
Pounding the tow into the seam;
He paused and mused, and would have spoke,
Lifting great eyes of dream
Pounding the tow into the seam;
He paused and mused, and would have spoke,
Lifting great eyes of dream
Unto those eyes which slowly turned—
As once before, even so now—
Till full on mine their passion burned
With, “Yes, and is it thou?”
As once before, even so now—
Till full on mine their passion burned
With, “Yes, and is it thou?”
Then o'er the face about to speak
Again he leaned; the sunburnt hair,
Fallen forward, hid the tawny cheek;
And I who, for my share,
Again he leaned; the sunburnt hair,
Fallen forward, hid the tawny cheek;
And I who, for my share,
Had but the instant's gaze, no more,
And sweat and shuddering of the mind,
Stumbled along the dazzling shore,
Until a cool sweet wind
And sweat and shuddering of the mind,
Stumbled along the dazzling shore,
Until a cool sweet wind
From far-off Ida's silver caves
Said, “Stay”; and here I sit the while.
—Silken Mediterranean waves,
From isle to fabled isle,
Said, “Stay”; and here I sit the while.
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From isle to fabled isle,
Flame softly north to Sunium,
And west by England's war-cliff strong
To where Ulysses' men saw loom
The mount of Dante's song.
And west by England's war-cliff strong
To where Ulysses' men saw loom
The mount of Dante's song.
As far as where the coast-line dies
In sharp sun-dazzle, goes the light
Dance-dance of amber butterflies
Above the beach-flowers, bright
In sharp sun-dazzle, goes the light
Dance-dance of amber butterflies
Above the beach-flowers, bright
And jealous as the sudden blood
The lovers of these island girls
Spill in their frays; o'er flower and bud
The light dance dips and whirls.
The lovers of these island girls
Spill in their frays; o'er flower and bud
The light dance dips and whirls.
And all my being, for an hour,
Has sat in stupor, without thought,
Empty of memory, love, or power,
A dumb wild creature caught
Has sat in stupor, without thought,
Empty of memory, love, or power,
A dumb wild creature caught
In toils of purpose not its own!
But now at last the ebbed will turns;
Feeding on spirit, blood, and bone,
The ghostly protest burns.
But now at last the ebbed will turns;
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The ghostly protest burns.
“Yea, it is I, 't is I indeed!
But who art thou, and plannest what?
Beyond all use, beyond all need!
Importunate, unbesought,
But who art thou, and plannest what?
Beyond all use, beyond all need!
Importunate, unbesought,
“Unwelcome, unendurable!
To the vague boy I was before—
O unto him thou camest well;
But now, a boy no more,
To the vague boy I was before—
O unto him thou camest well;
But now, a boy no more,
“Firm-seated in my proper good,
Clear-operant in my functions due,
Potent and plenteous of my mood,—
What hast thou here to do?
Clear-operant in my functions due,
Potent and plenteous of my mood,—
What hast thou here to do?
“Yes, I have loved thee—love thee, yes;
But also—hear'st thou?—also him
Who out of Ida's wilderness
Over the bright sea-rim,
But also—hear'st thou?—also him
Who out of Ida's wilderness
Over the bright sea-rim,
“With shaken cones and mystic dance,
To Dirce and her seven waters
Led on the raving Corybants,
And lured the Theban daughters
To Dirce and her seven waters
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And lured the Theban daughters
“To play on the delirious hills
Three summer days, three summer nights,
Where wert thou when these had their wills?
How liked thee their delights?
Three summer days, three summer nights,
Where wert thou when these had their wills?
How liked thee their delights?
“Past Melos, Delos, to the straits,
The waters roll their spangled mirth,
And westward, through Gibraltar gates,
To my own under-earth,
The waters roll their spangled mirth,
And westward, through Gibraltar gates,
To my own under-earth,
“My glad, great land, which at the most
Knows that its fathers knew thee; so
Will spend for thee nor count the cost;
But follow thee? Ah, no!
Knows that its fathers knew thee; so
Will spend for thee nor count the cost;
But follow thee? Ah, no!
“Thine image gently fades from earth!
Thy churches are as empty shells,
Dim-plaining of thy words and worth,
And of thy funerals!
Thy churches are as empty shells,
Dim-plaining of thy words and worth,
And of thy funerals!
“But oh, upon what errand, then,
Leanest thou at the sailor's ear?
Hast thou yet more to say, that men
Have heard not, and must hear?”
Leanest thou at the sailor's ear?
Hast thou yet more to say, that men
Have heard not, and must hear?”
121
OLD POURQUOI
'T was not yet night, but night was due;
The earth had fallen chalky-dun;
Our road dipped straight as eye could run,
Between the poles, set two and two,
And poplars, one and one,
The earth had fallen chalky-dun;
Our road dipped straight as eye could run,
Between the poles, set two and two,
And poplars, one and one,
Then rose to where far roofs and spires
Etched a vague strip of Norman sky:
The sea-wind had begun to sigh
From tree to tree, and up the wires
Slid its frail, mounting cry.
Etched a vague strip of Norman sky:
The sea-wind had begun to sigh
From tree to tree, and up the wires
Slid its frail, mounting cry.
All afternoon our minds had reveled
In steep, skylarking enterprise;
Our hearts had climbed a dozen skies,
And fifty frowning strongholds leveled
Of Life's old enemies.
In steep, skylarking enterprise;
Our hearts had climbed a dozen skies,
And fifty frowning strongholds leveled
Of Life's old enemies.
A trifle, here and there, was spared
Till morning found us more adept;
But, broadly speaking, we had swept
Earth of her wrongs; light had been flared
Where the last Error slept!
Till morning found us more adept;
But, broadly speaking, we had swept
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Where the last Error slept!
Then, nothing said and nothing seen,
Misgiving gripped us. Treeless, bare,
The moorland country everywhere
Lay blackened; but a powdery sheen
Hung tangled in the air.
Misgiving gripped us. Treeless, bare,
The moorland country everywhere
Lay blackened; but a powdery sheen
Hung tangled in the air.
And Heaven knows what suspense and doubt
Prowled in the dusk! A peasant's door,
Where naught was visible before,
Opened, and let the lamp shine out
Across the crumpled moor.
Prowled in the dusk! A peasant's door,
Where naught was visible before,
Opened, and let the lamp shine out
Across the crumpled moor.
A stone's-throw off some drowsy sheep
Took fright; across a rise of land
In shadowy scamper went the band;
Three bleating ewes held back to keep
Their coward young in hand.
Took fright; across a rise of land
In shadowy scamper went the band;
Three bleating ewes held back to keep
Their coward young in hand.
And borne across the shallow vale,
Along the highway from the town,
A voice the distance could not drown
Chanted an eerie, endless tale,
Now shrill, now dropping down
Along the highway from the town,
A voice the distance could not drown
Chanted an eerie, endless tale,
Now shrill, now dropping down
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To querulous, questioning minor song;
Now sweeping in a solemn gust,
As if some great dishonoured dust
Came crying its ancestral wrong,
And found no listener just.
Now sweeping in a solemn gust,
As if some great dishonoured dust
Came crying its ancestral wrong,
And found no listener just.
And as the voice drew nearer toward,
It dropped through vague disastrous bars,
Heart-broken roulades, sudden jars
Of discord; then superbly soared
Into a heaven whose stars
It dropped through vague disastrous bars,
Heart-broken roulades, sudden jars
Of discord; then superbly soared
Into a heaven whose stars
Twinkled to some immortal jest,
And satire was the cosmic mood;—
Upon which, down the twilight road,
With stolid haste, monotonous zest,
Shuffled or limped or strode,—
And satire was the cosmic mood;—
Upon which, down the twilight road,
With stolid haste, monotonous zest,
Shuffled or limped or strode,—
Who? What? King David, crazed and free!
Hamlet, grown old, and wandering!
The ghost of Tiryns' murdered king
Clamorous by its native sea;
Or his who made to sing
Hamlet, grown old, and wandering!
The ghost of Tiryns' murdered king
Clamorous by its native sea;
Or his who made to sing
The Frogs, and set the Wasps to buzz
Round plague-struck Athens; the mid-pain
Of old Laocoön; Paul Verlaine,
In high talk with the Man of Uz
Outside his prison-pane!
Round plague-struck Athens; the mid-pain
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In high talk with the Man of Uz
Outside his prison-pane!
One moment by the darkening West
We saw the grand old grizzled head,
The stricken face, the rolling, red,
Quizzical eyeballs, the bared chest,
Hairy, Homeric, spread
We saw the grand old grizzled head,
The stricken face, the rolling, red,
Quizzical eyeballs, the bared chest,
Hairy, Homeric, spread
And laboring with the grievous chant,
The knotted hands raised high and wrung,
As, craning through the gloom, he flung
Into our teeth that iterant
Enormous word he sung.
The knotted hands raised high and wrung,
As, craning through the gloom, he flung
Into our teeth that iterant
Enormous word he sung.
Then he was gone. Slow up the hill,
And faster down the other side,
The wild monotonous question died;
Again the sea-wind whispered shrill,
As if the sea replied.
And faster down the other side,
The wild monotonous question died;
Again the sea-wind whispered shrill,
As if the sea replied.
I muttered, “Did you hear?” and you
Nodded. In silence half a mile
We stumbled onward: you meanwhile
Had paper out, your pencil flew
In quirk and quiddet vile.
