CANTO II

Chapter 21,946 wordsPublic domain

More light. Another step, and still more light Opening ahead. It swilled with soft excess, His eyes yet quivering from the dregs of night, And it was nowhere more and nowhere less: In it no shadows were. He could not guess Its fountain. Wondering round around he turned: Still on each side the level glory burned.

Far in the dome to where his gaze was lost The deepening roof shone clear as stones that lie In-shore beneath pure seas. The aisles, that crossed Like forests of white stone their arms on high, Past pillar after pillar dragged his eye In unobscured perspective till the sight Was weary. And there also was the light.

Look with my eyes. Conceive yourself above And hanging in the dome: and thence through space Look down. See Dymer, dwarfed and naked, move, A white blot on the floor, at such a pace As boats that hardly seem to have changed place Once in an hour when from the cliffs we spy The same ship always smoking towards the sky.

The shouting mood had withered from his heart; The oppression of huge places wrapped him round. A great misgiving sent its fluttering dart Deep into him--some fear of being found, Some hope to find he knew not what. The sound Of music, never ceasing, took the rôle Of silence and like silence numbed his soul.

Till, as he turned a corner, his deep awe Broke with a sudden start. For straight ahead, Far off, a wild eyed, naked man he saw That came to meet him: and beyond was spread Yet further depth of light. With quickening tread He leaped towards the shape. Then stopped and smiled Before a mirror, wondering like a child.

Beside the glass, unguarded, for the claiming, Like a great patch of flowers upon the wall Hung every kind of clothes: silk, feathers flaming, Leopard skin, furry mantles like the fall Of deep mid-winter snows. Upon them all Hung the faint smell of cedar, and the dyes Were bright as blood and clear as morning skies.

He turned from the white spectre in the glass And looked at these. Remember, he had worn Thro’ winter slush, thro’ summer flowers and grass One kind of solemn stuff since he was born, With badge of year and rank. He laughed in scorn And cried, “Here is no law, nor eye to see, Nor leave of entry given. Why should there be?

“Have done with that--you threw it all behind. Henceforth I ask no licence where I need. It’s on, on, on, though I go mad and blind, Though knees ache and lungs labour and feet bleed, Or else--it’s home again: to sleep and feed, And work, and hate them always and obey And loathe the punctual rise of each new day.”

He made mad work among them as he dressed, With motley choice and litter on the floor, And each thing as he found it seemed the best. He wondered that he had not known before How fair a man he was. “I’ll creep no more In secret,” Dymer said. “But I’ll go back And drive them all to freedom on this track.”

He turned towards the glass. The space looked smaller Behind him now. Himself in royal guise Filled the whole frame--a nobler shape and taller, Till suddenly he started with surprise, Catching, by chance, his own familiar eyes, Fevered, yet still the same, without their share Of bravery, undeceived and watching there.

Yet, as he turned, he cried, “The rest remain.... If they rebelled ... if they should find me here, We’d pluck the whole taut fabric from the strain, Hew down the city, let live earth appear! --Old men and barren women whom through fear We have suffered to be masters in our home, Hide! hide! for we are angry and we come.”

Thus feeding on vain fancy, covering round His hunger, his great loneliness arraying In facile dreams until the qualm was drowned, The boy went on. Through endless arches straying With casual tread he sauntered, manly playing At manhood lest more loss of faith betide him, Till lo! he saw a table set beside him.

When Dymer saw this sight, he leaped for mirth, He clapped his hands, his eye lit like a lover’s. He had a hunger in him that was worth Ten cities. Here was silver, glass and covers. Cold peacock, prauns in aspic, eggs of plovers, Raised pies that stood like castles, gleaming fishes And bright fruit with broad leaves around the dishes.

If ever you have passed a café door And lingered in the dusk of a June day, Fresh from the road, sweat-sodden and foot-sore, And heard the plates clink and the music play, With laughter, with white tables far away, With many lights--conceive how Dymer ran To table, looked once round him, and began.

That table seemed unending. Here and there Were broken meats, bread crumbled, flowers defaced --A napkin, with white petals, on a chair, --A glass already tasted, still to taste. It seemed that a great host had fed in haste And gone: yet left a thousand places more Untouched, wherein no guest had sat before.

There in the lonely splendour Dymer ate, As thieves eat, ever watching, half in fear. He blamed his evil fortune. “I come late. Whose board was this? What company sat here? What women with wise mouths, what comrades dear Who would have made me welcome as the one Free-born of all my race and cried, ‘Well done!’”

