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Look! We Have Come Through!
By
D. H. Lawrence
Contents
"AND
OH-- THAT THE MAN I AM<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> MIGHT CEASE TO BE--"
SONG
OF A MAN WHO IS NOT LOVED
SONG
OF A MAN WHO HAS COME THROUGH
THESE poems should not be considered separatel=
y,
as so many single pieces. They are intended as an essential story, or histo=
ry, or
confession, unfolding one from the other in organic development, the whole
revealing the intrinsic experience of a man during the crisis of manhood, w=
hen
he marries and comes into him=
self.
The period covered is,
roughly, the sixth lustre =
of
a man's life
After much struggling and loss in love and in =
the
world of man, the protagonist throws in his lot with a woman who is already
married. Together they go into another country, she perforce leaving her
children behind. The conflict of love and hate goes on between the man and =
the
woman, and between these two and the world around them, till it reaches some
sort of conclusion, they transcend into =
some
condition of blessedness
AND who has seen the moon, who has not seen Her
rise from out the chamber of the deep, Flushed and grand and naked, as from=
the
chamber Of finished bridegroom, seen her rise and throw Confession of delig=
ht
upon the wave, Littering the waves with her own superscription Of bliss, ti=
ll
all her lambent beauty shakes towards us Spread out and=
known
at last, and we are sure That beauty is a thing beyond the grave, That perf=
ect,
bright experience never falls To nothingness, and time will dim the moon So=
oner
than our full consummation here In this odd life will tarnish or pass away.=
=
THE sun immense and rosy Must have sunk and be=
come
extinct The night you closed your eyes for ever against me.
Grey days, and wan, dree dawnings Since then, =
with
fritter of flowers-- Day wearies me with its ostentation and fawnings.
Still, you left me the nights, The great dark
glittery window, The bubble hemming this empty existence with lights.
Still in the vast hollow Like a breath in a bu= bble spinning Brushing the stars, goes my soul, that skims the bounds like a swallow!<= o:p>
I can look through The film of the bubble nigh=
t,
to where you are. Through the film I can almost touch you. EASTWOOD
=
THE
stars that open and shut Fall on my shallow breast Like stars on a pool.
The soft wind, blowing cool Laps little crest
after crest Of ripples across my breast.
And dark grass under my feet Seems to dabble i=
n me
Like grass in a brook.
Oh, and it is sweet To be all these things, no=
t to
be Any more myself.
For look, I am weary of myself!
AH God, life, law, so many names you keep, You
great, you patient Effort, and you Sleep That does inform this various drea=
m of
living, You sleep stretched out for ever, ever giving Us out as dreams, you
august Sleep Coursed round by rhythmic movement of all time,
The constellations, your great heart, the sun =
Fierily
pulsing, unable to refrain; Since you, vast, outstretched, wordless Sleep P=
ermit
of no beyond, ah you, whose dreams We are, and body of sleep, let it never =
be
said I quailed at my appointed function, turned poltroon
For when at night, from out the full surcharge=
Of
a day's experience, sleep does slowly draw The harvest, the spent action to
itself; Leaves me unburdened to begin again; At night, I say, when I am gon=
e in
sleep, Does my slow heart rebel, do my dead hands Complain of what the day =
has
had them do?
Never let it be said I was poltroon At this my
task of living, this my dream, This me which rises from the dark of sleep In
white flesh robed to drape another dream, As lightning comes all white and
trembling From out the cloud of sleep, looks round about One moment, sees, =
and
swift its dream is over, In one rich drip it sinks to another sleep, And sl=
eep
thereby is one more dream enrichened.
If so the Vast, the God, the Sleep that still
grows richer Have=
said
that I, this mote in the body of sleep Must in my transiency pass all throu=
gh
pain, Must be a dream of grief, must like a crude Dull meteorite flash only
into light When tearing through the anguish of this life, Still in full fli=
ght
extinct, shall I then turn Poltroon, and beg the silent, outspread God To a=
lter
my one speck of doom, when round me burns The w=
hole great
conflagration of all life, Lapped like a body close upon a sleep, Hiding and
covering in the eternal Sleep Within the immense and toilsome life-time, heaved With=
ache
of dreams that body forth the Sleep?
Shall I, less than the least red grain of fles=
h Within
my body, cry out to the dreaming soul That slowly labours in a vast travail=
, To
halt the heart, divert the streaming flow That carries moons along, and spa=
re
the stress That crushes me to an unseen atom of fire?
When pain and all And grief are but the same l=
ast
wonder, Sleep Rising to dream in me a small keen dream Of sudden anguish,
sudden over and spent--
CROYDON
=
IT is Isis the mystery Must be in love with me=
.
Here this round ball of earth Where all the
mountains sit Solemn in groups, And the bright rivers flit Round them for
girth.
Here the trees and troops Darken the shining
grass, And many people pass Plundered from heaven, Many bright people pass,=
Plunder
from heaven.
What of the mistresses What the beloved seven?=
--They
were but witnesses, I was just driven.
Where is there peace for me? Isis the mystery =
Must
be in love with me.
You, you are all unloving, loveless, you; Rest=
less
and lonely, shaken by your own moods, You are celibate and single, scorning=
a comrade
even, Threshing your own passions with no woman for the threshing-floor, Fi=
nishing
your dreams for your own sake only, Playing your great game around the worl=
d,
alone, Without playmate, or helpmate, having no one to cherish, No one to comf=
ort,
and refusing any comforter.
Not like the earth, the spouse all full of
increase Moiled over with the rearing of her many-mouthed young; You are single, =
you
are fruitless, phosphorescent, cold and callous, Naked=
of
worship, of love or of adornment, Scorning the panacea even of labour, Swor=
n to
a high and splendid purposelessness Of brooding and delighting in the secre=
t of
life's goings, Se=
a,
only you are free, sophisticated.
You who toil not, you who spin not, Surely but=
for
you and your like, toiling Were not worth while, nor spinning worth the
You who take the moon as in a sieve, and sift =
Her
flake by flake and spread her meaning out; You who roll the stars like jewe=
ls
in your palm, So that they seem to utter themselves aloud; You who steep fr=
om
out the days their colour, Reveal the universal tint that dyes Their web; w=
ho
shadow the sun's great gestures and expressions So that=
he
seems a stranger in his passing; Who voice the dumb night fittingly; Sea, y=
ou
shadow of all things, now mock us to death with your shadowi=
ng.
BOURNEMOUTH
MY love lies underground With her face upturne=
d to
mine, And her mouth unclosed in a last long kiss That ended her life and mi=
ne.
I dance at the Christmas party Under the mistl=
etoe
Along with a ripe, slack country lass Jostling to and fro.
The big, soft country lass, Like a loose sheaf=
of
wheat Slipped through my arms on the threshing floor At my feet.
The warm, soft country lass, Sweet as an armfu=
l of
wheat At threshing-time broken, was broken For me, and ah, it was sweet!
Now I am going home Fulfilled and alone, I see=
the
great Orion standing Looking down.
He's the star of my first beloved Love-making.=
The
witness of all that bitter-sweet Heart-aching.
Now he sees this as well, This last commission=
. Nor
do I get any look Of admonition.
He can add the reckoning up I suppose, between=
now
and then, Having walked himself in the thorny, difficult Ways of men.
He has done as I have done No doubt: Remembered
and forgotten Turn and about.
My love lies underground With her face upturne=
d to
mine, And her mouth unclosed in the last long kiss That ended her life and
mine.
She fares in the stark immortal Fields of deat=
h; I
in these goodly, frozen Fields beneath.
Something in me remembers And will not forget.=
The
stream of my life in the darkness Deathward set!
And something in me has forgotten, Has ceased =
to
care. Desire comes up, and contentment Is debonair.
I, who am worn and careful, How much do I care=
? How
is it I grin then, and chuckle Over despair?
Grief, grief, I suppose and sufficient Grief m=
akes
us free To be faithless and faithful together As we have to be.
UPON her plodding palfrey With a heavy child at
her breast And Joseph holding the bridle They mount to the last hill-crest.=
Dissatisfied and weary She sees the blade of t=
he
sea Dividing earth and heaven In a glitter of ecstasy.
Sudden a dark-faced stranger With his back to =
the
sun, holds out His arms; so she lights from her palfrey And turns her round
about.
She has given the child to Joseph, Gone down to
the flashing shore; And Joseph, shading his eyes with his hand, Stands watc=
hing
evermore.
THE sea in the stones is singing, A woman binds
her hair With yellow, frail sea-poppies, That shine as her fingers stir.
While a naked man comes swiftly Like a spurt of
white foam rent From the crest of a falling breaker, Over the poppies sent.=
He puts his surf-wet fingers Over her startled
eyes, And asks if she sees the land, the land, The land of her glad surmise=
.
AGAIN in her blue, blue mantle Riding at Josep=
h's
side, She says, "I went to Cythera, And woe betide!"
Her heart is a swinging cradle That holds the
perfect child, But the shade on her forehead ill becomes A mother mild.
So on with the slow, mean journey In the pride=
of
humility; Till they halt at a cliff on the edge of the land Over a sullen s=
ea.
While Joseph pitches the sleep-tent She goes f=
ar
down to the shore To where a man in a heaving boat Waits with a lifted oar.=
THEY dwelt in a huge, hoarse sea-cave And look=
ed
far down the dark Where an archway torn and glittering Shone like a huge
sea-spark.
He said: "Do you see the spirits Crowding=
the
bright doorway?" He said: "Do you hear them whispering?" He
said: "Do you catch what they say?"
