TO HAMLIN GARLAND
Black riders came from
the sea.
There was clang and
clang of spear and shield,
And clash and clash of
hoof and heel,
Wild shouts and the
wave of hair
In the rush upon the
wind:
Thus the ride of sin.
Three little birds in a
row
Sat musing.
A man passed near that
place.
Then did the little
birds nudge each other.
They said, "He
thinks he can sing."
They threw back their
heads to laugh.
With quaint
countenances
They regarded him.
They were very curious,
Those three little
birds in a row.
In the desert
I saw a creature,
naked, bestial,
who, squatting upon the
ground,
Held his heart in his
hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it
good, friend?"
"It is
bitter--bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my
heart."
Yes, I have a thousand
tongues,
And nine and
ninety-nine lie.
Though I strive to use
the one,
It will make no melody
at my will,
But is dead in my
mouth.
Once there came a man
Who said,
"Range me all men
of the world in rows."
And instantly
There was terrific
clamour among the people
Against being ranged in
rows.
There was a loud
quarrel, world-wide.
It endured for ages;
And blood was shed
By those who would not
stand in rows,
And by those who pined
to stand in rows.
Eventually, the man
went to death, weeping.
And those who staid in
bloody scuffle
Knew not the great
simplicity.
God fashioned the ship
of the world carefully.
With the infinite skill
of an All-Master
Made He the hull and
the sails,
Held He the rudder
Ready for adjustment.
Erect stood He,
scanning His work proudly.
Then--at fateful
time--a wrong called,
And God turned,
heeding.
Lo, the ship, at this
opportunity, slipped slyly,
Making cunning
noiseless travel down the ways.
So that, forever
rudderless, it went upon the seas
Going ridiculous
voyages,
Making quaint progress,
Turning as with serious
purpose
Before stupid winds.
And there were many in
the sky
Who laughed at this
thing.
Mystic shadow, bending
near me,
Who art thou?
Whence come ye?
And--tell me--is it
fair
Or is the truth bitter
as eaten fire?
Tell me!
Fear not that I should
quaver.
For I dare--I dare.
Then, tell me!
I looked here;
I looked there;
Nowhere could I see my
love.
And--this time--
She was in my heart.
Truly, then, I have no
complaint,
For though she be fair
and fairer,
She is none so fair as
she
In my heart.
I stood upon a high
place,
And saw, below, many
devils
Running, leaping,
and carousing in sin.
One looked up,
grinning,
And said,
"Comrade! Brother!"
Should the wide world
roll away,
Leaving black terror,
Limitless night,
Nor God, nor man, nor
place to stand
Would be to me
essential,
If thou and thy white
arms were there,
And the fall to doom a
long way.
In a lonely place,
I encountered a sage
Who sat, all still,
Regarding a newspaper.
He accosted me:
"Sir, what is
this?"
Then I saw that I was
greater,
Aye, greater than this
sage.
I answered him at once,
"Old, old man, it
is the wisdom of the age."
The sage looked upon me
with admiration.
"And the sins of
the fathers shall be
visited upon the heads
of the children,
even unto the third and
fourth
generation of them that
hate me."
Well, then I hate thee,
unrighteous picture;
Wicked image, I hate
thee;
So, strike with thy
vengeance
The heads of those
little men
Who come blindly.
It will be a brave
thing.
If there is a witness
to my little life,
To my tiny throes and
struggles,
He sees a fool;
And it is not fine for
gods to menace fools.
There was crimson clash
of war.
Lands turned black and
bare;
Women wept;
Babes ran, wondering.
There came one who
understood not these things.
He said, "Why is
this?"
Whereupon a million
strove to answer him.
There was such
intricate clamour of tongues,
That still the reason
was not.
"Tell brave deeds
of war."
Then they recounted
tales,--
"There were stern
stands
And bitter runs for
glory."
Ah, I think there were
braver deeds.
Charity thou art a lie,
A toy of women,
A pleasure of certain
men.
In the presence of
justice,
Lo, the walls of the
temple
Are visible
Through thy form of
sudden shadows.
There were many who
went in huddled procession,
They knew not whither;
But, at any rate,
success or calamity
Would attend all in
equality.
There was one who
sought a new road.
