I broke my life there. Let it stand At that.
The waters are a plain, Heaving and bright on either hand, A tremulous and l.u.s.tral peace Which shall endure though all things cease, Filling my heart as water fills A cup. There stand the quiet hills.
So, waiting for my wings to grow, I watch the gulls sail to and fro, Rising and falling, soft and swift, Drifting along as bubbles drift.
And, though I see the face of G.o.d Hereafter -- this day have I trod Nearer to Him than I shall tread Ever again. The night is dead.
And there"s the dawn, poured out like wine Along the dim horizon-line.
And from the city comes the chimes --
We have our heaven on earth -- sometimes!
Going Back to School
The boat ploughed on. Now Alcatraz was past And all the grey waves flamed to red again At the dead sun"s last glimmer. Far and vast The Sausalito lights burned suddenly In little dots and clumps, as if a pen Had scrawled vague lines of gold across the hills; The sky was like a cup some rare wine fills, And stars came as he watched -- and he was free One splendid instant -- back in the great room, Curled in a chair with all of them beside And the whole world a rush of happy voices, With laughter beating in a clamorous tide....
Saw once again the heat of harvest fume Up to the empty sky in threads like gla.s.s, And ran, and was a part of what rejoices In thunderous nights of rain; lay in the gra.s.s Sun-baked and tired, looking through a maze Of tiny stems into a new green world; Once more knew eves of perfume, days ablaze With clear, dry heat on the brown, rolling fields; Shuddered with fearful ecstasy in bed Over a book of knights and b.l.o.o.d.y shields...
The ship slowed, jarred and stopped. There, straight ahead, Were dock and fellows. Stumbling, he was whirled Out and away to meet them -- and his back Slumped to the old half-cringe, his hands fell slack; A big boy"s arm went round him -- and a twist Sent shattering pain along his tortured wrist, As a voice cried, a bloated voice and fat, "Why it"s Miss Nancy! Come along, you rat!"
Nos Immortales
Perhaps we go with wind and cloud and sun, Into the free companionship of air; Perhaps with sunsets when the day is done, All"s one to me -- I do not greatly care; So long as there are brown hills -- and a tree Like a mad prophet in a land of dearth -- And I can lie and hear eternally The vast monotonous breathing of the earth.
I have known hours, slow and golden-glowing, Lovely with laughter and suffused with light, O Lord, in such a time appoint my going, When the hands clench, and the cold face grows white, And the spark dies within the feeble brain, Spilling its star-dust back to dust again.
Young Blood
"But, sir," I said, "they tell me the man is like to die!"
The Canon shook his head indulgently. "Young blood, Cousin," he boomed.
"Young blood! Youth will be served!" -- D"Hermonville"s Fabliaux.
He woke up with a sick taste in his mouth And lay there heavily, while dancing motes Whirled through his brain in endless, rippling streams, And a grey mist weighed down upon his eyes So that they could not open fully. Yet After some time his blurred mind stumbled back To its last ragged memory -- a room; Air foul with wine; a shouting, reeling crowd Of friends who dragged him, dazed and blind with drink Out to the street; a crazy rout of cabs; The steady mutter of his neighbor"s voice, Mumbling out dull obscenity by rote; And then... well, they had brought him home it seemed, Since he awoke in bed -- oh, d.a.m.n the business!
He had not wanted it -- the silly jokes, "One last, great night of freedom ere you"re married!"
"You"ll get no fun then!" "H-ssh, don"t tell that story!
He"ll have a wife soon!" -- G.o.d! the sitting down To drink till you were sodden!...
Like great light She came into his thoughts. That was the worst.
To wallow in the mud like this because His friends were fools.... He was not fit to touch, To see, oh far, far off, that silver place Where G.o.d stood manifest to man in her....
Fouling himself.... One thing he brought to her, At least. He had been clean; had taken it A kind of point of honor from the first...
Others might do it... but he didn"t care For those things....
Suddenly his vision cleared.
And something seemed to grow within his mind....
Something was wrong -- the color of the wall -- The queer shape of the bedposts -- everything Was changed, somehow... his room. Was this his room?
