Sword Blades and Poppy Seed | Page 5

of Ideal, "couleur d'or".?Every castle of the air?Sleeps in the fine black grains, and there?Are seeds for every romance, or light?Whiff of a dream for a summer night.?I supply to every want and taste."?'Twas slowly said, in no great haste?He seemed to push his wares, but I?Dumfounded listened. By and by?A log on the fire broke in two.?He looked up quickly, "Sir, and you?"?I groped for something I should say;?Amazement held me numb. "To-day?You sweated at a fruitless task."?He spoke for me, "What do you ask??How can I serve you?" "My kind host,?My penniless state was not a boast;?I have no money with me." He smiled.?"Not for that money I beguiled?You here; you paid me in advance."?Again I felt as though a trance?Had dimmed my faculties. Again?He spoke, and this time to explain.?"The money I demand is Life,?Your nervous force, your joy, your strife!"?What infamous proposal now?Was made me with so calm a brow??Bursting through my lethargy,?Indignantly I hurled the cry:?"Is this a nightmare, or am I?Drunk with some infernal wine??I am no Faust, and what is mine?Is what I call my soul! Old Man!?Devil or Ghost! Your hellish plan?Revolts me. Let me go." "My child,"?And the old tones were very mild,?"I have no wish to barter souls;?My traffic does not ask such tolls.?I am no devil; is there one??Surely the age of fear is gone.?We live within a daylight world?Lit by the sun, where winds unfurled?Sweep clouds to scatter pattering rain,?And then blow back the sun again.?I sell my fancies, or my swords,?To those who care far more for words,?Ideas, of which they are the sign,?Than any other life-design.?Who buy of me must simply pay?Their whole existence quite away:?Their strength, their manhood, and their prime,?Their hours from morning till the time?When evening comes on tiptoe feet,?And losing life, think it complete;?Must miss what other men count being,?To gain the gift of deeper seeing;?Must spurn all ease, all hindering love,?All which could hold or bind; must prove?The farthest boundaries of thought,?And shun no end which these have brought;?Then die in satisfaction, knowing?That what was sown was worth the sowing.?I claim for all the goods I sell?That they will serve their purpose well,?And though you perish, they will live.?Full measure for your pay I give.?To-day you worked, you thought, in vain.?What since has happened is the train?Your toiling brought. I spoke to you?For my share of the bargain, due."?"My life! And is that all you crave?In pay? What even childhood gave!?I have been dedicate from youth.?Before my God I speak the truth!"?Fatigue, excitement of the past?Few hours broke me down at last.?All day I had forgot to eat,?My nerves betrayed me, lacking meat.?I bowed my head and felt the storm?Plough shattering through my prostrate form.?The tearless sobs tore at my heart.?My host withdrew himself apart;?Busied among his crockery,?He paid no farther heed to me.?Exhausted, spent, I huddled there,?Within the arms of the old carved chair.
A long half-hour dragged away,?And then I heard a kind voice say,?"The day will soon be dawning, when?You must begin to work again.?Here are the things which you require."?By the fading light of the dying fire,?And by the guttering candle's flare,?I saw the old man standing there.?He handed me a packet, tied?With crimson tape, and sealed. "Inside?Are seeds of many differing flowers,?To occupy your utmost powers?Of storied vision, and these swords?Are the finest which my shop affords.?Go home and use them; do not spare?Yourself; let that be all your care.?Whatever you have means to buy?Be very sure I can supply."?He slowly walked to the window, flung?It open, and in the grey air rung?The sound of distant matin bells.?I took my parcels. Then, as tells?An ancient mumbling monk his beads,?I tried to thank for his courteous deeds?My strange old friend. "Nay, do not talk,"?He urged me, "you have a long walk?Before you. Good-by and Good-day!"?And gently sped upon my way?I stumbled out in the morning hush,?As down the empty street a flush?Ran level from the rising sun.?Another day was just begun.
Sword Blades
The Captured Goddess
Over the housetops,?Above the rotating chimney-pots,?I have seen a shiver of amethyst,?And blue and cinnamon have flickered?A moment,?At the far end of a dusty street.
Through sheeted rain?Has come a lustre of crimson,?And I have watched moonbeams?Hushed by a film of palest green.
It was her wings,?Goddess!?Who stepped over the clouds,?And laid her rainbow feathers?Aslant on the currents of the air.
I followed her for long,?With gazing eyes and stumbling feet.?I cared not where she led me,?My eyes were full of colours:?Saffrons, rubies, the yellows of beryls,?And the indigo-blue of quartz;?Flights of rose, layers of chrysoprase,?Points of orange, spirals of vermilion,?The spotted gold of tiger-lily petals,?The loud pink of bursting hydrangeas.?I followed,?And watched for the flashing of her wings.
In the city I found her,?The narrow-streeted city.?In the market-place I came upon her,?Bound and trembling.?Her fluted wings were fastened