C. H. B. KITCHIN (EXETER)

I HAVE commanded you as often of old To ply the doctor’s trade with my disease, To cure me or to kill; for in whose veins Courses the age-long poison of despair, Seeks for himself no gentle surgery, Nor wishes for the touch of tender hands Upon his body.

Something of your need Has been revealed us. Yet should there remain No secret hid from the physician’s eye.

It has been said that from the lips of queens Should come no word more bitter than sweet honey. If you adjudge me queen, let this too pass That I must act unqueenly. In my soul Drips wine more bitter than the taste of gall.

When roses bloom most fully, death is near.

You too know this?

We know that life glides slowly But death is quicker than a lightning stroke.

Is it of me that you have gained this wisdom?

The grand revolving spheres of heaven teach The mind that hears their music. We have learned To listen through the clamour of all noons With evening in the heart.

He does not live Who hears no noon-day clamour about his ears.

And you, Queen, that have lived and now confront Death or his shadow deep within your soul, Have you in life such wisdom garnered up As may disarm the heart’s rebellion? Wherefore then are we summoned?

The garden of life Is barren for you, bearing little fruit, And yields no store for hungry days ahead.

To me you seem as one that has in thought A hidden sin, and seeks an easy priest Who shall with smooth and flowing words of grace Persuade it from the heart.

Nay, I am sinless.

You are still young to be thus weary of life.

There comes to every man a sudden time When he undoes the bolts that bar his heart Displaying hidden shame and scars concealed. Such season is the present. Hear me now; For I am sick and pale with lingering Over a mystery that has no clue Created idly by an idle brain. Astrologers, thrice mighty in yourselves, Say whence crept into me this discontent, This fretfulness of mine. Say whence arose My malady, so cunning in its ways, That I tormented have no skill to guide My doctors to the secret. Day by day I feel the heavy burden of the flesh Grow heavier. Your words rang true indeed. Though I am young, I am grown weary of life. The tedious cycle of each passing day Like streams of dripping tears from blinded eyes Falls in the cup of my calamity; While thoughts, such as you guess, are often here, Bringing a sweet temptation. I have tried All means of remedy. This perfumed air, This gold and ivory, these purple robes Have caused no change. The mute insistent hours Wait for me still, interminably slow. And, as in mental pain a man will crave For any fierce sensation of the flesh To rid his agony, so I have craved The frenzied lashing of tempestuous rain, The heat of flame, the sharpened fang of frost. I have gone forth at midnight with no robe, And walked bare-footed over stony ground While wind and rain have done their worst on me. I have kissed flame and held these hands in fire; These hands have taken the scourge, that is for slaves, To beat my body. Hear then all my curse. Neither the blade of sharp-projecting flint Nor wind nor rain nor burning tongue of flame Nor knotted scourge can leave a mark on me. These lips are no less red since they were kissed By glowing coal; these hands are yet untorn. Such is my fate, with flesh insensible To suffer from a mind which has no love And no distraction. Have it as you will, I am a shipwreck far on lonely seas With neither oars aboard, nor land in sight, Nor mast, nor mast for fluttering rags of sail.

When you have seen the solemn moon in tears With long green tresses dipped in a purple sea, And noted in each tear a breaking heart, A lump of salty crystal, then your dreams Will give you counsel which we cannot give.

We are empowered to tell you what has been And what shall be, but this created image Of your own thought eludes our groping hand.

Soon he shall come to you! That stung your heart?

O wailing winds, scatter these words away As chaff unfruitful to unfruitful soil.

As glints the jewel in the toad’s brown head——

As lurks a bitter sting in honeyed words——

As a foul plague lies hid beneath the skin——

You wrong me.

Nay, your heart has uttered it. When the strong arms of young Amphitryon——

I hear a voice.

O God! the dream returns.

The dream was not, then, of Amphitryon?

May the royal hand of Zeus deliver me.

[Zeus enters in the form of Amphitryon.

Your task is ended. Go, astrologers, Taking your admonition to such ears As are in need of it. Go silently.

[The Astrologers go out.

Still you pursue their empty sorceries?

Will you now weary me again? You drive My friends away like dogs. I follow them.

A sullen greeting to the traveller.

Have I not told you often how it is With me and you? Or must you ask again And hear me through unreasoned reasonings To the last drop of bitterness? And yet——

Why gaze so strangely on me?

I had thought Your journey would be longer.

No, alas!

What brings you here to probe the core of my heart With your unspoken question?

We have need No longer of these lamps. Quench them. The dawn Arises in the East.

Since when am I Become your slave?

Since you obeyed my word.

I was no friend to such obedience In the dead days that were my life’s design.

You tremble. Speak your fear.

Heart’s utterance Were mockery, if spoken by the tongue.

Yet, be assured, nothing is hid from me.

Unmoving figure of Amphitryon I knew and hated, when you crossed the threshold, Hope seemed to step beside you.

Hope is mine.

Then say, where have you found the keys of life, That you unlock its portals suddenly?

At my command all doors are set ajar.

The miserable forebodings of the night Have fallen from me like the gossamer Which spiders weave until a master-hand Sweeps clean their tracery. Mark you a change In me, as I in you?

I am unchanging, But, till this moment, me you have not known.

Or known myself save as a falling leaf, The toy of winds, uncherished and unloved, Gliding to earth and slow decay in earth Of what was green and young.

When you were younger And guarded still the pitiable illusion That life is good and destiny exalted, Did you not dream perhaps of sacrifice In which yourself as immolated victim Should satisfy delirious desire, Wedded at last in death with strength,—which marriage Humanly shaped has never learned to yield?

Your voice has in it the power of new command To pierce my secret.

Naught is hid from me.

My soul is weak with longing for your counsel.

When Semele, with lightning-darted flame Engirdled, woke with knowledge she must die, Having aspired to touch the majesty Of the omnipotent, in no wise dismayed Was she consumed with that unquenchable fire Which burns all veils that overspread the flesh.

Whence came the thought of Semele to you? And why this chain of words now coiled on me As a predestined victim?

I myself Blaze with the fire of Semele. This hand Shall rend the veil once more. Myself am hope, Sole arbiter of germinating life, The driver of the lusty winds of morning, The cloud-compeller, dancer of the dance Wherein the sea is festive and the hills Nod musical assent, the charioteer That drags the world behind his flashing wheels, Bringer of life and change that is called death And vibrant longing, setter of an end To fear and doubt, a darting two-edged sword That heals the wounds created of itself, The crystal-veined one, in whose blood there flows The flame of life—in such wise apprehend Me standing here, and in such wise remark The honour I have done you.

Open-eyed At last, I see a spirit stands beside me. For this cause I grew pale and bent my head In sweet confusion. Bringer of release, Even if it should be my worship falls Before a devil from hell, behold I kneel To kiss the fragrance of your garment’s hem.