*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77817 *** ESCAPE AND FANTASY [Illustration] THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. TORONTO ESCAPE AND FANTASY Poems BY GEORGE ROSTREVOR New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1919 _All rights reserved_ COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and printed from type. Published February, 1919. Norwood Press J.S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. TO MARION CONTENTS PAGE THE CHANGE 9 ORPHEUS 11 THE RIVER 16 MOMENTS 17 THOUGHTS 19 TIDAL, KING OF NATIONS 20 THE VOICE (AN ECSTASY) 23 SPRING RAIN IN LONDON 35 LOTUS EATERS 36 THE GREY BIRD 37 ELYSIUM 40 ETERNITY 41 THE SEA-MAID 43 THE CELL 47 THE ASCETICS 48 CONSPIRACIES 50 A RHYME OF FAITH 52 THE SHINING POND 53 THE HAUNTED STREET 56 THE CHANGE All the daytime I belong To the solemn-coated throng Who with grave, stupendous looks Study cash and ledger books, Or who go, Staid and slow, On sad business to and fro. But when twilight comes, I range Over topics new and strange, Wasting all my leisure hours On fay birds and phantom flowers, Or I sing Some mad fling Through the impish evening. Yes, and when the moon goes by Rocking in a foamy sky, Then I swear I’m more akin To the laughing Cherubin Than to those grave men who go, To and fro, to and fro, On sad business to and fro. ORPHEUS Hush, thou noisy nightingale, Let thy sorrowful song be mute. Orpheus, with his lute, Sings to the vale. Weather-smitten, travel-worn, Fever-eyed and frail is he, Orpheus, Orpheus, the forlorn Of Eurydice. Trembling like a crazy shadow When a gust is in the trees, Phantom-like he flees Over mere and meadow. Twinkle on the lute his fingers. Hark! a ghostly music swings, Echoes, falls, echoes, lingers, Orpheus sings:-- To-day, to-morrow, There is sorrow, But when Night, Holy Night, Putteth on Her sober gown, Then is there delight. Take thy fill Of rest, rest, O separate will,-- Wayward, wayward, wayward will Of each wild creature, take thy rest Lulled on the breast Of the cool dark hill. Very deep, O baffled will, Be thy sleep On the sombre hill. But heart of the world, awake, awake, For Orpheus’ sake! Hungry lion, do not howl! Supple tiger tawny-barred, Chattering monkey, chequered snake, Privy wolf and spotted pard, Creatures that do use to prowl Through the forest, let you lie,-- Not a sound, not a cry,-- Soothèd by my lullaby. Cease, unquiet owl, to moan, Folded keep thy stealthy wings; Nightjar, stay thy monotone, Listen, listen, Orpheus sings. Shut you every wakeful eye Soothèd by my lullaby. Very deep Be thy sleep, Cruel, cruel, cruel will, Very deep Be thy sleep On the sombre hill. But, O heart, awake, awake, Wake and leap for Orpheus’ sake! Heart of all the world, awake For Orpheus’ sake! Cloudy waters of the sky Flow no longer; listening stars Stop their silver-wheelèd cars, Conquered by my lullaby. Each one, smitten by my spell, Holds him like a sentinel. Beauty on the brow of Night So complete is that despair, Gazing like a statue there, Changes to a grave delight. Never hath the swart Night been So unparalleled a queen. Very deep Is thy sleep, Wayward, wayward, wayward will, Very deep Is thy sleep On the sombre hill. But the heart, the heart is awake, Beating high for Orpheus’ sake, Everywhere awake, awake, For Orpheus’ sake. THE RIVER Why, O River, on thy breast, Why do the trees so sweetly rest? Why so royal does the black barge sail On thy water smooth and pale? Why does the rough-tongued river-man sing Like a minstrel to a king? Why, O quiet River, do I See in thee so clear a sky? MOMENTS I’ve seen the rich dark earth fling up Cuckoo-flower and buttercup, I’ve heard the meadows burst with song Of thrush and blackbird all day long, I’ve seen the burning sun go by With a pomp of cloud in the roofless sky, I’ve heard the wind whistle and shout And toss the tallest oaks about, I’ve seen, I’ve heard the flash and the call Of the distant thundering waterfall ... My soul turns back to me again At twilight. All the day like rain It has scattered itself in drops and flashes And moments of colour, and sudden splashes, Has flown and mixed with the single notes Quick-pouring from the song-birds’ throats, Losing itself and multiplying, Living a thousand lives and dying. My busy eyes at the fall of day I close: I shut the world away. Now no star may pierce the gloom Of my fragile-curtained room, But flowers more wonderful and trees more tall Bloom in the dark there; sweet dews fall; Silence cries with the ghost of sound; Flashes of colour and tune are found Linked in one. I hear, I hear The voice of Spring cry out to me there, And the voice of Spring is the voice of Love Crying below, around, above, While--in the dark of my body--his