Part 7

Below me spreads a sea of tranquil light, No blue cloud thunder-laden, but pure air Shot through and through with sunshine; from this height A man might cast himself in joy’s despair, And find unhoped, to bear him lest he fall, Swift succouring wings, and hands angelical, And circling of soft eyes, and foreheads bright.

Under me light, and light is o’er my head, And awful heaven and heaven to left and right; In all His worlds this spot unvisited God kept, save by the winging of keen light, And the dread gaze of stars, and morning’s wan Virginity, for me a living man, Living, not borne among the enfranchised dead.

New life,--not death! No glow the senses cast Across the spirit, no pleasure shoots o’er me Its scattering flaw, no words may I hold fast Here, where God’s breath streams inexhaustibly; But conquest stern is mine, a will made sane, Life’s vision wide and calm, a supreme pain, An absolute joy; and love the first and last.

THE INITIATION

Under the flaming wings of cherubim I moved toward that high altar. O, the hour! And the light waxed intenser, and the dim Low edges of the hills and the grey sea Were caught and captur’d by the present Power, My sureties and my witnesses to be.

Then the light drew me in. Ah, perfect pain! Ah, infinite moment of accomplishment! Thou terror of pure joy, with neither wane Nor waxing, but long silence and sharp air As womb-forsaking babes breathe. Hush! the event Let him who wrought Love’s marvellous things declare.

Shall I who fear’d not joy, fear grief at all? I on whose mouth Life laid his sudden lips Tremble at Death’s weak kiss, and not recall That sundering from the flesh, the flight from time, The judgments stern, the clear apocalypse, The lightnings, and the Presences sublime.

How came I back to earth? I know not how, Nor what hands led me, nor what words were said. Now all things are made mine,--joy, sorrow; now I know my purpose deep, and can refrain; I walk among the living not the dead; My sight is purged; I love and pity men.

RENUNCIANTS

Seems not our breathing light? Sound not our voices free? Bid to Life’s festal bright No gladder guests there be.

Ah, stranger, lay aside Cold prudence! I divine The secret you would hide, And you conjecture mine.

You too have temperate eyes, Have put your heart to school, Are proved. I recognize A brother of the rule.

I knew it by your lip, A something when you smiled, Which meant “close scholarship, A master of the guild.”

Well, and how good is life, Good to be born, have breath, The calms good and the strife, Good life, and perfect death.

Come, for the dancers wheel, Join we the pleasant din, --Comrade, it serves to feel The sackcloth next the skin.

SPEAKERS TO GOD

_First Speaker_

Eastward I went and Westward, North and South, And the wind blew me from deep zone to zone; Many strong women did I love; my mouth I gave for kisses, rose, and straight was gone.

I fought with heroes; there was joyous play Of swords; my cities rose in every land; Then forth I fared. O God, thou knowest, I lay Ever within the hollow of thy hand.

_Second Speaker_

I am borne out to thee upon the wave, And the land lessens; cry nor speech I hear, Nought but the leaping waters and the brave Pure winds commingling. O the joy, the fear!

Alone with thee; sky’s rim and ocean’s rim Touch, overhead the clear immensity Is merely God; no eyes of seraphim Gaze in ... O God, Thou also art the sea!

_Third Speaker_

Thus it shall be a lifetime,--ne’er to meet; A trackless land divides us lone and long; Others, who seek Him, find, run swift to greet Their Friend, approach the bridegroom’s door with song.

I stand, nor dare affirm I see or hear; How should I dream, when strict is my employ? Yet if some time, far hence, thou drawest near Shall there be any joy like to our joy?

