Part 3

MAN--you who think you really know The beast you gaze on in the show, Nor see with what consummate art Each animal enacts its part-- How different do they all appear The moment that you are not there! Then, fawns with liquid eyes a-flame Pursue the bear, their nightly game; Wolves shiver as the rabbit roars And stretches his terrific claws; While trembling tigers dare not sleep For passionate, relentless sheep, And frantic eagles through the skies Are chased by angry butterflies. --But beasts would suffer all confusions Before they shattered man’s illusions.

_EDGELL RICKWORD_

(_PEMBROKE_)

INTIMACY

SINCE I have seen you do those intimate things That other men but dream of; lull asleep The sinister dark forest of your hair, And tie the bows that stir on your calm breast Faintly as leaves that shudder in their sleep. Since I have seen your stocking swallow up, A swift black wind, the pale flame of your foot, And deemed your slender limbs so meshed in silk Sweet mermaid sisters drowned in their dark hair; I have not troubled overmuch with food, And wine has seemed like water from a well; Pavements are built of fire, grass of thin flames. All other girls grow dull as painted flowers Or flutter harmlessly like coloured flies Whose wings are tangled in the net of leaves Spread by frail trees that grow behind the eyes.

GRAVE JOYS

TO PEGGY

WHEN our sweet bodies moulder under-ground, Shut off from these bright waters and clear skies, When we hear nothing but the sullen sound Of dead flesh dropping slowly from the bone And muffled fall of tongue and ears and eyes; Perhaps, as each disintegrates alone, Frail broken vials once brimmed with curious sense, Our souls will pitch old Grossness from his throne, And on the beat of unsubstantial wings Soar to new ecstasies still more intense. There the thin voice of horny, black-legged things Shall thrill me as girls' laughter thrills me here, And the cold drops a passing storm-cloud flings Be my strong wine, and crawling roots and clods My trees and hills, and slugs swift fallow deer. There I shall dote upon a sexless flower By dream-ghosts planted in my dripping brain, And suck from those cold petals subtler power Than from your colder, whiter flesh could fall, Most vile of girls and lovelier than all. But in your tomb the deathless She will reign And draw new lovers out of rotting sods That your lithe body may for ever squirm Beneath the strange embraces of the worm.

ADVICE TO A GIRL FROM THE WARS

WEEP for me but one day, Dry then your eyes; Think, is a heap of clay Worth a maid’s sighs?

Sigh nine days if you can For my waste blood; Think then, you love a man Whose face is mud;

Whose flesh and hair thrill not At your faint touch; Dear! limbs and brain will rot, Dream not of such.

YEGOR

"What shall I write?" said Yegor.--TCHEKOV.

"What shall I write?" said Yegor; "Of the bright-plumed bird that sings Hovering on the fringes of the forest, Where leafy dreams are grown, And thoughts go with silent flutterings, Like moths by a dark wind blown?"

"Oh, write of those quiet women, Beautiful, slim and pale, Whose bodies glimmer under cool green waters, Whose hands like lilies float Tangled in the heavy purple veil Of hair on their breast and throat."

"Or write of swans and princes Carved out of marble clouds, Of the flowers that wither upon distant mountains, Grey-pencilled in the brain; Of fiercely hurrying night-born crowds By the first swift sun-ray slain."

"Nay, I will sing," said Yegor, "Of stranger things than these, Of a girl I met in the fresh of morning, A laughing, slender flame; Of the slow stream’s song and the chant of bees, In a land without a name."

STRANGE ELEMENTS

WHEN my girl swims with me I think She is a Shark with hungry teeth, Because her throat that dazzles me Is white as sharks are underneath.

And when she drags me down with her Under the wave, she clings so tight, She seems a deadly Water-snake Who smothers me in that dim light.

Yet when we lie on the hot sand, I find she cannot bite or hiss, But she swears I’m a Tiger fierce Who kills her slowly with a kiss.

