Young Adventure | Page 6

But in the body of woman He raises up the dead.
"Gracile and straight as birches, Swift as the questing birds, They fill true-lovers' drink-horns up, Who speak not, having no words.
"Love is not delicate toying, A slim and shimmering mesh; It is two souls wrenched into one, Two bodies made one flesh.
"Lust is a sprightly servant, Gallant where wines are poured; Love is a bitter master, Love is an iron lord.
"Satin ease of the body, Fattened sloth of the hands, These and their like he will not send, Only immortal fires to rend -- And the world's end is your journey's end, And your stream chokes in the sands.
"Pleached calms shall not await you, Peace you shall never find; Nought but the living moorland Scourged naked by the wind.
"Nought but the living moorland, And your love's hand in yours; The strength more sure than surety, The mercy that endures.
"Then, though they give you to be burned, And slay you like a stoat, You have found the world's heart in the turn of a cheek, Heaven in the lift of a throat.
"Although they break you on the wheel, That stood so straight in the sun, Behind you the trumpets split the sky, Where the lost and furious fight goes by -- And God, our God, will have victory When the red day is done!"
Their mirth rolled to the rafters, They bellowed lechery; Light as a drifting feather My love slipped from my knee.
Within, the lights were yellow In drowsy rooms and warm; Without, the stabbing lightning Shattered across the storm.
Within, the great logs crackled, The drink-horns emptied soon; Without, the black cloaks of the clouds Strangled the waning moon.
My love crossed o'er the threshold -- God! but the night was murk! I set myself against the cold, And left them to their work.
Their shouts rolled to the rafters; A bitterer way was mine, And I left them in the tavern, Drinking the yellow wine!
The last faint echoes rang along the plains, Died, and were gone. The genie spoke: "Thy song Serves well enough -- but yet thy task remains; Many and rending pains Shall torture him who dares delay too long!"
His brown face hardened to a leaden mask. A bitter brine crusted the fisher's cheek -- "Almighty God, one thing alone I ask, Show me a task, a task!" The hard cup of the sky shone, gemmed and bleak.
"O love, whom I have sought by devious ways; O hidden beauty, naked as a star; You whose bright hair has burned across my days, Making them lamps of praise; O dawn-wind, breathing of Arabia!
"You have I served. Now fire has parched the vine, And Death is on the singers and the song. No longer are there lips to cling to mine, And the heart wearies of wine, And I am sick, for my desire is long.
"O love, soft-moving, delicate and tender! In her gold house the pipe calls querulously, They cloud with thin green silks her body slender, They talk to her and tend her; Come, piteous, gentle love, and set me free!"
He ceased -- and, slowly rising o'er the deep, A faint song chimed, grew clearer, till at last A golden horn of light began to creep Where the dumb ripples sweep, Making the sea one splendor where it passed.
A golden boat! The bright oars rested soon, And the prow met the sand. The purple veils Misting the cabin fell. Fair as the moon When the morning comes too soon, And all the air is silver in the dales,
A gold-robed princess stepped upon the beach. The fisher knelt and kissed her garment's hem, And then her lips, and strove at last for speech. The waters lapped the reach. "Here thy strength breaks, thy might is nought to stem!"
He cried at last. Speech shook him like a flame: "Yea, though thou plucked the stars from out the sky, Each lovely one would be a withered shame -- Each thou couldst find or name -- To this fire-hearted beauty!" Wearily
The genie heard. A slow smile came like dawn Over his face. "Thy task is done!" he said. A whirlwind roared, smoke shattered, he was gone; And, like a sudden horn, The moon shone clear, no longer smoked and red.
They passed into the boat. The gold oars beat Loudly, then fainter, fainter, till at last Only the quiet waters barely moved Along the whispering sand -- till all the vast Expanse of sea began to shake with heat, And morning brought soft airs, by sailors loved.
And after? . . . Well . . . The shop-bell clangs! Who comes? Quinine -- I pour the little bitter grains Out upon blue, glazed squares of paper. So. And all the dusk I shall sit here alone, With many powers in my hands -- ah, see How