POESIA

(_To a Painter_)

Paint her with robe and girdle laid aside, Without a jewel upon her; you must hide By sleight of artist from the gazer’s view No whit of her fair body; calm and true Her eyes must meet our passion, as aware The world is beautiful, and she being fair A part of it. She needs be no more pure Than a dove is, nor could one well endure More faultlessness than of a sovran rose, Reserved, yet liberal to each breeze that blows. Let her be all revealed, nor therefore less A mystery of unsearchable loveliness; There must be no discoveries to be made, Save as a noonday sky with not a shade Or floating cloud of Summer to the eye Which drinks its light admits discovery. Did common raiment hide her could we know How hopeless were the rash attempt to throw Sideways the veil which guards her womanhood? Therefore her sacred vesture must elude All mortal touch, and let her welcome well Each corner, being still unapproachable. Plant firm on Earth her feet, as though her own Its harvests were, and, for she would be known Fearless not fugitive, interpose no bar ’Twixt us and her, Love’s radiant avatar, No more to be possessed than sunsets are.

MUSICIANS

I know the harps whereon the Angels play, While in God’s listening face they gaze intent, Are these frail hearts,--yours, mine; and gently they, Leaning a warm breast toward the instrument, And preluding among the tremulous wires, First draw forth dreams of song, unfledged desires, Nameless regrets, sweet hopes which will not stay.

But when the passionate sense of heavenly things Possesses the musician, and his lips Part glowing, and the shadow of his wings Grows golden, and fire streams from finger-tips, And he is mighty, and his heart-throbs thicken, And quick intolerable pulses quicken, How his hand lords it in among the strings!

Ah the keen crying of the wires! the pain Of restless music yearning to out-break And shed its sweetness utterly, the rain Of heavenly laughters, threats obscure which shake The spirit, trampling tumults which dismay, The fateful pause, the fiat summoning day, The faultless flower of light which will not wane.

How wrought with you the awful lord of song? What thirst of God hath he appeased? What bliss Raised to clear ecstasy? O tender and strong The eager melodist who leaned o’er this Live heart of mine, who leans above it now: The stern pure eyes! the ample, radiant brow! Pluck boldly, Master, the good strain prolong.

MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS

A DAY OF DEFECTION

This day among the days will never stand, Carven and clear, a shape of fair delight, With singing lips, and gaze of innocent might, Crown’d queenwise, or the lyre within her hand, And firm feet making conquest of a land Heavy with fruitage; nay, from all men’s sight Drop far, cold sun, and let remorseful Night Cloke the shamed forehead, and the bosom’s brand. Could but the hammer rive, the thunder-stone Flung forth from heaven on some victorious morn Grind it to dust! Slave, must I always see Thy beauty soil’d? Must shining days foregone Admit thee peer, and wondering new-born To-morrow meet thy dull eyes’ infamy?

SONG AND SILENCE

While Sorrow sat beside me many a day, I,--with head turned from her, and yet aware How her eyes’ light was on my brow and hair, The light which bites and blights our gold to grey,-- Still sang, and swift winds bore my songs away Full of sweet sounds, as of a lute-player Who sees fresh colours, breathes the ripe soft air, And hears the cuckoo shout in dells of May, Being filled with ease and indolent of heart. So sang I, Sorrow near me: chide me not, O Joy, for silence now! Hereafter wise, Large song may come, life blossoming in art, From this new fate; but leave me, thou long sought, To gaze awhile into those perfect eyes.

LOVE-TOKENS

I wear around my forehead evermore, The circlet of your praise, pure gold; and how I walk forth crown’d, the approving angels know, And see how I am meeker than before Being thus proud. For roses my full store, Upon a cheek where flowers will scantly blow, Is your lips’ one immortal touch, and lo! All shame deserts my blood to the heart’s core. Dare I display love’s choicest gift--this scar Still sanguine-hued? Here ran your sudden brand Sheer through the starting flesh, and let abroad A traitor’s life; your wrathful eyes afar, Had doom’d him first. Ah, gracious, valiant hand Which drew me bleeding to the feet of God!

A DREAM

I dreamed I went to seek for her whose sight Is sunshine to my soul; and in my dream I found her not; then sank the latest beam Of day in the rich west; upswam the Night With sliding dews, and still I searched in vain, Through thickest glooms of garden-alleys quaint, On moonlit lawns, by glimmering lakes where faint The ripples brake and died, and brake again. Then said I, “At God’s inner court of light I will beg for her;” straightway toward the same I went, and lo! upon the altar-stair, She knelt with face uplifted, and soft hair Fallen upon shoulders purely gowned in white And on her parted lips I read my name.

