The Wild Knight and Other Poems.

by Gilbert Chesterton.

_Another tattered rhymster in the ring, With but the old plea to the sneering schools, That on him too, some secret night in spring Came the old frenzy of a hundred fools

To make some thing: the old want dark and deep, The thirst of men, the hunger of the stars, Since first it tinged even the Eternal's sleep, With monstrous dreams of trees and towns and mars.

When all He made for the first time He saw, Scattering stars as misers shake their pelf.

Then in the last strange wrath broke His own law, And made a graven image of Himself._

BY THE BABE UNBORN

If trees were tall and gra.s.ses short, As in some crazy tale, If here and there a sea were blue Beyond the breaking pale,

If a fixed fire hung in the air To warm me one day through, If deep green hair grew on great hills, I know what I should do.

In dark I lie: dreaming that there Are great eyes cold or kind, And twisted streets and silent doors, And living men behind.

Let storm-clouds come: better an hour, And leave to weep and fight, Than all the ages I have ruled The empires of the night.

I think that if they gave me leave Within that world to stand, I would be good through all the day I spent in fairyland.

They should not hear a word from me Of selfishness or scorn, If only I could find the door, If only I were born.

THE WORLD'S LOVER

My eyes are full of lonely mirth: Reeling with want and worn with scars, For pride of every stone on earth, I shake my spear at all the stars.

A live bat beats my crest above, Lean foxes nose where I have trod, And on my naked face the love Which is the loneliness of G.o.d.

Outlawed: since that great day gone by-- When before prince and pope and queen I stood and spoke a blasphemy-- 'Behold the summer leaves are green.'

They cursed me: what was that to me Who in that summer darkness furled, With but an owl and snail to see, Had blessed and conquered all the world?

They bound me to the scourging-stake, They laid their whips of thorn on me; I wept to see the green rods break, Though blood be beautiful to see.

Beneath the gallows' foot abhorred The crowds cry 'Crucify!' and 'Kill!'

Higher the priests sing, 'Praise the Lord, The warlock dies'; and higher still

Shall heaven and earth hear one cry sent Even from the hideous gibbet height, 'Praise to the Lord Omnipotent, The vultures have a feast to-night.'

THE SKELETON

Chattering finch and water-fly Are not merrier than I; Here among the flowers I lie Laughing everlastingly.

No: I may not tell the best; Surely, friends, I might have guessed Death was but the good King's jest, It was hid so carefully.

A CHORD OF COLOUR

My Lady clad herself in grey, That caught and clung about her throat; Then all the long grey winter day On me a living splendour smote; And why grey palmers holy are, And why grey minsters great in story, And grey skies ring the morning star, And grey hairs are a crown of glory.

My Lady clad herself in green, Like meadows where the wind-waves pa.s.s; Then round my spirit spread, I ween, A splendour of forgotten gra.s.s.

Then all that dropped of stem or sod, h.o.a.rded as emeralds might be, I bowed to every bush, and trod Amid the live gra.s.s fearfully.

My Lady clad herself in blue, Then on me, like the seer long gone, The likeness of a sapphire grew, The throne of him that sat thereon.

Then knew I why the Fashioner Splashed reckless blue on sky and sea; And ere 'twas good enough for her, He tried it on Eternity.

Beneath the gnarled old Knowledge-tree Sat, like an owl, the evil sage: 'The World's a bubble,' solemnly He read, and turned a second page.

'A bubble, then, old crow,' I cried, 'G.o.d keep you in your weary wit!

'A bubble--have you ever spied 'The colours I have seen on it?'

THE HAPPY MAN

To teach the grey earth like a child, To bid the heavens repent, I only ask from Fate the gift Of one man well content.

Him will I find: though when in vain I search the feast and mart, The fading flowers of liberty, The painted masks of art.

I only find him at the last, On one old hill where nod Golgotha's ghastly trinity-- Three persons and one G.o.d.

THE UNPARDONABLE SIN

I do not cry, beloved, neither curse.

Silence and strength, these two at least are good.

He gave me sun and stars and ought He could, But not a woman's love; for that is hers.

He sealed her heart from sage and questioner-- Yea, with seven seals, as he has sealed the grave.

And if she give it to a drunken slave, The Day of Judgment shall not challenge her.

Only this much: if one, deserving well, Touching your thin young hands and making suit, Feel not himself a crawling thing, a brute, Buried and bricked in a forgotten h.e.l.l;

Prophet and poet be he over sod, Prince among angels in the highest place, G.o.d help me, I will smite him on the face, Before the glory of the face of G.o.d.