He went into direful
thickets,
And ultimately he died
thus, alone;
But they said he had
courage.
In heaven,
Some little blades of grass
Stood before God.
"What did you
do?"
Then all save one of
the little blades
Began eagerly to relate
The merits of their
lives.
This one stayed a small
way behind,
Ashamed.
Presently, God said,
"And what did you
do?"
The little blade
answered, "Oh my Lord,
Memory is bitter to me,
For, if I did good
deeds,
I know not of
them."
Then God, in all His
splendor,
Arose from His throne.
"Oh, best little
blade of grass!" He said.
A god in wrath
Was beating a man;
He cuffed him loudly
With thunderous blows
That rang and rolled
over the earth.
All people came
running.
The man screamed and
struggled,
And bit madly at the
feet of the god.
The people cried,
"Ah, what a wicked
man!"
And--
"Ah, what a redoubtable
god!"
A learned man came to
me once.
He said, "I know
the way,--come."
And I was overjoyed at
this.
Together we hastened.
Soon, too soon, were we
Where my eyes were
useless,
And I knew not the ways
of my feet.
I clung to the hand of
my friend;
But at last he cried,
"I am lost."
There was, before me,
Mile upon mile
Of snow, ice, burning
sand.
And yet I could look
beyond all this,
To a place of infinite
beauty;
And I could see the
loveliness of her
Who walked in the shade
of the trees.
When I gazed,
All was lost
But this place of
beauty and her.
When I gazed,
And in my gazing,
desired,
Then came again
Mile upon mile,
Of snow, ice, burning
sand.
Once I saw mountains
angry,
And ranged in
battle-front.
Against them stood a
little man;
Aye, he was no bigger
than my finger.
I laughed, and spoke to
one near me,
"Will he
prevail?"
"Surely,"
replied this other;
"His grandfathers
beat them many times."
Then did I see much
virtue in grandfathers--
At least, for the
little man
Who stood against the
mountains.
Places among the stars,
Soft gardens near the
sun,
Keep your distant
beauty;
Shed no beams upon my
weak heart.
Since she is here
In a place of
blackness,
Not your golden days
Nor your silver nights
Can call me to you.
Since she is here
In a place of
blackness,
Here I stay and wait
I saw a man pursuing
the horizon;
Round and round they
sped.
I was disturbed at
this;
I accosted the man.
"It is
futile," I said,
"You can
never--"
"You lie," he
cried,
And ran on.
Behold, the grave of a
wicked man,
And near it, a stern
spirit.
There came a drooping
maid with violets,
But the spirit grasped
her arm.
"No flowers for
him," he said.
The maid wept:
"Ah, I loved
him."
But the spirit, grim
and frowning:
"No flowers for
him."
Now, this is it--
If the spirit was just,
Why did the maid weep?
There was set before me
a mighty hill,
And long days I climbed
Through regions of
snow.
When I had before me
the summit-view,
It seemed that my
labour
Had been to see gardens
Lying at impossible
distances.
A youth in apparel that
glittered
Went to walk in a grim
forest.
There he met an
assassin
Attired all in garb of
old days;
He, scowling through
the thickets,
And dagger poised
quivering,
Rushed upon the youth.
"Sir," said
this latter,
"I am enchanted,
believe me,
To die, thus,
In this medieval
fashion,
According to the best
legends;
Ah, what joy!"
Then took he the wound,
smiling,
And died, content.
"Truth," said
a traveller,
"Is a rock, a
mighty fortress;
Often have I been to
it,
Even to its highest
tower,
From whence the world
looks black."
"Truth," said
a traveller,
"Is a breath, a
wind,
A shadow, a phantom;
Long have I pursued it,
But never have I
touched
The hem of its
garment."
And I believed the
second traveller;
For truth was to me
A breath, a wind,
A shadow, a phantom,
And never had I touched
The hem of its garment.
Behold, from the land
of the farther suns
I returned.
And I was in a
reptile-swarming place,
Peopled, otherwise,
with grimaces,
Shrouded above in black
impenetrableness.
I shrank, loathing,
Sick with it.
And I said to him,
"What is
this?"
He made answer slowly,
"Spirit, this is a
world;
This was your
home."
