The Congo and Other Poems Part 16

XI. The Spice-tree

This is the song The spice-tree sings: "Hunger and fire, Hunger and fire, Sky-born Beauty-- Spice of desire,"

Under the spice-tree Watch and wait, Burning maidens And lads that mate.

The spice-tree spreads And its boughs come down Shadowing village and farm and town.

And none can see But the pure of heart The great green leaves And the boughs descending, And hear the song that is never ending.

The deep roots whisper, The branches say:-- "Love to-morrow, And love to-day, And till Heaven's day, And till Heaven's day."

The moon is a bird's nest in its branches, The moon is hung in its topmost s.p.a.ces.

And there, to-night, two doves play house While lovers watch with uplifted faces.

Two doves go home To their nest, the moon.

It is woven of twigs of broken light, With threads of scarlet and threads of gray And a lining of down for silk delight.

To their Eden, the moon, fly home our doves, Up through the boughs of the great spice-tree;-- And one is the kiss I took from you, And one is the kiss you gave to me.

XII. The Scissors-grinder

(What the Tramp Said)

The old man had his box and wheel For grinding knives and shears.

No doubt his bell in village streets Was joy to children's ears.

And I bethought me of my youth When such men came around, And times I asked them in, quite sure The scissors should be ground.

The old man turned and spoke to me, His face at last in view.

And then I thought those curious eyes Were eyes that once I knew.

"The moon is but an emery-wheel To whet the sword of G.o.d,"

He said. "And here beside my fire I stretch upon the sod Each night, and dream, and watch the stars And watch the ghost-clouds go.

And see that sword of G.o.d in Heaven A-waving to and fro.

I see that sword each century, friend.

It means the world-war comes With all its b.l.o.o.d.y, wicked chiefs And hate-inflaming drums.

Men talk of peace, but I have seen That emery-wheel turn round.

The voice of Abel cries again To G.o.d from out the ground.

The ditches must flow red, the plague Go stark and screaming by Each time that sword of G.o.d takes edge Within the midnight sky.

And those that scorned their brothers here And sowed a wind of shame Will reap the whirlwind as of old And face relentless flame."

And thus the scissors-grinder spoke, His face at last in view.

_And there beside the railroad bridge I saw the wandering Jew_.

XIII. My Lady in her White Silk Shawl

My lady in her white silk shawl Is like a lily dim, Within the twilight of the room Enthroned and kind and prim.

My lady! Pale gold is her hair.

Until she smiles her face Is pale with far h.e.l.lenic moods, With thoughts that find no place

In our harsh village of the West Wherein she lives of late, She's distant as far-hidden stars, And cold--(almost!)--as fate.

But when she smiles she's here again Rosy with comrade-cheer, A Puritan Bacchante made To laugh around the year.

The merry gentle moon herself, Heart-stirring too, like her, Wakening wild and innocent love In every worshipper.

XIV. Aladdin and the Jinn

"Bring me soft song," said Aladdin.

"This tailor-shop sings not at all.

Chant me a word of the twilight, Of roses that mourn in the fall.

Bring me a song like hashish That will comfort the stale and the sad, For I would be mending my spirit, Forgetting these days that are bad, Forgetting companions too shallow, Their quarrels and arguments thin, Forgetting the shouting Muezzin:"-- "I AM YOUR SLAVE," said the Jinn.

"Bring me old wines," said Aladdin.

"I have been a starved pauper too long.

Serve them in vessels of jade and of sh.e.l.l, Serve them with fruit and with song:-- Wines of pre-Adamite Sultans Digged from beneath the black seas:-- New-gathered dew from the heavens Dripped down from Heaven's sweet trees, Cups from the angels' pale tables That will make me both handsome and wise, For I have beheld her, the princess, Firelight and starlight her eyes.

Pauper I am, I would woo her.

And--let me drink wine, to begin, Though the Koran expressly forbids it."

"I AM YOUR SLAVE," said the Jinn.

"Plan me a dome," said Aladdin, "That is drawn like the dawn of the MOON, When the sphere seems to rest on the mountains, Half-hidden, yet full-risen soon."

"Build me a dome," said Aladdin, "That shall cause all young lovers to sigh, The fullness of life and of beauty, Peace beyond peace to the eye-- A palace of foam and of opal, Pure moonlight without and within, Where I may enthrone my sweet lady."

"I AM YOUR SLAVE," said the Jinn.

XV. The Strength of the Lonely

(What the Mendicant Said)

The moon's a monk, unmated, Who walks his cell, the sky.

His strength is that of heaven-vowed men Who all life's flames defy.

They turn to stars or shadows, They go like snow or dew-- Leaving behind no sorrow-- Only the arching blue.

Fifth Section

War. September 1, 1914 Intended to be Read Aloud