Twenty | Page 4

gossip gleaned among the cherubim.
By day I'll tread again the sounding mazes,?By night I'll track the moths about the Park;?My feet shall fall among the dusky daisies,?Nor break nor bruise a petal in the dark.
I will repeat old inexpensive orgies;?Drink nectar at the bun-shop in Shoreditch,?Or call for Nut-Ambrosia at St. George's,?And with a ghost-tip make the waitress rich.
My soundless feet shall fly among the runners?Through the red thunders of a Zeppelin raid,?My still voice cheer the Anti-Aircraft gunners,?The fires shall glare--but I shall cast no shade.
And if a Shadow, wading in the torrent?Of high excitement, snatch me from the riot--?(Fool that he is)--and fumble with his warrant,?And hail a hearse, and beg me to "Go quiet,"
Mocking I'll go, and he shall be postillion,?Until we reach the Keeper of the Door:?"H'm ... Benson ... Stella ... militant civilian ...?There's some mistake, we've had this soul before...."

Ah, none shall keep my soul from this its Zion;?Lost in the spaces I shall hear and bless?The splendid voice of London, like a lion?Calling its lover in the wilderness.
TWO WOMEN SING
FIRST WOMAN
Oh woman--woman--woman,--?Shall I to woman be a friend??I deal with man, and when I can?Reclaim with interest all I lend.?Who but a witless gambler plays?For farthing stakes these golden days??No, woman--woman--woman--?Must only play the game that pays.
SECOND WOMAN
Oh woman--woman--woman,--?To-morrow woman shall awake.?She shall arise, and realise?The goodly value of her stake.?And she shall lend her loan, and claim?Her rightful interest on the same.?So woman--woman--woman--?Shall learn at last the paying game.
THE WOMAN ALONE
My eyes are girt with outer mists;?My ears sing shrill, and this I bless;?My finger-nails do bite my fists?In ecstasy of loneliness.?This I intend, and this I want,?That--passing--you may only mark?A dumb soul with its confidant?Entombed together in the dark.
The hoarse church-bells of London ring;?The hoarser horns of London croak;?The poor brown lives of London cling?About the poor brown streets like smoke;?The deep air stands above my roof?Like water, to the floating stars.?My Friend and I--we sit aloof,--?We sit and smile, and bind our scars.
For you may wound and you may kill--?It's such a little thing to die--?Your cruel God may work his will,?We do not care, my Friend and I.?Though, at the gate of Paradise,?Peter the Saint withhold his keys,?My Friend and I--we have no eyes?For Heav'n or Hell--or dreams like these....
THE INEVITABLE
_There is a sword, a fatal blade,?Unthwarted, subtle as the air,?And I could meet it unafraid?If I might only meet it fair.?Yet how I wonder why the Smith?Who wrought that steel of subtle grain?Should also be contented with?So blunt and mean a thing as pain_.
The stars and fire-flies dance in rings.?The fire-flies set my heart alight,?Like fingers, writing magic things?In flame, upon the wall of night.?There is high meaning in the skies--?(The stars and fire-flies--high and low--)?And all the spangled world is wise?With knowledge that I almost know.
To-morrow I will don my cloak?Of opal-grey, and I will stand?Where the palm-shadows stride like smoke?Across the dazzle of the sand.?To-morrow I will throw this blind?Blind whiteness from my soul away,?And pluck this blackness from my mind,?And only leave the medium--grey.
To-morrow I will cry for gains?Upon the blue and brazen sky.?The precious venom in my veins?To-morrow will be parched and dry.?To-morrow it shall be my goal?To throw myself away from me,?To lose the outline of my soul?Against the greyness of the sea.
THE DOG TUPMAN
Oh little friend of half my days,?My little friend, who followed me?Along those crooked sullen ways?That only you had eyes to see.
You felt the same. You understood?You too, defensive and morose,?Encloaked your secret puppyhood--?Your secret heart--and hid them close.
For I alone have seen you serve,?Disciple of those early springs,?With ears awry and tail a-curve?You lost yourself in puppy things.
And you saw me. You bore in mind?The clean and sunny things I felt?When, throwing hate along the wind,?I flashed the lantern at my belt.
The moment passed, and we returned?To barren words and old cold truth,?Yet in our hearts our lanterns burned,?We two had seen each other's youth.
When filthy pain did wrap me round?Your upright ears I always saw,?And on my outflung hand I found?The blessing of your horny paw;
And yet--oh impotence of men--?My paw, more soft but not more wise,?Old friend, was lacking to you when?You looked your crisis in the eyes....
You shared my youth, oh faithful friend,?You let me share your puppyhood;?So, if I failed you in the end,?My friend, my friend, you understood.
SAINT BRIDE
About your brow a starry wreath,?About your feet a wilderness,?Where young hot hopes grow cold beneath?The tangled bondage of the press.?Set like a saint within a niche--?A strait and narrow niche--you hide,?And weave a veil about you, which?Can turn our steel, Saint Bride, Saint Bride.
The eyes of coarse and pond'rous man?Are sceptic and satirical.?"_What, little saint, and still you scan?Old heaven for that miracle?_"?Oh heart deceived, yet harm��d not,?Child-widow of a truth that died,?Bearer in