Supposing that I should
have the courage
To let a red sword of
virtue
Plunge into my heart,
Letting to the weeds of
the ground
My sinful blood,
What can you offer me?
A gardened castle?
A flowery kingdom?
What? A hope?
Then hence with your
red sword of virtue.
Many workmen
Built a huge ball of
masonry
Upon a mountain-top.
Then they went to the
valley below,
And turned to behold
their work.
"It is
grand," they said;
They loved the thing.
Of a sudden, it moved:
It came upon them
swiftly;
It crushed them all to
blood.
But some had
opportunity to squeal.
Two or three angels
Came near to the earth.
They saw a fat church.
Little black streams of
people
Came and went in
continually.
And the angels were
puzzled
To know why the people
went thus,
And why they stayed so
long within.
There was one I met
upon the road
Who looked at me with
kind eyes.
Her said, "Show me
of your wares."
And this I did,
Holding forth one.
He said, "It is a
sin."
Then held I forth
another;
He said, "It is a
sin."
Then held I forth
another;
He said, "It is a
sin."
And so to the end;
Always he said,
"It is a sin."
And, finally, I cried
out,
"But I have none
other."
Then did he look at me
With kinder eyes.
"Poor soul!"
he said.
I stood upon a highway,
And, behold, there came
Many strange peddlers.
To me each one made
gestures,
Holding forth little
images, saying,
"This is my
pattern of God.
Now this is the God I
prefer."
But I said,
"Hence!
Leave me with mine own,
And take you yours
away;
I can’t buy of your
patterns of God,
The little gods you may
rightly prefer."
A man saw a ball of
gold in the sky;
He climbed for it,
And eventually he
achieved it--
It was clay.
Now this is the strange
part:
When the man went to
the earth
And looked again,
Lo, there was the ball
of gold.
Now this is the strange
part:
It was a ball of gold.
Aye, by the heavens, it
was a ball of gold.
I met a seer.
He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.
"Sir," I
addressed him,
"Let me
read."
"Child--" he
began.
"Sir," I
said,
"Think not that I
am a child,
For already I know much
Of that which you hold.
Aye, much."
He smiled.
Then he opened the book
And held it before
me.--
Strange that I should
have grown so suddenly blind.
On the horizon the
peaks assembled;
And as I looked,
The march of the
mountains began.
As they marched, they
sang,
"Aye! We come! We
come!"
The ocean said to me
once,
"Look!
Yonder on the shore
Is a woman, weeping.
I have watched her.
Go you and tell her
this--
Her lover I have laid
In cool green hall.
There is wealth of
golden sand
And pillars, coral-red;
Two white fish stand
guard at his bier.
"Tell her this
And more--
That the king of the
seas
Weeps too, old,
helpless man.
The bustling fates
Heap his hands with
corpses
Until he stands like a
child
With a surplus of
toys."
The livid lightnings
flashed in the clouds;
The leaden thunders
crashed.
A worshipper raised his
arm.
"Hearken! Hearken!
The voice of God!"
"Not so,"
said a man.
"The voice of God
whispers in the heart
So softly
That the soul pauses,
Making no noise,
And strives for these
melodies,
Distant, sighing, like
faintest breath,
And all the being is
still to hear."
And you love me
I love you.
You are, then, cold
coward.
Aye; but, beloved,
When I strive to come
to you,
Man’s opinions, a
thousand thickets,
My interwoven
existence,
My life,
Caught in the stubble
of the world
Like a tender veil--
This stays me.
No strange move can I
make
Without noise of
tearing
I dare not.
If love loves,
There is no world
Nor word.
All is lost
Save thought of love
And place to dream.
You love me?
I love you.
You are, then, cold
coward.
Aye; but, beloved--
Love walked alone.
The rocks cut her
tender feet,
And the brambles tore
her fair limbs.
There came a companion
to her,
But, alas, he was no
help,
For his name was heart’s
pain.
I walked in a desert.
And I cried,
"Ah, God, take me
from this place!"
A voice said, "It
is no desert."
I cried, "Well,
But--
The sand, the heat, the
vacant horizon."
A voice said, "It
is no desert."
There came whisperings
in the winds:
"Good-bye!
Good-bye!"
Little voices called in
the darkness:
"Good-bye!
Good-bye!"
Then I stretched forth
my arms.
