The Wild Knight And Other Poems Part 14

And you do not strike.

REDFEATHER [_dreamily_].

Indeed, poor soul, such magic would be kind And full of pity as a fairy-tale: One touch of this bright wand [_Lifts his sword_]

and down would drop The dark abortive blunder that is you.

And you would change, forgiven, into flowers.

LORD ORM.

And yet--and yet you do not strike me dead.

I do not draw: the sword is in your hand-- Drive the blade through me where I stand.

REDFEATHER.

Lord Orm, You asked the Lady Olive (I can speak As to a toad to you, my lord)--you asked Olive to be your paramour: and she--

LORD ORM.

Refused.

REDFEATHER.

And yet her father was at stake, And she is soft and kind. Now look at me, Ragged and ruined, soaked in b.e.s.t.i.a.l sins: My lord, I too have my virginity-- Turn the thing round, my lord, and topside down, You cannot spell it. Be the fact enough, I use no sword upon a swordless man.

LORD ORM.

For her?

REDFEATHER.

I too have my virginity.

LORD ORM.

Now look on me: I am the lord of earth, For I have broken the last bond of man.

I stand erect, crowned with the stars--and why?

Because I stand a coward--because you Have mercy--on a coward. Do I win?

REDFEATHER.

Though there you stand with moving mouth and eyes, I think, my lord, you are not possible-- G.o.d keep you from my dreams.

[_Goes out._]

LORD ORM.

Alone and free.

Since first in flowery meads a child I ran, My one long thirst--to be alone and free.

Free of all laws, creeds, codes, and common tests, Shameless, anarchic, infinite.

Why, then, I might have done in that dark liberty-- If I should say 'a good deed,' men would laugh, But here are none to laugh.

The G.o.dless world Be thanked there is no G.o.d to spy on me, Catch me and crown me with a vulgar crown For what I do: if I should once believe The horror of that ancient Eavesdropper Behind the starry arras of the skies, I should--well, well, enough of menaces-- should not do the thing I come to do.

What do I come to do? Let me but try To spell it to my soul.

Suppose a man Perfectly free and utterly alone, Free of all love of law, equally free Of all the love of mutiny it breeds, Free of the love of heaven, and also free Of all the love of h.e.l.l it drives us to; Not merely void of rules, unconscious of them; So strong that naught alive could do him hurt, So wise that he knew all things, and so great That none knew what he was or what he did-- A lawless giant.

[_A pause: then in a low voice._]

Would he not be good?

Hate is the weakness of a thwarted thing, Pride is the weakness of a thing unpraised.

But he, this man....

He would be like a child Girt with the tomes of some vast library, Who reads romance after romance, and smiles When every tale ends well: impersonal As G.o.d he grows--melted in suns and stars; So would this boundless man, whom none could spy, Taunt him with virtue, censure him with vice, Rejoice in all men's joys; with golden pen Write all the live romances of the earth To a triumphant close....

Alone and free-- In this grey, cool, clean garden, washed with winds, What do I come to do among the gra.s.s, The daisies, and the dews? An awful thing, To prove I am that man.

That while these saints Taunt me with trembling, dare me to revenge, I breathe an upper air of ancient good And strong eternal laughter; send my sun And rain upon the evil and the just, Turn my left cheek unto the smiter. He That told me, sword in hand, that I had fallen Lower than anger, knew not I had risen Higher than pride....

Enough, the deeds are mine.

[_Takes out the t.i.tle-deeds._]

I come to write the end of a romance.

A good romance: the characters--Lord Orm.

Type of the starved heart and stored brain, Who strives to hate and cannot; fronting him-- Redfeather, rake in process of reform, At root a poet: I have hopes of him: He can love virtue, for he still loves vice.

He is not all burnt out. He beats me there (How I beat him in owning it!); in love He is still young, and has the joy of shame.

And for the Lady Olive--who shall speak?

A man may weigh the courage of a man, But if there be a bottomless abyss It is a woman's valour: such as I Can only bow the knee and hide the face (Thank G.o.d there is no G.o.d to spy on me And bring his cursed crowns).

No, there is none: The old incurable hunger of the world Surges in wolfish wars, age after age.

There was no G.o.d before me: none sees where, Between the brute-womb and the deaf, dead grave, Unhoping, unrecorded, unrepaid, I make with smoke, fire, and burnt-offering This sacrifice to Chaos. [_Lights the papers._] None behold Me write in fire the end of the romance.

Burn! I am G.o.d, and crown myself with stars.

Upon creation day: before was night And chaos of a blind and cruel world.

I am the first G.o.d; I will trample h.e.l.l, Fight, conquer, make the story of the stars, Like this poor story, end like a romance:

[_The paper burns._]

Before was brainless night: but I am G.o.d In this black world I rend. Let there be light!

[_The paper blazes up, illuminating the garden._]

I, G.o.d ...

THE WILD KNIGHT [_rushes forward_].

G.o.d's Light! G.o.d's Voice; yes, it is He Walking in Eden in the cool of the day!

LORD ORM [_screams_].

Tricked! Caught!

d.a.m.ned screeching rat in a hole!

[_Stabs him again and again with his sword; stamps on his face._]

THE WILD KNIGHT [_faintly_].