Georgian Poetry 1916-1917 Part 7

No more shall he feel pitched and hurled Uncomprehended into this world; For every place shall be his place, And he shall recognize its face.

At dawn he shall upon his path; No sword shall touch him, nor the wrath Of the ranked crowd of clamorous men.

At even he shall home again, And lay him down to sleep at ease, One with the Night and the Night's peace.

Ev'n Sorrow, to be escaped of none, But a more deep communion Shall be to him, and Death at last No more dreaded than the Past, Whose shadow in the brain of earth Informs him now and gave him birth.

THE NAIADS' MUSIC

(From 'A Faun's Holiday')

Come, ye sorrowful, and steep Your tired brows in a nectarous sleep: For our kisses lightlier run Than the traceries of the sun By the lolling water cast Up grey precipices vast, Lifting smooth and warm and steep Out of the palely shimmering deep.

Come, ye sorrowful, and take Kisses that are but half awake: For here are eyes O softer far Than the blossom of the star Upon the mothy twilit waters, And here are mouths whose gentle laughters Are but the echoes of the deep Laughing and murmuring in its sleep.

Come, ye sorrowful, and see The raindrops flaming goldenly On the stream's eddies overhead And dragonflies with drops of red In the crisp surface of each wing Threading slant rains that flash and sing, Or under the water-lily's cup, From darkling depths, roll slowly up The bronze flanks of an ancient bream Into the hot sun's shattered beam, Or over a sunk tree's bubbled hole The perch stream in a golden shoal: Come, ye sorrowful; our deep Holds dreams lovelier than sleep.

But if ye sons of Sorrow come Only wishing to be numb: Our eyes are sad as bluebell posies, Our b.r.e.a.s.t.s are soft as silken roses, And our hands are tenderer Than the breaths that scarce can stir The sunlit eglantine that is Murmurous with hidden bees.

Come, ye sorrowful, and steep Your tired brows in a nectarous sleep.

Come, ye sorrowful, for here No voices sound but fond and clear Of mouths as lorn as is the rose That under water doth disclose, Amid her crimson petals torn, A heart as golden as the morn; And here are tresses languorous As the weeds wander over us, And brows as holy and as bland As the honey-coloured sand Lying sun-entranced below The lazy water's limpid flow: Come, ye sorrowful, and steep Your tired brows in a nectarous sleep.

THE PROPHETIC BARD'S ORATION

(From 'A Faun's Holiday')

'Be warned! I feel the world grow old, And off Olympus fades the gold Of the simple pa.s.sionate sun; And the G.o.ds wither one by one: Proud-eyed Apollo's bow is broken, And throned Zeus nods nor may be woken But by the song of spirits seven Quiring in the midnight heaven Of a new world no more forlorn, Sith unto it a Babe is born, That in a propped, thatched stable lies, While with darkling, reverent eyes Dusky Emperors, coifed in gold, Kneel mid the rushy mire, and hold Caskets of rubies, urns of myrrh, Whose fumes enwrap the thurifer And coil toward the high dim rafters Where, with lutes and warbling laughters, Cl.u.s.tered cherubs of rainbow feather, Fanning the fragrant air together, Flit in jubilant holy glee, And make heavenly minstrelsy To the Child their Sun, whose glow Bathes them His cloudlets from below....

Long shall this chimed accord be heard, Yet all earth hushed at His first word: Then shall be seen Apollo's car Blaze headlong like a banished star; And the Queen of heavenly Loves Dragged downward by her dying doves; Vulcan, spun on a wheel, shall track The circle of the zodiac; Silver Artemis be lost, To the polar blizzards tossed; Heaven shall curdle as with blood; The sun be swallowed in the flood; The universe be silent save For the low drone of winds that lave The shadowed great world's ashen sides As through the rustling void she glides.

Then shall there be a whisper heard Of the Grave's Secret and its Word, Where in black silence none shall cry Save those who, dead-affrighted, spy How from the murmurous graveyards creep The figures of eternal sleep.

Last: when 'tis light men shall behold, Beyond the crags, a flower of gold Blossoming in a golden haze, And, while they guess Zeus' halls now blaze, Shall in the blossom's heart descry The saints of a new hierarchy!'

He ceased ... and in the morning sky Zeus' anger threatened murmurously.