MICHELANGELESQUE

Shaping thy life what if the stubborn stuff Grudge to inform itself through each dull part With the soul’s high invention, and thy art Seem a defeated thing, and earth rebuff Heaven’s splendour, choosing darkness,--leave the rough Brute-parts unhewn. Toilest thou for the mart Or for the temple? Does the God see start Quick beauty from the block, it is enough. The spirit, foiled elsewhere, presses to the mouth, Disparts the lips, lives on the lighted brow, Fills the wide nostrils, flings the imperious chin Out proudly. Now behold! the lyric youth, The wrestler stooping in the act to win, Pythian Apollo with the vengeful bow.

LIFE’S GAIN

“Now having gained Life’s gain, how hold it fast? The harder task! because the world is still The world, and days creep slow, and wear the will, And Custom, gendering in the heart’s blind waste, Brings forth a wingèd mist, which with no haste Upcircling the steep air, and charged with ill, Blots all our shining heights adorable, And leaves slain Faith, slain Hope, slain Love the last.” O shallow lore of life! He who hath won Life’s gain doth hold nought fast, who could hold all, Holden himself of strong, immortal Powers. The stars accept him; for his sake the Sun Hath sworn in heaven an oath memorial; Around his feet stoop the obsequious Hours.

COMPENSATION

You shake your head and talk of evil days: My friend, I learn’d ere I had told twelve years That truth of yours,--how irrepressible tears Surprise us, and strength fails, and pride betrays, And sorrows lurk for us in all the ways Of joyous living. But now to front my fears I set a counter-truth which comes and cheers Our after-life, when, temperate, the heart weighs Evil with good. Do never smiles surprise Sad lips? Did the glad violets blow last spring In no new haunts? Or are the heavens not fair After drench’d days of June, when all the air Grows fragrant, and the rival thrushes sing, Until stars gather into twilight skies?

TO A CHILD DEAD AS SOON AS BORN

A little wrath was on thy forehead, Boy, Being thus defeated; the resolvèd will Which death could not subdue, was threatening still From lip and brow. I know that it was joy No casual misadventure might destroy To have lived, and fought and died. Therefore I kill The pang for thee, unknown; nor count it ill That thou hast entered swiftly on employ Where Life would plant a warder keen and pure. I thought to see a little piteous clay The grave had need of, pale from light obscure Of embryo dreams; thy face was as the day Smit on by storm. Palms for my child, and bay! Thus far thou hast done well, true son: endure.

BROTHER DEATH

When thou would’st have me go with thee, O Death, Over the utmost verge, to the dim place, Practise upon me with no amorous grace Of fawning lips, and words of delicate breath, And curious music thy lute uttereth; Nor think for me there must be sought-out ways Of cloud and terror; have we many days Sojourned together, and is this thy faith? Nay, be there plainness ’twixt us; come to me Even as thou art, O brother of my soul; Hold thy hand out and I will place mine there; I trust thy mouth’s inscrutable irony, And dare to lay my forehead where the whole Shadow lies deep of thy purpureal hair.

THE MAGE

When I shall sing my songs the world will hear, --Which hears not these,--I shall be white with age, My beard on breast great as befits a mage So skilled; but song is young, and in no drear Tome-crammed, lamp-litten chamber shall mine fear To pine ascetic. Where the woods are deep, Thick leaves for arras, in a noonday sleep Of breeze and bloom, gaze, but my art revere! There I will sit, and score rare wisardry In characters vermilion, azure, gold, With bird, starred flower, and peering dragon-fly Limned in the lines; and secrets shall be told Of greatest Pan, and lives of wood-nymphs shy, Blabbed by my goat-foot servitor overbold.