eyes Burn more deep than star-flushed skies. THOUGHTS If in a giant brain The thoughts of the world could lie, How darkly would each cell be lit, What phantoms pale would people it, Flocking, flocking by: Thoughts of things that jerk or leap, Things that flit in the sky or creep In the atomy dust, or swarm in the deep, Leviathan or fly! Fugitive, feeble, vain-- The giant would fall asleep, And they in millions would be gone For ever to oblivion, Far down deep: Thought of toad and thought of lark, Crab and crocodile and shark, Armadillo, aard-vark, Terrapin and sheep. TIDAL, KING OF NATIONS ... _and Tidal, king of nations_-- GENESIS xiv Tidal, King of Nations, Sent a proclamation forth To the tribes of the South And the clans of the North; His word flew and travelled Quick as a gathering flame, The far-off people shook At the rumour of his name. Tidal, King of Nations, Thy name is for thee, Shadowy and vast, An immortality. * * * * * Tidal, King of Nations-- Lo, at the sound Terrible armies leap Crying from the ground. High in the midst, on A white throne is He, Set as a firm rock In the surge of the sea. Clear as the moon his brow is, But in his secret eyes Shadow within shadow dark The future lies. In his hand glitters The phantom of a sword; The warring peoples cry And hail him for lord: But within his dark eyes Where future time grows Are gentleness, mercy, Peace and repose. The nations bow and tremble, They do not understand, They only see the gleam Of the wrath in his hand. * * * * * Tidal, King of Nations, Thy name is for thee,-- Oh, far-off brotherhood!-- An immortality. THE VOICE (AN ECSTASY) I _The Prelude_ I saw the regal sun look down And crown the earth with a golden crown: I saw his bright embraces fill The valley and assail the hill; I saw him kiss the hill I knew Where matted gorse and heather grew. I heard a child go whistling by To school--I heard the ploughmen cry To their horses--in the yard A bantam-cock was crowing hard-- A pensive and complacent hen Began to drawl .. drawl ... drawl .... and then A puppy yapping with delight Chased and hustled her in flight. I took me to a tangled lane Hoping for quietness--in vain; I only in the world was mute. The blackbird laughed upon his flute, And starlings talked in wayward wise On creaking boughs, and up the skies The trembling, quick, delirious lark Sang until my soul was dark. So morning, noon and all day long The world was multiplied with song And I, distracted, could not sing; At length, toward the evening, I climbed the little hill I knew Where matted gorse and heather grew. Slowly, Slowly, Slowly at last the evening fell; Slowly beneath her drowsy spell The teeming brain of the world was quieted: The noise of day was dead. Now might a single human thought Flying out, keen-wrought, Usurp dominion of the sky, and fill The void of the world with a chant of love, and move it to one will. So from my ingathered soul Softly sang I to my Love-- Softly, yet I heard the whole Shining world, beneath, above, Echo me and ring and ring Through the quiet evening. First I sang how she doth dwell Carven so within my mind That her tokens I do spell And her vital beauty find Paining me, oh everywhere Phantom-bright upon the air. Morning winds with liquid tune Her abounding joy express; Azure-folded deeps of June Tell me of her tenderness; Laughingly the waterbrooks Mirror her untainted looks. Trembling shadows wake in me Sense of the outflowing tide Of her hidden rarity, Till I dream her at my side,-- And her prayed-for kisses rain Through and through me, sharp with pain. Hushed the melody I sang, Earth around me rang and rang. II _The Ecstasy_ Quick a current of delight Through my body laughed and leapt, Took the dazzle from my sight, From the earth my senses swept; Through the ringing air I sped, Loosened as from bars of lead. And my singing soul became Infinite; the sea, the sky, Were my flesh, the mighty frame Of the Universe was I; Mystic voices in me stirred, And I cried, and I heard. Crying how my Lady shone Fairer than the dawn upon Snowy-crested Himalay; How she fed with golden fire Red lamps of the Earth’s desire, White lamps of the Milky Way. Crying how, if she must die, Sudden from the naked sky Star and sun must fade and fall, And from every naked tree Foliage drop, and her death be Earth’s and Heaven’s funeral. So did I her glory sing Through the quiet evening. Every note and echo fell Crystal as a chiming bell, Strong and singular of beat, Gay and simple, clear and sweet, Gentle, yet with even sound Calling to the southern bound Of the world, and crying forth Undiminished to the north. And in those harmonious skies All tempestuous energies To such equipoise were wrought Never a jarring atom fought. There