CANTO III

1He woke, and all at once before his eyesThe pale spires of the chestnut-trees in bloomRose waving and, beyond, dove-coloured skies;But where he lay was dark and, out of gloom,He saw them, through the doorway of a roomFull of strange scents and softness, padded deepWith growing leaves, heavy with last night’s sleep.2He rubbed his eyes. He felt that chamber wreathingNew sleepiness around him. At his sideHe was aware of warmth and quiet breathing.Twice he sank back, loose limbed and drowsy eyed;But the wind came even there. A sparrow criedAnd the wood shone without. Then Dymer rose,—“Just for one glance,” he said, and went, tip-toes,3Out into crisp grey air and drenching grass.The whitened cobweb sparkling in its placeClung to his feet. He saw the wagtail passBeside him and the thrush: and from his faceFelt the thin-scented winds divinely chaseThe flush of sleep. Far off he saw, betweenThe trees, long morning shadows of dark green.4He stretched his lazy arms to their full height,Yawning, and sighed and laughed, and sighed anew:Then wandered farther, watching with delightHow his broad naked footprints stained the dew,—Pressing his foot to feel the cold come throughBetween the spreading toes—then wheeling roundEach moment to some new, shrill forest sound.5The wood with its cold flowers had nothing thereMore beautiful than he, new waked from sleep,New born from joy. His soul lay very bareThat moment to life’s touch, and pondering deepNow first he knew that no desire could keepThese hours for always, and that men do die—But oh, the present glory of lungs and eye!6He thought: “At home they are waking now. The stairIs filled with feet. The bells clang—far from me.Where am I now? I could not point to whereThe City lies from here,” ... then, suddenly,“If I were here alone, these woods could beA frightful place! But now I have met my friendWho loves me, we can talk to the road’s end.”7Thus, quickening with the sweetness of the taleOf his new love, he turned. He saw, betweenThe young leaves where the palace walls showed paleWith chilly stone: but far above the green,Springing like cliffs in air, the towers were seen,Making more quiet yet the quiet dawn.Thither he came. He reached the open lawn.8No bird was moving here. Against the wallOut of the unscythed grass the nettle grew.The doors stood open wide, but no footfallRang in the colonnades. Whispering throughArches and hollow halls the light wind blew....His awe returned. He whistled—then, no more,It’s better to plunge in by the first door.9But then the vastness threw him into doubt.Was this the door that he had found last night?Or that, beneath the tower? Had he come outThis side at all? As the first snow falls lightWith following rain before the year grows white,So the first, dim foreboding touched his mind,Gently as yet, and easily thrust behind.10And with it came the thought, “I do not knowHer name—no, nor her face.” But still his moodRan blithely as he felt the morning blowAbout him, and the earth-smell in the woodSeemed waking for long hours that must be goodHere, in the unfettered lands, that knew no causeFor grudging—out of reach of the old laws.11He hastened to one entry. Up the stair,Beneath the pillared porch, without delay,He ran—then halted suddenly: for thereAcross the quiet threshold something lay,A bundle, a dark mass that barred the way.He looked again and lo, the formless pileUnder his eyes was moving all the while.12And it had hands, pale hands of wrinkled flesh,Puckered and gnarled with vast antiquity,That moved. He eyed the sprawling thing afresh,And bit by bit (so faces come to beIn the red coal) yet surely, he could seeThat the swathed hugeness was uncleanly human,A living thing, the likeness of a woman.13In the centre a draped hummock marked the head;Thence flowed the broader lines with curve and foldSpreading as oak roots do. You would have saidA man could hide among them and grow oldIn finding a way out. Breasts manifoldAs of the Ephesian Artemis might beUnder that robe. The face he did not see.14And all his being answered, “Not that way!”Never a word he spoke. Stealthily creepingBack from the door he drew. Quick! No delay!Quick, quick, but very quiet!—backward peepingTill fairly out of sight. Then shouting, leaping,Shaking himself he ran—as puppies doFrom bathing—till that door was out of view.15Another gate—and empty. In he wentAnd found a courtyard open to the skyAmidst it dripped a fountain. Heavy scentOf flowers was here; the foxglove standing highSheltered the whining wasp. With hasty eyeHe travelled round the walls. One doorway ledWithin: one showed a further court ahead.16He ran up to the first—a hungry lover,And not yet taught to endure, not blunted yet,But weary of long waiting to discoverThat loved one’s face. Before his foot was setOn the first stair, he felt the sudden sweat,Cold on his sides. That sprawling mass in view,That shape—the horror of heaviness—here too.17He fell back from the porch. Not yet—not yet—There must be other ways where he would meetNo watcher in the door. He would not letThe fear rise, nor hope falter, nor