Nodded. In silence half a mile
We stumbled onward: you meanwhile
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In quirk and quiddet vile.
Till in disgust I seized your hand,
And thundered, “Scratching music, clod?
Getting his tune down? Suffering God!
Have you no heart to understand?”
One more New-England nod,
And thundered, “Scratching music, clod?
Getting his tune down? Suffering God!
Have you no heart to understand?”
One more New-England nod,
And “Yes, I heard, my son, I heard.
A tune fit for the mutinous dead
To march to when, Prometheus-led,
They storm high Heaven! As for his word,
Pourquoi? was all he said!”
A tune fit for the mutinous dead
To march to when, Prometheus-led,
They storm high Heaven! As for his word,
Pourquoi? was all he said!”
Pourquoi? Pourquoi? Yes, that was all!
Only the darkest cry that haunts
The corridors of tragic chance,
Couched in the sweet, satirical,
Impudent tongue of France.
Only the darkest cry that haunts
The corridors of tragic chance,
Couched in the sweet, satirical,
Impudent tongue of France.
Only the bitterest wail flung out
From worlds that traffic to their mart
Without a pilot or a chart;
With “What?” the body of their doubt,
And “Why?” the quaking heart.
From worlds that traffic to their mart
Without a pilot or a chart;
With “What?” the body of their doubt,
And “Why?” the quaking heart.
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Old bard and brother to the Sphinx!
I wonder what abysmal luck
Had left your face so planet-struck,
And driven you on such horrid brinks
To play the run-amuck.
I wonder what abysmal luck
Had left your face so planet-struck,
And driven you on such horrid brinks
To play the run-amuck.
I wonder down what road to-night
You shuffle; from what plunging star
Your gnarled old hands uplifted are,
Between moth-light and cockshut-light,
Calling young hearts to war!
You shuffle; from what plunging star
Your gnarled old hands uplifted are,
Between moth-light and cockshut-light,
Calling young hearts to war!
127
I AM THE WOMAN
I am the Woman, ark of the law and its breaker,
Who chastened her step and taught her knees to be meek,
Bridled and bitted her heart and humbled her cheek,
Parceled her will, and cried, “Take more!” to the taker,
Shunned what they told her to shun, sought what they bade her seek,
Locked up her mouth from scornful speaking: now it is open to speak.
Who chastened her step and taught her knees to be meek,
Bridled and bitted her heart and humbled her cheek,
Parceled her will, and cried, “Take more!” to the taker,
Shunned what they told her to shun, sought what they bade her seek,
Locked up her mouth from scornful speaking: now it is open to speak.
I am she that is terribly fashioned, the creature
Wrought in God's perilous mood, in His unsafe hour.
The morning star was mute, beholding my feature,
Seeing the rapture I was, the shame, and the power,
Scared at my manifold meaning; he heard me call,
“O fairest among ten thousand, acceptable brother!”
And he answered not, for doubt; till he saw me crawl
And whisper down to the secret worm, “O mother,
Be not wroth in the ancient house; thy daughter forgets not at all!”
Wrought in God's perilous mood, in His unsafe hour.
The morning star was mute, beholding my feature,
Seeing the rapture I was, the shame, and the power,
Scared at my manifold meaning; he heard me call,
“O fairest among ten thousand, acceptable brother!”
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And whisper down to the secret worm, “O mother,
Be not wroth in the ancient house; thy daughter forgets not at all!”
I am the Woman, fleer away,
Soft withdrawer back from the maddened mate,
Lurer inward and down to the gates of day
And crier there in the gate,
“What shall I give for thee, wild one, say!
The long, slow rapture and patient anguish of life,
Or art thou minded a swifter way?
Ask if thou canst, the gold, but O, if thou must,
Good is the shining dross, lovely the dust!
Look at me, I am the Woman, harlot and heavenly wife;
Tell me thy price, be unashamed; I will assuredly pay!”
Soft withdrawer back from the maddened mate,
Lurer inward and down to the gates of day
And crier there in the gate,
“What shall I give for thee, wild one, say!
The long, slow rapture and patient anguish of life,
Or art thou minded a swifter way?
Ask if thou canst, the gold, but O, if thou must,
Good is the shining dross, lovely the dust!
Look at me, I am the Woman, harlot and heavenly wife;
Tell me thy price, be unashamed; I will assuredly pay!”
I am also the Mother: of two that I bore
I comfort and feed the slayer, feed and comfort the slain.
Did they number my daughters and sons? I am mother of more!
Many a head they marked not, here in my bosom has lain,
Babbling with unborn lips in a tongue to be,
Far, incredible matters, all familiar to me.
Still would the man come whispering, “Wife!” but many a time my breast
Took him not as a husband: I soothed him and laid him to rest
Even as the babe of my body, and knew him for such.
My mouth is open to speak, that was dumb too much!
I say to you I am the Mother; and under the sword
Which flamed each way to harry us forth from the Lord,
I saw Him young at the portal, weeping and staying the rod,
And I, even I was His mother, and I yearned as the mother of God.
I comfort and feed the slayer, feed and comfort the slain.
Did they number my daughters and sons? I am mother of more!
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Babbling with unborn lips in a tongue to be,
Far, incredible matters, all familiar to me.
Still would the man come whispering, “Wife!” but many a time my breast
Took him not as a husband: I soothed him and laid him to rest
Even as the babe of my body, and knew him for such.
My mouth is open to speak, that was dumb too much!
I say to you I am the Mother; and under the sword
Which flamed each way to harry us forth from the Lord,
I saw Him young at the portal, weeping and staying the rod,
And I, even I was His mother, and I yearned as the mother of God.
I am also the Spirit. The Sisters laughed
When I sat with them dumb in the portals, over my lamp,—
Half asleep in the doors: for my gown was raught
Off at the shoulder to shield from the wind and the rain
The wick I tended against the mysterious hour
When the silent City of Being should ring with song,
As the Lord came in with Life to the marriage bower.
“Look!” laughed the elder Sisters; and crimson with shame
I hid my breast away from the rosy flame.
“Ah!” cried the leaning Sisters, pointing, doing me wrong;
“Do you see?” laughed the wanton Sisters. “She will get her a lover erelong!”
And it was but a little while till unto my need
He was given, indeed,
And we walked where waxing world after world went by;
And I said to my lover, “Let us begone,
O, let us begone, and try
Which of them all the fairest to dwell in is,
Which is the place for us, our desirable clime!”
But he said, “They are only the huts and the little villages,
Pleasant to go and lodge in rudely over the vintage-time!”
Scornfully spake he, being unwise,
Being flushed at heart because of our walking together.
But I was mute with passionate prophecies;
My heart went veiled and faint in the golden weather,
While universe drifted by after still universe.
Then I cried, “Alas, we must hasten and lodge therein,
One after one, and in every star that they shed!
A dark and a weary thing is come on our head—
To search obedience out in the bosom of sin,
To listen deep for love when thunders the curse;
For O my love, behold where the Lord hath planted
In every star in the midst his dangerous Tree!
Still I must pluck thereof and bring unto thee,
Saying, “The coolness for which all night we have panted;
Taste of the goodly thing, I have tasted first!”
Bringing us noway coolness, but burning thirst,
Giving us noway peace, but implacable strife,
Loosing upon us the wounding joy and the wasting sorrow of life!
I am the Woman, ark of the Law and sacred arm to upbear it,
Heathen trumpet to overthrow and idolatrous sword to shear it:
Yea, she whose arm was round the neck of the morning star at song,
Is she who kneeleth now in the dust and cries at the secret door,
“Open to me, O sleeping mother! The gate is heavy and strong.
Open to me, I am come at last; be wroth with thy child no more.
Let me lie down with thee there in the dark, and be slothful with thee as before!”
When I sat with them dumb in the portals, over my lamp,—
Half asleep in the doors: for my gown was raught
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The wick I tended against the mysterious hour
When the silent City of Being should ring with song,
As the Lord came in with Life to the marriage bower.
“Look!” laughed the elder Sisters; and crimson with shame
I hid my breast away from the rosy flame.
“Ah!” cried the leaning Sisters, pointing, doing me wrong;
“Do you see?” laughed the wanton Sisters. “She will get her a lover erelong!”
And it was but a little while till unto my need
He was given, indeed,
And we walked where waxing world after world went by;
And I said to my lover, “Let us begone,
O, let us begone, and try
Which of them all the fairest to dwell in is,
Which is the place for us, our desirable clime!”
But he said, “They are only the huts and the little villages,
Pleasant to go and lodge in rudely over the vintage-time!”
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Being flushed at heart because of our walking together.
But I was mute with passionate prophecies;
My heart went veiled and faint in the golden weather,
While universe drifted by after still universe.
Then I cried, “Alas, we must hasten and lodge therein,
One after one, and in every star that they shed!
A dark and a weary thing is come on our head—
To search obedience out in the bosom of sin,
To listen deep for love when thunders the curse;
For O my love, behold where the Lord hath planted
In every star in the midst his dangerous Tree!
Still I must pluck thereof and bring unto thee,
Saying, “The coolness for which all night we have panted;
Taste of the goodly thing, I have tasted first!”
Bringing us noway coolness, but burning thirst,
Giving us noway peace, but implacable strife,
Loosing upon us the wounding joy and the wasting sorrow of life!