was neither jolt nor strain, Shock, nor weight, nor clash, nor pain, But I saw great Saturn float Buoyant as a wandering mote On a sunbeam, or like down Of thistle indolently blown. And I felt the deepening night Saturated so with light That the very darkness seemed Light that more intensely dreamed; And the light was filled with sense Of Being and Omnipotence,-- Gathered now at instant will To a single point, until I was conscious of each bird, Beast or creeping thing that stirred In a lane or covert. Then Consciousness would flow again Evenly, and life would be From all separation free: Only my Belovèd shone,-- She and I, complete, alone. And looking down with happy eyes From my kingdom of the skies, I saw my lady stoop and give Glorious life for the world to live. I saw how from the lullèd earth Meeting her gaze the darkness fell And light celestial sprang to birth, And flowers changed the path of hell; And to her lips she lifted up Th’ essential world, created new, And drank and drained the sacred cup As sunfire drinks the morning dew. From meadows of the noble dead, From fields where baffled and forlorn The conqueror lays his uncrowned head, The very life of peace was born: And in my lady’s heart of love So soft, so dim that peace was felt As when dusk enters a deep grove Where, all day long, shadows have dwelt. From lives of sick men, clean with pain, She drew a virtue like the rare Odour of windflowers washed with rain Afloat upon the sensitive air; And sick men felt in their hot room The cooling garden-breezes blow, And heaven pierce the fading gloom With javelins of silver snow. I saw the sere ungarnished tree A treasury of green unlock, And pastures crown the foaming sea, And flame enliven the dull rock; And frozen rivers were unsealed, And waters through the desert ran, And like a meteor shone revealed The mystic in the common man; Whose soul enchanted, winged with dream And eyed with splendour, thrust her course Rapid upon the darkling stream, Sped by her own unconscious force,-- Content at last, content to ride Free from the well-loved daily bond Of time and place, on the full tide Of Oceans unexplored beyond. And there was song from every land, In every tongue, in every key, And every tiny lyric spanned The chasms of infinity: Yet I the Lover sang alone To my Belovèd: all the throng Of praising voices made but one Hushed undercurrent of my song: “O thou Belovèd of the Lover, thou, Health-giver, Purifier, Strengthener, Fountain, and spring, and river of the Sun. O thou Belovèd of the Lover, strong As morning or the full inflowing tide, Calm as the evening sky above a lake. Thou who art one and changeless, O Belovèd, O thou Belovèd who art calm and strong. O calm Belovèd, where all passion lies Too deep to stir, and strong, O thou Belovèd In frailty that shatters force. O Love! Belovèd of the Lover, everlasting, Beyond all Death, all Change, O Love Belovèd, Be with the Lover always, calm and strong.” III _The Return_ So did I in Heaven sing, And the lilac evening Deeper, deeper, deeper shone. Fairer yet and yet more fair Burned my kingdom of the air. So I sang--or _did_ I sing? I, who still was listening. So I sang--yet _was_ it mine, The Song, the Singing Voice divine? Sudden, in a fit of mirth, I that was so mighty grown Bent me low to see the Earth And the little hill I knew Where the gorse and heather grew. Then I cried and Heaven cried Loud with laughter, for I spied How my puny body lay In a coat of sombre grey Six foot long amid the heather With its two arms locked together, With its pinpoint eyes that burned Motionless and solemn turned In a brave unconscious stare On the diamonded air. Still I looked, and in a while Saw the growing of a smile On the lips and then a yawn, Then a difficult breath long-drawn-- One deep breath, and then an arm Stretched out, and, as if alarm Seized it, the whole body shook. Then could I no longer look, For I felt my limbs and knew I was narrowed down again To my body, and I grew Quiet, fearing the disdain Of the stars who looked on me Fallen from their company. But I heard no sound of scorn, Only a far echo borne Of the Voice whose singing moves And quickens every thing that loves. SPRING RAIN IN LONDON Hardly awake, I saw in the street The shining raindrops pelt; And lulled by their quick monotonous beat I let my languid eyes half close. I felt The tinkle of a rivulet Bubbling lazily down a hill, Where the turf was a couch for dark violet And flame-eyed tormentil. I saw the sun leaping through a cloud-- Apollo shooting at the bladed corn-- And the lark, a dizzy fanatic, hailing loud The golden god reborn. LOTUS EATERS I grew so quiet as I walked along, My mind so much a mirror to the wood, So passively open to the colour