MATINS
Good morning, friend! What of the night?Through yonder cloud one shaft of light,Shot from the bow of Hunter Day,Strikes on the world; his hound-winds bayDown valleys where the wheat and ryeTheir gold with green of forest vie.
Lift up your head! Behold how fairCreation is: The ocean-airBeats billowing upon the strandOf endless leagues of summer land,And freighted ships of scented bales,Wild blossoms, spread their tinctured sails.
See how God with an artist's graceGives soul to every flower-face!Beneath His touch a leaf is green,A berry, red! Mark how, betweenThe captive daisies, come and passPhalanxes of the guarding grass!
The night was dark, you say: wild fearsTook shape on torrent-flood of tears;Dim phantoms of the host of hatePursued you down the gulfs of fate,Smiting you with their harpy-wingsUp steeps of weird imaginings!
My friend! Each in his turn has knownNight and her shapes of fear; the stoneOf striving Sisyphus has tornAll who have dared the mount of Morn:The tree where Buddha's vision fellWas planted in a pit of hell!
No soul has seen its promised land,Who felt not first some Pharaoh's hand—Behind achievement, stir and stressOf desert-days and wilderness;Learn by the way that Jesu trodHow from the brute man grows a god!
Who stands against you in your pathMay reap with you your aftermath;And less of bitterness than blissIs stored within a traitor's kiss:The demon who holds back your soulWill crown you victor at the goal!
The bugles blow, the trumpets call,And at their sound the towers fall;Beleaguered bastions are downWithin yon ancient fortressed town:Go up and let each cobbled streetClang back to your triumphant feet!
A CRADLE SONG OF LIFE
Lullaby baby,Hushaby baby!After the dayComes night with a dream!Dear little hands,Dear little feet,Quiet at last;Closed are the eyes:Lullaby, hushaby baby!
When you awakeWill you forgetAll the old toys,The lessons you learned,The bruises that hurtWhen you fell down?
Uncouthly you sprawledAnd frequently fell,Learning to walk:Was falling a sin,Were bruises a shame,Baby, my brave little baby?
What dreams do you dream,What sounds do you hearOut of the splendour—Out of the wonder—Out of the peaceOf Rest-A-While Land?
How little they knowWho call this a grave—'Tis but a cradle,And death is a sleepFrom which you will wakenTo try it again!
How little they knowWho prattle of sin,And tell on their beadsMisereres for grace:Baby must fallThat baby may rise!
Renewed by the rest,Made strong by the dream,More firmly your feetShall find out a wayPast the old blundersInto the dawn!
Lullaby baby,Hushaby baby!After the dayComes night with a kissSoft on the brow,Hands and the feet—Folding them,Holding them—Feet that are tired from falling;Hands that are weary from failing;Brow that is furrowed from weeping:Brow, hands, feet—resting for mastery!
A SONG OF THE ALL
Brother, my Brother! whoever you are,Rocked in the atom and nursed in the star,Swaddled in flesh by the great Elohim—Lords of the Flame—and whose day is a dreamKnown in the night: O my Brother, all hail!
Hither a prophet, a priest or a slave,Came you, my Brother—a king or a knave,Black man or red man or brown man or white,Out of the land of an infinite light?Here are my heart and my hand to you: hail!
Are you a liar, a sycophant's selfSold for a shekel and pandering pelf?Are you a snob or a murderer, thief,Cringing to hell with the devil for chief?Here are my robe and my crown to you: hail!
Greet you, my Brother! for I am all things—Dust of the stars and the music of wings—Eyes of the angels and Lucifer's mouth—Wind of the North and a wind of the South—Here are my sandals and staff to you: hail!
THE SLOW EMERGER
I am the Slow Emerger:Patience and wait for me,Nor be afraid that I will fail you—You holder of fair morning heights—You dancing with the rosy dawn!
It has been long and hard for me,This task of slow emergence from the clod.Brute-shapes still prowl about me in the shadows,Their fangs are sometimes fastened to my feet;So that I cannot walk from pain of them,So that I halt and cry out—lonely in the night!
