The Singing Man | Page 6

from all lovely dust

Some home-array, some fair familiar garb
For me, exiled.
Charm me some rare anointment I may trust

Against her query, searching like a barb
The dumbness of a heart
unreconciled.
Clothe me with silver; fold me from dismay;
Save me

from pity. For I hear her say,
'Alas, Alas, poor child!'
'Alas, Alas, thou lost poor child, how long?
Why wilt thou suffer want?
Why must I hear thy weeping through thy
song,
And see thine eyes grow gaunt?
Making sad feast upon the crumbs of
light
Shed long ago from heavenly highways where
Thy brethren are!
And thy heart smoulders in thee, to be bright,
Thy
one sole refuge from thy one despair,
Fraying the thwarted body with
a scar.
How long, before thine eyelids, desolate,
How long shall this
thy dark dominion wait
For thee, belated Star?'
_Belovèd, if the Moon could weep,
Or if the Sun could see
How all these weltering alleys keep
Their outcast treasury!_
_O bitter, bitter-sweet!--
Beauty of babyhood,--
Earth's wistful
uttermost of good
Flung out upon the street;
Fouled, even as the
highways would,
With mirk and mire and bruise;
The cheek more
petal-fine
Than rose before a shrine!
Those hands like star-fish in
the ooze,
And fingers fain to cling
To any stronger thing!
And
smiles, for one triumphal Gift,
Should one lean down, and lift!
And
tendril hair;--O in such wise,
With wild lights aureoled,
The
morning-glories twine and hold,
In some far paradise!_
_Oh well and deep, the foul ways keep
Lost treasure hid from day!--
Sun may not see: but only we,

Who look; and look away._
THE GOLDEN SHOES
The winds are lashing on the sea;
The roads are blind with storm.

And it's far and far away with me;
So bide you there, stay warm.
It's
forth I must, and forth to-day;
And I have no path to choose.
The
highway hill, it is my way still.--
Give me my golden shoes.
_God gave them me on that first day
I knew that I was young.
And
I looked far forth, from west to north;
And I heard the Songs
unsung._
This cloak is worn too threadbare thin,
But ah, how weatherwise!

This girdle serves to bind it in;
What heed of wondering eyes?--

And yet beside, I wear one pride
--Too bright, think you, to use?--

That I must wear, and still keep fair.--
Give here my golden shoes.
_God gave them me, on that first day
I heard the Stars all chime.

And I looked forth far, from road to star;
And I knew it was far to
climb._
They would buy me house and hearth, no doubt,
And the mirth to
spend and share;
Could I sell that gift, and go without,
Or
wear--what neighbors wear.
But take my staff, my purse, my scrip;

For I have one thing to choose.
For you,--Godspeed! May you soothe
your need.
For me, my golden shoes!
_He gave them me, that far, first day
When I heard all Songs unsung.

And I looked far forth, from west to north.
God saw that I was
young!_
NOON AT PÆSTUM
Lord of the Sea, we sun-filled creatures raise
Our hands among the
clamorous weeds,--we too.
Lord of the Sun, and of the upper blue,


Of all To-morrow, and all yesterdays,
Here, where the thousand
broken names and ways
Of worship are but shards we wandered
through,
There is no gift to offer, or undo;
There is no prayer left in
us, only praise.
Only to glory in this glory here,
Through the dead smoke of myriad
sacrifice;--
To look through these blue spaces, blind and clear
Even
as the seaward gaze of Homer's eyes;
And from uplifted heart, and
cup, to pour
Wine to the Unknown God.--We ask no more.
VESTAL FLAME
Light, light,--the last:
Till the night be done,
Keep the watch for
stars and sun, and eyelids over-cast.
Once there seemed a sky,
Brooding over men.
Now no stars have
come again, since their bright good-bye!
Once my dreams were wise.
Now I nothing know;
Fasting and the
dark have so put out my heart's eyes.
But thy golden breath
Burns against my cheek.
I can feel and love,
and seek all the rune it saith.
Do not thou be spent,
Holy thing of fire,--
Only hope of heart's
desire dulled with wonderment!
While there bide these two
Hands to bar the wind;
Though such
fingers chill and thinned, shed no roses through.
While this body bends
Only for thy guard;
Like a tower, to ward
and worship all the light it sends.
It is not for fear
Lest there ring some cry
On the midnight, 'Rise and
come. Lo, the Bridegroom near!'

It is not for pride,
To be shining fair
In a wedding-garment there,
lighting home the Bride.
It is not to win
Love, for hoarded toil,
From those poor, with their
spent oil, weeping, 'Light us in!'--
No; but in despite
Of all vigils set,
Do I bind me to thee
yet,--strangest thing of Light!
Only, all, for thee
Whatsoe'er thou art,
Smiling through the blinded
heart, things it cannot see.
Very Soul's Desire,
Take my life; and live
By the rapture thine doth
give, ecstasy of fire!
Hold thy golden breath!
For I feel,--not hear--
Spent with joy and
fear to lose thee, all the song it saith.
Light, light, my own:
Do not