Forty-Two Poems Part 2

What would you in this little place, You three bright kings?

KINGS

Mother, we tracked the trailing star Which brought us here from lands afar, And we would look on his dear face Round whom the Seraphs fold their wings.

MARY

But who are you, bright kings?

CASPAR

Caspar am I: the rocky North From storm and silence drave me forth Down to the blue and tideless sea.

I do not fear the tinkling sword, For I am a great battle-lord, And love the horns of chivalry.

And I have brought thee splendid gold, The strong man's joy, refined and cold.

All hail, thou Prince of Galilee!

BALTHAZAR

I am Balthazar, Lord of Ind, Where blows a soft and scented wind From Taprobane towards Cathay.

My children, who are tall and wise, Stand by a tree with shutten eyes And seem to meditate or pray.

And these red drops of frankincense Betoken man's intelligence.

Hail, Lord of Wisdom, Prince of Day!

MELCHIOR

I am the dark man, Melchior, And I shall live but little more Since I am old and feebly move.

My kingdom is a burnt-up land Half buried by the drifting sand, So hot Apollo shines above.

What could I bring but simple myrrh White blossom of the cordial fire?

Hail, Prince of Souls, and Lord of Love!

CHORUS OF ANGELS

O Prince of souls and Lord of Love, O'er thee the purple-breasted dove Shall watch with open silver wings, Thou King of Kings.

Suaviole o flos Virginum, Apparuit Rex Gentium.

"Who art thou, little King of Kings?"

His wondering mother sings.

THE BALLAD OF HAMPSTEAD HEATH

From Heaven's Gate to Hampstead Heath Young Bacchus and his crew Came tumbling down, and o'er the town Their bursting trumpets blew.

The silver night was wildly bright, And madly shone the Moon To hear a song so clear and strong, With such a lovely tune.

From London's houses, huts and flats, Came busmen, sn.o.bs, and Earls, And ugly men in bowler hats With charming little girls.

Sir Moses came with eyes of flame, Judd, who is like a bloater, The brave Lord Mayor in coach and pair, King Edward, in his motor.

Far in a rosy mist withdrawn The G.o.d and all his crew, Silenus pulled by nymphs, a faun, A satyr drenched in dew,

Smiled as they wept those shining tears Only Immortals know, Whose feet are set among the stars, Above the shifting snow.

And one spake out into the night, Before they left for ever, "Rejoice, rejoice!" and his great voice Rolled like a splendid river.

He spake in Greek, which Britons speak Seldom, and circ.u.mspectly; But Mr. Judd, that man of mud, Translated it correctly.

And when they heard that happy word, Policemen leapt and ambled: The busmen pranced, the maidens danced, The men in bowlers gambolled.

A wistful Echo stayed behind To join the mortal dances, But Mr Judd, with words unkind, Rejected her advances.

And pa.s.sing down through London Town She stopped, for all was lonely, Attracted by a big bra.s.s plate Inscribed, FOR MEMBERS ONLY.

And so she went to Parliament, But those ungainly men Woke up from sleep, and turned about, And fell asleep again.

LITANY TO SATAN (from Baudelaire.)

O grandest of the Angels, and most wise, O fallen G.o.d, fate-driven from the skies, Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

O first of exiles who endurest wrong, Yet growest, in thy hatred, still more strong, Satan, at last take pity on our pain!

O subterranean King, omniscient, Healer of man's immortal discontent, Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

To lepers and to outcasts thou dost show That Pa.s.sion is the Paradise below.

Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou by thy mistress Death hast given to man Hope, the imperishable courtesan.

Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou givest to the Guilty their calm mien Which d.a.m.ns the crowd around the guillotine.

Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou knowest the corners of the jealous Earth Where G.o.d has hidden jewels of great worth.

Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou dost discover by mysterious signs Where sleep the buried people of the mines.

Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou stretchest forth a saving hand to keep Such men as roam upon the roofs in sleep.

Satan, at last take pity on our pain.