Sometimes I see you, Woman—You the watchful, waiting one of ages—You with the dawn and godlike—You past all torment that I know—You the understanding.
Sometimes I see you in a shaft of lightSmiting the mists of valleys where I call,Dividing them as with a two-edged swordSwung by an angel! In that visionRage of tusk and tooth and fangFalls like the waves in their wind-drifted foamUpon the scarlet laughter of wild poppies!
I have deceived you;You in turn have punished me—Have punished me with a mere semblance of yourself:A figure, rose-lipped, white fleshed,With wild witcheries of ample breasts—Limbs smooth and dimpled as for kisses—A dear and tender fiction of yourself;A fiction of yourself that did escape me,Leaped up to claim those hills remote from meUntil I learned man must not chain a woman's soul!
O Woman, wait for me—Be patient; for I striveOut of the shadowWhere the bruteStill fastens with his fangMy bleeding feet—My weary, stumbling feet:Nor be afraid that I will fail you—You holder of far morning heights—You dancing with the dawn!
A SONG OF THE NEW GODS
The gods of vast ValhallaAre silent in their hall;Zeus looks not from Olympus;Jehovah's rod has fallenAnd Buddha sleeps among his Poppies:The old gods, the great gods,Thunder and nod no more!
Yea, though we fiction them,Pretending that their stone eyes stare—That their ears of marble harken,We know that all the gods of yesterday are dead!
Weep not for Apollo;Sigh not for Cynthia;Call not for AphroditeComing from the foam;Beat not the breast for Balder—Balder the Beautiful,Slain by dark Loki:These were but dreams in the nightOf the day that is ours.
Sing for the day that is ours—For the gods who are here,Titans whose strength is greaterThan snake-strangling Hercules!
Sing for the gods of the oppressed,The cleansers of slums,The Christs of great GolgothasMounded of old wrongsHurting the people!
Sing for the smiters of tenements—Lairs of disease, of the white death!
Sing for the slayers of sweat-shop owners—The taskmasters of children!
Sing for the guardians of girls,The saviours of modern Madonnas—Custodians of wells unpollutedFor the renewal of men!
Sing for the wielders of axe and the hammer;The gods of the crowbar and shovel;For those who go down to the sea in ships,Having their business in the great waters;
For those who find out a pathWhich no fowl knoweth,Which the lion's whelps tread not—The veins of the silver and gold,Of the carbonized sunlight and laughter!
Sing for the prophets of labour,Rebukers of Ahab greedy of gardensDelved and possessed by another!
Sing for the women who claim the lost title:"Comrade and equal of Man,"Women who strike from their sistersÆonian fetters of custom,Bidding them stand and be free from their masters!
Sing for the priests of the Lord's House,Who lift up the vessels thereof with clean hands,Knowing great Christ when He cometh,Truthful interpreters of signs and of omens!
Sing for the harpers on highwaysWho make the world dance to their song,Turning the laughter of leaves into words!
Brother, this the world wonderfulTranscends Valhalla.Everywhere falls the ambrosialSmell of the garlands immortal;Everywhere tones of an infiniteIris-bow, bent for achievement,Pass the promise of Noah—Ours not promise, ours fulfilment!
This is the day of the ages,Heaven is here for the claiming—Now! Now! Rise up and take it."I said ye are gods"—?I say you are gods—Yea, you are more than God's Image,You are God's Self! worship none other.
Have done with your idols,The old gods, the dead gods!Blow up the trumpets—Beat on the cymbals—Strike on the harpstrings—Let sound the psalteries—Thunder the tabour!
Shout with the Levites,White-robed and ready,Round the old world-walls!
Shatter with soundJericho! Jericho!Topple its bastions,Bloodstained and brutal,Down to the dustDrifting to desertsRemote and forgotten!
Bring in the New Year,Brothers, my brothers—Proclaim this the Sabbath!
THE OPTIMIST
"There is no evil anywhere"—Said I unto the priestWho answered: "Life is cursed with care,Sin makes of man a beast!"