"No--no--"
There came whisperings
in the wind
"Good-bye!
Good-bye!"
Little voices called in
the darkness:
"Good-bye!
Good-bye!"
I was in the darkness;
I could not see my
words
Nor the wishes of my
heart.
Then suddenly there was
a great light--
"Let me into the
darkness again."
Tradition, thou art for
suckling children,
Thou art the enlivening
milk for babes;
But no meat for men is
in thee.
Then--
But, alas, we all are
babes.
Many red devils ran
from my heart
And out upon the page,
They were so tiny
The pen could mash
them.
And many struggled in
the ink.
It was strange
To write in this red
muck
Of things from my
heart.
"Think as I
think," said a man,
"Or you are
abominably wicked;
You are a toad."
And after I had thought
of it,
I said, "I will,
then, be a toad."
Once there was a man--
Oh, so wise!
In all drink
He detected the bitter,
And in all touch
He found the sting.
At last he cried thus:
"There is
nothing--
No life,
No joy,
No pain--
There is nothing save
opinion,
And opinion be
damned."
I stood musing in a
black world,
Not knowing where to
direct my feet.
And I saw the quick
stream of men
Pouring ceaselessly,
Filled with eager
faces,
A torrent of desire.
I called to them,
"Where do you go?
What do you see?"
A thousand voices
called to me.
A thousand fingers
pointed.
"Look! look!
There!"
I know not of it.
But, lo! In the far sky
shone a radiance
Ineffable, divine--
A vision painted upon a
pall;
And sometimes it was,
And sometimes it was
not.
I hesitated.
Then from the stream
Came roaring voices,
Impatient:
"Look! look!
There!"
So again I saw,
And leaped, unhesitant,
And struggled and fumed
With outspread
clutching fingers.
The hard hills tore my
flesh;
The ways bit my feet.
At last I looked again.
No radiance in the far
sky,
Ineffable, divine;
No vision painted upon
a pall;
And always my eyes
ached for the light.
Then I cried in
despair,
"I see nothing!
Oh, where do I go?"
The torrent turned
again its faces:
"Look! look!
There!"
And at the blindness of
my spirit
They screamed,
"Fool! fool!
fool!"
You say you are holy,
And that
Because I have not seen
you sin.
Aye, but there are
those
Who see you sin, my
friend.
A man went before a
strange God--
The God of many men,
sadly wise.
And the deity thundered
loudly,
Fat with rage, and
puffing.
"Kneel, mortal,
and cringe
And grovel and do
homage
To My Particularly
Sublime Majesty."
The man fled.
Then the man went to
another God--
The God of his inner
thoughts.
And this one looked at
him
With soft eyes
Lit with infinite
comprehension,
And said, "My poor
child!"
Why do you strive for
greatness, fool?
Go pluck a bough and
wear it.
It is as sufficing.
My Lord, there are
certain barbarians
Who tilt their noses
As if the stars were
flowers,
And Thy servant is lost
among their shoe-buckles.
Fain would I have mine
eyes even with their eyes.
Fool, go pluck a bough
and wear it.
Blustering God,
Stamping across the sky
With loud swagger,
I fear You not.
No, though from Your
highest heaven
You plunge Your spear
at my heart,
I fear You not.
No, not if the blow
Is as the lightning
blasting a tree,
I fear You not, puffing
braggart.
If Thou canst see into
my heart
That I fear Thee not,
Thou wilt see why I
fear Thee not,
And why it is right.
So threaten not, Thou,
with Thy bloody spears,
Else Thy sublime ears
shall hear curses.
Withal, there is One
whom I fear:
I fear to see grief
upon that face.
Perchance, friend, He
is not your God;
If so, spit upon Him.
By it you will do no
profanity.
But I--
Ah, sooner would I die
Than see tears in those
eyes of my soul.
"It was wrong to
do this," said the angel.
"You should live
like a flower,
Holding malice like a
puppy,
Waging war like a
lambkin."
"Not so,"
quoth the man
Who had no fear of spirits;
"It is only wrong
for angels
Who can live like the
flowers,
Holding malice like the
puppies,
Waging war like the
lambkins."
A man toiled on a
burning road,
Never resting.
Once he saw a fat,
stupid ass
Grinning at him from a
green place.
