Young Adventure Part 9

She stands there in the sun.

... It seems so quaint she should have long gold wings.

I never have got used -- folded across Her breast, or fluttering with fierce, pure light, Like shaken steel. Her crown too. Well, it's queer!

And then she never cared much for the harp On earth. Here, though...

She is all peace, all quiet, All pa.s.sionate desires, the eloquent thunder Of new, glad suns, shouting aloud for joy, Over fresh worlds and clean, trampling the air Like stooping hawks, to the long wind of horns, Flung from the bastions of Eternity...

And she is the low lake, drowsy and gentle, And good words spoken from the tongues of friends, And calmness in the evening, and deep thoughts, Falling like dreams from the stars' solemn mouths.

All these.

They said she was unfaithful once.

Or I remembered it -- and so, for that, I lie here, I suppose. Yes, so they said.

You see she is so troubled, looking down, Sorrowing deeply for my torments. I Of course, feel nothing while I see her -- save That sometimes when I think the matter out, And what earth-people said of us, of her, It seems as if I must be, here, in heaven, And she -- ... Then I grow proud; and suddenly There comes a splatter of oil against my skin, Hurting this time. And I forget my pride: And my face writhes.

Some day the little ladder Of white words that I build up, up, to her May fetch me out. Meanwhile it isn't bad....

But what a sense of humor G.o.d must have!

Winged Man

The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits, The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates, The cliffs were robed in scarlet, the sands were cinnabar, Where first two men spread wings for flight and dared the hawk afar.

There stands the cunning workman, the crafty past all praise, The man who chained the Minotaur, the man who built the Maze.

His young son is beside him and the boy's face is a light, A light of dawn and wonder and of valor infinite.

Their great vans beat the cloven air, like eagles they mount up, Motes in the wine of morning, specks in a crystal cup, And lest his wings should melt apace old Daedalus flies low, But Icarus beats up, beats up, he goes where lightnings go.

He cares no more for warnings, he rushes through the sky, Braving the crags of ether, daring the G.o.ds on high, Black 'gainst the crimson sunset, golden o'er cloudy snows, With all Adventure in his heart the first winged man arose.

Dropping gold, dropping gold, where the mists of morning rolled, On he kept his way undaunted, though his breaths were stabs of cold, Through the mystery of dawning that no mortal may behold.

Now he shouts, now he sings in the rapture of his wings, And his great heart burns intenser with the strength of his desire, As he circles like a swallow, wheeling, flaming, gyre on gyre.

Gazing straight at the sun, half his pilgrimage is done, And he staggers for a moment, hurries on, reels backward, swerves In a rain of scattered feathers as he falls in broken curves.

Icarus, Icarus, though the end is piteous, Yet forever, yea, forever we shall see thee rising thus, See the first supernal glory, not the ruin hideous.

You were Man, you who ran farther than our eyes can scan, Man absurd, gigantic, eager for impossible Romance, Overthrowing all h.e.l.l's legions with one warped and broken lance.

On the highest steeps of s.p.a.ce he will have his dwelling-place, In those far, terrific regions where the cold comes down like Death Gleams the red glint of his pinions, smokes the vapor of his breath.

Floating downward, very clear, still the echoes reach the ear Of a little tune he whistles and a little song he sings, Mounting, mounting still, triumphant, on his torn and broken wings!

Music

My friend went to the piano; spun the stool A little higher; left his pipe to cool; Picked up a fat green volume from the chest; And propped it open.

Whitely without rest, His fingers swept the keys that flashed like swords, ... And to the brute drums of barbarian hordes, Roaring and thunderous and weapon-bare, An army stormed the bastions of the air!

Dreadful with banners, fire to slay and parch, Marching together as the lightnings march, And swift as storm-clouds. Brazen helms and cars Clanged to a fierce resurgence of old wars Above the screaming horns. In state they pa.s.sed, Trampling and splendid on and sought the vast -- Rending the darkness like a leaping knife, The flame, the n.o.ble pageant of our life!

The burning seal that stamps man's high indenture To vain attempt and most forlorn adventure; Romance, and purple seas, and toppling towns, And the wind's valiance crying o'er the downs; That nerves the silly hand, the feeble brain, From the loose net of words to deeds again And to all courage! Perilous and sharp The last chord shook me as wind shakes a harp!

... And my friend swung round on his stool, and from G.o.ds we were men, "How pretty!" we said; and went on with our talk again.

The Innovator

(A Pharaoh Speaks.)

I said, "Why should a pyramid Stand always dully on its base?

I'll change it! Let the top be hid, The bottom take the apex-place!"

And as I bade they did.

The people flocked in, scores on scores, To see it balance on its tip.

They praised me with the praise that bores, My G.o.dlike mind on every lip.

-- Until it fell, of course.

And then they took my body out From my crushed palace, mad with rage, -- Well, half the town WAS wrecked, no doubt -- Their crazy anger to a.s.suage By dragging it about.

The end? Foul birds defile my skull.

The new king's praises fill the land.

He clings to precept, simple, dull; HIS pyramids on bases stand.

But -- Lord, how usual!

Love in Twilight

There is darkness behind the light -- and the pale light drips Cold on vague shapes and figures, that, half-seen loom Like the carven prows of proud, far-triumphing ships -- And the firelight wavers and changes about the room,

As the three logs crackle and burn with a small still sound; Half-blotting with dark the deeper dark of her hair, Where she lies, head pillowed on arm, and one hand curved round To shield the white face and neck from the faint thin glare.

Gently she breathes -- and the long limbs lie at ease, And the rise and fall of the young, slim, virginal breast Is as certain-sweet as the march of slow wind through trees, Or the great soft pa.s.sage of clouds in a sky at rest.

I kneel, and our arms enlace, and we kiss long, long.

I am drowned in her as in sleep. There is no more pain.

Only the rustle of flames like a broken song That rings half-heard through the dusty halls of the brain.

One shaking and fragile moment of ecstasy, While the grey gloom flutters and beats like an owl above.

And I would not move or speak for the sea or the sky Or the flame-bright wings of the miraculous Dove!