CANTO VIII

1When next he found himself no house was there,No garden and great trees. Beside a laneIn grass he lay. Now first he was awareThat, all one side, his body glowed with pain:And the next moment and the next againWas neither less nor more. Without a pauseIt clung like a great beast with fastened claws;2That for a time he could not frame a thoughtNor know himself for self, nor pain for pain,Till moment added on to moment taughtThe new, strange art of living on that plane,Taught how the grappled soul must still remain,Still choose and think and understand beneathThe very grinding of the ogre’s teeth.3He heard the wind along the hedges sweep,The quarter striking from a neighbouring tower.About him was the weight of the world’s sleep;Within, the thundering pain. That quiet hourHeeded it not. It throbbed, it raged with powerFit to convulse the heavens; and at his sideThe soft peace drenched the meadows far and wide.4The air was cold, the earth was cold with dew,The hedge behind him dark as ink. But nowThe clouds broke and a paler heaven showed throughSpacious with sudden stars, breathing somehowThe sense of change to slumbering lands. A cowCoughed in the fields behind. The puddles showedLike pools of sky amid the darker road.5And he could see his own limbs faintly whiteAnd the blood black upon them. Then by chanceHe turned ... and it was strange; there at his rightHe saw a woman standing, and her glanceMet his: and at the meeting his deep tranceChanged not, and while he looked the knowledge grewShe was not of the old life but the new.6“Who is it?” he said. “The loved one, the long lost.”He stared upon her. “Truly?”—“Truly indeed.”“Oh, lady, you come late. I am tempest-tossed,Broken and wrecked. I am dying. Look, I bleed.Why have you left me thus and given no heedTo all my prayers?—left me to be the gameOf all deceits?”—“You should have asked my name.”7—“What are you, then?” But to his sudden cryShe did not answer. When he had thought awhileHe said: “How can I tell it is no lie?It may be one more phantom to beguileThe brain-sick dreamer with its harlot smile.”“I have not smiled,” she said. The neighbouring bellTolled out another quarter. Silence fell.8And after a long pause he spoke again:“Leave me,” he said. “Why do you watch with me?You do not love me. Human tears and painAnd hoping for the things that cannot be,And blundering in the night where none can see,And courage with cold back against the wall,You do not understand.”—“I know them all.9“The gods themselves know pain, the eternal forms.In realms beyond the reach of cloud, and skiesNearest the ends of air, where come no stormsNor sound of earth, I have looked into their eyesPeaceful and filled with pain beyond surmise,Filled with an ancient woe man cannot reachOne moment though in fire; yet calm their speech.”10“Then these,” said Dymer, “were the world I wooed ...These were the holiness of flowers and grassAnd desolate dews ... these, the eternal moodBlowing the eternal theme through men that pass.I called myself their lover—I that wasLess fit for that long service than the leastDull, workday drudge of men or faithful beast.11“Why do they lure to them such spirits as mine,The weak, the passionate, and the fool of dreams?When better men go safe and never pineWith whisperings at the heart, soul-sickening gleamsOf infinite desire, and joy that seemsThe promise of full power? For it was they,The gods themselves that led me on this way.12“Give me the truth! I ask not now for pity.When gods call, can the following them be sin?Was it false light that lured me from the City?Where was the path—without it or within?Must it be one blind throw to lose or win?Has heaven no voice to help? Must things of dustGuess their own way in the dark?” She said, “They must.”13Another silence: then he cried in wrath,“You came in human shape, in sweet disguiseWooing me, lurking for me in my path,Hid your eternal cold with woman’s eyes,Snared me with shows of love—and all was lies.”She answered, “For our kind must come to allIf bidden, but in the shape for which they call.”14“What,” answered Dymer. “Do you change and swayTo serve us, as the obedient planets spinAbout the sun? Are you but potter’s clayFor us to mould—unholy to our sinAnd holy to the holiness within?”She said, “Waves fall on many an unclean shore,Yet the salt seas are holy as before.15“Our nature is no purer for the saintThat worships, nor from him that uses illOur beauty, can we suffer any taint.As from the first we were, so are we still:With incorruptibles the mortal willCorrupts itself, and clouded eyes will makeDarkness within from beams they cannot take.”16“Well ... it is well,” said Dymer. “If I have usedThe embreathing spirit amiss ... what would have beenThe strength of all my days I have refusedAnd plucked the stalk, too hasty, in the green,Trusted the good for best, and having seenHalf-beauty, or beauty’s fringe, the lowest stair,The common incantation, worshipped there.”17But presently he cried in his great pain,“If I had loved a beast it would repay,But I have loved the Spirit and loved in vain.Now let me die ... ah, but before the wayIs ended quite, in the last hour of day,Is there no word of comfort, no one kissOf human love? Does it all end in this?”18She answered, “Never ask of life and death.Uttering these names you dream of wormy clayOr of surviving ghosts. This withering breathOf words is the beginning of decayIn truth, when truth grows cold and pines awayAmong the ancestral images. Your eyesFirst see her dead: and more, the more she dies.19“You are still dreaming, dreams you shall forgetWhen you have cast your fetters, far from here.Go forth, the journey is not ended yet.You have seen Dymer dead and on the bierMore often than you dream and dropped no tear,You have slain him every hour. Think not at allOf death lest into death by thought you fall.”20He turned to question her, then looked again,And lo! the shape was gone. The darkness layHeavy as yet and a cold, shifting rainFell with the breeze that springs before the day.It was an hour death loves. Across the wayThe clock struck once again. He saw near byThe black shape of the tower against the sky.21Meanwhile above the torture and the riotOf leaping pulse and nerve that shot with pain,Somewhere aloof and poised in spectral quietHis soul was thinking on. The dizzied brainScarce seemed her organ: link by link the chainThat bound him to the flesh was loosening fastAnd the new life breathed in unmoved and vast.22“It was like this,” he thought. “Like this, or worseFor him that I found bleeding in the wood ...Blessings upon him ... there I learned the curseThat rests on Dymer’s name, and truth was good.He has forgotten now the fire and blood,He has forgotten that there was a manCalled Dymer. He knows not himself nor Bran.23“How long have I been moved at heart in vainAbout this Dymer, thinking this was I ...Why did I follow close his joy and painMore than another man’s? For he will die,The little cloud will vanish and the skyReigns as before. The stars remain and earthAnd Man, as in the years before my birth.24“There was a Dymer once who worked and playedAbout the City; I sloughed him off and ran.There was a Dymer in the forest gladeRanting alone, skulking the fates of man.I cast him also, and a third beganAnd he too died. But I am none of those.Is there another still to die.... Who knows?”25Then in his pain, half wondering what he did,He made to struggle towards that belfried place.And groaning down the sodden bank he slidAnd groaning in the lane he felt his traceOf bloodied mire: then halted with his faceUpwards, towards the gateway, breathing hard—An old lych-gate before a burial-yard.26He looked within. Between the huddling crosses,Over the slanted tombs and sunken slateSpread the deep quiet grass and humble mosses,A green and growing darkness, drenched of late,Smelling of earth and damp. He reached the gateWith failing hand. “I will rest here,” he said,“And the long grass will cool my burning head.”