and song And the whole company of solitude That past time fell from me, and time to come No longer drew me with its magnet power: My whole self lazily to a bee’s low hum Listened, and watched him fumble at a flower. The present held me. I was just aware Of the ripple and stir of muscles where my hand Lay slack against my side. I sucked live air, And drew sweet moisture from the clayey sand. Now do I know how horses live, and cows, Minute to minute of the shining day, Solemn with gaze contented as they browse Finding their lotus in the fields of May. THE GREY BIRD The wind blows Heavy with spice. Among macaws and birds of paradise With plumage grey he goes. Silence hangs like a cloud; Yet lives innumerable teem. The wild eyes of the crowd Of watching creatures with a sullen gleam The forest haunt. The birds flaunt Their vivid hues, and scream, Yet leave the smothering silence still supreme. And the bird with the grey wing Unnoticed flies. No finery or glow Has he to show, Nor in this land unhallowed will he sing. But in the tropic heat, When March is ablaze, Strange instincts beat In his breast. He is full of amaze, He suffers a sweet unrest, And though Unheeded still he flutter to and fro, Yet in foreknowledge of a gentle Spring He turns and fondles oft in his warm throat The pure, the lovely note He soon shall sing-- When, in a land of the West, In England, over the foam, After long voyage his tired wings come to rest And his glad heart finds home. Then hark how he shall spill His liquid miracle, Hark to the thrill Of the secret song, The gay tune hid so long! See on a twig scarce bent, Mid leafage cool Of oak or birch Or willow-fringe about a reedy pool, How he shall choose his perch And make wild music out of souls content. How he shall love! How he shall sing! How he shall rove With a careless wing! How in this Isle Of Splendid Voice, Home from exile He shall rejoice! How his golden song shall be spent Forgetting the foul, fierce continent! ELYSIUM Hushed their feet fall On the dewy grass: In robe rhythmical Shining they pass: Lovers who for bliss Grave and rare and deep Need no clasp, or kiss, Or lovers’ sleep. ETERNITY Men who are wise in secret lore Well argue and avow That fugitive Time shall be no more-- No change, no after, no before, But one eternal Now. Yet I will dream Eternity Only a nobler Time, Where all the past shall gathered be And hours all of memory In each new hour chime: Triumphing easily over Death; Showing the sign of power Of one who goes with even breath, Who hurrieth not nor lingereth, Harmonious with his hour: A march, full-speed, from thought to thought, A music more sublime Than holy poet ever caught From magic choirs, and tuned and wrought In miracle of rhyme. THE SEA-MAID I heard an immortal, under the sea, Singing the beauty of change and death. Oh lovelier than light was she, And Araby was in her breath. She lay in a hollow of stainless air Roofed and walled with a crystal gleam; No light wind stirred to quiver her hair Or loose from her eyes the banded dream. Her voice was the piping voice of a child, Shrill, pathetic. I do not know Whether I wept or whether I smiled To hear her chant of curious woe. The sea-maid sang, “Never shall I die. The evil eye, The spine, the fang Have not any power,-- No spell, no charm May wither or harm My beauty’s flower. For, I suppose, I am fair, more fair Than any rose Or earth-bloom rare, Or maid of the earth, Or, faint and far, Heaven’s dark birth Of a radiant star. And yet they are crowned With a joy not mine, With a light divine Who have found, have found The secret of change,-- They are born, they grow, They are dark, they glow, They are new, wild, strange. But I remain Immortal, I Who am fain, oh fain To change or die. * * * * * Once was a time I found the wreck Of a ship sublime With a masted deck: I peeped through the hull And what should it hold But shimmering gold And a shining skull And broken glass And twisted steel, And a steering-wheel Of oak and brass. I loved them and watched them day by day, I watched their beautiful slow decay. I watched them soften and break and rust, And thicken with weeds and fall to dust. But when they were crumbled quite, there came The fish that are centuries-through the same, Their lifted lids that ought to be wise Arching high over vacant eyes. With gaping mouth and sloping chin, And face fixed hard in a solemn grin, They softly murmured, _The passing hour Over our beauty has no power_. I turned. I looked in my crystal glass. My splendour was bright as ever it was. And I wept, and I weep, that I should remain Immortal, unchanging, without a stain.” THE CELL When from the hush of this cool wood I go, Lord, to the noisy mart, Give me among the multitude, I