20 BALLAD OF THE DESTROYER

We laud him thus, that comes unto the king, And lightly plucks him from the cushioned throne; And drowns his glory and his warfaring In unrecorded dim oblivion; And girds another with the sword thereof; And sets another in his stead to reign; And ousts the remnant, nakedly to gain Styx’ formless shore and nakedly complain Midst twittering ghosts lamenting life and love. For Death is merciless: a crack-brained king He raises in the place of Prester John, Smites Priam, and mid-course in conquering Bids Cæsar pause; the wit of Solomon, The wealth of Nero and the pride thereof, And battle-prowess—or of Tamburlaine, Darius, Jeshua, or Charlemaigne,— Wheedle and bribe and surfeit Death in vain, And get no grace of him nor any love. Incuriously he smites the armored king And tricks his counsellors;—as, later on, Death will, half-idly, still our pleasuring, And change for fevered laughter in the sun Sleep such as Merlin’s,—and excess thereof,— Whence we, divorceless Death our Viviaine Implacable, may never more regain The unforgotten rapture, and the pain And grief and ecstasy of life and love. For, presently, as quiet as the king Sleeps now that planned the keeps of Ilion, We, too, will sleep, whilst overhead the spring Rules, and young lovers laugh—as we have done,— And kiss—as we, that take no heed thereof, But slumber very soundly, and disdain The world-wide heralding of winter’s wane And swift sweet ripple of the April rain Running about the world to waken love. We shall have done with love, and Death be king And turn our nimble bodies carrion, Our red lips dusty;—yet our live lips cling Despite that age-long severance, and are one Despite the grave and the vain grief thereof,— Which we will baffle, if in Death’s domain Fond memories may enter, and we twain May dream a little, and rehearse again In that unending sleep our present love. Speed forth to her in halting unison, My rhymes; and say no hindrance may restrain Love from his aim when Love is bent thereon; And that were love at my disposal lain— All mine to take!—and Death had said, Refrain, Lest I, even I, exact the cost thereof, I know that even as the weather-vane Follows the wind so would I follow Love.