"Care is not any curse"—I cried,"To fail is not to sin.""Wherefore upon the rood Christ died,If not our souls to win?"
"Because a hero must face death,If death be in the way."And as I paused to take my breath,The priest began to say:
"Son, you forget how Adam fell,Losing his high estate;And so God doomed him unto hell,Save for the Master's fate."
"Yes, I forget—and gladly too—That ancient Hebrew tale:How God began a thing to do—Can the Eternal fail?
"Can He who rides upon the storm,Who breathes and, lo, the stars!Whose thought begets a flower-form,With leaves for avatars;
"Can He who crowns the grass with dew,And gems the wood with rain;Fail of His purpose?"—My priest drewHis breath and spoke again:
"Alas, my son! Your words are wildAnd far from holy faith;Your reason is of one beguiledBy some infernal wraith—
"Do you not know the written WordTells of our father's fall?Have you not seen, have you not heardHow death rules over all?"
"There is no death"—I quickly said;And he: "But all must die!""Now is Christ risen from the dead!"Forthwith I made reply.
"Now is Christ risen and becomeFirstfruits of them that slept!"And lo, the fluent priest was dumb—He was like one who wept!
"Ah, you have suffered, you have sinned,Have known the dark abyss,Have felt upon the roaring windThe phantom of a kiss;
"You have looked in a woman's eyesLit with her love of you,And such a moment made you wise!"He murmured: "It is true."
"Tell me, O priest, was it not worthEternity of hell,When in your heart dear love had birth?"—Tears from his closed eyes fell.
"Then your great moment gives the pointTo what I said before—There is no evil. You anointThe spirit's open door—
"A dying body—set the sealOf some old covenant,As though the spirit did not feelThe Comrade-Visitant;
"As though the soul were not God's sonKnowing as he is known,Who hath by cross and passion wonHis place beside the throne!
"If all my life were in the darkAnd dread of endless doom,Think you that I should fail the sparkThat gleamed athwart the gloom—
"My moment when I soared to blissUpon a woman's lipsAnd that revealing word—her kiss—Thrilled to my finger tips?
"Nay; by that instant I should knowEvil—so called—worth while,Accept the challenge, forward goBravely against the mile;
"Till by degrees the lengthened spaceShould give me stronger thews,A firmer tread, a purer face,A never-empty cruse:
"I then should reach a gentler handTo cripples by the way,Strike off the fetters, loose the band,Turn night into the day.
"My tongue would be a tunèd reed,My throat a silver horn,My lips for fuller faith would pleadFrom even unto morn.
"I should not waste the miracleDivine—the gift of speech—With fancied images of hell—This only would it teach:
"If God with lilies keeps a tryst,Then He will also keepFaith with that moment of the ChristWho walks upon the deep—
"Christ walks upon the deep with himWho dares the rising wave,And though his failing faith grow dim,Finds love is strong to save;
"Knows love is strong to save and liftThe flagging feet that fail,Hearing across the cloudy drift:'Courage, O comrade, hail!'
"Who sees the Presence, finds the Face,And hears the mystic word;Who moves to his appointed place,Like any homing bird;
"Who never doubts the highest peakOf his transcendent hour,And boldly ventures forth to seekFulfilment of his power:
"For him God waits beyond the sun,His Christ of many scars,To give for that which he hath doneA heritage of stars."
REVELATION
All is revealed—naught is concealed!Sudden and swift, like the feet of the spring;Laughter of children in torrents of tears;Breathing of blossoms from orchards that flingPerfumes in prodigal scorn of the yearsEmpty of fruitage; like the touch of a handSoft and compassionate, known in the deepValley of Death; like the flame from the brandFlung from a watchfire to frighten and keepBack from the fold the striped Terror that stares:All is revealed!
A SONG OF WORKERS
Hail to the hodmen,The builders of houses!Hail to the navviesLaying pipes for pure water!Hail to the minersPrisoned in pits,Cleaving the coal,Dauntless of death from the gases!
