Robert Norwood (1923)/Anthology
ANTHOLOGY
HIS LADY OF THE SONNETS
I
My soul awoke from slumber—the long ease
Of years that passed away in dull content,
Not caring what the world’s deep voices meant—
Sunk in my dreams, I heard their harmonies
Like wind-blown clamour of far-calling seas
That told of Ithaca to sailors spent
With trouble, and forgetful at the scent
And taste of fruit plucked from the lotus trees;
My soul awoke from slumber—the long ease
Of years that passed away in dull content,
Not caring what the world’s deep voices meant—
Sunk in my dreams, I heard their harmonies
Like wind-blown clamour of far-calling seas
That told of Ithaca to sailors spent
With trouble, and forgetful at the scent
And taste of fruit plucked from the lotus trees;
For as I slept, your footsteps on the grass,
Your voice, wrought once again the miracle
Of Eden; and I saw appear and pass
Eve in her beauty, binding still the spell
That Adam felt, when from his opened side
Stepped Woman forth in loveliness and pride.
Your voice, wrought once again the miracle
Of Eden; and I saw appear and pass
Eve in her beauty, binding still the spell
That Adam felt, when from his opened side
Stepped Woman forth in loveliness and pride.
II
I meet you in the mystery of the night,
A dear Dream-Goddess on a crescent moon;
An opalescent splendour, like a noon
Of lilies; and I wonder that the height
Should darken for the depth to give me light—
Light of your face, so lovely that I swoon
With gazing, and then wake to find how soon
Joy of the world fades when you fade from sight.
I meet you in the mystery of the night,
A dear Dream-Goddess on a crescent moon;
An opalescent splendour, like a noon
Of lilies; and I wonder that the height
Should darken for the depth to give me light—
Light of your face, so lovely that I swoon
With gazing, and then wake to find how soon
Joy of the world fades when you fade from sight.
Beholding you, I am Endymion,
Lost and immortal in Latmian dreams;
With Dian bending down to look upon
Her shepherd, whose æonian slumber seems
A moment, twinkling like a starry gem
Among the jewels of her diadem.
Lost and immortal in Latmian dreams;
With Dian bending down to look upon
Her shepherd, whose æonian slumber seems
A moment, twinkling like a starry gem
Among the jewels of her diadem.
III
If I could tell why, when you look at me.
Dreams that have visited half-wakeful nights
Re-form and shape themselves, and Pisgah-sights
Fill one far valley to a purple sea;
And white-domed cities rise with porphyry,
Jacinth and sapphire gates, beneath the heights,
Rose-flamed within the dawn where Phœbus smites
Earth with his heel—claiming its lord to be;
If I could tell why, when you look at me.
Dreams that have visited half-wakeful nights
Re-form and shape themselves, and Pisgah-sights
Fill one far valley to a purple sea;
And white-domed cities rise with porphyry,
Jacinth and sapphire gates, beneath the heights,
Rose-flamed within the dawn where Phœbus smites
Earth with his heel—claiming its lord to be;
Then would you know what my heart seeks to say
And falters ere sufficient words be found:
How all the voiceless night and vocal day
Love looks on you and trembles into sound;
Love longs and pleads for his one moment’s bliss—
You and he mingled in a silent kiss.
And falters ere sufficient words be found:
How all the voiceless night and vocal day
Love looks on you and trembles into sound;
Love longs and pleads for his one moment’s bliss—
You and he mingled in a silent kiss.
IV
My love is like a spring among the hills
Whose brimming waters may not be confined,
But pour one torrent through the ways that wind
Down to a garden; there the rose distills
Its nectar; there a tall, white lily fills
Night with anointing of two lovers, blind,
Dumb, deaf, of body, spirit, and of mind
From breathless blending of far-sundered wills.
My love is like a spring among the hills
Whose brimming waters may not be confined,
But pour one torrent through the ways that wind
Down to a garden; there the rose distills
Its nectar; there a tall, white lily fills
Night with anointing of two lovers, blind,
Dumb, deaf, of body, spirit, and of mind
From breathless blending of far-sundered wills.
Long ere my love had reached you, hard I strove
To send its torrent through the barren fields;
I wanted you, the lilied treasure-trove
Of innocence, whose dear possession yields
Immortal gladness to my heart that knows
How you surpass the lily and the rose.
To send its torrent through the barren fields;
I wanted you, the lilied treasure-trove
Of innocence, whose dear possession yields
Immortal gladness to my heart that knows
How you surpass the lily and the rose.
V
Like one great opal on the breast of Night,
Soft and translucent hangs the orb of June!
I hear wild pipings of a joyous tune
Played on a golden reed for the delight
Of you, my hidden, lovely Eremite—
You by the fountain from the marble hewn—
You silent as in dream, with flowers strewn
About your feet—you goddess, robed in white!
Like one great opal on the breast of Night,
Soft and translucent hangs the orb of June!
I hear wild pipings of a joyous tune
Played on a golden reed for the delight
Of you, my hidden, lovely Eremite—
You by the fountain from the marble hewn—
You silent as in dream, with flowers strewn
About your feet—you goddess, robed in white!
Mute and amazed, I at the broken wall
Lean fearful, lest the sudden, dreadful dawn
For me Diana’s awful doom let fall;
And I be cursed with curious Actæon,
Save that you find in me this strong defence—
My adoration of your innocence.
Lean fearful, lest the sudden, dreadful dawn
For me Diana’s awful doom let fall;
And I be cursed with curious Actæon,
Save that you find in me this strong defence—
My adoration of your innocence.
VI
When from the rose-mist of creation grew
God’s patient waiting in your wide-set eyes,
The morning Stars, and all the host that flies
On wings of love, paused at the wondrous blue
With which the Master, mindful of the hue,
Stained first the crystal dome of summer skies;
And afterward the violet that vies
With amethyst, before He fashioned you.
When from the rose-mist of creation grew
God’s patient waiting in your wide-set eyes,
The morning Stars, and all the host that flies
On wings of love, paused at the wondrous blue
With which the Master, mindful of the hue,
Stained first the crystal dome of summer skies;
And afterward the violet that vies
With amethyst, before He fashioned you.
And I have trembled with those ancient stars;
My heart has known the flame-winged seraph’s song;
For no indifferent, dreamy eyelid bars
Me from the blue, nor veils with lashes long
Your love, that to my tender gazing grows
Bold to confess it: I am glad he knows!
My heart has known the flame-winged seraph’s song;
For no indifferent, dreamy eyelid bars
Me from the blue, nor veils with lashes long
Your love, that to my tender gazing grows
Bold to confess it: I am glad he knows!
VII
There came three wise men riding from the east;
One was a king and brought a gift of gold;
And one bore frankincense that fate foretold;
While myrrh was offered by a mitred priest.
Nor ever hath Love’s brave adventure ceased
Since that fair night ashine with stars and cold,
When even angels paused their wings to fold—
Love to adore made one with man and beast.
There came three wise men riding from the east;
One was a king and brought a gift of gold;
And one bore frankincense that fate foretold;
While myrrh was offered by a mitred priest.
Nor ever hath Love’s brave adventure ceased
Since that fair night ashine with stars and cold,
When even angels paused their wings to fold—
Love to adore made one with man and beast.
Accept three gifts I to thee gladly bring;
Each hath its own divine significance:
Gold is the Body thou hast crowned a king;
My Spirit is the prophet’s frankincense;
Myrrh is the Mind which strives to tell thee all
Love’s mystic and melodious ritual!
Each hath its own divine significance:
Gold is the Body thou hast crowned a king;
My Spirit is the prophet’s frankincense;
Myrrh is the Mind which strives to tell thee all
Love’s mystic and melodious ritual!
XXVIII
Companion of the highroad, hail! all hail!
Day on his shoulder flame of sunset bears.
As he goes marching where the autumn flares
A banner to the sky; in russet mail
The trees are trooping hither to assail
Twilight with spears; a rank of coward cares
Creep up, as though to take us unawares,
And find their stratagems of none avail.
Companion of the highroad, hail! all hail!
Day on his shoulder flame of sunset bears.
As he goes marching where the autumn flares
A banner to the sky; in russet mail
The trees are trooping hither to assail
Twilight with spears; a rank of coward cares
Creep up, as though to take us unawares,
And find their stratagems of none avail.
Accept the challenge of the royal hills,
And dare adventure as we always dared!
Life with red wine his golden chalice fills,
And bids us drink to all who forward fared—
Those lost, white armies of the host of dream;
Those dauntless, singing pilgrims of the Gleam!
And dare adventure as we always dared!
Life with red wine his golden chalice fills,
And bids us drink to all who forward fared—
Those lost, white armies of the host of dream;
Those dauntless, singing pilgrims of the Gleam!
XXIX
Here have we made fair songs on psalteries
Played tenderly by lovers in all lands.
Sometimes the strings are smitten by harsh hands
Of anger, doubt, and frowning jealousies;
And sometimes are drawn forth sad threnodies
For dear Love dead. Let him who understands
Man’s way with Woman loose the mystic bands
That bind my parabled heart-secrecies.
Here have we made fair songs on psalteries
Played tenderly by lovers in all lands.
