Part 3

His father was a laborer and now They made the boy work for his daily bread. They say he read A book or two during these years of work. But if there was a secret prone to lurk Between the pages under the light of his brow It came forth. And if he had a woman In love or out of love, or a companion or a chum, History is dumb. So far as we know he dreamed and worked with hands And learned to know his genius' commands Or what is called one's dæmon.

And this became at last the city's call. He had now reached the age of thirty years, And found a Dream of Life and a solution For slavery of soul and even all Miseries that flow from things material. To free the world was his soul's resolution. But his family had great fears For him, knowing the evil Which might befall him, seeing that the light Of his own dream had blinded his mind's eyes. They could not tell but what he had a devil. But still in their tears despite, And warnings he departed with replies That when a man's genius calls him He must obey no matter what befalls him.

What he had in his mind was growth Of soul by watching, And the creation of eyes Over your mind's eyes to supervise A clear activity and to ward off sloth. What he had in his mind was scotching And killing the snake of Hatred and stripping the glove From the hand of Hypocrisy and quenching the fire Of Falsehood and Unbrotherly Desire.-- What he had in his mind was simply Love. And it was strange he preached the sword and force To establish Love, but it was not strange, Since he did this, his life took on a change. And what he taught seems muddled at its source With moralizing and with moral strife. For morals are merely the Truth diluted And sweetened up and suited To the business and bread of Life.

And now this City was just what you'd find A city anywhere, A turmoil and a Vanity Fair, A sort of heaven and a sort of Tophet. There were so many leaders of his kind The city didn't care For one additional prophet. He said some extravagant things And planted a few stings Under the rich man's hide. And one of the sensational newspapers Gave him a line or two for cutting capers In front of the Palace of Justice and the Church. But all of the first grade people took the other side Of the street when they saw him coming With a rag tag crowd singing and humming, And curious boys and men up in a perch Of a tree or window taking the spectacle in, And the Corybantic din Of a Salvation Army as it were. And whatever he dreamed when he lived in a little town The intelligent people ignored him, and this is the stir And the only stir he made in the city.

But there was a certain sinister Fellow who came to him hearing of his renown And said "You can be Mayor of this city, We need a man like you for Mayor." And others said "You'd make a lawyer or a politician, Look how the people follow you; Why don't you hire out as a special writer, You could become a business man, a rhetorician, You could become a player, You can grow rich. There's nothing for a fighter, Fighting as you are, but to end in ruin." But he turned from them on his way pursuing The dream he had in view.

He had a rich man or two Who took up with him against the powerful frown Which looked him down. For you'll always find a rich man or two To take up with anything. There are those who can't get into society or bring Their riches to a social recognition; Or ill-formed souls who lack the real patrician Spirit for life. But as for him he didn't care, he passed Where the richness of living was rife. And like wise Goethe talking to the last With cabmen rather than with lords He sat about the markets and the fountains, He walked about the country and the mountains, Took trips upon the lakes and waded fords Barefooted, laughing as a young animal Disports itself amid the festival Of warm winds, sunshine, summer's carnival-- With laborers, carpenters, seamen And some loose women. And certain notable sinners Gave him dinners. And he went to weddings and to places where youth slakes Its thirst for happiness, and they served him cakes And wine wherever he went. And he ate and drank and spent His time in feasting and in telling stories, And singing poems of lilies and of trees, With crowds of people crowded around his knees That searched with lightning secrets hidden Of life and of life's glories, Of death and of the soul's way after death.

Time makes amends usually for scandal's breath, Which touched him to his earthly ruination. But this city had a Civic Federation, And a certain social order which intrigues Through churches, courts, with an endless ramification Of money and morals to save itself. And this city had a Bar Association, Also its Public Efficiency Leagues For laying honest men upon the shelf While making private pelf Secure and free to increase. And this city had illustrious Pharisees And this city had a legion Of men who make a business of religion, With eyes one inch apart, Dark and narrow of heart, Who give themselves and give the city no peace, And who are everywhere the best police For Life as business. And when they saw this youth Was telling the truth, And that his followers were multiplying, And were going about rejoicing and defying The social order and were stirring up The dregs of discontent in the cup With the hand of their own happiness, They saw dynamic mysteries In the poems of lilies and trees, Therefore they held him for a felony.

If you will take a kernel of wheat And first make free The outer flake and then pare off the meat Of edible starch you'll find at the kernel's core The life germ. And this young man's words were dim With blasphemy, sedition at the rim, Which fired the heads of dreamers like new wine. But this was just the outward force of him. For this young man's philosophy was more Than such external ferment, being divine With secrets so profound no plummet line Can altogether sound it. It means growth Of soul by watching, And the creation of eyes Over your mind's eyes to supervise A clear activity and to ward off sloth. What he had in mind was scotching And killing the snake of Hatred and stripping the glove From the hand of Hypocrisy and quenching the fire Of falsehood and unbrotherly Desire. What he had in mind was simply Love.

