BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON

Said the chief of the marriage feast to the groom,Whence is this blood of the vine?Men serve at first the best, he said,And at the last, poor wine.Said the chief of the marriage feast to the groom,When the guests have drunk their fillThey drink whatever wine you serve,Nor know the good from the ill.How have you kept the good till nowWhen our hearts nor care nor see?Said the chief of the marriage feast to the groom,Whence may this good wine be?Said the chief of the marriage feast, this wineIs the best of all by far.Said the groom, there stand six jars withoutAnd the wine fills up each jar.Said the chief of the marriage feast, we lackedWine for the wedding feast.How comes it now one jar of wineTo six jars is increased?Who makes our cup to overflow?And who has the wedding blest?Said the groom to the chief of the feast, a strangerIs here as a wedding guest.Said the groom to the chief of the wedding feast,Moses by power divineSmote water at Meribah from the rock,But this man makes us wine.Said the groom to the chief of the wedding feast,Elisha by power divineMade oil for the widow to sell for bread,But this man, wedding wine.He changed the use of the jars, he said,From an outward rite and sign:Where water stood for the washing of feet,For heart's delight there's wine.So then 'tis he, said the chief of the feast,Who the wedding feast has blest?Said the groom to the chief of the feast, the strangerIs the merriest wedding guest.He laughs and jests with the wedding guests,He drinks with the happy bride.Said the chief of the wedding feast to the groom,Go bring him to my side.Jesus of Nazareth came up,And his body was fair and slim.Jesus of Nazareth came up,And his mother came with him.Jesus of Nazareth stands with the dancersAnd his mother by him stands.The bride kneels down to Jesus of NazarethAnd kisses his rosy hands.The bridegroom kneels to Jesus of NazarethAnd Jesus blesses the twain.I go a way, said Jesus of Nazareth,Of darkness, sorrow and pain.After the wedding feast is labor,Suffering, sickness, death,And so I make you wine for the wedding,Said Jesus of Nazareth.My heart is with you, said Jesus of Nazareth,As the grape is one with the vine.Your bliss is mine, said Jesus of Nazareth,And so I make you wine.Youth and love I bless, said Jesus,Song and the cup that cheers.The rosy hands of Jesus of NazarethAre wet with the young bride's tears.Love one another, said Jesus of Nazareth,Ere cometh the evil of years.The rosy hands of Jesus of NazarethAre wet with the bridegroom's tears.Jesus of Nazareth goes with his mother,The dancers are dancing again.There's a woman who pauses without to listen,'Tis Mary Magdalen.Forth to the street a Scribe from the weddingGoes with a Sadducee.Said the Scribe, this shows how loose a fellowCan come out of Galilee!

Said the chief of the marriage feast to the groom,Whence is this blood of the vine?Men serve at first the best, he said,And at the last, poor wine.

Said the chief of the marriage feast to the groom,

Whence is this blood of the vine?

Men serve at first the best, he said,

And at the last, poor wine.

Said the chief of the marriage feast to the groom,When the guests have drunk their fillThey drink whatever wine you serve,Nor know the good from the ill.

Said the chief of the marriage feast to the groom,

When the guests have drunk their fill

They drink whatever wine you serve,

Nor know the good from the ill.

How have you kept the good till nowWhen our hearts nor care nor see?Said the chief of the marriage feast to the groom,Whence may this good wine be?

How have you kept the good till now

When our hearts nor care nor see?

Said the chief of the marriage feast to the groom,

Whence may this good wine be?

Said the chief of the marriage feast, this wineIs the best of all by far.Said the groom, there stand six jars withoutAnd the wine fills up each jar.

Said the chief of the marriage feast, this wine

Is the best of all by far.

Said the groom, there stand six jars without

And the wine fills up each jar.

Said the chief of the marriage feast, we lackedWine for the wedding feast.How comes it now one jar of wineTo six jars is increased?

Said the chief of the marriage feast, we lacked

Wine for the wedding feast.

How comes it now one jar of wine

To six jars is increased?

Who makes our cup to overflow?And who has the wedding blest?Said the groom to the chief of the feast, a strangerIs here as a wedding guest.

Who makes our cup to overflow?

And who has the wedding blest?

Said the groom to the chief of the feast, a stranger

Is here as a wedding guest.

Said the groom to the chief of the wedding feast,Moses by power divineSmote water at Meribah from the rock,But this man makes us wine.

Said the groom to the chief of the wedding feast,

Moses by power divine

Smote water at Meribah from the rock,

But this man makes us wine.

Said the groom to the chief of the wedding feast,Elisha by power divineMade oil for the widow to sell for bread,But this man, wedding wine.

Said the groom to the chief of the wedding feast,

Elisha by power divine

Made oil for the widow to sell for bread,

But this man, wedding wine.

He changed the use of the jars, he said,From an outward rite and sign:Where water stood for the washing of feet,For heart's delight there's wine.

He changed the use of the jars, he said,

From an outward rite and sign:

Where water stood for the washing of feet,

For heart's delight there's wine.

So then 'tis he, said the chief of the feast,Who the wedding feast has blest?Said the groom to the chief of the feast, the strangerIs the merriest wedding guest.

So then 'tis he, said the chief of the feast,

Who the wedding feast has blest?

Said the groom to the chief of the feast, the stranger

Is the merriest wedding guest.

He laughs and jests with the wedding guests,He drinks with the happy bride.Said the chief of the wedding feast to the groom,Go bring him to my side.

He laughs and jests with the wedding guests,

He drinks with the happy bride.

Said the chief of the wedding feast to the groom,

Go bring him to my side.

Jesus of Nazareth came up,And his body was fair and slim.Jesus of Nazareth came up,And his mother came with him.

Jesus of Nazareth came up,

And his body was fair and slim.

Jesus of Nazareth came up,

And his mother came with him.

Jesus of Nazareth stands with the dancersAnd his mother by him stands.The bride kneels down to Jesus of NazarethAnd kisses his rosy hands.

Jesus of Nazareth stands with the dancers

And his mother by him stands.

The bride kneels down to Jesus of Nazareth

And kisses his rosy hands.

The bridegroom kneels to Jesus of NazarethAnd Jesus blesses the twain.I go a way, said Jesus of Nazareth,Of darkness, sorrow and pain.

The bridegroom kneels to Jesus of Nazareth

And Jesus blesses the twain.

I go a way, said Jesus of Nazareth,

Of darkness, sorrow and pain.

After the wedding feast is labor,Suffering, sickness, death,And so I make you wine for the wedding,Said Jesus of Nazareth.

After the wedding feast is labor,

Suffering, sickness, death,

And so I make you wine for the wedding,

Said Jesus of Nazareth.

My heart is with you, said Jesus of Nazareth,As the grape is one with the vine.Your bliss is mine, said Jesus of Nazareth,And so I make you wine.

My heart is with you, said Jesus of Nazareth,

As the grape is one with the vine.

Your bliss is mine, said Jesus of Nazareth,

And so I make you wine.

Youth and love I bless, said Jesus,Song and the cup that cheers.The rosy hands of Jesus of NazarethAre wet with the young bride's tears.

Youth and love I bless, said Jesus,

Song and the cup that cheers.

The rosy hands of Jesus of Nazareth

Are wet with the young bride's tears.

Love one another, said Jesus of Nazareth,Ere cometh the evil of years.The rosy hands of Jesus of NazarethAre wet with the bridegroom's tears.

Love one another, said Jesus of Nazareth,

Ere cometh the evil of years.

The rosy hands of Jesus of Nazareth

Are wet with the bridegroom's tears.

Jesus of Nazareth goes with his mother,The dancers are dancing again.There's a woman who pauses without to listen,'Tis Mary Magdalen.

Jesus of Nazareth goes with his mother,

The dancers are dancing again.

There's a woman who pauses without to listen,

'Tis Mary Magdalen.

Forth to the street a Scribe from the weddingGoes with a Sadducee.Said the Scribe, this shows how loose a fellowCan come out of Galilee!

Forth to the street a Scribe from the wedding

Goes with a Sadducee.