Sometimes the strings are smitten by harsh hands
Of anger, doubt, and frowning jealousies;
And sometimes are drawn forth sad threnodies
For dear Love dead. Let him who understands
Man’s way with Woman loose the mystic bands
That bind my parabled heart-secrecies.
In dreams again o’er leagues of purple sea
My bark is borne to some far, fabled strand—
Dear, how the world is young! I seem to be
One of famed Helen’s lovers; her command
Is in your eyes as you gaze forth from Troy—
Immortal in your beauty and your joy.
My bark is borne to some far, fabled strand—
Dear, how the world is young! I seem to be
One of famed Helen’s lovers; her command
Is in your eyes as you gaze forth from Troy—
Immortal in your beauty and your joy.
XXX
My Lady of the Sonnets, one word more,
The last; and, after, let the silence fall.
Our year is ended, and things great and small
Glow with its glory; could we live it o’er.
What would we scatter from its precious store
Of pearl, chalcedony, and topaz—all
The many-jewelled moments that we call
Love’s treasure—we who had not loved before!
My Lady of the Sonnets, one word more,
The last; and, after, let the silence fall.
Our year is ended, and things great and small
Glow with its glory; could we live it o’er.
What would we scatter from its precious store
Of pearl, chalcedony, and topaz—all
The many-jewelled moments that we call
Love’s treasure—we who had not loved before!
Into that treasure plunge we both our hands,
The while we laugh, and love, and live again.
What rainbow-splendours and what golden sands
Fall from our fingers! . . . Now let come the pain
And steal the shadow, moan the wintry sea;
Locked is the casket: in your hands the key!
The while we laugh, and love, and live again.
What rainbow-splendours and what golden sands
Fall from our fingers! . . . Now let come the pain
And steal the shadow, moan the wintry sea;
Locked is the casket: in your hands the key!
FELLOW CRAFTSMEN
As in some workshop where the hammers ring
And bare-armed artisans toil, blow on blow,
To make each crude, imperfect member grow
To the completed plan, rise thou, and fling
Aside all doubt and langour; strive to bring
The deed up to its best; in gladness go
Undaunted; have full confidence; and know
Thou and thy God can perfect everything!
And bare-armed artisans toil, blow on blow,
To make each crude, imperfect member grow
To the completed plan, rise thou, and fling
Aside all doubt and langour; strive to bring
The deed up to its best; in gladness go
Undaunted; have full confidence; and know
Thou and thy God can perfect everything!
Throughout the busy day He works with us
And knows that we are tired; He hears and feels
The grind of every cog, the plaint, the fuss.
The purr of pinions in the thousand wheels
That whir for ever down the endless walls,
Where, as we toil. His light perpetual falls.
And knows that we are tired; He hears and feels
The grind of every cog, the plaint, the fuss.
The purr of pinions in the thousand wheels
That whir for ever down the endless walls,
Where, as we toil. His light perpetual falls.
REINCARNATION
I saw three souls before a jasper throne
That stood, star-canopied, beyond the world
Where angels knelt before a Presence—furled
White wings and waited. In vast undertone
A Voice said: “Choose!” And instantly were shown
Three chalices: one like a lily curled
About a stem of gold; one was empearled
In silver; one was carved from common stone.
That stood, star-canopied, beyond the world
Where angels knelt before a Presence—furled
White wings and waited. In vast undertone
A Voice said: “Choose!” And instantly were shown
Three chalices: one like a lily curled
About a stem of gold; one was empearled
In silver; one was carved from common stone.
I saw three souls sink swiftly back to earth;
I heard three children wailing in the night;
I met three men of diverse rank and birth:
A king; a priest; a slave whose wretched plight
Moved me to pity, till mine ancient dream
Recalled the proverb: “Things are not what they seem!”
I heard three children wailing in the night;
I met three men of diverse rank and birth:
A king; a priest; a slave whose wretched plight
Moved me to pity, till mine ancient dream
Recalled the proverb: “Things are not what they seem!”
A FALLEN ANGEL
Out of the light,
Into the night,
God, I am falling!
Fashioned of flame.
Spent with my shame,
God, I am calling!
Into the night,
God, I am falling!
Fashioned of flame.
Spent with my shame,
God, I am calling!
All through the day
Sin has had sway—
Lost is the token;
Evening brings
Hurt of my wings,
Blackened and broken.
Sin has had sway—
Lost is the token;
Evening brings
Hurt of my wings,
Blackened and broken.
Child of a star,
Thine avatar,
Drunk from the revel;
Who am I, God,—
Spirit or clod,
Angel or devil?
Thine avatar,
Drunk from the revel;
Who am I, God,—
Spirit or clod,
Angel or devil?
Yet Thou hast made
Me Thy sword-blade—
Sheathed, that its brightness
Flash up to win,
When the last sin
Bums into whiteness.
Me Thy sword-blade—
Sheathed, that its brightness
Flash up to win,
When the last sin
Bums into whiteness.
Hand that can smite,
Hold the hilt tight,
Draw, and strike faster!
Strike with me. Lord!
My soul Thy sword,
And Thou its Master.
Hold the hilt tight,
Draw, and strike faster!
Strike with me. Lord!
My soul Thy sword,
And Thou its Master.
Strike! till the day
Grow from the gray
Gloom of the peril;
And in the skies
Dream-domes arise—
Jacinth and beryl!
Grow from the gray
Gloom of the peril;
And in the skies
Dream-domes arise—
Jacinth and beryl!
A LITANY
For what we to ourselves have done,
We who are miracles divine,
Flares from a universal sun,
Or lees from an Olympian wine;
For the abuse of laughter,
And tears that follow after;
For love betrayed, and hope delayed:
Cry we mercy, God!
We who are miracles divine,
Flares from a universal sun,
Or lees from an Olympian wine;
For the abuse of laughter,
And tears that follow after;
For love betrayed, and hope delayed:
Cry we mercy, God!
For what we to ourselves have said:
“Thou hast much goods; peace, O my Soul,
Nor fret if beggars cry for bread.
And show their rags in hope of dole.
God giveth thee much pleasure.
Want is the poor man’s measure!”
For all of these dark heresies:
Cry we mercy, God!
“Thou hast much goods; peace, O my Soul,
Nor fret if beggars cry for bread.
And show their rags in hope of dole.
God giveth thee much pleasure.
Want is the poor man’s measure!”
For all of these dark heresies:
Cry we mercy, God!
For what we on ourselves have wrought—
Wild havoc with the weird, grotesque,
Abortive images of thought,
Making of beauty the burlesque;
For much pretence in praying;
And little heart at playing;
For smothered smiles and countless guiles:
Cry we mercy, God!
Wild havoc with the weird, grotesque,
Abortive images of thought,
Making of beauty the burlesque;
For much pretence in praying;
And little heart at playing;
For smothered smiles and countless guiles:
Cry we mercy, God!
For casting dice where Jesus bleeds
Upon His cross, naked, alone;
Unheedful in the noise of creeds
Of Him and His last dying moan;
For Rahab robed in scarlet,
Cursed with the title, “Harlot,”
By the decrees of Pharisees:
Cry we mercy, God!
Upon His cross, naked, alone;
Unheedful in the noise of creeds
Of Him and His last dying moan;
For Rahab robed in scarlet,
Cursed with the title, “Harlot,”
By the decrees of Pharisees:
Cry we mercy, God!
For the delight of out-of-doors
Missed in our minsters made of stone,
Unmindful that pure incense pours
To Thee from wild rose-petals blown
Down forest-aisles; that altar fires
Burn in the sunset on the hills,
And from the pine-wood’s ancient spires
The varied chime of evening fills
All hearts with rapture; for the light
Lost on white lilies, and the blue
Of heaven wasted, the dear night
With her gold stars and silver dew
Neglected. Oh, for what we fail
To find from life so rich and fair—
The rain, the snow, the sleet, the hail,
Summer, and blossom-breathing air;
For every useless sorrow,
And fears for the to-morrow,
Not knowing Thee, great Deity:
Cry we mercy, God!
Missed in our minsters made of stone,
Unmindful that pure incense pours
To Thee from wild rose-petals blown
Down forest-aisles; that altar fires
Burn in the sunset on the hills,
And from the pine-wood’s ancient spires
The varied chime of evening fills
All hearts with rapture; for the light
Lost on white lilies, and the blue
Of heaven wasted, the dear night
With her gold stars and silver dew
Neglected. Oh, for what we fail
To find from life so rich and fair—
The rain, the snow, the sleet, the hail,
Summer, and blossom-breathing air;
For every useless sorrow,
And fears for the to-morrow,
Not knowing Thee, great Deity:
Cry we mercy, God!
THE WITCH OF ENDOR
Act I, page 39.
Saul—(to Ahimelech.)
Priest, I would set my love
Against Jehovah’s Word and dare the gulf
Of Tophet for the lips which He has forced
To prophesy against her heart!
Ahimelech—(recoils in horror from Saul and covers his eyes with his hands.)
Saul! Saul!
Saul—(to Loruhamah.)
Come, Loruhamah! Let us leave this place,
And go beyond the hills to Babylon—
There I will build for you fair palaces
And pour the balms of Calah on your head;
Deep aisles of odours shall resound with song
And laugh of little children—Yours, O Heart!
