Part 3

What's the half to keep, could you achieve it? What your treasure if you could retrieve it? Never more shall you again bestow it... Now you have a song if you're a poet.

Now you're ever dumb if song's denied you, You shall be more dumb than all beside you, While your soul is shaken by its torrents-- Dante songless in a Dante Florence.

Age shall not make strong, nor deeper learning. Grief grows clearer with your eye's discerning. Pass the years, but oh the soil grows faster-- Richer for the roots of your disaster.

Ends the play--for what is life but dying? What is love but fire forever crying? What your soul but love's pure carbon fuel? Love and life make ashes of the jewel!

CHICAGO

I

On the gray paper of this mist and fog With dust for the erasure and with smoke For drawing crayons, be this charcoal scrawl: The breed of Gog in the kingdom of Magog, Skyscrapers, helmeted, stand sentinel Amid the obscuring fumes of coal and coke, Raised by enchantment out of the sand and bog. This sky-line, the Sierras of the lake, Cuts with dulled teeth, Which twist and break, The imponderable and drifting steam. And restlessly beneath This man-created mountain chain, Like the flow of a prairie river Endlessly by day and night, forever Along the boulevards pedestrians stream In a shuffle like dancers to a low refrain: Forever by day and night Pursuing as of old the lure of delight, And the ghosts of pleasure or pain. Their rhythmic feet sound like the falling of rain, Or the hush of the waves, when the roar Is blown by a wind off shore.

II

From a tower like a mountain promontory The cesspool of a railroad lies to view Fouling the marble of the city's glory: A crapulous sluice of garbage and of cars Where engines rush and whistle, smudge the blue With filth like the trail of slugs. It is a trench of steel which bars Free access to the common shore, and hugs In a coil of lazar arms the boulevard. Cattle and hogs delivered here for slaughter Corrupt the loveliness of the water front. They low and grunt, Switched back and forth within the tangled yard. But from this tower the amethystine water, The water of jade or slate, Is visible with its importunate Gestures against the sky to still retreats In Michigan, of quiet woods and hills Beyond the simmering passion of these streets, And all their endless ills....

III

But over the switch yard stands the Institute Guarded by lions on the avenue, Colossal lions standing for attack; Between whose feet luminous and resolute Children of the city passing through To palettes, compasses, the demoniac Spirit of the city shall subdue. Lions are in the loop and jackals too. They have no trainers but the alderman, Who uses them to hunt with, but in time The city shall behold its nobler plan Achieved by hands that rhyme, Workers who architect and build, And out of thought its substance re-arrange, Till all its prophecies shall be fulfilled. Through numbers, science and art The city shall know change, And win dominion over water and light, The cyclop's mastery of the mart; The devils overcome, Which stalk the squalid ways by night Of poverty and the slum, Where the crook is spawned, the burglar and the bum. These youths who pass the lions shall assuage The city's thirst and hunger, And save it from the wastage and the wage Of the demagogue, the precinct monger.

IV

This is the city of great doges hidden In guarded offices and country places. The city strives against the things forbidden By the doges, on whose faces The city at large never looks; Doges who could accomplish if they would In a month the city's beauty and good. Yet this city in a hundred years has risen Out of a haunt of foxes, wolves and rooks, And breaks asunder now the bars of the prison Of dead days and dying. It has spread For many a rood its boundaries, like the sprawled And fallen Hephaestos, and has tenanted Its neighborhoods increasing and unwalled With peoples from all lands. From Milwaukee Avenue to the populous mills Of South Chicago, from the Sheridan Drive Through forests where the water smiles To Harlem for miles and miles. It reaches out its hands, Powerful and alive With dreams to touch tomorrow, which it wills To dawn and which shall dawn.... And like lights that twinkle through the stench And putrid mist of abattoirs, Great souls are here, separate and withdrawn, Companionless, whom darkness cannot quench. Seeing they are the chrysalis which must feed Upon its own thoughts and the life to be, Its flight among the stars. Beauty is here, like half protected flowers, Blooms and will cast its multiplying seed, Until one mass of color shall succeed The shaley places of these arid hours.

V

Chicago! by this inland sea In the land of Lincoln, in the state Of souls who held the nation's fate, City both old and young, I consecrate Your future years to truth and liberty. Be this the record frail and incomplete Of one who saw you, mingled with the masses Along these magical mountain passes With restless yet with hopeful feet. Could they return to see you who have slept These fifty years, who laid your first foundations! And oh! could we behold you who have kept Their promises for you, when new generations Shall walk this boulevard made fair In chiseled marble, looking at the lake Of clearer water under a bluer air. We who shall sleep then nor awake, Have left the labor to you and the care Ask great fulfillment, for ourselves a prayer!