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Heathen trumpet to overthrow and idolatrous sword to shear it:
Yea, she whose arm was round the neck of the morning star at song,
Is she who kneeleth now in the dust and cries at the secret door,
“Open to me, O sleeping mother! The gate is heavy and strong.
Open to me, I am come at last; be wroth with thy child no more.
Let me lie down with thee there in the dark, and be slothful with thee as before!”
133
THE DEATH OF EVE
I
At dawn they came to the stream Hiddekel,Old Eve and her red first-born, who was now
Greyer than she, and bowed with more than years.
Then Cain beneath his level palm looked hard
Across the desert, and turned with outspread hand
As one who says, “Thou seest; we are fooled.”
But Eve, with clutching fingers on his arm,
And pointing eastward where the risen sun
Made a low mist of light, said, “It is there!”
II
For, many, many months, in the great tentOf Enoch, Eve had pined, and dared not tell
Her longing: not to Irad, Enoch's son,
Masterful like his father, who had held
Harsh rule, and named the tent-place with his name;
Not to mild Seth, given her in Abel's stead;
Not unto angry Lamech, nor his wives,
Usurpers of her honor in the house;
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Who touched his harp at twilight by her door;
And not to bed-rid Adam, most of all
Not unto Adam. Yet at last, the spring
Being at end, and evening with warm stars
Falling upon them by the camel kraal,
Weary with long desire she spoke to Seth,
Touching her meaning faintly and far off
To try him. With still scrutiny awhile
He looked at her; then, lifting doubtful hands
Of prayer, he led her homeward to the tent,
With tremulous speech of small and week-day things.
Next, as she lay by Adam before dawn,
His big and wasted hand groping for hers
Suddenly made her half-awakened heart
Break back and back across the shadowy years
To Eden, and God calling in the dew,
And all that song of Paradise foredone
Which Jubal made in secret, fearing her
The storied mother; but in secret, too,
Herself had listened, while the maids at toil
Or by the well at evening sang of her
Untruthful things, which, when she once had heard,
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In the deep hush that comes before the dawn,
She whispered hints and fragments of her will;
And when the shaggy forehead made no sign,
And the blind face searched still as quietly
In the tent-roof for what, these many months,
It seemed to seek for there, she held him close
And poured her whole wild meaning in his ear.
But as a man upon his death-bed dreams
That he should know a matter, and knows it not,
Nor who they are who fain would have him know,
He turned to hers his dim, disastrous eyes,
Wherein the knowledge of her and the long love
Glimmered through veil on veil of vacancy.
That evening little Jubal, coming home
Singing behind his flock, saw ancient Eve
Crouched by the ruined altar in the glade,
The accursèd place, sown deep each early spring
With stones and salt—the Valley of the Blood;
And that same night Eve fled under the stars
Eastward to Nod, the land of violence,
To Cain, and the strong city he had built
Against all men who hunted for his soul.
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III
She gave her message darkly in the gates,And waited trembling. At day-fall he came.
She knew him not beneath his whitened hair;
But when at length she knew him, and was known,
The whitened hair, the bent and listening frame,
The savage misery of the sidelong eyes,
Fell on her heart with strangling. So it was
That now for many days she held her peace,
Abiding with him till he seemed again
The babe she bare first in the wilderness,
Her maiden fruits to Adam, the new joy
The desert bloomed with, which the desert stars
Whispered concerning. Yet she held her peace,
Until he seemed a young man in the house,
A gold frontlet of pride and a green cedar;
Then, leading him apart, Eve told her wish,
Not faltering now nor uttering it far off,
But as a sovereign mother to her son
Speaks simple destiny. He looked at her
Dimly, as if he saw her not; then stooped,
Sharpening his brows upon her. With a cry
She laid fierce, shaken hands about his breast,
Drew down his neck, and harshly from his brow
Pushing the head-band and the matted locks,
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She kissed him on the Sign. Cain bowed his head
Upon her shoulder, saying, “I will go!”
IV
Now they had come to the stream Hiddekel,And passed beyond the stream. There, full in face,
Where the low morning made a mist of light,
The Garden and its gates lay like a flower
Afloat on the still waters of the dawn.
The clicking leap of bright-mailed grasshoppers,
The dropping of sage-beetles from their perch
On the gnawed cactus, even the pulsing drum
Of blood-beats in their ears, merged suddenly
Into ethereal hush. Then Cain made halt,
Held her, and muttered, “'T is enough. Thou sawest!
His Angel stood and threatened in the sun!”
And Eve said, “Yea, and though the day were set
With sworded angels, thou would'st wait for me
Yonder, before the gates; which, look you, child,
Lie open to me as the gates to him,
Thy father, when he entered in his rage,
Calling thee from the dark, where of old days
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So grey Cain by the unguarded portal sat,
His arms crossed o'er his forehead, and his face
Hid in his meagre knees; but ancient Eve
Passed on into the vales of Paradise.
V
Trancèd in lonely radiance stood the Tree,
As Eve put back the glimmering ferns and vines
And crept into the place. Awhile she stooped,
And as a wild thing by the drinking-pool
Peers ere it drinks, she peered. Then, laughing low,
Her frame of grief and body of her years
She lifted proudly to its virgin height,
Flung her lean arms into the pouring day,
And circling with slow paces round the Tree,
She sang her stifled meaning out to God.
As Eve put back the glimmering ferns and vines
And crept into the place. Awhile she stooped,
And as a wild thing by the drinking-pool
Peers ere it drinks, she peered. Then, laughing low,
Her frame of grief and body of her years
She lifted proudly to its virgin height,
Flung her lean arms into the pouring day,
And circling with slow paces round the Tree,
She sang her stifled meaning out to God.
EVE'S SONG
Behold, against thy will, against thy word,
Against the wrath and warning of thy sword,
Eve has been Eve, O Lord!
A pitcher filled, she comes back from the brook,
A wain she comes, laden with mellow ears;
She is a roll inscribed, a prophet's book
Writ strong with characters.
Behold, Eve willed it so; look, if it be so, look!
Against the wrath and warning of thy sword,
Eve has been Eve, O Lord!
A pitcher filled, she comes back from the brook,
A wain she comes, laden with mellow ears;
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Writ strong with characters.
Behold, Eve willed it so; look, if it be so, look!
Early at dawn, while yet thy watchers slept,
Lightly her untamed spirit over-leapt
The walls where she was kept.
As a young comely leopardess she stood:
Her lustrous fell, her sullen grace, her fleetness,
They gave her foretaste, in thy tangled wood,
Of many a savage sweetness,
Good to fore-gloat upon; being tasted, sweet and good.
Lightly her untamed spirit over-leapt
The walls where she was kept.
As a young comely leopardess she stood:
Her lustrous fell, her sullen grace, her fleetness,
They gave her foretaste, in thy tangled wood,
Of many a savage sweetness,
Good to fore-gloat upon; being tasted, sweet and good.
O swayer in the sunlit tops of trees,
O comer up with cloud out of the seas,
O laugher at thine ease
Over thine everlasting dream of mirth,
O lord of savage pleasures, savage pains,
Knew'st Thou not Eve, who broughtest her to birth?
Searcher of breast and reins,
Thou should'st have searched thy Woman, the seed-pod of thine earth!
O comer up with cloud out of the seas,
O laugher at thine ease
Over thine everlasting dream of mirth,
O lord of savage pleasures, savage pains,
Knew'st Thou not Eve, who broughtest her to birth?
Searcher of breast and reins,
Thou should'st have searched thy Woman, the seed-pod of thine earth!
Herself hath searched her softly through and through;
Singing she lifts her full soul up to view;
Lord, do Thou praise it, too!
Look, as she turns it, how it dartles free
Its gathered meanings: woman, mother, wife,
Spirit that was and is and waits to be,
Worm of the dust of life,
Child, sister—ghostly rays! What lights are these, Lord, see!
Singing she lifts her full soul up to view;
Lord, do Thou praise it, too!
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Its gathered meanings: woman, mother, wife,
Spirit that was and is and waits to be,
Worm of the dust of life,
Child, sister—ghostly rays! What lights are these, Lord, see!
Look where Eve lifts her storied soul on high,
And turns it as a ball, she knows not why,
Save that she could not die
Till she had shown Thee all the secret sphere—
The bright rays and the dim, and these that run
Bright-darkling, making Thee to doubt and fear,—
Oh, love them every one!
Eve pardons Thee not one, not one, Lord; dost Thou hear?
And turns it as a ball, she knows not why,
Save that she could not die
Till she had shown Thee all the secret sphere—
The bright rays and the dim, and these that run
Bright-darkling, making Thee to doubt and fear,—
Oh, love them every one!
Eve pardons Thee not one, not one, Lord; dost Thou hear?
Lovely to Eve was Adam's praising breath;
His face averted bitter was as death;
Abel, her son, and Seth
Lifted her heart to heaven, praising her;
Cain with a little frown darkened the stars;
And when the strings of Jubal's harp would stir,
Like honey in cool jars
The words he praised her with, like rain his praises were.
His face averted bitter was as death;
Abel, her son, and Seth
Lifted her heart to heaven, praising her;
Cain with a little frown darkened the stars;
And when the strings of Jubal's harp would stir,
Like honey in cool jars
The words he praised her with, like rain his praises were.