For you the shadow of my hand shall fall
Upon Euphrates, seize Chaldea’s crown,
Make Nineveh a name within my ring!
Come with me!
Loruhamah—(weeping.) Nay!
Saul— Come, Loruhamah! Come!
Loruhamah—(lifts up her head and gazes steadily into the eyes of Saul. After a moment’s pause, she withdraws from him and speaks.)
Oh, I am fearful of a threatened doom—
Dark treachery that weaves a silver web
To drag you down through me to such a fate.
My name would grow a by-word and a hissing,
Should love prevail on me! . . . Rise up, my Saul!
Ascend the throne and rule your people well;
Lose your great pain in plans of magnitude
So vast, a god’s white, awful arm might shake,
Fulfilling them! This must you do for me:
Then pride shall wrestle with my woman’s will
And conquer when I shall most want to weep!
Ahimelech—(moves over to Loruhamah with uplifted hands.)
On you be shadowing of seraphim!
Priest, I would set my love
Against Jehovah’s Word and dare the gulf
Of Tophet for the lips which He has forced
To prophesy against her heart!
Ahimelech—(recoils in horror from Saul and covers his eyes with his hands.)
Saul! Saul!
Saul—(to Loruhamah.)
Come, Loruhamah! Let us leave this place,
And go beyond the hills to Babylon—
There I will build for you fair palaces
And pour the balms of Calah on your head;
Deep aisles of odours shall resound with song
And laugh of little children—Yours, O Heart!
For you the shadow of my hand shall fall
Upon Euphrates, seize Chaldea’s crown,
Make Nineveh a name within my ring!
Come with me!
Loruhamah—(weeping.) Nay!
Saul— Come, Loruhamah! Come!
Loruhamah—(lifts up her head and gazes steadily into the eyes of Saul. After a moment’s pause, she withdraws from him and speaks.)
Oh, I am fearful of a threatened doom—
Dark treachery that weaves a silver web
To drag you down through me to such a fate.
My name would grow a by-word and a hissing,
Should love prevail on me! . . . Rise up, my Saul!
Ascend the throne and rule your people well;
Lose your great pain in plans of magnitude
So vast, a god’s white, awful arm might shake,
Fulfilling them! This must you do for me:
Then pride shall wrestle with my woman’s will
And conquer when I shall most want to weep!
Ahimelech—(moves over to Loruhamah with uplifted hands.)
On you be shadowing of seraphim!
Act II, page 58.
Doeg—(draws a scroll from his girdle.)
The King’s decree awaits his signature
Against soothsayers; now are you condemned
And driven from this land! . . . The cords are tight,
My Priestess!
Loruhamah—(startled and staring at the scroll.)
You—you—!
Doeg— Well?
Loruhamah— You say that Saul—!
Doeg—
That Saul has issued a decree against
Soothsayers! You will throw your shadow far,
Or ever you prevent me!
Loruhamah— Saul has not
Commanded this!
Doeg—(offering her the decree.)
Then read the writing.
Loruhamah—(takes the scroll and reads.)
Saul!
(The scroll falls from her hand; Doeg picks it up and watches her with a smile of triumph.)
Doeg—Poor Loruhamah!
Loruhamah— I—I—!
Doeg— Just one word,
And I will make the writing void.
Loruhamah (breathlessly.)
You mean—?
Doeg—That which I say.
Loruhamah—(bitterly.) O Ashtoreth!
Doeg— One word!
Loruhamah—
O Serpent! I am in your coils.
Doeg—Come, show your wisdom.
Loruhamah— In destroying Saul?
Doeg—Not in destroying him.
Loruhamah— You said that I
Must lure his soul to Tophet!
Doeg— Soul—not body!
Destroy his trust in what he deems divine,
Until Jehovah is for him a name,
And all that he held holy is a name,
His crown, his throne, his kingdom but a name—
An empty sound—a cry across the waste
And wildness of the world! As for the rest—
I care not; have your way with what is left!
Loruhamah—(with a cry of anguish.)
His body I may have, but not his soul—
His soul that held me that first night we met
In Askelon—the soul of Saul that holds
Me steadfast to the dream that we may meet
Somewhere beyond the boundaries of earth,
When love has conquered the indifference
Of all the gods! Destroy his soul and keep
His body—! Pour the wine out—keep the jar!
Shatter the harp and keep the soundless strings!
Better this flesh were shredded to the bone;
These eyes torn out, to which great minstrels sang,
And all my beauty vanished into dust;
Than my fair womanhood work witchery
And bane of madness on the man I love!
Oh, little do you know of women, who
Set sex against the highest; think we care
For trinkets—that our hearts are satisfied
With dulcet strummings of a psaltery
In dim seraglios! . . . Set my sex against
The soul of Saul and wreck him with a kiss?
Now by the womanhood that you despise,
I will not do this thing—not for the gods
Who shame their high estate with use of you!
And though you lead Saul to the gates of hell,
And hurl him to the lowest pit thereof,
My love will follow after him; my tears
Quench the last fire that burns to torture him;
My cry assail the doors of heaven until
The gods rise up and bid us enter in!
The King’s decree awaits his signature
Against soothsayers; now are you condemned
And driven from this land! . . . The cords are tight,
My Priestess!
Loruhamah—(startled and staring at the scroll.)
You—you—!
Doeg— Well?
Loruhamah— You say that Saul—!
Doeg—
That Saul has issued a decree against
Soothsayers! You will throw your shadow far,
Or ever you prevent me!
Loruhamah— Saul has not
Commanded this!
Doeg—(offering her the decree.)
Then read the writing.
Loruhamah—(takes the scroll and reads.)
Saul!
(The scroll falls from her hand; Doeg picks it up and watches her with a smile of triumph.)
Doeg—Poor Loruhamah!
Loruhamah— I—I—!
Doeg— Just one word,
And I will make the writing void.
Loruhamah (breathlessly.)
You mean—?
Doeg—That which I say.
Loruhamah—(bitterly.) O Ashtoreth!
Doeg— One word!
Loruhamah—
O Serpent! I am in your coils.
Doeg—Come, show your wisdom.
Loruhamah— In destroying Saul?
Doeg—Not in destroying him.
Loruhamah— You said that I
Must lure his soul to Tophet!
Doeg— Soul—not body!
Destroy his trust in what he deems divine,
Until Jehovah is for him a name,
And all that he held holy is a name,
His crown, his throne, his kingdom but a name—
An empty sound—a cry across the waste
And wildness of the world! As for the rest—
I care not; have your way with what is left!
Loruhamah—(with a cry of anguish.)
His body I may have, but not his soul—
His soul that held me that first night we met
In Askelon—the soul of Saul that holds
Me steadfast to the dream that we may meet
Somewhere beyond the boundaries of earth,
When love has conquered the indifference
Of all the gods! Destroy his soul and keep
His body—! Pour the wine out—keep the jar!
Shatter the harp and keep the soundless strings!
Better this flesh were shredded to the bone;
These eyes torn out, to which great minstrels sang,
And all my beauty vanished into dust;
Than my fair womanhood work witchery
And bane of madness on the man I love!
Oh, little do you know of women, who
Set sex against the highest; think we care
For trinkets—that our hearts are satisfied
With dulcet strummings of a psaltery
In dim seraglios! . . . Set my sex against
The soul of Saul and wreck him with a kiss?
Now by the womanhood that you despise,
I will not do this thing—not for the gods
Who shame their high estate with use of you!
And though you lead Saul to the gates of hell,
And hurl him to the lowest pit thereof,
My love will follow after him; my tears
Quench the last fire that burns to torture him;
My cry assail the doors of heaven until
The gods rise up and bid us enter in!
- (As Loruhamah finishes these words, the doors of the palace open and Saul appears. She covers her face with her mantle and moves swiftly out at left, disappearing among the trees. Saul stands between the pillars gazing after her. Doeg turns to the King and makes obeisance. Saul slowly descends to Doeg.)
Saul—Who is that woman?
Doeg— A witless creature, crazed
By loss of him she loved.
Saul— Of him she loved!
Deal tenderly with her.
Doeg— Yea, tenderly!
The writing waits your signature, my Lord.
Doeg— A witless creature, crazed
By loss of him she loved.
Saul— Of him she loved!
Deal tenderly with her.
Doeg— Yea, tenderly!
The writing waits your signature, my Lord.
Act IV. page 95.
Saul to David—What is there in your voice—
What craft of fingers on the sounding strings,
That I am lifted instantly to heights
Out of vast, dim abysses when you play?
David—I know not save that in my heart is love
For all things underneath the sky—a sense
Of beauty that I see yet do not see—
Of music that I hear and do not hear—
A consciousness of forces in myself.
Transcending what I see and hear and know!
Sometimes the many-coloured veils of earth
Are lifted by invisible, swift hands
And glory of the infinite is near;
Then comes awareness of a comradeship
With God and all His angels, and I rise
Through unknown spaces of the heaven’s blue,
Lost in the adoration of a love—
Self-limited and by the creature bound
That it might share the limitless and pure
Possession of itself!
Saul— Would that I knew
Your secret, lad; for I am lonely—held
A prisoner of sorrow—fed on crusts
Of memory and given bitter drink
Out of Time’s cruse that overflows with tears!