_W. FORCE STEAD_

(_QUEEN’S_)

THE BURDEN OF BABYLON[A]

"It is in the soul that things happen."

[A] The lyrics from "The Burden of Babylon" appeared in OXFORD POETRY, 1919. The present editors have decided to reprint them with their context.

SCENE: _An upper chamber in the Palace of the King of Babylon. Dusk on a hot summer’s evening. The voice of one singing far off beyond the palace-gardens is heard vaguely from time to time. The King is sitting by an open window._

THE KING OF BABYLON

SINCE I am Babylon, I am the world. The windy heavens and the rainy skies Attend the earth in humble servitude. And I am Babylon, I am the world: The heavens and their powers attend on me.

THE VOICE OF ONE CRYING IN THE NIGHT

_Babylon, the glory of the Kingdoms,_ _And the Chaldee’s excellency,_ _Is become as Sodom and Gomorrah,_ _Whom God overthrew by the Sea._

THE KING

Who is that fellow crying by the river? I think I heard him lift his voice in praise Of Babylon: some minstrelle seeking hire: I need him not to tell me who I am, For I am Baladan of Babylon. The splendours of my sceptre, throne, and crown, And all the awe that fills my royal halls, The pomp that heralds me, the shout that follows, Are flying shadows and reflections only From the wide dazzlings of myself, the King. This I conceive: and yet, we kings have labour To apprehend ourselves imperially, And see the blaze and lightnings of our person; The thought of their own sovereignty amazes The princelings even, and the lesser kings: But I am Baladan of Babylon.

THE VOICE IN THE NIGHT

_Never again inhabited,_ _Babylon, O Babylon_ _Even the wandering Arabian_ _From thy weary waste is gone._ _Neither shall the shepherd tend his fold there,_ _Nor any green herb be grown:_ _It cometh in the night-time suddenly,_ _And Babylon is overthrown._

THE KING

PALE from the east, the stars arise, and climb, And then grow bright, beholding Babylon; They would delay, but may not; so they pass, And fade and fall, bereft of Babylon. Quick from the Midian line the sun comes up, For he expects to see my palaces; And the moon lingers, even on the wane.... Mine ancient dynasty, as yon great river, Euphrates, with his fountains in far hills, Arose in the blue morning of the years; And as yon river flows on into time, Unalterable in majesty, my line Survives in domination down the years. I know, but am concerned not, that some peoples, At the pale limits of the world, abide As yet beyond the circle of my sway, The miserable sons of meagre soil That needs much tillage ere the yield be good. I only wait until they ripen more, And fatten toward my final harvesting: When I am ready, I will reap them in. For it is written in the stars, and read Of all my wise men and astrologers, That I, and my great line of Babylon, Shall rule the world, and only find a bound Where the horizon’s bounds are set, an end When the world ends; so shall all other lands, All languages, all peoples, and all tongues, Become a fable told of olden times, Deemed of our sons a thing incredulous.

THE VOICE IN THE NIGHT

_Woeful are thy desolate palaces,_ _Where doleful creatures lie,_ _And wild beasts out of the islands_ _In thy fallen chambers cry._ _Where now are the viol and the tabret?--_ _But owls hoot in moonlight,_ _And over the ruins of Babylon_ _The satyrs dance by night._

THE KING

THAT voice, that seems to hum my kingdom’s glory Fails in the vast immensity of night, As fails all earthly praise of Him who hears The ceaseless acclamation of the stars. What needs there more?--the apple of the world, Grown ripe and juicy, rolls into my lap, And all the gods of Babylon, well pleased With blood of bulls and fume of fragrant things, Even while I take mine ease, attend on me: The figs do mellow, the olive, and the vine, And in the plains climb the big sycamores; My camels and my laden dromedaries Move in from eastward bearing odorous gums, And the Zidonians hew me cedar beams, Even tall cedars out of Lebanon; Euphrates floats his treasured freightage down, And all great Babylon is filled with spoil. Wherefore, upon the summit of the world, The utmost apex of this thronèd realm, I stand, as stands the driving charioteer, And steer my course right onward toward the stars. Mean-fated men my horses trample under, And my wine-bins have drained the blood of mothers, And smoothly my wheels run upon the necks Of babes and sucklings,--while I hold my way, Serene, supreme, secure in destiny, Because the gods perceive mine excellence, And entertain for mine imperial Person Peculiar favours.... I am Babylon: Exceeding precious in the High One’s eyes.