defeatBe entered in his thoughts. A sultry heatSeemed to have filled the day. His breath came short,And he passed on into that inner court.18And (like a dream) the sight he feared to findWas waiting here. Then cloister, path and squareHe hastened through: down paths that needed blind,Traced and retraced his steps. The thing sat thereIn every door, still watching, everywhere,Behind, ahead, all round—So! Steady now,Lest panic comes. He stopped. He wiped his brow.19But, as he strove to rally, came the thoughtThat he had dreamed of such a place before—Knew how it all would end. He must be caughtEarly or late. No good! But all the moreHe raged with passionate will that overboreThat knowledge: and cried out, and beat his head,Raving, upon the senseless walls, and said,20“Where? Where? Dear, look once out. Give but one sign.It’s I, I, Dymer. Are you chained and hidden?What have they done to her? Loose her! She is mine.Through stone and iron, haunted and hag-ridden,I’ll come to you—no stranger, nor unbidden,It’s I. Don’t fear them. Shout above them all.Can you not hear? I’ll follow at your call.”21From every arch the echo of his cryReturned. Then all was silent, and he knewThere was no other way. He must pass byThat horror: tread her down, force his way through,Or die upon the threshold. And this tooHad all been in a dream. He felt his heartBeating as if his throat would burst apart.22There was no other way. He stood a spaceAnd pondered it. Then, gathering up his will,He went to the next door. The pillared placeBeneath the porch was dark. The air was still,Moss on the steps. He felt her presence fillThe threshold with dull life. Here too was she.This time he raised his eyes and dared to see.23Pah! Only an old woman!... but the size,The old, old matriarchal dreadfulness,Immoveable, intolerable ... the eyesHidden, the hidden head, the winding dressCorpselike.... The weight of the brute that seemed to pressUpon his heart and breathing. Then he heardHis own voice, strange and humbled, take the word.24“Good Mother, let me pass. I have a friendTo look for in this house. I slept the nightAnd feasted here—it was my journey’s end,—I found it by the music and the light,And no one kept the doors, and I did rightTo enter—did I not? Now, Mother, pray,Let me pass in ... good Mother, give me way.”25The woman answered nothing: but he sawThe hands, like crabs, still wandering on her knee.“Mother, if I have broken any law,I’ll ask a pardon once: then let it be,—Once is enough—and leave the passage free.I am in haste. And though it were a sinBy all the laws you have, I must go in.”26Courage was rising in him now. He said,“Out of my path, old woman. For this causeI am new born, new freed, and here new wed,That I might be the breaker of bad laws.The frost of old forbiddings breaks and thawsWherever my feet fall. I bring to birthUnder its crust the green, ungrudging earth.”27He had started, bowing low: but now he stoodStretched to his height. His own voice in his breastMade misery pompous, firing all his blood.“Enough,” he cried. “Give place. You shall not wrestMy love from me. I journey on a questYou cannot understand, whose strength shall bear meThrough fire and earth. A bogy will not scare me.28“I am the sword of spring; I am the truth.Old night put out your stars, the dawn is here,The sleeper’s wakening, and the wings of youth.With crumbling veneration and cowed fearI make no truce. My loved one, live and dear,Waits for me. Let me in! I fled the City,Shall I fear you or ... Mother, ah, for pity.”29For his high mood fell shattered. Like a manUnnerved, in bayonet-fighting, in the thick,—Full of red rum and cheers when he began,Now, in a dream, muttering: “I’ve not the trick.It’s no good. I’m no good. They’re all too quick.There! Look there! Look at that!” So Dymer stood,Suddenly drained of hope. It was no good.30He pleaded then. Shame beneath shame. “Forgive.It may be there are powers I cannot break.If you are of them, speak. Speak. Let me live.I ask so small a thing. I beg. I makeMy body a living prayer whose force would shakeThe mountains. I’ll recant—confess my sin—But this once let me pass. I must go in.31“Yield but one inch, once only from your lawSet any price—I will give all, obeyAll else but this, hold your least word in awe,Give you no cause for anger from this day.Answer! The least things living when they prayAs I pray now bear witness. They speak trueAgainst God. Answer! Mother, let me through.”32Then when he heard no answer, mad with fearAnd with desire, too strained with both to knowWhat he desired or feared, yet staggering near,He forced himself towards her and bent lowFor grappling. Then came darkness. Then a blowFell on his heart, he thought. There came a blankOf all things. As the dead sink, down he sank.33The first big drops are rattling on the trees,The sky is copper dark, low thunder pealing.See Dymer with drooped head and knocking kneesComes from the porch. Then slowly, drunkly reeling,Blind, beaten, broken, past desire of healing,Past knowledge of his misery, he goes onUnder the first dark trees and now is gone.