David—(standing before Saul with his harp.)
Saul, in a vision I have learned that kings
May not be glad.
Saul— I, visionless, have learned
This of myself! . . What did you see?
David— A King,
Down by the brook called Cedron; on His head
A crown of thorns and in His eyes the tears!
Behind Him stood a mighty multitude
That melted into distances so far
I could not follow! When I woke from sleep
I sang my King of Sorrow on the harp.
What craft of fingers on the sounding strings,
That I am lifted instantly to heights
Out of vast, dim abysses when you play?
David—I know not save that in my heart is love
For all things underneath the sky—a sense
Of beauty that I see yet do not see—
Of music that I hear and do not hear—
A consciousness of forces in myself.
Transcending what I see and hear and know!
Sometimes the many-coloured veils of earth
Are lifted by invisible, swift hands
And glory of the infinite is near;
Then comes awareness of a comradeship
With God and all His angels, and I rise
Through unknown spaces of the heaven’s blue,
Lost in the adoration of a love—
Self-limited and by the creature bound
That it might share the limitless and pure
Possession of itself!
Saul— Would that I knew
Your secret, lad; for I am lonely—held
A prisoner of sorrow—fed on crusts
Of memory and given bitter drink
Out of Time’s cruse that overflows with tears!
David—(standing before Saul with his harp.)
Saul, in a vision I have learned that kings
May not be glad.
Saul— I, visionless, have learned
This of myself! . . What did you see?
David— A King,
Down by the brook called Cedron; on His head
A crown of thorns and in His eyes the tears!
Behind Him stood a mighty multitude
That melted into distances so far
I could not follow! When I woke from sleep
I sang my King of Sorrow on the harp.
(David touches the strings and sings.)
Down by the stream of the waters
Came the King, and His face was sad—
Sad with a grief beyond belief,
For a bitter grief He had:
To be a king means sorrowing—
A king may not be glad!
Down by the stream of the waters
Came the King, and His face was sad—
Sad with a grief beyond belief,
For a bitter grief He had:
To be a king means sorrowing—
A king may not be glad!
Down by the stream of the waters
Came the King, and alone at night;
His robe was torn, a crown of thorn
Was on His brow so white:
They placed it there who did not care—
His eyes with tears were bright!
Came the King, and alone at night;
His robe was torn, a crown of thorn
Was on His brow so white:
They placed it there who did not care—
His eyes with tears were bright!
Down by the stream of the waters,
Where it flows through the valley of death,
He came—the King—all sorrowing;
A sob was in His breath:
They broke His heart who stood apart—
The crowd that wondereth!
Where it flows through the valley of death,
He came—the King—all sorrowing;
A sob was in His breath:
They broke His heart who stood apart—
The crowd that wondereth!
(Saul is shaken with tears. Michal steals to his side, soothing him.)
Saul—O King of Sorrow! . . . David, who is He?
David—Messias! whom our father Jacob saw.
Saul—A king may not be glad!
Saul—O King of Sorrow! . . . David, who is He?
David—Messias! whom our father Jacob saw.
Saul—A king may not be glad!
Act V, page 118.
Loruhamah—(kneeling at Saul’s feet.)
If you have still the love that made me fair
Unto your eyes, then follow far beyond
The line of Eastern hills to Babylon,
And build those promised crystal domes of dream.
Forgetting you were ever Saul the King!
Saul—The host is waiting on the heights for Saul!
Loruhamah—(clasping her hands and looking up at Saul.)
Once you did plead—now Loruhamah pleads.
We cannot call the years back from the knees
Of Ashtoreth, but life is yet most fair
And full of promise for our love delayed.
Oh, take me, Saul! . See how I plead to you!
Go not from me to death, but go with me
To life—sweet life! . . . Surely the gods
Are satisfied; they will not grudge the lees
Left in the cup of Loruhamah’s love!
I have been strong, kept faith; but now my will
Flows down, like water from an age-long height
Of ice-capped mountain melting in the sun!
Saul—(tenderly stroking her hair)
There is no music breathed by the harp
Sweeter than your dear voice that tells me this,
And in the knowledge of your love for me
Death will become a falling into sleep;
But my last moment thunders with such sound,
That all earth’s voices mingle into it!
Perchance Jehovah has set me this task
In mercy, that my stormy life may end
With some wide splendour of a sunset-sky!
(Michal comes down and kneels at Loruhama’s side.)
Michal—My father, hearken unto Loruhamah!
Behold her tears! Can you withstand her tears?
Saul—Jehovah calls! Who may withstand His voice?
Michal, behold I see where all was dark:
David begins where Saul is at an end,
And Samuel, anointing him, foretold
The House of Jesse following the House
Of Kish upon the throne of Israel.
Go, tell David that Saul forgave the deed;
And when they find me dead on Gilboa,
Yield him the crown—yea, place it on his brows,
That song and youth’s sweet laughter stir again
Throughout this stricken land, and all the world
Grow glorious and golden in the sun!
(Saul bends over Loruhamah, takes her hands and lifts her to his side.)
My Loruhamah, one fair city waits
Our coming—fairer than far Babylon—
Builded beyond the clouds! I go to lay
Its streets with sapphires and adorn the walls
With chrysoprase—make every gate a pearl,
A moon of summer magic, musical
At turning of each graven silver hinge,
Melodious as filmy waterfalls!
(He turns to Michal who rises at his word to he enfolded with Loruhamah in his arms.)
Michal, arise! The time for tears is past.
Not on this star shall all the tale be told
Of Saul and Loruhamah and their love.
If you have still the love that made me fair
Unto your eyes, then follow far beyond
The line of Eastern hills to Babylon,
And build those promised crystal domes of dream.
Forgetting you were ever Saul the King!
Saul—The host is waiting on the heights for Saul!
Loruhamah—(clasping her hands and looking up at Saul.)
Once you did plead—now Loruhamah pleads.
We cannot call the years back from the knees
Of Ashtoreth, but life is yet most fair
And full of promise for our love delayed.
Oh, take me, Saul! . See how I plead to you!
Go not from me to death, but go with me
To life—sweet life! . . . Surely the gods
Are satisfied; they will not grudge the lees
Left in the cup of Loruhamah’s love!
I have been strong, kept faith; but now my will
Flows down, like water from an age-long height
Of ice-capped mountain melting in the sun!
Saul—(tenderly stroking her hair)
There is no music breathed by the harp
Sweeter than your dear voice that tells me this,
And in the knowledge of your love for me
Death will become a falling into sleep;
But my last moment thunders with such sound,
That all earth’s voices mingle into it!
Perchance Jehovah has set me this task
In mercy, that my stormy life may end
With some wide splendour of a sunset-sky!
(Michal comes down and kneels at Loruhama’s side.)
Michal—My father, hearken unto Loruhamah!
Behold her tears! Can you withstand her tears?
Saul—Jehovah calls! Who may withstand His voice?
Michal, behold I see where all was dark:
David begins where Saul is at an end,
And Samuel, anointing him, foretold
The House of Jesse following the House
Of Kish upon the throne of Israel.
Go, tell David that Saul forgave the deed;
And when they find me dead on Gilboa,
Yield him the crown—yea, place it on his brows,
That song and youth’s sweet laughter stir again
Throughout this stricken land, and all the world
Grow glorious and golden in the sun!
(Saul bends over Loruhamah, takes her hands and lifts her to his side.)
My Loruhamah, one fair city waits
Our coming—fairer than far Babylon—
Builded beyond the clouds! I go to lay
Its streets with sapphires and adorn the walls
With chrysoprase—make every gate a pearl,
A moon of summer magic, musical
At turning of each graven silver hinge,
Melodious as filmy waterfalls!
(He turns to Michal who rises at his word to he enfolded with Loruhamah in his arms.)
Michal, arise! The time for tears is past.
Not on this star shall all the tale be told
Of Saul and Loruhamah and their love.
- (There is a sudden and nearing blast of trumpets with a mighty shout of voices. The full, red disk, of the sun almost fills the entrance of the cave. Tenderly Saul frees himself from the embrace of Michal and Loruhamah. He goes towards the steps, ascends, pauses and with arms wide open, looks down at them. Michal turns from Loruhamah and runs to the steps, looking up at Saul. Loruhamah stands as Saul left her, looking away from him with hopeless sorrow in her eyes.)
Michal—My father! O my father! Do not go!
Voices—Saul!
Loruhamah—(as Saul turns at the sound of the voices and leaves the cave.)
Ashtoreth!
Michal— My Father!
Voices— Saul! Saul! Saul!
(Michal sinks weeping at the foot of the steps. Loruhamah comes slowly down to the front with uplifted arms of defiance to the gods.)
Loruhamah—Again you gods of darkness and of hate—
You thrones and crowns of everlastingness;
You high above the multitude of stars,
Immovable, hard and unchanging gods!
Again you laugh and nod upon our pain
And stare down gulfs perpetual of blue,
Divinely lifted, deathlessly remote!
No more shall you hear aught of stricken me—
I go upon my way, supreme in love,
And answer back to your indifference
Eternal calling of my heart for Saul!
Voices—Saul!
Loruhamah—(as Saul turns at the sound of the voices and leaves the cave.)
