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Title: The Piper and the Reed

Author: Robert Winkworth Norwood

Release date: September 8, 2011 [eBook #36916]

Most recently updated: January 7, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36916

Credits: Produced by Al Haines

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PIPER AND THE REED ***

THE PIPER AND THE REED

Know you a garden near the road?

Its walls are very high;

A gift of dream on me bestowed,

And covered with the sky:

There one may walk and talk and talk,

Forgetful of aught else but friends,

When twilight into evening blends.

Sincerely yours, Robert Norwood

THE PIPER

AND THE REED

BY

ROBERT NORWOOD

AUTHOR OF "THE WITCH OF ENDOR," "HIS LADY OF THE SONNETS," ETC.

MCCLELLAND, GOODCHILD & STEWART

PUBLISHERS :: :: :: TORONTO

COPYRIGHT, 1917,

BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TO

L. L. H.

CONTENTS

The Piper and the Reed

Aldebaran

Comrades

After the Order of Melchisedec

O Little Pale Pilgrim of Dream

A Song of Evolution

A Song of the Trinity

A Song of the Father

A Song of the Mother

A Song of the Son

Te Deum

O Will You Come With Me

The King of Glory

Matins

A Cradle Song of Life

A Song of the All

The Slow Emerger

A Song of the New Gods

The Optimist

Revelation

A Song of Workers

A Song of Battles

Can You Forget

Bartimæus

The Cock

The Stream

The One Oblation

A Question

Combatants

On the Wide, White Road

That One Should Love Me

Rahab

On Guard

The Ploughman

Dear Little Maid of Dream

The Violet to the Aster

Magic

The King and the Maid

A Woman's Prayer

Foeman

Geraint

Grief

The Empty Room

Love Eternal

After the Feast

The Lonely Road

THE PIPER AND THE REED

THE PIPER AND THE REED

I am a reed—a little reed

Down by the river,

A whim of God whose moment's need

Was that the Giver

Might blow melodious and long

One cadence of eternal song.

Through me are blown

Wild whisperings of wind from hills

No sun hath known.

The splendour that Orion spills

On purple space;

The golden loom of Leo's mane;

The scintillance of Vega's face;

Dim unto dark:

And great Arcturus' far refrain

Fades to a silence that is pain,

When, like a lark,

Riseth melodious and strong

That cadence of eternal song.

God is the Piper—I, the reed

Down by the river for His need.

One note in those vast melodies

Waited on me,

Or else the choral companies

Went silently

Complaining to the muted stars:

"What lack we yet that Discord bars

That infinite Processional?"

Or else the seraphim would call:

"Minstrels, your dulcimers let fall

And break the silvern psalteries!"

A little reed—a little reed!

And yet were silence of that song,

Failed I the river's pebbled brim,

Nor trembled never unto him—

The Piper! passing where we throng

Vibrant and ready for His need.

O Miracle!

He who in beauty goeth by

The marches of the meadowy sky,

A-piping on the many reeds

His canticle,

Paused in His playing;

For He found

An under-sound

Failed of the music that He made.

Wild winds went straying,

Like sheep lost on the daisied meads—

Scattered by Discord and afraid,

Lost from the fold

They knew of old.

My God had need

Of one more reed—

Had need of me

To make the perfect harmony.

I am that under-sound,

That needed note.

Eternally the Piper tried

Reed after reed until He found

Me growing by the river-side,

And laughing at the leaves that float

Forever down its burnished tide.

How frail my body is—how frail

And common of its kind;

A reed among a field of reeds

A-tremble to the wind—

The wind that threshes like a flail

Until my body bleeds!

Yet through me such wild music blows

The Piper laughs among the stars.

Know you the Piper? Little scars

Burn on His brow, each shoulder shows

Wounds of a knotted scourge that fell

To hurt Him from the hands of Hell!

Welcome, O Wind!

All hail, O Pain!

One little reed—one little reed,

To fill the Piper's far refrain,

Is broken till its body bleed;

Glad that the Minstrel Lord doth find

A tone of His eternal need.

ALDEBARAN

The minstrel tuned the triple strings—

His harp of many murmurings—

Then on a mighty chord began

A song of bright Aldebaran:

I

Aldebaran, Aldebaran,

One night I saw thee rise

Above the peaks of Ispahan,

Red on those purple skies.

Thou wast a royal ruby stone

Set in a diadem

Of some great god upon his throne,

Whose garment's ample hem

Was margined with the clustered spheres

Beyond a myriad of years.

Above thee soared the Pleiades,

Beneath, Auriga flared;

His vast melodic harmonies

Rigel with Algol shared:

Space trembled to the minstrelsy

Of Deneb and Alcyone.

II

Aldebaran, Aldebaran,

Betelguese sheathed his sword,

And in that cosmic cry began

The music of his word;

He spoke in syllables so strong,

Each sentence was an æon long:

"Thou art"—he thundered, "the first star

To lead earth out of mist,

When man looked up and felt afar

Urge of an ancient tryst

Made ere God lit the morning sun

To mark the length of day begun.

"Thou threshold of the Zodiac;

Thou portal of the Rooms;

Thou first step of the starry Track:

Thou shuttle of the Looms

Where Fate weaves threads of purest gold

To fashion God's wide garment-fold—

"Hail!"—and: "All hail!" from every sphere

That rolled across the void,

I heard, Aldebaran, with fear:

Each clustered asteroid

Flung back the tumult of that cry,

Like trumpet-voices through the sky.

III

Then Vega rose and on her lyre

Played tremulous vast chords,

Singing the infinite desire

Of those celestial lords

Who shouted when earth's loom was laid,

And through the warp God's shuttle played;

When through the loom of misted flame

The threads of God began

To weave a world; before there came

Adventuring of man

Upon the Path of life to find

Monitions of eternal Mind.

She sang of forest and of fell,

Of mountain and of moor;

Caves and the caveman's battle-yell;

The song beside the door

Where women ground the meal and sung

Rhymes in their rude primeval tongue.

I saw the mammoth and the bear,

Like moving mountains, run

In terror from the flint-head spear,

Proving that man had won

Lordship of earth; and I made prayer,

Aldebaran, before thee there!

IV

Arcturus lifted high his horn

And blew a mighty blast.

The curtain of the night was torn

To show the protoplast

Transfigured on the finer face

Of that far prehistoric race—

We, clumsy, call Lemurian!

A city lifted high

Its towered domes of daring man

Beneath a tropic sky,

With gates of gold that gleamed and shone

Brighter than portaled Babylon.

Men were as gods upon the earth,

The women were most fair;

Music was speech; a holy birth

Of art was cradled there—

For dreams took shape in pure jacinth,

Seraphic brows upon the plinth.

Reed instruments for dance and song;

Brave horns beneath the blue;

The sistrum and the thunder-gong;

The pipe and tabour, too;

And all the craft of minstrelsy:

Harp, sackbut, cymbal, psaltery,

Were fashioned. Then was genius stirred

To pre-Homeric lines,

And drama grew. On earth was heard

Praise of the fruitful vines,

Oil of the olive, barley-gold,

Leaping of lambs within the fold.

Told was the story of the stars,

And thine, Aldebaran,

When Jupiter was not, nor Mars;

When every shepherd-clan

Pointed and named the olden spheres

While Rome was in the womb of years.

V

Altair in Aquila stood forth

With flaming evil brow,

Looked from his tower to the north

And made an awful vow:

"I will destroy yon golden gates—

Hither to me, O shrouded Fates!

Hither to me and hide the sun,

Darken the noisy noon,

Snuff out the planets one by one,

Unleash the hot simoon;

Destroy the race Lemurian!"

And they obeyed, Aldebaran.

Thunder!

A woman by the well

Looked up wide-eyed and fell;

A shepherd leading forth his sheep,

Gasped, clutched his throat and found eternal sleep;

Ceased in the temple, horn and holy drum,

And all the vested choristers were dumb!

Rain as of fire!

The shivering of earth;

Dead is the baby at its birth—

With horror in her great dark eyes,

The new-made mother lifeless lies;

Two lovers in the spell of their first kiss

And whispered word, the dark abyss

Engulfs forever!

Night! Endless night!

There are no towers, temples, domes—

No palaces, no pillared homes;

And all that stately company

Are buried in a boiling sea!

Alas, for these, Aldebaran!

And woe to Altair and his hate!

Gone is the race Lemurian;

I weep, O Star, to sing their fate!

VI

And for a while the court was still,

Tense, waiting on the harpist's will,

From lord and lady to the King.

One spoke: "It was an evil thing!"

One: "Hush! He is about to sing."