THEN Joseph, grey with waiting, His dark eyes =
full
of pain, Heard: "I have been to Patmos; Give me the child again."=
Now on with the hopeless journey Looking bleak
ahead she rode, And the man and the child of no more account Than the earth=
the
palfrey trode.
Till a beggar spoke to Joseph, But looked into=
her
eyes; So she turned, and said to her husband: "I give, whoever
denies."
SHE gave on the open heather Beneath bare judg=
ment
stars, And she dreamed of her children and Joseph, And the isles, and her m=
en,
and her scars.
And she woke to distil the berries The beggar =
had
gathered at night, Whence he drew the curious liquors He held in delight.
He gave her no crown of flowers, No child and =
no
palfrey slow, Only led her through harsh, hard places Where strange winds b=
low.
She follows his restless wanderings Till night
when, by the fire's red stain, Her face is bent in the bitter steam That co=
mes
from the flowers of pain.
Then merciless and ruthless He takes the
flame-wild drops To the town, and tries to sell them With the market-crops.=
So she follows the cruel journey That ends not
anywhere, And dreams, as she stirs the mixing-pot, She is brewing hope from
despair.
TRIER
THE night was a failure but why not--?
In the darkness with the pale dawn seet=
hing
at the window thr=
ough
the black frame I=
could
not be free, not =
free
myself from the past, those others-- and our love was a conf=
usion,
there was a horror, you recoiled away from =
me.
Now, in the morning As we sit in the sunshine =
on
the seat by the little shrine, And=
look
at the mountain-walls, Walls of blue shadow, And see so near at our feet in=
the
meadow Myriads of dandelion pappus Bubbles ravelled in the dark green grass=
Held
still beneath the sunshine--
It is enough, you are near-- The mountains are
balanced, The dandelion seeds stay half-submerged in the grass; You =
and I
together We hold them proud and blithe On our love. They stand upright on o=
ur
love, Everything starts from us, We are the source.
BEUERBERG
=
No, now I wish the sunshine would stop, and the
white shining houses, and the gay red flowers on the ba=
lconies
and the bluish mountains beyond, would be crushed out between two v=
alves
of darkness; the darkness falling, the darkness rising, with muffled sound obl=
iterating
everything.
I wish that whatever props up the walls of lig=
ht would
fall, and darkness would come hurling heavily down, and=
it
would be thick black dark for ever. Not sleep, which is grey with dreams, n=
or
death, which quivers with birth, but heavy, sealing darkness, silence, all
immovable.
What is sleep? It goes over me, like a shadow =
over
a hill, but it does not alter me, nor help me. And death would ache still, =
I am
sure; it would be lambent, uneasy. I wish it would be completely dark
everywhere, inside me, and out, heavily dark utterly.
WOLFRATSHAUSEN
=
THE pale bubbles The lovely pale-gold bubbles =
of
the globe-flowers In a great swarm clotted and single Went rolling in the d=
usk
towards the river To where the sunset hung its wan gold cloths; And you sto=
od
alone, watching them go, And that mother-love like a demon drew you from me Towards England=
.
Along the road, after nightfall, Along the
glamorous birch-tree avenue Across the river levels We went in silence, and=
you
staring to England.
So then there shone within the jungle darkness=
Of
the long, lush under-grass, a glow-worm's sudden Green lantern of=
pure
light, a little, intense, fusing triumph, White and halo=
ed
with fire-mist, down in the tangled darkness.
Then you put your hand in mine again, kissed m=
e, and we struggled to be
together. And the little electric flashes went with us, in the grass, Tiny lighthouses,
little souls of lanterns, courage burst into an explosion=
of
green light Everywhere down in the grass, where darkness was ravelled in darkness.
Still, the kiss was a touch of bitterness on my
mouth Like salt, burning in. And my hand withered in your hand. For you were
straining with a wild heart, back, back again, Back to tho=
se
children you had left behind, to all the æons of the p=
ast. And
I was here in the under-dusk of the Isar.
At home, we leaned in the bedroom window Of the
old Bavarian Gasthaus, And the frogs in the pool beyond thrilled with exuberance, Like a boil=
ing
pot the pond crackled with happiness, Like a rattle a child spins round for
joy, the night ra=
ttled With
the extravagance of the frogs, And you leaned your cheek on mine, And I
suffered it, wanting to sympathise.
At last, as you stood, your white gown falling
from your breasts=
, You
looked into my eyes, and said: "But this is joy!" I acquiesced
again. But the shadow of lying was in your eyes, The mother in you, fierce =
as a
murderess, glaring to
England, Yearning towards England, towards your young children, Insisting upo=
n your
motherhood, devastating.
Still, the joy was there also, you spoke truly=
, The
joy was not to be driven off so easily; Stronger than fear or destructive
mother-love, it s=
tood
flickering; The frogs helped also, whirring away. Yet how I have learned to
know that look in your eyes Of horrid sorrow! =
How I
know that glitter of salt, dry, sterile, sharp, corrosive salt! =
Not
tears, but white sharp brine Making hideous your eyes.
I have seen it, felt it in my mouth, my throat=
, my
chest, my belly, =
Burning
of powerful salt, burning, eating through my defenceless nakednes=
s. I
have been thrust into white, sharp crystals, Writhing, twisting,
superpenetrated.
Ah, Lot's Wife, Lot's Wife! The pillar of salt,
the whirling, horrible column of salt, like a watersp=
out That
has enveloped me! Snow of salt, white, burning, eating salt In which I have
writhed.
Lot's Wife!--Not Wife, but Mother. I have lear=
ned
to curse your motherhood, You pillar of salt accursed. I have cursed mother=
hood
because of you, Accursed, base motherhood!
I long for the time to come, when the curse
against you will =
have
gone out of my heart. But it has not gone yet. Nevertheless, once, the frog=
s,
the globe-flowers of Bavaria, the glow-worms=
Gave
me sweet lymph against the salt-burns, There is a kindness in the very rain=
.
Therefore, even in the hour of my deepest, pas=
- sionate malediction I t=
ry to
remember it is also well between us. That you are with me in the end. That =
you
never look quite back; nine-tenths, ah, more You look round ove=
r your
shoulder; But never quite back.
Nevertheless the curse against you is still in=
my heart Like a deep, deep=
burn.
The curse against all mothers. All mothers who fortify themselves in
motherhood, devas=
tating
the vision. They are accursed, and the curse is not taken off It burns with=
in
me like a deep, old burn, And oh, I wish it was better.
BEUERBERG
IN front of the sombre mountains, a faint, los=
t ribbon of rainbow; And
between us and it, the thunder; And down below in the green wheat, the
labourers Stand like dark stumps, still in the green wheat.
You are near to me, and your naked feet in the=
ir sandals, And through the
scent of the balcony's naked timber I distinguish the
scent of your hair: so now the limber Lightning falls =
from
heaven.
Adown the pale-green glacier river floats A da=
rk
boat through the gloom--and whither? The thunder roars. But still we have e=
ach
other! The naked lightnings in the heavens dither And disappear--what have =
we
but each other? The boat has gone.
You have come your way, I have come my way; You
have stepped across your people, carelessly, hurting them all; I have
stepped across my people, and hurt them in spite of my care.
But steadily, surely, and notwithstanding We h=
ave
come our ways and met at last Here in this upper room.
Here the balcony Overhangs the street where the
bullock-wagons sl=
owly Go
by with their loads of green and silver birch- trees For the feast of =
Corpus
Christi.
Here from the balcony We look over the growing
wheat, where the jade- green river Goes betwee=
n the
pine-woods, Over and beyond to where the many mountains Stand in their
blueness, flashing with snow and the morning.
I have done; a quiver of exultation goes throu=
gh me, like the first Bree=
ze of
the morning through a narrow white birch. You glow at last=
like
the mountain tops when they catch Day and make magi=
c in
heaven.
At last I can throw away world without end, an=
d meet you Unsheathed and=
naked
and narrow and white; At last you can throw immortality off, and I see you =
Glistening
with all the moment and all your beauty.
Shameless and callous I love you; Out of
indifference I love you; Out of mockery we dance together, Out of the sunsh=
ine
into the shadow, Passing across the shadow into the sunlight, Out of sunlig=
ht
to shadow.
As we dance Your eyes take all of me in as a
communication; As we dance I see you, ah, in full! Only to dance together in
triumph of being together Two white ones, sharp, vindicated, Shining and
touching, Is heaven of our own, sheer with repudiation.
A BLOTCH of pallor stirs beneath the high Squa=
re
picture-dusk, the window of dark sky.
A sound subdued in the darkness: tears! As if a
bird in difficulty up the valley steers.
"Why have you gone to the window? Why don=
't you sleep? How you have
wakened me! But why, why do you weep?"
"I am afraid of you, I am afraid, afraid!=
There
is something in you destroys me--!"
"You have dreamed and are not awake, come
here to me."=
"No,
I have wakened. It is you, you are cruel to me!"
"My dear!"--"Yes, yes, you are
cruel to me. You =
cast A
shadow over my breasts that will kill me at last."
"Come!"--"No, I'm a thing of li=
fe.
I give You armfuls of sunshine, and you won't let me live."
"Nay, I'm too sleepy!"--"Ah, yo=
u are
horrible; You stand before me like ghosts, like a darkness upright."
"I!"--"How can you treat me so,=
and
love me? My feet have no hold, you take the sky from above me."
"My dear, the night is soft and eternal, =
no
doubt You love it!"--"It is dark, it kills me, I am put out."=
;
"My dear, when you cross the street in the
sun- shine, surel=
y Your
own small night goes with you. Why treat it so poorly?"
"No, no, I dance in the sun, I'm a thing =
of
life--" "Even then it is dark behind you. Turn round, my wife."