Ashtoreth!
Michal— My Father!
Voices— Saul! Saul! Saul!
(Michal sinks weeping at the foot of the steps. Loruhamah comes slowly down to the front with uplifted arms of defiance to the gods.)
Loruhamah—Again you gods of darkness and of hate—
You thrones and crowns of everlastingness;
You high above the multitude of stars,
Immovable, hard and unchanging gods!
Again you laugh and nod upon our pain
And stare down gulfs perpetual of blue,
Divinely lifted, deathlessly remote!
No more shall you hear aught of stricken me—
I go upon my way, supreme in love,
And answer back to your indifference
Eternal calling of my heart for Saul!
THE PIPER AND THE REED
I am a reed—a little reed
Down by the river,
A whim of God whose moment’s need
Was that the Giver
Might blow melodious and long
One cadence of eternal song.
Down by the river,
A whim of God whose moment’s need
Was that the Giver
Might blow melodious and long
One cadence of eternal song.
Through me are blown
Wild whisperings of wind from hills
No sun hath known.
The splendour that Orion spills
On purple space;
The golden loom of Leo’s mane;
The scintillance of Vega’s face;
Dim unto dark:
And great Arcturus’ far refrain
Fades to a silence that is pain,
When, like a lark,
Riseth melodious and strong
That cadence of eternal song.
God is the Piper—I, the reed
Down by the river for his need.
He who in beauty goeth by
The marches of the meadowy sky,
A-piping on the many reeds
His canticle,
Paused in His playing;
For He found
An under-sound
Failed of the music that He made.
Wild winds went straying,
Like sheep lost on the daisied meads—
Scattered by discord and afraid,
Lost from the fold
They knew of old.
My God had need
Of one more reed—
Had need of me
To make the perfect harmony.
I am that under-sound,
That needed note.
Eternally the Piper tried
Reed after reed until He found
Me growing by the river side.
And laughing at the leaves that float
Forever down its burnished tide.
Wild whisperings of wind from hills
No sun hath known.
The splendour that Orion spills
On purple space;
The golden loom of Leo’s mane;
The scintillance of Vega’s face;
Dim unto dark:
And great Arcturus’ far refrain
Fades to a silence that is pain,
When, like a lark,
Riseth melodious and strong
That cadence of eternal song.
God is the Piper—I, the reed
Down by the river for his need.
He who in beauty goeth by
The marches of the meadowy sky,
A-piping on the many reeds
His canticle,
Paused in His playing;
For He found
An under-sound
Failed of the music that He made.
Wild winds went straying,
Like sheep lost on the daisied meads—
Scattered by discord and afraid,
Lost from the fold
They knew of old.
My God had need
Of one more reed—
Had need of me
To make the perfect harmony.
I am that under-sound,
That needed note.
Eternally the Piper tried
Reed after reed until He found
Me growing by the river side.
And laughing at the leaves that float
Forever down its burnished tide.
How frail my body is—how frail
And common of its kind;
A reed among a field of reeds
A-tremble to the wind—
The wind that threshes like a flail
Until my body bleeds!
Yet through me such wild music blows
The Piper laughs among the stars.
Know you the Piper? Little scars
Burn on His brow, each shoulder shows
Wounds of a knotted scourge that fell
To hurt Him from the hands of Hell!
Welcome, O Wind!
All hail, O Pain!
One little reed—one little reed,
To fill the Piper’s far refrain,
Is broken till its body bleed;
Glad that the Minstrel Lord doth find
A tone of His eternal need.
And common of its kind;
A reed among a field of reeds
A-tremble to the wind—
The wind that threshes like a flail
Until my body bleeds!
Yet through me such wild music blows
The Piper laughs among the stars.
Know you the Piper? Little scars
Burn on His brow, each shoulder shows
Wounds of a knotted scourge that fell
To hurt Him from the hands of Hell!
Welcome, O Wind!
All hail, O Pain!
One little reed—one little reed,
To fill the Piper’s far refrain,
Is broken till its body bleed;
Glad that the Minstrel Lord doth find
A tone of His eternal need.
AFTER THE ORDER OF MELCHIZEDEK
I am a priest upon whose head
God long ago poured holy oil;
He gave to me a Word and said:
“With this thou shalt mankind assoil!”
God long ago poured holy oil;
He gave to me a Word and said:
“With this thou shalt mankind assoil!”
Since I went forth God to obey,
Life has revealed me many things—
I find it very hard to say
What is most dear: The task that brings
Life has revealed me many things—
I find it very hard to say
What is most dear: The task that brings
Bread to the eater, or the rest
That follows toil; the love of friends,
Of books, of song—each is most blessed
And always with contentment blends.
That follows toil; the love of friends,
Of books, of song—each is most blessed
And always with contentment blends.
A stone, a faggot or a flower;
A bird in rapture of its flight;
December-snow or April-shower;
The velvet vastness of the night,
A bird in rapture of its flight;
December-snow or April-shower;
The velvet vastness of the night,
When Mother Moon has left the stars
And with the winds gone gossiping—
Or leans upon the gate that bars
Dawn from untimely entering.
And with the winds gone gossiping—
Or leans upon the gate that bars
Dawn from untimely entering.
These hold for me unending charm,
Fill me with wonderment and awe
That men should ever think of harm,
Fencing their lives about with law.
Fill me with wonderment and awe
That men should ever think of harm,
Fencing their lives about with law.
The world is such a lovely place—
A jewelled pendant on Love’s chain!
I marvel that a human face
Should pale with anger or with pain.
A jewelled pendant on Love’s chain!
I marvel that a human face
Should pale with anger or with pain.
I marvel at the cry for bread
That thunders round the waking world;
The tumult of the legion’s tread
That shakes the earth, as souls are hurled
That thunders round the waking world;
The tumult of the legion’s tread
That shakes the earth, as souls are hurled
In battle to destroy the souls
God grew in His great garden, when
He won past all His other goals—
Triumphant at the birth of men!
God grew in His great garden, when
He won past all His other goals—
Triumphant at the birth of men!
Who can behold the dance of Dawn—
Juggling with stars like tinselled balls,
Vestured in mantle of a wan.
White glory whose dim splendour falls
Juggling with stars like tinselled balls,
Vestured in mantle of a wan.
White glory whose dim splendour falls
Upon the mountains; and not feel
Himself transcendent? Who can hear
Clangour of wild birds and the peal
Of matin-bells across the clear,
Himself transcendent? Who can hear
Clangour of wild birds and the peal
Of matin-bells across the clear,
Blue sky, commingling with the shout
Of children on their way to school,
And fail at once to be about
God’s business?—As within a pool
Of children on their way to school,
And fail at once to be about
God’s business?—As within a pool
You are reflected. Nature shows
The miracle of what you are—
The highest that Creation knows:
Lord of the earth and every star!
The miracle of what you are—
The highest that Creation knows:
Lord of the earth and every star!
I am a priest upon whose head
God long ago poured holy oil;
He gave to me a Word and said:
“With this thou shalt mankind assoil!”
God long ago poured holy oil;
He gave to me a Word and said:
“With this thou shalt mankind assoil!”
I come from out the Holy Place
With benediction for the earth,
To wipe the tears from every face
And tell the fallen one his worth.
With benediction for the earth,
To wipe the tears from every face
And tell the fallen one his worth.
My business is to be a priest
Whose holy task is to forgive,
To bid the beggar to the feast,
To touch the dead and make them live.
Whose holy task is to forgive,
To bid the beggar to the feast,
To touch the dead and make them live.
I know not any fear of thrones,
No claim of Scribe and Pharisee;
My word is set to many tones
Of lute and harp and psaltery.
No claim of Scribe and Pharisee;
My word is set to many tones
Of lute and harp and psaltery.
I have no temple and no creed,
I celebrate no mystic rite;
The human heart is all I need
Wherein I worship day and night:
I celebrate no mystic rite;
The human heart is all I need
Wherein I worship day and night:
The human heart is all I need,
For I have found God ever there—
Love is the one sufficient creed,
And comradeship the purest prayer!
For I have found God ever there—
Love is the one sufficient creed,
And comradeship the purest prayer!
I bow not down to any book,
No written page holds me in awe;
For when on one friend’s face I look
I read the Prophets and the Law!
No written page holds me in awe;
For when on one friend’s face I look
I read the Prophets and the Law!
I need no fountain filled with blood
To cleanse my soul from mortal sin;
For love is an unbounded flood—
Freely I go to wash therein.
To cleanse my soul from mortal sin;
For love is an unbounded flood—
Freely I go to wash therein.
Love laughs at boundaries of wrath
And is as infinite as God;
Breaks down each wall, finds out each path
Where wilful, straying feet have trod.
And is as infinite as God;
Breaks down each wall, finds out each path
Where wilful, straying feet have trod.
Love is the Word God gave and said:
“With it thou shalt mankind assoil!”
Then forthwith poured upon my head
Anointing of His holy oil!
“With it thou shalt mankind assoil!”
Then forthwith poured upon my head
Anointing of His holy oil!
