 | The North Star and Other Poems |  |
1
IN HOSPITAL
I
Nothing of itself is in the still'd mind, only
A still submission to each exterior image,
Still as a pool, accepting trees and sky,
A still submission to each exterior image,
Still as a pool, accepting trees and sky,
A candid mirror that never a breath disturbs
Nor drifted leaf,—as if of a single substance
With every shape and colour that it encloses,—
Nor drifted leaf,—as if of a single substance
With every shape and colour that it encloses,—
When, alone and lost in the morning's white silence,
Drowsily drowsing eyes, empty of thought,
Accept the blank breadth of the opposite wall.
Drowsily drowsing eyes, empty of thought,
Accept the blank breadth of the opposite wall.
Lying in my bed, motionless, hardly emerged
From clouds of sleep,—a solitary cloud
Is not more vague in the placeless blue of ether
From clouds of sleep,—a solitary cloud
Is not more vague in the placeless blue of ether
Than I, with unapportioned and unadjusted
Senses, that put off trouble of understanding,
Even the stirring of wonder, and acquiesce.
Senses, that put off trouble of understanding,
Even the stirring of wonder, and acquiesce.
The early light brims over the filled silence.
Memory stirs not a wave or a shadow within me.
Only the wall is the world; there stops my sight.
Memory stirs not a wave or a shadow within me.
Only the wall is the world; there stops my sight.
II
If he should bend his bow, that great Archer
There before me, if tautened and all erect
Slowly he should draw the arrow back to his ear,
There before me, if tautened and all erect
Slowly he should draw the arrow back to his ear,
Suddenly I should see the curve of his tense body
Alter, and O at the leap of the sighted arrow
The arms descend, shoulder and hip relax.
Alter, and O at the leap of the sighted arrow
The arms descend, shoulder and hip relax.
2
But hidden in his face, hidden the bow behind him.
I see the square of the buckle that clasps embossed
The belt girding the slenderness of his loins,
I see the square of the buckle that clasps embossed
The belt girding the slenderness of his loins,
The smooth and idle energy of his arms,
And under the mould of breast and flank I feel
The invisible veins and warm blood pulsing through them.
And under the mould of breast and flank I feel
The invisible veins and warm blood pulsing through them.
But why is his face hidden? And why does my heart
Beat with a fear that he may be all disclosed
Terrible in calm, terrible in beauty and power?
Beat with a fear that he may be all disclosed
Terrible in calm, terrible in beauty and power?
For his eyes must surely be filled with the far mountains,
Rivers and great plains be his eyes' possession;
And full in the centre of his concentred vision
Rivers and great plains be his eyes' possession;
And full in the centre of his concentred vision
Stands his victim, he who is soon to be stricken,
Soon to fall, with the arrow pouncing upon him,
The arrow that carries the light and scorn of his eyes.
Soon to fall, with the arrow pouncing upon him,
The arrow that carries the light and scorn of his eyes.
Why do you hide your face, glorious Archer?
If I could see you, then though the arrow pierced me
Gazing upon you, it were a glory to fall.
If I could see you, then though the arrow pierced me
Gazing upon you, it were a glory to fall.
Will you at last, seizing the bow, bend it?
Now, as I gaze? A thrilling of fear rushes
Blind in my veins: fear? is it fear, or hope?
Now, as I gaze? A thrilling of fear rushes
Blind in my veins: fear? is it fear, or hope?
As if all my gaze were fixt on a drop of water
Suspended, about to fall and still not falling,
A liquid jewel of slowly increasing splendour
Suspended, about to fall and still not falling,
A liquid jewel of slowly increasing splendour
As the rain retreats and the shadow of cloud is lifted
And all light comes to enclose itself in the circle
Of a single drop, so is this suspended moment.
And all light comes to enclose itself in the circle
Of a single drop, so is this suspended moment.
3
III
The stillness moves. Tripping of feet; shadows;
Voices. The hospital wakes to its ritual round.
The moment breaks; the drop, the bright drop falls.
Voices. The hospital wakes to its ritual round.
The moment breaks; the drop, the bright drop falls.
A sponge has prest its coldness over my spirit.
Shape and colour abandon their apparition,
Subside into place in the order of usual things.
Shape and colour abandon their apparition,
Subside into place in the order of usual things.
And another mind returns with the day's returning,
Weaving its soft invisible meshes around me.
This is the daylight, bald on the plain wall.
Weaving its soft invisible meshes around me.
This is the daylight, bald on the plain wall.
Cracks in the paint, a trickle of random lines,
A trailing scrawl that a child might trace with a stick
As he runs idly about the ebb-tide sands—
A trailing scrawl that a child might trace with a stick
As he runs idly about the ebb-tide sands—
Is it out of these I supposed a towering image
There on the blankness? Are you gone, my Archer,
You who were living more than the millions waking?
There on the blankness? Are you gone, my Archer,
You who were living more than the millions waking?
No, you are there still! It was I released you
Out of the secret world wherein you are hidden.
You are there, there; and the arrow is flying, flying....
Out of the secret world wherein you are hidden.
You are there, there; and the arrow is flying, flying....
And yet patient, as if nothing were endangered,
We do small things and keep the little commandments,—
We and our doings a scribble upon the wall.
We do small things and keep the little commandments,—
We and our doings a scribble upon the wall.
| The North Star and Other Poems | |