When next he found himself no house was there,No garden and great trees. Beside a laneIn grass he lay. Now first he was awareThat, all one side, his body glowed with pain:And the next moment and the next againWas neither less nor more. Without a pauseIt clung like a great beast with fastened claws;

When next he found himself no house was there,

No garden and great trees. Beside a lane

In grass he lay. Now first he was aware

That, all one side, his body glowed with pain:

And the next moment and the next again

Was neither less nor more. Without a pause

It clung like a great beast with fastened claws;

That for a time he could not frame a thoughtNor know himself for self, nor pain for pain,Till moment added on to moment taughtThe new, strange art of living on that plane,Taught how the grappled soul must still remain,Still choose and think and understand beneathThe very grinding of the ogre’s teeth.

That for a time he could not frame a thought

Nor know himself for self, nor pain for pain,

Till moment added on to moment taught

The new, strange art of living on that plane,

Taught how the grappled soul must still remain,

Still choose and think and understand beneath

The very grinding of the ogre’s teeth.

He heard the wind along the hedges sweep,The quarter striking from a neighbouring tower.About him was the weight of the world’s sleep;Within, the thundering pain. That quiet hourHeeded it not. It throbbed, it raged with powerFit to convulse the heavens; and at his sideThe soft peace drenched the meadows far and wide.

He heard the wind along the hedges sweep,

The quarter striking from a neighbouring tower.

About him was the weight of the world’s sleep;

Within, the thundering pain. That quiet hour

Heeded it not. It throbbed, it raged with power

Fit to convulse the heavens; and at his side

The soft peace drenched the meadows far and wide.