Said the Scribe, this shows how loose a fellow

Can come out of Galilee!

By the waters of Babylon by the sea,On the sand where the waters died,The sea wind and the tideDrowned the words you spoke to me.The sea fell at our feet. The sandHushed the whispering waters, nearThe babble of boats by the pierWas the ictus to the roar on the strand.By the waters of Babylon a grief to be,The waiting ships in the bay,Awed the words we would sayAgainst the sound of the sea:For France was below the waters, and the westBehind me where the rainsCome in November on the window panes,And the blast shakes the ruined nestUnder the dripping eaves. What then remainsBut memory of the waters of Babylon,And the ships like swan after swan,Under the drone of angry hydroplanes?By the waters of Babylon we did not weep,Though love comes and is gone,As the wind is, as waters drawnIn spray from the deep.Neither for things foreseen and ominous,For newer hands that somewhere waitTo thrill afresh, the reblossomed fateDid we surrender dolorous....Change now is yours beyond the waters, nightsOf waiting and of doubt have dimmed desire.Our hands are calm before the dying fireOf lost delights.Babylon by the sea knows us no more.Between the surge's hushesWhen on the sand the water rushesThere is no voice of ours upon the shore.

By the waters of Babylon by the sea,On the sand where the waters died,The sea wind and the tideDrowned the words you spoke to me.

By the waters of Babylon by the sea,

On the sand where the waters died,

The sea wind and the tide

Drowned the words you spoke to me.

The sea fell at our feet. The sandHushed the whispering waters, nearThe babble of boats by the pierWas the ictus to the roar on the strand.

The sea fell at our feet. The sand

Hushed the whispering waters, near

The babble of boats by the pier

Was the ictus to the roar on the strand.

By the waters of Babylon a grief to be,The waiting ships in the bay,Awed the words we would sayAgainst the sound of the sea:

By the waters of Babylon a grief to be,

The waiting ships in the bay,

Awed the words we would say

Against the sound of the sea:

For France was below the waters, and the westBehind me where the rainsCome in November on the window panes,And the blast shakes the ruined nest

For France was below the waters, and the west

Behind me where the rains

Come in November on the window panes,

And the blast shakes the ruined nest

Under the dripping eaves. What then remainsBut memory of the waters of Babylon,And the ships like swan after swan,Under the drone of angry hydroplanes?

Under the dripping eaves. What then remains

But memory of the waters of Babylon,

And the ships like swan after swan,

Under the drone of angry hydroplanes?

By the waters of Babylon we did not weep,Though love comes and is gone,As the wind is, as waters drawnIn spray from the deep.

By the waters of Babylon we did not weep,

Though love comes and is gone,

As the wind is, as waters drawn

In spray from the deep.

Neither for things foreseen and ominous,For newer hands that somewhere waitTo thrill afresh, the reblossomed fateDid we surrender dolorous....

Neither for things foreseen and ominous,

For newer hands that somewhere wait

To thrill afresh, the reblossomed fate

Did we surrender dolorous....

Change now is yours beyond the waters, nightsOf waiting and of doubt have dimmed desire.Our hands are calm before the dying fireOf lost delights.

Change now is yours beyond the waters, nights

Of waiting and of doubt have dimmed desire.

Our hands are calm before the dying fire

Of lost delights.

Babylon by the sea knows us no more.Between the surge's hushesWhen on the sand the water rushesThere is no voice of ours upon the shore.

Babylon by the sea knows us no more.

Between the surge's hushes

When on the sand the water rushes

There is no voice of ours upon the shore.

O Earth that walls these prison bars—O StonesWhich shut my body in—could I be freeIf these fell and the grated door which groansFor every back scourged hither oped for me?Freedom were what to travel you, O Earth,When my heart makes its daily agony?And longing such as mine cannot ungirthIts bands and its mortality o'erleap.Our life is love unsatisfied from birth,Our life is longing waking or asleep,And mine has been a vigil of quick pain.O Leonora, thus it is I keepGrief in my heart and weariness of brain.How did I know these chains and bars are wroughtOf frailer stuff than space, that I could gainIn earth no respite, but a vision broughtThe truth, O Leonora? It was this:I dreamed this hopeless love, so long distraughtWas never caged, but from the first was bliss,And moved like music from the meeting hourTo the rapt moment of the earliest kissBestowed upon your hands, to gathering flowerOf lips so purely yielded, the embraceTender as dawn in April when a showerQuenches with gentleness each flowering place;So were your tears of gladness—so my handsWhich stroked your golden hair, your sunny face,Even as flying clouds o'er mountain landsCaress with fleeting love the morning sun.Now I was with you, and by your commands.Your love was mine at last completely won,And waited but the blossom. How you sang,Laughed, ran about your palace rooms and noneClosed doors against me, desks and closets sprangTo my touch open, all your secrets layRevealed to me in gladness—and this pangWhich I had borne in bitterness day by dayWas gone, nor could I bring it back, or thinkHow it had been, or why—this heart so gayIn sudden sunshine could no longer linkItself with what it was.Look! Every roomHad blooms your hands had gathered white and pink,And drained from precious vases their perfume.And fruits were heaped for me in golden bowls,And tapestries from many an Asian loomWere hung for me, and our united soulsShone over treasure books—how glad you wereTo listen to my epic, from the scrollsOf Jerusalem, the holy sepulcher.Still as a shaft of light you sat and heardWith veilèd eyes which tears could scarcely blur,But flowed upon your cheek with every word.And your hand reached for mine—you did not speak,But let your silence tell how you were stirredBy love for me and wonder! What to seekIn earth and heaven more? Heaven at lastWas mine on earth, and for a sacred weekThis heaven all of heaven.So it passedThis week with you—you served me ancient wine.We sat across a table where you castA cloth of chikku, or we went to dineThere in the stately room of heavy plate.Or tiring of the rooms, the day's declineBeheld us by the river to awaitThe evening planet, where in elfin moodYou whistled like the robin to its mate,And won its answering call. Then through the woodWe wandered back in silence hand in hand,And reached the sacred portal with our bloodRunning so swift no ripples stirred the sandTo figures of reflection.Once againWithin your room of books, upon the standThe reading lights are brought to us, and thenYou read to me from Plato, and my heartBreathes like a bird at rest; the world of men,Strife, hate, are all forgotten in this artOf life made perfect. Or when wearinessComes over us, you dim the lamp and startThe blue light back of Dante's bust to blessOur twilight with its beauty.So the timePasses too quickly—our poor souls possessBeauty and love a moment—and our rhymeWhich captures it, creates the illusion loveHas permanence, when even at its primeDecay has taken it from the light above,Or darkness underneath.I must recurTo our first sleep and all the bliss thereof.How did you first come to me, how conferOn me your beauty? That first night it wasThe blue light back of Dante, but a blurOf golden light our spirits, when you passYour hand across my brow, our souls go outTo meet each other, leave as wilted grassOur emptied bodies. Then we grow devout,And kneel and pray together for the giftOf love from heaven, and to banish doubtOf change or faithlessness. Then with a swiftArising from the prayer you disappear.I sleep meanwhile, you come again and liftMy head against your bosom, bringing nearA purple robe for me, and say, "Wear this,And to your chamber go." And thus I hear,And leave you; on my couch, where calm for blissI wait for you and listen, hear your feetWhisper their secret to the tapestriesOf your ecstatic coming—O my sweet!I touched your silken gown, where underneathYour glowing flesh was dreaming, made completeMy rapture by upgathering, quick of breath,Your golden ringlets loosened—and at lastHold you in love's embrace—would it were Death!...For soon 'twixt love and sleep the night was past,And dawn cob-webbed the chamber. Then I heardOne faintest note and all was still—the vastSpherule of heaven was pecked at by a birdAs it were to break the sky's shell, let the lightOf morning flood the fragments scattered, stirredBy breezes of the dawn with passing night.We woke together, heard together, thrilledWith speechless rapture! Were your spirit's plightAs mine is with this vision, had I willedTo torture you with absence? Would I saveYour spirit if its anguish could be stilledOnly among the worms that haunt the grave?My dream goes on a little: Day by day,These seven days we lived together, gaveOur spirits to each other. With dismayYou watched my hour's departure. On you creptLight shadows after moments sunny, gay.But when the hour was come, you sat and wept,And said to me: "I hear the rattling clodsUpon the coffin of our love." You steppedAnd stood beside the casement, said "A god'sSarcophagus this room will be as soonAs you have gone, and mine shall be the rod'sBitterness of memory both night and noonAmid the silence of this palace." SoI spoke and said, "If you would have the boon—O Leonora, do I live to knowThis hope too passionate made consummate?—Yet if it be I shall return, nor goBut to return to you, and make our fateBound fast for life." How happy was your smile,Your laughter soon,—and then from door to gateI passed and left you, to be gone awhileAround Ferrara.In three days, it seemed,I came again, and as I walked each mileCounting to self—my feet lagged as I dreamed—And said ten miles, nine miles, eight miles, at lastOne mile, so many furlongs, then I dreamedYour reading lamps were lighted for me, castTheir yellow beams upon the mid-night air.But oh my heart which stopped and stood aghastTo see the lamp go out and note the glareOf blue light set behind the Dante mask!Who wore my robe of purple false and fair?Who drank your precious vintage from the flaskRoman and golden whence I drank so late?Who held you in his arms and thus could ask?Receive your love? Mother of God! What fateWas mine beneath the darkness of that sky,There at your door who could not leave or wait,And heard the bird of midnight's desolate cry?And saw at last the blue light quenched, and sawA taper lighted in my chamber—whyThis treachery, Leonora? Why withdrawThe love you gave, or eviler, lead me here,O sorceress, before whom heaven's lawBreaks and is impotent—whose eyes no tearOf penitence shall know, whose spirit faresFree, without consequence, as a child could searIts fellow's hands with flame, or unawares,Or with premeditation, and then laugh and turnUpon its play. For you, light heart, no snaresOr traps of conscience wait, who thus could spurnA love invited.Thus about your lawnI listened till the stars had ceased to burn,But when I saw the imminence of the dawnAnd heard our bird cry, I could stand no more,My heart broke and I fled and wandered onDown through the valley by the river's shore.For when the bird cried, did you wake with him?Did you two gaze as we had gazed beforeUpon that blissful morning? I was dimOf thought and spirit, by the river layWatching the swallows over the water skim,And plucking leaves from weeds to turn or stayThe madness of my life's futility,Grown blank as that terrific dawn—till dayFlooded upon me, noon came, what should be?Where should I go? What prison chains could restSo heavily on the spirit, as that free,But vast and ruined world?O arrowed breastOf me, your Tasso! And you came and drewThe arrows out which kept the blood repressed,And let my wounds the freer bleed: 'Twas youBy afternoon who walked upon an armMore lordly than mine is. You stopped nor knew,I saw him take your body lithe and warmClose to his breast, yes, even where we had stoodUpon our day, embraced—feed on the charmOf widened eyes and swiftly coursing blood.I watched you walk away and disappearIn the deep verdure of the river wood,Too faint to rise and fly, crushed by the fearOf madness, sudden death!This was my dream,From which I woke and saw again the sheerWalls of my prison, which no longer seemThe agony they did, even though the cellIs the hard penalty and the cursed extremeHate in return for love. But oh you hell,You boundless earth to wander in and brood—Great prison house of grief in which to dwell,Remembering love forgotten, pride subdued,And love desired and found and lost again.That is the prison which no fortitudeCan suffer, and the never dying painFrom which the spacious luring of the earthTempts flight for spirit freedom, but in vain!Ah Leonora! Even from our birthWe build our prisons! What are walls like theseBeside the walls of memory, or the dearthOf hope in all this life, the agoniesOf spiritual chains and gloom? I suffer less,Imprisoned thus, than if the memoriesOf love bestowed and love betrayed should pressRound my unresting steps. And I send upTo heaven thanks that spared that bitterness,That garden of the soul's reluctant cup!