The man cried out in
rage,
"Ah! Do not deride
me, fool!
I know you--
All day stuffing your
belly,
Burying your heart
In grass and tender
sprouts:
It will not suffice
you."
But the ass only
grinned at him from the green place.
A man feared that he
might find an assassin;
Another that he might
find a victim.
One was more wise than
the other.
With eye and with
gesture
You say you are holy.
I say you lie;
For I did see you
Draw away your coats
From the sin upon the
hands
Of a little child.
Liar!
The sage lectured
brilliantly.
Before him, two images:
"Now this one is a
devil,
And this one is
me."
He turned away.
Then a cunning pupil
Changed the positions.
Turned the sage again:
"Now this one is a
devil,
And this one is
me."
The pupils sat, all
grinning,
And rejoiced in the
game.
But the sage was a
sage.
Walking in the sky,
A man in strange black
garb
Encountered a radiant
form.
Then his steps were
eager;
Bowed he devoutly.
"My Lord,"
said he.
But the spirit knew him
not.
Upon the road of my
life,
Passed me many fair
creatures,
Clothed all in white,
and radiant.
To one, finally, I made
speech:
"Who art
thou?"
But she, like the
others,
Kept cowled her face,
And answered in haste,
anxiously,
"I am good deed,
forsooth;
You have often seen
me."
"Not
uncowled," I made reply.
And with rash and
strong hand,
Though she resisted,
I drew away the veil
And gazed at the
features of vanity.
She, shamefaced, went
on;
And after I had mused a
time,
I said of myself,
"Fool!"
There was a man and a
woman
Who sinned.
Then did the man heap
the punishment
All upon the head of
her,
And went away gaily.
There was a man and a
woman
Who sinned.
And the man stood with
her.
As upon her head, so
upon his,
Fell blow and blow,
And all people
screaming, "Fool!"
He was a brave heart.
He was a brave heart.
Would you speak with
him, friend?
Well, he is dead,
And there went your
opportunity.
Let it be your grief
That he is dead
And your opportunity
gone;
For, in that, you were
a coward.
There was a man who
lived a life of fire.
Even upon the fabric of
time,
Where purple becomes
orange
And orange purple,
This life glowed,
A dire red stain,
indelible;
Yet when he was dead,
He saw that he had not
lived.
There was a great
cathedral.
To solemn songs,
A white procession
Moved toward the altar.
The chief man there
Was erect, and bore
himself proudly.
Yet some could see him
cringe,
As in a place of
danger,
Throwing frightened
glances into the air,
A-start at threatening
faces of the past.
Friend, your white
beard sweeps the ground.
Why do you stand,
expectant?
Do you hope to see it
In one of your withered
days?
With your old eyes
Do you hope to see
The triumphal march of
justice?
Do not wait, friend!
Take your white beard
And your old eyes
To more tender lands.
Once, I knew a fine
song,
--It is true, believe
me--
It was all of birds,
And I held them in a
basket;
When I opened the
wicket,
Heavens! They all flew
away.
I cried, "Come
back, little thoughts!"
But they only laughed.
They flew on
Until they were as sand
Thrown between me and
the sky.
If I should cast off
this tattered coat,
And go free into the
mighty sky;
If I should find
nothing there
But a vast blue,
Echoless, ignorant--
What then?
God lay dead in heaven;
Angels sang the hymn of
the end;
Purple winds went
moaning,
Their wings
drip-dripping
With blood
That fell upon the
earth.
It, groaning thing,
Turned black and sank.
Then from the far
caverns
Of dead sins
Came monsters, livid
with desire.
They fought,
Wrangled over the
world,
A morsel.
But of all sadness this
was sad--
A woman’s arms tried to
shield
The head of a sleeping
man
From the jaws of the
final beast.
A spirit sped
Through spaces of
night;
And as he sped, he
called,
"God! God!"
He went through valleys
Of black death-slime,
Ever calling,
"God! God!"
Their echoes
From crevice and cavern
Mocked him:
"God! God!
God!"
Fleetly into the plains
of space
He went, ever calling,
"God! God!"
Eventually, then, he
screamed,
Mad in denial,
"Ah, there is no
God!"
A swift hand,
A sword from the sky,
Smote him,
And he was dead.