THE WEDDING FEAST

Said the chief of the marriage feast to the groom, Whence is this blood of the vine? Men serve at first the best, he said, And at the last, poor wine.

Said the chief of the marriage feast to the groom, When the guests have drunk their fill They drink whatever wine you serve, Nor know the good from the ill.

How have you kept the good till now When our hearts nor care nor see? Said the chief of the marriage feast to the groom, Whence may this good wine be?

Said the chief of the marriage feast, this wine Is the best of all by far. Said the groom, there stand six jars without And the wine fills up each jar.

Said the chief of the marriage feast, we lacked Wine for the wedding feast. How comes it now one jar of wine To six jars is increased?

Who makes our cup to overflow? And who has the wedding blest? Said the groom to the chief of the feast, a stranger Is here as a wedding guest.

Said the groom to the chief of the wedding feast, Moses by power divine Smote water at Meribah from the rock, But this man makes us wine.

Said the groom to the chief of the wedding feast, Elisha by power divine Made oil for the widow to sell for bread, But this man, wedding wine.

He changed the use of the jars, he said, From an outward rite and sign: Where water stood for the washing of feet, For heart's delight there's wine.

So then 'tis he, said the chief of the feast, Who the wedding feast has blest? Said the groom to the chief of the feast, the stranger Is the merriest wedding guest.

He laughs and jests with the wedding guests, He drinks with the happy bride. Said the chief of the wedding feast to the groom, Go bring him to my side.

Jesus of Nazareth came up, And his body was fair and slim. Jesus of Nazareth came up, And his mother came with him.

Jesus of Nazareth stands with the dancers And his mother by him stands. The bride kneels down to Jesus of Nazareth And kisses his rosy hands.

The bridegroom kneels to Jesus of Nazareth And Jesus blesses the twain. I go a way, said Jesus of Nazareth, Of darkness, sorrow and pain.

After the wedding feast is labor, Suffering, sickness, death, And so I make you wine for the wedding, Said Jesus of Nazareth.

My heart is with you, said Jesus of Nazareth, As the grape is one with the vine. Your bliss is mine, said Jesus of Nazareth, And so I make you wine.

Youth and love I bless, said Jesus, Song and the cup that cheers. The rosy hands of Jesus of Nazareth Are wet with the young bride's tears.

Love one another, said Jesus of Nazareth, Ere cometh the evil of years. The rosy hands of Jesus of Nazareth Are wet with the bridegroom's tears.

Jesus of Nazareth goes with his mother, The dancers are dancing again. There's a woman who pauses without to listen, 'Tis Mary Magdalen.

Forth to the street a Scribe from the wedding Goes with a Sadducee. Said the Scribe, this shows how loose a fellow Can come out of Galilee!

BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON

By the waters of Babylon by the sea, On the sand where the waters died, The sea wind and the tide Drowned the words you spoke to me.

The sea fell at our feet. The sand Hushed the whispering waters, near The babble of boats by the pier Was the ictus to the roar on the strand.

By the waters of Babylon a grief to be, The waiting ships in the bay, Awed the words we would say Against the sound of the sea:

For France was below the waters, and the west Behind me where the rains Come in November on the window panes, And the blast shakes the ruined nest

Under the dripping eaves. What then remains But memory of the waters of Babylon, And the ships like swan after swan, Under the drone of angry hydroplanes?

By the waters of Babylon we did not weep, Though love comes and is gone, As the wind is, as waters drawn In spray from the deep.

Neither for things foreseen and ominous, For newer hands that somewhere wait To thrill afresh, the reblossomed fate Did we surrender dolorous....

Change now is yours beyond the waters, nights Of waiting and of doubt have dimmed desire. Our hands are calm before the dying fire Of lost delights.

Babylon by the sea knows us no more. Between the surge's hushes When on the sand the water rushes There is no voice of ours upon the shore.

THE DREAM OF TASSO

O Earth that walls these prison bars--O Stones Which shut my body in--could I be free If these fell and the grated door which groans For every back scourged hither oped for me? Freedom were what to travel you, O Earth, When my heart makes its daily agony? And longing such as mine cannot ungirth Its bands and its mortality o'erleap. Our life is love unsatisfied from birth, Our life is longing waking or asleep, And mine has been a vigil of quick pain. O Leonora, thus it is I keep Grief in my heart and weariness of brain.

How did I know these chains and bars are wrought Of frailer stuff than space, that I could gain In earth no respite, but a vision brought The truth, O Leonora? It was this: I dreamed this hopeless love, so long distraught Was never caged, but from the first was bliss, And moved like music from the meeting hour To the rapt moment of the earliest kiss Bestowed upon your hands, to gathering flower Of lips so purely yielded, the embrace Tender as dawn in April when a shower Quenches with gentleness each flowering place; So were your tears of gladness--so my hands Which stroked your golden hair, your sunny face, Even as flying clouds o'er mountain lands Caress with fleeting love the morning sun.