The jester shook his golden bells,

And laughed: "A pretty tale he tells

Of Altair and Aldebaran;

Faith! Never since court-fools began

Was heard the like.—Lemurian!"

A bishop raised his mitred head:

"It was the Flood, I think"—he said.

"Aye, even so"—replied a priest:

"Was not that city in the east?

Altair?—Apocalyptic Beast!"

Then spake the King upon his throne:

"Never such harping have I known;

It is a right majestic tale—

How poetry and song prevail

On sword and shield and burnished mail!"

Again the minstrel tuned the strings—

His harp of many murmurings—

Again on softer chord began

The song of bright Aldebaran:

VII

Aldebaran, Aldebaran,

Last night I saw thee glow

In Taurus—open like a fan—

Above a world of snow.

The joyous bells were ringing wide

Their plangent silver chime,

Proclaiming: "It is Christmastide!

Now is the time, the time,

The Holy Babe was brought to birth,

And Lord Messias came to earth!"

Wast thou not then that eastern Star

The Magi did behold,

Who journeyed from a city far

To offer gifts of gold—

The Star of Jesu, leading them

To little white-walled Bethlehem?

Aldebaran, Aldebaran,

Across the crystal sky

A shout of angel-song began:

"Glory to God on High,

On earth be peace! Now is the morn

In which Emmanuel is born!"

They sang the end of every woe,

The tale of every tear.

I saw a host of singers go

Bravely against the fear

That held men in the thongs of Fate

Through æons of the hell of Hate.

Before thy lance Altair went down,

Lemuria arose

Restored to temple, palace, crown,

With gates that never close;

And all her shining company

Renewed their art and minstrelsy.

The babe was in his mother's arms,

His face was like the Christ;

And that lost lover knew the charms

Of her who kept the tryst;

The woman filled her water jar,

The shepherd led his sheep afar.

And then I knew, Aldebaran,

Lemuria is one

With all the domes of daring man

That glitter to the sun;

That age by age one broad highway

Leads up the host to fuller day.

There shall no lost tall towers be,

No idle aim of art;

No useless joy of minstrelsy,

No ever-empty heart;

No utter silencing of song,

No comrade absent from the throng.

Through pain and trial of the tears,

Lead up the host, O Star!

Lead up, lead up, until the years

Have glorified the scar

That burns upon the brow of man,

Aldebaran, Aldebaran!

COMRADES

Come dear Comrade, let us sing—

Not to any tightened string

Struck by harpers when they play—

Let us, like the morning wind,

Shout with an unfettered mind

Anthems of the common day.

Challenge, as the waves the shore,

Whoso limits what we pour,

Protestant of any strain

Other than old minstrels know;

Follow where the spume flakes blow

Down the world and back again.

We will run the glad earth round,

Splinter with a lance of sound

Cliffs that front the swelling tide;

Till the mute soul is set free

Unto love and liberty,

Unafraid and satisfied.

We will let the fancy run,

Climb into the setting sun—

Leap from it upon the moon—

Laugh at all the broken bars

Down betwixt us and the stars,

Vainly builded by the noon.

Play, my Comrade, through the trees

Luting ancient litanies;

Laugh with every fronded fern;

Sit with daisies in the grass;

Let the river hold a glass

To your eyes, and look and learn.

Gaily go upon all roads,

Not like cattle pricked with goads;

For the towered town To-Morrow—

Walled with pearl and chrysolite—

Lies beyond the tarn of Night,

Past the broken bridge of Sorrow.

AFTER THE ORDER OF MELCHISEDEC

I am a priest upon whose head

God long ago poured holy oil;

He gave to me a Word and said:

"With this thou shalt mankind assoil!"

Since I went forth God to obey,

Life has revealed me many things—

I find it very hard to say

What is most dear: The task that brings

Bread to the eater, or the rest

That follows toil; the love of friends,

Of books, of song,—each is most blessed

And always with contentment blends.

A stone, a faggot or a flower;

A bird in rapture of its flight;

December-snow or April-shower;

The velvet vastness of the night,

When Mother Moon has left the stars

And with the winds gone gossiping—

Or leans upon the gate that bars

Dawn from untimely entering.

These hold for me unending charm,

Fill me with wonderment and awe

That men should ever think of harm,

Fencing their lives about with law.

The world is such a lovely place—

A jewelled pendant on Love's chain!

I marvel that a human face

Should pale with anger or with pain.

I marvel at the cry for bread

That thunders round the waking world;

The tumult of the legion's tread

That shakes the earth, as souls are hurled

In battle to destroy the souls

God grew in His great garden, when

He won past all His other goals—

Triumphant at the birth of men!

Who can behold the dance of Dawn—

Juggling with stars like tinselled balls,

Vestured in mantle of a wan,

White glory whose dim splendour falls

Upon the mountains; and not feel

Himself transcendant? Who can hear

Clangour of wild birds and the peal

Of matin-bells across the clear,

Blue sky, commingling with the shout

Of children on their way to school,

And fail at once to be about

God's business?—As within a pool

You are reflected, Nature shows

The miracle of what you are—

The highest that Creation knows:

Lord of the earth and every star!

I am a priest upon whose head

God long ago poured holy oil;

He gave to me a Word and said:

"With this thou shalt mankind assoil!"

I come from out the Holy Place

With benediction for the earth,

To wipe the tears from every face

And tell the fallen one his worth.

My business is to be a priest

Whose holy task is to forgive,

To bid the beggar to the feast,

To touch the dead and make them live.

I know not any fear of thrones,

No claim of Scribe and Pharisee;

My word is set to many tones

Of lute and harp and psaltery.

I have no temple and no creed,

I celebrate no mystic rite;

The human heart is all I need

Wherein I worship day and night:

The human heart is all I need,

For I have found God ever there—

Love is the one sufficient creed,

And comradeship the purest prayer!

I bow not down to any book,

No written page holds me in awe;

For when on one friend's face I look

I read the Prophets and the Law!

I need no fountain filled with blood

To cleanse my soul from mortal sin;

For love is an unbounded flood—

Freely I go to wash therein.

Love laughs at boundaries of wrath

And is as infinite as God;

Breaks down each wall, finds out each path

Where wilful, straying feet have trod.

Love is the Word God gave and said:

"With it thou shalt mankind assoil!"

Then forthwith poured upon my head

Anointing of His holy oil!

O LITTLE PALE PILGRIM OF DREAMS

O little pale pilgrim of dreams!

Do you know the names of the flowers,

The ferns by the pools and the streams,

The kisses of God in the showers;

Do you hear His "Hello" on the hills

Where a wind comes out of the cloud,

And fail of the magic that fills

Companions who meet in the crowd?

Thou slow of the heart to believe—

Thou blind of the eyes to behold!

Let go of the things that deceive,

Vain baubles of silver and gold;

Come out and be one with the throng—

Your brothers who wait by the way—

And sing the new Liberty Song

At the wide-flung doors of the day.

Companion of flower and fern,

A brother of Christ and the clod,

And one with all spirits that yearn

The realized image of God;

The centuries wait for thy wings,

And æons have followed thee far:

Lay hold of the sceptre of things,

Thou lord of the atom and star!

A SONG OF EVOLUTION

I Will sing of Evolution:

A song of the atom—

A song of the star—

A song of the soul!

God is the name of two Lovers

Each other eternally wooing:

Love and Life!

Love is all light and is lonely

Until He finds Life;

Life too is lonely

Until in her seeking

Love has been found.

Over the peaks and the plains

Of an infinite universe

These Lovers are ever

Each other finding and losing:

Whenever they meet there is birth,

Whenever they part there is death!

Birth and Death!

What does it mean we are born?

What does it mean that we die?

I make answer:

That which of Love and of Life is begotten

Fails as to form of itself only—

Not Self but its eidolon fails—

So Love and Life part to prepare for Self new forms;

Birth is a form of the Self once more appearing—

Self who is child of these Lovers eternally wooing!

How many births, deaths have we known!

Eternally going out of the urge of Love for Life,

We are the Sons of the Highest!

Atom and star and flesh,

These are but forms of the Soul;

Amoeba, mastodon, man,

But forms of the Soul forever ascending!

The Soul is more than the form,

Abides there merely a moment;

The Soul is a pilgrim

Housed for the night in a hostel:

New habitations meet for his needs are provided,

Yea, they are builded by Love and by Life—

Builded by them for their Only Begotten.

A SONG OF THE TRINITY

I believe in one God the Almighty:

Love is the Father Eternal:

Life is the Mother,

Infinite Spouse of the Father;

Soul is the Son forever ascending!

Love, Life and the Soul—

These Three forever existing—

Love, Life and the Soul!

