Sword Blades and Poppy Seed | Page 5

them all.
Those Lowestoft pitchers
against the wall
Hold a lighter kind of bright conceit;
And those old
Saxe vases, out of the heat
On that lowest shelf beside the door,

Have a sort 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