The Year of the World A Philosophical Poem on "Redemption from The Fall". By William B. Scott |
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 | The Year of the World |  |
II.
In the unknown awakening of the morn,
When the red light was in the east, (if east
There was, from whence the first day-dawn arose,)
And the true forms of gods lived everywhere,
Whose shadows yet some mortal minds discern
From time to time; in this fair year, within
An island now unknown, the tree of life
Beside the home of the Unseen did grow;
A boy, Lyremmos, fed upon its fruits,
A maiden, Mneme, lived within that home—
Then time was not, nor was there any past,
Nor any distance, for the infinite leaves
Of that great tree were over all the heaven;
And depths were on each side, and yet no depths,
For spirits filled them all.
When the red light was in the east, (if east
There was, from whence the first day-dawn arose,)
And the true forms of gods lived everywhere,
Whose shadows yet some mortal minds discern
From time to time; in this fair year, within
An island now unknown, the tree of life
Beside the home of the Unseen did grow;
A boy, Lyremmos, fed upon its fruits,
A maiden, Mneme, lived within that home—
Then time was not, nor was there any past,
Nor any distance, for the infinite leaves
Of that great tree were over all the heaven;
And depths were on each side, and yet no depths,
For spirits filled them all.
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Before that boy
Three visible forms advance, a vanward three
Of endless throngs that until now had been
Unseen by him. One from the sea, and one
Exhaled as from the earth, and from above
Another came: and lo! he trembled—then
Stricken as by a terror he fell back,
And an unspeakable change on all those spirits
Drew them back from him, downward and still back
Sinking and fading, as the dew of even
Sinks down into the herbs with dusk and cold.
Three visible forms advance, a vanward three
Of endless throngs that until now had been
Unseen by him. One from the sea, and one
Exhaled as from the earth, and from above
Another came: and lo! he trembled—then
Stricken as by a terror he fell back,
And an unspeakable change on all those spirits
Drew them back from him, downward and still back
Sinking and fading, as the dew of even
Sinks down into the herbs with dusk and cold.
Upon a couch of shining leaves, the nest
Of many lovely snakes, the man-boy lay,
Silent and motionless and without breath:
It might be centuries, it might be throbs
Of the sun's pulse I know not, but the eye
Of Brama opened only through the lapse
Of a thousand years. His luminous limbs gave light
Around him over all the leaves, and throngs
Of insects none have ever seen since then
Approached about his hair; still moved he not
But gazed right upward, as a dead man's eye
Looks and yet sees not. In this trance he knew
Cycles of ages with their phantoms pass
Out of him, as if he had been all these.
“Are they, or are they not? those spirits that come
Answering to no voice, those snakes, and I,
Am I, or am I not?” he asked, with pauses
Of silence, underneath those ample leaves
That now were shrinking. Then the sky expanded
With many clouds, and rays of white sunshine,
And he was many—not one naked youth
But many, each adorned with various tires,
Not all in equal beauty yet all fair,
And on good offices intent, attended
By beasts and all that had the gift of life—
Such offices as the spirits erst fulfilled
Whom now he saw not—and his sister Mneme
Was beside each in every act—not one
But now a thousand sisters, yet unchanged
By any new adornment, in all place
And act, beside himself with like intent
To his; but soon her utter perfectness
Seemed to remove her from his sphere. In time,
Proceeding as the stars proceed at eve,
More visions were evolved, and from a land
Of white flowers, soft and noiseless-footed beings
Floated with rhythmic motion, more and more
Towards him, then with both hands each one raised
Her yard-long hair, and lo, the eyes of women,
The light upon the passionate face of joy—
The bosom warm of mundane love!
Of many lovely snakes, the man-boy lay,
Silent and motionless and without breath:
It might be centuries, it might be throbs
Of the sun's pulse I know not, but the eye
Of Brama opened only through the lapse
Of a thousand years. His luminous limbs gave light
Around him over all the leaves, and throngs
Of insects none have ever seen since then
Approached about his hair; still moved he not
But gazed right upward, as a dead man's eye
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Cycles of ages with their phantoms pass
Out of him, as if he had been all these.
“Are they, or are they not? those spirits that come
Answering to no voice, those snakes, and I,
Am I, or am I not?” he asked, with pauses
Of silence, underneath those ample leaves
That now were shrinking. Then the sky expanded
With many clouds, and rays of white sunshine,
And he was many—not one naked youth
But many, each adorned with various tires,
Not all in equal beauty yet all fair,
And on good offices intent, attended
By beasts and all that had the gift of life—
Such offices as the spirits erst fulfilled
Whom now he saw not—and his sister Mneme
Was beside each in every act—not one
But now a thousand sisters, yet unchanged
By any new adornment, in all place
And act, beside himself with like intent
To his; but soon her utter perfectness
Seemed to remove her from his sphere. In time,
Proceeding as the stars proceed at eve,
More visions were evolved, and from a land
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Floated with rhythmic motion, more and more
Towards him, then with both hands each one raised
Her yard-long hair, and lo, the eyes of women,
The light upon the passionate face of joy—
The bosom warm of mundane love!
From thence
He took no note of aught as heretofore,
A unity in multitude; but now
The term of his cognizance was twofold,
The motive and the act; the outward nay,
The inward affirmation—He, the gifted;
She, the true answering beauty—
He took no note of aught as heretofore,
A unity in multitude; but now
The term of his cognizance was twofold,
The motive and the act; the outward nay,
The inward affirmation—He, the gifted;
She, the true answering beauty—
| The Year of the World | |