Trees and Other Poems — 5 - Madness * Poets * Citizen of the World * To a Blackbird and His Mate Who Died in the Spring * The Fourth Shepherd
(For Sara Teasdale) The lonely farm, the crowded street, The palace and the slum, Give welcome to my silent feet As, bearing gifts, I come.
Last night a beggar crouched alone, A ragged helpless thing;
I set him on a moonbeam throne -- Today he is a king.
Last night a king in orb and crown Held court with splendid cheer;
Today he tears his purple gown And moans and shrieks in fear.
Not iron bars, nor flashing spears, Not land, nor sky, nor sea, Nor love's artillery of tears Can keep mine own from me.
Serene, unchanging, ever fair, I smile with secret mirth And in a net of mine own hair I swing the captive earth.
Poets Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells That the wind sways above a ruined shrine.
Vainer his voice in whom no longer dwells Hunger that craves immortal Bread and Wine.
Light songs we breathe that perish with our breath Out of our lips that have not kissed the rod.
They shall not live who have not tasted death.
They only sing who are struck dumb by God.
Citizen of the World No longer of Him be it said "He hath no place to lay His head."
In every land a constant lamp Flames by His small and mighty camp.
There is no strange and distant place That is not gladdened by His face.
And every nation kneels to hail The Splendour shining through Its veil.
Cloistered beside the shouting street, Silent, He calls me to His feet.
Imprisoned for His love of me He makes my spirit greatly free.
And through my lips that uttered sin The King of Glory enters in.
To a Blackbird and His Mate Who Died in the Spring (For Kenton) An iron hand has stilled the throats That throbbed with loud and rhythmic glee And dammed the flood of silver notes That drenched the world in melody.
The blosmy apple boughs are yearning For their wild choristers' returning, But no swift wings flash through the tree.
Ye that were glad and fleet and strong, Shall Silence take you in her net?
And shall Death quell that radiant song Whose echo thrills the meadow yet?
Burst the frail web about you clinging And charm Death's cruel heart with singing Till with strange tears his eyes are wet.
The scented morning of the year Is old and stale now ye are gone.
No friendly songs the children hear Among the bushes on the lawn.
When babies wander out a-Maying Will ye, their bards, afar be straying?
Unhymned by you, what is the dawn?
Nay, since ye loved ye cannot die.
Above the stars is set your nest.
Through Heaven's fields ye sing and fly And in the trees of Heaven rest.
And little children in their dreaming Shall see your soft black plumage gleaming And smile, by your clear music blest.
The Fourth Shepherd (For Thomas Walsh) I
On nights like this the huddled sheep Are like white clouds upon the grass, And merry herdsmen guard their sleep And chat and watch the big stars pass.
It is a pleasant thing to lie Upon the meadow on the hill With kindly fellowship near by Of sheep and men of gentle will.
I lean upon my broken crook And dream of sheep and grass and men -- O shameful eyes that cannot look On any honest thing again!
On bloody feet I clambered down And fled the wages of my sin, I am the leavings of the town, And meanly serve its meanest inn.
I tramp the courtyard stones in grief, While sleep takes man and beast to her.
And every cloud is calling "Thief!"
And every star calls "Murderer!"
II
The hand of God is sure and strong, Nor shall a man forever flee The bitter punishment of wrong.
The wrath of God is over me!
With ashen bread and wine of tears Shall I be solaced in my pain.
I wear through black and endless years Upon my brow the mark of Cain.
III
Poor vagabond, so old and mild, Will they not keep him for a night?
And She, a woman great with child, So frail and pitiful and white.
Good people, since the tavern door Is shut to you, come here instead.
See, I have cleansed my stable floor And piled fresh hay to make a bed.
Here is some milk and oaten cake.
Lie down and sleep and rest you fair, Nor fear, O simple folk, to take The bounty of a child of care.
IV
On nights like this the huddled sheep -- I never saw a night so fair.
How huge the sky is, and how deep!
And how the planets flash and glare!
At dawn beside my drowsy flock What winged music I have heard!
But now the clouds with singing rock As if the sky were turning bird.
O blinding Light, O blinding Light!
Burn through my heart with sweetest pain.
O flaming Song, most loudly bright, Consume away my deadly stain!
V
The stable glows against the sky, And who are these that throng the way?
My three old comrades hasten by And shining angels kneel and pray.
The door swings wide -- I cannot go -- I must and yet I dare not see.
Lord, who am I that I should know -- Lord, God, be merciful to me!
VI