The air was cold, the earth was cold with dew,The hedge behind him dark as ink. But nowThe clouds broke and a paler heaven showed throughSpacious with sudden stars, breathing somehowThe sense of change to slumbering lands. A cowCoughed in the fields behind. The puddles showedLike pools of sky amid the darker road.

The air was cold, the earth was cold with dew,

The hedge behind him dark as ink. But now

The clouds broke and a paler heaven showed through

Spacious with sudden stars, breathing somehow

The sense of change to slumbering lands. A cow

Coughed in the fields behind. The puddles showed

Like pools of sky amid the darker road.

And he could see his own limbs faintly whiteAnd the blood black upon them. Then by chanceHe turned ... and it was strange; there at his rightHe saw a woman standing, and her glanceMet his: and at the meeting his deep tranceChanged not, and while he looked the knowledge grewShe was not of the old life but the new.

And he could see his own limbs faintly white

And the blood black upon them. Then by chance

He turned ... and it was strange; there at his right

He saw a woman standing, and her glance

Met his: and at the meeting his deep trance

Changed not, and while he looked the knowledge grew

She was not of the old life but the new.

“Who is it?” he said. “The loved one, the long lost.”He stared upon her. “Truly?”—“Truly indeed.”“Oh, lady, you come late. I am tempest-tossed,Broken and wrecked. I am dying. Look, I bleed.Why have you left me thus and given no heedTo all my prayers?—left me to be the gameOf all deceits?”—“You should have asked my name.”

“Who is it?” he said. “The loved one, the long lost.”

He stared upon her. “Truly?”—“Truly indeed.”

“Oh, lady, you come late. I am tempest-tossed,

Broken and wrecked. I am dying. Look, I bleed.

Why have you left me thus and given no heed

To all my prayers?—left me to be the game

Of all deceits?”—“You should have asked my name.”

—“What are you, then?” But to his sudden cryShe did not answer. When he had thought awhileHe said: “How can I tell it is no lie?It may be one more phantom to beguileThe brain-sick dreamer with its harlot smile.”“I have not smiled,” she said. The neighbouring bellTolled out another quarter. Silence fell.

—“What are you, then?” But to his sudden cry

She did not answer. When he had thought awhile

He said: “How can I tell it is no lie?

It may be one more phantom to beguile

The brain-sick dreamer with its harlot smile.”

“I have not smiled,” she said. The neighbouring bell

Tolled out another quarter. Silence fell.

And after a long pause he spoke again:“Leave me,” he said. “Why do you watch with me?You do not love me. Human tears and painAnd hoping for the things that cannot be,And blundering in the night where none can see,And courage with cold back against the wall,You do not understand.”—“I know them all.

And after a long pause he spoke again:

“Leave me,” he said. “Why do you watch with me?

You do not love me. Human tears and pain

And hoping for the things that cannot be,

And blundering in the night where none can see,

And courage with cold back against the wall,

You do not understand.”—“I know them all.

“The gods themselves know pain, the eternal forms.In realms beyond the reach of cloud, and skiesNearest the ends of air, where come no stormsNor sound of earth, I have looked into their eyesPeaceful and filled with pain beyond surmise,Filled with an ancient woe man cannot reachOne moment though in fire; yet calm their speech.”

“The gods themselves know pain, the eternal forms.

In realms beyond the reach of cloud, and skies

Nearest the ends of air, where come no storms

Nor sound of earth, I have looked into their eyes

Peaceful and filled with pain beyond surmise,

Filled with an ancient woe man cannot reach

One moment though in fire; yet calm their speech.”

“Then these,” said Dymer, “were the world I wooed ...These were the holiness of flowers and grassAnd desolate dews ... these, the eternal moodBlowing the eternal theme through men that pass.I called myself their lover—I that wasLess fit for that long service than the leastDull, workday drudge of men or faithful beast.

“Then these,” said Dymer, “were the world I wooed ...

These were the holiness of flowers and grass

And desolate dews ... these, the eternal mood

Blowing the eternal theme through men that pass.

I called myself their lover—I that was

Less fit for that long service than the least

Dull, workday drudge of men or faithful beast.

“Why do they lure to them such spirits as mine,The weak, the passionate, and the fool of dreams?When better men go safe and never pineWith whisperings at the heart, soul-sickening gleamsOf infinite desire, and joy that seemsThe promise of full power? For it was they,The gods themselves that led me on this way.