THE PLOUGHMAN
The upper and the lower springs,
The summer-fountains fail;
A frowning sky his challenge flings
With thunder through the hail;
The autumn holds her mantle-folds
To veil a pallid brow—
She pities me and mourns to see
My pain upon the plough:
For I must down the furrow fare
And cleave the clod with sharpened share.
The summer-fountains fail;
A frowning sky his challenge flings
With thunder through the hail;
The autumn holds her mantle-folds
To veil a pallid brow—
She pities me and mourns to see
My pain upon the plough:
For I must down the furrow fare
And cleave the clod with sharpened share.
Witless of wind that finds my face,
I lean against the blast
And plough to my appointed place—
Yon sapling like a mast;
I plough this way till shut of day,
Steady upon the mark;
Reckless of cold, the handles hold
From dawn until the dark—
This thing my duty: cleave the clod,
Ploughing the field alone with God!
I lean against the blast
And plough to my appointed place—
Yon sapling like a mast;
I plough this way till shut of day,
Steady upon the mark;
Reckless of cold, the handles hold
From dawn until the dark—
This thing my duty: cleave the clod,
Ploughing the field alone with God!
GIORDANO BRUNO
The Monk of Nola is indeed no more;
His cell is empty, and the threefold cord
Hangs with its cowl beside Saint Peter’s sword!
Vainly the Vatican leans on the lore
Of Councils; what was everywhere of yore
Held by the faithful, and with one accord,
Yields to the moment of his mighty word,
Who looked not always after but before.
His cell is empty, and the threefold cord
Hangs with its cowl beside Saint Peter’s sword!
Vainly the Vatican leans on the lore
Of Councils; what was everywhere of yore
Held by the faithful, and with one accord,
Yields to the moment of his mighty word,
Who looked not always after but before.
Rise from your ashes where yon statue stands
In Campo di fiora! Bruno, speak
That word of thunder to the world abroad:
Man is the Sacrament made by Christ’s hands;
He is, of life’s ascending slope, the peak—
The crown—the consummation of his God!
In Campo di fiora! Bruno, speak
That word of thunder to the world abroad:
Man is the Sacrament made by Christ’s hands;
He is, of life’s ascending slope, the peak—
The crown—the consummation of his God!
Even thou, Giovanni, my familiar friend
In whom I trusted? What! thou art afraid
To look at me? Do Bruno’s eyes hurt thee?
Nay, do not hide behind the chasubles
Of Holy Inquisition; speak thy mind,
And tell the Fathers that which they would know:
How certain books I wrote traduce the creeds
Of Mother Church!
In whom I trusted? What! thou art afraid
To look at me? Do Bruno’s eyes hurt thee?
Nay, do not hide behind the chasubles
Of Holy Inquisition; speak thy mind,
And tell the Fathers that which they would know:
How certain books I wrote traduce the creeds
Of Mother Church!
What pleasant nights we spent
Within thy palace; what discourse we had
While others slept, and I led thee beyond
The crystal spheres of old to boundless space!
What moved thee, O Venetian, to betray
Thy friend? . . . Nay, mutter not, nor cross thyself!
Giordano hath not made a covenant
With devils! . . . Yea, my Father, read the charge.
Within thy palace; what discourse we had
While others slept, and I led thee beyond
The crystal spheres of old to boundless space!
What moved thee, O Venetian, to betray
Thy friend? . . . Nay, mutter not, nor cross thyself!
Giordano hath not made a covenant
With devils! . . . Yea, my Father, read the charge.
So that is what my accusation saith?
The Monk of Nola is indeed no more!
He was a curious boy who loved to look,
Without distraction of crude, painted things
Hung on the wall, tarnished by candle-smoke,
Out of the window where he knelt to pray;
For he had learned that God is not confined
In paint and mortar, that He is revealed,
As the Apostle saith, through what He made.
He found no virtue in a saint’s thighbone;
No miracle in the Madonna’s face
Above her altar, when the sanctus bell
Rings and a wafer is become the Christ!
Yea, rather was he caught within the loops
Of light thrown by the stars among the vines,
Or fastened by the many-coloured cords
Of sunrise. Noonday magic on the grapes;
The crickets chirping where the wheat is ripe;
The call of birds; the river’s ancient song;
Trees and the carnival of summer-flowers;
Claimed Bruno when he tried to be a monk.
The Monk of Nola is indeed no more!
He was a curious boy who loved to look,
Without distraction of crude, painted things
Hung on the wall, tarnished by candle-smoke,
Out of the window where he knelt to pray;
For he had learned that God is not confined
In paint and mortar, that He is revealed,
As the Apostle saith, through what He made.
He found no virtue in a saint’s thighbone;
No miracle in the Madonna’s face
Above her altar, when the sanctus bell
Rings and a wafer is become the Christ!
Yea, rather was he caught within the loops
Of light thrown by the stars among the vines,
Or fastened by the many-coloured cords
Of sunrise. Noonday magic on the grapes;
The crickets chirping where the wheat is ripe;
The call of birds; the river’s ancient song;
Trees and the carnival of summer-flowers;
Claimed Bruno when he tried to be a monk.
Then came Copernicus! At first I laughed,
Railing with many words: What! Earth so fixed—
The central point of heaven, round which the sun
Wheels and stars turn—a floating sphere in space?
Then reason woke within me and I found
Copernicus was right, and went one step
Past my new master—taught that nothing bounds
The universe but law.
Railing with many words: What! Earth so fixed—
The central point of heaven, round which the sun
Wheels and stars turn—a floating sphere in space?
Then reason woke within me and I found
Copernicus was right, and went one step
Past my new master—taught that nothing bounds
The universe but law.
Nature is one.
One purpose weaves the weft within the warp
Of matter, though the stuff be molten suns,
Or atoms in the amethyst that gleams
Upon the finger of His Grace—my judge!
One purpose weaves the weft within the warp
Of matter, though the stuff be molten suns,
Or atoms in the amethyst that gleams
Upon the finger of His Grace—my judge!
When I was but a boy at Nola, fond
Of roving, on a summer day I climbed
The hill Cicada; from its height I saw
Vesuvius was like a cone of grey,
In contrast with the vineyards at my feet:
Later I stood above Pompeii, found
My hill was changed to barren, rocky slopes;
Round me were many blossoms and the vines!
I learned by this illusion of the eyes,
To challenge sense with reason—prove no fact
By feeling—Fathers, is that heresy?
He is an infidel who dares to bound
God’s might! Take now a creed of Mother Church—
The Mother whom I love—hold ye one thought
That cramps Creation and Omnipotence?
Then ye are heretic. Find God in Nature,
As ye discover artists by their work.
Of roving, on a summer day I climbed
The hill Cicada; from its height I saw
Vesuvius was like a cone of grey,
In contrast with the vineyards at my feet:
Later I stood above Pompeii, found
My hill was changed to barren, rocky slopes;
Round me were many blossoms and the vines!
I learned by this illusion of the eyes,
To challenge sense with reason—prove no fact
By feeling—Fathers, is that heresy?
He is an infidel who dares to bound
God’s might! Take now a creed of Mother Church—
The Mother whom I love—hold ye one thought
That cramps Creation and Omnipotence?
Then ye are heretic. Find God in Nature,
As ye discover artists by their work.
Ponder the lilies of the field, said Christ.
O Priests of Venice! ye who try me here
Against my death at Rome for heresy,
What do ye know of lilies? Can ye tell
The Monk of Nola how the lilies grow?
I knew them ere I learned to sing High Mass,
Or hear confession and expound the Book!
If only, ye seek God beyond the stars,
How can ye hope to find Him Who is near?
If ye disdain the portico of heaven,
How can ye love the House not made with hands,
Eternal in the heavens? Oh, how ye rob
Life of its joy! How narrow is the world
Wherein ye move! Your sky is but a dome
Of hammered brass alight with holy wicks
Placed in the great concave; your moon a lamp
Borne in procession round the altar—earth!
God’s truth! ye think as though the universe
Were Peter’s Church at Rome, and all the flowers
Are waxen—though the world is white with bloom!
I break the dome, and exorcise the fear
That haunts the faith of men; I say to them:
God stands closer to us than we to self.
He is the Soul of our soul. He unites
All Nature. Grain of incense, drop of oil,
Hath Him as much as any Holy Mass!
Lift up a broken oleander stalk,
A wheaten straw, a pebble round and smooth
And ye have lifted high the very Host!
Man is the Mass; therein God’s love transforms
The elements—making of them His flesh!
God is existence; everything is God.
Pain, suffering, and sin—aye, death itself—
Are shadows creeping down Vesuvius,
When the sun rises; shadows disappear
At noontide glory, life is at the morn;
Therefore these glooms against the mounting sun
Fade fast, as men are more aware of God:
When life has reached its zenith, there will be
No shadow anywhere of pain and sin,
For all will share its glad meridian!
O Priests of Venice! ye who try me here
Against my death at Rome for heresy,
What do ye know of lilies? Can ye tell
The Monk of Nola how the lilies grow?
I knew them ere I learned to sing High Mass,
Or hear confession and expound the Book!
If only, ye seek God beyond the stars,
How can ye hope to find Him Who is near?
If ye disdain the portico of heaven,
How can ye love the House not made with hands,
Eternal in the heavens? Oh, how ye rob
Life of its joy! How narrow is the world
Wherein ye move! Your sky is but a dome
Of hammered brass alight with holy wicks
Placed in the great concave; your moon a lamp
Borne in procession round the altar—earth!