"No, how cruel you are, you people the
sunshine With shadows!"--"With yours I people the sunshine, yours=
and
mine--"
"In the darkness we all are gone, we are =
gone
with the trees An=
d the
restless river;--we are lost and gone with all these."
"But I am myself, I have nothing to do wi=
th
these." "Come back to bed, let us sleep on our mys- teries.
"Come to me here, and lay your body by mi=
ne, And
I will be all the shadow, you the shine.
"Come, you are cold, the night has fright=
ened
you. Hark at the river! It pants as it hurries through
"The pine-woods. How I love them so, in t=
heir
mystery of
not-to-be." "--But let me be myself, not a river or a tree."=
"Kiss me! How cold you are!--Your little
breasts Are bubbles of ice. Kiss me!--You know how it rests
"One to be quenched, to be given up, to be
gone in the dark;=
To be
blown out, to let night dowse the spark.
"But never mind, my love. Nothing matters=
, save sleep; Save you, a=
nd me,
and sleep; all the rest will keep."
A THICK mist-sheet lies over the broken wheat.=
I
walk up to my neck in mist, holding my mouth up. Across there, a discoloured
moon burns itself out.
I hold the night in horror; I dare not turn ro=
und.
To-night I have left her alone. They would hav=
e it
I have left her for ever.
Oh my God, how it aches Where she is cut off f=
rom
me!
Perhaps she will go back to England. Perhaps s=
he
will go back, Perhaps we are parted for ever.
If I go on walking through the whole breadth o=
f Germany I c=
ome to
the North Sea, or the Baltic.
Over there is Russia--Austria, Switzerland,
France, in
a circle! I here in the undermist on the Bavarian road. It aches in me. What is England or France, far
off, But a name she might take? I don't mind this continent stretching, the=
sea
far a=
way; It
aches in me for her Like the agony of limbs cut off and aching; Not even
longing, It is only agony. A cripple! Oh God, to be mutilated! To be a
cripple! And if I never see her again? I think, if they told me so I could convulse t=
he
heavens with my horror. I think I could alter the frame of things in my
She too suffers. But who could compel her, if =
she
chose me against them all? S=
he has
not chosen me finally, she suspends her choice. Nig=
ht
folk, Tuatha De Danaan, dark Gods, govern her sleep, =
Magnificent
ghosts of the darkness, carry off her decision in
sleep, Leave her no choice, make her lapse me-ward, make her, O=
h Gods
of the living Darkness, powers of Night.
I HAVE been so innerly proud, and so long alon=
e, Do
not leave me, or I shall break. Do not leave me.
What should I do if you were gone again So soo=
n? What
should I look for? Where should I go? What should I be, I myself, "I&q=
uot;?
What would it mean, this I?
Do not leave me.
What should I think of death? If I died, it wo=
uld
not be you: It would be simply the same Lack of you. The same want, life or
death, Unfulfilment, The same insanity of space You not there for me.
Think, I daren't die For fear of the lack in
death. And I daren't live.
Unless there were a morphine or a drug.
I would bear the pain. But always, strong,
unremitting It would make me not me. The thing with my body that would go o=
n living Would not be me.=
Neither
life nor death could help.
Think, I couldn't look towards death Nor towar=
ds
the future: Only not look. Only myself Stand still and bind and blind mysel=
f.
God, that I have no choice! That my own fulfil=
ment
is up against me Timelessly! The burden of self-accomplishment! The charge =
of
fulfilment! And God, that she is necessary! Necessary, and I have no choice=
!
Do not leave me.
THE pain of loving you Is almost more than I c=
an
bear.
I walk in fear of you. The darkness starts up
where You stand, and the night comes through Your eyes when you look at me.=
Ah never before did I see The shadows that liv=
e in
the sun!
Now every tall glad tree Turns round its back =
to
the sun And looks down on the ground, to see The shadow it used to shun.
At the foot of each glowing thing A night lies
looking up.
Oh, and I want to sing And dance, but I can't =
lift
up My eyes from the shadows: dark They lie spilt round the cup.
What is it?--Hark The faint fine seethe in the
air!
Like the seething sound in a shell! It is death
still seething where The wild-flower shakes its bell And the sky lark twink=
les
blue--
The pain of loving you Is almost more than I c=
an
bear.
THE dawn was apple-green, The sky was green wi=
ne
held up in the sun, The moon was a golden petal between.
She opened her eyes, and green They shone, cle=
ar
like flowers undone For the first time, now for the first time seen.
ICKING
BY the Isar, in the twilight We were wandering=
and
singing, By the Isar, in the evening We climbed the huntsman's ladder and s=
at swinging In the fir-tree
overlooking the marshes, While river met with river, and the ringing Of the=
ir
pale-green glacier water filled the evening.
By the Isar, in the twilight We found the dark
wild roses Hanging red at the river; and simmering Frogs were singing, and =
over
the river closes Was savour of ice and of roses; and glimmering Fear was
abroad. We whispered: "No one knows us. Let it be as =
the
snake disposes Here in this simmering marsh."
KLOSTER SCHAEFTLARN
WHEN she rises in the morning I linger to watch
her; She spreads the bath-cloth underneath the window And the sunbeams catch
her Glistening white on the shoulders, While down her sides the mellow Gold=
en
shadow glows as She stoops to the sponge, and her swung breasts Sway like
full-blown yellow Gloire de Dijon roses.
She drips herself with water, and her shoulder=
s Glisten
as silver, they crumple up Like wet and falling roses, and I listen For the
sluicing of their rain-dishevelled petals. In the window full of sunlight C=
oncentrates
her golden shadow Fold on fold, until it glows as Mellow as the glory roses=
.
ICKING
JUST a few of the roses we gathered from the I=
sar Are
fallen, and their mauve-red petals on the cloth Float like boats =
on a
river, while other Roses are ready to fall, reluctant and loth.
She laughs at me across the table, saying I am
beautiful. I look at the rumpled young roses And suddenly realise, in them =
as
in me, How lovely the present is that this day discloses.
I AM myself at last; now I achieve My very sel=
f.
I, with the wonder mellow, Full of fine warmth, I issue forth in clear And
single me, perfected from my fellow.
Here I am all myself. No rose-bush heaving Its
limpid sap to culmination, has brought Itself more sheer and naked out of t=
he
green In stark-clear roses, than I to myself am brought.
I AM here myself; as though this heave of effo=
rt At
starting other life, fulfilled my own: Rose-leaves that whirl in colour rou=
nd a
core Of seed-specks kindled lately and softly blown
By all the blood of the rose-bush into being--=
Strange,
that the urgent will in me, to set My mouth on hers in kisses, and so softl=
y To
bring together two strange sparks, beget
Another life from our lives, so should send The
innermost fire of my own dim soul out- spinning And whirling in
blossom of flame and being upon me! That my completion =
of
manhood should be the beginning
Another life from mine! For so it looks. The s=
eed
is purpose, blossom accident. The seed is all in all, the blossom lent To c=
rown
the triumph of this new descent.
Is that it, woman? Does it strike you so? The
Great Breath blowing a tiny seed of fire Fans out your petals for excess of
flame, Till all your being smokes with fine desire?
Or are we kindled, you and I, to be One rose of
wonderment upon the tree Of perfect life, and is our possible seed But the
residuum of the ecstasy?
How will you have it?--the rose is all in all,=
Or
the ripe rose-fruits of the luscious fall? The sharp begetting, or the child
begot? Our consummation matters, or does it not?
To me it seems the seed is just left over From=
the
red rose-flowers' fiery transience; Just orts and slarts; berries that smou=
lder
in the bush Which=
burnt
just now with marvellous immanence.
Blossom, my darling, blossom, be a rose Of ros=
es
unchidden and purposeless; a rose For rosiness only, without an ulterior mo=
tive;
For me it is more than enough if the flower un- close.
THERE are four men mowing down by the Isar; I =
can
hear the swish of the scythe-strokes, four Sharp breaths taken: yea, and I =
Am
sorry for what's in store.
The first man out of the four that's mowing Is
mine, I claim him once and for all; Though it's sorry I am, on his young fe=
et,
knowing None of the trouble he's led to stall.
As he sees me bringing the dinner, he lifts His
head as proud as a deer that looks Shoulder-deep out of the corn; and wipes=
His
scythe-blade bright, unhooks
The scythe-stone and over the stubble to me. L=
ad,
thou hast gotten a child in me, Laddie, a man thou'lt ha'e to be, Yea, thou=
gh
I'm sorry for thee.
WHAT pain, to wake and miss you! To wake with a tightened hear=
t, And
mouth reaching forward to kiss you!
This then at last is the dawn, and the bell Clanging at the farm! Such
bewilderment Comes with the sight of the room, I cannot tell.
It is raining. Down the half-obscure road Four labourers pass with their
scythes Dejectedly;--a huntsman goes by with his load:
A gun, and a bunched-up deer, its four little =
feet
Clustered dead.--And th=
is is
the dawn For which I wanted the night to retreat!
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>FORSAKEN AND FORLORN<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>
THE house is silent, it is late at night, I am
alone. =
From
the balcony =
I
can hear the Isar moan, =
Can
see the white Rift of the river eerily, between the pines, under =
a
sky of stone.
Some fireflies drift through the middle air =
Tinily.
=
I
wonder where Ends this darkness that annihilates me.
She speaks. Look at the little darlings in the
corn! The rye is =
taller
than you, who think yourself So high and mighty: look how the heads are
Knights indeed!--much knight I know will ride =
With his head held
high-serene against the sky! Limping and following rather at my side Moaning for me to love
him!--Oh darling rye How I adore you for your simple pride!