O Earth that walls these prison bars—O Stones

Which shut my body in—could I be free

If these fell and the grated door which groans

For every back scourged hither oped for me?

Freedom were what to travel you, O Earth,

When my heart makes its daily agony?

And longing such as mine cannot ungirth

Its bands and its mortality o'erleap.

Our life is love unsatisfied from birth,

Our life is longing waking or asleep,

And mine has been a vigil of quick pain.

O Leonora, thus it is I keep

Grief in my heart and weariness of brain.

How did I know these chains and bars are wroughtOf frailer stuff than space, that I could gainIn earth no respite, but a vision broughtThe truth, O Leonora? It was this:I dreamed this hopeless love, so long distraughtWas never caged, but from the first was bliss,And moved like music from the meeting hourTo the rapt moment of the earliest kissBestowed upon your hands, to gathering flowerOf lips so purely yielded, the embraceTender as dawn in April when a showerQuenches with gentleness each flowering place;So were your tears of gladness—so my handsWhich stroked your golden hair, your sunny face,Even as flying clouds o'er mountain landsCaress with fleeting love the morning sun.

How did I know these chains and bars are wrought

Of frailer stuff than space, that I could gain

In earth no respite, but a vision brought

The truth, O Leonora? It was this:

I dreamed this hopeless love, so long distraught

Was never caged, but from the first was bliss,

And moved like music from the meeting hour

To the rapt moment of the earliest kiss

Bestowed upon your hands, to gathering flower

Of lips so purely yielded, the embrace

Tender as dawn in April when a shower

Quenches with gentleness each flowering place;

So were your tears of gladness—so my hands

Which stroked your golden hair, your sunny face,

Even as flying clouds o'er mountain lands

Caress with fleeting love the morning sun.

Now I was with you, and by your commands.Your love was mine at last completely won,And waited but the blossom. How you sang,Laughed, ran about your palace rooms and noneClosed doors against me, desks and closets sprangTo my touch open, all your secrets layRevealed to me in gladness—and this pangWhich I had borne in bitterness day by dayWas gone, nor could I bring it back, or thinkHow it had been, or why—this heart so gayIn sudden sunshine could no longer linkItself with what it was.

Now I was with you, and by your commands.

Your love was mine at last completely won,

And waited but the blossom. How you sang,

Laughed, ran about your palace rooms and none

Closed doors against me, desks and closets sprang

To my touch open, all your secrets lay

Revealed to me in gladness—and this pang

Which I had borne in bitterness day by day

Was gone, nor could I bring it back, or think

How it had been, or why—this heart so gay

In sudden sunshine could no longer link

Itself with what it was.

Look! Every roomHad blooms your hands had gathered white and pink,And drained from precious vases their perfume.And fruits were heaped for me in golden bowls,And tapestries from many an Asian loomWere hung for me, and our united soulsShone over treasure books—how glad you wereTo listen to my epic, from the scrollsOf Jerusalem, the holy sepulcher.Still as a shaft of light you sat and heardWith veilèd eyes which tears could scarcely blur,But flowed upon your cheek with every word.And your hand reached for mine—you did not speak,But let your silence tell how you were stirredBy love for me and wonder! What to seekIn earth and heaven more? Heaven at lastWas mine on earth, and for a sacred weekThis heaven all of heaven.

Look! Every room

Had blooms your hands had gathered white and pink,

And drained from precious vases their perfume.

And fruits were heaped for me in golden bowls,

And tapestries from many an Asian loom

Were hung for me, and our united souls

Shone over treasure books—how glad you were

To listen to my epic, from the scrolls

Of Jerusalem, the holy sepulcher.

Still as a shaft of light you sat and heard

With veilèd eyes which tears could scarcely blur,

But flowed upon your cheek with every word.

And your hand reached for mine—you did not speak,

But let your silence tell how you were stirred

By love for me and wonder! What to seek

In earth and heaven more? Heaven at last

Was mine on earth, and for a sacred week

This heaven all of heaven.