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Still, still with prayer and ecstasy she strove
To be the woman they did well approve,
That, narrowed to their love,
She might have done with bitterness and blame;
But still along the yonder edge of prayer
A spirit in a fiery whirlwind came—
Eve's spirit, wild and fair—
Crying with Eve's own voice the number of her name.
To be the woman they did well approve,
That, narrowed to their love,
She might have done with bitterness and blame;
But still along the yonder edge of prayer
A spirit in a fiery whirlwind came—
Eve's spirit, wild and fair—
Crying with Eve's own voice the number of her name.
Yea, turning in the whirlwind and the fire,
Eve saw her own proud being all entire
Made perfect by desire;
And from the rounded gladness of that sphere
Came bridal songs and harpings and fresh laughter;
“Glory unto the faithful!” sounded clear,
And then, a little after,
“Whoso denyeth aught, let him depart from here!”
Eve saw her own proud being all entire
Made perfect by desire;
And from the rounded gladness of that sphere
Came bridal songs and harpings and fresh laughter;
“Glory unto the faithful!” sounded clear,
And then, a little after,
“Whoso denyeth aught, let him depart from here!”
Now, therefore, Eve, with mystic years o'er-scored,
Danceth and doeth pleasure to Thee, Lord,
According to the word
That Thou hast spoken to her by her dream.
Singing a song she dimly understands,
She lifts her soul to let the splendor stream.
Lord, take away thy hands!
Let this beam pierce thy heart, and this most piercing beam!
Danceth and doeth pleasure to Thee, Lord,
According to the word
That Thou hast spoken to her by her dream.
Singing a song she dimly understands,
She lifts her soul to let the splendor stream.
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Let this beam pierce thy heart, and this most piercing beam!
Far off, rebelliously, yet for thy sake,
She gathered them, O Thou who lovest to break
A thousand souls, and shake
Their dust along the wind, but sleeplessly
Searchest the Bride fulfilled in limb and feature,
Ready and boon to be fulfilled of Thee,
Thine ample, tameless creature,—
Against thy will and word, behold, Lord, this is She!
She gathered them, O Thou who lovest to break
A thousand souls, and shake
Their dust along the wind, but sleeplessly
Searchest the Bride fulfilled in limb and feature,
Ready and boon to be fulfilled of Thee,
Thine ample, tameless creature,—
Against thy will and word, behold, Lord, this is She!
VI
From carven plinth and thousand-galleried greenCedars, and all close boughs that over-tower,
The shadows lengthened eastward from the gates,
And still Cain hid his forehead in his knees,
Nor dared to look abroad lest he might find
More watchers in the portals: for he heard
What seemed the rush of wings; from while to while
A pallor grew and faded in his brain,
As if a great light passed him near at hand.
But when above the darkening desert swales
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Cain rose, and with his back against the stones,
As a keen fighter at the desperate odds,
Glared round him. Cool and silent lay the night,
Empty of any foe. Then, as a man
Who has a thing to do, and makes his fear
An icy wind to freeze his purpose firm,
He stole in through the pillars of the gate,
Down aisles of shadow windowed with the moon,
By meads with the still stars communicant,
Past heaven-bosoming pool and poolèd stream,
Until he saw, through tangled fern and vine,
The Tree, where God had made its habitation:
And crouched above the shape that had been Eve,
With savage, listening frame and sidelong eyes,
Cain waited for the coming of the dawn.
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THE THREE ANGELS
Before my feet the curving strand
Unblurs its outline from the sea,
And light feels upward like a hand
To find if yet creation be.
Like one whose eyes in fear are furled
It feels about the pallid world,
And gropes and lingers anxiously.
Unblurs its outline from the sea,
And light feels upward like a hand
To find if yet creation be.
Like one whose eyes in fear are furled
It feels about the pallid world,
And gropes and lingers anxiously.
And sure at length that all is good,
Upon the pavement of the deep
Dawn walks with wings that burn abroad
And lifted hands that seem to keep
Attention till a word be said;
And now day lifts above its head
A harp that soon those hands will sweep.
Upon the pavement of the deep
Dawn walks with wings that burn abroad
And lifted hands that seem to keep
Attention till a word be said;
And now day lifts above its head
A harp that soon those hands will sweep.
O angel day, if thou wilt sing
Look hither what has fallen to us—
Me on the bright beach wandering
And her within the cliff-hung house!
The word thou darest not say, she says;
A wilder than thy song, I raise
Above the passes perilous.
Look hither what has fallen to us—
Me on the bright beach wandering
And her within the cliff-hung house!
The word thou darest not say, she says;
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Above the passes perilous.
Last night I sat at her right hand:
Though Death upon the left hand stood,
Our hearts were ne'er so light and bland;
As in a moonlit summer wood
Friend unto happy friend we spake,
As swan by swan on a windless lake
We drifted down God's glassy flood.
Though Death upon the left hand stood,
Our hearts were ne'er so light and bland;
As in a moonlit summer wood
Friend unto happy friend we spake,
As swan by swan on a windless lake
We drifted down God's glassy flood.
We had been sweet friends long before,
But till this evening's dark mischance,
Aye, never till this deep death-hour
Had such a heart been ours to dance
Childlike upon the hills of glee;
So on those hills she played with me,
Through swooning pain and ether trance.
But till this evening's dark mischance,
Aye, never till this deep death-hour
Had such a heart been ours to dance
Childlike upon the hills of glee;
So on those hills she played with me,
Through swooning pain and ether trance.
And yet had not been breathed a sound
Of love, nor a thought of love been thought.
With light of light her brow was wound
When mutely she made question, “What
Means this strange light about your brow?”
And I made answer mute, “You know
It is the love that we have found.”
Of love, nor a thought of love been thought.
With light of light her brow was wound
When mutely she made question, “What
Means this strange light about your brow?”
And I made answer mute, “You know
It is the love that we have found.”
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Like flame afar her life did rise
And from the ends of being came,
Bare as at birth, without disguise,
To meet my spirit's naked flame
Which towered from out the primal mist
To her.—Her lips lay all unkissed;
We made no sign, we named no name.
And from the ends of being came,
Bare as at birth, without disguise,
To meet my spirit's naked flame
Which towered from out the primal mist
To her.—Her lips lay all unkissed;
We made no sign, we named no name.
O angel day, O seraph bright!
As thou upon the mortal deep
We o'er these coasts of deathless light,
With lifted wings strong silence keep.
Between the plumed and whispering fires
We raise on high the golden lyres
Which soon our burning hands shall smite!
As thou upon the mortal deep
We o'er these coasts of deathless light,
With lifted wings strong silence keep.
Between the plumed and whispering fires
We raise on high the golden lyres
Which soon our burning hands shall smite!
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A PRAIRIE RIDE
I
When I look back and say, of all our hoursThis one or that was best,
Straightway, from north and south, from east and west,
With banners strange and tributary powers
The others camp against me. Thus,
Now for many nights and days,
The hills of memory are mutinous,
Hearing me raise
Above all other praise
That autumn morn
When league on league between ripe fields of corn,
Galloping neck and neck or loitering hand in hand,
We rode across the prairie land
Where I was born.
II
I never knew how goodWere those fields and happy farms,
Till, leaning from her horse, she stretched her arms
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My knowing, did I know her womanhood
Until I saw the gesture understood,
And answer made, and amity begun.
On the proud fields and on her proud bent head
The sunlight like a covenant did fall;
Then with a gesture rich and liberal
She raised her hands with laughter to the sun,—
And it was done,
Never in life or death to be gainsaid!
And I, till then,
Home-come yet alien,
Held by some thwart and skeptic mind aloof
From nature's dear behoof,
Knelt down in heart and kissed the kindly earth,
And, having swept on wings of mirth
The big horizon round, I swiftly clomb,
And from the utter dome
Of most high morning laughed, and sang my loved one home!
Meanwhile, within the rings our laughter made,
Bending like a water-arum
Where impetuous waters meet,
Rhythmic to the strong alarum,
Of her horse's rushing feet,
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Her body like a water-arum blade,
Like a slanted gull for motion,
And the blown corn like an ocean
For its billows and their rumor, and the tassels snapping free
As whittled foam and brine-scud of the sea.
Thanks to God,
No ocean, but the rife and homely sod,
And golden corn to feed
A universe at need!
Land of mine, my mother's country!
My heritage!—But through her loosing hair
Sha has tossed me back the dare.
Drunken-hearted! shall it be a race indeed?
Then drink again, and drink again, to reeling drink the winy speed!
III
Ye on the jealous hills,Ye shall not have your wills
For many a dreaming day
And haunted night.
To that high morning, walled and domed with light,
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And often here, above the weary feet
That pour along along this fierce and jaded street,
As from a taintless source
Of power and grace,
Anxious and shrill and sweet
I hear her strong unblemished horse
Neigh to the pastured mothers of the race.
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SONG
My love is gone into the East
Across the wide dawn-kindled sea;
My love remembreth naught of me
Nor of my lips nor of my breast,
For he has gone where morning dwells
Into the land of dreams and spells.
Across the wide dawn-kindled sea;
My love remembreth naught of me
Nor of my lips nor of my breast,
For he has gone where morning dwells
Into the land of dreams and spells.