A SONG OF THE FATHER

I am Love!

None is before Me—

I am the All!

I am the Lover of Life

By whom my Son is begotten:

This is my Son—

The Soul in whom I am well pleased.

Or ever the stars were hung in their purple places;

Or ever the moon grew languid with love for the earth;

Or ever the day flamed forth on the hills

In eager pursuit of the reluctant arms of the night:

Life cradled our Son in the atom

We fashioned and floated on waves of ether—

Cradled our Son and waited till æons went by

Fulfilling the passive, soft years of his childhood—

Waited until he builded strange cities by rivers

That flowed from the gold of the sands of the desert—

Waited until his white body was nailed on a cross

In pledge that Love is the Lover of Life and Father of the Soul!

A SONG OF THE MOTHER

I am Life!

Love only precedes Me!

Long ere the pollen grew gold on the bee

Flitting from flower to flower,

Laden with honey;

Long ere the song of the bird

Chorused back to the choirs of winds

Coming down from earth's altars, the hills;

Long ere the lamb bleated back to the dam

Through the void and the waste

Of the upland pastures:

Love found Me and I found Love!

On my breast have I carried the Soul,

Have laid him to rest at the end of a day

With a dream and a song through the dream!

How oft he has risen—

Awaked at my word,

Reclothed by my hand!

How oft have I let him go free

To the toys and the tasks,

While he grew in stature and wisdom!

Dear is my Son in the strength of his great growing Godhood!

A SONG OF THE SON

My cradle was the atom,

On the breast of the sea I slumbered

Through a long æonian night

And wakened on the morning of the world!

The fern and the shrub and the tree

Were my playmates—

The wind was my nurse

Singing me wild songs.

I stretched out my hands to the rain.

And grew glad in the sun;

I dreamed of my sisters the stars

Of my brother the moon.

I was housed with the cattle;

For them I opened the doors of speech,

Turned their dull dreams

To the words of a song.

To him of the fang I was Terror!

In the light of my face he was furtive,

Shrank back to his den—

Ceasing to tear with his teeth.

I had learned to stand on my feet.

To smite with my hands,

To hurl a huge stone

At python and tiger.

I roared with wild laughter!

In the light of my brother the moon

I danced with my mate

To the dance of my sisters the stars.

At dawn I went forth

To hurl with the hammer

Or thrust with the spear,

And grew heavy from hunting.

I returned to the cave

And saw her white body

Naked against the sun

Red in the west on the mountains.

I drew near to my Love

Who saw me and sang

The song of the hunter

Home from the hunting.

The Babe at her breast she held up

And danced in her arms for his father—

Danced till he croodled and crowed,

Dimpled with joy of his father!

For them I builded a hut

Of saplings and wattles,

And she with her fingers

Fashioned bowls from the clay.

We dreamed as we toiled,

We sang as we dreamed;

And ever the task

Took the form of our song:

We dreamed that the wilderness

Blossomed; that the meadows

Thickened with ripening corn

Yellow and green in the noontide.

We sang of the millet and wheat,

Of the barley and rye

And the purple grape-clusters

Hanging down from the vine.

We sang of the flax

And the oil of the olive

After the time of the sound

Of the flails on the floor.

We dreamed that a city

Rose out of the jungle—

A city of towers and walls,

Of palaces, statues and pictures.

So great was our love

That, though we died,

By birth we came back

To keep tryst with each other!

She was proud Semiramis;

Helen of Troy was she;

Hers was the song of Miriam,

And the red-wet hands of Jael!

Once was her dear name Sappho,

Singing the song of the cave—

Of him who hurled with the stone,

The hunter home from the hunting!

Where the Nile is an amber bow

She dreamed and waited for me

Coming down in my trireme of war,

Enslaved at her smile!

So through the ages we met,

So through the ages we parted:

Each time that we met

After the silence that sundered,

Fairer and fairer was she;

And I grew more like a god,

Cleansed and made strong by the tears

Shed for the sorrow we suffered;

Till one day we stood in a garden—

A little green garden of lilies

Hard by a Tomb that was open

Wide to the joy of the morning;

There in the hush of the dayspring

Breathing of dew-sprinkled lilies

White as the snow upon Hermon,

We knew that our Love was immortal!

Out of the wildness

We had grown us a rose—

Out of its thorns

We had fashioned a crown!

TE DEUM

Praise God for all things:

Praise Him for birth,

Praise Him for death,

Praise Him for health,

Praise Him for sickness;

For sorrow and sin,

For gladness and gain,

For failure and loss,

For friend and for foe—

Praise God for all things!

God is the All,

So all must be praised

And welcomed and trusted

As angels from Him:

Angels of light,

Angels of darkness

Angels of joy,

Angels of woe—

Each as a messenger

Swift from His throne.

"Nothing can hurt you!"

Sings little Brother;

For each in its place

Serves but one end,

Namely, to shape you—

Fit you—complete you:

Till from the terror

And from the thunder

Grow through the gloom

Gleams of your Godhood!

Laugh at the voices,

Wailing in valleys

Like to Gehinnom—

Lurid with fires

Fed by the bodies

Of dead men forgotten!

Rise up and claim

All things as yours,

You who are God—

God in Becoming!

O WILL YOU COME WITH ME

O will you come with me away,

Brother—my Brother!

The night is spent, and breaks the day,

Brother—my Brother!

Have done with the dream and the pillowing stone!

Awake! Over vast spaces the winds are blown

To buffet and bear you from shadowing sleep.

Up the high places

Seraphim faces

Brighten and burn as the disk of the sun

Stands on the brow of yon mountain, to keep

Guard of your path till the journey is done!

THE KING OF GLORY

Give us this day a man so strong

He will not falter in his song,

Muting his instrument to please

The backward-glancing Pharisees.

He must be one to whom a child

Comes with sweet laughter, reconciled

From tears because he passes by

Like a white cloud in yonder sky.

Women shall claim him for a friend,

Hail him as brother, gladly spend

The price of spikenard for his head,

Weep at his tomb when he is dead.

From seat of customs or the nets,

Workshop or plough or minarets,

Men will respond to his clear call

And in his battles proudly fall.

This Lord must be no shrouded form

Of God Incarnate, but the norm

Of manhood for an eager age—

Our prophet, poet, teacher, sage.

If sin be missing of the mark,

Sped was the arrow in the dark:

With light shed from that Brother's face,

Each well-aimed bolt shall find its place.

Not to dead yesterdays, but now

Belongs that wide and august brow

From whose vast mind a word shall be

Spoken to set thought-forces free—

Thought-forces fettered by the ban

Of some far-thundering Vatican,

Which from the age of stone to this

Cramped them by every artifice.

He will lift up a mighty hand

Against oppression; will demand

From kings and councils an account

Of stewardship—of the amount

Taken by them in turn for toil

That starves the tiller of the soil;

Will seek to know the reason why

The millions in their hunger cry.

His clear, calm eyes will pierce excuse

Of man defending his abuse

Of power; like a two-edge sword

Will be dividing of his word.

He will not quote some ancient saw—

A text of scripture from the Law,

Nor will he seek by miracle

To blind all reason; he will tell

The tyrant and the turbaned priest:

"Because ye did it to the least

Of these my brothers, made their world

Hell—to that hell be also hurled!

"Forth from your lands into the street;

Huckster and harlot, beggar meet;

Lift from each head its crown of thorn,

And kiss those feet the nails have torn!

"Into the hell of every hate,

Vice and foul lust insatiate,

Descend and learn what ye have done,

Who from earth's children stole the sun;

"Stole field and forest, mountain, river—

Pretending that some royal giver

Bestowed them on your sculptored sires

Sleeping beneath their ancient spires!

"Ye who have taught that God is wrath;

Ye who have driven down the path

Of fear the frightened souls of men;

Ye who have made His house a den

"For thieves to bargain gold for grace:

Ye hypocrites with pious faces

And downcast eyes, your litanies—

Your candle-lights and threnodies

"Rise not to Him who clothes the grass

With glory and whose holy Mass

Is in the olive and the vine—

Not in your wafer and your wine!"

Send such a man again on earth,

As He whom Mary brought to birth,

And whom the people in their pride

Rejected and then crucified!

Only, O God of stone and star!

We will not hale him to the bar

Of Pilate and Caïaphas;

We will lift up the gates of brass

And open wide our golden doors,

Proclaiming while his splendour pours

Over the world he comes to win:

"The King of Glory shall come in!"

MATINS

Good morning, friend! What of the night?

Through yonder cloud one shaft of light,

Shot from the bow of Hunter Day,

Strikes on the world; his hound-winds bay

Down valleys where the wheat and rye

Their gold with green of forest vie.

