The Wind Among The Reeds Part 3

'I can bring you salmon out of the streams 'And heron out of the skies.'

But Dathi folded his hands and smiled With the secrets of G.o.d in his eyes.

And c.u.mhal saw like a drifting smoke All manner of blessed souls, Women and children, young men with books, And old men with croziers and stoles.

'Praise G.o.d and G.o.d's mother,' Dathi said, 'For G.o.d and G.o.d's mother have sent 'The blessedest souls that walk in the world 'To fill your heart with content.'

'And which is the blessedest,' c.u.mhal said, 'Where all are comely and good?

'Is it these that with golden thuribles 'Are singing about the wood?'

'My eyes are blinking,' Dathi said, 'With the secrets of G.o.d half blind, 'But I can see where the wind goes 'And follow the way of the wind;

'And blessedness goes where the wind goes, 'And when it is gone we are dead; 'I see the blessedest soul in the world 'And he nods a drunken head.

'O blessedness comes in the night and the day 'And whither the wise heart knows; 'And one has seen in the redness of wine 'The Incorruptible Rose,

'That drowsily drops faint leaves on him 'And the sweetness of desire, 'While time and the world are ebbing away 'In twilights of dew and of fire.'

THE SECRET ROSE

Far off, most secret, and inviolate Rose, Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those Who sought thee in the Holy Sepulchre, Or in the wine vat, dwell beyond the stir And tumult of defeated dreams; and deep Among pale eyelids, heavy with the sleep Men have named beauty. Thy great leaves enfold The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold Of the crowned Magi; and the king whose eyes Saw the Pierced Hands and Rood of elder rise In druid vapour and make the torches dim; Till vain frenzy awoke and he died; and him Who met Fand walking among flaming dew By a gray sh.o.r.e where the wind never blew, And lost the world and Emer for a kiss; And him who drove the G.o.ds out of their liss, And till a hundred morns had flowered red, Feasted and wept the barrows of his dead; And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods; And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods, And sought through lands and islands numberless years, Until he found with laughter and with tears, A woman, of so shining loveliness, That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress, A little stolen tress. I, too, await The hour of thy great wind of love and hate.

When shall the stars be blown about the sky, Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die?

Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows, Far off, most secret, and inviolate Rose?

HANRAHAN LAMENTS BECAUSE OF HIS WANDERINGS

O where is our Mother of Peace Nodding her purple hood?

For the winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.

I would that the death-pale deer Had come through the mountain side, And trampled the mountain away, And drunk up the murmuring tide; For the winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood, And our Mother of Peace has forgot me Under her purple hood.

THE TRAVAIL OF Pa.s.sION

When the flaming lute-thronged angelic door is wide; When an immortal pa.s.sion breathes in mortal clay; Our hearts endure the scourge, the plaited thorns, the way Crowded with bitter faces, the wounds in palm and side, The hyssop-heavy sponge, the flowers by Kidron stream: We will bend down and loosen our hair over you, That it may drop faint perfume, and be heavy with dew, Lilies of death-pale hope, roses of pa.s.sionate dream.

THE POET PLEADS WITH HIS FRIEND FOR OLD FRIENDS

Though you are in your shining days, Voices among the crowd And new friends busy with your praise, Be not unkind or proud, But think about old friends the most: Time's bitter flood will rise, Your beauty perish and be lost For all eyes but these eyes.

HANRAHAN SPEAKS TO THE LOVERS OF HIS SONGS IN COMING DAYS

O, colleens, kneeling by your altar rails long hence, When songs I wove for my beloved hide the prayer, And smoke from this dead heart drifts through the violet air And covers away the smoke of myrrh and frankincense; Bend down and pray for the great sin I wove in song, Till Maurya of the wounded heart cry a sweet cry, And call to my beloved and me: 'No longer fly 'Amid the hovering, piteous, penitential throng.'

AEDH PLEADS WITH THE ELEMENTAL POWERS

The Powers whose name and shape no living creature knows Have pulled the Immortal Rose; And though the Seven Lights bowed in their dance and wept, The Polar Dragon slept, His heavy rings uncoiled from glimmering deep to deep: When will he wake from sleep?

Great Powers of falling wave and wind and windy fire, With your harmonious choir Encircle her I love and sing her into peace, That my old care may cease; Unfold your flaming wings and cover out of sight The nets of day and night.

Dim Powers of drowsy thought, let her no longer be Like the pale cup of the sea, When winds have gathered and sun and moon burned dim Above its cloudy rim; But let a gentle silence wrought with music flow Whither her footsteps go.

AEDH WISHES HIS BELOVED WERE DEAD

Were you but lying cold and dead, And lights were paling out of the West, You would come hither, and bend your head, And I would lay my head on your breast; And you would murmur tender words, Forgiving me, because you were dead: Nor would you rise and hasten away, Though you have the will of the wild birds, But know your hair was bound and wound About the stars and moon and sun: O would beloved that you lay Under the dock-leaves in the ground, While lights were paling one by one.

AEDH WISHES FOR THE CLOTHS OF HEAVEN

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

MONGAN THINKS OF HIS PAST GREATNESS

I have drunk ale from the Country of the Young And weep because I know all things now: I have been a hazel tree and they hung The Pilot Star and the Crooked Plough Among my leaves in times out of mind: I became a rush that horses tread: I became a man, a hater of the wind, Knowing one, out of all things, alone, that his head Would not lie on the breast or his lips on the hair Of the woman that he loves, until he dies; Although the rushes and the fowl of the air Cry of his love with their pitiful cries.