He woke, and all at once before his eyesThe pale spires of the chestnut-trees in bloomRose waving and, beyond, dove-coloured skies;But where he lay was dark and, out of gloom,He saw them, through the doorway of a roomFull of strange scents and softness, padded deepWith growing leaves, heavy with last night’s sleep.

He woke, and all at once before his eyes

The pale spires of the chestnut-trees in bloom

Rose waving and, beyond, dove-coloured skies;

But where he lay was dark and, out of gloom,

He saw them, through the doorway of a room

Full of strange scents and softness, padded deep

With growing leaves, heavy with last night’s sleep.

He rubbed his eyes. He felt that chamber wreathingNew sleepiness around him. At his sideHe was aware of warmth and quiet breathing.Twice he sank back, loose limbed and drowsy eyed;But the wind came even there. A sparrow criedAnd the wood shone without. Then Dymer rose,—“Just for one glance,” he said, and went, tip-toes,

He rubbed his eyes. He felt that chamber wreathing

New sleepiness around him. At his side

He was aware of warmth and quiet breathing.

Twice he sank back, loose limbed and drowsy eyed;

But the wind came even there. A sparrow cried

And the wood shone without. Then Dymer rose,

—“Just for one glance,” he said, and went, tip-toes,

Out into crisp grey air and drenching grass.The whitened cobweb sparkling in its placeClung to his feet. He saw the wagtail passBeside him and the thrush: and from his faceFelt the thin-scented winds divinely chaseThe flush of sleep. Far off he saw, betweenThe trees, long morning shadows of dark green.

Out into crisp grey air and drenching grass.

The whitened cobweb sparkling in its place

Clung to his feet. He saw the wagtail pass

Beside him and the thrush: and from his face

Felt the thin-scented winds divinely chase

The flush of sleep. Far off he saw, between

The trees, long morning shadows of dark green.

He stretched his lazy arms to their full height,Yawning, and sighed and laughed, and sighed anew:Then wandered farther, watching with delightHow his broad naked footprints stained the dew,—Pressing his foot to feel the cold come throughBetween the spreading toes—then wheeling roundEach moment to some new, shrill forest sound.

He stretched his lazy arms to their full height,

Yawning, and sighed and laughed, and sighed anew:

Then wandered farther, watching with delight

How his broad naked footprints stained the dew,

—Pressing his foot to feel the cold come through

Between the spreading toes—then wheeling round

Each moment to some new, shrill forest sound.

The wood with its cold flowers had nothing thereMore beautiful than he, new waked from sleep,New born from joy. His soul lay very bareThat moment to life’s touch, and pondering deepNow first he knew that no desire could keepThese hours for always, and that men do die—But oh, the present glory of lungs and eye!