THE VOICE IN THE NIGHT

_Babylon is fallen, fallen,_ _And never shall be known again!_ _Drunken with the blood of my belovèd,_ _And trampling on the sons of men._ _But God is awake and aware of thee,_ _And sharply shines His sword,_ _Where over the earth spring suddenly_ _The hidden hosts of the Lord;_ _Armies of right and of righteousness,_ _Huge hosts, unseen, unknown:_ _And thy pomp, and thy revellings, and glory,_ _Where the wind goes, they are gone._

_L. A. G. STRONG_

(_WADHAM_)

FROST

Unnatural foliage pales the trees, Frost in compassion of their death Has kissed them, and his icy breath Proclaims and silvers their election. Death, wert thou beautiful as these, We scarce would pray for resurrection.

VERA VENVSTAS

CORPORIS

Proud Eastern Queene, Borne forth in splendour to thy buriall. What need of gems To deck thee? Bear the Tyrian gauds aside. Thy own dead loveliness outshines the pride Of diadems.

ANIMÆ

O splendid hearte, Scorned and afflicted, still thou needest not Comfort of me. What matter though the body be uncouthe Wherein thou art? Fear not. He seeth truth Who gave it thee.

[To be chaunted as in a solemn Dumpe by such as fear God.]

A BABY

TWO days with puckered face of pain The accidental baby cried, And on the morning of the third Unclenched her tiny hands, and died.

FROM THE GREEK

BILL Jupp lies ’ere, aged sixty year: From Tavistock ’e came. Single ’e bided, and ’e wished ’Is father’d done the same.

A DEVON RHYME

GNARLY and bent and deaf ’s a post Pore ol' Ezekiel Purvis Goeth creepin' slowly up the ’ill To the Commoonion Survis.

Tap-tappy-tappy up the haisle Goeth stick and brassy ferule; And Parson ’ath to stoopy down And ’olley in ees yerole.

THE BIRD MAN

TO ERIC DICKINSON

I DREAD the parrots of the summer sun, The harsh and blazing screams of July noon, A riot of jays and peacocks and macaws. There is some presage of big ardours due Even in the pale flamingoes of the dawn; While golden pheasants and hoopoes of the West Burn fierce and proudly still, when he has set.

Better the winter wagtails of pied skies, Cold ospreys of the north, cormorants of squall, Brown wrens of rain, white silent owls of snow, And bitterns of great clouds that in October Sweep from the west at evening. Lovelier still The night’s black swans, the daws of starless night (Daw-like to hide what’s shiny), plovers and gulls Of winds that cry on autumn afternoons....

These every one I love: but above these Rarest of all my birds, I dearly love The blue and silver herons of the moon.

CHRISTOPHER MARLYE

CHRISTOPHER MARLYE damned his God In many a blasphemous mighty line, --Being given to words and wenches and wine.

He wrote his Faustus, and laughed to see How everyone feared his devils but he.

Christopher Marlye passed the gate, Eager to stalk on the floor of Heaven, Outface his God, and affront the Seven:

But Peter genially let him in, Making no mention of all his sin.

And he got no credit for all he had done, Though he grabbed a hold on the coat of God, And bellowed his infamies one by one, Blasphemy, lechery, thought, and deed ...

But nobody paid him the slightest heed.

And the devils and torments he thought to brave He left behind, on this side of the grave.

Heigh-ho! for Christopher Marlye.

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