But he was prosecuted As a rebel and as a rebel executed Right in a public place where all could see. And his mother watched him hang for the felony. He hated to die being but thirty-three, And fearing that his poems might be lost. And certain members of the Bar Association, And of the Civic Federation, And of the League of Public Efficiency, And a legion Of men devoted to religion, With policemen, soldiers, roughs, Loose women, thieves and toughs, Came out to see him die, And hooted at him giving up the ghost In great despair and with a fearful cry!

And after him there was a man named Paul Who almost spoiled it all.

And protozoan things like hypocrites, And parasitic things who make a food Of the mysteries of God for earthly power Must wonder how before this young man's hour They lived without his blood, Shed on that day, and which In red cells is so rich.

WHAT YOU WILL

April rain, delicious weeping, Washes white bones from the grave, Long enough have they been sleeping. They are cleansed, and now they crave Once more on the earth to gather Pleasure from the springtime weather.

The pine trees and the long dark grass Feed on what is placed below. Think you not that there doth pass In them something we did know? This spell--well, friends, I greet ye once again With joy--but with a most unuttered pain.

THE CITY

The Sun hung like a red balloon As if he would not rise; For listless Helios drowsed and yawned. He cared not whether the morning dawned, The brother of Eos and the Moon Stretched him and rubbed his eyes.

He would have dreamed the dream again That found him under sea: He saw Zeus sit by Hera's side, He saw Hæphestos with his bride; He traced from Enna's flowery plain The child Persephone.

There was a time when heaven's vault Cracked like a temple's roof. A new hierarchy burst its shell, And as the sapphire ceiling fell, From stern Jehovah's mad assault, Vast spaces stretched aloof:

Great blue black depths of frozen air Engulfed the soul of Zeus. And then Jehovah reigned instead. For Judah was living and Greece was dead. And Hope was born to nurse Despair, And the Devil was let loose.

* * * * *

Far off in the waste empyrean The world was a golden mote. And the Sun hung like a red balloon, Or a bomb afire o'er a barracoon. And the sea was drab, and the sea was green Like a many colored coat.

The sea was pink like cyclamen, And red as a blushing rose. It shook anon like the sensitive plant, Under the golden light aslant. The little waves patted the shore again Where the restless river flows.

And thus it has been for ages gone-- For a hundred thousand years; Ere Buddha lived or Jesus came, Or ever the city had place or name, The sea thrilled through at the kiss of dawn Like a soul of smiles and tears.

When the city's seat was a waste of sand, And the hydra lived alone, The sound of the sea was here to be heard, And the moon rose up like a great white bird, Sailing aloft from the yellow strand To her silent midnight throne.

Now Helios eyes the universe, And he knows the world is small. Of old he walked through pagan Tyre, Babylon, Sodom destroyed by fire, And sought to unriddle the primal curse That holds the race in thrall.

So he stepped from the Sun in robes of flame As the city woke from sleep. He walked the markets, walked the squares, He walked the places of sweets and snares, Where men buy honor and barter shame, And the weak are killed as sheep.

He saw the city is one great mart Where life is bought and sold. Men rise to get them meat and bread To barter for drugs or coffin the dead. And dawn is but a plucked-up heart For the dreary game of gold.

"Ho! ho!" said Helios, "father Zeus Would never botch it so. If he had stolen Joseph's bride, And let his son be crucified The son's blood had been put to use To ease the people's woe."

"He of the pest and the burning bush, Of locusts, lice, and frogs, Who made me stand, veiling my light, While Joshua slaughtered the Amorite, Who blacked the skin of the sons of Cush, And builded the synagogues."

"And Jehovah the great is omnipotent, While Zeus was bound by Fate. But Athens fell when Peter took Rome, And Chicago is made His hecatomb. And since from the hour His son was sent The hypocrite holds the state."

Helios traversed the city streets And this is what he saw: Some sold their honor, some their skill, The soldier hired himself to kill, The judges bartered the judgment seats And trafficked in the law.

The starving artist sold his youth, The writer sold his pen; The lawyer sharpened up his wits Like a burglar filing auger bits, And Jesus' vicar sold the truth To the famished sons of men.

In every heart flamed cruelty Like a little emerald snake. And each one knew if he should stand In another's way the dagger-hand Would make the stronger the feofee Of the coveted wapentake.

There's not a thing men will not do For honor, gold, or power. We smile and call the city fair, We call life lovely and debonair, But Proserpina never grew So deadly a passion flower.

Go live for an hour in a tropic land Hid near a sinking pool: The lion and tiger come to drink, The boa crawls to the water's brink, The elephant bull kneels down in the sand And drinks till his throat is cool.