And the dear, dear fireflies wafting in betwee=
n And over the swaying
corn-stalks, just above All the dark-feathered helmets, like little green <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Stars come low and wand=
ering
here for love Of these dark knights, shedding their delicate sheen!
I thank you I do, you happy creatures, you dea=
rs Riding the air, and car=
rying
all the time Your little lanterns behind you! Ah, it cheers My soul to see you sett=
ling
and trying to climb The
corn-stalks, tipping with fire the spears.
All over the dim corn's motion, against the bl=
ue Dark sky of night, a
wandering glitter, a swarm Of qu=
esting
brilliant souls going out with their true Proud knights to battle!
Sweet, how I warm My poor, my perished soul with the sight of you!
As I went through the marshes a doe sprang out=
of
the corn and flashed up the hill-side leaving her fawn.
On the sky-line she moved round to watch, she
pricked a fine black blotch on the sky.
I looked at her and felt her watching; I becam=
e a
strange being. Still, I had my right to be there with her,
Her nimble shadow trotting along the sky-line,=
she
put back her fine, level-balanced head. And I knew her.
Ah yes, being male, is not my head hard-balanc=
ed, antlered? Are not=
my
haunches light? Has she not fled on the same wind with me? Does not my fear
cover her fear?
IRSCHENHAUSEN
THE space of the world is immense, before me a=
nd around me; If I turn qu=
ickly,
I am terrified, feeling space surround me; Like a man=
in a
boat on very clear, deep water, space frightens and con=
founds
me.
I see myself isolated in the universe, and won=
der What
effect I can have. My hands wave under The heavens like specks of dust that=
are
floating asunder.=
I hold myself up, and feel a big wind blowing =
Me
like a gadfly into the dusk, without my know- ing Whither or why or e=
ven
how I am going.
So much there is outside me, so infinitely Sma=
ll
am I, what matter if minutely I beat my way, to be lost immediately?
How shall I flatter myself that I can do Anyth=
ing
in such immensity? I am too Little to count in the wind that drifts me thro=
ugh.
GLASHÜTTE
THE big mountains sit still in the afternoon l=
ight
Shadows in their =
lap; The
bees roll round in the wild-thyme with de- light.
We sitting here among the cranberries So still in the gap Of =
rock,
distilling our memories
Are sinners! Strange! The bee that blunders Against me goes off wit=
h a
laugh. A squirrel cocks his head on the fence, and wonders
What about sin?--For, it seems The mountains have No s=
hadow
of us on their snowy forehead of dreams
As they ought to have. They rise above us Dreaming For ever. One even might t=
hink
that they love us.
Little red cranberries cheek to cheek, Two great dragon-flies
wrestling; You, w=
ith
your forehead nestling Against me, and bright =
peak
shining to peak--
There's a love-song for you!--Ah, if only There were no teeming S=
warms
of mankind in the world, and we were less lonely=
!
MAYRHOFEN
OUT of this oubliette between the mountains fi=
ve
valleys go, five passes like gates; three of them black in shadow, two of t=
hem
bright with distant sunshine; and sunshine fills one high valley bed, green
grass shining, and little white houses like quartz crystals, little, but
distinct a way off.
Why don't I go? Why do I crawl about this pot,
this oubliette, stupidly? Why don't I go?
But where? If I come to a pine-wood, I can't s=
ay Now
I am arrived! What are so many straight trees to me!
STERZING
THE man and the maid go side by side With an
interval of space between; And his hands are awkward and want to hide, She
braves it out since she must be seen.
When some one passes he drops his head Shading=
his
face in his black felt hat, While the hard girl hardens; nothing is said, T=
here
is nothing to wonder or cavil at.
Alone on the open road again With the mountain
snows across the lake Flushing the afternoon, they are uncomfortable, The
loneliness daunts them, their stiff throats ache.
And he sighs with relief when she parts from h=
im; Her
proud head held in its black silk scarf Gone under the archway, home, he can
join The men that lounge in a group on the wharf.
His evening is a flame of wine Among the eager,
cordial men. And she with her women hot and hard Moves at her ease again.
=
She is
marked, she is singled out For t=
he
fire: The brand is upon=
him,
look--you, Of de=
sire.
They
are chosen, ah, they are fated For t=
he
fight! Champion her, al=
l you
women! Men, menfolk Hold =
him
your light!
Nourish her, train her, harden her Women=
all! Fold him, be good to him, che=
rish
him Men, =
ere he
fall.
Women, another champion! This,=
men,
is yours! Wreathe and e=
nlap
and anoint them Behind
separate doors.
GARGNANO
GREEN star Sirius Dribbling over the lake; The
stars have gone so far on their road, Yet we're awake!
Without a sound The new young year comes in An=
d is
half-way over the lake. We must begin
Again. This love so full Of hate has hurt us s=
o, We
lie side by side Moored--but no,
Let me get up And wash quite clean Of this hat=
e.--
So green
The great star goes! I am washed quite clean, =
Quite
clean of it all. But e'en
So cold, so cold and clean Now the hate is gon=
e! It
is all no good, I am chilled to the bone
Now the hate is gone;
There is nothing left; I am pure like bone, Of=
all
feeling bereft.
THE yellow sun steps over the mountain-top And
falters a few short steps across the lake-- Are you awake?
See, glittering on the milk-blue, morning lake=
They
are laying the golden racing-track of the sun; The day has begun.=
The sun is in my eyes, I must get up. I want to
go, there's a gold road blazes before My breast--which is so sore.
What?--your throat is bruised, bruised with my=
kisses? Ah, but if I am=
cruel
what then are you? I am bruised right through.
What if I love you!--This misery Of your
dissatisfaction and misprision Stupefies me.
Ah yes, your open arms! Ah yes, ah yes, You wo=
uld
take me to your breast!--But no, You should come to mine, It were better so=
.
Here I am--get up and come to me! Not as a vis=
itor
either, nor a sweet And winsome child of innocence; nor As an insolent mist=
ress
telling my pulse's beat.
Come to me like a woman coming home To the man=
who
is her husband, all the rest Subordinate to this, that he and she Are joined
together for ever, as is best.
Behind me on the lake I hear the steamer drum-=
ming From Austria. Ther=
e lies
the world, and here Am I. Which way are you coming?
HUSH then why do you cry? It's you and me the =
same
as before.
If you hear a rustle it's only a rabbit gone b=
ack
to his hole in a bustle.
If something stirs in the branches overhead, it will be a squirrel moving uneasily, disturbed by the stress of our loving.<= o:p>
Why should you cry then? Are you afraid of God=
in
the dark?
I'm not afraid of God. Let him come forth. If =
he
is hiding in the cover let him come forth.
Now in the cool of the day it is we who walk in
the trees and call to God "Where art thou?" And it is he who hide=
s.
Why do you cry? My heart is bitter. Let God co=
me
forth to justify himself now.
Why do you cry? Is it Wehmut, ist dir weh? Weep
then, yea for the abomination of our old righteousness,
We have done wrong many times; but this time we
begin to do right.
Weep then, weep for the abomination of our past
righteousness. God will keep hidden, he won't come forth.
ALONG the avenue of cypresses All in their sca=
rlet
cloaks, and surplices Of linen go the chanting choristers, The priests in g=
old
and black, the villagers. . . .
And all along the path to the cemetery The rou=
nd
dark heads of men crowd silently, And black-scarved faces of women-folk,
wistfully Watch at the banner of death, and the mystery.
And at the foot of a grave a father stands With
sunken head, and forgotten, folded hands; And at the foot of a grave a moth=
er
kneels With pale shut face, nor either hears nor feels
The coming of the chanting choristers Between =
the
avenue of cypresses, The silence of the many villagers, The candle-flames
beside the surplices.
THEY are chanting now the service of All the D=
ead And
the village folk outside in the burying ground Listen--except those who str=
ive
with their dead, Reaching out in anguish, yet unable quite to touch them: Those
villagers isolated at the grave Where the candles burn in the daylight, and=
the
painted wre=
aths Are
propped on end, there, where the mystery starts.
The naked candles burn on every grave. On your
grave, in England, the weeds grow.
But I am your naked candle burning, And that is
not your grave, in England, The world is your grave. And my naked body stan=
ding
on your grave Upright towards heaven is burning off to you Its flame of lif=
e,
now and always, till the end.
It is my offering to you; every day is All Sou=
ls' Day.
I forget you, have forgotten you. I am busy on=
ly at
my burning, I am busy only at my life. But my feet are on your grave, plant=
ed. And
when I lift my face, it is a flame that goes up To the other world, where y=
ou
are now. But I am not concerned with you. I have forgotten =
you.
I am a naked candle burning on your grave.
AH yes, I know you well, a sojourner At the hearth; I =
know
right well the marriage ring you wear, And what it's wor=
th.
The angels came to Abraham, and they stayed In his house awhi=
le; So
you to mine, I imagine; yes, happily Condescend to be =
vile.
I see you all the time, you bird-blithe, lovel=
y Angel in disguise=
. I
see right well how I ought to be grateful, Smitten with reve=
rent
surprise.
Listen, I have no use For so rare a vis=
it; Mine
is a common devil's Requisite.
Rise up and go, I have no use for you And your blithe, =
glad
mien. No angels here, for me no goddesses, Nor any Queen.
Put ashes on your head, put sackcloth on And learn to serv=
e. You
have fed me with your sweetness, now I am sick, As I deserve.
Queens, ladies, angels, women rare, I have had enough= . Put sackcloth on, be crowned with powdery ash, Be common stuff.<= o:p>
And serve now woman, serve, as a woman should,=
Implicitly. Since=
I
must serve and struggle with the imminent Mystery.