“Why do they lure to them such spirits as mine,

The weak, the passionate, and the fool of dreams?

When better men go safe and never pine

With whisperings at the heart, soul-sickening gleams

Of infinite desire, and joy that seems

The promise of full power? For it was they,

The gods themselves that led me on this way.

“Give me the truth! I ask not now for pity.When gods call, can the following them be sin?Was it false light that lured me from the City?Where was the path—without it or within?Must it be one blind throw to lose or win?Has heaven no voice to help? Must things of dustGuess their own way in the dark?” She said, “They must.”

“Give me the truth! I ask not now for pity.

When gods call, can the following them be sin?

Was it false light that lured me from the City?

Where was the path—without it or within?

Must it be one blind throw to lose or win?

Has heaven no voice to help? Must things of dust

Guess their own way in the dark?” She said, “They must.”

Another silence: then he cried in wrath,“You came in human shape, in sweet disguiseWooing me, lurking for me in my path,Hid your eternal cold with woman’s eyes,Snared me with shows of love—and all was lies.”She answered, “For our kind must come to allIf bidden, but in the shape for which they call.”

Another silence: then he cried in wrath,

“You came in human shape, in sweet disguise

Wooing me, lurking for me in my path,

Hid your eternal cold with woman’s eyes,

Snared me with shows of love—and all was lies.”

She answered, “For our kind must come to all

If bidden, but in the shape for which they call.”

“What,” answered Dymer. “Do you change and swayTo serve us, as the obedient planets spinAbout the sun? Are you but potter’s clayFor us to mould—unholy to our sinAnd holy to the holiness within?”She said, “Waves fall on many an unclean shore,Yet the salt seas are holy as before.

“What,” answered Dymer. “Do you change and sway

To serve us, as the obedient planets spin

About the sun? Are you but potter’s clay

For us to mould—unholy to our sin

And holy to the holiness within?”

She said, “Waves fall on many an unclean shore,

Yet the salt seas are holy as before.

“Our nature is no purer for the saintThat worships, nor from him that uses illOur beauty, can we suffer any taint.As from the first we were, so are we still:With incorruptibles the mortal willCorrupts itself, and clouded eyes will makeDarkness within from beams they cannot take.”

“Our nature is no purer for the saint

That worships, nor from him that uses ill

Our beauty, can we suffer any taint.

As from the first we were, so are we still:

With incorruptibles the mortal will

Corrupts itself, and clouded eyes will make

Darkness within from beams they cannot take.”

“Well ... it is well,” said Dymer. “If I have usedThe embreathing spirit amiss ... what would have beenThe strength of all my days I have refusedAnd plucked the stalk, too hasty, in the green,Trusted the good for best, and having seenHalf-beauty, or beauty’s fringe, the lowest stair,The common incantation, worshipped there.”

“Well ... it is well,” said Dymer. “If I have used

The embreathing spirit amiss ... what would have been

The strength of all my days I have refused

And plucked the stalk, too hasty, in the green,

Trusted the good for best, and having seen

Half-beauty, or beauty’s fringe, the lowest stair,

The common incantation, worshipped there.”

But presently he cried in his great pain,“If I had loved a beast it would repay,But I have loved the Spirit and loved in vain.Now let me die ... ah, but before the wayIs ended quite, in the last hour of day,Is there no word of comfort, no one kissOf human love? Does it all end in this?”

But presently he cried in his great pain,

“If I had loved a beast it would repay,

But I have loved the Spirit and loved in vain.

Now let me die ... ah, but before the way

Is ended quite, in the last hour of day,

Is there no word of comfort, no one kiss

Of human love? Does it all end in this?”

She answered, “Never ask of life and death.Uttering these names you dream of wormy clayOr of surviving ghosts. This withering breathOf words is the beginning of decayIn truth, when truth grows cold and pines awayAmong the ancestral images. Your eyesFirst see her dead: and more, the more she dies.

She answered, “Never ask of life and death.

Uttering these names you dream of wormy clay

Or of surviving ghosts. This withering breath

Of words is the beginning of decay

In truth, when truth grows cold and pines away

Among the ancestral images. Your eyes

First see her dead: and more, the more she dies.

