The Five Books of Youth Part 10

XIII

In tireless march I move from sphere to sphere.

I turn not back nor pause; my feet are drawn By s.h.i.+ning power. Master soul or p.a.w.n, I know not which I am; I only hear The faint insistent world voice murmuring on Its pivot in another atmosphere; All else is silence, the pervading year Blows wanly through my senses and is gone.

O You who met me on the sunny lawn Of yesteryear, to be my true companion, And bade me lead you with me from the dawn Into the shades of my predestined canon, How is it that I find myself alone Here in this desolate and starry zone?

XIV

A while you shared my path and solitude, A while you ate the bread of loneliness, And satisfied yourself with a caress Or with a careless overflow of mood.

And then you left me suddenly, to press Into the world again, and seek your food Among the mortals whom you understood, Instead of learning in the wilderness.

Now you return to where you fled from me, And find me gone. You call me from afar, And call in vain; I can not turn to see You loveliness, beloved as you are.

Inexorably I move from sphere to sphere, Nor wait for any soul, however dear.

XV

There is a void that reason can not face, Nor wisdom comprehend, nor sweating will Diminish, nor the rain of April fill, And I am weary of this wan grimace.

Behold I touch the garments of all ill And do not wash my hands; a dusty place Unprobed by light becomes a loud mill race That swirls together straw and daffodil.

It is untrue that vigil can not trace The orbits which upon our births distil The filtered dew of fate; I saw the hill That I must climb, and gauged the upward pace; And now upon the night's worn window sill, I wait and smile. Hail, Judas, full of grace.

XVI

The mirrors of all ages are the eyes Of some remembering G.o.d, wherein are sealed The beauties of the world, the April field, Young faces, blowing hair, and autumn skies.

The mirrors of the world shall break, and yield To life again what never really dies; The forms and colours of earth's pageantries, Unwithered and undimmed, shall be revealed.

And in that moment silence shall unfold Forgotten songs that she has held interred, The ocean rising on the sh.o.r.es of gold, Flecked with white laughter and love's lyric word; All happy music that the world has heard; All beauty that eternal eyes behold.

XVII

We sat in silence till the twilight fell, And then beyond the vague and purple arc Where sky and ocean merge, a summons. "Hark!

Clear notes like water falling in a well, Can you not hear?" "No, but a sudden dark Seems to enfold me, lonely and terrible."

Out of the sunset, a black caravel Drew near, and then I knew I should embark.

I saw it tack against the fading skies, I heard its keel slide crunching up the sand, Then turned, and read, deep in the other's eyes, The pain of one who can not understand.

Dusk deepened over the insurging seas, And loose sails crackled in the rising breeze.

XVIII

He clung to me, his young face dark with woe, And as the mournful music of the tide Monotonously sang, he stood and cried, A silhouette against the afterglow.

I said, "The boat has spread her pinions wide; The stars and wind come forth together. Go Back to our ivy-haunted portico, And place my seat as always at your side."

And so I stepped aboard and left him there.

Farewell; the rhythmic somnolence of oars; Star-misty vastness; swiftly moving air; Then distant lights on undiscovered sh.o.r.es.

This I remember, standing by the sea, But where was that dark land, and who were we?