... He turned his head -- and saw beside him there The sagging body"s slope, the paint-smeared face, And the loose, open mouth, lax and awry, The b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the bleached and brittle hair... these things.
... As if all h.e.l.l were crushed to one bright line Of lightning for a moment. Then he sank, p.r.o.ne beneath an intolerable weight.
And bitter loathing crept up all his limbs.
The Quality of Courage
Black trees against an orange sky, Trees that the wind shook terribly, Like a harsh spume along the road, Quavering up like withered arms, Writhing like streams, like twisted charms Of hot lead flung in snow. Below The iron ice stung like a goad, Slashing the torn shoes from my feet, And all the air was bitter sleet.
And all the land was cramped with snow, Steel-strong and fierce and glimmering wan, Like pale plains of obsidian.
-- And yet I strove -- and I was fire And ice -- and fire and ice were one In one vast hunger of desire.
A dim desire, of pleasant places, And lush fields in the summer sun, And logs aflame, and walls, and faces, -- And wine, and old ambrosial talk, A golden ball in fountains dancing, And unforgotten hands. (Ah, G.o.d, I trod them down where I have trod, And they remain, and they remain, Etched in unutterable pain, Loved lips and faces now apart, That once were closer than my heart -- In agony, in agony, And horribly a part of me....
For Lethe is for no man set, And in h.e.l.l may no man forget.)
And there were flowers, and jugs, bright-glancing, And old Italian swords -- and looks, A moment"s glance of fire, of fire, Spiring, leaping, flaming higher, Into the intense, the cloudless blue, Until two souls were one, and flame, And very flesh, and yet the same!
As if all springs were crushed anew Into one globed drop of dew!
But for the most I thought of heat, Desiring greatly.... Hot white sand The lazy body lies at rest in, Or sun-dried, scented gra.s.s to nest in, And fires, innumerable fires, Great f.a.gots hurling golden gyres Of sparks far up, and the red heart In sea-coals, crashing as they part To tiny flares, and kindling snapping, Bunched sticks that burst their string and wrapping And fall like jackstraws; green and blue The evil flames of driftwood too, And heavy, sullen lumps of c.o.ke With still, fierce heat and ugly smoke....
... And then the vision of his face, And theirs, all theirs, came like a sword, Thrice, to the heart -- and as I fell I thought I saw a light before.
I woke. My hands were blue and sore, Torn on the ice. I scarcely felt The frozen sleet begin to melt Upon my face as I breathed deeper, But lay there warmly, like a sleeper Who shifts his arm once, and moans low, And then sinks back to night. Slow, slow, And still as Death, came Sleep and Death And looked at me with quiet breath.
Unbending figures, black and stark Against the intense deeps of the dark.
Tall and like trees. Like sweet and fire Rest crept and crept along my veins, Gently. And there were no more pains....
Was it not better so to lie?
The fight was done. Even G.o.ds tire Of fighting.... My way was the wrong.
Now I should drift and drift along To endless quiet, golden peace...
And let the tortured body cease.
And then a light winked like an eye.
... And very many miles away A girl stood at a warm, lit door, Holding a lamp. Ray upon ray It cloaked the snow with perfect light.
And where she was there was no night Nor could be, ever. G.o.d is sure, And in his hands are things secure.
It is not given me to trace The lovely laughter of that face, Like a clear brook most full of light, Or olives swaying on a height, So silver they have wings, almost; Like a great word once known and lost And meaning all things. Nor her voice A happy sound where larks rejoice, Her body, that great loveliness, The tender fashion of her dress, I may not paint them.
These I see, Blazing through all eternity, A fire-winged sign, a glorious tree!
She stood there, and at once I knew The bitter thing that I must do.
There could be no surrender now; Though Sleep and Death were whispering low.
My way was wrong. So. Would it mend If I shrank back before the end?
And sank to death and cowardice?
No, the last lees must be drained up, Base wine from an ign.o.ble cup; (Yet not so base as sleek content When I had shrunk from punishment) The wretched body strain anew!
Life was a storm to wander through.
I took the wrong way. Good and well, At least my feet sought out not h.e.l.l!
Though night were one consuming flame I must go on for my base aim, And so, perhaps, make evil grow To something clean by agony...