WISE PASSIVENESS

Think you I choose or that or this to sing? I lie as patient as yon wealthy stream Dreaming among green fields its summer dream, Which takes whate’er the gracious hours will bring Into its quiet bosom; not a thing Too common, since perhaps you see it there Who else had never seen it, though as fair As on the world’s first morn; a fluttering Of idle butterflies; or the deft seeds Blown from a thistle-head; a silver dove As faultlessly; or the large, yearning eyes Of pale Narcissus; or beside the reeds A shepherd seeking lilies for his love, And evermore the all-encircling skies.

THE SINGER’S PLEA

Why do I sing? I know not why, my friend; The ancient rivers, rivers of renown, A royal largess to the sea roll down, And on those liberal highways nations send Their tributes to the world,--stored corn and wine, Gold-dust, the wealth of pearls, and orient spar, And myrrh, and ivory, and cinnabar, And dyes to make a presence-chamber shine. But in the woodlands, where the wild-flowers are, The rivulets, they must have their innocent will Who all the summer hours are singing still, The birds care for them, and sometimes a star, And should a tired child rest beside the stream Sweet memories would slide into his dream.

THE TRESPASSER

_Trespassers will be prosecuted_,--so Announced the inhospitable notice-board; But silver-clear as any lady’s word _Come in, in, in, come in_, now rich and low, Now with tumultuous palpitating flow, I swear by ring of Canace I heard. “Sure,” said I, “this is no brown-breasted bird, But some fair princess, lost an age ago Through stepdame’s cursed spell, till the saints brought her Who but myself, the knight foredoomed of grace.” Alas! poor knight, in all that cockney place You found no magic, save one radiant sight, The huge, obstreperous house-keeper’s granddaughter, A child with eyes of pure ethereal light.

RITUALISM

This is high ritual and a holy day; I think from Palestrina the wind chooses That movement in the firs; one sits and muses In hushed heart-vacancy made meek to pray; Listen! the birds are choristers with gay Clear voices infantine, and with good will Each acolyte flower has swung his thurible, Censing to left and right these aisles of May. For congregation, see! real sheep most clean, And I--what am I, worshipper or priest? At least all these I dare absolve from sin, Ay, dare ascend to where the splendours shine Of yon steep mountain-altar, and the feast Is holy, God Himself being bread and wine.

PROMETHEUS UNBOUND

I, who lie warming here by your good fire, Was once Prometheus and elsewhere have lain; Ah, still in dreams they come,--the sudden chain, The swooping birds, the silence, the desire Of pitying, powerless eyes, the night, and higher The keen stars; (if you please I fill again The bowl, Silenus)--; yet ’twas common pain Their beaks’ mad rooting; O, but they would tire, And one go circling o’er the misty vast On great, free wings, and one sit, head out-bent, Poised for the plunge; then ’twas I crushed the cry “Zeus, Zeus, I kiss your feet, and learn at last The baseness of this crude self-government Matched with glad impulse and blind liberty.”

KING MOB

Dismiss, O sweet King Mob, your foot-lickers! When you held court last night I too was there To listen, and in truth well nigh despair O’ercame me when I saw your greedy ears Drink such gross poison. I could weep hot tears To think how three drugged words avail to keep A waking people still on the edge of sleep, And lose the world a right good score of years. I love you too, big Anarch, lately born, Half beast, yet with a stupid heart of man, And since I love, would God that I could warn Work out the beast as shortly as you can, Till which time oath of mine shall ne’er be sworn, Nor knee be bent to you, King Caliban.

THE MODERN ELIJAH

What went ye forth to see? a shaken reed?-- Ye throngers of the Parthenon last night. Prophet, yea more than prophet, we agreed; No John a’ Desert with the girdle tight, And locusts and wild honey for his need, Before the dreadful day appears in sight Urging one word to make the conscience bleed, But an obese John Smith, “a shining light” (Our chairman felt), “an honour to his creed.” O by the gas, when buns and tea had wrought Upon our hearts, how grew the Future bright,-- The Press, the Institutes, Advance of Thought, And People’s Books, till every mother’s son Can prove there is a God, or there is none.