But yet sometimes deep in the night
A foolish little cricket thing,
A kind of voice, will wake and sing
And drone and sing till it is light;
I am not sure, but every day
I grow to think he sings this way:—
A foolish little cricket thing,
A kind of voice, will wake and sing
And drone and sing till it is light;
I am not sure, but every day
I grow to think he sings this way:—
“Into the West, or late or soon,
Across dim seas into the West,
Thy lover will sail back in quest
Of Earth's one gift and life's one boon,
Of simple love that comes to pass
As dew falls or as springs the grass.”
Across dim seas into the West,
Thy lover will sail back in quest
Of Earth's one gift and life's one boon,
Of simple love that comes to pass
As dew falls or as springs the grass.”
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MUSA MERETRIX
I turn the last leaf down, and lay
The flaunting rubbish in the grass;
With folded arms across my face
I shut the summer light away.
On him too the old trick to play!
Too dull, too base!
The flaunting rubbish in the grass;
With folded arms across my face
I shut the summer light away.
On him too the old trick to play!
Too dull, too base!
I see again his dream-worn hand
Shaken by my poor praise, his brow
Flushed by the words I scarce knew how
To speak at all, so shadowy grand
He stalked there in Song's lonely land,
Under the vow.
Shaken by my poor praise, his brow
Flushed by the words I scarce knew how
To speak at all, so shadowy grand
He stalked there in Song's lonely land,
Under the vow.
So rare a spirit, and if frail—
Curse thee! what should a spirit be
That ate not, drank not, save for thee?
Flat brothel-jestress, thing of sale,
On his head too to pour the stale
Indignity!
Curse thee! what should a spirit be
That ate not, drank not, save for thee?
Flat brothel-jestress, thing of sale,
On his head too to pour the stale
Indignity!
153
THE COUNTING MAN
I
Eeny, meeny, miney, mo,Cracka feeny, finey, fo;
Omma nooja, oppa tooja,
Rick, bick, ban, do!
II
Eeny, meeny, miney, mo,—All the children in a row.
Cracka feeny, who is he,
Counting out so solemnly?
III
Eeny, meeny, look how tall,Like a shadow on the wall!
When did he come down the street,
Muffled up from head to feet?
IV
Listen! Don't you hear the shinyShadow-man count meeny-miney?
Hush! when all the counting's done
Maybe I might be The One!
154
V
Cracka feeny, finey, fo,Watch his shining fingers go!
He can see enough to play,
Though he hides his face away.
VI
Oppa tooja, rick, bick, ban,O the solemn Counting Man!
Forty-'leven from the top—
Now where will his fingers stop?
VII
Eeny, meeny, miney, mo,Cracka feeny, finey, fo;
Omma nooja, oppa tooja,
Rick, bick, ban, do!
155
THE MOON-MOTH
Again the steep path turns, and pained at heart
With prescience of the beauty soon to be,
Climbing I break the flowering weeds apart
And the low vines that mat about my knee,
Till airy-strong against the sky and sea
Juts out the fragment of a temple's base
And one great corner-stone.
Deep, deep, within me, in some deepest place
Of unknown being, laughter wakes, and moans,
As on the marble ledge I lay my face,
Bowed down with thoughts of Her who had this house and throne.
With prescience of the beauty soon to be,
Climbing I break the flowering weeds apart
And the low vines that mat about my knee,
Till airy-strong against the sky and sea
Juts out the fragment of a temple's base
And one great corner-stone.
Deep, deep, within me, in some deepest place
Of unknown being, laughter wakes, and moans,
As on the marble ledge I lay my face,
Bowed down with thoughts of Her who had this house and throne.
Above the market and the popular well
Within whose carven niche the old men sat
To murmur at Medea, and to tell
How her witch-love for Jason turned to hate,
High o'er the struggles old men wonder at,
High in the delicate heavens, beheld of none
Save who should climb above
Yonder hill-fountain where Bellerophon
Snared the winged horse and backed him in the moon,—
Corinth the city raised up unto Love
This specular temple pure and its far-gazing grove;
Within whose carven niche the old men sat
To murmur at Medea, and to tell
How her witch-love for Jason turned to hate,
High o'er the struggles old men wonder at,
High in the delicate heavens, beheld of none
Save who should climb above
Yonder hill-fountain where Bellerophon
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Corinth the city raised up unto Love
This specular temple pure and its far-gazing grove;
That in the intense zenith laughing free,
Making inviolable light its screen,
Passion might know a wilder secrecy,
To an abandonment more wounding lean,
More richly healing of a hurt more keen;
That, high in prospect of all Hellene story,
Love, which will gather power
From all it sees of beauty and of glory,
And on the top of every lifted hour
Stand singing of itself as from a tower,
Might stand and sing at ease from this bright promontory.
Making inviolable light its screen,
Passion might know a wilder secrecy,
To an abandonment more wounding lean,
More richly healing of a hurt more keen;
That, high in prospect of all Hellene story,
Love, which will gather power
From all it sees of beauty and of glory,
And on the top of every lifted hour
Stand singing of itself as from a tower,
Might stand and sing at ease from this bright promontory.
Temple and grove are gone; the summit lies
Bare to the feet of the fantastic year.
Weeds of strange flower, and moths of many dyes,
Creepers and flyers small, that, watched anear,
Are as outlandish gods and things of fear
Seen at their amorous revels and their wars—
These only keep the height,
These and the jeweled air that laps and jars
In tide and gulf-stream of ecstatic light,
Through pale gold deeps, whereof no ripple mars
Outspreaded Greece flame-pale and more than earthly bright.
Bare to the feet of the fantastic year.
Weeds of strange flower, and moths of many dyes,
Creepers and flyers small, that, watched anear,
Are as outlandish gods and things of fear
Seen at their amorous revels and their wars—
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These and the jeweled air that laps and jars
In tide and gulf-stream of ecstatic light,
Through pale gold deeps, whereof no ripple mars
Outspreaded Greece flame-pale and more than earthly bright.
Those faint vermilion hills that southward peer
Look over into Clytemnestra's land,
As if each crouching summit leaned to hear
White-lipped Cassandra, by Apollo banned
To drink with cries of loathing from his hand
Her horrid vision of the house of sin;
Those heights of flame and dew,
Gleaming far westward, lock Arcadia in;
And where the olive-mottled gulf burns blue,
The Muses' mount, with silver summits twin,
Shines o'er the violet steep that Delphi clings unto.
Look over into Clytemnestra's land,
As if each crouching summit leaned to hear
White-lipped Cassandra, by Apollo banned
To drink with cries of loathing from his hand
Her horrid vision of the house of sin;
Those heights of flame and dew,
Gleaming far westward, lock Arcadia in;
And where the olive-mottled gulf burns blue,
The Muses' mount, with silver summits twin,
Shines o'er the violet steep that Delphi clings unto.
Yonder a name, yonder a name, and yonder
A name to make the troubled blood beat fast
And the o'ertaken spirit ache with wonder:
Daphne, whose slope the spring-time revelers passed,
With Eleusinian Demeter to taste
The bread of resurrection; Sunion,
Glad shrine and pharos glad;
Hymettos and grape-dark Pentelicon;
And bright, O bright against their bronzen shade,
Athens, by time and ruin undismayed,
Lifting her solemn crown of temples to the sun.
A name to make the troubled blood beat fast
And the o'ertaken spirit ache with wonder:
Daphne, whose slope the spring-time revelers passed,
158
The bread of resurrection; Sunion,
Glad shrine and pharos glad;
Hymettos and grape-dark Pentelicon;
And bright, O bright against their bronzen shade,
Athens, by time and ruin undismayed,
Lifting her solemn crown of temples to the sun.
Mountains and seas, cities and isles and capes,
All frail as dream and painted like a dream,
All swimming with the fairy light that drapes
A bubble, when the colors curl and stream
And meet and flee asunder. I could deem
This earth, this air, my dizzy soul, the sky,
Time, knowledge, and the gods
Were lapsing, curling, streaming lazily
Down a great bubble's rondure, dye on dye,
To swell the perilous clinging drop that nods,
Gathers, and nods, and clings, through all eternity.
All frail as dream and painted like a dream,
All swimming with the fairy light that drapes
A bubble, when the colors curl and stream
And meet and flee asunder. I could deem
This earth, this air, my dizzy soul, the sky,
Time, knowledge, and the gods
Were lapsing, curling, streaming lazily
Down a great bubble's rondure, dye on dye,
To swell the perilous clinging drop that nods,
Gathers, and nods, and clings, through all eternity.
We cry with drowsy lips how life is strange,
And shadowy hands pour for us while we speak
Old bowls of slumber, that the stars may range
And the gods walk unhowled-at.... To my cheek
This stone feels blessèd cool. My heart could break
Of its long searching and its finding not,
But that it has forgot
What 't was it searched, and how it failed thereof.
—O soft, ye flute-players! No temple dove
Be fluttered! Soft, sing soft, ye lyric girls,
Till the shrine portals ope and the blue smoke outcurls!
And shadowy hands pour for us while we speak
Old bowls of slumber, that the stars may range
And the gods walk unhowled-at.... To my cheek
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Of its long searching and its finding not,
But that it has forgot
What 't was it searched, and how it failed thereof.
—O soft, ye flute-players! No temple dove
Be fluttered! Soft, sing soft, ye lyric girls,
Till the shrine portals ope and the blue smoke outcurls!
Dance slowly, singing as if Pindar heard
And loved again this sweet fruit of his breast.