Serve then, I tell you, add your strength to m=
ine Take on this doom=
. What
are you by yourself, do you think, and what The mere fruit of=
your
womb?
What is the fruit of your womb then, you mothe=
r, you q=
ueen, When it falls to the gr=
ound? Is
it more than the apples of Sodom you scorn so, the m=
en Who abound?
Bring forth the sons of your womb then, and pu=
t them =
Into the fire Of =
Sodom
that covers the earth; bring them forth From the womb of =
your
precious desire.
You woman most holy, you mother, you being
AND because you love me think you you do not h=
ate
me? Ha, since you love me to ecstasy it follows you hate me to ecstasy.
Because when you hear me go down the road outs=
ide
the house you must come to the window to watch me go, do you think it is pu=
re
worship?
Because, when I sit in the room, here, in my o=
wn
house, and you want to enlarge yourself with this friend of mine, such a frie=
nd as
he is, yet you cannot get beyond your awareness of me you are held back by =
my
being in the same world with you, do you =
think
it is bliss alone? sheer harmony?
No doubt if I were dead, you must reach into d=
eath
after me, but would not your hate reach even more madly than your love? y=
our
impassioned, unfinished hate?
Since you have a passion for me, as I for you,=
does
not that passion stand in your way like a Balaam's ass? and=
am I
not Balaam's ass golden-mouthed occasionally? But mostly, do you not detest=
my
bray?
Since you are confined in the orbit of me do y=
ou
not loathe the confinement? Is not even the beauty and peace of an orbit an
intolerable prison to you, as it is to everybody?
But we will learn to submit each of us to the
balanced, eternal orbit wherein we circle on our fate in strange conjunctio=
n.
What is chaos, my love? It is not freedom. A
disarray of falling stars coming to nought.
PLEASE yourself how you have it. Take my words,
and fling Them down on the counter roundly; See if they ring.
Sift my looks and expressions, And see what
proportion there is Of sand in my doubtful sugar Of verities.
Have a real stock-taking Of my manly breast; F=
ind
out if I'm sound or bankrupt, Or a poor thing at best.
For I am quite indifferent To your dubious sta=
te, As
to whether you've found a fortune In me, or a flea-bitten fate.
Make a good investigation Of all that is there=
, And
then, if it's worth it, be grateful-- If not then despair.
If despair is our portion Then let us despair.=
Let
us make for the weeping willow. I don't care.
TAKE off your cloak and your hat And your shoe=
s,
and draw up at my hearth Where never woman sat.
I have made the fire up bright; Let us leave t=
he
rest in the dark And sit by firelight.
The wine is warm in the hearth; The flickers c=
ome
and go. I will warm your feet with kisses Until they glow.
=
NEW
YEAR'S EVE
THERE are only two things now, The great black
night scooped out And this fire-glow.
This fire-glow, the core, And we the two ripe =
pips
That are held in store.
Listen, the darkness rings As it circulates ro=
und
our fire. Take off your things.
Your shoulders, your bruised throat Your breas=
ts,
your nakedness! This fiery coat!
As the darkness flickers and dips, As the
firelight falls and leaps From your feet to your lips!
Now you are mine, to-night at last I say it; Y=
ou're
a dove I have bought for sacrifice, And to-night I slay it.
Here in my arms my naked sacrifice! Death, do =
you
hear, in my arms I am bringing My offering, bought at great price.
She's a silvery dove worth more than all I've =
got.
Now I offer her up to the ancient, inexorable God, Who knows me not.
Look, she's a wonderful dove, without blemish =
or spot! I sacrifice all i=
n her,
my last of the world, Pride, strength, all the lot.
All, all on the altar! And death swooping down=
Like
a falcon. 'Tis God has taken the victim; I have won my renown.
You shadow and flame, You interchange, You dea=
th
in the game!
Now I gather you up, Now I put you back Like a
poppy in its cup.
And so, you are a maid Again, my darling, but =
new,
Unafraid.
My love, my blossom, a child Almost! The flowe=
r in
the bud Again, undefiled.
And yet, a woman, knowing All, good, evil, bot=
h In
one blossom blowing.
THIS fireglow is a red womb In the night, where
you're folded up On your doom.
And the ugly, brutal years Are dissolving out =
of
you, And the stagnant tears.
I the great vein that leads From the night to =
the
source of you, Which the sweet blood feeds.
New phase in the germ of you; New sunny stream=
s of
blood Washing you through.
You are born again of me. I, Adam, from the ve=
ins
of me The Eve that is to be.
What has been long ago Grows dimmer, we both
forget, We no longer know.
You are lovely, your face is soft Like a flowe=
r in
bud On a mountain croft.
This is Noël for me. To-night is a woman =
born
Of the man in me.
WHY do you spurt and sprottle like that, bunny=
? Why
should I want to throttle you, bunny?
Yes, bunch yourself between my knees and lie
still. Lie on me with a hot, plumb, live weight, heavy as a stone, passive,=
yet
hot, waiting.
What are you waiting for? What are you waiting
for? What is the hot, plumb weight of your desire on me? You have a ho=
t,
unthinkable desire of me, bunny.
What is that spark glittering at me on the
unutterable darkness of your eye, bunny? The finest splinter of a spark that
you throw off, straight on the tinder of my nerves!
It sets up a strange fire, a soft, most
unwarrantable burning a bale-fire mounting, mounting up in me.
'Tis not of me, bunny. It was you engendered i=
t, with
that fine, demoniacal spark you jetted off your eye at me.
I did not want it, this furnace, this
draught-maddened fire which mounts up my arms making them swell with turgid,
ungovernable strength.
'Twas not I that wished it, that my fingers sh=
ould
turn into these flames avid and terrible that they are at this moment.
It must have been your inbreathing, gaping des=
ire that
drew this red gush in me; I must be reciprocating your vacuous, hideous
It must be the want in you that has drawn this
terrible draught of white fire up my veins as up a chimney.
It must be you who desire this intermingling of
the black and monstrous fingers of Moloch=
in
the blood-jets of your throat.
Come, you shall have your desire, since alread=
y I
am implicated with you in your strange lust.
THROUGH the strait gate of passion, Between the
bickering fire Where flames of fierce love tremble On the body of fierce
desire:
To the intoxication, The mind, fused down like=
a
bead, Flees in its agitation The flames' stiff speed:
At last to calm incandescence, Burned clean by
remorseless hate, Now, at the day's renascence We approach the gate.
Now, from the darkened spaces Of fear, and of
frightened faces, Death, in our awful embraces Approached and passed by;
We near the flame-burnt porches Where the bran=
ds
of the angels, like torches Whirl,--in these perilous marches Pausing to si=
gh;
We look back on the withering roses, The stars=
, in
their sun-dimmed closes, Where 'twas given us to repose us Sure on our
sanctity;
Beautiful, candid lovers, Burnt out of our ear=
thy
covers, We might have nestled like plovers In the fields of eternity.
There, sure in sinless being, All-seen, and th=
en
all-seeing, In us life unto death agreeing, We might have lain.
But we storm the angel-guarded Gates of the
long-discarded, Garden, which God has hoarded Against our pain.
The Lord of Hosts, and the Devil Are left on
Eternity's level Field, and as victors we travel To Eden home.
Back beyond good and evil Return we. Eve dishe=
vel Your
hair for the bliss-drenched revel On our primal loam.
AH, through the open door Is there an almond t=
ree Aflame
with blossom! --L=
et us
fight no more.
Among the pink and blue Of the sky and the alm=
ond
flowers A sparrow flutters. --We have come through,=
It is really spring!--See, When he thinks hims=
elf
alone How he bullies the flowers. --Ah, you and me
How happy we'll be!--See him He clouts the tuf=
ts
of flowers In his impudence. --But, did you dream
It would be so bitter? Never mind It is finish=
ed,
the spring is here. And we're going to be summer-happy And summer-kind.
We have died, we have slain and been slain, We=
are
not our old selves any more. I feel new and eager To start again.
It is gorgeous to live and forget. And to feel
quite new. See the bird in the flowers?--he's making A rare to-do!
He thinks the whole blue sky Is much less than=
the
bit of blue egg He's got in his nest--we'll be happy You and I, I and you.
With nothing to fight any more-- In each other=
, at
least. See, how gorgeous the world is Outside the door!
=
SAN
GAUDENZIO
=
&nb=
sp;
I
COME, my little one, closer up against me, Cre=
ep
right up, with your round head pushed in my breast.
How I love all of you! Do you feel me wrap
And how I am not at all, except a flame that <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> mounts off you. Where I=
touch
you, I flame into being;--but is it me, or you?
That round head pushed in my chest, like a nut=
in its socket, And I the
swift bracts that sheathe it: those breasts, those thighs a=
nd
knees,
Those shoulders so warm and smooth: I feel
But how lovely to be you! Creep closer in, tha=
t I am more. I spread ove=
r you!
How lovely, your round head, your arms,
Your breasts, your knees and feet! I feel that=
we Are
a bonfire of oneness, me flame flung leaping round you, You the core=
of
the fire, crept into me.
=
&nb=
sp;
II
AND oh, my little one, you whom I enfold, How
quaveringly I depend on you, to keep me alive, Like a flame on a
wick!
I, the man who enfolds you and holds you close=
, How
my soul cleaves to your bosom as I clasp you, The very quick of my being!
Suppose you didn't want me! I should sink down=
Like
a light that has no sustenance And sinks low.
Cherish me, my tiny one, cherish me who enfold=
you. Nourish me, and en=
due
me, I am only of you, I am your issue.
