The Singing Man | Page 5

I, lord at noon, at nightfall no more free,
Take on more heavily
The
yoke of hid, intolerable Powers.
--Then pushes here, in my forgetful
hand,
This near one's breathless plea to understand.
Starward I look;
he, even so, at me!
And she who shines within my house, my sight
Of the heart's eyes, my hearth-glow, and my rain,
My singing's one
refrain--
Are there for her no tidings from the height?
For her, my
solace, likewise lost and far,
Islanded with me here, on this lone star

Washed by the ceaseless tides of dark and light.
What shall it profit, that I built for her
A little wayside shelter from the stark
Sky that we hear, and mark?

Lo, in her eyes all dreams that ever were!
And cheek-to-cheek with
me she shares the quest,
Her heart, as mine for her, sole tented rest

From light to light of day; from dark--till Dark.

Yea, but for her, how should I greatly care
Whither and whence? But that the dark should blast
Our bright! To
hold her fast,--
Yet feel this dread creep gray along the air.
To know
I cannot hold her so my own,
But under surge of joy, the surges moan

That threaten us with parting at the last!
Beautiful Mother, I am not thy son.
I know from echoes far behind the sky.
I know; I know not why.

Even from thy golden, wide oblivion:
Thy careless leave to help thy
harvesting,
Thy leave to work a little, live, and sing;
Thy leave to
suffer--yea, to sing and die,
Beautiful Mother! ...
Ah, Whose child am I?
_Love sang to me. And I went down the stair,
And out into the
darkness and the dew;
And bowed myself unto the little grass,
And
the blind herbs, and the unshapen dust
Of earth without a face. So let
me be._
_For as I hear, the singing makes of me
My own desire, and
momently I grow.
Yea, all the while with hands of melody,
The
singing makes me, out of what I was,
Even as a potter shaping Eden
clay._
_Ever Love sings, and saith in words that sing,
'Beloved, thus art thou;
and even so
Lovely art thou, Beloved!'--Even so,
As the Sea
weaves her path before the light,
I hear, I hear, and I am glorified._
_Love sang to me, and I am glorified
Because of some
commandment in the stars.
And I shall grow in favour and in shining,

Till at the last I am all-beautiful;
Beautiful, for the day Love sings
no more._
THE FEASTER

Oh, who will hush that cry outside the doors,
While we are glad
within?
Go forth, go forth, all you my servitors;
(And gather close,
my kin.)
Go out to her. Tell her we keep a feast,--
Lost Loveliness
who will not sit her down
Though we implore.
It is her silence
binds me unreleased,
It is her silence that no flute can drown,
It is
her moonlit silence at the door,
Wide as the whiteness, but a fire on
high
That frights my heart with an immortal Cry,
Calling me
evermore.
Louder, you viols;--louder, O my harp;
Let me not hear her voice;

And drown her keener silence, silver-sharp,
With waves of golden
noise!
For she is wise as Eden, even mute,
To search my spirit
through the deep and height
Again, again.
Outpierce her with your singing, dawnlike flute;
And
you, gloom over, viols of the night
With colors lost in umber,--with sweet pain
Of richest world's
desire,--prevail, sing down
All memory with pleading, so you drown

Her merciless refrain!
Oh, can you not with music, nor with din,
Save me the stress and stir
In my lone spirit, throned among my kin,
From that same voice of her?--
The never ending query she hath had

Only to wake my Soul, and only then
Wake it to weep?
With
'Why?_' and 'Art thou happy? Art thou glad?
And hast thou
fellowship with fellow-men?_'
So, through my mirth and underneath
my sleep;
Her voice,--abysmal hunger unfulfilled;--
The calling,
calling, never to be stilled,--
Calling of deep to deep.
But I have that shall fill this wound of mine,

Since Loveliness must be;--
Since Loveliness must save us, or we
pine
And perish utterly.
All that the years have left us, undismayed
Of
age or death; and happier fair than truth,
--When truth is fair!

Shapes of immortal sweetness, to persuade
Iron and fire and marble
to their youth;
Wild graces trapped from the three kingdoms' lair
Of
wildest Beauty; shadow and smile and hush;
--Fleet color, of a
daybreak, of a blush,
For my sad soul to wear!
Let April fade! For me, unfading bloom!...
The little fruitless seed
Deep sown of fire within the midmost gloom,
A sterner fire to feed:--
The rainbow, frozen in a lasting dew;

Green-gazing emerald, fresh as grass beneath
The placid rose.
Fair pearl, and you, fair pearl, and you and you,

Rained from the moon, and kissing in a wreath,
As moment unto
eager moment goes!
Look back at me, you sapphires blue and wise

With farthest twilight, blue resplendent eyes
That never weep, nor close.
O house me, glories! Give me house and home
Here for my homelessness.
Set forth for me the wine, the honeycomb
Whereto desire saith 'Yes!'
O Senses, weave me