pray, a lonely heart. Yea, build in me a secret cell Where quietness shall be a song: In that green solitude I’ll dwell. And praise Thee all day long. THE ASCETICS Ages long the hills have stood A solitary brotherhood, Ages long with sinews bare They have shouldered the keen air, They have wrestled with the skies Hiddenly for a dark prize. Merry Spring with her wanton train Tiptoes, tiptoes by in vain; Ye, O hills, never behold Her brave dust of green and gold Flashing by, the pride, the mirth, The myriad fluttering of the earth. This wild magic ye have lost-- Tell me, at so bitter cost, What the guerdon ye have won? “Speech with the moon, speech with the sun; Valiancy to meet unbowed The challenge of the thundercloud, And, to quicken us for fresh wars, Gay communion with the stars.” CONSPIRACIES The valley seemed a single throat Singing when the blackbird sang, So true complete and pure his note, And through so clean an air it rang: Trees in a golden rapture stood Unshaken; their dark shadows fell And lay locked by the river-flood In level quiet: blackbird’s bell And hollow-shining air and tree And river made conspiracy And cast on me a spell. Deep in my heart the holy stream, The stream of quietude, was born, Whose waters wandering clouds of dream And marvellous idle shapes adorn; My breath was like the breath of a child Asleep,--yet rooted in repose, Multitudinous swift and wild My branching, flowering thoughts arose. So heart, breath, mind, while I spoke no word, Conspired. Suddenly I heard My song with the blackbird’s close. A RHYME OF FAITH Say ye “Lo the heavens frown, Soon the thundercloud shall burst, Towering faith shall be flung down. We--thank God--expect the worst.” Cowardly blasphemers, hark! _Credo_ shall my motto be, _Credo_--all the sky is dark-- _Quia Impossibile_. THE SHINING POND Against the sky’s pale rim The cottage and the trees stood dim. But in the glow, More tense, Of the little shining pond that lay below, The darkened outlines were drawn clear, Sharp to my sense. And gazing there My vision became Empty and passive, no more than a frame For the silver water that burned and burned .... At last, when I turned, My soul was a mirror, on whose surface lay Without a flaw Each momentary thing I saw,-- Then slipped away. And I heard Each faint noise, Hardly listening. I heard The noise of the cockchafers around me,-- Not only the sound As they boomed in their flight, Above, in the dim light, But as they busily stirred Loosening Heavy body and horny wing, Blundering free Out of the thicket of the may-tree. I saw the flower look up pale-eyed From the tangled grass, And the pale moth climb up, half awake, with quivering wing, And still to the side Of the sedges cling,-- Then like a ghost through the brown air pass. And nowhere, Everywhere, The fall, Hollow and clear, Of the cuckoo’s sounding call. And yet so quiet ... every tree (But most the poplar tree, Shooting up Confidently To the sky’s white cup) Appeared eternal. Suddenly, out beyond The dark, I heard a chime. It told of eternity, not of time, It told that the quiet hour was one With the quiet ages gone, With the quiet hours to be Eternally. Shadow crept over the shining pond. I fell into a deep Trance, an illumined sleep. THE HAUNTED STREET Only the faint-echoing fall of my feet Sounded in the empty street, Where noisily an hour or so ago The townpeople wandered--men, all sorts and types, Swinging leisurely to and fro, Laughing and lounging, pulling at their pipes; Big-featured women; boys with caps aslant To hint them men of the world; slim girls with scant White summer dresses that in dubious light Fluttered and gleamed to the sight Like pallid moth-wings. Now the populous street Was empty: not a phantom lingered there, Not a ghost of sound on the air Save, as I passed, for my echoing feet. The moon was hidden; hardly a candle shone At any upper window, and the stars Were dim as candles: from the shops and bars The glimmer of light was gone. A few arc-lamps at intervals threw Mock moonlight on the mimic waterway Of the wheel-burnished road; And the road lay Cool and rejoicing, lightened of its load Of travelling life--as a tired face may lie Smooth of its furrows, the unquiet day Forgotten, the importunity Of thought and emotion folded away And shuttered off by Sleep. Only my footsteps sounded in the road. Suddenly I stopped. For I felt a faint light creep Up to me and touch me, and lo, behind a cloud-veil The harvest Moon gradually climbing the ascent To the open firmament! The vapours like lit foam Dripped and glittered, as I watched her battle against the tide, Then huddled again more close and strove to hide Her scattering silver with dull monochrome; Yet with a final stroke did she prevail, Unflinching