Remember, yet again, he had grown up On rations and on scientific food, At common boards, with water in his cup, One mess alike for every day and mood: But here, at his right hand, a flagon stood. He raised it, paused before he drank, and laughed. “I’ll drown their Perfect City in this draught.”

He fingered the cold neck. He saw within, Like a strange sky, some liquor that foamed blue And murmured. Standing now with pointed chin And head thrown back, he tasted. Rapture flew Through every vein. That moment louder grew The music and swelled forth a trumpet note. He ceased and put one hand up to his throat.

Then heedlessly he let the flagon sink In his right hand. His staring eyes were caught In distance, as of one who tries to think A thought that is still waiting to be thought. There was a riot in his heart that brought The loud blood to the temples. A great voice Sprang to his lips unsummoned, with no choice.

“Ah! but the eyes are open, the dream is broken! To sack the Perfect City?... a fool’s deed For Dymer! Folly of follies I have spoken! I am the wanderer, new born, newly freed.... A thousand times they have warned me of men’s greed For joy, for the good that all desire, but never Till now I knew the wild heat of the endeavour.

“Some day I will come back to break the City, --Not now. Perhaps when age is white and bleak --Not now. I am in haste. Oh God, the pity Of all my life till this, groping and weak, The shadow of itself! But now to seek That true most ancient glory whose white glance Was lost through the whole world by evil chance!

“I was a dull, cowed thing from the beginning. Dymer the drudge, the blackleg who obeyed. Desire shall teach me now. If this be sinning, Good luck to it! Oh splendour long delayed, Beautiful world of mine, oh world arrayed For bridal, flower and forest, wave and field, I come to be your lover. Loveliest, yield!

“World, I will prove you. Lest it should be said There was a man who loved the earth: his heart Was nothing but that love. With doting tread He worshipt the loved grass: and every start Of every bird from cover, the least part Of every flower he held in awe. Yet earth Gave him no joy between his death and birth.

“I know my good is hidden at your breast. There is a sound of great good in my ear, Like wings. And, oh! this moment is the best; I shall not fail--I taste it--it comes near. As men from a dark dungeon see the clear Stars shining and the filled streams far away, I hear your promise booming and obey.

“This forest lies a thousand miles, perhaps, Beyond where I am come. And farther still The rivers wander seaward with smooth lapse, And there is cliff and cottage, tower and hill. Somewhere, before the world’s end, I shall fill My spirit at earth’s pap. For earth must hold One rich thing sealed as Dymer’s from of old.

“One rich thing--or, it may be, more than this.... Might I not reach the borders of a land That ought to have been mine? And there, the bliss Of free speech, there the eyes that understand, The men free grown, not modelled by the hand Of masters--men that know, or men that seek, --They will not gape and murmur when I speak.”

Then, as he ceased, amid the farther wall He saw a curtained and low lintelled door; --Dark curtains, sweepy fold, night-purple pall, He thought he had not noticed it before. Sudden desire for darkness overbore His will, and drew him towards it. All was blind Within. He passed. The curtains closed behind.

He entered in a void. Night-scented flowers Breathed there, but this was darker than the night That is most black with beating thundershowers, --A disembodied world where depth and height And distance were unmade. No seam of light Showed through. It was a world not made for seeing, One pure, one undivided sense of being.

Through darkness smooth as amber, warily, slowly He moved. The floor was soft beneath his feet. A cool smell that was holy and unholy, Sharp like the very spring and roughly sweet Blew towards him: and he felt his fingers meet Broad leaves and wiry stems that at his will Unclosed before and closed behind him still.

With body intent he felt the foliage quiver On breast and thighs. With groping arms he made Wide passes in the air. A sacred shiver Of joy from the heart’s centre oddly strayed To every nerve. Deep sighing, much afraid, Much wondering, he went on: then, stooping, found A knee-depth of warm pillows on the ground.

And there it was sweet rapture to lie still, Eyes open on the dark. A flowing health Bathed him from head to foot and great goodwill Rose springing in his heart and poured its wealth Outwards. Then came a hand as if by stealth Out of the dark and touched his hand: and after The beating silence budded into laughter:

--A low grave laugh and rounded like a pearl, Mysterious, filled with home. He opened wide His arms. The breathing body of a girl Slid into them. From the world’s end, with the stride Of seven league boots came passion to his side. Then, meeting mouths, soft-falling hair, a cry, Heart-shaken flank, sudden cool-folded thigh:

The same night swelled the mushroom in earth’s lap And silvered the wet fields: it drew the bud From hiding and led on the rhythmic sap And sent the young wolves thirsting after blood, And, wheeling the big seas, made ebb and flood Along the shores of earth: and held these two In dead sleep till the time of morning dew.