So it passedThis week with you—you served me ancient wine.We sat across a table where you castA cloth of chikku, or we went to dineThere in the stately room of heavy plate.Or tiring of the rooms, the day's declineBeheld us by the river to awaitThe evening planet, where in elfin moodYou whistled like the robin to its mate,And won its answering call. Then through the woodWe wandered back in silence hand in hand,And reached the sacred portal with our bloodRunning so swift no ripples stirred the sandTo figures of reflection.

So it passed

This week with you—you served me ancient wine.

We sat across a table where you cast

A cloth of chikku, or we went to dine

There in the stately room of heavy plate.

Or tiring of the rooms, the day's decline

Beheld us by the river to await

The evening planet, where in elfin mood

You whistled like the robin to its mate,

And won its answering call. Then through the wood

We wandered back in silence hand in hand,

And reached the sacred portal with our blood

Running so swift no ripples stirred the sand

To figures of reflection.

Once againWithin your room of books, upon the standThe reading lights are brought to us, and thenYou read to me from Plato, and my heartBreathes like a bird at rest; the world of men,Strife, hate, are all forgotten in this artOf life made perfect. Or when wearinessComes over us, you dim the lamp and startThe blue light back of Dante's bust to blessOur twilight with its beauty.

Once again

Within your room of books, upon the stand

The reading lights are brought to us, and then

You read to me from Plato, and my heart

Breathes like a bird at rest; the world of men,

Strife, hate, are all forgotten in this art

Of life made perfect. Or when weariness

Comes over us, you dim the lamp and start

The blue light back of Dante's bust to bless

Our twilight with its beauty.

So the timePasses too quickly—our poor souls possessBeauty and love a moment—and our rhymeWhich captures it, creates the illusion loveHas permanence, when even at its primeDecay has taken it from the light above,Or darkness underneath.

So the time

Passes too quickly—our poor souls possess

Beauty and love a moment—and our rhyme

Which captures it, creates the illusion love

Has permanence, when even at its prime

Decay has taken it from the light above,

Or darkness underneath.

I must recurTo our first sleep and all the bliss thereof.How did you first come to me, how conferOn me your beauty? That first night it wasThe blue light back of Dante, but a blurOf golden light our spirits, when you passYour hand across my brow, our souls go outTo meet each other, leave as wilted grassOur emptied bodies. Then we grow devout,And kneel and pray together for the giftOf love from heaven, and to banish doubtOf change or faithlessness. Then with a swiftArising from the prayer you disappear.I sleep meanwhile, you come again and liftMy head against your bosom, bringing nearA purple robe for me, and say, "Wear this,And to your chamber go." And thus I hear,And leave you; on my couch, where calm for blissI wait for you and listen, hear your feetWhisper their secret to the tapestriesOf your ecstatic coming—O my sweet!I touched your silken gown, where underneathYour glowing flesh was dreaming, made completeMy rapture by upgathering, quick of breath,Your golden ringlets loosened—and at lastHold you in love's embrace—would it were Death!...For soon 'twixt love and sleep the night was past,And dawn cob-webbed the chamber. Then I heardOne faintest note and all was still—the vastSpherule of heaven was pecked at by a birdAs it were to break the sky's shell, let the lightOf morning flood the fragments scattered, stirredBy breezes of the dawn with passing night.We woke together, heard together, thrilledWith speechless rapture! Were your spirit's plightAs mine is with this vision, had I willedTo torture you with absence? Would I saveYour spirit if its anguish could be stilledOnly among the worms that haunt the grave?

I must recur

To our first sleep and all the bliss thereof.

How did you first come to me, how confer

On me your beauty? That first night it was

The blue light back of Dante, but a blur

Of golden light our spirits, when you pass

Your hand across my brow, our souls go out

To meet each other, leave as wilted grass

Our emptied bodies. Then we grow devout,

And kneel and pray together for the gift

Of love from heaven, and to banish doubt

Of change or faithlessness. Then with a swift

Arising from the prayer you disappear.

I sleep meanwhile, you come again and lift

My head against your bosom, bringing near

A purple robe for me, and say, "Wear this,

And to your chamber go." And thus I hear,

And leave you; on my couch, where calm for bliss

I wait for you and listen, hear your feet

Whisper their secret to the tapestries

Of your ecstatic coming—O my sweet!

I touched your silken gown, where underneath

Your glowing flesh was dreaming, made complete

My rapture by upgathering, quick of breath,

Your golden ringlets loosened—and at last

Hold you in love's embrace—would it were Death!...

For soon 'twixt love and sleep the night was past,

And dawn cob-webbed the chamber. Then I heard

One faintest note and all was still—the vast

Spherule of heaven was pecked at by a bird

As it were to break the sky's shell, let the light

Of morning flood the fragments scattered, stirred

By breezes of the dawn with passing night.

We woke together, heard together, thrilled

With speechless rapture! Were your spirit's plight

As mine is with this vision, had I willed

To torture you with absence? Would I save

Your spirit if its anguish could be stilled

Only among the worms that haunt the grave?

My dream goes on a little: Day by day,These seven days we lived together, gaveOur spirits to each other. With dismayYou watched my hour's departure. On you creptLight shadows after moments sunny, gay.But when the hour was come, you sat and wept,And said to me: "I hear the rattling clodsUpon the coffin of our love." You steppedAnd stood beside the casement, said "A god'sSarcophagus this room will be as soonAs you have gone, and mine shall be the rod'sBitterness of memory both night and noonAmid the silence of this palace." SoI spoke and said, "If you would have the boon—O Leonora, do I live to knowThis hope too passionate made consummate?—Yet if it be I shall return, nor goBut to return to you, and make our fateBound fast for life." How happy was your smile,Your laughter soon,—and then from door to gateI passed and left you, to be gone awhileAround Ferrara.

My dream goes on a little: Day by day,

These seven days we lived together, gave

Our spirits to each other. With dismay

You watched my hour's departure. On you crept

Light shadows after moments sunny, gay.

But when the hour was come, you sat and wept,

And said to me: "I hear the rattling clods

Upon the coffin of our love." You stepped

And stood beside the casement, said "A god's

Sarcophagus this room will be as soon

As you have gone, and mine shall be the rod's

Bitterness of memory both night and noon

Amid the silence of this palace." So

I spoke and said, "If you would have the boon—

O Leonora, do I live to know

This hope too passionate made consummate?—

Yet if it be I shall return, nor go

But to return to you, and make our fate

Bound fast for life." How happy was your smile,

Your laughter soon,—and then from door to gate

I passed and left you, to be gone awhile

Around Ferrara.

In three days, it seemed,I came again, and as I walked each mileCounting to self—my feet lagged as I dreamed—And said ten miles, nine miles, eight miles, at lastOne mile, so many furlongs, then I dreamedYour reading lamps were lighted for me, castTheir yellow beams upon the mid-night air.But oh my heart which stopped and stood aghastTo see the lamp go out and note the glareOf blue light set behind the Dante mask!Who wore my robe of purple false and fair?Who drank your precious vintage from the flaskRoman and golden whence I drank so late?Who held you in his arms and thus could ask?Receive your love? Mother of God! What fateWas mine beneath the darkness of that sky,There at your door who could not leave or wait,And heard the bird of midnight's desolate cry?And saw at last the blue light quenched, and sawA taper lighted in my chamber—whyThis treachery, Leonora? Why withdrawThe love you gave, or eviler, lead me here,O sorceress, before whom heaven's lawBreaks and is impotent—whose eyes no tearOf penitence shall know, whose spirit faresFree, without consequence, as a child could searIts fellow's hands with flame, or unawares,Or with premeditation, and then laugh and turnUpon its play. For you, light heart, no snaresOr traps of conscience wait, who thus could spurnA love invited.

In three days, it seemed,

I came again, and as I walked each mile

Counting to self—my feet lagged as I dreamed—

And said ten miles, nine miles, eight miles, at last

One mile, so many furlongs, then I dreamed

Your reading lamps were lighted for me, cast

Their yellow beams upon the mid-night air.

But oh my heart which stopped and stood aghast

To see the lamp go out and note the glare

Of blue light set behind the Dante mask!

Who wore my robe of purple false and fair?

Who drank your precious vintage from the flask

Roman and golden whence I drank so late?

Who held you in his arms and thus could ask?

