Part 9 (1/2)

I struck: the serpentine slow blood In four arms soaked the moss-- Before me, by the living Christ, The blood ran in a cross.

Therefore I toil in forests here And pile the wood in stacks, And take no fee from the s.h.i.+vering folk Till I have cleansed the axe.

But for a curse G.o.d cleared my sight, And where each tree doth grow I see a life with awful eyes, And I must lay it low.

ART COLOURS

On must we go: we search dead leaves, We chase the sunset's saddest flames, The nameless hues that o'er and o'er In lawless wedding lost their names.

G.o.d of the daybreak! Better be Black savages; and grin to gird Our limbs in gaudy rags of red, The laughing-stock of brute and bird;

And feel again the fierce old feast, Blue for seven heavens that had sufficed, A gold like s.h.i.+ning h.o.a.rds, a red Like roses from the blood of Christ.

THE TWO WOMEN

Lo! very fair is she who knows the ways Of joy: in pleasure's mocking wisdom old, The eyes that might be cold to flattery, kind; The hair that might be grey with knowledge, gold.

But thou art more than these things, O my queen, For thou art clad in ancient wars and tears.

And looking forth, framed in the crown of thorns, I saw the youngest face in all the spheres.

THE WILD KNIGHT

The wasting thistle whitens on my crest, The barren gra.s.ses blow upon my spear, A green, pale pennon: blazon of wild faith And love of fruitless things: yea, of my love, Among the golden loves of all the knights, Alone: most hopeless, sweet, and blasphemous, The love of G.o.d: I hear the crumbling creeds Like cliffs washed down by water, change, and pa.s.s; I hear a noise of words, age after age, A new cold wind that blows across the plains, And all the shrines stand empty; and to me All these are nothing: priests and schools may doubt Who never have believed; but I have loved.

Ah friends, I know it pa.s.sing well, the love Wherewith I love; it shall not bring to me Return or hire or any pleasant thing-- Ay, I have tried it: Ay, I know its roots.

Earthquake and plague have burst on it in vain And rolled back shattered-- Babbling neophytes!

Blind, startled fools--think you I know it not?

Think you to teach me? Know I not His ways?

Strange-visaged blunders, mystic cruelties.

All! all! I know Him, for I love Him. Go!

So, with the wan waste gra.s.ses on my spear, I ride for ever, seeking after G.o.d.

My hair grows whiter than my thistle plume, And all my limbs are loose; but in my eyes The star of an unconquerable praise: For in my soul one hope for ever sings, That at the next white corner of a road My eyes may look on Him....

Hush--I shall know The place when it is found: a twisted path Under a twisted pear-tree--this I saw In the first dream I had ere I was born, Wherein He spoke....

But the grey clouds come down In hail upon the icy plains: I ride, Burning for ever in consuming fire.

THE WILD KNIGHT

_A dark manor-house shuttered and unlighted, outlined against a pale sunset: in front a large, but neglected, garden. To the right, in the foreground, the porch of a chapel, with coloured windows lighted. Hymns within._

_Above the porch a grotesque carved bracket, supporting a lantern.