Now I was with you, and by your commands. Your love was mine at last completely won, And waited but the blossom. How you sang, Laughed, ran about your palace rooms and none Closed doors against me, desks and closets sprang To my touch open, all your secrets lay Revealed to me in gladness--and this pang Which I had borne in bitterness day by day Was gone, nor could I bring it back, or think How it had been, or why--this heart so gay In sudden sunshine could no longer link Itself with what it was.

Look! Every room Had blooms your hands had gathered white and pink, And drained from precious vases their perfume. And fruits were heaped for me in golden bowls, And tapestries from many an Asian loom Were hung for me, and our united souls Shone over treasure books--how glad you were To listen to my epic, from the scrolls Of Jerusalem, the holy sepulcher. Still as a shaft of light you sat and heard With veilèd eyes which tears could scarcely blur, But flowed upon your cheek with every word. And your hand reached for mine--you did not speak, But let your silence tell how you were stirred By love for me and wonder! What to seek In earth and heaven more? Heaven at last Was mine on earth, and for a sacred week This heaven all of heaven.

So it passed This week with you--you served me ancient wine. We sat across a table where you cast A cloth of chikku, or we went to dine There in the stately room of heavy plate. Or tiring of the rooms, the day's decline Beheld us by the river to await The evening planet, where in elfin mood You whistled like the robin to its mate, And won its answering call. Then through the wood We wandered back in silence hand in hand, And reached the sacred portal with our blood Running so swift no ripples stirred the sand To figures of reflection.

Once again Within your room of books, upon the stand The reading lights are brought to us, and then You read to me from Plato, and my heart Breathes like a bird at rest; the world of men, Strife, hate, are all forgotten in this art Of life made perfect. Or when weariness Comes over us, you dim the lamp and start The blue light back of Dante's bust to bless Our twilight with its beauty.

So the time Passes too quickly--our poor souls possess Beauty and love a moment--and our rhyme Which captures it, creates the illusion love Has permanence, when even at its prime Decay has taken it from the light above, Or darkness underneath.

I must recur To our first sleep and all the bliss thereof. How did you first come to me, how confer On me your beauty? That first night it was The blue light back of Dante, but a blur Of golden light our spirits, when you pass Your hand across my brow, our souls go out To meet each other, leave as wilted grass Our emptied bodies. Then we grow devout, And kneel and pray together for the gift Of love from heaven, and to banish doubt Of change or faithlessness. Then with a swift Arising from the prayer you disappear. I sleep meanwhile, you come again and lift My head against your bosom, bringing near A purple robe for me, and say, "Wear this, And to your chamber go." And thus I hear, And leave you; on my couch, where calm for bliss I wait for you and listen, hear your feet Whisper their secret to the tapestries Of your ecstatic coming--O my sweet! I touched your silken gown, where underneath Your glowing flesh was dreaming, made complete My rapture by upgathering, quick of breath, Your golden ringlets loosened--and at last Hold you in love's embrace--would it were Death!... For soon 'twixt love and sleep the night was past, And dawn cob-webbed the chamber. Then I heard One faintest note and all was still--the vast Spherule of heaven was pecked at by a bird As it were to break the sky's shell, let the light Of morning flood the fragments scattered, stirred By breezes of the dawn with passing night. We woke together, heard together, thrilled With speechless rapture! Were your spirit's plight As mine is with this vision, had I willed To torture you with absence? Would I save Your spirit if its anguish could be stilled Only among the worms that haunt the grave?

My dream goes on a little: Day by day, These seven days we lived together, gave Our spirits to each other. With dismay You watched my hour's departure. On you crept Light shadows after moments sunny, gay. But when the hour was come, you sat and wept, And said to me: "I hear the rattling clods Upon the coffin of our love." You stepped And stood beside the casement, said "A god's Sarcophagus this room will be as soon As you have gone, and mine shall be the rod's Bitterness of memory both night and noon Amid the silence of this palace." So I spoke and said, "If you would have the boon-- O Leonora, do I live to know This hope too passionate made consummate?-- Yet if it be I shall return, nor go But to return to you, and make our fate Bound fast for life." How happy was your smile, Your laughter soon,--and then from door to gate I passed and left you, to be gone awhile Around Ferrara.