Receive your love? Mother of God! What fate

Was mine beneath the darkness of that sky,

There at your door who could not leave or wait,

And heard the bird of midnight's desolate cry?

And saw at last the blue light quenched, and saw

A taper lighted in my chamber—why

This treachery, Leonora? Why withdraw

The love you gave, or eviler, lead me here,

O sorceress, before whom heaven's law

Breaks and is impotent—whose eyes no tear

Of penitence shall know, whose spirit fares

Free, without consequence, as a child could sear

Its fellow's hands with flame, or unawares,

Or with premeditation, and then laugh and turn

Upon its play. For you, light heart, no snares

Or traps of conscience wait, who thus could spurn

A love invited.

Thus about your lawnI listened till the stars had ceased to burn,But when I saw the imminence of the dawnAnd heard our bird cry, I could stand no more,My heart broke and I fled and wandered onDown through the valley by the river's shore.For when the bird cried, did you wake with him?Did you two gaze as we had gazed beforeUpon that blissful morning? I was dimOf thought and spirit, by the river layWatching the swallows over the water skim,And plucking leaves from weeds to turn or stayThe madness of my life's futility,Grown blank as that terrific dawn—till dayFlooded upon me, noon came, what should be?Where should I go? What prison chains could restSo heavily on the spirit, as that free,But vast and ruined world?

Thus about your lawn

I listened till the stars had ceased to burn,

But when I saw the imminence of the dawn

And heard our bird cry, I could stand no more,

My heart broke and I fled and wandered on

Down through the valley by the river's shore.

For when the bird cried, did you wake with him?

Did you two gaze as we had gazed before

Upon that blissful morning? I was dim

Of thought and spirit, by the river lay

Watching the swallows over the water skim,

And plucking leaves from weeds to turn or stay

The madness of my life's futility,

Grown blank as that terrific dawn—till day

Flooded upon me, noon came, what should be?

Where should I go? What prison chains could rest

So heavily on the spirit, as that free,

But vast and ruined world?

O arrowed breastOf me, your Tasso! And you came and drewThe arrows out which kept the blood repressed,And let my wounds the freer bleed: 'Twas youBy afternoon who walked upon an armMore lordly than mine is. You stopped nor knew,I saw him take your body lithe and warmClose to his breast, yes, even where we had stoodUpon our day, embraced—feed on the charmOf widened eyes and swiftly coursing blood.I watched you walk away and disappearIn the deep verdure of the river wood,Too faint to rise and fly, crushed by the fearOf madness, sudden death!

O arrowed breast

Of me, your Tasso! And you came and drew

The arrows out which kept the blood repressed,

And let my wounds the freer bleed: 'Twas you

By afternoon who walked upon an arm

More lordly than mine is. You stopped nor knew,

I saw him take your body lithe and warm

Close to his breast, yes, even where we had stood

Upon our day, embraced—feed on the charm

Of widened eyes and swiftly coursing blood.

I watched you walk away and disappear

In the deep verdure of the river wood,

Too faint to rise and fly, crushed by the fear

Of madness, sudden death!

This was my dream,From which I woke and saw again the sheerWalls of my prison, which no longer seemThe agony they did, even though the cellIs the hard penalty and the cursed extremeHate in return for love. But oh you hell,You boundless earth to wander in and brood—Great prison house of grief in which to dwell,Remembering love forgotten, pride subdued,And love desired and found and lost again.That is the prison which no fortitudeCan suffer, and the never dying painFrom which the spacious luring of the earthTempts flight for spirit freedom, but in vain!

This was my dream,

From which I woke and saw again the sheer

Walls of my prison, which no longer seem

The agony they did, even though the cell

Is the hard penalty and the cursed extreme

Hate in return for love. But oh you hell,

You boundless earth to wander in and brood—

Great prison house of grief in which to dwell,

Remembering love forgotten, pride subdued,

And love desired and found and lost again.

That is the prison which no fortitude

Can suffer, and the never dying pain

From which the spacious luring of the earth

Tempts flight for spirit freedom, but in vain!

Ah Leonora! Even from our birthWe build our prisons! What are walls like theseBeside the walls of memory, or the dearthOf hope in all this life, the agoniesOf spiritual chains and gloom? I suffer less,Imprisoned thus, than if the memoriesOf love bestowed and love betrayed should pressRound my unresting steps. And I send upTo heaven thanks that spared that bitterness,That garden of the soul's reluctant cup!

Ah Leonora! Even from our birth

We build our prisons! What are walls like these

Beside the walls of memory, or the dearth

Of hope in all this life, the agonies

Of spiritual chains and gloom? I suffer less,

Imprisoned thus, than if the memories

Of love bestowed and love betrayed should press

Round my unresting steps. And I send up

To heaven thanks that spared that bitterness,

That garden of the soul's reluctant cup!