The wood with its cold flowers had nothing there

More beautiful than he, new waked from sleep,

New born from joy. His soul lay very bare

That moment to life’s touch, and pondering deep

Now first he knew that no desire could keep

These hours for always, and that men do die

—But oh, the present glory of lungs and eye!

He thought: “At home they are waking now. The stairIs filled with feet. The bells clang—far from me.Where am I now? I could not point to whereThe City lies from here,” ... then, suddenly,“If I were here alone, these woods could beA frightful place! But now I have met my friendWho loves me, we can talk to the road’s end.”

He thought: “At home they are waking now. The stair

Is filled with feet. The bells clang—far from me.

Where am I now? I could not point to where

The City lies from here,” ... then, suddenly,

“If I were here alone, these woods could be

A frightful place! But now I have met my friend

Who loves me, we can talk to the road’s end.”

Thus, quickening with the sweetness of the taleOf his new love, he turned. He saw, betweenThe young leaves where the palace walls showed paleWith chilly stone: but far above the green,Springing like cliffs in air, the towers were seen,Making more quiet yet the quiet dawn.Thither he came. He reached the open lawn.

Thus, quickening with the sweetness of the tale

Of his new love, he turned. He saw, between

The young leaves where the palace walls showed pale

With chilly stone: but far above the green,

Springing like cliffs in air, the towers were seen,

Making more quiet yet the quiet dawn.

Thither he came. He reached the open lawn.

No bird was moving here. Against the wallOut of the unscythed grass the nettle grew.The doors stood open wide, but no footfallRang in the colonnades. Whispering throughArches and hollow halls the light wind blew....His awe returned. He whistled—then, no more,It’s better to plunge in by the first door.

No bird was moving here. Against the wall

Out of the unscythed grass the nettle grew.

The doors stood open wide, but no footfall

Rang in the colonnades. Whispering through

Arches and hollow halls the light wind blew....

His awe returned. He whistled—then, no more,

It’s better to plunge in by the first door.

But then the vastness threw him into doubt.Was this the door that he had found last night?Or that, beneath the tower? Had he come outThis side at all? As the first snow falls lightWith following rain before the year grows white,So the first, dim foreboding touched his mind,Gently as yet, and easily thrust behind.

But then the vastness threw him into doubt.

Was this the door that he had found last night?

Or that, beneath the tower? Had he come out

This side at all? As the first snow falls light

With following rain before the year grows white,

So the first, dim foreboding touched his mind,

Gently as yet, and easily thrust behind.

And with it came the thought, “I do not knowHer name—no, nor her face.” But still his moodRan blithely as he felt the morning blowAbout him, and the earth-smell in the woodSeemed waking for long hours that must be goodHere, in the unfettered lands, that knew no causeFor grudging—out of reach of the old laws.

And with it came the thought, “I do not know

Her name—no, nor her face.” But still his mood

Ran blithely as he felt the morning blow

About him, and the earth-smell in the wood

Seemed waking for long hours that must be good

Here, in the unfettered lands, that knew no cause

For grudging—out of reach of the old laws.

He hastened to one entry. Up the stair,Beneath the pillared porch, without delay,He ran—then halted suddenly: for thereAcross the quiet threshold something lay,A bundle, a dark mass that barred the way.He looked again and lo, the formless pileUnder his eyes was moving all the while.

He hastened to one entry. Up the stair,

Beneath the pillared porch, without delay,

He ran—then halted suddenly: for there

Across the quiet threshold something lay,

A bundle, a dark mass that barred the way.

He looked again and lo, the formless pile

Under his eyes was moving all the while.

And it had hands, pale hands of wrinkled flesh,Puckered and gnarled with vast antiquity,That moved. He eyed the sprawling thing afresh,And bit by bit (so faces come to beIn the red coal) yet surely, he could seeThat the swathed hugeness was uncleanly human,A living thing, the likeness of a woman.

And it had hands, pale hands of wrinkled flesh,

Puckered and gnarled with vast antiquity,

That moved. He eyed the sprawling thing afresh,

And bit by bit (so faces come to be

In the red coal) yet surely, he could see

That the swathed hugeness was uncleanly human,

A living thing, the likeness of a woman.

