The Heptalogia | Page 5

soul yawns disembowelled of her pancreatic organs, Like a madrepore if mesmerized, in rapt catalepsy.
"And I sacrifice, a Levite--and I palpitate, a poet;--?Can I close dead ears against the rush and resonance of things? Symbols in me breathe and flicker up the heights of the heroic; Earth's worst spawn, you said, and cursed me? look! approve me! I have wings.
"Ah, men's poets! men's conventions crust you round and swathe you
mist-like,?And the world's wheels grind your spirits down the dust ye overtrod: We stand sinlessly stark-naked in effulgence of the Christlight, And our polecat chokes not cherubs; and our skunk smells sweet to God.
"For He grasps the pale Created by some thousand vital handles, Till a Godshine, bluely winnowed through the sieve of thunderstorms, Shimmers up the non-existent round the churning feet of angels; And the atoms of that glory may be seraphs, being worms.
"Friends, your nature underlies us and your pulses overplay us; Ye, with social sores unbandaged, can ye sing right and steer wrong? For the transient cosmic, rooted in imperishable chaos,?Must be kneaded into drastics as material for a song.
"Eyes once purged from homebred vapours through humanitarian passion See that monochrome a despot through a democratic prism;?Hands that rip the soul up, reeking from divine evisceration, Not with priestlike oil anoint him, but a stronger-smelling chrism.
"Pass, O poet, retransfigured! God, the psychometric rhapsode, Fills with fiery rhythms the silence, stings the dark with stars that blink;?All eternities hang round him like an old man's clothes collapsèd, While he makes his mundane music--AND HE WILL NOT STOP, I THINK."

THE PERSON OF THE HOUSE
IDYL CCCLXVI
THE ACCOMPANIMENTS
1. THE MONTHLY NURSE
2. THE CAUDLE
3. THE SENTENCES
THE KID
1. THE MONTHLY NURSE
The sickly airs had died of damp;?Through huddling leaves the holy chime?Flagged; I, expecting Mrs. Gamp,?Thought--"Will the woman come in time?"?Upstairs I knew the matron bed?Held her whose name confirms all joy?To me; and tremblingly I said,?"Ah! will it be a girl or boy?"?And, soothed, my fluttering doubts began?To sift the pleasantness of things;?Developing the unshapen man,?An eagle baffled of his wings;?Considering, next, how fair the state?And large the license that sublimes?A nineteenth-century female fate--?Sweet cause that thralls my liberal rhymes!?And Chastities and colder Shames,?Decorums mute and marvellous,?And fair Behaviour that reclaims?All fancies grown erroneous,?Moved round me musing, till my choice?Faltered. A female in a wig?Stood by me, and a drouthy voice?Announced her--Mrs. Betsy Prig.
2. THE CAUDLE
Sweet Love that sways the reeling years,?The crown and chief of certitudes,?For whose calm eyes and modest ears?Time writes the rule and text of prudes--?That, surpliced, stoops a nuptial head,?Nor chooses to live blindly free,?But, with all pulses quieted,?Plays tunes of domesticity--?That Love I sing of and have sung?And mean to sing till Death yawn sheer,?He rules the music of my tongue,?Stills it or quickens, there or here.?I say but this: as we went up?I heard the Monthly give a sniff?And "_if_ the big dog makes the pup--"?She murmured--then repeated "if!"?The caudle on a slab was placed;?She snuffed it, snorting loud and long;?I fled--I would not stop to taste--?And dreamed all night of things gone wrong.
3. THE SENTENCES
I
Abortive Love is half a sin;?But Love's abortions dearer far?Than wheels without an axle-pin?Or life without a married star.
II
My rules are hard to understand?For him whom sensual rules depress;?A bandbox in a midwife's hand?May hold a costlier bridal dress.
III
"I like her not; in fact I loathe;?Bugs hath she brought from London beds."?Friend! wouldst thou rather bear their growth?Or have a baby with two heads?
IDYL CCCLXVI
THE KID
My spirit, in the doorway's pause,?Fluttered with fancies in my breast;?Obsequious to all decent laws,?I felt exceedingly distressed.?I knew it rude to enter there?With Mrs. V. in such a state;?And, 'neath a magisterial air,?Felt actually indelicate.?I knew the nurse began to grin;?I turned to greet my Love. Said she--?"Confound your modesty, come in!?--What shall we call the darling, V.?"?(There are so many charming names!?Girls'--Peg, Moll, Doll, Fan, Kate, Blanche, Bab:?Boys'--Mahershahal-hashbaz, James,?Luke, Nick, Dick, Mark, Aminadab.)
Lo, as the acorn to the oak,?As well-heads to the river's height,?As to the chicken the moist yolk,?As to high noon the day's first white--?Such is the baby to the man.?There, straddling one red arm and leg,?Lay my last work, in length a span,?Half hatched, and conscious of the egg.?A creditable child, I hoped;?And half a score of joys to be?Through sunny lengths of prospect sloped?Smooth to the bland futurity.?O, fate surpassing other dooms,?O, hope above all wrecks of time!?O, light that fills all vanquished glooms,?O, silent song o'ermastering rhyme!?I covered either little foot,?I drew the strings about its waist;?Pink as the unshell'd inner fruit,?But barely decent, hardly chaste,?Its nudity had startled me;?But when the petticoats were on,?"I know," I said; "its name shall be?Paul Cyril Athanasius John."?"Why," said my wife, "the child's a girl."?My brain swooned, sick with failing sense;?With all perception in a whirl,?How could I tell the difference??"Nay," smiled the nurse, "the child's