God’s truth! ye think as though the universe
Were Peter’s Church at Rome, and all the flowers
Are waxen—though the world is white with bloom!
I break the dome, and exorcise the fear
That haunts the faith of men; I say to them:
God stands closer to us than we to self.
He is the Soul of our soul. He unites
All Nature. Grain of incense, drop of oil,
Hath Him as much as any Holy Mass!
Lift up a broken oleander stalk,
A wheaten straw, a pebble round and smooth
And ye have lifted high the very Host!
Man is the Mass; therein God’s love transforms
The elements—making of them His flesh!
God is existence; everything is God.
Pain, suffering, and sin—aye, death itself—
Are shadows creeping down Vesuvius,
When the sun rises; shadows disappear
At noontide glory, life is at the morn;
Therefore these glooms against the mounting sun
Fade fast, as men are more aware of God:
When life has reached its zenith, there will be
No shadow anywhere of pain and sin,
For all will share its glad meridian!
Now, Fathers, will ye send me bound to Rome—
A prisoner, like Paul, of Jesus Christ,
And doomed to die for witness of my word?
Wherein is Bruno heretic? What truth
Have ye which I hold not, and even more?
Yea, all that is contained within the Creeds
And, Councils of the Holy Catholic Church,
Giordano holds. But faith transcends both creed
And council, is the evidence of things
Not seen. Is faith the journey or the road?
Faith is the pilgrim with a scrip and staff,
Taking all roads at pleasure. Is the Church
Weak as to fabric, that the stake must stand
Forever as the symbol of her strength?
Dogma that must be buttressed by the ban
Of excommunication is not truth!
Who hates in the defence of what he holds,
Or drops one bitter word against the name
Of His antagonist can not be true:
The calm of Christ before Caiaphas;
Paul’s manner with the Areopagus;
All martyred love: bear witness to my word.
A prisoner, like Paul, of Jesus Christ,
And doomed to die for witness of my word?
Wherein is Bruno heretic? What truth
Have ye which I hold not, and even more?
Yea, all that is contained within the Creeds
And, Councils of the Holy Catholic Church,
Giordano holds. But faith transcends both creed
And council, is the evidence of things
Not seen. Is faith the journey or the road?
Faith is the pilgrim with a scrip and staff,
Taking all roads at pleasure. Is the Church
Weak as to fabric, that the stake must stand
Forever as the symbol of her strength?
Dogma that must be buttressed by the ban
Of excommunication is not truth!
Who hates in the defence of what he holds,
Or drops one bitter word against the name
Of His antagonist can not be true:
The calm of Christ before Caiaphas;
Paul’s manner with the Areopagus;
All martyred love: bear witness to my word.
And so ye have condemned me! Venice gives
My body unto Rome—this night, perchance,
Or on the morrow, I must take the road
Of martyrdom to Rome—how many more
Must travel that same road, because their faith
Is overmuch! But old skins ever fail
New wine, and from the Branch—Copernicus—
Thought-clusters hang, which from the press of Time
Will pour fermenting liquor to destroy
Your moulded bottles. Bind me to the stake;
Scatter my ashes on the Tiber’s tide;
The world will kneel in tears for what ye did!
My body unto Rome—this night, perchance,
Or on the morrow, I must take the road
Of martyrdom to Rome—how many more
Must travel that same road, because their faith
Is overmuch! But old skins ever fail
New wine, and from the Branch—Copernicus—
Thought-clusters hang, which from the press of Time
Will pour fermenting liquor to destroy
Your moulded bottles. Bind me to the stake;
Scatter my ashes on the Tiber’s tide;
The world will kneel in tears for what ye did!
THE MAN OF KERIOTH
Act II. page 72.
Bartimæus—Mine is no house of dream;
’Tis very real to me and beautiful.
O Philip, can you tell me how a bird
Feels on the nest when all the speckled eggs
Melt underneath her heart to feathered balls
Of chirping hunger? How the bleating ewe
Finds her three lambs and calls them to her side,
Though there be many mothers on the hill?
That is their secret never to be told—
And mine the certainty of things that eyes
Behold and see not.
’Tis very real to me and beautiful.
O Philip, can you tell me how a bird
Feels on the nest when all the speckled eggs
Melt underneath her heart to feathered balls
Of chirping hunger? How the bleating ewe
Finds her three lambs and calls them to her side,
Though there be many mothers on the hill?
That is their secret never to be told—
And mine the certainty of things that eyes
Behold and see not.
Act V. page 128.
Mary— But, this I found:
A world not ready for this lover-man,
Confusing him with images of clay
On temple tables, seeking for a sign—
A manifesting of his power—his power!
God! how the stupid people miss the path
That winds past every garden gate to heaven.
His power! Oh, it is upon his mouth
And in his eyes—the touch—the way of him!
Supreme and tender miracle of man,
What do they, asking you for any sign?
Bartimæus—Ay, you know Christ!
Mary—And of these foolish men,
Judas is first. Oh, what has blinded him
That he can miss the sun on Jesus’ hair!
Bartimæus—He pays the price strong men must pay on whom
The fretting business of the world depends.
Listen—a parable of four men, told
By Persian Magi: “When God made the world
Four angels watched him turn the star in space—
The first said: Give to me, O God, thy star!
The second: Tell me, God, how it was made!
The third: Why is there any world at all?
The fourth knelt to adore and went away
To make another like God’s golden star.”
These souls are known in human history:
The man of business, then the scientist,
The sage and poet. Judas is the first,
And we the last—only as men rise up
From holding and accounting for a star
To that pure worship of the beautiful
In holy art of giving like the Christ’s,
Will they no longer clamour for a sign—
The sign will be the service of their love.
Mary—The way to Christ must be as you have said—
Past any need that holds one bound by love
Of builded things and faith in ancient law,
Customs and forms. A spirit must be free
To tread the upper air of day with him.
Bartimæus—Ay, that is Christ, but men must travel far
Before they find the freedom of his feet.
A world not ready for this lover-man,
Confusing him with images of clay
On temple tables, seeking for a sign—
A manifesting of his power—his power!
God! how the stupid people miss the path
That winds past every garden gate to heaven.
His power! Oh, it is upon his mouth
And in his eyes—the touch—the way of him!
Supreme and tender miracle of man,
What do they, asking you for any sign?
Bartimæus—Ay, you know Christ!
Mary—And of these foolish men,
Judas is first. Oh, what has blinded him
That he can miss the sun on Jesus’ hair!
Bartimæus—He pays the price strong men must pay on whom
The fretting business of the world depends.
Listen—a parable of four men, told
By Persian Magi: “When God made the world
Four angels watched him turn the star in space—
The first said: Give to me, O God, thy star!
The second: Tell me, God, how it was made!
The third: Why is there any world at all?
The fourth knelt to adore and went away
To make another like God’s golden star.”
These souls are known in human history:
The man of business, then the scientist,
The sage and poet. Judas is the first,
And we the last—only as men rise up
From holding and accounting for a star
To that pure worship of the beautiful
In holy art of giving like the Christ’s,
Will they no longer clamour for a sign—
The sign will be the service of their love.
Mary—The way to Christ must be as you have said—
Past any need that holds one bound by love
Of builded things and faith in ancient law,
Customs and forms. A spirit must be free
To tread the upper air of day with him.
Bartimæus—Ay, that is Christ, but men must travel far
Before they find the freedom of his feet.
BILL BORAM
O beauty of the autumn days that die,
O magic of the wind and shout of seas,
O lifting of the little wings that fly,
O marvel of gay blossoms and the trees!
Join with the miracle of human hearts,
The tender touching of all friendly hands,
Until the figured veil of Nature parts
To show how near to flesh the spirit stands.
Come, love of life, and lift the gate that bars
Man from his lost dominion of all things;
And let there be a going up to stars
With tumult of his long-unfolded wings.
O magic of the wind and shout of seas,
O lifting of the little wings that fly,
O marvel of gay blossoms and the trees!
Join with the miracle of human hearts,
The tender touching of all friendly hands,
Until the figured veil of Nature parts
To show how near to flesh the spirit stands.
Come, love of life, and lift the gate that bars
Man from his lost dominion of all things;
And let there be a going up to stars
With tumult of his long-unfolded wings.
THE SPINNER
Something is born in me to-day—
A thought of the world and the world’s way.
The world is spun
Out of the substance of the sun.
A thought of the world and the world’s way.
The world is spun
Out of the substance of the sun.
The sun is a silk cocoon
With a bit of it broken—that’s the moon;
And a Spinner stands
Letting the thread run through her hands.
With a bit of it broken—that’s the moon;
And a Spinner stands
Letting the thread run through her hands.
The zodiac is her spinning-wheel,
And the thread is wound on a pinioned reel
Held by Venus and by Mars,
As it whirls in a belt of many stars.
And the thread is wound on a pinioned reel
Held by Venus and by Mars,
As it whirls in a belt of many stars.
The Spinner dreams while the wheel turns round.
Her dreams come true as the thread is wound.
Into the thread her dreams are spun
Out of the substance of the sun.