In the centre a draped hummock marked the head;Thence flowed the broader lines with curve and foldSpreading as oak roots do. You would have saidA man could hide among them and grow oldIn finding a way out. Breasts manifoldAs of the Ephesian Artemis might beUnder that robe. The face he did not see.

In the centre a draped hummock marked the head;

Thence flowed the broader lines with curve and fold

Spreading as oak roots do. You would have said

A man could hide among them and grow old

In finding a way out. Breasts manifold

As of the Ephesian Artemis might be

Under that robe. The face he did not see.

And all his being answered, “Not that way!”Never a word he spoke. Stealthily creepingBack from the door he drew. Quick! No delay!Quick, quick, but very quiet!—backward peepingTill fairly out of sight. Then shouting, leaping,Shaking himself he ran—as puppies doFrom bathing—till that door was out of view.

And all his being answered, “Not that way!”

Never a word he spoke. Stealthily creeping

Back from the door he drew. Quick! No delay!

Quick, quick, but very quiet!—backward peeping

Till fairly out of sight. Then shouting, leaping,

Shaking himself he ran—as puppies do

From bathing—till that door was out of view.

Another gate—and empty. In he wentAnd found a courtyard open to the skyAmidst it dripped a fountain. Heavy scentOf flowers was here; the foxglove standing highSheltered the whining wasp. With hasty eyeHe travelled round the walls. One doorway ledWithin: one showed a further court ahead.

Another gate—and empty. In he went

And found a courtyard open to the sky

Amidst it dripped a fountain. Heavy scent

Of flowers was here; the foxglove standing high

Sheltered the whining wasp. With hasty eye

He travelled round the walls. One doorway led

Within: one showed a further court ahead.

He ran up to the first—a hungry lover,And not yet taught to endure, not blunted yet,But weary of long waiting to discoverThat loved one’s face. Before his foot was setOn the first stair, he felt the sudden sweat,Cold on his sides. That sprawling mass in view,That shape—the horror of heaviness—here too.

He ran up to the first—a hungry lover,

And not yet taught to endure, not blunted yet,

But weary of long waiting to discover

That loved one’s face. Before his foot was set

On the first stair, he felt the sudden sweat,

Cold on his sides. That sprawling mass in view,

That shape—the horror of heaviness—here too.

He fell back from the porch. Not yet—not yet—There must be other ways where he would meetNo watcher in the door. He would not letThe fear rise, nor hope falter, nor defeatBe entered in his thoughts. A sultry heatSeemed to have filled the day. His breath came short,And he passed on into that inner court.

He fell back from the porch. Not yet—not yet—

There must be other ways where he would meet

No watcher in the door. He would not let

The fear rise, nor hope falter, nor defeat

Be entered in his thoughts. A sultry heat

Seemed to have filled the day. His breath came short,

And he passed on into that inner court.

And (like a dream) the sight he feared to findWas waiting here. Then cloister, path and squareHe hastened through: down paths that needed blind,Traced and retraced his steps. The thing sat thereIn every door, still watching, everywhere,Behind, ahead, all round—So! Steady now,Lest panic comes. He stopped. He wiped his brow.

And (like a dream) the sight he feared to find

Was waiting here. Then cloister, path and square

He hastened through: down paths that needed blind,

Traced and retraced his steps. The thing sat there

In every door, still watching, everywhere,

Behind, ahead, all round—So! Steady now,

Lest panic comes. He stopped. He wiped his brow.

But, as he strove to rally, came the thoughtThat he had dreamed of such a place before—Knew how it all would end. He must be caughtEarly or late. No good! But all the moreHe raged with passionate will that overboreThat knowledge: and cried out, and beat his head,Raving, upon the senseless walls, and said,

But, as he strove to rally, came the thought

That he had dreamed of such a place before

—Knew how it all would end. He must be caught

Early or late. No good! But all the more

He raged with passionate will that overbore

That knowledge: and cried out, and beat his head,

Raving, upon the senseless walls, and said,

“Where? Where? Dear, look once out. Give but one sign.It’s I, I, Dymer. Are you chained and hidden?What have they done to her? Loose her! She is mine.Through stone and iron, haunted and hag-ridden,I’ll come to you—no stranger, nor unbidden,It’s I. Don’t fear them. Shout above them all.Can you not hear? I’ll follow at your call.”