O let the strophe, like a smooth sea-bird,
Drift down the wave, and wheel again to rest
One long, long instant on the glittering crest.
Scare not the sacred peacock where he spreads
His fan upon the wall;
Let not a flower, let not a petal fall
From those fresh-woven garlands on your heads;
Dance delicately slow as yon light treads
From isle to isle: though late, love comes at last to all!
And loved again this sweet fruit of his breast.
O let the strophe, like a smooth sea-bird,
Drift down the wave, and wheel again to rest
One long, long instant on the glittering crest.
Scare not the sacred peacock where he spreads
His fan upon the wall;
Let not a flower, let not a petal fall
From those fresh-woven garlands on your heads;
Dance delicately slow as yon light treads
From isle to isle: though late, love comes at last to all!
And might it not be sweeter late than soon?
What though the western radiance flame and fail?
What though the ivory circle of the moon
Deepen to gold? What though the keen stars tell
Through Heaven's abysm their midnight and all's-well,
And still not yet the jealous doors unclose?
Despair not; these delays
We know are Paphian, and the waked thrush knows
Who from the grove chants love's heart-broken praise.
“Too late, too soon! Too soon, too late!” he says,
“O goddess, hear them now, before the sweet night goes!”
What though the western radiance flame and fail?
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Deepen to gold? What though the keen stars tell
Through Heaven's abysm their midnight and all's-well,
And still not yet the jealous doors unclose?
Despair not; these delays
We know are Paphian, and the waked thrush knows
Who from the grove chants love's heart-broken praise.
“Too late, too soon! Too soon, too late!” he says,
“O goddess, hear them now, before the sweet night goes!”
Aye, deeply heard! In Aphrodite's porch
Perfect of her the slumbering lovers lie,
And on the shrine steps where her saffron torch,
Lights their young bosoms when they turn and sigh,
And in the moonlit grove, and round the high
Plinth, where her fiery urns purpureal
Signal her native deep;
To these she giveth all things, even sleep.
But, rich, rich giver, hast thou given all?
Dost thou not some diviner secret keep
For me, though outland, though half-atheist in thy hall?
Perfect of her the slumbering lovers lie,
And on the shrine steps where her saffron torch,
Lights their young bosoms when they turn and sigh,
And in the moonlit grove, and round the high
Plinth, where her fiery urns purpureal
Signal her native deep;
To these she giveth all things, even sleep.
But, rich, rich giver, hast thou given all?
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For me, though outland, though half-atheist in thy hall?
—Shattered! And I awake. The prayer was rash.
Daylight is hardly touched with failure yet,
Though there a glowing headland drops to ash
And there a chanting island will forget
Its glory soon. The stones with dew are wet.
The moon sings up the world—or in my blood
Climbs it, the choiring peace?
What have I done, what suffered or withstood,
That all within me is so bright and good?
—Look, lo, the rainbow-colored pinions please
To settle! A moon-moth, by all my dreams it is!
Daylight is hardly touched with failure yet,
Though there a glowing headland drops to ash
And there a chanting island will forget
Its glory soon. The stones with dew are wet.
The moon sings up the world—or in my blood
Climbs it, the choiring peace?
What have I done, what suffered or withstood,
That all within me is so bright and good?
—Look, lo, the rainbow-colored pinions please
To settle! A moon-moth, by all my dreams it is!
Rich as a pulse a worshiped head rests on,
The glimmering vans that time the trembling life
Open and close above the moon-washed stone,
As if the fairy heart were fugitive,
As if it halted panting from a strife
Too large for its frail day. O missionary
Winds of the far and dear!
O elfin ship, why flap your gallants there?
My heart has many a brimming estuary
Where you can ease you from the endless air,
The ocean light you sailed to bring me news of her!
The glimmering vans that time the trembling life
Open and close above the moon-washed stone,
As if the fairy heart were fugitive,
As if it halted panting from a strife
Too large for its frail day. O missionary
Winds of the far and dear!
O elfin ship, why flap your gallants there?
162
Where you can ease you from the endless air,
The ocean light you sailed to bring me news of her!
Our souls had risen from their second birth,
And were at peace within the land thereof;
With tears we trod there, and with careless mirth:
And sometimes on the bosom of my love,
Or on her lips or brow, or poised above
All palpitant and doubtful on her head,
A soft-winged splendor lit;
And I would say, “The Butterfly!” and sit
Loving it till it went. And once I said
“Hush, the Moon-Moth!” That evening we were wed
Anew, and we were glad as the uprisen dead.
And were at peace within the land thereof;
With tears we trod there, and with careless mirth:
And sometimes on the bosom of my love,
Or on her lips or brow, or poised above
All palpitant and doubtful on her head,
A soft-winged splendor lit;
And I would say, “The Butterfly!” and sit
Loving it till it went. And once I said
“Hush, the Moon-Moth!” That evening we were wed
Anew, and we were glad as the uprisen dead.
And now, what gladness ails thee now, my soul?
For all the desolate, all the wasted days
Nothing but strong delight? The lifted bowl,
The cones of ecstasy, the wands of praise,
Tossing delirious down the mountain ways
Of all that's forfeit, all that is foregone?
Triumphing through the seas,
And past the ghostly power that, leagued with these,
Did make as if the bolts of God were drawn
Between her life and me? And like a fawn
Thou 'lt dance there in the moon, where now the moon-moth flees?
For all the desolate, all the wasted days
Nothing but strong delight? The lifted bowl,
The cones of ecstasy, the wands of praise,
Tossing delirious down the mountain ways
Of all that's forfeit, all that is foregone?
Triumphing through the seas,
163
Did make as if the bolts of God were drawn
Between her life and me? And like a fawn
Thou 'lt dance there in the moon, where now the moon-moth flees?
But whither, flame of pearl, vapor of pearl,
Breath and decantment of sea-buried gems
That with the foam-born Woman did upswirl
To wreathe their brightness round her breast and limbs
And give their color to the cup that dims
Earth's piercing cry to music,—whither now
Do the weighed wings intend?
Fawn heart of me, that with the upflung brow
Followest on, where will thy dances end?
O after many days! O let me bow,
Let me be risen lordly up! My love, my friend,
Breath and decantment of sea-buried gems
That with the foam-born Woman did upswirl
To wreathe their brightness round her breast and limbs
And give their color to the cup that dims
Earth's piercing cry to music,—whither now
Do the weighed wings intend?
Fawn heart of me, that with the upflung brow
Followest on, where will thy dances end?
O after many days! O let me bow,
Let me be risen lordly up! My love, my friend,
My wild one, my soul's need, my song of life!
Through the strange seas and past the ghostly powers
Safe come and sure, and like a festal wife,
Admonished of the seasons and the hours,
The time of times and the preparèd bowers!
Above thy brow floats like an influence
The moon-moth, our dear sign,
No plainer now than when these eyes of mine
In faith imagined and beheld it once,
As these thy hands to all my thirsting sense,
To lips and breast and brow, are palpable as then.
Through the strange seas and past the ghostly powers
Safe come and sure, and like a festal wife,
Admonished of the seasons and the hours,
The time of times and the preparèd bowers!
164
The moon-moth, our dear sign,
No plainer now than when these eyes of mine
In faith imagined and beheld it once,
As these thy hands to all my thirsting sense,
To lips and breast and brow, are palpable as then.
More palpable, by that dark curtain wove
And hung between us for Earth's lie of lies!
Which these our meeting hands make nothing of
And this thy happy bending-down denies,
And these our clinging lips and closèd eyes
And mating breasts have never, never known
But for the cheat it was.
—Sigh not, love; tremble not! Be all at peace!
You will not go because the moth is flown?
—Gone, beyond passion's cry!—The moon-washed stone,
The sleeping weeds, the stars few over dreaming Greece.
And hung between us for Earth's lie of lies!
Which these our meeting hands make nothing of
And this thy happy bending-down denies,
And these our clinging lips and closèd eyes
And mating breasts have never, never known
But for the cheat it was.
—Sigh not, love; tremble not! Be all at peace!
You will not go because the moth is flown?
—Gone, beyond passion's cry!—The moon-washed stone,
The sleeping weeds, the stars few over dreaming Greece.
And my far country swims into the light.
The seaboard states are up, the prairies stay
But little longer now to make them bright.
Westward the burning bugles of the day
Are blowing strong across America.
New laws, new arts, new gods, new souls of men,
New hopes and charities!
Why do I traffic where no profit is,
Taking but one or two where they take ten
Who trade to their own shores, and back again
To their own shores? O my beloved! Who replies
The seaboard states are up, the prairies stay
But little longer now to make them bright.
Westward the burning bugles of the day
165
New laws, new arts, new gods, new souls of men,
New hopes and charities!
Why do I traffic where no profit is,
Taking but one or two where they take ten
Who trade to their own shores, and back again
To their own shores? O my beloved! Who replies
But thou, fled heart, who cling'st here close and true!
For us the future was, the past will be,
And all the holy human years are new,
And all are tasted of eternally,
And still the eaten fruit shines on the tree.
—Let us go down. There, in that naked glen,
Bellerophon played the thief.
Much lower lies the well where the old men
Sat murmuring at Medea, and at their chief
Spoused to the witch. Love, we'll not grieve again,
We ne'er shall grieve again, not what we could call grief!
For us the future was, the past will be,
And all the holy human years are new,
And all are tasted of eternally,
And still the eaten fruit shines on the tree.