Lift up your head! Behold how fair

Creation is: The ocean-air

Beats billowing upon the strand

Of endless leagues of summer land,

And freighted ships of scented bales,

Wild blossoms, spread their tinctured sails.

See how God with an artist's grace

Gives soul to every flower-face!

Beneath His touch a leaf is green,

A berry, red! Mark how, between

The captive daisies, come and pass

Phalanxes of the guarding grass!

The night was dark, you say: wild fears

Took shape on torrent-flood of tears;

Dim phantoms of the host of hate

Pursued you down the gulfs of fate,

Smiting you with their harpy-wings

Up steeps of weird imaginings!

My friend! Each in his turn has known

Night and her shapes of fear; the stone

Of striving Sisyphus has torn

All who have dared the mount of Morn:

The tree where Buddha's vision fell

Was planted in a pit of hell!

No soul has seen its promised land,

Who felt not first some Pharaoh's hand—

Behind achievement, stir and stress

Of desert-days and wilderness;

Learn by the way that Jesu trod

How from the brute man grows a god!

Who stands against you in your path

May reap with you your aftermath;

And less of bitterness than bliss

Is stored within a traitor's kiss:

The demon who holds back your soul

Will crown you victor at the goal!

The bugles blow, the trumpets call,

And at their sound the towers fall;

Beleaguered bastions are down

Within yon ancient fortressed town:

Go up and let each cobbled street

Clang back to your triumphant feet!

A CRADLE SONG OF LIFE

Lullaby baby,

Hushaby baby!

After the day

Comes night with a dream!

Dear little hands,

Dear little feet,

Quiet at last;

Closed are the eyes:

Lullaby, hushaby baby!

When you awake

Will you forget

All the old toys,

The lessons you learned,

The bruises that hurt

When you fell down?

Uncouthly you sprawled

And frequently fell,

Learning to walk:

Was falling a sin,

Were bruises a shame,

Baby, my brave little baby?

What dreams do you dream,

What sounds do you hear

Out of the splendour—

Out of the wonder—

Out of the peace

Of Rest-A-While Land?

How little they know

Who call this a grave—

'Tis but a cradle,

And death is a sleep

From which you will waken

To try it again!

How little they know

Who prattle of sin,

And tell on their beads

Misereres for grace:

Baby must fall

That baby may rise!

Renewed by the rest,

Made strong by the dream,

More firmly your feet

Shall find out a way

Past the old blunders

Into the dawn!

Lullaby baby,

Hushaby baby!

After the day

Comes night with a kiss

Soft on the brow,

Hands and the feet—

Folding them,

Holding them—

Feet that are tired from falling;

Hands that are weary from failing;

Brow that is furrowed from weeping:

Brow, hands, feet—resting for mastery!

A SONG OF THE ALL

Brother, my Brother! whoever you are,

Rocked in the atom and nursed in the star,

Swaddled in flesh by the great Elohim—

Lords of the Flame—and whose day is a dream

Known in the night: O my Brother, all hail!

Hither a prophet, a priest or a slave,

Came you, my Brother—a king or a knave,

Black man or red man or brown man or white,

Out of the land of an infinite light?

Here are my heart and my hand to you: hail!

Are you a liar, a sycophant's self

Sold for a shekel and pandering pelf?

Are you a snob or a murderer, thief,

Cringing to hell with the devil for chief?

Here are my robe and my crown to you: hail!

Greet you, my Brother! for I am all things—

Dust of the stars and the music of wings—

Eyes of the angels and Lucifer's mouth—

Wind of the North and a wind of the South—

Here are my sandals and staff to you: hail!

THE SLOW EMERGER

I am the Slow Emerger:

Patience and wait for me,

Nor be afraid that I will fail you—

You holder of fair morning heights—

You dancing with the rosy dawn!

It has been long and hard for me,

This task of slow emergence from the clod.

Brute-shapes still prowl about me in the shadows,

Their fangs are sometimes fastened to my feet;

So that I cannot walk from pain of them,

So that I halt and cry out—lonely in the night!

Sometimes I see you, Woman—

You the watchful, waiting one of ages—

You with the dawn and godlike—

You past all torment that I know—

You the understanding.

Sometimes I see you in a shaft of light

Smiting the mists of valleys where I call,

Dividing them as with a two-edged sword

Swung by an angel! In that vision

Rage of tusk and tooth and fang

Falls like the waves in their wind-drifted foam

Upon the scarlet laughter of wild poppies!

I have deceived you;

You in turn have punished me—

Have punished me with a mere semblance of yourself:

A figure, rose-lipped, white fleshed,

With wild witcheries of ample breasts—

Limbs smooth and dimpled as for kisses—

A dear and tender fiction of yourself;

A fiction of yourself that did escape me,

Leaped up to claim those hills remote from me

Until I learned man must not chain a woman's soul!

O Woman, wait for me—

Be patient; for I strive

Out of the shadow

Where the brute

Still fastens with his fang

My bleeding feet—

My weary, stumbling feet:

Nor be afraid that I will fail you—

You holder of far morning heights—

You dancing with the dawn!

A SONG OF THE NEW GODS

The gods of vast Valhalla

Are silent in their hall;

Zeus looks not from Olympus;

Jehovah's rod has fallen

And Buddha sleeps among his Poppies:

The old gods, the great gods,

Thunder and nod no more!

Yea, though we fiction them,

Pretending that their stone eyes stare—

That their ears of marble harken,

We know that all the gods of yesterday are dead!

Weep not for Apollo;

Sigh not for Cynthia;

Call not for Aphrodite

Coming from the foam;

Beat not the breast for Balder—

Balder the Beautiful,

Slain by dark Loki:

These were but dreams in the night

Of the day that is ours.

Sing for the day that is ours—

For the gods who are here,

Titans whose strength is greater

Than snake-strangling Hercules!

Sing for the gods of the oppressed,

The cleansers of slums,

The Christs of great Golgothas

Mounded of old wrongs

Hurting the people!

Sing for the smiters of tenements—

Lairs of disease, of the white death!

Sing for the slayers of sweat-shop owners—

The taskmasters of children!

Sing for the guardians of girls,

The saviours of modern Madonnas—

Custodians of wells unpolluted

For the renewal of men!

Sing for the wielders of axe and the hammer;

The gods of the crowbar and shovel;

For those who go down to the sea in ships,

Having their business in the great waters;

For those who find out a path

Which no fowl knoweth,

Which the lion's whelps tread not—

The veins of the silver and gold,

Of the carbonized sunlight and laughter!

Sing for the prophets of labour,

Rebukers of Ahab greedy of gardens

Delved and possessed by another!

Sing for the women who claim the lost title:

"Comrade and equal of Man,"

Women who strike from their sisters

Æonian fetters of custom,

Bidding them stand and be free from their masters!

Sing for the priests of the Lord's House,

Who lift up the vessels thereof with clean hands,

Knowing great Christ when He cometh,

Truthful interpreters of signs and of omens!

Sing for the harpers on highways

Who make the world dance to their song,

Turning the laughter of leaves into words!

Brother, this the world wonderful

Transcends Valhalla.

Everywhere falls the ambrosial

Smell of the garlands immortal;

Everywhere tones of an infinite

Iris-bow, bent for achievement,

Pass the promise of Noah—

Ours not promise, ours fulfilment!

This is the day of the ages,

Heaven is here for the claiming—

Now! Now! Rise up and take it.

"I said ye are gods"—?

I say you are gods—

Yea, you are more than God's Image,

You are God's Self! worship none other.

Have done with your idols,

The old gods, the dead gods!

Blow up the trumpets—

Beat on the cymbals—

Strike on the harpstrings—

Let sound the psalteries—

Thunder the tabour!

Shout with the Levites,

White-robed and ready,

Round the old world-walls!

Shatter with sound

Jericho! Jericho!

Topple its bastions,

Bloodstained and brutal,

Down to the dust

Drifting to deserts

Remote and forgotten!

Bring in the New Year,

Brothers, my brothers—

Proclaim this the Sabbath!

THE OPTIMIST

"There is no evil anywhere"—

Said I unto the priest

Who answered: "Life is cursed with care,

Sin makes of man a beast!"

"Care is not any curse"—I cried,

"To fail is not to sin."

"Wherefore upon the rood Christ died,

If not our souls to win?"

"Because a hero must face death,

If death be in the way."

And as I paused to take my breath,

The priest began to say:

"Son, you forget how Adam fell,

Losing his high estate;

And so God doomed him unto hell,

Save for the Master's fate."

"Yes, I forget—and gladly too—

That ancient Hebrew tale:

How God began a thing to do—

Can the Eternal fail?