He hears his father pray when he's a boy:"Jesus we know, the Savior, and we ask,In Thy great plenitude of mercy, grace,Forgiveness for our waywardness; we invokeThy blessing, and may righteousness and peacePrevail in all the earth. Meekly we restUpon the precious promise of Thy word.Gather us home with Thine own people, Lord,And all the glory shall be Thine."So muchTo show the father's prayer which he heard.The father is a saint, a quietist,Save that he has his hatreds, strong enough:Turns face of stone and silence to the menWhose ways of life are laid in sin, he thinksAnd calls them dirty dogs and scalawags,Because they vote a ticket he dislikes,Or love a game of cards, a glass of beer,Or go to see the County Fair, where onceA drunken bus-man drives upon a boyAnd kills him. Then the saint is all aflame,And tries to have the fair put out for good.And so the son, who will become at lastThe Christian Statesman, hears his father pray,And prays himself, and takes the lesson inOf godliness, the Bible as the sourceOf truth infallible, divine.This boyIs blessed with health, a body without flaw,His forehead is a little low, perhaps,And has a transverse dent which keeps the brainShaped to the skull; a perfect brain is sphered,As perfect things are circles; but a brainSomething below perfection, which is fedBy a great body and an obdurate will,And sense of moral purpose will go far,Farther than better brains in craft of states,For some years anyway, if a voice be givenWhich reaches to the largest crowded room,To speak the passionate moralitiesWhich come into that brain creased straight acrossThe forehead with a dent.He goes to school,And from the first believes he has a missionTo make the world a better place, avowsHis mission in the world, bends all his strengthTo make his armor ready: health of body,A blameless life, hard studies, practicesWith word and voice.It is a country collegeWhere he matriculates—the father wished it;A college where the boys are mostly poor,And waste no time, have not the cash to buyDelight, if they desired.He ruminatesUpon the pebbles and Demosthenes,And sets his will to be an oratorThat he may herald truth and save the world.After much toil, re-writing, he deliversA speech he calls, "Ich Dien," and loses outAgainst a youth who speaks on Liberty.And then he uses Gladstone for his theme,The Christian Statesman; for exordiumTells of the ermine which will die beforeIt suffers soilure—that was Gladstone—yes!But still he cannot win the prize; a boyWho talks about the labors of Charles Darwin,His suffering and sacrifice, is awardedThe prize this time—a boy who had the witTo speak in praise of Darwin's virtues—sayingNothing about his hellish doctrines, thusWinning the cautious judges to his theme.But is our little Gladstone crushed, dismayed?He plucks up further strength and takes a hint:A larger subject may bring down the prize.He thinks of Thomas Jefferson—but thenJefferson was a deist, took the BibleAnd cut out everything but Jesus' words."Yet I can speak on what was good in him,His work for liberty, the Declaration,And close my eyes to all his heterodoxy."Then something of this plan crept like a snakeInto his brain, he petted it with hands:Be ye as wise as serpents, and as dovesHarmless, he smiled—and went to work again,And won the prize.And now he has stepped forthInto the world's arena to becomeA Savior, an evangel, as he thinks,In truth a pest. He runs for Congress firstAnd when his manager takes out a checkAnd shows him, given by the local brewery,Another check a bank gives, he maintainsA smiling silence, thinking to himself,Jesus accepted gifts from publicans,And if I am elected then this money,However dirty, will be purifiedBy what I do.But then he was defeated.He thinks the banks and breweries did the trick.In truth they knew the Christian Statesman, knewThe oleaginous smile and silver voiceConcealed the despot. Did he scourge them then?Well, scarcely then—he wrote a public letterAnd said the people had decided it.And what the people said was law. He nervedHis purpose for another trial—that bodySo big and flawless could not be exhausted—That voice still carried to the farthest corner,That oily smile deceived the multitudeThat he was hurt, embittered, only waitedTo see if body, voice and oily smileCould win by any means; if not, the scourgeWould be brought forth, the smile dropped, the complaintsAgainst the breweries, what not, opened up,Unmasked. For when your hope is gone, you're freeTo scold and tell your bitterness.And thenHe made a third and last attempt, though edgingToward the sophistry that moral questionsMake those political, and by this meansTrying to win the churches. Still he stuckTo matters economic, as beforeTook what the breweries gave to help his cause,His campaign fund. By this time many moreHad found him out, and knew him for a voiceAnd tireless body nourishing a brainAs mediocre as the world contained,And only making louder noise becauseOf body strong and voice mellifluous.They put him down for good: the Christian StatesmanHad cause to think he was no statesman, orNo Christian, or the electorate not Christian.And so he took the mask off, dropped the smile,And let his mouth set like a concrete crackAnd went about to punish men, while seemingTo save the world.Out of that indentation,That fosse of mediocrity, came upA crocodile with wagging tail upreared,And smile toothed to the gullet—it was this:Questions political are moral questions,And moral questions are political,And terms convertible are equipollent,And wholly true. Therefore, I rise to preachTo moral America, draw audiencesIn churches, of the churches. If I winMajorities upon—no matter what—A law will blossom; as all moral questionsAre equally political, procureFor their adoption the majority.Upon this fortress I can stand and shoot—Who can attack me, since I seek for selfNothing, but for my country righteousness?And as an instrument of God I punishMy enemies as well.Who are my enemies?The intelligencia, as they call themselves,Who flaunt the Bible wholly or in part,Or try to say that Darwin's evolutionHonors the Deity more than Genesis.Who are my enemies? The thinkers, yes,The strivers for a higher culture, yes,The scorners of old fashioned ways, the thingsReally American!—I know the crowd—That smart minority I overwhelm,Blot out, drown out, by massing under meThe great majority, the common folk,Believers in the Bible—first for them!And on the way the vile saloon I crush,The abominable brewery—then I take awayFrom banqueters and diners, diners out,The seekers after happiness, not God,The cocktail and the wine they love so well.This is a moral question, being soIs also a political—the majorityCan do what they desire. I am consistent,For from the first I've preached the people's rule,Abided by the people's voice and takenDefeat with grace because the people gave it.So now I say the people have the rightTo pass upon all questions. As I saidWhen starting as a public man, the peopleCould have what Government they desired, in factA King, or despotism, if they voted for it.For all this talk of rights, or realms of right,Or individual preferences, beliefsAnd courses in the world is swallowed upBy right of the majority—the serpentOf Moses, so to speak, which swallowed upAll other serpents.If he thought so muchThe Christian Statesman thought this way—at leastHe acted out a part which seemed to sayHe analyzed so far. He went to workTo make his country just a despotismNot governed by a King, but by the peopleLaying the hand of law on everythingMost intimate and private, having thoughtFor moral aspects, as all politicsAre moral in their essence, to repeat.Did not the Christian Statesman have revengeIn building his theocracy, who sawAll bills of right and fruit of revolutionGround into mortar, made into a throneFor Demos?And behold King Demos now!A slouch hat for a crown upon his brow,Stuffed full of bacon and of apple pie,The Christian Statesman leaning on his shoulderA tableau of familiarity.The Christian Statesman having lost his hairBetrays the Midas ears—the oily smileBeams on the republic he has overthrown!

He hears his father pray when he's a boy:

"Jesus we know, the Savior, and we ask,

In Thy great plenitude of mercy, grace,

Forgiveness for our waywardness; we invoke

Thy blessing, and may righteousness and peace

Prevail in all the earth. Meekly we rest

Upon the precious promise of Thy word.

Gather us home with Thine own people, Lord,

And all the glory shall be Thine."

So muchTo show the father's prayer which he heard.The father is a saint, a quietist,Save that he has his hatreds, strong enough:Turns face of stone and silence to the menWhose ways of life are laid in sin, he thinksAnd calls them dirty dogs and scalawags,Because they vote a ticket he dislikes,Or love a game of cards, a glass of beer,Or go to see the County Fair, where onceA drunken bus-man drives upon a boyAnd kills him. Then the saint is all aflame,And tries to have the fair put out for good.And so the son, who will become at lastThe Christian Statesman, hears his father pray,And prays himself, and takes the lesson inOf godliness, the Bible as the sourceOf truth infallible, divine.

So much

To show the father's prayer which he heard.

The father is a saint, a quietist,

Save that he has his hatreds, strong enough:

Turns face of stone and silence to the men

Whose ways of life are laid in sin, he thinks

And calls them dirty dogs and scalawags,

Because they vote a ticket he dislikes,

Or love a game of cards, a glass of beer,

Or go to see the County Fair, where once

A drunken bus-man drives upon a boy

And kills him. Then the saint is all aflame,

And tries to have the fair put out for good.

And so the son, who will become at last

The Christian Statesman, hears his father pray,

And prays himself, and takes the lesson in

Of godliness, the Bible as the source

Of truth infallible, divine.

This boyIs blessed with health, a body without flaw,His forehead is a little low, perhaps,And has a transverse dent which keeps the brainShaped to the skull; a perfect brain is sphered,As perfect things are circles; but a brainSomething below perfection, which is fedBy a great body and an obdurate will,And sense of moral purpose will go far,Farther than better brains in craft of states,For some years anyway, if a voice be givenWhich reaches to the largest crowded room,To speak the passionate moralitiesWhich come into that brain creased straight acrossThe forehead with a dent.

This boy

Is blessed with health, a body without flaw,

His forehead is a little low, perhaps,

And has a transverse dent which keeps the brain

Shaped to the skull; a perfect brain is sphered,

As perfect things are circles; but a brain

Something below perfection, which is fed

By a great body and an obdurate will,

And sense of moral purpose will go far,

Farther than better brains in craft of states,

For some years anyway, if a voice be given

Which reaches to the largest crowded room,

To speak the passionate moralities

Which come into that brain creased straight across

The forehead with a dent.

He goes to school,And from the first believes he has a missionTo make the world a better place, avowsHis mission in the world, bends all his strengthTo make his armor ready: health of body,A blameless life, hard studies, practicesWith word and voice.

He goes to school,

And from the first believes he has a mission

To make the world a better place, avows

His mission in the world, bends all his strength

To make his armor ready: health of body,

A blameless life, hard studies, practices

With word and voice.

It is a country collegeWhere he matriculates—the father wished it;A college where the boys are mostly poor,And waste no time, have not the cash to buyDelight, if they desired.

It is a country college

Where he matriculates—the father wished it;

A college where the boys are mostly poor,

And waste no time, have not the cash to buy

Delight, if they desired.

He ruminatesUpon the pebbles and Demosthenes,And sets his will to be an oratorThat he may herald truth and save the world.After much toil, re-writing, he deliversA speech he calls, "Ich Dien," and loses outAgainst a youth who speaks on Liberty.And then he uses Gladstone for his theme,The Christian Statesman; for exordiumTells of the ermine which will die beforeIt suffers soilure—that was Gladstone—yes!But still he cannot win the prize; a boyWho talks about the labors of Charles Darwin,His suffering and sacrifice, is awardedThe prize this time—a boy who had the witTo speak in praise of Darwin's virtues—sayingNothing about his hellish doctrines, thusWinning the cautious judges to his theme.

He ruminates

Upon the pebbles and Demosthenes,

And sets his will to be an orator

That he may herald truth and save the world.

After much toil, re-writing, he delivers

A speech he calls, "Ich Dien," and loses out

Against a youth who speaks on Liberty.

