Book 3 — DANAË

"What with clangour, clangour of iron din, Do they beat till daylight ring? What heat, that I see the night air spin, And sparks dance over the scaffolding? "The birds have flown because of their strife Hammering difficult metal; Their reek has taken my roses' life, Dripping white petal on petal. "What glows gold taller than earthly tree In that maze of mast on mast Of the scaffolding? What can it be They build so secret and fast?"

"What art mooning at, fool? Some wanton boy and his limbs? Such dreams should be put to school: I'll chasten these fleshly whims!" He has shot the bolts on her room In the brazen tower. "Remain there, ninny: your doom Till the sand sifts your last hour!" With eyes grieving on space, Has she sight among all these blind? Because of her dreaming face.... How harshly the great keys grind! They have gone. She clenches her hands, She struggles and makes soft moan.... Then smiles, for she understands: The soul is never alone.

"Last night as I was sitting, My faint heart ceased to beat, Listening in the silence To the tread of nearing feet. "Through the tower dumb in midnight They passed from floor to floor, Till at length they halted Hard without my door. "I knew 'twas Thou who stood'st there, With but a door's divide! With a wild and longing motion I strode and flung it wide. "Out into velvet darkness My whirring eyeballs stare. I whisper. Nothing answers. And there is no one there."

"O Day so bright, Bring thou my Love to me, In blinding, deep delight And ecstasy. "O Night so wide, So black, keep close till He, The light within my side Seen, comes to me. "O wandering Wind, Sing in His ears the sum Of longing, mad His mind, Compel He come. "Earth I adore, From whom to whom I go, Bring Him to me before I return so. "Sun, nought doth let In journey or depart; Make Him, arisen, set Within my heart. "O high white Moon, Alone and glittering, As you pull ocean soon, My Belovëd bring. "O swelling Sea, Cavernous in your sweep, Make Him ingulph, drown me Far in His deep. "O Day, O Night, O Moon, O Sun, O Sea, O Wind, bring my Delight! Bring Him to me!"

In the second watch of the night The amazed guards saw with affright Gold stars fall in a shower: Coins of gold in a sweeping flight, They silently broke on the tower. And the tower's top turned a rose Of enwreathed, ruddy light, And, like men smit of their foes, The guards fell at the sight.... And the Rose possessed the tower alone All the blue, windless night.

"Soft torrential wind Falls through the vast, still deep Like thick dreams pouring behind The opened gates of sleep: Ah, not so swift, Lord, not so bright, Lest I be blown—a feather; Not so white, not so white, Lest I be withered altogether. "Earth shifts under my feet, Glory breaks over my head; Speechlessly my wings I beat, And fall mute in breathless dread: Ah, not so swift, Lord, not so bright, Lest I be blown—a feather; Not so white, not so white, Lest I be wilted altogether."

"Mine is a heavenly Lover, In Him I am wholly blest; My heart it is His coffer Wherein His gold doth rest. "Dead in the metal tower I lie till night doth come, When in a golden shower He bursts the midnight dome. "And, caught beyond releasing, I yield me to His claim, And by my creature ceasing All that He is I am."

The silver sun looks down On the silent tower; The guards awaken, nor own To the unguarded hour. They eye each other's face, But to speak none durst; As though the night were ungraced, Silent they are dispersed. The cruel King climbs, doth draw Near, then by he creeps, Marking in rage and awe The smile in which she sleeps. Stamford, Autumn, 1912, and Autumn, 1913.

I lay upon a headland hill: The sun spilt out his gold; The wind blew with a fluttering thrill; The skies were blue and cold. All day above the little cove I heard the long wind flow; The clouds foamed in the blue above, The blue sea foamed below. All day the bare sun fiercely burned; All day in the profound And quivering grass my body turned, One with Earth's turning round. Till, fledged amid her fluid rings, My soul began to rouse, And slowly beat her silver wings Within her darkened house. Then with vans lifted up for flight, With stretched and fiery crest, Upward she leaped toward the light And drew from out my breast. How long I lay while she was fled, And on the cliff below My body lay stiff, dark, and dead, I knew not nor may know. But long it seemed. Sped beyond sight My soul enjoyed release; Beyond the clouds, within the light, She entered into peace.