"Can He who rides upon the storm,

Who breathes and, lo, the stars!

Whose thought begets a flower-form,

With leaves for avatars;

"Can He who crowns the grass with dew,

And gems the wood with rain;

Fail of His purpose?"—My priest drew

His breath and spoke again:

"Alas, my son! Your words are wild

And far from holy faith;

Your reason is of one beguiled

By some infernal wraith—

"Do you not know the written Word

Tells of our father's fall?

Have you not seen, have you not heard

How death rules over all?"

"There is no death"—I quickly said;

And he: "But all must die!"

"Now is Christ risen from the dead!"

Forthwith I made reply.

"Now is Christ risen and become

Firstfruits of them that slept!"

And lo, the fluent priest was dumb—

He was like one who wept!

"Ah, you have suffered, you have sinned,

Have known the dark abyss,

Have felt upon the roaring wind

The phantom of a kiss;

"You have looked in a woman's eyes

Lit with her love of you,

And such a moment made you wise!"

He murmured: "It is true."

"Tell me, O priest, was it not worth

Eternity of hell,

When in your heart dear love had birth?"—

Tears from his closed eyes fell.

"Then your great moment gives the point

To what I said before—

There is no evil. You anoint

The spirit's open door—

"A dying body—set the seal

Of some old covenant,

As though the spirit did not feel

The Comrade-Visitant;

"As though the soul were not God's son

Knowing as he is known,

Who hath by cross and passion won

His place beside the throne!

"If all my life were in the dark

And dread of endless doom,

Think you that I should fail the spark

That gleamed athwart the gloom—

"My moment when I soared to bliss

Upon a woman's lips

And that revealing word—her kiss—

Thrilled to my finger tips?

"Nay; by that instant I should know

Evil—so called—worth while,

Accept the challenge, forward go

Bravely against the mile;

"Till by degrees the lengthened space

Should give me stronger thews,

A firmer tread, a purer face,

A never-empty cruse:

"I then should reach a gentler hand

To cripples by the way,

Strike off the fetters, loose the band,

Turn night into the day.

"My tongue would be a tunèd reed,

My throat a silver horn,

My lips for fuller faith would plead

From even unto morn.

"I should not waste the miracle

Divine—the gift of speech—

With fancied images of hell—

This only would it teach:

"If God with lilies keeps a tryst,

Then He will also keep

Faith with that moment of the Christ

Who walks upon the deep—

"Christ walks upon the deep with him

Who dares the rising wave,

And though his failing faith grow dim,

Finds love is strong to save;

"Knows love is strong to save and lift

The flagging feet that fail,

Hearing across the cloudy drift:

'Courage, O comrade, hail!'

"Who sees the Presence, finds the Face,

And hears the mystic word;

Who moves to his appointed place,

Like any homing bird;

"Who never doubts the highest peak

Of his transcendent hour,

And boldly ventures forth to seek

Fulfilment of his power:

"For him God waits beyond the sun,

His Christ of many scars,

To give for that which he hath done

A heritage of stars."

REVELATION

All is revealed—naught is concealed!

Sudden and swift, like the feet of the spring;

Laughter of children in torrents of tears;

Breathing of blossoms from orchards that fling

Perfumes in prodigal scorn of the years

Empty of fruitage; like the touch of a hand

Soft and compassionate, known in the deep

Valley of Death; like the flame from the brand

Flung from a watchfire to frighten and keep

Back from the fold the striped Terror that stares:

All is revealed!

A SONG OF WORKERS

Hail to the hodmen,

The builders of houses!

Hail to the navvies

Laying pipes for pure water!

Hail to the miners

Prisoned in pits,

Cleaving the coal,

Dauntless of death from the gases!

Here's to you, sailors,

Brave on the boisterous

Breast of the ocean,

Tanned by the sun and the tempest!

Here's to you, trainmen—

Couplers and stokers—

All you conductors—

You with your hand on the throttle!

Gloria! Doctors,

Nurses and mothers,

Teachers of children,

Patient with feet that are plodding;

Gloria! Students,

Lovers of nature,

And you scientists—

Priests of the veiled, vast Shekinahs!

A SONG OF BATTLES

You will not do this thing again!

What thing?

Mistake of owning overmuch:

Great palaces and princely halls,

Gardens of Babylon that hang

High on a many-terraced hill,

Created at the cost of slaves

Dead by the thousands; that some queen

Might gaze in rapture of her lord.

Strange how the saddened centuries

Stood clothed in garments red with blood

Poured from the veins of innocents,

Their mothers glad to give them birth,

Their fathers driven forth to slay

And to be slain on battle fields!

Why?—Why?

Because a few men sold their souls

For little heaps of minted gold—

Round pieces stamped with Cæsar's face

Or Alexander's awful brow—

Gold pieces whose possession gives

Command of battle ships and legions armed for enemies,

Raised up because of gold! gold! gold!

For when man gathers overmuch

God is exchanged for paltry dust;

And when God goes the devil comes

In panoply of armies:

Drums beating—

Trumpets blowing—

Flags fluttering—-

Men hating, fighting, bleeding, dying;

Women wailing and beating their breasts;

Cities in conflagration;

Tall towers tumbling to an accompaniment of thunder,

Tumbling down among the statues and the pictures,

Silencing the song of the singers,

Making the beautiful ugly,

Smothering in wide encompassing smoke

The children—the glad, the wonderful children—

God's lilies of laughter—

His immaculate ones!

I tell you gold is the cause of war,

That war is the price we pay for gold—

Gold for which we give God!

You will not do this thing again!

What thing?

Mistake of owning overmuch.

CAN YOU FORGET

Can you forget the pyramids, Persepolis and Tyre?

Can you forget the barges on the Nile,

The sculptor with his chisel and his artist-soul a-fire

With a dream of Mother Isis and her smile?

His dream that made immortal

One pillar of the portal—

'Tis broken now but beautiful above the yellow Nile!

Can you forget the reedy pipes, the cymbals and the songs;

The sun upon the desert like a targe;

The shaking of the sistrum and the beating of the gongs;

The fury of the spear-thrust in the charge?

O leave your milk and honey,

Your little bags of money,

And dream the ancient dream again above the yellow Nile!

BARTIMÆUS

Bartimæus at the highroad,

Begging from the passer by

Just enough to stop his hunger—

Hear him cry!

Blind is he and lone and ragged,

With no friendly hand to lead—

And the sky all blue above him!

Hear him plead.

There are olives and pomegranates

Green and gold among the hills,

Miles of vineyards through the valleys

Fed by rills.

In the distance is a city

Walled and white beneath the sun,

Domed and delicate with towers—

One by one

Rising up like fingers lifted

High in a perpetual prayer

To Jehovah God who pities

Want and care.

Near the blind man, gray and broken

Is an ancient olive-press—

Blue and scarlet blossoms give it

Tenderness,

Weave a spell of summer-beauty

On each stained and splintered stone,

Give the pile a royal grandeur

Of a throne.

On the road are many people—

Laughing as they hurry down

To the little homes that wait them

In the town.

Comes a merchant on his camel—

Silk from Araby he sells:

Listen to the rhythmic clangour

Of the bells!

Comes a priest back from the Temple,

Pondering the written Law,

Blind to all the lovely blossoms

In the awe,

In the testamented terror

Of the lengthened scroll he reads;

While the beggar at the highroad

Vainly pleads!

Comes a wanton in her madness,

Drifting down the human stream;

In her eyes the haunting horror

Of a dream!

Comes a harpist gaily singing,

Brave above the smitten cords,

Glancing at the royal huleh

And the gourds.

Come two lovers from betrothal—

She is on a milk-white ass,

And he strides in strength beside her;

As they pass,

Bartimæus pleads for pity:

"Give the blind man of our all,"

Breathes the maiden, and the young man—

Straight and tall—

Gives three shekels to the beggar,

Turns and looks into her eyes;

Then they journey to their waiting

Paradise!

*****

Strange!—That day three people only

Heard blind Bartimæus' cry—

These, and Jesus Christ of Nazareth

Passing by!

THE COCK

A cross within the portico,

And leaning near an oaken door

Through which the people come and go,

As they have never done before.

A cock upon the transverse beam

Is perched. Within the High Priest's hall

A man's voice rises to a scream:

"God's Face! I know Him not at all!"

A noise of laughter and of blows:

"Ha! Prophet, tell us—who smote Thee?"

"In sooth, this fellow Jesu knows!"

"Art Thou the Christ? Come answer me!"

The morning star pales in the sky—

The paschal moon dips down the hills—

The vineyards in the valley lie

Veiled in the mist of many rills.

