EMERGENCY

Headpiece, EMERGENCYEMERGENCYBY WILLIAM ROSE BENÉT

Headpiece, EMERGENCY

BY WILLIAM ROSE BENÉT

I’VE borne it out. There wasn’t much to bear,By your own tenets; but there was for me,—A flaming onslaught; cohorts furiouslyCharging the ramparts; fearful thunders booming;Lightning and holocaust, and Terror loomingWith black war-towers on the sky-line there!You saw not even a gnat to make one winceWhile your own buoyant thoughts beat up the blue.Let me be glad of that. The happier you!I found myself alone to face disasterThrough age-long seconds. While your pulse beat fasterFor mirth, my own—stopped dead, a moment since.Then, at my elbow—and whole worlds away—You turned; and I was snatching at my breathAfter a sudden bout with worse than death,With worse than beasts of Ephesus, uprisenOne moment from my heart that is their prison.I bore it out. That’s all there is to say.They flash unwarning on our dozing acts,The angel or the fiend. It seems to meThere’s nothing too sublime for Man to be(In such clear moments),—naught too foully crawling!What “self” is most our own, when this appallingApocalypse lights up the inmost facts?Something is changed; even though one drops backIn the next instant to the old routine,Forgets the risk and is, as he has been,The slowly-trailing, patient slug of Time,Neither contemptible nor yet sublime,Inching with pain along the beaten track;Something is changed—the mind paints heavens and hells;And I, their dizzy colors in my brain,Wonder just what is “sane” and what “insane,”And what one can be sure of—where we’re masterOf our own triumphs, or our own disaster...?But that’s enough. Let’s talk of something else!

I’VE borne it out. There wasn’t much to bear,

By your own tenets; but there was for me,—

A flaming onslaught; cohorts furiously

Charging the ramparts; fearful thunders booming;

Lightning and holocaust, and Terror looming

With black war-towers on the sky-line there!

You saw not even a gnat to make one winceWhile your own buoyant thoughts beat up the blue.Let me be glad of that. The happier you!I found myself alone to face disasterThrough age-long seconds. While your pulse beat fasterFor mirth, my own—stopped dead, a moment since.

You saw not even a gnat to make one wince

While your own buoyant thoughts beat up the blue.

Let me be glad of that. The happier you!

I found myself alone to face disaster

Through age-long seconds. While your pulse beat faster

For mirth, my own—stopped dead, a moment since.

Then, at my elbow—and whole worlds away—You turned; and I was snatching at my breathAfter a sudden bout with worse than death,With worse than beasts of Ephesus, uprisenOne moment from my heart that is their prison.I bore it out. That’s all there is to say.

Then, at my elbow—and whole worlds away—

You turned; and I was snatching at my breath

After a sudden bout with worse than death,

With worse than beasts of Ephesus, uprisen

One moment from my heart that is their prison.

I bore it out. That’s all there is to say.

They flash unwarning on our dozing acts,The angel or the fiend. It seems to meThere’s nothing too sublime for Man to be(In such clear moments),—naught too foully crawling!What “self” is most our own, when this appallingApocalypse lights up the inmost facts?

They flash unwarning on our dozing acts,

The angel or the fiend. It seems to me

There’s nothing too sublime for Man to be

(In such clear moments),—naught too foully crawling!

What “self” is most our own, when this appalling

Apocalypse lights up the inmost facts?

Something is changed; even though one drops backIn the next instant to the old routine,Forgets the risk and is, as he has been,The slowly-trailing, patient slug of Time,Neither contemptible nor yet sublime,Inching with pain along the beaten track;

Something is changed; even though one drops back

In the next instant to the old routine,

Forgets the risk and is, as he has been,

The slowly-trailing, patient slug of Time,

Neither contemptible nor yet sublime,

Inching with pain along the beaten track;

Something is changed—the mind paints heavens and hells;And I, their dizzy colors in my brain,Wonder just what is “sane” and what “insane,”And what one can be sure of—where we’re masterOf our own triumphs, or our own disaster...?But that’s enough. Let’s talk of something else!

Something is changed—the mind paints heavens and hells;

And I, their dizzy colors in my brain,

Wonder just what is “sane” and what “insane,”

And what one can be sure of—where we’re master

Of our own triumphs, or our own disaster...?

But that’s enough. Let’s talk of something else!

Tailpiece, EMERGENCY

Back to Index Next