To-day, amid a world of men, How often must I cry: "Happy I never was but then Nor shall be till I die!" Near Gold Cap, Late Summer, 1916.

The Lily floated white and red, Pouring its scent up to the sun; The rapt sun floating overhead Watched no such other one. None marked it as it spread abroad And beautifully learned to cease: But Beauty is its own reward, Being a form of Peace. 1913.

Deem you the roses taste no pleasure Unfolding hour by hour Toward, through starlit peace and sunny leisure, Their sharpest moment, when they dower This great green world, this rustling place, Active in music, light, and grace, With their hid hearts, their golden treasure, Odours so deep they overpower? See how, hazed in the sunny weather, The silken roses swim, Nodding heads frail as a high cloud's feather, Expressing Joy in Beauty's Hymn. And, hark! from many a hidden face Echoes I hear through silver space: The Morning Stars that sing together, And the delighting Seraphim! Lawford, Early Summer, 1916.

Those whose Love, unborn to sight, Never did itself disclose Save in water's cry; a rose; Meteor furrowing the night; Mote of any turning ray; Pipe of bird mid sunset's flush; Rain stilled, leaves flame-wet, and hush Of a rainbow's fire and spray; Any straight road leads afar 'Cross a hill-brow—What's beyond? Seven hung notes of music fond; Seven dark poplars, one white star; Cloud lifting a tower aloft; Light and play and shadowy grace Of the soul behind a face Flitting by on motion soft; Lonely figure on a height; Those whose love but shines a hint Fainter than the far sea's glint To the inland gazer's sight— These alone, and but in part, Guess of what my songs are spun, And Who holds communion Subtly with my troubled heart. But the substance of my grief Scarcely can their thought surmise, Who but glimpse through these my eyes Joy as fathomless as brief. Others in this strange world flung, Orphans, too, of Destiny, Have the virtue, but not I, Keeps heart crystal, single tongue; And know not, whose hearts are whole, How—when sickened and unclean, Unfit or to see, be seen— Close thorns pack and prick the soul. Yet though here soul suffereth, Complicate by vision's light, Never would I cede this right Of a sharpened life and death. For I keep in confidence In my breast a subtle faith 'Scapes alway by narrow scathe And I draw my succour thence. One Day, or maybe one Night— Living? dying?—I shall see The Rose open gloriously On its heart of living light. Know what any bird may mean, Meteor in my heart shall rest, Spelled on my brain blaze th' unguessed Words of the rainbow's dazzling sheen. O the hour for which I wait! Lovers of the Secret Love Watch with me, and we will prove Constancy can be elate. For the sigil we have now Is but echo, shadow, less Than a nothing's nothingness, To what that hour will allow: Lost and found! The Shining Ones! Music, passion, scent, delight, Light and depth and space and height: Heaven and its seven suns! Dorset Square, October, 1916.

O let it be Just such an eve as this when I must die! To see the green bough soaking, still against a sky Washed clean after the rain. To watch the rapturous rainbow flame and fly Into the gloom where drops fall goldenly, And in my heart to feel the end of pain. The end of pain: the late, the long expected!— To see the skies clear in a sudden minute, The grey disparting on the blue within it, And on the low far sea the clouds collected. In that deep quiet die to all has been, To be renewed, to bud, to flower again: My second spring!—whose hope was nigh rejected Before I go hence and am no more seen. To hear the blackbird ring out, gay and bold, The low renewal of the ringdove's moan From among high, sheltered boughs, and ceaseless fall Pitter, pitter, patter, A dribble of gold From leaves nodding each on the other one, The hush, calm piping and the slow, sweet mood! To drink the ripe warm scent of soaking matter, Wet grass, wet leaves, wet wood, Wet mould, The saddest and the grandest scent of all. So when my dying eyes have loved the trees Till with huge tears turned blind, When the vague ears for the last time have hearkened To the cool stir of the long evening breeze, The blackbird's tireless call, Having drunk deep of earth-scent strong and kind, Come then, O Death, and let my day be darkened. I shall have had my all. Lawford, April, 1916.