A gleam of silver in the east;

The cock awakes and spreads his wings;

And he who of the day is priest,

This canticle of Jesu sings:

Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem—

This is the day

That men will slay

The starry Son of Bethlehem!

Like one lone cedar straight and tall,

He stands within the High Priest's hall.

His hands are bound, His breast is bare,

There is no pity anywhere.

His eyes are dim—

They laugh at Him;

And since He will not to them speak,

A man now smites Him on the cheek!

Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem—

This is the day

That men will slay

The starry Son of Bethlehem!

Above the burning coals there stands

One who is stretching forth his hands:

Three times has he his Friend denied

Who must this day be crucified!

Those eyes so dim

Have looked at him;

And he who thrice denied and swore

Is running blindly to the door!

Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem—

The silver dawn

Is coming on—

A star hangs over Bethlehem!

A breath of buds is in the air;

The feet of Spring are on the stair,

Descending to her olive-press

From Winter's palace, and her dress

Is wrought with flowers

Of summer showers;

A tear of woe is in her eye—

She mourns that Mary's Son must die!

Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem—

The night is spent—

Repent! Repent!

What do ye down in Bethlehem?

Cedron is calling soft and low;

Gethsemane will never know

Again the touch of Jesu's feet:

O Nazareth,

This day the death

Of Him who loved you is your loss—

I call this to you from His cross!

THE STREAM

How many Christs have we two crucified;

How many prophets have we sawn asunder;

What wild woe have we wrought: how deep, how wide

The wrong committed! In the sky God's thunder

Threatens, His lightning cleaves the clouds apart

To show an awful Face—

The Judge is in His place

Of Judgment! Oh, the love

That we have lost! Above,

Beneath and all around us sounds the cry

Of Rachel weeping over little hands

And little feet! Her babes are dead! You, I,

Alone are guilty; for while error stands

Must all the starry Christs be crucified!

Nay, do not hang your head:

Though Christs be crucified,

And Rachel's babes are dead,

One river floweth wide

Out of the urge of God;

Of that eternal stream—

Its mother-bosom broad

With vision and with dream—

Are you, Comrade and I!

Yea, all its ancient shores

That river runneth by

Have we touched. Where it pours

Past leagues of desert-sand,

Jungles and miry places,

Palms of an unknown land,

Ferns and their fronded faces;

Have we gone forth from God!

Where slimy serpents crawl,

And crocodiles are torpid in the sun;

Where snarling tigers sprawl,

And elephants come slowly one by one

Down the yellow ridges

Of the banyan's broken bridges

To the river where the little shells are strawed;

Where chattering monkeys leap,

And the flamingo struts among the reeds;

Where parrots pause and peep,

And all day long the greedy ibis feeds:

We went flowing, flowing,

And eternally out-going

From the impulse of the mighty love of God!

Lift up your head, O my Brother, my friend!

Know that your shame is the shame of the stream—

Memory floods all its banks, but the end—

What is the end? 'Tis a realized dream

Dreamt in the depths of an infinite peace

Ere the first star of the morning arose

Over the earth! Since that river's release

From the pure spring, how it flows! How it flows,

Bears on its bosom the sorrows of man,

Sin and the wreckage of faith and of truth,

Lust and hot murder, the primitive ban:

"Eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth"!

Yet that same bosom babe Moses did bare

Safe in his cradle of wattles! Its tide

Floated the tree on which Christ, crucified,

Bled for His love of the stream and His share

Of the Past!

Lift up your head and endure!

Are we not part of the All, and as pure?

THE ONE OBLATION

God does not need your virtue

Proclaimed in any place,

Who knows a better beauty

Than such a pious face!

The stars keep His commandments,

The suns observe His law

And all the countless comets

Bow down to Him in awe.

God does not want your temples,

Whose domes are in the sky;

With archangelic anthems

How dare we mortals vie?

One thing alone, my brothers,

Rivals that bliss above:

Not incense on an altar,

But man's oblation—Love!

A QUESTION

Have you Christ found—

Whose eyes are cold

And lips are set?

How you forget

That day of old,

When on the ground

He wrote one tender word:

"Let him who has not erred

Be first of these alone

To cast a stone!"

COMBATANTS

My God and I met at the ford—

Lightning of wrath was on His face,

And in His hand He held a sword!

He whom of old I had adored

Now challenged me! I paused a space—

My God and I met at the ford.

Dauntless I stood, and daring poured

Hot words of anger—stepped one pace;

And in my hand I held a sword.

Steel clashed on steel! Together warred

Comrades of old in that fell place!

My God and I met at the ford.

One moment's thrust and He had scored;

I of His mercy pleaded grace:

God smiled on me and dropped His sword!

ON THE WIDE, WHITE ROAD

The Question:

Minstrel with a song

On the wide, white road—

Loafing with the lilies of the June—

What makes you so strong

Underneath your load,

Lilting such a joyous little tune?

Tell me, little brother,

What I want to know—

Why your lips are tremulous with joy—

Why you, like a mother,

Soothe and love me so,

As she used to when I was a boy.

All the way behind

Fades into a dream

Hideous with faces in the gloom;

Phantom-terrors blind

With a lurid gleam

Glowing from Gehenna-gulfs of doom!

The Answer:

Comrade, I will tell you

How I laugh and sing,

Loafing with the lilies by the way.

Comrade, what befell you

That you missed the King

Crowned with purple pansies of the day?

Brother, Him I know—

Lord of earth and star—

Find Him with the ferns beside the pool;

All the splendours grow

Dim and fade afar,

When He walks at shut of day and cool.

Fear not to address Him—

Cosmic-Comrade He—

Lonely for the love He wants from you!

Up at once and bless Him—

Lift a jubilee

With the host of loyal hearts and true!

THAT ONE SHOULD LOVE ME

That one should love me is enough,

Be my path smooth or be it rough;

Though on my head no splendours shine,

Love crowns me with the victor-vine.

If on my ears no plaudits fall

Proclaiming me from stall to stall,

Behind the scenes I wait my turn,

Who saw two eyes with longing burn.

Somewhere within that audience

Gleamed golden Love's magnificence;

I stood triumphant for a space

Held by the rapture on one face.

Out of the discord of to-day,

Hark how the well-tuned harp-strings play!

Peace, O my Soul! One song is true,

Though thunder-clouds conceal the blue.

Down in the lowest deep of hell

One word of love upon me fell;

Forthwith my flame-scarred face was bold,

Uplifted to a gate of gold.

Upon my path a phantom form

Threatened with terror as of storm,

Smote me with lightning; I was strong,

Hearing the cadence of a song.

A while within an awful wood,

Uncertain of the path I stood;

A shout of laughter from a tree

Where lurked a devil, frightened me.

Then there was whispering of leaves,

Soft as of swallows under eaves:

"I love you, love you!" Lo! a light

Sundered the murkiness of night.

Three times I fell, three times I rose

To face the menacing of foes—

What gave me strength again to stand?

Out of the dark I felt a hand!

Out of the dark and dread of death,

Upon my brow I felt a breath;

And by the brink of that abyss

The consolation of a kiss.

Past many moors of pain I trod

Impeded by the clinging clod,

Until within one waking morn

Love in response to love was born.

Love in response to love was mine!

The water-jar was filled with wine,

The broken cruse again restored,

And green had grown the withered gourd.

RAHAB

Rahab hath vermilion lips,

Breasts of ivory, and her hips

Taper down to little feet

That go dancing on the street.

Gossips call dear Rahab bold;

Say her love is bought for gold,

Barters kisses for a purse:

Well, some women have done worse!

Saw you ever Rahab's eyes—

All the blue of Canaan's skies

Smiles a moment, and you see

Beauty's best in Galilee.

Heard you ever Rahab's song,

You would murmur: "Surely wrong

Lives not in that lovely voice—

I with Rahab will rejoice!"

I came up the winding way

Through the vines at shut of day

Out of Orphir, bearing balms;

And I saw among the palms

Rahab wistful by the wall:

She was slender, she was tall,

And I trembled as her eyes

Turned on me in swift surprise.

Tyrian purple was her gown;

Gold her girdle; and a crown

Made of myrtle held her hair

Oval on her forehead fair;

Little sandals shod her feet.

Rahab, smiling, murmured: "Greet

You, my brother! Are you come,

Laden with sweet spice and gum,

"Out of Orphir?" and I said:

"Rahab!" All the evening shed

Light and perfume on her face

Turned to me, I paused a space,

Breathless. Nothing I could say

But her name. A dear dismay

Of her beauty made me mute,

Like a stringless harp or lute!