—Let us go down. There, in that naked glen,
Bellerophon played the thief.
Much lower lies the well where the old men
Sat murmuring at Medea, and at their chief
Spoused to the witch. Love, we'll not grieve again,
We ne'er shall grieve again, not what we could call grief!
166
THE FOUNTAIN
Another evening falls, another leaf
Drops from the withered bough. Here let us rest
Till dawn, if still another dawn be ours,
And these be not the limits of our hopes.
This desert starlight seems to shale away
The crust and rind of our disfigurement,
And I can see us on the palm-fringed shore,
Young, in a land of virgin miracle.
With laughter and light words we burnt the ships,
And waited while the morning jewel-pure
Between the flaming zenith and the sea
Drank up the smoke, and left all crystalline.
Then, after prayer and planting of the cross,
Our captain rose, and o'er us where we kneeled
Let stream the ensign of our strange attempt.
With shout and song we took the wilderness,
Light song which in the arrogance of joy
Mocked all the shadowy issues of our search.
—Wondrously near those first days rise to-night
Bright-pictured to the visionary sense,
And like a stepping music, full of gust
And savorous to the marrow of the tune.
But dim and without sound, a realm inert,
Lie the long stretches of our after-toil.
You know how hunger, accident, disease,
Ambush and open battle wore us down,
How schism split us, envious leadership
Ditched into rivulets of little head
The stream and onset of our expedition;
How some for love of women, some for sloth,
Some for a taint of wildness in the blood,
Some brain-sick, or with dreams of savage rule,
Fell off from us and mingled with the tribes.
You know how, when the knighthood we were of
Was broken, when despair was in the ranks,
And the main voice was loud for turning back,
This handful, heroes of a dwindling hope,
Bade deep farewell, and set our faces on.
Long, long ago the others found their kin,
Wept in the shrunken bosoms of their wives,
And leaned their weight of weakness on their sons,
Or else, not fortunate, sank by the way,
With eyes turned homeward, and delirious hands
Held up through the death-mist to signal Spain.
But we, who now out-tarry our own selves,
Who are as our own spectres haunting us,
Many a dim immemorable year
We grope about, at hazard of our clue;
Again and yet again the thin thread snaps,
The half-heard rumor dies upon the air;
Then sit we drowsed, forgetting what we seek,
Again remembering only to forget,
Till, in some wakeful moment such as this,
Or such as come under the struggling dawn,
When earth is taken with anxiety,
And till the crisis all the gates of life
Swing wide, and there is access everywhere
And mighty recognitions, then once more—
I know not how ye others keep the quest,
I know not on what root of hope ye feed,
But as for me, the voices that I hear,
The beckoning hands I follow, are of them
Whom you reject as false and lying guides.
Again I see that dark-eyed leaf-crowned boy,
That tawny budding girl, earnest and vague,
Who took our meaning with soft-brightening gaze,
And beckoning slipped before us through the wild;
And like a fountain on the hills of dream
Wells the clear music of their mated throats,
Now rising from the maiden's single heart,
Now from the youth's, rejoicing far away,
But ever wedded in the secret depths
And raining up inextricable song.
Drops from the withered bough. Here let us rest
Till dawn, if still another dawn be ours,
And these be not the limits of our hopes.
This desert starlight seems to shale away
The crust and rind of our disfigurement,
And I can see us on the palm-fringed shore,
Young, in a land of virgin miracle.
With laughter and light words we burnt the ships,
And waited while the morning jewel-pure
Between the flaming zenith and the sea
Drank up the smoke, and left all crystalline.
Then, after prayer and planting of the cross,
Our captain rose, and o'er us where we kneeled
Let stream the ensign of our strange attempt.
With shout and song we took the wilderness,
Light song which in the arrogance of joy
Mocked all the shadowy issues of our search.
—Wondrously near those first days rise to-night
Bright-pictured to the visionary sense,
And like a stepping music, full of gust
167
But dim and without sound, a realm inert,
Lie the long stretches of our after-toil.
You know how hunger, accident, disease,
Ambush and open battle wore us down,
How schism split us, envious leadership
Ditched into rivulets of little head
The stream and onset of our expedition;
How some for love of women, some for sloth,
Some for a taint of wildness in the blood,
Some brain-sick, or with dreams of savage rule,
Fell off from us and mingled with the tribes.
You know how, when the knighthood we were of
Was broken, when despair was in the ranks,
And the main voice was loud for turning back,
This handful, heroes of a dwindling hope,
Bade deep farewell, and set our faces on.
Long, long ago the others found their kin,
Wept in the shrunken bosoms of their wives,
And leaned their weight of weakness on their sons,
Or else, not fortunate, sank by the way,
With eyes turned homeward, and delirious hands
Held up through the death-mist to signal Spain.
But we, who now out-tarry our own selves,
168
Many a dim immemorable year
We grope about, at hazard of our clue;
Again and yet again the thin thread snaps,
The half-heard rumor dies upon the air;
Then sit we drowsed, forgetting what we seek,
Again remembering only to forget,
Till, in some wakeful moment such as this,
Or such as come under the struggling dawn,
When earth is taken with anxiety,
And till the crisis all the gates of life
Swing wide, and there is access everywhere
And mighty recognitions, then once more—
I know not how ye others keep the quest,
I know not on what root of hope ye feed,
But as for me, the voices that I hear,
The beckoning hands I follow, are of them
Whom you reject as false and lying guides.
Again I see that dark-eyed leaf-crowned boy,
That tawny budding girl, earnest and vague,
Who took our meaning with soft-brightening gaze,
And beckoning slipped before us through the wild;
And like a fountain on the hills of dream
Wells the clear music of their mated throats,
Now rising from the maiden's single heart,
169
But ever wedded in the secret depths
And raining up inextricable song.
“Hasten, hasten, turn and twine
Body mine, spirit mine,
Spells behind me,
Lest he follow me and find me!
Never stay, but as we may
Fleeing, fleeing, bar the way;
To my love's delicious moan
Make the air no thoroughfare,
Lock the light to stone!
By the heavenly pool to-day,
Body mine, spirit mine,
We must bathe, we must play
Alone, alone!”
Body mine, spirit mine,
Spells behind me,
Lest he follow me and find me!
Never stay, but as we may
Fleeing, fleeing, bar the way;
To my love's delicious moan
Make the air no thoroughfare,
Lock the light to stone!
By the heavenly pool to-day,
Body mine, spirit mine,
We must bathe, we must play
Alone, alone!”
“I knew not when I rose from thee,
I only knew
That on from tree to dreaming tree
All the wet, dark forest through
I touched and traced the fairy clew.
Upland silences unstirred
By wind of dawn
Or wakeful bird,
With signals wan and unaverred
Led me, lured me, lulled me on,
To where a brook or little river
Bubbled from a Source divine—
O, by many a mighty sign
Sealed and set apart forever
Mine, mine!”
I only knew
That on from tree to dreaming tree
All the wet, dark forest through
I touched and traced the fairy clew.
Upland silences unstirred
By wind of dawn
170
With signals wan and unaverred
Led me, lured me, lulled me on,
To where a brook or little river
Bubbled from a Source divine—
O, by many a mighty sign
Sealed and set apart forever
Mine, mine!”
Again I listened to that married pair,
Who laid their hands upon the giant trees,
Saying, “When these were seedlings, we were far
Gone in the wonder and the peace of love,”
Yet seemed young as the bloom they led us through.
And I can hear again the husband's song
At which the woman clung to him and wept,
And after seemed more blessèd than before.
Who laid their hands upon the giant trees,
Saying, “When these were seedlings, we were far
Gone in the wonder and the peace of love,”
Yet seemed young as the bloom they led us through.
And I can hear again the husband's song
At which the woman clung to him and wept,
And after seemed more blessèd than before.
“Dost thou fear, my bride, to dwell
Longer near the wondrous well,
Where we, careless leaning,
Drank and were glorified?
Stirs and flutters in thy side,
Love, the sweet meaning
Why we abide,
Here where the waters flow
Till the heart-prophecied hour!
When with tears of weakness, songs of power,
We have knelt the stream beside,
And poured the chrysm wild
Over our deathless child,
Then we will go—
O whither, whither, love, seeking our child that died!”
Longer near the wondrous well,
Where we, careless leaning,
Drank and were glorified?
Stirs and flutters in thy side,
Love, the sweet meaning
Why we abide,
171
Till the heart-prophecied hour!
When with tears of weakness, songs of power,
We have knelt the stream beside,
And poured the chrysm wild
Over our deathless child,
Then we will go—
O whither, whither, love, seeking our child that died!”
Yea, yea, I know to what unlikely springs,
To what mere household wells and neighbor brooks
Some led us, saying, “Here by chance we drank
And suffered the bright change; stoop ye and drink!”
Also I know how others stood at loss,
Saying, “'T was here, 't was such a place as this;
But nowhere wells the water. Blame us not!
Perhaps it has its seasons!” Seasons four
We waited once, and when the fourth was run
We put our guide to death—unrighteously!
For look you, but a little after that,
Upon the monstrous borders of this place,
We met the ancient comrades of our quest.
A lifetime since, they fell away from us
And mingled with the tribes. Nine souls we met,
Seven thereof as old and worn as we,
And with them women-kind more broken still;
But two were more divine uplifted men
Than when we knelt beside the burning ships.