How full and big like a robust, happy flame Wh=
en I
enfold you, and you creep into me, And my life is fierce at its quick Where=
it
comes off you!
=
&nb=
sp;
III
MY little one, my big one, My bird, my brown
sparrow in my breast. My squirrel clutching in to me; My pigeon, my little =
one,
so warm So close, breathing so still.
My little one, my big one, I, who am so fierce= and strong, enfolding you, If you start away from my breast, and leave me, How suddenly I shall go down into nothing Like a flame that falls of a sudden.<= o:p>
And you will be before me, tall and towering, = And I shall be wavering uncertain Like a sunken flame that grasps for support.<= o:p>
=
&nb=
sp;
IV
BUT now I am full and strong and certain With =
you
there firm at the core of me Keeping me.
How sure I feel, how warm and strong and happy=
For
the future! How sure the future is within me; I am like a seed with a perfe=
ct
flower enclosed.
I wonder what it will be, What will come forth=
of
us. What flower, my love?
No matter, I am so happy, I feel like a firm,
rich, healthy root, Rejoicing in what is to come.
How I depend on you utterly My little one, my =
big
one! How everything that will be, will not be of me, Nor of either of us, B=
ut
of both of us.
=
&nb=
sp;
V
AND think, there will something come forth fro=
m us. We two, folded so s=
mall
together, There will something come forth from us. Children, acts, utteranc=
e Perhaps
only happiness.
Perhaps only happiness will come forth from us=
. Old
sorrow, and new happiness. Only that one newness.
But that is all I want. And I am sure of that.=
We
are sure of that.
=
&nb=
sp;
VI
AND yet all the while you are you, you are not=
me.
And I am I, I am never you. How awfully distinct and far off from each othe=
r's being we are!
Yet I am glad. I am so glad there is always you
beyond my scope, Something that stands over, Something I shall never be, Th=
at I
shall always wonder over, and wait for, Look for like the breath of life as
long as I live, Still waiting for you, however old you are, and I am, I shall always wond=
er
over you, and look for you.
And you will always be with me. I shall never
cease to be filled with newness, Having you near me.
THE listless beauty of the hour When snow fell=
on
the apple trees And the wood-ash gathered in the fire And we faced our first
miseries.
Then the sweeping sunshine of noon When the
mountains like chariot cars Were ranked to blue battle--and you and I Count=
ed
our scars.
And then in a strange, grey hour We lay mouth =
to
mouth, with your face Under mine like a star on the lake, And I covered the
earth, and all space.
The silent, drifting hours Of morn after morn =
And
night drifting up to the night Yet no pathway worn.
Your life, and mine, my love Passing on and on,
the hate Fusing closer and closer with love Till at length they mate.
=
THE
CEARNE
NOT I, not I, but the wind that blows through =
me! A
fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time. If only I let it bear me, c=
arry
me, if only it carry me! If only I am sensit=
ive,
subtle, oh, delicate, a winged gift! If only, m=
ost
lovely of all, I yield myself and am borrowed By the fine, f=
ine
wind that takes its course through the chaos of the world =
Like a
fine, an exquisite chisel, a wedge-blade inserted; If only I am =
keen
and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge Driven by invisib=
le
blows, The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the Hespe=
rides.
Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul, I
would be a good fountain, a good well-head, Would blur no whisper, spoil no
expression.
What is the knocking? What is the knocking at=
the
door in the night? It
is somebody wants to do us harm.
No, no, it is the three strange angels. Admit them, admit them.=
I DON'T care whether I am beautiful to you
You may look and say to yourselves, I do =
Not
show like the rest. My face may not please you, nor my stature; yet if you knew How happy I=
am,
how my heart in the wind rings true Like a bell that is
chiming, each stroke as a stroke falls due, =
You
other women:
You would draw your mirror towards you, you would wish =
To
be different. There's the beauty you cannot see, myself and him Balanced in glorious
equilibrium, The swinging beauty of equilibrium, =
You
other women.
There's this other beauty, the way of the star=
s =
You
straggling women. If you knew how I swerve in peace, in the equi- poise With the man, if =
you
knew how my flesh enjoys The swinging bliss no shattering ever destroys
You would envy me, you would think me wonder- =
ful =
Beyond
compare; You would weep to be lapsing on such harmony As carries me, you wo=
uld
wonder aloud that he Who is so strange should correspond with me =
Everywhere.
You see he is different, he is dangerous, =
Without
pity or love. And yet how his separate being liberates me And gives me peac=
e!
You cannot see How the stars are moving in surety =
Exquisite,
high above.
We move without knowing, we sleep, and we travel on, =
You
other women. And this is beauty to me, to be lifted and gone In a motion hu=
man
inhuman, two and one Encompassed, and many reduced to none, =
You
other women.
KENSINGTON
THE great gold apples of night Hang from the
street's long bough =
Dripping
their light On the faces that drift below, On the faces that drift and blow=
Down
the night-time, out of sight =
In
the wind's sad sough.
The ripeness of these apples of night Distilli=
ng
over me =
Makes
sickening the white Ghost-flux of faces that hie Them endlessly, endlessly =
by Without
meaning or reason why =
They
ever should be.
GOLD, with an innermost speck Of silver, singi=
ng
afloat Bene=
ath
the night, Like balls of thistle-down Wandering up and down Over the whispe=
ring
town Seeking
where to alight!
Slowly, above the street Above the ebb of feet=
Drifting in fligh=
t; Still,
in the purple distance The gold of their strange persistence As they cross =
and
part and meet And
pass out of sight!
The seed-ball of the sun Is broken at last, and
done Is the=
orb
of day. Now to the separate ends Seed after day-seed wends A separate way.
No sun will ever rise Again on the wonted skie= s In the midst of t= he spheres. The globe of the day, over-ripe, Is shattered at last beneath the stripe Of the wind, and its oneness veers Out myriad-wise.<= o:p>
Seed after seed after seed Drifts over the tow=
n,
in its need To
sink and have done; To settle at last in the dark, To bury its weary spark =
Where the end is =
begun.
Darkness, and depth of sleep, Nothing to know = or to weep Whe= re the seed sinks in To the earth of the under-night Where all is silent, quite St= ill, and the darknesses steep Out all the sin.<= o:p>
=
SHE said as well to me: "Why are you asha=
med?
That little bit of your chest that shows between the gap of your shirt, why
cover it up? Why shouldn't your legs and your good strong thighs be rough and
hairy?--I'm glad they are like that. You are shy, you =
silly,
you silly shy thing. Men are the shyest creatures, they never will come out=
of
their covers. Like any snake slipping into its bed of dead leaves, you hurry
into your clothes=
. And
I love you so! Straight and clean and all of a piece is the body of a =
man, such
an instrument, a spade, like a spear, or an oar, such a joy to me--=
"
So she laid her hands and pressed them down my sides, so that I began =
to
wonder over myself, and what I was.
She said to me: "What an instrument, your=
body! single and perfec=
tly
distinct from everything else! What a tool in the hands of the Lord! Only G=
od
could have brought it to its shape. It feels as if his handgrasp, wearing y=
ou had
polished you and hollowed you, hollowed this groove in your sides, grasped =
you under the breasts and b=
rought
you to the very quick of your form, subtler than an old, soft-worn fiddle-b=
ow.
"When I was a child, I loved my father's
riding- whip that=
he
used so often. I loved to handle it, it seemed like a near part of him. So I did his pens,=
and
the jasper seal on his desk. Something seemed to surge through me when I touched them.
"So it is with you, but here The joy I fe=
el! God
knows what I feel, but it is joy! Look, you are clean and fine and singled =
out!
I admire you so, you are beautiful: this clean sweep of your sides, th=
is
firmness, this hard mould! I would die rath=
er
than have it injured with one scar. I wish I could gr=
ip you
like the fist of the Lord, and have you--"
So she said, and I wondered, feeling trammelled
and hurt. It did not make me free.
Now I say to her: "No tool, no instrument=
, no
God! Don't touch =
me and
appreciate me. It is an infamy. You would think twice before you touched a =
weasel on a fence as it=
lifts
its straight white throat. Your hand would not be so flig and easy. Nor the
adder we saw asleep with her head on her shoulder, curled up in =
the
sunshine like a princess; when she lifted her head in delicate, startled wonder you did not stre=
tch
forward to caress her though she looked rarely beautiful and a miracle as s=
he
glided delicately away, with such dignity. And the y=
oung
bull in the field, with his wrinkled, sad face, you are afrai=
d if
he rises to his feet, though he is all wistful and pathetic, like a mono- <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> lith, arrested, static.=
"Is there nothing in me to make you hesit=
ate?
I tell you there is all these. And why should you overlook them in me?--&qu=
ot;
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>NEW HEAVEN AND EARTH<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>
=
&nb=
sp;
I
AND so I cross into another world shyly and in
homage linger for an invitation from this unknown that I would trespass on.=
I am very glad, and all alone in the world, all
alone, and very glad, in a new world where I am disembarked at last.
I could cry with joy, because I am in the new
world, just
ventured in. I could cry with joy, and quite freely, there is nobody to know.
And whosoever the unknown people of this un- <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> known world may b=
e they
will never understand my weeping for joy to be adventuring=
among
them because it will still be a gesture of the old world I am making which t=
hey
will not understand, because it is quite, quite fore=
ign to
them.
=
&nb=
sp;
II
I WAS so weary of the world I was so sick of i=
t everything
was tainted with myself, skies, trees, flowers, birds, water, people, house=
s,
streets, vehicles, machines, nations, armies, war, peace-talking, work,
recreation, governing, anarchy, it was all tainted with myself, I knew it a=
ll
to start with bec=
ause
it was all myself.
