Afar off there clink the polychrome points of the stars, Indefatigable, after all these years!

Here upon earth there is life, and then death, Dawn, and later nightfall, Fire, and the quenching of embers: But why should I not remember that my night is dawn in another part of the world, If the idea fits my fancy?

Dawns of marvellous light, wakeful, sleepy, weary, dancing dawns, You are rose petals settling through the blue of my evening: I light my pipe to salute you, And sit puffing smoke in the air and never say a word.

x.x.x

I have seemed often feeble and useless to myself, And many times I have wished that the tedium of my life Lay at last dissolved in the cold acid of death: Yet I have not forgotten The sparkling of waters in the sunlight, The sound of a woman's voice, Gliding dancers, Chanting worshippers, A child crying, The wind amid the hills.

These I can remember, And I think they are more of me Than the wrinkles on my face and the hungry ache at my heart.

x.x.xI

My stiff-spread arms Break into sudden gesture; My feet seize upon the rhythm; My hands drag it upwards: Thus I create the dance.

I drink of the red bowl of the sunlight: I swim through seas of rain: I dig my toes into earth: I taste the smack of the wind: I am myself: I live.

The temples of the G.o.ds are forgotten or in ruins: Professors are still arguing about the past and the future: I am sick of reading marginal notes on life, I am weary of following false banners: I desire nothing more intensely or completely than this present; There is nothing about me you are more likely to notice than my being: Let me therefore rejoice silently, A golden b.u.t.terfly glancing against an unflecked wall.

x.x.xII

Today you shall have but little song from me, For I belong to the sunlight.

This I would not barter for any kingdom.

I am a wheeling swallow, Blue all over is my delight.

I am a drowsy gra.s.s-blade In the greenest shadow.

x.x.xIII

My desire goes bristling and growling like an angry leopard; My ribs are a hollow grating, my hair is coa.r.s.e and hard, My flanks are like sharp iron wedges, my eyes glitter as chill gla.s.s; Down below there are the meadows where my famished hopes are feeding, I will waylay them to windward, stalking in watchful patience, I will pounce upon them, plunging my muzzle in the hot spurt of their blood.

x.x.xIV

The flag let loose for a day of festivity; Free desperate symbol of battle and desire, Leaping, lunging, tossing up the halyards; Below it a tumult of music, Above it the streaming wastes of the sky, Pinnacles of clouds, pyres of dawn, Infinite effort, everlasting day.

The immense flag waving Aloft in glory: Over seas and hilltops Transmitting its lightnings.

x.x.xV

What weave you, what spin you, What wonder win you, You looms of desire?

Sin that is splendour, Love that is shameless, Life that is glory, Life that is all.

x.x.xVI

Like cataracts that crash from a crumbling crag Into the dull-blue smouldering gulf of a lake below, Landlocked amid the mountains, so my soul Was a gorge that was filled with the warring echoes of song.

Of old, they wore Shining armour, and banners of broad gold they bore: Now they drift, like a wild bird's cry, Downwards from chill summits of the sky.

Fountains of flashing joy were their source afar; Now they lie still, to mirror every star.

In circles of opal, ruby, blue, out-thrown, They drift down to a dull, dark monotone.

Pluck the loose strings, singer, Thrum the strings; For the wind brings distant, drowsy bells of song.

Loose the plucked string, poet, Spurn the strings, For the echoes of memory float through the gulf for long.

My songs seem now one humming note afar: Light as ether, quivering 'twixt star and star, But yet, so still I know not whence they come, if mine they are.

Yet that low note Increases in force as if it said, "I will": Kindled by G.o.d's fierce breath, it would the whole world fill.

Till steadily outwards thrown, By trumpets blazoned, from the sky downblown, It grows a vast march, ma.s.sive, monotonous, known Of old gold trumpeteers Through infinite years: Bursting the white, thronged vaults of the cool sky.

Till hurtling down there falls one mad black hammer-blow: Then the chained echoes in their maniac woe Are loosed against the silence, to shriek uncannily.

The strings shiver faintly, poet: Strike the strings, Speed the song: Tremulous upward rush of wheeling, whirling wings.

EPILOGUE

The barking of little dogs in the night is more remembered than the shining of the stars: Only those who watch for long may see the moon rise: And they are mad ever after and go with blind eyes Nosing hungrily in the gutter for the sc.r.a.ps that men throw to the dogs; Few heed their babblings.

SAND AND SPRAY

A SEA-SYMPHONY

PART I. THE GALE

_Allegro furioso._

Pale green-white, in a gallop across the sky, The clouds retreating from a perilous affray Carry the moon with them, a heavy sack of gold; Sharp arrows, stars between them shoot and play.

The wind, as it strikes the sand, Clutches with rigid hands And tears from them Thin ribbons of pallid sleet, Long stinging hissing drift, Which it trails up inland.

I lean against the bitter wind: My body plunges like a ship.

Out there I see grey breakers rise, Their ravelled beards are white, And foam is in their eyes.

My heart is blown from me to-night To be transfixed by all the stars.

Steadily the wind Rages up the sh.o.r.e: In the trees it roars and battles, With rattling drums And heavy spears, Towards the housefronts on it comes.

The village, a loose ma.s.s outflung, Breaks its path.

Between the walls It bounces, tosses in its wrath.

It is broken, it is lost.

With green-grey eyes, With whirling arms, With clashing feet, With bellowing lungs, Pale green-white in a gallop across the sky, The wind comes.