No more shall leering ghosts of pimp and king With b.l.o.o.d.y secrets veiled before me stand.

Last night I held all evil in my hand Closed: and behold it was a little thing.

I broke the infernal gates and looked on him Who fronts the strong creation with a curse; Even the G.o.d of a lost universe, Smiling above his hideous cherubim.

And pierced far down in his soul's crypt unriven The last black crooked sympathy and shame, And hailed him with that ringing rainbow name Erased upon the oldest book in heaven.

Like emptied idiot masks, sin's loves and wars Stare at me now: for in the night I broke The bubble of a great world's jest, and woke Laughing with laughter such as shakes the stars.

THE HOLY OF HOLIES

'Elder father, though thine eyes Shine with h.o.a.ry mysteries, Canst thou tell what in the heart Of a cowslip blossom lies?

'Smaller than all lives that be, Secret as the deepest sea, Stands a little house of seeds, Like an elfin's granary,

'Speller of the stones and weeds, Skilled in Nature's crafts and creeds, Tell me what is in the heart Of the smallest of the seeds.'

'G.o.d Almighty, and with Him Cherubim and Seraphim, Filling all eternity-- Adonai Elohim.'

THE MIRROR OF MADMEN

I dreamed a dream of heaven, white as frost, The splendid stillness of a living host; Vast choirs of upturned faces, line o'er line.

Then my blood froze; for every face was mine.

Spirits with sunset plumage throng and pa.s.s, Gla.s.sed darkly in the sea of gold and gla.s.s.

But still on every side, in every spot, I saw a million selves, who saw me not.

I fled to quiet wastes, where on a stone, Perchance, I found a saint, who sat alone; I came behind: he turned with slow, sweet grace, And faced me with my happy, hateful face.

I cowered like one that in a tower doth bide, Shut in by mirrors upon every side; Then I saw, islanded in skies alone And silent, one that sat upon a throne.

His robe was bordered with rich rose and gold, Green, purple, silver out of sunsets old; But o'er his face a great cloud edged with fire, Because it covereth the world's desire.

But as I gazed, a silent worshipper, Methought the cloud began to faintly stir; Then I fell flat, and screamed with grovelling head, 'If thou hast any lightning, strike me dead!

'But spare a brow where the clean sunlight fell, The crown of a new sin that sickens h.e.l.l.

Let me not look aloft and see mine own Feature and form upon the Judgment-throne.'

Then my dream snapped: and with a heart that leapt I saw across the tavern where I slept, The sight of all my life most full of grace, A gin-d.a.m.ned drunkard's wan half-witted face.

E.C.B.

Before the gra.s.s grew over me, I knew one good man through and through, And knew a soul and body joined Are stronger than the heavens are blue.

A wisdom worthy of thy joy, O great heart, read I as I ran; Now, though men smite me on the face, I cannot curse the face of man.

I loved the man I saw yestreen Hanged with his babe's blood on his palms.

I loved the man I saw to-day Who knocked not when he came with alms.

Hush!--for thy sake I even faced The knowledge that is worse than h.e.l.l; And loved the man I saw but now Hanging head downwards in the well.

THE DESECRATERS

Witness all: that unrepenting, Feathers flying, music high, I go down to death unshaken By your mean philosophy.

For your wages, take my body, That at least to you I leave; Set the sulky plumes upon it, Bid the grinning mummers grieve.

Stand in silence: steep your raiment In the night that hath no star; Don the mortal dress of devils, Blacker than their spirits are.

Since ye may not, of your mercy, Ere I lie on such a hea.r.s.e, Hurl me to the living jackals G.o.d hath built for sepulchres.

AN ALLIANCE

This is the weird of a world-old folk, That not till the last link breaks, Not till the night is blackest, The blood of Hengist wakes.

When the sun is black in heaven, The moon as blood above, And the earth is full of hatred, This people tells its love.

In change, eclipse, and peril, Under the whole world's scorn, By blood and death and darkness The Saxon peace is sworn; That all our fruit be gathered, And all our race take hands, And the sea be a Saxon river That runs through Saxon lands.

Lo! not in vain we bore him; Behold it! not in vain, Four centuries' dooms of torture Choked in the throat of Spain, Ere priest or tyrant triumph-- We know how well--we know-- Bone of that bone can whiten, Blood of that blood can flow.

Deep grows the hate of kindred, Its roots take hold on h.e.l.l; No peace or praise can heal it, But a stranger heals it well.

Seas shall be red as sunsets, And kings' bones float as foam, And heaven be dark with vultures, The night our son comes home.

THE ANCIENT OF DAYS

A child sits in a sunny place, Too happy for a smile, And plays through one long holiday With b.a.l.l.s to roll and pile; A painted wind-mill by his side Runs like a merry tune, But the sails are the four great winds of heaven, And the b.a.l.l.s are the sun and moon.

A staring doll's-house shows to him Green floors and starry rafter, And many-coloured graven dolls Live for his lonely laughter.

The dolls have crowns and aureoles, Helmets and horns and wings.

For they are the saints and seraphim, The prophets and the kings.