“Where? Where? Dear, look once out. Give but one sign.

It’s I, I, Dymer. Are you chained and hidden?

What have they done to her? Loose her! She is mine.

Through stone and iron, haunted and hag-ridden,

I’ll come to you—no stranger, nor unbidden,

It’s I. Don’t fear them. Shout above them all.

Can you not hear? I’ll follow at your call.”

From every arch the echo of his cryReturned. Then all was silent, and he knewThere was no other way. He must pass byThat horror: tread her down, force his way through,Or die upon the threshold. And this tooHad all been in a dream. He felt his heartBeating as if his throat would burst apart.

From every arch the echo of his cry

Returned. Then all was silent, and he knew

There was no other way. He must pass by

That horror: tread her down, force his way through,

Or die upon the threshold. And this too

Had all been in a dream. He felt his heart

Beating as if his throat would burst apart.

There was no other way. He stood a spaceAnd pondered it. Then, gathering up his will,He went to the next door. The pillared placeBeneath the porch was dark. The air was still,Moss on the steps. He felt her presence fillThe threshold with dull life. Here too was she.This time he raised his eyes and dared to see.

There was no other way. He stood a space

And pondered it. Then, gathering up his will,

He went to the next door. The pillared place

Beneath the porch was dark. The air was still,

Moss on the steps. He felt her presence fill

The threshold with dull life. Here too was she.

This time he raised his eyes and dared to see.

Pah! Only an old woman!... but the size,The old, old matriarchal dreadfulness,Immoveable, intolerable ... the eyesHidden, the hidden head, the winding dressCorpselike.... The weight of the brute that seemed to pressUpon his heart and breathing. Then he heardHis own voice, strange and humbled, take the word.

Pah! Only an old woman!... but the size,

The old, old matriarchal dreadfulness,

Immoveable, intolerable ... the eyes

Hidden, the hidden head, the winding dress

Corpselike.... The weight of the brute that seemed to press

Upon his heart and breathing. Then he heard

His own voice, strange and humbled, take the word.

“Good Mother, let me pass. I have a friendTo look for in this house. I slept the nightAnd feasted here—it was my journey’s end,—I found it by the music and the light,And no one kept the doors, and I did rightTo enter—did I not? Now, Mother, pray,Let me pass in ... good Mother, give me way.”

“Good Mother, let me pass. I have a friend

To look for in this house. I slept the night

And feasted here—it was my journey’s end,

—I found it by the music and the light,

And no one kept the doors, and I did right

To enter—did I not? Now, Mother, pray,

Let me pass in ... good Mother, give me way.”

The woman answered nothing: but he sawThe hands, like crabs, still wandering on her knee.“Mother, if I have broken any law,I’ll ask a pardon once: then let it be,—Once is enough—and leave the passage free.I am in haste. And though it were a sinBy all the laws you have, I must go in.”

The woman answered nothing: but he saw

The hands, like crabs, still wandering on her knee.

“Mother, if I have broken any law,

I’ll ask a pardon once: then let it be,

—Once is enough—and leave the passage free.

I am in haste. And though it were a sin

By all the laws you have, I must go in.”

Courage was rising in him now. He said,“Out of my path, old woman. For this causeI am new born, new freed, and here new wed,That I might be the breaker of bad laws.The frost of old forbiddings breaks and thawsWherever my feet fall. I bring to birthUnder its crust the green, ungrudging earth.”

Courage was rising in him now. He said,

“Out of my path, old woman. For this cause

I am new born, new freed, and here new wed,

That I might be the breaker of bad laws.

The frost of old forbiddings breaks and thaws

Wherever my feet fall. I bring to birth

Under its crust the green, ungrudging earth.”

