The Black Riders and Other Lines Part 6

LIX

Walking in the sky, A man in strange black garb Encountered a radiant form.

Then his steps were eager; Bowed he devoutly.

"My Lord," said he.

But the spirit knew him not.

LX

Upon the road of my life, Pa.s.sed me many fair creatures, Clothed all in white, and radiant.

To one, finally, I made speech: "Who art thou?"

But she, like the others, Kept cowled her face, And answered in haste, anxiously, "I am Good Deed, forsooth; "You have often seen me."

"Not uncowled," I made reply.

And with rash and strong hand, Though she resisted, I drew away the veil And gazed at the features of Vanity She, shamefaced, went on; And after I had mused a time, I said of myself, "Fool!"

LXI

I

There was a man and a woman Who sinned.

Then did the man heap the punishment All upon the head of her, And went away gayly.

II

There was a man and a woman Who sinned.

And the man stood with her.

As upon her head, so upon his, Fell blow and blow, And all people screaming, "Fool!"

He was a brave heart.

III

He was a brave heart.

Would you speak with him, friend?

Well, he is dead, And there went your opportunity.

Let it be your grief That he is dead And your opportunity gone; For, in that, you were a coward.

LXII

There was a man who lived a life of fire.

Even upon the fabric of time, Where purple becomes orange And orange purple, This life glowed, A dire red stain, indelible; Yet when he was dead, He saw that he had not lived.

LXIII

There was a great cathedral.

To solemn songs, A white procession Moved toward the altar.

The chief man there Was erect, and bore himself proudly.

Yet some could see him cringe, As in a place of danger, Throwing frightened glances into the air, A-start at threatening faces of the past.

LXIV

Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground, Why do you stand, expectant?

Do you hope to see it In one of your withered days?

With your old eyes Do you hope to see The triumphal march of Justice?

Do not wait, friend Take your white beard And your old eyes To more tender lands.

LXV

Once, I knew a fine song, --It is true, believe me,-- It was all of birds, And I held them in a basket; When I opened the wicket, Heavens! They all flew away.

I cried, "Come back, little thoughts!"

But they only laughed.

They flew on Until they were as sand Thrown between me and the sky.

LXVI

If I should cast off this tattered coat, And go free into the mighty sky; If I should find nothing there But a vast blue, Echoless, ignorant,-- What then?

LXVII

G.o.d lay dead in Heaven; Angels sang the hymn of the end; Purple winds went moaning, Their wings drip-dripping With blood That fell upon the earth.

It, groaning thing, Turned black and sank.

Then from the far caverns Of dead sins Came monsters, livid with desire.

They fought, Wrangled over the world, A morsel.

But of all sadness this was sad,-- A woman's arms tried to shield The head of a sleeping man From the jaws of the final beast.

LXVIII

A spirit sped Through s.p.a.ces of night; And as he sped, he called, "G.o.d! G.o.d!"

He went through valleys Of black death-slime, Ever calling, "G.o.d! G.o.d!"

Their echoes From crevice and cavern Mocked him: "G.o.d! G.o.d! G.o.d!"