When I gathered flowers, I knew it was myself =
plucking my own floweri=
ng. When
I went in a train, I knew it was myself travelling by my own inventio=
n. When
I heard the cannon of the war, I listened with my own ears to my =
own
destruction. When I saw the torn dead, I knew it was my own torn dead body. It was =
all
me, I had done it all in my own flesh.
=
=
III
I SHALL never forget the maniacal horror of it=
all
in the end when
everything was me, I knew it all already, I anticipated it all in m=
y soul
because I was the author and the result I was the God and the creation at o=
nce;
creator, I looked at my creation; created, I looked at myself, the creator:=
it
was a maniacal horror in the end.
I was a lover, I kissed the woman I loved, and=
God
of horror, I was kissing also myself. I was a father and a begetter of
children, and oh, oh horror, I was begetting and conceiving in my own body.=
=
&nb=
sp;
IV
AT last came death, sufficiency of death, and =
that
at last relieved me, I died. I buried my beloved; it was good, I buried
=
&nb=
sp;
V
GOD, but it is good to have died and been trod=
den out trodden to nought in
sour, dead earth quite to nought absolutely to nothing nothing nothing noth=
ing.
For when it is quite, quite nothing, then it i=
s everything. When I am t=
rodden
quite out, quite, quite out every vestige gone, then I am here risen, and s=
etting
my foot on another world risen, accomplishing a resurrection risen, not born
again, but risen, body the same as before, new beyond know=
ledge
of newness, alive beyond life proud beyond inkli=
ng or
furthest conception of pride living where life=
was
never yet dreamed of, nor hinted at here, in the =
other
world, still terrestrial myself, the same as before, yet unaccountably new.=
=
&nb=
sp;
VI
I, IN the sour black tomb, trodden to absolute
death I put out my hand in the night, one night, and my hand touched that which=
was
verily not me verily it was not me. Where I had been was a sudden blaze a
sudden flaring blaze! So I put my hand out further, a little further and I =
felt
that which was not I, it verily was not I it was the unknown.
Ha, I was a blaze leaping up! I was a tiger
bursting into sunlight. I was greedy, I was mad for the unknown. I, new-ris=
en,
resurrected, starved from the tomb starved from a life of devouring always
myself now here was I, new-awakened, with my hand stretching out and touc=
hing
the unknown, the real unknown, the unknown unknown.
My God, but I can only say I touch, I feel the
unknown! I am the first comer! Cortes, Pisarro, Columbus, Cabot, they are n=
oth-
ing, nothing! I a=
m the
first comer! I am the discoverer! I have found the other world!
The unknown, the unknown! I am thrown upon the
shore. I am covering myself with the sand. I am filling my mouth with the
earth. I am burrowing my body into the soil. The unknown, the new world!
=
=
VII
IT was the flank of my wife I touched with my
hand, I clutched with my hand rising, new-awaken=
ed
from the tomb! It was the flank of my wife whom I married years ago at whose
side I have lain for over a thousand nights and all that pre=
vious
while, she was I, she was I; I touched her, it was I who touched and I who =
was touched.
Yet rising from the tomb, from the black obliv=
ion stretching
out my hand, my hand flung like a drowned man's hand on a=
rock,
I touched her flank and knew I was carried by the current in death over t=
o the
new world, and was climbing out on the shore, risen, not t=
o the
old world, the old, changeless I, the old life, wakened n=
ot to
the old knowledge but to a new earth, a new I, a new knowledge, a new world of time.
Ah no, I cannot tell you what it is, the new w=
orld
I cannot tell you the mad, astounded rapture of its discovery. I shall =
be mad
with delight before I have done, and whosoever comes after will find me in =
the new world a madman in r=
apture.
=
&nb=
sp;
VIII
GREEN streams that flow from the innermost
Sightless and strong oblivion in utter life ta=
kes possession of me! The
unknown, strong current of life supreme drowns me and sweeps me away and ho=
lds
me down to the so=
urces
of mystery, in the depths, extinguishes there my risen resurrected life and
kindles it further at the core of utter mystery.
GREATHAM
=
I HAVE found a place of loneliness Lonelier th=
an
Lyonesse Lovelier than Paradise;
Full of sweet stillness That no noise can
transgress Never a lamp distress.
The full moon sank in state. I saw her stand a=
nd
wait For her watchers to shut the gate.
Then I found myself in a wonderland All of sha=
dow
and of bland Silence hard to understand.
I waited therefore; then I knew The presence of
the flowers that grew Noiseless, their wonder noiseless blew.
And flashing kingfishers that flew In sightless
beauty, and the few Shadows the passing wild-beast threw.
And Eve approaching over the ground Unheard and
subtle, never a sound To let me know that I was found.
Invisible the hands of Eve Upon me travelling =
to
reeve Me from the matrix, to relieve
Me from the rest! Ah terribly Between the body=
of
life and me Her hands slid in and set me free.
Ah, with a fearful, strange detection She found
the source of my subjection To the All, and severed the connection.
Delivered helpless and amazed From the womb of=
the
All, I am waiting, dazed For memory to be erased.
Then I shall know the Elysium That lies outside
the monstrous womb Of time from out of which I come.
=
I
A WOMAN has given me strength and affluence. A=
dmitted!
All the rocking wheat of Canada, ripening now,=
has
not so much of strength as the body of one woman sweet in ea=
r, nor
so much to give though it feed nations.
Hunger is the very Satan. The fear of hunger is
Moloch, Belial, the horrible God. It is a fear=
ful
thing to be dominated by the fear of hunger.
Not bread alone, not the belly nor the thirsty=
throat. I have ne=
ver
yet been smitten through the belly, with the lack of =
bread,
no, nor even milk and honey.
The fear of the want of these things seems to =
be quite left out of=
me. For
so much, I thank the good generations of man- kind.
=
II
AND the sweet, constant, balanced heat of the
suave sensitive body, the hunger for this has never seized me and terrified=
me.
Here again, man has been good in his legacy to us, in these two prim=
ary
instances.
=
III
THEN the dumb, aching, bitter, helpless need, =
the
pining to be initiated, to have access to the knowledge that the great dead=
have
opened up for us, to know, to satisfy the great and dominant hunger of the
mind; man's sweetest harvest of the centuries, sweet, printed books, br=
ight,
glancing, exquisite corn of many a stubborn glebe in the upturned darkness;=
I
thank mankind with passionate heart that I just escaped the hunger for thes=
e, that
they were given when I needed them, because I am the son of man.
I have eaten, and drunk, and warmed and clothe=
d my body, I have b=
een
taught the language of understanding, I have chosen among the bright and
marvellous =
books,
like any prince, such stores of the world's supply were open to me, in the
wisdom and goodness of man. So far, so g=
ood. Wise,
good provision that makes the heart swell with love!
=
IV
BUT then came another hunger very deep, and
ravening; the very body's body crying out with a hunger more frightening, m=
ore
profound than stomach or throat or even the mind; redder than death, more
clamorous.
The hunger for the woman. Alas, it is so deep a
Moloch, ruthless and strong, 'tis like the unutterable name of the dread Lo=
rd, not
to be spoken aloud. Yet there it is, the hunger which comes upon us, which =
we
must learn to satisfy with pure, real satisfaction; or
perish, there is no alternative.
I thought it was woman, indiscriminate woman, =
mere
female adjunct of what I was. Ah, that was torment hard enough and a thing =
to
be afraid of, a threatening, torturing, phallic Moloch.
A woman fed that hunger in me at last. What ma=
ny
women cannot give, one woman can; so I have known it.
She stood before me like riches that were mine=
. Even
then, in the dark, I was tortured, ravening, unfree, Ashamed, =
and
shameful, and vicious. A man is so terrified of strong hunger; and this ter=
ror
is the root of all cruelty. She loved me, and stood before me, looking to m=
e. How
could I look, when I was mad? I looked sideways, furtive=
ly, being
mad with voracious desire.
=
V
THIS comes right at last. When a man is rich, =
he
loses at last the hunger fear. I lost at last the fierceness that fears it =
will
starve. I could put my face at last between her breasts and know that they =
were
given for ever that I should never starve never perish; I had eaten of the
bread that satisfies and my body's body was appeased, there was peace and
richness, fulfilment.
Let them praise desire who will, but only
fulfilment will do, real fulfilment, nothing short. It is our ratification =
our
heaven, as a matter of fact. Immortality, the heaven, is only a projection =
of this strange but =
actual
fulfilment, here in the flesh.
So, another hunger was supplied, and for this I
have to thank one woman, not mankind, for mankind would have prevented me; but one woman=
, and
these are my red-letter thanksgivings.
=
VI
To be, or not to be, is still the question. Th=
is
ache for being is the ultimate hunger. And for myself, I can say "almo=
st,
almost, oh, very
nearly." Yet something remains. Something shall not always remain. For=
the
main already is fulfilment.
What remains in me, is to be known even as I <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> know. I know her =
now:
or perhaps, I know my own limitation agains=
t her.
Plunging as I have done, over, over the brink I
have dropped at last headlong into nought, plunging upon she=
er
hard extinction; I have come, as it were, not to know, died, as it were; ce=
ased
from knowing; surpassed myself. What can =
I say
more, except that I know what it is to surpass myself?
It is a kind of death which is not death. It is
going a little beyond the bounds. How can one speak, where there is a dumbn=
ess
on one's mo=
uth? I
suppose, ultimately she is all beyond me, she is all not-me, ultimately. It=
is
that that one comes to. A curious agony, and a relief, when I touch that which is not me i=
n any
sense, it wounds me to death with my own not-being; definite, inviola=
ble
limitation, and something beyond, quite beyond, if you understand what t=
hat
means. It is the major part of being, this having surpassed oneself, this hav=
ing
touched the edge of the beyond, and perished, yet not
perished.
