Challenge Part 1

Challenge.

by Louis Untermeyer.

SUMMONS

The eager night and the impetuous winds, The hints and whispers of a thousand lures, And all the swift persuasion of the Spring Surged from the stars and stones, and swept me on...

The smell of honeysuckles, keen and clear, Startled and shook me, with the sudden thrill Of some well-known but half-forgotten voice.

A slender stream became a naked sprite, Flashed around curious bends, and winked at me Beyond the turns, alert and mischievous.

A saffron moon, dangling among the trees, Seemed like a toy balloon caught in the boughs, Flung there in sport by some too-mirthful breeze...

And as it hung there, vivid and unreal, The whole world's lethargy was brushed away; The night kept tugging at my torpid mood And tore it into shreds. A warm air blew My wintry slothfulness beyond the stars; And over all indifference there streamed A myriad urges in one rushing wave...

Touched with the lavish miracles of earth, I felt the brave persistence of the gra.s.s; The far desire of rivulets; the keen, Unconquerable fervor of the thrush; The endless labors of the patient worm; The lichen's strength; the prowess of the ant; The constancy of flowers; the blind belief Of ivy climbing slowly toward the sun; The eternal struggles and eternal deaths-- And yet the groping faith of every root!

Out of old graves arose the cry of life; Out of the dying came the deathless call.

And, thrilling with a new sweet restlessness, The thing that was my boyhood woke in me-- Dear, foolish fragments made me strong again; Valiant adventures, dreams of those to come, And all the vague, heroic hopes of youth, With fresh abandon, like a fearless laugh, Leaped up to face the heaven's unconcern...

And then--veil upon veil was torn aside-- Stars, like a host of merry girls and boys, Danced gaily 'round me, plucking at my hand; The night, scorning its ancient mystery, Leaned down and pressed new courage in my heart; The hermit thrush, throbbing with more than Song, Sang with a happy challenge to the skies; Love, and the faces of a world of children, Swept like a conquering army through my blood-- And Beauty, rising out of all its forms, Beauty, the pa.s.sion of the universe, Flamed with its joy, a thing too great for tears.

And, like a wine, poured itself out for me To drink of, to be warmed with, and to go Refreshed and strengthened to the ceaseless fight; To meet with confidence the cynic years; Battling in wars that never can be won, Seeking the lost cause and the brave defeat!

PRAYER

G.o.d, though this life is but a wraith, Although we know not what we use, Although we grope with little faith, Give me the heart to fight--and lose.

Ever insurgent let me be, Make me more daring than devout; From sleek contentment keep me free.

And fill me with a buoyant doubt.

Open my eyes to visions girt With beauty, and with wonder lit-- But let me always see the dirt, And all that sp.a.w.n and die in it.

Open my ears to music; let Me thrill with Spring's first flutes and drums-- But never let me dare forget The bitter ballads of the slums.

From compromise and things half-done, Keep me, with stern and stubborn pride; And when, at last, the fight is won G.o.d, keep me still unsatisfied.

TO ARMS!

Who can be dull or wrapped in unconcern Knowing a world so clamorous and keen; A world of ardent conflict, honest spleen, And healthy, hot desires too swift to turn; Vivid and vulgar--with no heart to learn...

See how that drudge, a thing unkempt, unclean, Laughs with the royal laughter of a queen.

Even in her the eager fires burn.

Who can be listless in these stirring hours When, with athletic courage, we engage To storm, with fierce abandon, sterner powers And meet indifference with a joyful rage; Thrilled with a purpose and the dream that towers Out of this arrogant and blundering age.

ON THE BIRTH OF A CHILD

(Jerome Epstein--August 8, 1912)

Lo--to the battle-ground of Life, Child, you have come, like a conquering shout, Out of a struggle--into strife; Out of a darkness--into doubt.

Girt with the fragile armor of Youth, Child, you must ride into endless wars, With the sword of protest, the buckler of truth, And a banner of love to sweep the stars.

About you the world's despair will surge; Into defeat you must plunge and grope-- Be to the faltering an urge; Be to the hopeless years a hope!

Be to the darkened world a flame; Be to its unconcern a blow-- For out of its pain and tumult you came, And into its tumult and pain you go.

HOW MUCH OF G.o.dHOOD

How much of G.o.dhood did it take-- What purging epochs had to pa.s.s, Ere I was fit for leaf and lake And worthy of the patient gra.s.s?

What mighty travails must have been, What ages must have moulded me, Ere I was raised and made akin To dawn, the daisy and the sea.

In what great struggles was I felled, In what old lives I labored long, Ere I was given a world that held A meadow, b.u.t.terflies and Song?

But oh, what cleansings and what fears, What countless raisings from the dead, Ere I could see Her, touched with tears, Pillow the little weary head.

THE GREAT CAROUSAL

Oh, do not think me dead when I Beneath a bit of earth shall lie; Think not that aught can ever kill My arrogant and stubborn will.

My buoyant strength, my eager soul, My stern desire shall keep me whole And lift me from the drowsy deep...

I shall not even yield to Sleep, For Death can never take from me My warm, insatiate energy; He shall not dare to touch one part Of the gay challenge of my heart.

And I shall laugh at him, and lie Happy beneath a laughing sky; For I have fought too joyously To let the conqueror conquer me-- I know that, after strengthening strife, Death cannot quench my love of life; Rob me of my dear self, my ears Of music or my eyes of tears ...

No, Death shall come in friendlier guise; The cloths of darkness from my eyes He shall roll back, and lo, the sea Of Silence shall not cover me.

He shall make soft my final bed, Stand, like a servant, at my head; And, thrilled with all that Death may give, I shall lie down to rest--and live...

And I shall know within the earth A softer but a deeper mirth.

The wind shall never troll a song But I shall hear it borne along, And echoed long before he pa.s.ses By all the little unborn gra.s.ses.

I shall be clasped by roots and rains, Feeding and fed by living grains; There shall not be a single flower Above my head but bears my power, And every b.u.t.terfly or bee That tastes the flower shall drink of me.

Ah, we shall share a lip to lip Carousal and companionship!

The storm, like some great bl.u.s.tering lout, Shall play his games with me and shout His joy to all the country-side.

Autumn, sun-tanned and April-eyed, Shall scamper by and send his hosts Of leaves, like brown and merry ghosts, To frolic over me; and stones Shall feel the dancing in their bones.

And red-cheeked Winter too shall be A jovial bed-fellow for me, Setting the startled hours ringing With boisterous tales and l.u.s.ty singing.

And, like a mother that has smiled For years on every tired child, Summer shall hold me in her lap...

And when the root stirs and the sap Climbs anxiously beyond the boughs, And all the friendly worms carouse, Then, oh, how proudly, we shall sing Bravuras for the feet of Spring!

And I shall lie forever there Like some great king, and watch the fair Young Spring dance on for me, and know That love and rosy valleys glow Where'er her blithe feet touch the earth.

And headlong joy and reckless mirth Seeing her footsteps shall pursue.