Young Adventure Part 5

You start -- 'twas artist then, not Pope who spoke!

Ave Maria stella! -- ah, it broke!

'Tis said they break alone When poison writhes within. A foolish tale!

What, you look pale?

Caraffa, fetch a silver cup!... You own A Birth of Venus, now -- or so I've heard, Lovely as the breast-plumage of a bird.

Also a Dancing Faun, Hewn with the lithe grace of Praxiteles; Globed pearls to please A sultan; golden veils that drop like lawn -- How happy I could be with but a t.i.the Of your possessions, fortunate one! Don't writhe

But take these cus.h.i.+ons here!

Now for the fruit! Great peaches, satin-skinned, Rough tamarind, Pomegranates red as lips -- oh they come dear!

But men like you we feast at any price -- A plum perhaps? They're looking rather nice!

I'll cut the thing in half.

There's yours! Now, with a one-side-poisoned knife One might snuff life And leave one's friend with -- "fool" for epitaph!

An old trick? Truth! But when one has the itch For pretty things and isn't very rich....

There, eat it all or I'll Be angry! You feel giddy? Well, it's hot!

This bergamot Take home and smell -- it purges blood of bile!

And when you kiss Bianca's dimpled knee, Think of the poor Pope in his misery!

Now you may kiss my ring!

Ho there, the Cardinal's litter! -- You must dine When the new wine Is in, again with me -- hear Bice sing, Even admire my frescoes -- though they're nought Beside the calm Greek glories you have bought!

G.o.dspeed, Sir Cardinal!

And take a weak man's blessing! Help him there To the cool air!...

Lucrezia here? You're ready for the ball?

-- He'll die within ten hours, I suppose -- MhM! Kiss your poor old father, little rose!

The Breaking Point

It was not when temptation came, Swiftly and blastingly as flame, And seared me white with burning scars; When I stood up for age-long wars And held the very Fiend at grips; When all my mutinous body rose To range itself beside my foes, And, like a greyhound in the slips, The Beast that dwells within me roared, Lunging and straining at his cord....

For all the bl.u.s.terings of h.e.l.l, It was not then I slipped and fell; For all the storm, for all the hate, I kept my soul inviolate!

But when the fight was fought and won, And there was Peace as still as Death On everything beneath the sun.

Just as I started to draw breath, And yawn, and stretch, and pat myself, -- The gra.s.s began to whisper things -- And every tree became an elf, That grinned and chuckled counsellings: Birds, beasts, one thing alone they said, Beating and dinning at my head.

I could not fly. I could not shun it.

Slimily twisting, slow and blind, It crept and crept into my mind.

Whispered and shouted, sneered and laughed, Screamed out until my brain was daft....

One snaky word, "WHAT IF YOU'D DONE IT?"

And I began to think...

Ah, well, What matter how I slipped and fell?

Or you, you gutter-searcher say!

Tell where you found me yesterday!

Lonely Burial

There were not many at that lonely place, Where two scourged hills met in a little plain.

The wind cried loud in gusts, then low again.

Three pines strained darkly, runners in a race Unseen by any. Toward the further woods A dim harsh noise of voices rose and ceased.

-- We were most silent in those solitudes -- Then, sudden as a flame, the black-robed priest,

The clotted earth piled roughly up about The hacked red oblong of the new-made thing, Short words in swordlike Latin -- and a rout Of dreams most impotent, unwearying.

Then, like a blind door shut on a carouse, The terrible bareness of the soul's last house.

Dinner in a Quick Lunch Room

Soup should be heralded with a mellow horn, Blowing clear notes of gold against the stars; Strange entrees with a jangle of gla.s.s bars Fantastically alive with subtle scorn; Fish, by a plopping, gurgling rush of waters, Clear, vibrant waters, beautifully austere; Roast, with a thunder of drums to stun the ear, A screaming fife, a voice from ancient slaughters!

Over the salad let the woodwinds moan; Then the green silence of many watercresses; Dessert, a balalaika, strummed alone; Coffee, a slow, low singing no pa.s.sion stresses; Such are my thoughts as -- clang! cras.h.!.+ bang! -- I brood And gorge the sticky mess these fools call food!

The Hemp

(A Virginia Legend.)

The Planting of the Hemp.

Captain Hawk scourged clean the seas (Black is the gap below the plank) From the Great North Bank to the Caribbees (Down by the marsh the hemp grows rank).

His fear was on the seaport towns, The weight of his hand held hard the downs.

And the merchants cursed him, bitter and black, For a red flame in the sea-fog's wrack Was all of their s.h.i.+ps that might come back.

For all he had one word alone, One clod of dirt in their faces thrown, "The hemp that shall hang me is not grown!"

His name bestrode the seas like Death.

The waters trembled at his breath.

This is the tale of how he fell, Of the long sweep and the heavy swell, And the rope that dragged him down to h.e.l.l.