Here's to you, sailors,Brave on the boisterousBreast of the ocean,Tanned by the sun and the tempest!Here's to you, trainmen—Couplers and stokers—All you conductors—You with your hand on the throttle!
Gloria! Doctors,Nurses and mothers,Teachers of children,Patient with feet that are plodding;Gloria! Students,Lovers of nature,And you scientists—Priests of the veiled, vast Shekinahs!
A SONG OF BATTLES
You will not do this thing again!What thing?Mistake of owning overmuch:Great palaces and princely halls,Gardens of Babylon that hangHigh on a many-terraced hill,Created at the cost of slavesDead by the thousands; that some queenMight gaze in rapture of her lord.
Strange how the saddened centuriesStood clothed in garments red with bloodPoured from the veins of innocents,Their mothers glad to give them birth,Their fathers driven forth to slayAnd to be slain on battle fields!
Why?—Why?Because a few men sold their soulsFor little heaps of minted gold—Round pieces stamped with Cæsar's faceOr Alexander's awful brow—Gold pieces whose possession givesCommand of battle ships and legions armed for enemies,Raised up because of gold! gold! gold!
For when man gathers overmuchGod is exchanged for paltry dust;And when God goes the devil comesIn panoply of armies:Drums beating—Trumpets blowing—Flags fluttering—-Men hating, fighting, bleeding, dying;Women wailing and beating their breasts;Cities in conflagration;Tall towers tumbling to an accompaniment of thunder,Tumbling down among the statues and the pictures,Silencing the song of the singers,Making the beautiful ugly,Smothering in wide encompassing smokeThe children—the glad, the wonderful children—God's lilies of laughter—His immaculate ones!
I tell you gold is the cause of war,That war is the price we pay for gold—Gold for which we give God!
You will not do this thing again!What thing?Mistake of owning overmuch.
CAN YOU FORGET
Can you forget the pyramids, Persepolis and Tyre?Can you forget the barges on the Nile,The sculptor with his chisel and his artist-soul a-fireWith a dream of Mother Isis and her smile?His dream that made immortalOne pillar of the portal—'Tis broken now but beautiful above the yellow Nile!
Can you forget the reedy pipes, the cymbals and the songs;The sun upon the desert like a targe;The shaking of the sistrum and the beating of the gongs;The fury of the spear-thrust in the charge?O leave your milk and honey,Your little bags of money,And dream the ancient dream again above the yellow Nile!
BARTIMÆUS
Bartimæus at the highroad,Begging from the passer byJust enough to stop his hunger—Hear him cry!
Blind is he and lone and ragged,With no friendly hand to lead—And the sky all blue above him!Hear him plead.
There are olives and pomegranatesGreen and gold among the hills,Miles of vineyards through the valleysFed by rills.
In the distance is a cityWalled and white beneath the sun,Domed and delicate with towers—One by one
Rising up like fingers liftedHigh in a perpetual prayerTo Jehovah God who pitiesWant and care.
Near the blind man, gray and brokenIs an ancient olive-press—Blue and scarlet blossoms give itTenderness,
Weave a spell of summer-beautyOn each stained and splintered stone,Give the pile a royal grandeurOf a throne.
On the road are many people—Laughing as they hurry downTo the little homes that wait themIn the town.
Comes a merchant on his camel—Silk from Araby he sells:Listen to the rhythmic clangourOf the bells!
Comes a priest back from the Temple,Pondering the written Law,Blind to all the lovely blossomsIn the awe,
In the testamented terrorOf the lengthened scroll he reads;While the beggar at the highroadVainly pleads!
Comes a wanton in her madness,Drifting down the human stream;In her eyes the haunting horrorOf a dream!
Comes a harpist gaily singing,Brave above the smitten cords,Glancing at the royal hulehAnd the gourds.
Come two lovers from betrothal—She is on a milk-white ass,And he strides in strength beside her;As they pass,
Bartimæus pleads for pity:"Give the blind man of our all,"Breathes the maiden, and the young man—Straight and tall—
Gives three shekels to the beggar,Turns and looks into her eyes;Then they journey to their waitingParadise!