You know how, at our question, one spake naught,
But wept, and gave us mutely of his store,
Filling our hands with precious necessaries;
The other, from our vasty mountain shelf,
Pointed far westward over silver peaks.
Then she who went beside him as his bride
Smiled and said Nay to the uplifted arm;
Yet followed where he led us. Twelve days march
By west and north we journeyed, through a world
Gigantic and phantasmal, as if flung
In terror of their fancy from the hands
Of rude and early gods. And as we went,
Ever before us that bright woman sang
Many a bright, disturbing song, whereof
One was the strangest among many strange.
To what mere household wells and neighbor brooks
Some led us, saying, “Here by chance we drank
And suffered the bright change; stoop ye and drink!”
Also I know how others stood at loss,
Saying, “'T was here, 't was such a place as this;
But nowhere wells the water. Blame us not!
Perhaps it has its seasons!” Seasons four
We waited once, and when the fourth was run
We put our guide to death—unrighteously!
For look you, but a little after that,
Upon the monstrous borders of this place,
We met the ancient comrades of our quest.
A lifetime since, they fell away from us
172
Seven thereof as old and worn as we,
And with them women-kind more broken still;
But two were more divine uplifted men
Than when we knelt beside the burning ships.
You know how, at our question, one spake naught,
But wept, and gave us mutely of his store,
Filling our hands with precious necessaries;
The other, from our vasty mountain shelf,
Pointed far westward over silver peaks.
Then she who went beside him as his bride
Smiled and said Nay to the uplifted arm;
Yet followed where he led us. Twelve days march
By west and north we journeyed, through a world
Gigantic and phantasmal, as if flung
In terror of their fancy from the hands
Of rude and early gods. And as we went,
Ever before us that bright woman sang
Many a bright, disturbing song, whereof
One was the strangest among many strange.
“I saw a thousand gates unclose,
A risen woman in each gate;
Each woman cried, ‘For thee I rose:
Waitest thou? I can wait!’
A risen woman in each gate;
Each woman cried, ‘For thee I rose:
Waitest thou? I can wait!’
173
“I scared the stars above the sun,
I shook the old roots of the sea,
The anchored continents did shun
My importunity.
I shook the old roots of the sea,
The anchored continents did shun
My importunity.
“I cried, ‘I will not suffer death,
Nor shameful age, the death in life!
What from our love God hidden hath
Be wrung from Him with strife!’
Nor shameful age, the death in life!
What from our love God hidden hath
Be wrung from Him with strife!’
“In faintness once again I lay,
And saw those gates unclose about me,
I heard the thousand women say
‘How long, then, wilt thou doubt me?
And saw those gates unclose about me,
I heard the thousand women say
‘How long, then, wilt thou doubt me?
“‘For thee, I rose, for thee I wait
Who am thyself, long, long uprisen;
Come to the Fountain; it is late;
And darker grows thy prison!’
Who am thyself, long, long uprisen;
Come to the Fountain; it is late;
And darker grows thy prison!’
“All mutinous thoughts away I flung,
And I, a risen woman, trod
Those liberties where gushed and sung
The living wells of God.”
And I, a risen woman, trod
Those liberties where gushed and sung
The living wells of God.”
So, for twelve days, her singing led us on:
The twelfth day, in the fading light, we came
Into a region where the laboring earth
Spouted whale-like her fountains, icy some
And clear as ice, some boiling sulphurous.
Then, by the master-water in the midst,
He who far off had pointed out the land
Halted us, saying, “Here I drank; drink ye!”
And when we drank and found no virtue in it,
He muttered, “Even as the other seven!”
And beckoning his bright woman, slipped away.
But he, our other comrade, who had wept
To see us, and had followed without speech,
Broke silence then, and as the mountain dusk
Shut over them, we heard his lessening song
Mix with the pouring waters and the wind.
The twelfth day, in the fading light, we came
174
Spouted whale-like her fountains, icy some
And clear as ice, some boiling sulphurous.
Then, by the master-water in the midst,
He who far off had pointed out the land
Halted us, saying, “Here I drank; drink ye!”
And when we drank and found no virtue in it,
He muttered, “Even as the other seven!”
And beckoning his bright woman, slipped away.
But he, our other comrade, who had wept
To see us, and had followed without speech,
Broke silence then, and as the mountain dusk
Shut over them, we heard his lessening song
Mix with the pouring waters and the wind.
“Not with searching, not with strife,
Not by traveler's true reporting,
Nor by signs of old importing,
Win ye to the Fount of Life.
But as the husband to the wife
At evening thoughtless goes,
And lo, about her careless head
Twines terror like a flashing knife,
Breathes wonder like a climbing rose,
And dreams wherewith his youth was rife,
The sorrowed-for, the long-since dead,
He finds up-gathered in her eyes
Beyond belief, beyond surprise—
So shall ye find, not otherwise!
For ere with striving you are come
The fountain's singing heart is dumb,
Faded its spell;
And down the world at random hurled
By conduits and thwart understreams,
The secret waters of the well—
Where the thirsty millions dwell
Or 'neath unvisited moonbeams—
Renew their miracle!”
Not by traveler's true reporting,
Nor by signs of old importing,
Win ye to the Fount of Life.
But as the husband to the wife
At evening thoughtless goes,
And lo, about her careless head
Twines terror like a flashing knife,
Breathes wonder like a climbing rose,
And dreams wherewith his youth was rife,
175
He finds up-gathered in her eyes
Beyond belief, beyond surprise—
So shall ye find, not otherwise!
For ere with striving you are come
The fountain's singing heart is dumb,
Faded its spell;
And down the world at random hurled
By conduits and thwart understreams,
The secret waters of the well—
Where the thirsty millions dwell
Or 'neath unvisited moonbeams—
Renew their miracle!”
To-morrow morn, yet fewer than to-night,
We will go on, leaving the fallen head.
These peaceful desert men will give it honor.
From moon to moon they hold us more in awe,
And as they deal with their outlying gods,—
Them of the farther fields and water-holes,
Too shy to climb into their rock-perched towns
So do they unto us, in lonely places
Setting us sacred food, honey and maize,
Sun-baken fruits and sacrificial bread.
I think there have been battles waged for us,
And vigil set in all their eagle-towers;
I think their priests come with us afar off,
Staying when we stay, moving when we move:
Either 't is so, or 't is a thing I dream.
We will go on, leaving the fallen head.
These peaceful desert men will give it honor.
From moon to moon they hold us more in awe,
And as they deal with their outlying gods,—
Them of the farther fields and water-holes,
Too shy to climb into their rock-perched towns
So do they unto us, in lonely places
Setting us sacred food, honey and maize,
Sun-baken fruits and sacrificial bread.
I think there have been battles waged for us,
176
I think their priests come with us afar off,
Staying when we stay, moving when we move:
Either 't is so, or 't is a thing I dream.
Though order and the comeliness of truth
No more reign constant in the spirit's house,
Though far and near shift places, and our sleep
Tangles itself with what we are awake,
Yet, O worn brothers, much-enduring men,
Without search, without striving, go we on,
For I am told at heart that we shall find! ...
Perhaps within the pictured water-jars
They fill and place for us along our path;
Perhaps in stooping where the wild and tame
Fight for the thread of moisture in the rocks;
Perhaps as ghosts beside the ghostly lakes
Which noonday paints upon the distant sand;
Perhaps far sunken by a canyon pool,
Under the soft rein of a cataract
Which leaps and scatters down the walls of Death.
No more reign constant in the spirit's house,
Though far and near shift places, and our sleep
Tangles itself with what we are awake,
Yet, O worn brothers, much-enduring men,
Without search, without striving, go we on,
For I am told at heart that we shall find! ...
Perhaps within the pictured water-jars
They fill and place for us along our path;
Perhaps in stooping where the wild and tame
Fight for the thread of moisture in the rocks;
Perhaps as ghosts beside the ghostly lakes
Which noonday paints upon the distant sand;
Perhaps far sunken by a canyon pool,
Under the soft rein of a cataract
Which leaps and scatters down the walls of Death.
177
THAMMUZ
Daughters, daughters, do ye grieve?
Crimson dark the freshes flow!
Were ye violent at eve?
Crimson stains where the rushes grow!
What is this that I must know?
Crimson dark the freshes flow!
Were ye violent at eve?
Crimson stains where the rushes grow!
What is this that I must know?
Mourners by the dark red waters,
Met ye Thammuz at his play?
Was your mood upon you, daughters?
Had ye drunken? O how grey
Looks your hair in the rising day!
Met ye Thammuz at his play?
Was your mood upon you, daughters?
Had ye drunken? O how grey
Looks your hair in the rising day!
Mourners, mourn not overmuch
That ye slew your lovely one.
Such ye are; and be ye such!
Lift your heads; the waters run
Ruby bright in the climbing sun.
That ye slew your lovely one.
Such ye are; and be ye such!
Lift your heads; the waters run
Ruby bright in the climbing sun.
Raven hair and hair of gold,
Look who bendeth over you!
This is not the shepherd old;
This is Thammuz, whom ye slew,
Radiant Thammuz, risen anew!
Look who bendeth over you!
This is not the shepherd old;
This is Thammuz, whom ye slew,
Radiant Thammuz, risen anew!
| The Poems and Plays of William Vaughn Moody | |