And then he uses Gladstone for his theme,

The Christian Statesman; for exordium

Tells of the ermine which will die before

It suffers soilure—that was Gladstone—yes!

But still he cannot win the prize; a boy

Who talks about the labors of Charles Darwin,

His suffering and sacrifice, is awarded

The prize this time—a boy who had the wit

To speak in praise of Darwin's virtues—saying

Nothing about his hellish doctrines, thus

Winning the cautious judges to his theme.

But is our little Gladstone crushed, dismayed?He plucks up further strength and takes a hint:A larger subject may bring down the prize.He thinks of Thomas Jefferson—but thenJefferson was a deist, took the BibleAnd cut out everything but Jesus' words."Yet I can speak on what was good in him,His work for liberty, the Declaration,And close my eyes to all his heterodoxy."Then something of this plan crept like a snakeInto his brain, he petted it with hands:Be ye as wise as serpents, and as dovesHarmless, he smiled—and went to work again,And won the prize.

But is our little Gladstone crushed, dismayed?

He plucks up further strength and takes a hint:

A larger subject may bring down the prize.

He thinks of Thomas Jefferson—but then

Jefferson was a deist, took the Bible

And cut out everything but Jesus' words.

"Yet I can speak on what was good in him,

His work for liberty, the Declaration,

And close my eyes to all his heterodoxy."

Then something of this plan crept like a snake

Into his brain, he petted it with hands:

Be ye as wise as serpents, and as doves

Harmless, he smiled—and went to work again,

And won the prize.

And now he has stepped forthInto the world's arena to becomeA Savior, an evangel, as he thinks,In truth a pest. He runs for Congress firstAnd when his manager takes out a checkAnd shows him, given by the local brewery,Another check a bank gives, he maintainsA smiling silence, thinking to himself,Jesus accepted gifts from publicans,And if I am elected then this money,However dirty, will be purifiedBy what I do.

And now he has stepped forth

Into the world's arena to become

A Savior, an evangel, as he thinks,

In truth a pest. He runs for Congress first

And when his manager takes out a check

And shows him, given by the local brewery,

Another check a bank gives, he maintains

A smiling silence, thinking to himself,

Jesus accepted gifts from publicans,

And if I am elected then this money,

However dirty, will be purified

By what I do.

But then he was defeated.He thinks the banks and breweries did the trick.In truth they knew the Christian Statesman, knewThe oleaginous smile and silver voiceConcealed the despot. Did he scourge them then?Well, scarcely then—he wrote a public letterAnd said the people had decided it.And what the people said was law. He nervedHis purpose for another trial—that bodySo big and flawless could not be exhausted—That voice still carried to the farthest corner,That oily smile deceived the multitudeThat he was hurt, embittered, only waitedTo see if body, voice and oily smileCould win by any means; if not, the scourgeWould be brought forth, the smile dropped, the complaintsAgainst the breweries, what not, opened up,Unmasked. For when your hope is gone, you're freeTo scold and tell your bitterness.

But then he was defeated.

He thinks the banks and breweries did the trick.

In truth they knew the Christian Statesman, knew

The oleaginous smile and silver voice

Concealed the despot. Did he scourge them then?

Well, scarcely then—he wrote a public letter

And said the people had decided it.

And what the people said was law. He nerved

His purpose for another trial—that body

So big and flawless could not be exhausted—

That voice still carried to the farthest corner,

That oily smile deceived the multitude

That he was hurt, embittered, only waited

To see if body, voice and oily smile

Could win by any means; if not, the scourge

Would be brought forth, the smile dropped, the complaints

Against the breweries, what not, opened up,

Unmasked. For when your hope is gone, you're free

To scold and tell your bitterness.

And thenHe made a third and last attempt, though edgingToward the sophistry that moral questionsMake those political, and by this meansTrying to win the churches. Still he stuckTo matters economic, as beforeTook what the breweries gave to help his cause,His campaign fund. By this time many moreHad found him out, and knew him for a voiceAnd tireless body nourishing a brainAs mediocre as the world contained,And only making louder noise becauseOf body strong and voice mellifluous.They put him down for good: the Christian StatesmanHad cause to think he was no statesman, orNo Christian, or the electorate not Christian.And so he took the mask off, dropped the smile,And let his mouth set like a concrete crackAnd went about to punish men, while seemingTo save the world.

And then

He made a third and last attempt, though edging

Toward the sophistry that moral questions

Make those political, and by this means

Trying to win the churches. Still he stuck

To matters economic, as before

Took what the breweries gave to help his cause,

His campaign fund. By this time many more

Had found him out, and knew him for a voice

And tireless body nourishing a brain

As mediocre as the world contained,

And only making louder noise because

Of body strong and voice mellifluous.

They put him down for good: the Christian Statesman

Had cause to think he was no statesman, or

No Christian, or the electorate not Christian.

And so he took the mask off, dropped the smile,

And let his mouth set like a concrete crack

And went about to punish men, while seeming

To save the world.

Out of that indentation,That fosse of mediocrity, came upA crocodile with wagging tail upreared,And smile toothed to the gullet—it was this:Questions political are moral questions,And moral questions are political,And terms convertible are equipollent,And wholly true. Therefore, I rise to preachTo moral America, draw audiencesIn churches, of the churches. If I winMajorities upon—no matter what—A law will blossom; as all moral questionsAre equally political, procureFor their adoption the majority.Upon this fortress I can stand and shoot—Who can attack me, since I seek for selfNothing, but for my country righteousness?And as an instrument of God I punishMy enemies as well.

Out of that indentation,

That fosse of mediocrity, came up

A crocodile with wagging tail upreared,

And smile toothed to the gullet—it was this:

Questions political are moral questions,

And moral questions are political,

And terms convertible are equipollent,

And wholly true. Therefore, I rise to preach

To moral America, draw audiences

In churches, of the churches. If I win

Majorities upon—no matter what—

A law will blossom; as all moral questions

Are equally political, procure

For their adoption the majority.

Upon this fortress I can stand and shoot—

Who can attack me, since I seek for self

Nothing, but for my country righteousness?

And as an instrument of God I punish

My enemies as well.

Who are my enemies?The intelligencia, as they call themselves,Who flaunt the Bible wholly or in part,Or try to say that Darwin's evolutionHonors the Deity more than Genesis.Who are my enemies? The thinkers, yes,The strivers for a higher culture, yes,The scorners of old fashioned ways, the thingsReally American!—I know the crowd—That smart minority I overwhelm,Blot out, drown out, by massing under meThe great majority, the common folk,Believers in the Bible—first for them!And on the way the vile saloon I crush,The abominable brewery—then I take awayFrom banqueters and diners, diners out,The seekers after happiness, not God,The cocktail and the wine they love so well.This is a moral question, being soIs also a political—the majorityCan do what they desire. I am consistent,For from the first I've preached the people's rule,Abided by the people's voice and takenDefeat with grace because the people gave it.So now I say the people have the rightTo pass upon all questions. As I saidWhen starting as a public man, the peopleCould have what Government they desired, in factA King, or despotism, if they voted for it.For all this talk of rights, or realms of right,Or individual preferences, beliefsAnd courses in the world is swallowed upBy right of the majority—the serpentOf Moses, so to speak, which swallowed upAll other serpents.

Who are my enemies?

The intelligencia, as they call themselves,

Who flaunt the Bible wholly or in part,

Or try to say that Darwin's evolution

Honors the Deity more than Genesis.

Who are my enemies? The thinkers, yes,

The strivers for a higher culture, yes,

The scorners of old fashioned ways, the things

Really American!—I know the crowd—

That smart minority I overwhelm,

Blot out, drown out, by massing under me

The great majority, the common folk,

Believers in the Bible—first for them!

And on the way the vile saloon I crush,

The abominable brewery—then I take away

From banqueters and diners, diners out,

The seekers after happiness, not God,

The cocktail and the wine they love so well.

This is a moral question, being so

Is also a political—the majority

Can do what they desire. I am consistent,

For from the first I've preached the people's rule,

Abided by the people's voice and taken

Defeat with grace because the people gave it.