Her dreams come true as the thread is wound.
Into the thread her dreams are spun
Out of the substance of the sun.
And of those dreams that all come true,
Give me a sky of April, blue
As this bit of a broken shell
Found last summer where it fell
Give me a sky of April, blue
As this bit of a broken shell
Found last summer where it fell
Under the robin’s nest—empty now,
Where it swings like a cradle on the bough:
Give me an April sky, and then
Give me my boyhood back again!
Where it swings like a cradle on the bough:
Give me an April sky, and then
Give me my boyhood back again!
Spinner, to me it seems
Mine are the best of all your dreams;
Therefore I sing while my days are wound
Into the world, as your wheel turns round.
Mine are the best of all your dreams;
Therefore I sing while my days are wound
Into the world, as your wheel turns round.
A house, a barn, a garden: these
Are my earliest memories
Dreamed by you. Spinner, as you spun
Earth from the substance of the sun.
Are my earliest memories
Dreamed by you. Spinner, as you spun
Earth from the substance of the sun.
Little house, do you feel sad—
Lonely for the love you had,
And empty, too, like the robin’s nest?
I come back to you for rest.
Lonely for the love you had,
And empty, too, like the robin’s nest?
I come back to you for rest.
Under your gable-thatch two eyes
Study me now, with a tender, wise
Look, as of one
Studying the features of her son.
Study me now, with a tender, wise
Look, as of one
Studying the features of her son.
Study me hard and search me through,
For I was never afraid of you:
Here in my heart is an ancient thing—
Need of the chick for a mother’s wing.
For I was never afraid of you:
Here in my heart is an ancient thing—
Need of the chick for a mother’s wing.
I come wearily back,
Over the undulating track
Worn by the feet of those who find
Peace on the home-trails of the mind—
Over the undulating track
Worn by the feet of those who find
Peace on the home-trails of the mind—
Trails that lead from a hill of years,
Gashed by the torrents of old tears,
Back to a boyhood’s love of you—
House in a sky of April blue.
Gashed by the torrents of old tears,
Back to a boyhood’s love of you—
House in a sky of April blue.
Four square panes my window make;
Through it I look when I awake.
The sun is high above the hill
Where all the trees are standing still,
Through it I look when I awake.
The sun is high above the hill
Where all the trees are standing still,
Like soldiers on a dress parade.
The trees are very much afraid
Of Captain Sun, and so am I;
His blue cloak is an April sky.
The trees are very much afraid
Of Captain Sun, and so am I;
His blue cloak is an April sky.
I open the window and look out.
I am so happy that I shout.
Comes a joyous answer—hark!
He’s under the window, that’s his bark.
I am so happy that I shout.
Comes a joyous answer—hark!
He’s under the window, that’s his bark.
O little brave comrade, black-and-tan,
Call to the boy; dismiss the man,
Fretted and worn. I come to you
Under a sky of April blue.
Call to the boy; dismiss the man,
Fretted and worn. I come to you
Under a sky of April blue.
A jug of water, an old, cracked bowl,
Bid me be clean of body and soul;
And, as I splash with reckless hands,
Something within me understands
Bid me be clean of body and soul;
And, as I splash with reckless hands,
Something within me understands
How body and soul together seem
Part of the dreamer and her dream—
How body and soul together run
Out of the substance of the sun.
Part of the dreamer and her dream—
How body and soul together run
Out of the substance of the sun.
Into the bowl I dip my face.
Glory of God and Christ’s fair grace
Come with the water, and I see
John at the river in Galilee:
Glory of God and Christ’s fair grace
Come with the water, and I see
John at the river in Galilee:
God in the water clear and cold—
Christ in the white towel that I hold—
John in my body rubbed and dry,
The prophet of an April sky.
Christ in the white towel that I hold—
John in my body rubbed and dry,
The prophet of an April sky.
Grey wool shirt and stockings, too,
Little patched trousers faded blue,
Hobnailed boots with cowhide strings—
You are such transcendent things!
Little patched trousers faded blue,
Hobnailed boots with cowhide strings—
You are such transcendent things!
White robes on the martyred saints,
Halos and harps the artist paints,
Mean no more to God up there
Than these little-boy things I wear;
Halos and harps the artist paints,
Mean no more to God up there
Than these little-boy things I wear;
For I know that all things blend
Into the dream, and, I contend,
Hobnailed boots and harps are spun
Out of the substance of the sun.
Into the dream, and, I contend,
Hobnailed boots and harps are spun
Out of the substance of the sun.
Spinner, retard your wheel awhile.
Slow on the thread, there. Do you smile?
Christ or Cæsar, it’s all the same
Stuff of your dream—what’s in a name!
Slow on the thread, there. Do you smile?
Christ or Cæsar, it’s all the same
Stuff of your dream—what’s in a name!
Unwind your thread to my April day.
I have so much to see and say,
And what I see of myself is blent
With the blue of your far-away firmament.
I have so much to see and say,
And what I see of myself is blent
With the blue of your far-away firmament.
House of my father, is he here?
Speak to me, speak to me. Mother dear.
God of the living, are you able
To spread for me my breakfast-table?
Speak to me, speak to me. Mother dear.
God of the living, are you able
To spread for me my breakfast-table?
I want the old-time, morning chatter
To click of spoons and teacups’ clatter;
The clock upon the wooden shelf
Between two dogs of shiny delf;
To click of spoons and teacups’ clatter;
The clock upon the wooden shelf
Between two dogs of shiny delf;
The oval mat upon the floor
Between the dresser and the door;
The window where, whatever comes,
Bloom mother’s red geraniums.
Between the dresser and the door;
The window where, whatever comes,
Bloom mother’s red geraniums.
For you have dreamed the things I name,
And on your spinning-wheel of flame
My day of April blue have spun
Out of the substance of the sun:
And on your spinning-wheel of flame
My day of April blue have spun
Out of the substance of the sun:
The sun that is a silk cocoon—
A bit of it broken, called the moon;
And over your arm the thread is curled
For the pinioned reel that winds the world:
A bit of it broken, called the moon;
And over your arm the thread is curled
For the pinioned reel that winds the world:
The world that is coloured by what you dream:
Tragedy, laughter, gloom and gleam;
Till the last soft thread of your task is spun,
And there’s no more moon and no more sun.
Tragedy, laughter, gloom and gleam;
Till the last soft thread of your task is spun,
And there’s no more moon and no more sun.
THE ANOINTED
Give me the faith that Archimedes had,
Who pondered deeply of a balanced beam
To lift the world. What! think you he was mad,
Or talking as one babbles in a dream?
Was it a dream? Nay; through the quickened blood
Of such a man runs that new rapture known
By one who, ages ere the glacial flood,
First, in defence of life, heaved high a stone
And hurled it bravely at the sabre-tooth,
Lurking to tear the woman and the child—
Hurled it and slew him as he sprang! Forsooth,
The gods have ever on the dreamer smiled,
Have waited till he dared his many dreams
Of great adventure—fulcrum, lever, stone.
Always they wait; and when new glory gleams,
Where once was darkness, like a moon-ray thrown
Upon wild water, lo, the gods are glad.
Be, then, the folded wings of thought unfurled
To dare the untried spaces of the sky.
Challenge the ancient terror. Lift the world,
Though, on the sturdy beam, men crucify
The hands that pressed only to place earth far
Beyond the glitter of the highest star.
Who pondered deeply of a balanced beam
To lift the world. What! think you he was mad,
Or talking as one babbles in a dream?
Was it a dream? Nay; through the quickened blood
Of such a man runs that new rapture known
By one who, ages ere the glacial flood,
First, in defence of life, heaved high a stone
And hurled it bravely at the sabre-tooth,
Lurking to tear the woman and the child—
Hurled it and slew him as he sprang! Forsooth,
The gods have ever on the dreamer smiled,
Have waited till he dared his many dreams
Of great adventure—fulcrum, lever, stone.
Always they wait; and when new glory gleams,
Where once was darkness, like a moon-ray thrown
Upon wild water, lo, the gods are glad.
Be, then, the folded wings of thought unfurled
To dare the untried spaces of the sky.
Challenge the ancient terror. Lift the world,
Though, on the sturdy beam, men crucify
The hands that pressed only to place earth far
Beyond the glitter of the highest star.
POSTLUDE
Hold your dream and keep your song,
Brave upon the highway;
If you only will be strong,
Your way shall then be my way.
Shun the tavern, go past the gate—
What do we care if the hour is late,
When God, and you, and I together
Sleep in the night on the gorse and heather?
Brave upon the highway;
If you only will be strong,
Your way shall then be my way.
Shun the tavern, go past the gate—
What do we care if the hour is late,
When God, and you, and I together
Sleep in the night on the gorse and heather?
Hold your dream and keep your song,
Though the sun is setting.
Day is short and night is long;
Sleep is fine forgetting.
Turn from the lure of the lighted town,
Breasting the hill and daring the down;
Heather and gorse are good for a bed,
And the stars are plenty overhead.
Though the sun is setting.
Day is short and night is long;
Sleep is fine forgetting.
Turn from the lure of the lighted town,
Breasting the hill and daring the down;
Heather and gorse are good for a bed,
And the stars are plenty overhead.