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The Ballad of the White Horse/Dedication

4647137The Ballad of the White Horse — Dedication1911Gilbert Keith Chesterton

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TO

MY WIFE

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DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
 A great face turned to night —
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
 Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
 Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
 To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
 What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
 But these shall not return.

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Gored on the Norman gonfalon
 The Golden Dragon died;
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
 Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
 As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns,
 Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
 That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
 And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
 His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
 That is the head of a man.

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But who shall look from Alfred's hood
 Or breathe his breath alive?
His century like a small dark cloud
Drifts far; it is an eyeless crowd,
Where the tortured trumpets scream aloud
 And the dense arrows drive.

Lady, by one light only
 We look from Alfred's eyes,
We know he saw athwart the wreck
The sign that hangs about your neck,
Where One more than Melchizedek
 Is dead and never dies.

Therefore I bring these rhymes to you,
 Who brought the cross to me,
Since on you flaming without flaw
I saw the sign that Guthrum saw
When he let break his ships of awe,
 And laid peace on the sea.

Do you remember when we went
 Under a dragon moon,
And 'mid volcanic tints of night
Walked where they fought the unknown fight
And saw black trees on the battle-height,
 Black thorn on Ethandune?

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And I thought, "I will go with you,
 As man with God has gone,
And wander with a wandering star,
The wandering heart of things that are,
The fiery cross of love and war
 That like yourself, goes on."

O go you onward; where you are
 Shall honour and laughter be,
Past purpled forest and pearled foam,
God's winged pavilion free to roam,
Your face, that is a wandering home,
 A flying home for me.

Ride through the silent earthquake lands,
 Wide as a waste is wide,
Across these days like deserts, when
Pride and a little scratching pen
Have dried and split the hearts of men,
 Heart of the heroes, ride.

Up through an empty house of stars,
 Being what heart you are,
Up the inhuman steeps of space
As on a staircase go in grace,
Carrying the firelight on your face
 Beyond the loneliest star.

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Take these; in memory of the hour
 We strayed a space from home
And saw the smoke-hued hamlets, quaint
With Westland king and Westland saint,
And watched the western glory faint
 Along the road to Frome.

G. K. C.