Jehovah will keep you awhile unseen As you lie behind the rocks. But go, if you dare, to slake your thirst, Though Jesus died for our life accursed Your bones by the tiger will be licked clean As he licks the bones of an ox.

And the sky may be blue as fleur de lis, And the earth be tulip red; And God in heaven, and life all good While you lie hid in the underwood: And the city may leave you sorrow free If you ask it not for bread.

One day Achilles lost a horse While the pest at Troy was rife, And a million maggots fought and ate Like soldiers storming a city's gate, And Thersites said, as he looked at the corse, "Achilles, that is life."

* * * * *

Day fades and from a million cells The office people pour. Like bees that crawl on the honeycomb The workers scurry to what is home, And trains and traffic and clanging bells Make the cañon highways roar.

Helios walked the city's ways Till the lights began to shine. Then the janitor women start to scrub And the Pharisees up and enter the club, And the harlot wakes, and the music plays And the glasses glow with wine.

Now we're good fellows one and all, And the buffet storms with talk. "The market's closed and trade's at end We had our battle, now I'm your friend." And thanks to the spirit of alcohol Men go for a ride or walk.

Oh but traffic is not all done Nor everything yet sold. There's woman to win, and plots to weave, There's a heart to hurt, or one to deceive, And bargains to bind ere rise of Sun To garner the morrow's gold.

The market at night is as full of fraud As the market kept by day. The courtesan buys a soul with a look, A dinner tempers the truth in a book, And love is sold till love is a bawd, And falsehood froths in the play.

And men and women sell their smiles For friendship's lifeless dregs. For fear of the morrow we bend and bow To moneybags with the slanting brow. For the heart that knows life's little wiles Seldom or never begs.

"Poor men," sighed Helios, "how they long For the ultimate fire of love. They yearn, through life, like the peacock moth, And die worn out in search of the troth. For love in the soul is the siren song That wrecks the peace thereof."

* * * * *

Helios turned from the world and fled As the convent bell tolled six. For he caught a glimpse of an agéd crone Who knelt beside a coffin alone; She had sold her cloak to shrive the dead And buy a crucifix!

THE IDIOT

Two children in a garden Shouting for joy Were playing dolls and houses, A girl and boy. I smiled at a neighbor window, And watched them play Under a budding oak tree On a wintry day.

And then a board half broken In the high fence Fell over and there entered, I know not whence, A jailbird face of yellow With a vacant sulk, His body was a sickly Thing of bulk.

His open mouth was slavering, And a green light Turned disc-like in his eyeballs, Like a dog's at night. His teeth were like a giant's, And far apart; I saw him reel on the children With a stopping heart. He trampled their dolls and ruined The house they made; He struck to earth the children With a dirty spade. As a tiger growls with an antelope After the hunt, Over the little faces I heard him grunt.

I stood at the window frozen, And short of breath, And then I saw the idiot Was Master Death!

A bird in the lilac bushes Began to sing. The garden colored before me To the kiss of spring. And the yellow face in a moment Was a mystic white; The matted hair was softened To starry light. The ragged coat flowed downward Into a robe; He carried a sword and a balance And stood on a globe. I watched him from the window Under a spell; The idiot was the angel Azrael!

HELEN OF TROY

On an ancient vase representing in bas-relief the flight of Helen.

This is the vase of Love Whose feet would ever rove O'er land and sea; Whose hopes forever seek Bright eyes, the vermeiled cheek, And ways made free.

Do we not understand Why thou didst leave thy land, Thy spouse, thy hearth? Helen of Troy, Greek art Hath made our heart thy heart, Thy mirth our mirth.

For Paris did appear,-- Curled hair and rosy ear And tapering hands. He spoke--the blood ran fast, He touched, and killed the past, And clove its bands.

And this, I deem, is why The restless ages sigh, Helen, for thee. Whate'er we do or dream, Whate'er we say or seem, We would be free.

We would forsake old love, And all the pain thereof, And all the care; We would find out new seas, And lands more strange than these, And flowers more fair.

We would behold fresh skies Where summer never dies And amaranths spring; Lands where the halcyon hours Nest over scented bowers On folded wing.

We would be crowned with bays, And spend the long bright days On sea or shore; Or sit by haunted woods, And watch the deep sea's moods, And hear its roar.

Beneath that ancient sky Who is not fain to fly As men have fled? Ah! we would know relief From marts of wine and beef, And oil and bread.

Helen of Troy, Greek art Hath made our heart thy heart, Thy love our love. For poesy, like thee, Must fly and wander free As the wild dove.

O GLORIOUS FRANCE

You have become a forge of snow white fire, A crucible of molten steel, O France! Your sons are stars who cluster to a dawn And fade in light for you, O glorious France! They pass through meteor changes with a song Which to all islands and all continents Says life is neither comfort, wealth, nor fame, Nor quiet hearthstones, friendship, wife nor child Nor love, nor youth's delight, nor manhood's power, Nor many days spent in a chosen work, Nor honored merit, nor the patterned theme Of daily labor, nor the crowns nor wreaths Or seventy years.