I sped away. The lightning's sword Stabbed on the forest. But the word Abides with me. I feel its power Most darkly in the twilit hour, When Night's eternal shadow, cast Over earth hushed and pale and vast, Darkly foretells the soundless Night In which this...o...b.. so green, so bright, Now spins, and which shall compa.s.s her When on her rondure nought shall stir But snow-whorls which the wind shall roll From the Equator to the Pole ...

For everlastingly there is Something Beyond, Behind: I wis All G.o.ds are haunted, and there clings, As hound behind fled sheep, the things Beyond the Universe's ken: G.o.ds haunt the Half-G.o.ds, Half-G.o.ds men, And Man the brute. G.o.ds, born of Night, Feel a blacker appet.i.te Gape to devour them; Half-G.o.ds dread But jealous G.o.ds; and mere men tread Warily lest a Half-G.o.d rise And loose on them from empty skies Amazement, thunder, stark affright, Famine and sudden War's thick night, In which loud Furies hunt the Pities Through smoke above wrecked, flaming cities.

For Pan, the Unknown G.o.d, rules all.

He shall outlive the funeral, Change, and decay, of many G.o.ds, Until he, too, lets fall his rods Of viewless power upon that minute When Universe cowers at Infinite!

THE TOWER

It was deep night, and over Jerusalem's low roofs The moon floated, drifting through high vaporous woofs.

The moonlight crept and glistened silent, solemn, sweet, Over dome and column, up empty, endless street; In the closed, scented gardens the rose loosed from the stem Her white showery petals; none regarded them; The starry thicket breathed odours to the sentinel palm; Silence possessed the city like a soul possessed by calm.

Not a spark in the warren under the giant night, Save where in a turret's lantern beamed a grave, still light: There in the topmost chamber a gold-eyed lamp was lit-- Marvellous lamp in darkness, informing, redeeming it!

For, set in that tiny chamber, Jesus, the blessed and doomed, Spoke to the lone apostles as light to men en-tombed; And spreading his hands in blessing, as one soon to be dead, He put soft enchantment into spare wine and bread.

The hearts of the disciples were broken and full of tears, Because their lord, the spearless, was hedged about with spears; And in his face the sickness of departure had spread a gloom, At leaving his young friends friendless.

They could not forget the tomb.

He smiled subduedly, telling, in tones soft as voice of the dove, The endlessness of sorrow, the eternal solace of love; And lifting the earthly tokens, wine and sorrowful bread, He bade them sup and remember one who lived and was dead.

And they could not restrain their weeping.

But one rose up to depart, Having weakness and hate of weakness raging within his heart, And bowed to the robed a.s.sembly whose eyes gleamed wet in the light.

Judas arose and departed: night went out to the night.

Then Jesus lifted his voice like a fountain in an ocean of tears, And comforted his disciples and calmed and allayed their fears.

But Judas wound down the turret, creeping from floor to floor, And would fly; but one leaning, weeping, barred him beside the door.

And he knew her by her ruddy garment and two yet-watching men: Mary of Seven Evils, Mary Magdalen.

And he was frighted at her. She sighed: 'I dreamed him dead.

We sell the body for silver....'

Then Judas cried out and fled Forth into the night!... The moon had begun to set: A drear, deft wind went sifting, setting the dust afret; Into the heart of the city Judas ran on and prayed To stern Jehovah lest his deed make him afraid.

But in the tiny lantern, hanging as if on air, The disciples sat unspeaking. Amaze and peace were there.

For _his_ voice, more lovely than song of all earthly birds, In accents humble and happy spoke slow, consoling words.

Thus Jesus discoursed, and was silent, sitting up-right, and soon Past the cas.e.m.e.nt behind him slanted the sinking moon; And, rising for Olivet, all stared, between love and dread, Seeing the torrid moon a ruddy halo behind his head.

HAROLD MONRO

TWO POEMS

(Numbers I and X in 'Strange Meetings')

I

If suddenly a clod of earth should rise, And walk about, and breathe, and speak, and love, How one would tremble, and in what surprise Gasp: 'Can _you_ move?'

I see men walking, and I always feel: 'Earth! How have you done this? What can you be?'

I can't learn how to know men, or conceal How strange they are to me.

II