The Singing Man - LightNovelsOnl.com
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'Alas, Alas, thou lost poor child, how long?
Why wilt thou suffer want?
Why must I hear thy weeping through thy song, And see thine eyes grow gaunt?
Making sad feast upon the crumbs of light Shed long ago from heavenly highways where Thy brethren are!
And thy heart smoulders in thee, to be bright, Thy one sole refuge from thy one despair, Fraying the thwarted body with a scar.
How long, before thine eyelids, desolate, How long shall this thy dark dominion wait For thee, belated Star?'
_Beloved, if the Moon could weep, Or if the Sun could see How all these weltering alleys keep Their outcast treasury!_
_O bitter, bitter-sweet!-- Beauty of babyhood,-- Earth's wistful uttermost of good Flung out upon the street; Fouled, even as the highways would, With mirk and mire and bruise; The cheek more petal-fine Than rose before a shrine!
Those hands like star-fish in the ooze, And fingers fain to cling To any stronger thing!
And smiles, for one triumphal Gift, Should one lean down, and lift!
And tendril hair;--O in such wise, With wild lights aureoled, The morning-glories twine and hold, In some far paradise!_
_Oh well and deep, the foul ways keep Lost treasure hid from day!-- Sun may not see: but only we, Who look; and look away._
THE GOLDEN SHOES
The winds are las.h.i.+ng on the sea; The roads are blind with storm.
And it's far and far away with me; So bide you there, stay warm.
It's forth I must, and forth to-day; And I have no path to choose.
The highway hill, it is my way still.-- Give me my golden shoes.
_G.o.d gave them me on that first day I knew that I was young.
And I looked far forth, from west to north; And I heard the Songs unsung._
This cloak is worn too threadbare thin, But ah, how weatherwise!
This girdle serves to bind it in; What heed of wondering eyes?-- And yet beside, I wear one pride --Too bright, think you, to use?-- That I must wear, and still keep fair.-- Give here my golden shoes.
_G.o.d gave them me, on that first day I heard the Stars all chime.
And I looked forth far, from road to star; And I knew it was far to climb._
They would buy me house and hearth, no doubt, And the mirth to spend and share; Could I sell that gift, and go without, Or wear--what neighbors wear.
But take my staff, my purse, my scrip; For I have one thing to choose.
For you,--G.o.dspeed! May you soothe your need.
For me, my golden shoes!
_He gave them me, that far, first day When I heard all Songs unsung.
And I looked far forth, from west to north.
G.o.d saw that I was young!_
NOON AT PaeSTUM
Lord of the Sea, we sun-filled creatures raise Our hands among the clamorous weeds,--we too.
Lord of the Sun, and of the upper blue, Of all To-morrow, and all yesterdays, Here, where the thousand broken names and ways Of wors.h.i.+p are but shards we wandered through, There is no gift to offer, or undo; There is no prayer left in us, only praise.
Only to glory in this glory here, Through the dead smoke of myriad sacrifice;-- To look through these blue s.p.a.ces, blind and clear Even as the seaward gaze of Homer's eyes; And from uplifted heart, and cup, to pour Wine to the Unknown G.o.d.--We ask no more.
VESTAL FLAME
Light, light,--the last: Till the night be done, Keep the watch for stars and sun, and eyelids over-cast.
Once there seemed a sky, Brooding over men.
Now no stars have come again, since their bright good-bye!
Once my dreams were wise.
Now I nothing know; Fasting and the dark have so put out my heart's eyes.
But thy golden breath Burns against my cheek.
I can feel and love, and seek all the rune it saith.
Do not thou be spent, Holy thing of fire,-- Only hope of heart's desire dulled with wonderment!
While there bide these two Hands to bar the wind; Though such fingers chill and thinned, shed no roses through.
While this body bends Only for thy guard; Like a tower, to ward and wors.h.i.+p all the light it sends.
It is not for fear Lest there ring some cry On the midnight, 'Rise and come. Lo, the Bridegroom near!'
It is not for pride, To be s.h.i.+ning fair In a wedding-garment there, lighting home the Bride.
It is not to win Love, for h.o.a.rded toil, From those poor, with their spent oil, weeping, 'Light us in!'--
No; but in despite Of all vigils set, Do I bind me to thee yet,--strangest thing of Light!
Only, all, for thee Whatsoe'er thou art, Smiling through the blinded heart, things it cannot see.
Very Soul's Desire, Take my life; and live By the rapture thine doth give, ecstasy of fire!
Hold thy golden breath!
For I feel,--not hear-- Spent with joy and fear to lose thee, all the song it saith.
Light, light, my own: Do not thou disown Thy poor keeper-of-the-light, for Light's sake alone.
_The dark had left no speech save hand-in-hand Between us two the while, with others near.
Mine questioned thine with 'Why should I be here?'