These are not all of life, O France, whose sons amid the rolling thunder Of cannon stand in trenches where the dead Clog the ensanguinéd ice. But life to these Prophetic and enraptured souls is vision, And the keen ecstasy of fated strife, And divination of the loss as gain, And reading mysteries with brightened eyes In fiery shock and dazzling pain before The orient splendor of the face of Death, As a great light beside a shadowy sea; And in a high will's strenuous exercise, Where the warmed spirit finds its fullest strength And is no more afraid. And in the stroke Of azure lightning when the hidden essence And shifting meaning of man's spiritual worth And mystical significance in time Are instantly distilled to one clear drop Which mirrors earth and heaven.

This is life Flaming to heaven in a minute's span When the breath of battle blows the smoldering spark. And across these seas We who cry Peace and treasure life and cling To cities, happiness, or daily toil For daily bread, or trail the long routine Of seventy years, taste not the terrible wine Whereof you drink, who drain and toss the cup Empty and ringing by the finished feast; Or have it shaken from your hand by sight Of God against the olive woods.

As Joan of Arc amid the apple trees With sacred joy first heard the voices, then Obeying plunged at Orleans in a field Of spears and lived her dream and died in fire, Thou, France, hast heard the voices and hast lived The dream and known the meaning of the dream, And read its riddle: How the soul of man May to one greatest purpose make itself A lens of clearness, how it loves the cup Of deepest truth, and how its bitterest gall Turns sweet to soul's surrender.

And you say: Take days for repetition, stretch your hands For mocked renewal of familiar things: The beaten path, the chair beside the window, The crowded street, the task, the accustomed sleep, And waking to the task, or many springs Of lifted cloud, blue water, flowering fields-- The prison house grows close no less, the feast A place of memory sick for senses dulled Down to the dusty end where pitiful Time Grown weary cries Enough!

FOR A DANCE

There is in the dance The joy of children on a May day lawn. The fragments of old dreams and dead romance Come to us from the dancers who are gone.

What strains of ancient blood Move quicker to the music's passionate beat? I see the gulls fly over a shadowy flood And Munster fields of barley and of wheat.

And I see sunny France, And the vine's tendrils quivering to the light, And faces, faces, yearning for the dance With wistful eyes that look on our delight.

They live through us again And we through them, who wish for lips and eyes Wherewith to feel, not fancy, the old pain Passed with reluctance through the centuries

To us, who in the maze Of dancing and hushed music woven afresh Amid the shifting mirrors of hours and days Know not our spirit, neither know our flesh;

Nor what ourselves have been, Through the long way that brought us to the dance: I see a little green by Camolin And odorous orchards blooming in Provence.

Two listen to the roar Of waves moon-smitten, where no steps intrude. Who knows what lips were kissed at Laracor? Or who it was that walked through Burnham wood?

WHEN LIFE IS REAL

We rode, we rode against the wind. The countless lights along the town Made the town blacker for their fire, And you were always looking down.

To 'scape the blustering breath of March, Or was it for your mind's disguise? Still I could shut my eyes and see The turquoise color of your eyes.

Surely your ermine furs were warm, And warm your flowing cloak of red; Was it the wild wind kept you thus Pensive and with averted head?

I scarcely spoke, my words were swept Like winged things in the wind's despite. We rode, and with what shadow speed Across the darkness of the night!

Without a word, without a look. What was the charm and what the spell That made one hour of life become A memory ever memorable?

* * * * *

All craft, all labor, all desire, All toil of age, all hope of youth Are shadows from the fount of fire And mummers of the truth.

How bloodless books, how pulseless art, Vain kingly and imperial zeal, Vain all memorials of the heart! When Life itself is real!

We traced the golden clouds of spring, We roved the beach, we walked the land. What was the world? A Phantom thing That vanished in your hand.

You were as quiet as the sky. Your eyes were liquid as the sea. And in that hour that passed us by We lived eternally.

THE QUESTION

I

The sea moans and the stars are bright, The leaves lisp 'neath a rolling moon. I shut my eyes against the night And make believe the time is June-- The June that left us over-soon.

This is the path and this the place We sat and watched the moving sea, And I the moonlight on your face. We were not happy--woe is me, Happiness is but memory!

It seemeth, now that you are gone, My heart a measured pain doth keep:-- Are you now, as I am, alone? Do you make merry, do you weep? In whose arms are you now asleep?

THE ANSWER

II

I made my bed beneath the pines Where the sea washed the sandy bars; I heard the music of the winds, And blest the aureate face of Mars. All night a lilac splendor throve Above the heaven's shadowy verge; And in my heart the voice of love Kept music with the dreaming surge.