Then she laughed at me and flung

High her hands! She tipped her tongue

Saucily and danced along—

Feet in fellowship with song.

I pursued her through the vines

Growing where the bank confines

Jordan; followed her until

I forgot my master's will—

Master of the Caravan

Out of Orphir! As I ran,

Love arose and went with me

Through the grapes of Galilee!

Little leaves laughed as I sped

After Rahab. Overhead

Two white doves were on the wing,

And I heard a throstle sing.

Where my feet fell on the brown,

Furrowed vineyard, shaken down

By her body from the vine,

Grapes were crushed to make me wine!

Day was gazing from the west

On high Hermon with confessed

Love of her whose ample brow

Crimsoned; and from every bough

Twilight twitterings were heard.

How my pulses leaped and stirred—

Wild with longing for her lips,

Like two red pomegranate pips!

I stretched forth my hands and cried:

"Rahab!" and she turned aside

From the vineyard where a wood

Near a purple wine-press stood.

There she paused and looked on me,

Laughing: "Boy, what do you see

In my eyes, you tremble so?"

"Fate!" I answered. "Could you know,

"Rahab, what is in my heart,

You would pity, you would part

With one kiss and one caress

Here beside the purple press!"

"Boy," she murmured, "gossips say

Rahab's poisoned lips will slay

Whom she kisses; that her breasts

Are two hidden adders' nests!"

"Though I die upon your mouth,

Kiss me, Rahab! for the drouth

Of the desert makes my soul

Empty as an empty bowl.

"Dreary days of journeying

Where the sands go billowing

Miles and miles beneath the sun

Leave me broken and undone.

"All my youth was in the sere,

Dim the eye and deaf the ear

Unto beauty until now;

Rahab, harken to my vow:

"Give me vision, give me sense

Of lost beauty's immanence—

Give me these and I will pay,

Careless of what gossips say,

"All you ask in turn for this:

Soul of you within one Kiss!"

Rahab's eyes were suddenly

Misted over, and to me

Came her whisper: "O my Heart!

Take the minstrel's gift—his art—

With my lips on yours; the price

Be your spirit's sacrifice—

"Pain of vision! You shall know

Summits of eternal snow,

Depths of fire! You shall be torn,

Twixt the twilight and the morn,

"By strange dreams of angel-faces

Bending from their starry places,

Blent with devils out of hell!"

Rahab kissed me—! Lo, there fell

Veils of violet and gold

From the sunset—fold on fold—

Till the tangled vines were caught

And with mist the fields were fraught;

Notes that I had never heard

In the tall bulrushes stirred,

Trembled from the swaying trees,

Fluting strange, wild melodies.

Rahab's kiss and tender glance

Taught me earth's significance;

Opened wide eternal doors,

Where the flood of beauty pours

Out of heaven! out of God!

Quickening the stone and clod,

Leaf and shrub and bird and beast

For the artist—nature's priest,

Sleepless when her altar lights

Burn through balmy summer nights,

Wakeful when upon the day

Pours the pollen smoke alway!

*****

Rahab kissed me by the press—

Bound me with dear Love's duress—

Laughed and clapped her hands in glee

Mid the grapes of Galilee.

ON GUARD

Halt! Who comes there?

Care.

Word, friend or foe!

Woe.

What is thy will?

Ill.

Who sent thee here?

Fear.

Where doth he dwell?

Hell!

Name me his mate!

Hate.

What is their palace?

Malice.

What are their crowns?

Frowns.

Show me the way!

Nay;

One from above,

Greater than Wrath,

Stands in thy path.

Who is he?—Love!

THE PLOUGHMAN

The upper and the lower springs,

The summer-fountains fail;

A frowning sky his challenge flings

With thunder through the hail;

The autumn holds her mantle-folds

To veil a pallid brow—

She pities me and mourns to see

My pain upon the plough:

For I must down the furrow fare

And cleave the clod with sharpened share.

Witless of wind that finds my face,

I lean against the blast

And plough to my appointed place—

Yon sapling like a mast;

I plough this way till shut of day,

Steady upon the mark;

Reckless of cold, the handles hold

From dawn until the dark—

This thing my duty: cleave the clod,

Ploughing the field alone with God!

DEAR LITTLE MAID OF DREAM

Dear little Maid of Dream,

My heart, dear Heart, is breaking;

Things are not what they seem,

And sorrow comes with waking!

I yearn to hold you fast,

My Dream, but then comes waking;

The silver moment past,

And then—the sad leave-taking!

Dear little Maid of Dream,

My heart, dear Heart, is breaking!

THE VIOLET TO THE ASTER

Said the Violet to the Aster

All on a summer's day:

"Your colour is the same as mine,

Come marry me, I pray;

Your bridesmaids shall be lilies,

A rose the vested priest,

And harebells ring the changes

To call us to the feast."

Said the Aster to the Violet:

"What shall the dowry be,

And what my stated fortune,

If I should marry thee?"

"Your fortune?" sang the Violet,

"The fragrance of my breath!"

The Aster swayed and murmured:

"I will be yours till death!"

MAGIC

There is magic on the meadow

And a witch has won the wood,

Elfin laughter from the water

As it rolls a rhythmic flood;

For a spirit meets my spirit

With a flash of iris-wings,

And all the world's a garden

Glad with many blossomings!

THE KING AND THE MAID

"O love"—cried the King

On a day in spring,

As he went through the leafy wood—

"I must be away

To the court this day!"

And he threw back the purple hood

From his royal brow

That was paling now

With the pain of the parting hour:

For the maid was dear,

And her lips were near

To his lips, like a crimson flower.

"I shall be alone

On a gilded throne

In the midst of my nobles all;

From my diadem

To my garment's hem,

I shall ache for your light footfall:

'Tis no little thing,

Dear, to be a king

With love of a man for a maid,

And to play the part

With an empty heart,

Like a scabbard without its blade."

But the maid was wise,

And her hazel eyes

Were brave with the light of her love:

"God save thee, my King,

From great suffering,

Grant thee of His grace from above!

Canst thou play thy part

With an empty heart,

If I fill it full to the brim

Of the wine of prayer

From the bowl I bear?"

And his eyes with the tears were dim!

"On that ivory throne

Shalt thou be alone,

If my thoughts are a-wing to thee;

If upon thy brow

That is paling now,

My lips mark where the crown shall be?"

So the King rode south

From her crimson mouth

Through the forest, field and the fells;

And his voice was strong

With words of a song

To a chime of the bridle-bells.

A WOMAN'S PRAYER

God of the heaven and earth,

Bring to the birth

Soul of the man that I love;

From the Above,

Send Him the light of Thy face;

Grant to him grace,

Brave in the battle, his shield

Never to yield!

God of the zephyr and gale,

That is a nail

Holding the hand of my dream

Hard to the beam!

God of the good Paraclete,

Both of his feet

Bleed while the sentinels toss

Dice near a cross!

God of the magic of morn,

Crimsoning thorn

Crowns him! Oh, hark to his cry:

"Sabachthani?"

God of the laughter and tear,

That is a spear

Stained with the red drops that start

Under his heart!

God of the glamour and gloom,

Into the tomb

Low is he laid; see, a stone

Leaves me alone!

God of the lily and vine,

Is he not mine?

Balms for his body I bear,

Myrrh for his hair.

Love! who rolled the stone away?

Bright as the day,

Shineth thy brow, and thy face

Gleams with a grace

Caught from the whispering wings

Of One who sings:

"There is no death!" Lo, the tomb

Breaks into bloom!

God of a woman's wide love,

Under, above,

Over the earth there is light

Sprung from the night;

Now is the heart of me filled,

Soul of me stilled;

Glad of Thy shepherding care,

Answering prayer!

FOEMAN

I stand

With drawn sword in my hand

To face

You for a space—

You! You!

Comrade, can this be true

That I

Must yield or die?

Those eyes,

Gray like November skies,

I feel

Sharper than steel....

One word

Before sword clash on sword

And stern

Wrath in us burn

Recall

The swift footfall

And mirth,

When the awakened earth

Grew glad

Of what we had—

Love, life,

Not this tremendous strife.

Rose-red

Petals were shed

With bloom

Of lilies in that room,

Where we

Stood silently

And heard

Heart-music stirred

On chords

By minstrel Lords

Whose wings

Moved to the strings.

Why—why

Dared we to try,

To prove

Our love?

Wrong! Wrong!

When we knew song

And light

And spirit-might.

So now

With paling brow

And set

Hard lips, we two are met

To kill!

Ah, would your will

Make mine

As grapes bruised for the wine?

Seek you

To run me through?

