Poems of Paul Verlaine | Page 5

least to lead the dance, since he must pay
The fiddlers,--at some risk of flutt'ring passers-by!
Canst not, by rummaging within thy consciousness,
Find some bright vice to bare, as 't were a flashing sword? Some gay, audacious vice, which wield with dexterousness,
And make to shine, and shoot red lightnings Heavenward!
Hast one, or more? If more, the better! And plunge in,
And bravely lay about thee, indiscriminate,?And wear that face of indolence that masks the grin
Of hate at once full-feasted and insatiate.
Not well to be a dupe in this good universe,
Where there is nothing to allure in happiness?Save in it wriggle aught of shameful and perverse,--
And not to be a dupe, one must be merciless!
--Ah, human wisdom, ah, new things have claimed mine eyes,
And of that past--of weary recollection!--?Thy voice described, for still more sinister advice,
All I remember is the evil I have done.
In all the curious movements of my sad career,
Of others and myself, the chequered road I trod,?Of my accounted sorrows, good and evil cheer,
I nothing have retained except the grace of God!
If I am punished, 'tis most fit I should be so;
Played to its end is mortal man's and woman's r?le,--?But steadfastly I hope I too one day shall know
The peace and pardon promised every Christian soul.
Well not to be a dupe in this world of a day,
But not to be one in the world that hath no end,?That which it doth behoove the soul to be and stay
Is merciful, not merciless,--deluded friend.
THE FALSE FAIR DAYS
The false fair days have flamed the livelong day,?And still they flicker in the brazen West.?Cast down thine eyes, poor soul, shut out the unblest:?A deadliest temptation. Come away.
All day they flashed in flakes of fire, that lay?The vintage low upon the hill's green breast,?The harvest low,--and o'er that faithfullest,?The blue sky ever beckoning, shed dismay.
Oh, clasp thy hands, grow pale, and turn again!?If all the future savoured of the past??If the old insanity were on its way?
Those memories, must each anew be slain??One fierce assault, the best, no doubt, the last!?Go pray against the gathering storm, go pray!
GIVE EAR UNTO THE GENTLE LAY
Give ear unto the gentle lay?That's only sad that it may please;?It is discreet, and light it is:?A whiff of wind o'er buds in May.
The voice was known to you (and dear?),?But it is muffled latterly?As is a widow,--still, as she?It doth its sorrow proudly bear,
And through the sweeping mourning veil?That in the gusts of Autumn blows,?Unto the heart that wonders, shows?Truth like a star now flash, now fail.
It says,--the voice you knew again!--?That kindness, goodness is our life,?And that of envy, hatred, strife,?When death is come, shall naught remain.
It says how glorious to be?Like children, without more delay,?The tender gladness it doth say?Of peace not bought with victory.
Accept the voice,--ah, hear the whole?Of its persistent, artless strain:?Naught so can soothe a soul's own pain,?As making glad another soul!
It pines in bonds but for a day,?The soul that without murmur bears. . . .?How unperplexed, how free it fares!?Oh, listen to the gentle lay!
I'VE SEEN AGAIN THE ONE CHILD: VERILY
I've seen again the One child: verily,?I felt the last wound open in my breast,?The last, whose perfect torture doth attest?That on some happy day I too shall die!
Good icy arrow, piercing thoroughly!?Most timely came it from their dreams to wrest?The sluggish scruples laid too long to rest,--?And all my Christian blood hymned fervently.
I still hear, still I see! O worshipped rule?Of God! I know at last how comfortful?To hear and see! I see, I hear alway!
O innocence, O hope! Lowly and mild,?How I shall love you, sweet hands of my child,?Whose task shall be to close our eyes one day!
"SON, THOU MUST LOVE ME! SEE--" MY SAVIOUR SAID
"Son, thou must love me! See--" my Saviour said,?"My heart that glows and bleeds, my wounded side,?My hurt feet that the Magdalene, wet-eyed,?Clasps kneeling, and my tortured arms outspread
"To bear thy sins. Look on the cross, stained red!?The nails, the sponge, that, all, thy soul shall guide?To love on earth where flesh thrones in its pride,?My Body and Blood alone, thy Wine and Bread.
"Have I not loved thee even unto death,?O brother mine, son in the Holy Ghost??Have I not suffered, as was writ I must,
"And with thine agony sobbed out my breath??Hath not thy nightly sweat bedewed my brow,?O lamentable friend that seek'st me now?"
[Illustration: "Mon Dieu M'a Dit."]
HOPE SHINES--AS IN A STABLE A WISP OF STRAW
Hope shines--as in a stable a wisp of straw.?Fear not the wasp drunk with his crazy flight!?Through some chink always, see, the moted light!?Propped on your hand, you dozed--But let me draw
Cool water from the well for you, at least,?Poor soul! There, drink! Then sleep. See, I remain,?And I will sing a slumberous refrain,?And you shall murmur like a child appeased.
Noon strikes. Approach not, Madam, pray, or call....?He sleeps.