=
VII
I WANT her though, to take the same from me. S=
he
touches me as if I were herself, her own. She has not realized yet, that
fearful thing, that I am the other, s=
he
thinks we are all of one piece. It is painfully untrue.
I want her to touch me at last, ah, on the root
and quick o=
f my
darkness and perish on me, as I have perished on her.
Then, we shall be two and distinct, we shall h=
ave each our separate
being. And that will be pure existence, real liberty. Till then, we are
confused, a mixture, unresolved, unextricated one =
from
the other. It is in pure, unutterable resolvedness, distinction of being, that on=
e is
free, not in mixing, merging, not in similarity. When she has put her hand =
on
my secret, darkest sources, the dark=
est
outgoings, when it has struck home to her, like a death, "this is him!" she=
has
no part in it, no part whatever, it is the terrible other, when she knows t=
he
fearful other flesh, ah, dark- ness unfathomable=
and
fearful, contiguous and concrete, when sh=
e is
slain against me, and lies in a heap like one outside =
the
house, when she passes away as I have passed away being pressed up against =
the
other, then I shall be glad, I shall not be confused with her, I shall be
cleared, distinct, single as if burnished in silver, having=
no
adherence, no adhesion anywhere, one clear, burnished, isolated being, uniq=
ue, and
she also, pure, isolated, complete, two of us, unutterably distinguished, a=
nd
in unuttera=
ble
conjunction.
Then we shall be free, freer than angels, ah, =
perfect.
=
VIII
AFTER that, there will only remain that all me=
n detach themselves=
and
become unique, that we are all detached, moving in freedom more than the angels, =
conditioned
only by our own pure single being, having no laws but the laws of our own
being.
Every human being will then be like a flower, =
untrammelled. Eve=
ry
movement will be direct. Only to be will be such delight, we cover our face=
s when we think of =
it lest
our faces betray us to some untimely fiend.
Every man himself, and therefore, a surpassing=
singleness of man=
kind. The
blazing tiger will spring upon the deer, un- dimmed, the hen w=
ill
nestle over her chickens, we shall love, we shall hate, but it will be like
music, sheer utterance, issuing straight out of the unknown, the lightning =
and
the rainbow appearing in us unbidden, uncheck=
ed, like
ambassadors.
We shall not look before and after. We shall be, now. We shall know in full. =
We, the mystic NOW.
=
ZENNOR
=
AUTUMN
RAIN
THE plane leaves fall black and wet on the law=
n;
The cloud sheaves in heaven's fields set droop=
and
are drawn
in falling seeds of rain; the seed of heaven o=
n my
face
falling--I hear again like echoes even that so=
ftly
pace
Heaven's muffled floor, the winds that tread o=
ut
all the grain
of tears, the store harvested in the sheaves of
pain
caught up aloft: the sheaves of dead men that =
are
slain
now winnowed soft on the floor of heaven; manna
invisible
of all the pain here to us given; finely divis=
ible
falling as rain.
IT is not long since, here among all these fol=
k in
London, I should have held myself of no account whatever, but should have s=
tood
aside and made them way thinking that they, perhaps, had more right than I-=
-for
who was I?
Now I see them just the same, and watch them. =
But
of what account do I hold them?
Especially the young women. I look at them as =
they
dart and flash before the shops, like wagtails on the edge of a pool.
If I pass them close, or any man, like sharp, =
slim
wagtails they flash a little aside pretending to avoid us; yet all the time=
calculating.
They think that we adore them--alas, would it =
were true!
Probably they think all men adore them, howsoe=
ver
they pass by.
What is it, that, from their faces fresh as
spring, such fair, fresh, alert, first-flower faces, like lavender crocuses,
snowdrops, like Roman hyacinths, scylla=
s and
yellow-haired hellebore, jonquils, dim anemones, even the
sulphur auriculas, flowers that come first from the darkness, and feel cold to the touch=
, flowers
scentless or pungent, ammoniacal almost; what is it, that, from the faces of
the fair young women comes like =
a pungent
scent, a vibration beneath that startles me, alarms me, stirs up a repulsio=
n?
They are the issue of acrid winter, these firs=
t- flower young wome=
n; their
scent is lacerating and repellant, it smells of burning snow, of hot-ache, =
of
earth, winter-pressed, strangled in corruption; it is the scent of the
fiery-cold dregs of corruption, when destruction soaks through the mortifie=
d, decomposing earth=
, and
the last fires of dissolution burn in the bosom of the ground.
They are the flowers of ice-vivid mortificatio=
n, thaw-cold,
ice-corrupt blossoms, with a loveliness I loathe; for what kind of ice-rott=
en,
hot-aching heart must they need to=
root
in!
I WISH it were spring in the world.
Let it be spring! Come, bubbling, surging tide=
of
sap! Come, rush of creation! Come, life! surge through this mass of mortifi=
ca- tion! Come, sweep away =
these
exquisite, ghastly first- flowers, which are rath=
er
last-flowers! Come, thaw down their cool portentousness, dissolve them: snowdrop=
s,
straight, death-veined exhalations of white and purple crocus=
es, flowers
of the penumbra, issue of corruption, nourished in mortificat=
ion, jets
of exquisite finality; Come, spring, make havoc of them!
I trample on the snowdrops, it gives me pleasu=
re to tread down the jonqu=
ils, to
destroy the chill Lent lilies; for I am sick of them, their faint-bloodedne=
ss, slow-blooded,
icy-fleshed, portentous.
I want the fine, kindling wine-sap of spring, =
gold,
and of inconceivably fine, quintessential brightness, rare almost=
as
beams, yet overwhelmingly potent, strong like the greatest force of
world-balancing.
This is the same that picks up the harvest of
wheat and rocks it, tons of grain, on the ripening wind; the same that dang=
les
the globe-shaped pleiads of fruit temptingly in mid=
-air,
between a playful thumb and finger; oh, and suddenl=
y,
from out of nowhere, whirls the pear-bloom, upon us=
, and
apple- and almond- and apricot- and quince-blossom, sto=
rms
and cumulus clouds of all imaginable blossom about our bewil=
dered
faces, though we do not worship.
I wish it were spring cunningly blowing on the
fallen sparks, odds and ends of the old, scatte=
red
fire, and kindling shapely little conflagrations curious long-legged foals,=
and
wide-eared calves, and
naked sparrow-bubs.
I wish that spring would start the thundering
traffic of feet new feet on the earth, beating with impatience.
I wish it were spring, thundering delicate, te= nder spring. I wish these brittle, frost-lovely flowers of pas- sionate, mysterious corruption were not yet to come still more from the still- flickering discontent.<= o:p>
Oh, in the spring, the bluebell bows him down =
for very exuberance, exulti=
ng
with secret warm excess, bowed down with his inner magnificence!
Oh, yes, the gush of spring is strong enough to
toss the globe of earth like a ball on a water-jet dancing sportfully; as y=
ou
see a tiny celluloid ball tossing on a squint of water for men to sho=
ot at,
penny-a-time, in a booth at a fair.
The gush of spring is strong enough to play wi=
th
the globe of earth like a ball on a fountain; At the same t=
ime it
opens the tiny hands of the hazel with such infinite
patience.
The power of the rising, golden, all-creative =
sap could take the earth and
heave it off among the stars, into the in- visible; the same sets =
the
throstle at sunset on a bough singing against the blackbird; comes out in t=
he
hesitating tremor of the primrose, and betrays its candour in the round whi=
te
straw- berry flow=
er, is
dignified in the foxglove, like a Red-Indian brave.
Ah come, come quickly, spring! Come and lift us
towards our culmination, we myriads; we who have ne=
ver
flowered, like patient cactuses. Come and lift us to our end, to blossom, b=
ring
us to our summer =
we who
are winter-weary in the winter of the world. Come making the chaffinch nests
hollow and cosy, come and soften the willow buds till they are puffed and furred, then=
blow
them over with gold. Come and cajole the gawky colt's-foot flowers.
Come quickly, and vindicate us against too much
death. Come quickly, and stir the rotten globe of the world from within, burs=
t it
with germination, with world anew. Come now, to us, your adherents, who can=
not flower from the ice. Al=
l the
world gleams with the lilies of Death the Unconquerable, but come=
, give
us our turn. Enough of the virgins and lilies, of passionate, suffocating perfume of
corruption, no more narcissus perfume, lily harlots, the blades of sensation piercing t=
he
flesh to blossom of death. Have done, have done with this shuddering, delicious business of
thrilling ruin in the flesh, of pungent passion, of rare, death-edged ec=
stasy.
Give us our turn, give us a chance, let our hour strike, O soon, soon!
Let the darkness turn violet with rich dawn. L=
et
the darkness be warmed, warmed through to a ruddy violet, incipient
purpling towards summer in the world of the heart of man.
Are the violets already here! Show me! I tremb=
le
so much to hear it, that even now on the threshold of
spring, I fear I shall die. Show me the violets that are out.
Oh, if it be true, and the living darkness of =
the blood of man is purplin=
g with
violets, if the violets are coming out from under the rack of men, winter-rotten a=
nd
fallen we shall have spring. Pray not to die on this Pisgah blossoming with=
violets. Pray to live
through.
If you catch a whiff of violets from the darkn=
ess
of the shadow of =
man it
will be spring in the world, it will be spring in the world of the living; =
wonderment
organising itself, heralding itself with the violets, stirring o=
f new
seasons.
Ah, do not let me die on the brink of such
=
ZENNOR