out of the stormy water sail, Astonish the dark night, and roam Splendid in triumph on her ocean-home. And, as I watched, it seemed My eyes were nothing but hollows filled to the brim with light, And my body was unsubstantial, and the flood unearthly streamed Through and through me, body and soul, immovable, absorbed in sight. Along the sombre rank Of ordinary houses the lustre spread Until their level surfaces showed blank And staring-white, and dead. No longer now as images of Sleep Could I feel them, folding away In recesses deep The voices and the passing feet of day: Rather I felt them solid, cold, intense, Shining on the glass of my moonlit sense Like naked tombstones. They seemed to me The only reality: My conscious being Was from its centre all Diverted to its outward wall, From the thinking and willing soul to the touching, seeing, Receptive surface. I lost All sense of separation. I was one With the tomblike stone. The bar of my humanity I crossed, Drawn outward as the houses drew more near, Till they and I for body had only a gleaming wall, For spirit a vague fear. The pulse of Time stopped. There was no sound Anywhere, No motion in the street around, In my soul’s eclipse I could not stir. Yet some hidden impulse suddenly broke the spell, For inward, inward, struggling through the barrier Of my dumb sense I drove. I smote the silent bell At the door of my heart angrily, bidding it answer me With a semblance of actual sound. Driven by the tyranny Of tangible outward horror into my soul I fought, Striving to win the images that dwell In the quiet inmost rooms of intricate-carven thought. There I conjured a vision of summer’s ripe content, Gold corn in the valley, gold gorse on the hill, The gold sun shining, the air full of scent, The common turf paved with gold tormentil; The air basking lazily, full of the sound of bees, And a slow stream washing the boughs of trailing willow-trees. There I found a garden where tall hollyhocks And double-flowered larkspurs towered side by side, Groups of slender columbine and crimson-hearted phlox, Old-fashioned lavender and pink and London pride: And in that close and quiet garden did I find The faces of my dearest friends, intimate and kind. But a hurry of other faces like a shadow-show, Faces remote and strange, crowded unbidden before me, Faces at first I did not know ... Yet some of them bore me Manifest hate or love,--gazing on me As a familiar friend or enemy. Gradually I felt the answering passions stir And days forgotten from a buried past rise; Gradually Like objects with pale outlines whitening the gloom Of a dark room, Out of a misty blurr The faces grew familiar to my eyes. And yet, as I dimly knew With a dazed, half-conscious knowing, These images coming and going,-- These faces old and young That grew In a moment, unfolded And faded,--out of a past that never was mine were sprung: Not mine, although they so remoulded me Under their strong control That memory seemed to be slowly drawn up out of my soul To join them and make them a part Of my own years, Linking them to the passions of my heart, Old hopes and old fears. In a while shone out Distinct among them all, beneath a rout Of dusky hair, one face Of quick eager impulsive grace; And memory arose in me till I burned With a full-kindled fire Of worship and love, seeing no failure, no flaw In her loveliness.... then memory turned, Memory and the strength of desire, To hate, fierce hate, hate fiercer for a memory of shame, Of a wrong that I had done to her. I saw With different eyes her beauty and I hated it. Darkness and agony were in me: I shook: I bit on my lip; there was dew Of sweat on my hand, on my forehead; I knew My soul no longer was mine but lit with the flame Of alien passions, possessing me, driving me ... Emptily, Emptily on either side the motionless line Of tomblike houses gaped upon me-- Their emptiness spoke, they gave me an answer, they told That only the cold Bodies of those who slept Lay in their hold: The hot unsleeping passions were abroad Thronging the white road, Pressing around me, into me. They had crept Deep into me more subtle than sleep; My soul was strangled: I could not shake them off: I struggled in vain ... But with a saving throb of pain The power of motion came to me again, And down the length of that echoing street of dread, While the beautiful mockery of the white moon still looked down On the sleeping town, Quick in the stillness I fled. Printed in the United States of America. TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES The Sea-Maid: quote marks in the poem have been left as-is. The use of ellipsis has been edited to match the original book. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77817 ***