“You are still dreaming, dreams you shall forgetWhen you have cast your fetters, far from here.Go forth, the journey is not ended yet.You have seen Dymer dead and on the bierMore often than you dream and dropped no tear,You have slain him every hour. Think not at allOf death lest into death by thought you fall.”

“You are still dreaming, dreams you shall forget

When you have cast your fetters, far from here.

Go forth, the journey is not ended yet.

You have seen Dymer dead and on the bier

More often than you dream and dropped no tear,

You have slain him every hour. Think not at all

Of death lest into death by thought you fall.”

He turned to question her, then looked again,And lo! the shape was gone. The darkness layHeavy as yet and a cold, shifting rainFell with the breeze that springs before the day.It was an hour death loves. Across the wayThe clock struck once again. He saw near byThe black shape of the tower against the sky.

He turned to question her, then looked again,

And lo! the shape was gone. The darkness lay

Heavy as yet and a cold, shifting rain

Fell with the breeze that springs before the day.

It was an hour death loves. Across the way

The clock struck once again. He saw near by

The black shape of the tower against the sky.

Meanwhile above the torture and the riotOf leaping pulse and nerve that shot with pain,Somewhere aloof and poised in spectral quietHis soul was thinking on. The dizzied brainScarce seemed her organ: link by link the chainThat bound him to the flesh was loosening fastAnd the new life breathed in unmoved and vast.

Meanwhile above the torture and the riot

Of leaping pulse and nerve that shot with pain,

Somewhere aloof and poised in spectral quiet

His soul was thinking on. The dizzied brain

Scarce seemed her organ: link by link the chain

That bound him to the flesh was loosening fast

And the new life breathed in unmoved and vast.

“It was like this,” he thought. “Like this, or worseFor him that I found bleeding in the wood ...Blessings upon him ... there I learned the curseThat rests on Dymer’s name, and truth was good.He has forgotten now the fire and blood,He has forgotten that there was a manCalled Dymer. He knows not himself nor Bran.

“It was like this,” he thought. “Like this, or worse

For him that I found bleeding in the wood ...

Blessings upon him ... there I learned the curse

That rests on Dymer’s name, and truth was good.

He has forgotten now the fire and blood,

He has forgotten that there was a man

Called Dymer. He knows not himself nor Bran.

“How long have I been moved at heart in vainAbout this Dymer, thinking this was I ...Why did I follow close his joy and painMore than another man’s? For he will die,The little cloud will vanish and the skyReigns as before. The stars remain and earthAnd Man, as in the years before my birth.

“How long have I been moved at heart in vain

About this Dymer, thinking this was I ...

Why did I follow close his joy and pain

More than another man’s? For he will die,

The little cloud will vanish and the sky

Reigns as before. The stars remain and earth

And Man, as in the years before my birth.

“There was a Dymer once who worked and playedAbout the City; I sloughed him off and ran.There was a Dymer in the forest gladeRanting alone, skulking the fates of man.I cast him also, and a third beganAnd he too died. But I am none of those.Is there another still to die.... Who knows?”

“There was a Dymer once who worked and played

About the City; I sloughed him off and ran.

There was a Dymer in the forest glade

Ranting alone, skulking the fates of man.

I cast him also, and a third began

And he too died. But I am none of those.

Is there another still to die.... Who knows?”

Then in his pain, half wondering what he did,He made to struggle towards that belfried place.And groaning down the sodden bank he slidAnd groaning in the lane he felt his traceOf bloodied mire: then halted with his faceUpwards, towards the gateway, breathing hard—An old lych-gate before a burial-yard.

Then in his pain, half wondering what he did,

He made to struggle towards that belfried place.

And groaning down the sodden bank he slid

And groaning in the lane he felt his trace

Of bloodied mire: then halted with his face

Upwards, towards the gateway, breathing hard

—An old lych-gate before a burial-yard.

He looked within. Between the huddling crosses,Over the slanted tombs and sunken slateSpread the deep quiet grass and humble mosses,A green and growing darkness, drenched of late,Smelling of earth and damp. He reached the gateWith failing hand. “I will rest here,” he said,“And the long grass will cool my burning head.”

He looked within. Between the huddling crosses,

Over the slanted tombs and sunken slate

Spread the deep quiet grass and humble mosses,

A green and growing darkness, drenched of late,

Smelling of earth and damp. He reached the gate

With failing hand. “I will rest here,” he said,

“And the long grass will cool my burning head.”

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