So now I say the people have the right

To pass upon all questions. As I said

When starting as a public man, the people

Could have what Government they desired, in fact

A King, or despotism, if they voted for it.

For all this talk of rights, or realms of right,

Or individual preferences, beliefs

And courses in the world is swallowed up

By right of the majority—the serpent

Of Moses, so to speak, which swallowed up

All other serpents.

If he thought so muchThe Christian Statesman thought this way—at leastHe acted out a part which seemed to sayHe analyzed so far. He went to workTo make his country just a despotismNot governed by a King, but by the peopleLaying the hand of law on everythingMost intimate and private, having thoughtFor moral aspects, as all politicsAre moral in their essence, to repeat.

If he thought so much

The Christian Statesman thought this way—at least

He acted out a part which seemed to say

He analyzed so far. He went to work

To make his country just a despotism

Not governed by a King, but by the people

Laying the hand of law on everything

Most intimate and private, having thought

For moral aspects, as all politics

Are moral in their essence, to repeat.

Did not the Christian Statesman have revengeIn building his theocracy, who sawAll bills of right and fruit of revolutionGround into mortar, made into a throneFor Demos?

Did not the Christian Statesman have revenge

In building his theocracy, who saw

All bills of right and fruit of revolution

Ground into mortar, made into a throne

For Demos?

And behold King Demos now!A slouch hat for a crown upon his brow,Stuffed full of bacon and of apple pie,The Christian Statesman leaning on his shoulderA tableau of familiarity.The Christian Statesman having lost his hairBetrays the Midas ears—the oily smileBeams on the republic he has overthrown!

And behold King Demos now!

A slouch hat for a crown upon his brow,

Stuffed full of bacon and of apple pie,

The Christian Statesman leaning on his shoulder

A tableau of familiarity.

The Christian Statesman having lost his hair

Betrays the Midas ears—the oily smile

Beams on the republic he has overthrown!

You who have wasted this June for me,Bitter be the seed of your love.Long midnights by the seaHave I waited for your return,Counting the stars—Bitter be the seed of your love.And as stars go out in the crocus light of dawn,As waters drip from a failing fountain,So passed these days of June.As a boy strips from a stalk of snap-dragonsThe perfect blossoms,And treads them into the earth,So you have taken the June days from me—Bitter be the seed of your love.On my couch by the sea,My golden curls loosened,Resting after the cool ablution of evening waters,My body white as whitecaps, under the moon,My eyes large as the fox's lurking in darkness,I have waited for your return.May the scourge of Asia mar your beautiful body,Beloved!You have wasted my loveliest June.As the unheeding windDrives the falling cherry blossomsInto the purple waves,So you have scattered my days of June—Bitter be the seed of your love!I have distilled henbane for you,Beloved,And put it in a crystal vial.The moon of October will shine,Then you will come to me,Your wanderings and treasons finished!And when you slip exhausted from my armsI will give you wine from a golden cup,And pour the henbane in it—I shall give you henbane for the poison of defeated love;I shall kiss your dead lips, Beloved.Then I shall drink, too.Our bodies shall feed the wormsAs these June days have fed my writhing sorrow,Beloved murderer of my June!

You who have wasted this June for me,Bitter be the seed of your love.

You who have wasted this June for me,

Bitter be the seed of your love.

Long midnights by the seaHave I waited for your return,Counting the stars—Bitter be the seed of your love.

Long midnights by the sea

Have I waited for your return,

Counting the stars—

Bitter be the seed of your love.

And as stars go out in the crocus light of dawn,As waters drip from a failing fountain,So passed these days of June.As a boy strips from a stalk of snap-dragonsThe perfect blossoms,And treads them into the earth,So you have taken the June days from me—Bitter be the seed of your love.

And as stars go out in the crocus light of dawn,

As waters drip from a failing fountain,

So passed these days of June.

As a boy strips from a stalk of snap-dragons

The perfect blossoms,

And treads them into the earth,

So you have taken the June days from me—

Bitter be the seed of your love.

On my couch by the sea,My golden curls loosened,Resting after the cool ablution of evening waters,My body white as whitecaps, under the moon,My eyes large as the fox's lurking in darkness,I have waited for your return.

On my couch by the sea,

My golden curls loosened,

Resting after the cool ablution of evening waters,

My body white as whitecaps, under the moon,

My eyes large as the fox's lurking in darkness,

I have waited for your return.

May the scourge of Asia mar your beautiful body,Beloved!You have wasted my loveliest June.As the unheeding windDrives the falling cherry blossomsInto the purple waves,So you have scattered my days of June—Bitter be the seed of your love!

May the scourge of Asia mar your beautiful body,

Beloved!

You have wasted my loveliest June.

As the unheeding wind

Drives the falling cherry blossoms

Into the purple waves,

So you have scattered my days of June—

Bitter be the seed of your love!

I have distilled henbane for you,Beloved,And put it in a crystal vial.The moon of October will shine,Then you will come to me,Your wanderings and treasons finished!And when you slip exhausted from my armsI will give you wine from a golden cup,And pour the henbane in it—I shall give you henbane for the poison of defeated love;I shall kiss your dead lips, Beloved.

I have distilled henbane for you,

Beloved,

And put it in a crystal vial.

The moon of October will shine,

Then you will come to me,

Your wanderings and treasons finished!

And when you slip exhausted from my arms

I will give you wine from a golden cup,

And pour the henbane in it—

I shall give you henbane for the poison of defeated love;

I shall kiss your dead lips, Beloved.

Then I shall drink, too.Our bodies shall feed the wormsAs these June days have fed my writhing sorrow,Beloved murderer of my June!

Then I shall drink, too.

Our bodies shall feed the worms

As these June days have fed my writhing sorrow,

Beloved murderer of my June!

I am a farmer and liveTwo miles from Decapolis.Where is the magistrate? Tell meWhere the magistrate is!Here I had made provisionFor children and wife,And now I have lost my all;I am ruined for life.I, a believer, too,In the synagogues.—What is the faith to me?I have lost my hogs.Two thousand hogs as fineAs ever you saw,Drowned and choked in the sea—I want the law!They were feeding upon a hillWhen a strolling teacherCame by and scared my hogs—They say he's a preacher,And cures the possessed who hauntThe tombs and bogs.All right; but why send devilsInto my hogs?They squealed and grunted and ranAnd plunged in the sea.And the lunatic laughed who was healed,Of the devils free.Devils or fright, no matterA fig or straw.Where is the magistrate, tell me—I want the law!

I am a farmer and liveTwo miles from Decapolis.Where is the magistrate? Tell meWhere the magistrate is!

I am a farmer and live

Two miles from Decapolis.

Where is the magistrate? Tell me

Where the magistrate is!

Here I had made provisionFor children and wife,And now I have lost my all;I am ruined for life.

Here I had made provision

For children and wife,

And now I have lost my all;

I am ruined for life.

I, a believer, too,In the synagogues.—What is the faith to me?I have lost my hogs.

I, a believer, too,

In the synagogues.—

What is the faith to me?

I have lost my hogs.

Two thousand hogs as fineAs ever you saw,Drowned and choked in the sea—I want the law!

Two thousand hogs as fine

As ever you saw,

Drowned and choked in the sea—

I want the law!

They were feeding upon a hillWhen a strolling teacherCame by and scared my hogs—They say he's a preacher,

They were feeding upon a hill

When a strolling teacher

Came by and scared my hogs—

They say he's a preacher,

And cures the possessed who hauntThe tombs and bogs.All right; but why send devilsInto my hogs?

And cures the possessed who haunt

The tombs and bogs.

All right; but why send devils

Into my hogs?

They squealed and grunted and ranAnd plunged in the sea.And the lunatic laughed who was healed,Of the devils free.

They squealed and grunted and ran

And plunged in the sea.

And the lunatic laughed who was healed,

Of the devils free.

Devils or fright, no matterA fig or straw.Where is the magistrate, tell me—I want the law!

Devils or fright, no matter

A fig or straw.

Where is the magistrate, tell me—

I want the law!

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