He had started, bowing low: but now he stoodStretched to his height. His own voice in his breastMade misery pompous, firing all his blood.“Enough,” he cried. “Give place. You shall not wrestMy love from me. I journey on a questYou cannot understand, whose strength shall bear meThrough fire and earth. A bogy will not scare me.

He had started, bowing low: but now he stood

Stretched to his height. His own voice in his breast

Made misery pompous, firing all his blood.

“Enough,” he cried. “Give place. You shall not wrest

My love from me. I journey on a quest

You cannot understand, whose strength shall bear me

Through fire and earth. A bogy will not scare me.

“I am the sword of spring; I am the truth.Old night put out your stars, the dawn is here,The sleeper’s wakening, and the wings of youth.With crumbling veneration and cowed fearI make no truce. My loved one, live and dear,Waits for me. Let me in! I fled the City,Shall I fear you or ... Mother, ah, for pity.”

“I am the sword of spring; I am the truth.

Old night put out your stars, the dawn is here,

The sleeper’s wakening, and the wings of youth.

With crumbling veneration and cowed fear

I make no truce. My loved one, live and dear,

Waits for me. Let me in! I fled the City,

Shall I fear you or ... Mother, ah, for pity.”

For his high mood fell shattered. Like a manUnnerved, in bayonet-fighting, in the thick,—Full of red rum and cheers when he began,Now, in a dream, muttering: “I’ve not the trick.It’s no good. I’m no good. They’re all too quick.There! Look there! Look at that!” So Dymer stood,Suddenly drained of hope. It was no good.

For his high mood fell shattered. Like a man

Unnerved, in bayonet-fighting, in the thick,

—Full of red rum and cheers when he began,

Now, in a dream, muttering: “I’ve not the trick.

It’s no good. I’m no good. They’re all too quick.

There! Look there! Look at that!” So Dymer stood,

Suddenly drained of hope. It was no good.

He pleaded then. Shame beneath shame. “Forgive.It may be there are powers I cannot break.If you are of them, speak. Speak. Let me live.I ask so small a thing. I beg. I makeMy body a living prayer whose force would shakeThe mountains. I’ll recant—confess my sin—But this once let me pass. I must go in.

He pleaded then. Shame beneath shame. “Forgive.

It may be there are powers I cannot break.

If you are of them, speak. Speak. Let me live.

I ask so small a thing. I beg. I make

My body a living prayer whose force would shake

The mountains. I’ll recant—confess my sin—

But this once let me pass. I must go in.

“Yield but one inch, once only from your lawSet any price—I will give all, obeyAll else but this, hold your least word in awe,Give you no cause for anger from this day.Answer! The least things living when they prayAs I pray now bear witness. They speak trueAgainst God. Answer! Mother, let me through.”

“Yield but one inch, once only from your law

Set any price—I will give all, obey

All else but this, hold your least word in awe,

Give you no cause for anger from this day.

Answer! The least things living when they pray

As I pray now bear witness. They speak true

Against God. Answer! Mother, let me through.”

Then when he heard no answer, mad with fearAnd with desire, too strained with both to knowWhat he desired or feared, yet staggering near,He forced himself towards her and bent lowFor grappling. Then came darkness. Then a blowFell on his heart, he thought. There came a blankOf all things. As the dead sink, down he sank.

Then when he heard no answer, mad with fear

And with desire, too strained with both to know

What he desired or feared, yet staggering near,

He forced himself towards her and bent low

For grappling. Then came darkness. Then a blow

Fell on his heart, he thought. There came a blank

Of all things. As the dead sink, down he sank.

The first big drops are rattling on the trees,The sky is copper dark, low thunder pealing.See Dymer with drooped head and knocking kneesComes from the porch. Then slowly, drunkly reeling,Blind, beaten, broken, past desire of healing,Past knowledge of his misery, he goes onUnder the first dark trees and now is gone.

The first big drops are rattling on the trees,

The sky is copper dark, low thunder pealing.

See Dymer with drooped head and knocking knees

Comes from the porch. Then slowly, drunkly reeling,

Blind, beaten, broken, past desire of healing,

Past knowledge of his misery, he goes on

Under the first dark trees and now is gone.

Back to Index Next