*****
Strange!—That day three people onlyHeard blind Bartimæus' cry—These, and Jesus Christ of NazarethPassing by!
THE COCK
A cross within the portico,And leaning near an oaken doorThrough which the people come and go,As they have never done before.
A cock upon the transverse beamIs perched. Within the High Priest's hallA man's voice rises to a scream:"God's Face! I know Him not at all!"
A noise of laughter and of blows:"Ha! Prophet, tell us—who smote Thee?""In sooth, this fellow Jesu knows!""Art Thou the Christ? Come answer me!"
The morning star pales in the sky—The paschal moon dips down the hills—The vineyards in the valley lieVeiled in the mist of many rills.
A gleam of silver in the east;The cock awakes and spreads his wings;And he who of the day is priest,This canticle of Jesu sings:
Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem—This is the dayThat men will slayThe starry Son of Bethlehem!
Like one lone cedar straight and tall,He stands within the High Priest's hall.His hands are bound, His breast is bare,There is no pity anywhere.His eyes are dim—They laugh at Him;And since He will not to them speak,A man now smites Him on the cheek!
Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem—This is the dayThat men will slayThe starry Son of Bethlehem!Above the burning coals there standsOne who is stretching forth his hands:Three times has he his Friend deniedWho must this day be crucified!Those eyes so dimHave looked at him;And he who thrice denied and sworeIs running blindly to the door!
Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem—The silver dawnIs coming on—A star hangs over Bethlehem!A breath of buds is in the air;The feet of Spring are on the stair,Descending to her olive-pressFrom Winter's palace, and her dressIs wrought with flowersOf summer showers;A tear of woe is in her eye—She mourns that Mary's Son must die!
Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem—The night is spent—Repent! Repent!What do ye down in Bethlehem?Cedron is calling soft and low;Gethsemane will never knowAgain the touch of Jesu's feet:O Nazareth,This day the deathOf Him who loved you is your loss—I call this to you from His cross!
THE STREAM
How many Christs have we two crucified;How many prophets have we sawn asunder;What wild woe have we wrought: how deep, how wideThe wrong committed! In the sky God's thunderThreatens, His lightning cleaves the clouds apartTo show an awful Face—The Judge is in His placeOf Judgment! Oh, the loveThat we have lost! Above,Beneath and all around us sounds the cryOf Rachel weeping over little handsAnd little feet! Her babes are dead! You, I,Alone are guilty; for while error standsMust all the starry Christs be crucified!
Nay, do not hang your head:Though Christs be crucified,And Rachel's babes are dead,One river floweth wideOut of the urge of God;Of that eternal stream—Its mother-bosom broadWith vision and with dream—Are you, Comrade and I!Yea, all its ancient shoresThat river runneth byHave we touched. Where it poursPast leagues of desert-sand,Jungles and miry places,Palms of an unknown land,Ferns and their fronded faces;Have we gone forth from God!
Where slimy serpents crawl,And crocodiles are torpid in the sun;Where snarling tigers sprawl,And elephants come slowly one by oneDown the yellow ridgesOf the banyan's broken bridgesTo the river where the little shells are strawed;Where chattering monkeys leap,And the flamingo struts among the reeds;Where parrots pause and peep,And all day long the greedy ibis feeds:We went flowing, flowing,And eternally out-goingFrom the impulse of the mighty love of God!
Lift up your head, O my Brother, my friend!Know that your shame is the shame of the stream—Memory floods all its banks, but the end—What is the end? 'Tis a realized dreamDreamt in the depths of an infinite peaceEre the first star of the morning aroseOver the earth! Since that river's releaseFrom the pure spring, how it flows! How it flows,Bears on its bosom the sorrows of man,Sin and the wreckage of faith and of truth,Lust and hot murder, the primitive ban:"Eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth"!
Yet that same bosom babe Moses did bareSafe in his cradle of wattles! Its tideFloated the tree on which Christ, crucified,Bled for His love of the stream and His shareOf the Past!