DAVID AND MICHAL

(2 SAMUEL vi. 16)

_But then you don’t mean really what you say_-- To hear this from the sweetest little lips, O’er which each pretty word daintily trips Like small birds hopping down a garden way, When I had given my soul full scope to play For once before her in the Orphic style Caught from three several volumes of Carlyle, And undivulged before this very day! O young men of our earnest school confess How it is deeply, darkly tragical To find the feminine souls we would adore So full of sense, so versed in worldly lore, So deaf to the Eternal Silences, So unbelieving, so conventional.

WINDLE-STRAWS

I

Under grey clouds some birds will dare to sing, No wild exultant chants, but soft and low; Under grey clouds the young leaves seek the spring, And lurking violets blow.

And waves make idle music on the strand, And inland streams have lucky words to say, And children’s voices sound across the land Although the clouds be grey.

II

Only maidenhood and youth, Only eyes that are most fair, And the pureness of a mouth, And the grace of golden hair, Yet beside her we grow wise, And we breathe a finer air.

Words low-utter’d, simple-sweet,-- Yet, nor songs of morning birds, Nor soft whisperings of the wheat More than such clear-hearted words Make us wait, and love, and listen, Stir more mellow heart accords.

Only maiden-motions light, Only smiles that sweetly go, Girlish laughter pure and bright, And a footfall like the snow, What in these should make us wise? What should bid the blossom blow?

Child! on thee God’s angels wait, ’Tis their robes that wave and part, Make this summer air elate, Fresh and fragrant, and thou art But a simple child indeed, One dare cherish to the heart.

III

Were life to last for ever, love, We might go hand in hand, And pause and pull the flowers that blow In all the idle land, And we might lie in sunny fields And while the hours away With fallings-out and fallings-in For half a summer day.

But since we two must sever, love, Since some dim hour we part, I have no time to give thee much But quickly take my heart, “For ever thine,” and “thine my love,”-- O Death may come apace, What more of love could life bestow, Dearest, than this embrace.

IV

Now drops in the abyss a day of life: I count my twelve hours’ gain;-- Tired senses? vain desires? a baffled strife, Vexed heart and beating brain?

Ten pages traversed by a languid eye? --Nay, but one moment’s space I gazed into the soul of the blue sky; Rare day! O day of grace!

V

She kissed me on the forehead, She spoke not any word, The silence flowed between us, And I nor spoke nor stirred.

So hopeless for my sake it was, So full of ruth, so sweet, My whole heart rose and blessed her, --Then died before her feet.

VI

Nay, more! yet more, for my lips are fain; No cups for a babe; I ask the whole Deep draught that a God could hardly drain, --Wine of your soul.

Pour! for the goblet is great I bring, Not worthless, rough with youths at strife, And men that toil and women that sing, --It is all my life.

VII

Look forward with those steadfast eyes O Pilot of our star! It sweeps through rains and driving snows, Strong Angel, gaze afar!

Seest thou a zone of golden air? Hearest thou the March-winds ring? Or is thy heart prophetic yet With stirrings of the Spring?

VIII

Words for my song like sighing of dim seas, Words with no thought in them,--a piping reed, An infant’s cry, a moan low-uttered,--these Are all the words I need.

Others have song for broad-winged winds that pass, For stars and sun, for standing men around; I put my mouth low down into the grass, And whisper to the ground.

HERE END THE POEMS WHICH WERE FIRST PUBLISHED IN A VOLUME IN 1876

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS OF LATER DATES

AT THE OAR

I dare not lift a glance to you, yet stay Ye Gracious Ones, still save me, hovering near; If music live upon mine inward ear, I know ye lean bright brow to brow, and say Your secret things; if rippling breezes play Cool on my cheeks, it is those robes ye wear That wave, and shadowy fragrance of your hair Drifted, the fierce noon fervour to allay, Fierce fervour, ceaseless stroke, small speed, and I Find grim contentment in the servile mood; But should I gaze in yon untrammelled sky Once, or behold your dewy eyes, my blood Would madden, and I should fling with one free cry My body headlong in the whelming flood.

THE DIVINING ROD