I take

My sword and break

The blade—

Strike! I have made

Of it a cross,

Counting that loss

Which holds

Me from your garment-folds:

The sign

Proves me forever thine;

Proves that I give

Self that our love may live!

GERAINT

Open, dear Lady, the little red door—

The little red door to me!

Night is all cold and my feet are sore;

I have made a long journey.

Leagues have I travelled, the mountains crossed

Eager for love of thee;

Lady, I fear that thy love is lost:

Open thy heart to me!

Open thy heart and I will go in

The red door silently;

There I shall find what I seek to win,

Dear Lady, thy love for me!

GRIEF

My heart is pain,

My spirit dearth;

Tears are the rain

Upon the earth:

And all the over-clouded sky

Is not more darkened than am I.

A while ago

I watched the snow,

And laughed to see

Its witchery;

Now that your face is turned away,

Winter's white magic melts from day.

The casement wide,

This wan Yuletide,

I opened—heard

One little bird

A-piping on a crystalled bough,

But he will pipe no longer now;

For when he saw

The stricken awe

Upon my face,

He left his place

And winged into the upper air—

My visaged grief he could not bear.

A little child,

By me beguiled

But yesterday

From busy play,

This morning hurried from these eyes—

He could not look where courage dies!

Under the sun

Two selves are one:

Sorrow and I!

Oh, let me die,

And never meet the month of May—

Now that your face is turned away!

THE EMPTY ROOM

Out of the storm I hurry in

To find an empty room;

I call and call, but no footfall

Answers across the room:

Vainly your eyes I seek to win,

You are not here! O dear—my dear,

There is no sound and stir of you!

I know not what to do.

I know not what to do or say,

I stand with vacant stare

Upon the brink of pain to think:

"Love, whither dost thou fare?"

An echo answers: "Gone away!"

Your roses red their petals shed

Upon the book of verse I gave,

Like tears down on a grave!

LOVE ETERNAL

Let us walk together, lass,

(Lean upon me—so!)

Through the field of feathergrass

(How the daisies grow!)

Till we find the word to say

What is in our hearts to-day.

Yes, I loved you from the first.

Dear, there is surprise

Blent with hunger and with thirst

In your eager eyes,

And you whisper: "Is it true?"—

Knowing that I always knew!

Let me tell you how it came:

Voices through the room;

Then one spoke to me your name

(Take this wild rose bloom—

I will place it in your hair)

And of you I was aware.

"She is of a slender grace,

Like my Maid of dreams!"

To myself I said—"Her face

With that beauty gleams—

Beauty of that One I know

In the Land of Long-Ago!"

Did you, dearest, understand

Why the scarlet grew

On my forehead, when my hand

Your fair fingers knew?

Oh, the world went very still

While on me you worked your will!

Worked your will? Do not deny;

For your heart was wise—

Ah, you shake your head and try

Vainly to disguise

What was on your lips to say

When we met that fateful day!

For from all eternity

We are pledged to love,

Bound in all our lives to be

True to what above

All the turmoil and the din

Strives that starry tryst to win.

Sit with me upon this stone

Underneath the bough;

Let the blossoms to us blown

Learn our ancient vow—

Vow we made before the stars

Strove to break Night's prison-bars.

Lift your head and meet my gaze.

Do you not recall

Somewhere in a golden haze,

Vistaed vast, a hall

Paved with diamond and domed

Blue above a fount that foamed

With the water from the well

Guarded, so they say,

By the angel Israfel?

Water of eternal bliss

Sprinkled on the lips that kiss!

There we lived before the suns

Led the planets up;

There we pledged the winged Ones

In a crystal cup,

Ere we left that pillared home

Through the field of Time to roam.

"Why," you ask me, dearest, "why

Did we leave that place—

Is it such a thing to die?"

Ponder for a space:

What if love must lose to gain,

Find eternal peace in pain?

"But I want the Ever-Now!"

Dear, do you not know

They who drive the patient plough

And the furrows sow,

Own the sinews of the strong—

Reap the harvest with a song?

"Let the scattered fragments be

Gathered from the feast,

Nothing lost"; thus speaketh He

Who is Love's High Priest,

And He knows who from a cross

Pledged return for every loss.

Thus, my Maid of long ago,

Here within the field

Let me tell what you would know:

How I came to yield

To your eyes, your lips, your hair,

When the guests were gathered there

In the room that day we met,

Found amid the talk

Light of ancient suns which set

Æons ere the chalk

Cliffs of Dover gleamed upon

Merchant-prows from Babylon.

Love and Life eternal are,

Fill unfathomed space,

Bind with rapture star to star,

Gleam from every face,

Soar with angels, plunge to hell:

Lucifer and Israfel!

So above the choric spheres,

At the knees of God

You and I beyond the years

Kissed, then clove the clod

With our spirit's sundered flame;

Till amid the talk your name

Fell seraphic, smote me through

With unearthly pain:

I was I and you were you—

Met on earth again,

Bound to live and bound to love

By that oath we made above!

AFTER THE FEAST

I have drunk deeply of the cup,

Fared well and fed;

The guests with whom I sat to sup,

Are gone to bed:

A broken harp lies on the floor,

Its tangled strings will sound no more—

The wine-stained linen I deplore.

Here is a little trampled rose,

A violet;

Here is a hyacinth, and those

Are mignonette:

They looked so proudly from their place,

First at the feast—with tears I trace

Now but a vestige of that grace.

Upon the table is a crown—

Where is the King?

The little leaves that tremble down,

Cover a ring;

A vase of crystal shattered lies

Against a goblet, where the wise

Talked through the laughter. How time flies!

It is not very long ago,

Here in the hall,

When to the tapers' tangled glow

The rise and fall

Of voices over nuts and wine

Murmured like wind through leaf and vine;

And there was joy of me and mine.

I snuff the tapers one by one.

The darkness falls.

Alas, for feasting and for fun!

My madrigals

Are ended. I will not again

Sing. Sound of wind and weeping rain

Is now the interlude of pain!

Yet it was good to know the feast,

To be a guest;

Though at the table I was least

Among the best.

Blindly I grope unto the door,

Gather a flower from the floor—

I will come back here never more!

What! Never more go gladly back?

Ah, foolish me!

When down the winding starry track

The company,

With laughter their lord following,

Shall yet return to greet the King

Who claims the crown and wears the ring!

And though I have put out each light,

Gathered one flower,

Bravely I fare forth into night—

What is an hour,

A day, a year, if, after all

The silence, those dear comrades call,

And there is harping in the hall?

I wait the summons; gladly go

Against the rain;

They will be seated row on row

Here once again:

And in that brave, loved company

What song and laughter there will be,

When I resume my minstrelsy!

THE LONELY ROAD

O will you take the lonely road,

The upward road,

Among the many stars?

Its pavement is by Pain bestowed,

Your feet shall find the scars!

Your feet shall know the scars, my friend:

It is a path without a bend.

It leadeth not by pastures green,

Through meadows green,

Nor near the little hills;

Gaunt granite cliffs it runs between,

Dark Fear that chaos fills

With cloud and storm and shadowings

Of vigilant unfolded wings.

It windeth not along the streams,

The laughing streams;

It leadeth straight and far

Beyond the mirrored pool of dreams

In peril to a star:

Who comes this way must go alone,

Steadfast and strong nor making moan.

It is the path called Perilous,

Named Perilous,

The path that heroes tread

Who hear the cry: "O come with us!"—

Brave voices of the dead—

For they are compassed by a throng

Of Harpers harping to a song:

Follow afar

Past cliff and scar,

Finding your star!

Brave in the night,

Up to the light,

Proving your might!

Though the foot fail,

And the heart wail;

Though the brow pale;

Follow afar

Where the gods are,

Finding your star!

Along this way Lord Jesu went,

Christ Jesu went;

Hither came Socrates,

And all who were with tears forspent—

The shining companies

Of those who lifted high the heart

Beyond the lure of any mart.

And would you fare this lonely way,

This starry way?

Take but a scrip and staff,

With sandals for your feet, to-day;

Though fools in folly laugh,

Deriding that you leave the less—

Their idle dream of happiness!

If you would find the way of wings,

Wide-open wings,

That lift one to a star,

You must be free from hamperings

Of lock and bolt and bar;

Cast care of gold and silk aside

With pomp of place and rank and pride.

If on your path there be a cross,

A wayside cross,

With nails and sponge and spear,

A gambling Guard who turn to toss

Dice for the robe you wear;

Avoid not that appointed place,

Though thorns with crimson stain your face!

But if you take this road, my friend,

My wistful friend,

Your world will wake to song,

And all high, holy angels bend

To hail you of their throng:

And where the Sons Eternal are,

You shall be throned upon your star.

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