Lift up your head and endure!Are we not part of the All, and as pure?
THE ONE OBLATION
God does not need your virtueProclaimed in any place,Who knows a better beautyThan such a pious face!The stars keep His commandments,The suns observe His lawAnd all the countless cometsBow down to Him in awe.
God does not want your temples,Whose domes are in the sky;With archangelic anthemsHow dare we mortals vie?One thing alone, my brothers,Rivals that bliss above:Not incense on an altar,But man's oblation—Love!
A QUESTION
Have you Christ found—Whose eyes are coldAnd lips are set?How you forgetThat day of old,When on the groundHe wrote one tender word:"Let him who has not erredBe first of these aloneTo cast a stone!"
COMBATANTS
My God and I met at the ford—Lightning of wrath was on His face,And in His hand He held a sword!
He whom of old I had adoredNow challenged me! I paused a space—My God and I met at the ford.
Dauntless I stood, and daring pouredHot words of anger—stepped one pace;And in my hand I held a sword.
Steel clashed on steel! Together warredComrades of old in that fell place!My God and I met at the ford.
One moment's thrust and He had scored;I of His mercy pleaded grace:God smiled on me and dropped His sword!
ON THE WIDE, WHITE ROAD
The Question:Minstrel with a songOn the wide, white road—Loafing with the lilies of the June—What makes you so strongUnderneath your load,Lilting such a joyous little tune?
Tell me, little brother,What I want to know—Why your lips are tremulous with joy—Why you, like a mother,Soothe and love me so,As she used to when I was a boy.
All the way behindFades into a dreamHideous with faces in the gloom;Phantom-terrors blindWith a lurid gleamGlowing from Gehenna-gulfs of doom!
The Answer:Comrade, I will tell youHow I laugh and sing,Loafing with the lilies by the way.Comrade, what befell youThat you missed the KingCrowned with purple pansies of the day?
Brother, Him I know—Lord of earth and star—Find Him with the ferns beside the pool;All the splendours growDim and fade afar,When He walks at shut of day and cool.
Fear not to address Him—Cosmic-Comrade He—Lonely for the love He wants from you!Up at once and bless Him—Lift a jubileeWith the host of loyal hearts and true!
THAT ONE SHOULD LOVE ME
That one should love me is enough,Be my path smooth or be it rough;Though on my head no splendours shine,Love crowns me with the victor-vine.
If on my ears no plaudits fallProclaiming me from stall to stall,Behind the scenes I wait my turn,Who saw two eyes with longing burn.
Somewhere within that audienceGleamed golden Love's magnificence;I stood triumphant for a spaceHeld by the rapture on one face.
Out of the discord of to-day,Hark how the well-tuned harp-strings play!Peace, O my Soul! One song is true,Though thunder-clouds conceal the blue.
Down in the lowest deep of hellOne word of love upon me fell;Forthwith my flame-scarred face was bold,Uplifted to a gate of gold.
Upon my path a phantom formThreatened with terror as of storm,Smote me with lightning; I was strong,Hearing the cadence of a song.
A while within an awful wood,Uncertain of the path I stood;A shout of laughter from a treeWhere lurked a devil, frightened me.
Then there was whispering of leaves,Soft as of swallows under eaves:"I love you, love you!" Lo! a lightSundered the murkiness of night.
Three times I fell, three times I roseTo face the menacing of foes—What gave me strength again to stand?Out of the dark I felt a hand!
Out of the dark and dread of death,Upon my brow I felt a breath;And by the brink of that abyssThe consolation of a kiss.
Past many moors of pain I trodImpeded by the clinging clod,Until within one waking mornLove in response to love was born.
Love in response to love was mine!The water-jar was filled with wine,The broken cruse again restored,And green had grown the withered gourd.
RAHAB
Rahab hath vermilion lips,Breasts of ivory, and her hipsTaper down to little feetThat go dancing on the street.
Gossips call dear Rahab bold;Say her love is bought for gold,Barters kisses for a purse:Well, some women have done worse!