In three days, it seemed, I came again, and as I walked each mile Counting to self--my feet lagged as I dreamed-- And said ten miles, nine miles, eight miles, at last One mile, so many furlongs, then I dreamed Your reading lamps were lighted for me, cast Their yellow beams upon the mid-night air. But oh my heart which stopped and stood aghast To see the lamp go out and note the glare Of blue light set behind the Dante mask! Who wore my robe of purple false and fair? Who drank your precious vintage from the flask Roman and golden whence I drank so late? Who held you in his arms and thus could ask? Receive your love? Mother of God! What fate Was mine beneath the darkness of that sky, There at your door who could not leave or wait, And heard the bird of midnight's desolate cry? And saw at last the blue light quenched, and saw A taper lighted in my chamber--why This treachery, Leonora? Why withdraw The love you gave, or eviler, lead me here, O sorceress, before whom heaven's law Breaks and is impotent--whose eyes no tear Of penitence shall know, whose spirit fares Free, without consequence, as a child could sear Its fellow's hands with flame, or unawares, Or with premeditation, and then laugh and turn Upon its play. For you, light heart, no snares Or traps of conscience wait, who thus could spurn A love invited.

Thus about your lawn I listened till the stars had ceased to burn, But when I saw the imminence of the dawn And heard our bird cry, I could stand no more, My heart broke and I fled and wandered on Down through the valley by the river's shore. For when the bird cried, did you wake with him? Did you two gaze as we had gazed before Upon that blissful morning? I was dim Of thought and spirit, by the river lay Watching the swallows over the water skim, And plucking leaves from weeds to turn or stay The madness of my life's futility, Grown blank as that terrific dawn--till day Flooded upon me, noon came, what should be? Where should I go? What prison chains could rest So heavily on the spirit, as that free, But vast and ruined world?

O arrowed breast Of me, your Tasso! And you came and drew The arrows out which kept the blood repressed, And let my wounds the freer bleed: 'Twas you By afternoon who walked upon an arm More lordly than mine is. You stopped nor knew, I saw him take your body lithe and warm Close to his breast, yes, even where we had stood Upon our day, embraced--feed on the charm Of widened eyes and swiftly coursing blood. I watched you walk away and disappear In the deep verdure of the river wood, Too faint to rise and fly, crushed by the fear Of madness, sudden death!

This was my dream, From which I woke and saw again the sheer Walls of my prison, which no longer seem The agony they did, even though the cell Is the hard penalty and the cursed extreme Hate in return for love. But oh you hell, You boundless earth to wander in and brood-- Great prison house of grief in which to dwell, Remembering love forgotten, pride subdued, And love desired and found and lost again. That is the prison which no fortitude Can suffer, and the never dying pain From which the spacious luring of the earth Tempts flight for spirit freedom, but in vain!

Ah Leonora! Even from our birth We build our prisons! What are walls like these Beside the walls of memory, or the dearth Of hope in all this life, the agonies Of spiritual chains and gloom? I suffer less, Imprisoned thus, than if the memories Of love bestowed and love betrayed should press Round my unresting steps. And I send up To heaven thanks that spared that bitterness, That garden of the soul's reluctant cup!

THE CHRISTIAN STATESMAN

He hears his father pray when he's a boy: "Jesus we know, the Savior, and we ask, In Thy great plenitude of mercy, grace, Forgiveness for our waywardness; we invoke Thy blessing, and may righteousness and peace Prevail in all the earth. Meekly we rest Upon the precious promise of Thy word. Gather us home with Thine own people, Lord, And all the glory shall be Thine."

So much To show the father's prayer which he heard. The father is a saint, a quietist, Save that he has his hatreds, strong enough: Turns face of stone and silence to the men Whose ways of life are laid in sin, he thinks And calls them dirty dogs and scalawags, Because they vote a ticket he dislikes, Or love a game of cards, a glass of beer, Or go to see the County Fair, where once A drunken bus-man drives upon a boy And kills him. Then the saint is all aflame, And tries to have the fair put out for good. And so the son, who will become at last The Christian Statesman, hears his father pray, And prays himself, and takes the lesson in Of godliness, the Bible as the source Of truth infallible, divine.

This boy Is blessed with health, a body without flaw, His forehead is a little low, perhaps, And has a transverse dent which keeps the brain Shaped to the skull; a perfect brain is sphered, As perfect things are circles; but a brain Something below perfection, which is fed By a great body and an obdurate will, And sense of moral purpose will go far, Farther than better brains in craft of states, For some years anyway, if a voice be given Which reaches to the largest crowded room, To speak the passionate moralities Which come into that brain creased straight across The forehead with a dent.

He goes to school, And from the first believes he has a mission To make the world a better place, avows His mission in the world, bends all his strength To make his armor ready: health of body, A blameless life, hard studies, practices With word and voice.

It is a country college Where he matriculates--the father wished it; A college where the boys are mostly poor, And waste no time, have not the cash to buy Delight, if they desired.