Saw you ever Rahab's eyes—All the blue of Canaan's skiesSmiles a moment, and you seeBeauty's best in Galilee.
Heard you ever Rahab's song,You would murmur: "Surely wrongLives not in that lovely voice—I with Rahab will rejoice!"
I came up the winding wayThrough the vines at shut of dayOut of Orphir, bearing balms;And I saw among the palms
Rahab wistful by the wall:She was slender, she was tall,And I trembled as her eyesTurned on me in swift surprise.
Tyrian purple was her gown;Gold her girdle; and a crownMade of myrtle held her hairOval on her forehead fair;
Little sandals shod her feet.Rahab, smiling, murmured: "GreetYou, my brother! Are you come,Laden with sweet spice and gum,
"Out of Orphir?" and I said:"Rahab!" All the evening shedLight and perfume on her faceTurned to me, I paused a space,
Breathless. Nothing I could sayBut her name. A dear dismayOf her beauty made me mute,Like a stringless harp or lute!
Then she laughed at me and flungHigh her hands! She tipped her tongueSaucily and danced along—Feet in fellowship with song.
I pursued her through the vinesGrowing where the bank confinesJordan; followed her untilI forgot my master's will—
Master of the CaravanOut of Orphir! As I ran,Love arose and went with meThrough the grapes of Galilee!
Little leaves laughed as I spedAfter Rahab. OverheadTwo white doves were on the wing,And I heard a throstle sing.
Where my feet fell on the brown,Furrowed vineyard, shaken downBy her body from the vine,Grapes were crushed to make me wine!
Day was gazing from the westOn high Hermon with confessedLove of her whose ample browCrimsoned; and from every bough
Twilight twitterings were heard.How my pulses leaped and stirred—Wild with longing for her lips,Like two red pomegranate pips!
I stretched forth my hands and cried:"Rahab!" and she turned asideFrom the vineyard where a woodNear a purple wine-press stood.
There she paused and looked on me,Laughing: "Boy, what do you seeIn my eyes, you tremble so?""Fate!" I answered. "Could you know,
"Rahab, what is in my heart,You would pity, you would partWith one kiss and one caressHere beside the purple press!"
"Boy," she murmured, "gossips sayRahab's poisoned lips will slayWhom she kisses; that her breastsAre two hidden adders' nests!"
"Though I die upon your mouth,Kiss me, Rahab! for the drouthOf the desert makes my soulEmpty as an empty bowl.
"Dreary days of journeyingWhere the sands go billowingMiles and miles beneath the sunLeave me broken and undone.
"All my youth was in the sere,Dim the eye and deaf the earUnto beauty until now;Rahab, harken to my vow:
"Give me vision, give me senseOf lost beauty's immanence—Give me these and I will pay,Careless of what gossips say,
"All you ask in turn for this:Soul of you within one Kiss!"Rahab's eyes were suddenlyMisted over, and to me
Came her whisper: "O my Heart!Take the minstrel's gift—his art—With my lips on yours; the priceBe your spirit's sacrifice—
"Pain of vision! You shall knowSummits of eternal snow,Depths of fire! You shall be torn,Twixt the twilight and the morn,
"By strange dreams of angel-facesBending from their starry places,Blent with devils out of hell!"Rahab kissed me—! Lo, there fell
Veils of violet and goldFrom the sunset—fold on fold—Till the tangled vines were caughtAnd with mist the fields were fraught;
Notes that I had never heardIn the tall bulrushes stirred,Trembled from the swaying trees,Fluting strange, wild melodies.
Rahab's kiss and tender glanceTaught me earth's significance;Opened wide eternal doors,Where the flood of beauty pours
Out of heaven! out of God!Quickening the stone and clod,Leaf and shrub and bird and beastFor the artist—nature's priest,
Sleepless when her altar lightsBurn through balmy summer nights,Wakeful when upon the dayPours the pollen smoke alway!
*****
Rahab kissed me by the press—Bound me with dear Love's duress—Laughed and clapped her hands in gleeMid the grapes of Galilee.