The Poet’s Vow (Showing Wherefore the Vow Was Made)

Lyrics

I. Eve is a twofold mystery;         The stillness Earth doth keep, The motion wherewith human hearts         Do each to either leap As if all souls between the poles         Felt "Parting comes in sleep." II. The rowers lift their oars to view         Each other in the sea; The landsmen watch the rocking boats         In a pleasant company; While up the hill go gladlier still         Dear friends by two and three. III. The peasant's wife hath looked without         Her cottage door and smiled, For there the peasant drops his spade         To clasp his youngest child Which hath no speech, but its hand can reach         And stroke his forehead mild. IV. A poet sate that eventide         Within his hall alone, As silent as its ancient lords         In the coffined place of stone, When the bat hath shrunk from the praying monk,         And the praying monk is gone. V. Nor wore the dead a stiller face         Beneath the cerement's roll: His lips refusing out in words         Their mystic thoughts to dole, His steadfast eye burnt inwardly,         As burning out his soul. VI. You would not think that brow could e'er         Ungentle moods express, Yet seemed it, in this troubled world,         Too calm for gentleness, When the very star that shines from far         Shines trembling ne'ertheless. VII. It lacked, all need, the softening light         Which other brows supply: We should conjoin the scathèd trunks         Of our humanity, That each leafless spray entwining may         Look softer 'gainst the sky. VIII. None gazed within the poet's face,         The poet gazed in none; He threw a lonely shadow straight         Before the moon and sun, Affronting nature's heaven-dwelling creatures         With wrong to nature done: IX. Because this poet daringly,         —The nature at his heart, And that quick tune along his veins         He could not change by art,— Had vowed his blood of brotherhood         To a stagnant place apart. X. He did not vow in fear, or wrath,         Or grief's fantastic whim, But, weights and shows of sensual things         Too closely crossing him, On his soul's eyelid the pressure slid         And made its vision dim. XI. And darkening in the dark he strove         'Twixt earth and sea and sky To lose in shadow, wave and cloud,         His brother's haunting cry: The winds were welcome as they swept,         God's five-day work he would accept, But let the rest go by. XII. He cried, "O touching, patient Earth         That weepest in thy glee, Whom God created very good,         And very mournful, we! Thy voice of moan doth reach His throne,         As Abel's rose from thee. XIII. "Poor crystal sky with stars astray!         Mad winds that howling go From east to west! perplexèd seas         That stagger from their blow! O motion wild! O wave defiled!         Our curse hath made you so. XIV. 'We! and our curse! do I partake         The desiccating sin? Have I the apple at my lips?         The money-lust within? Do I human stand with the wounding hand,         To the blasting heart akin? XV. "Thou solemn pathos of all things         For solemn joy designed! Behold, submissive to your cause,         A holy wrath I find And, for your sake, the bondage break         That knits me to my kind. XVI. "Hear me forswear man's sympathies,         His pleasant yea and no, His riot on the piteous earth         Whereon his thistles grow, His changing love—with stars above,         His pride—with graves below. XVII. "Hear me forswear his roof by night,         His bread and salt by day, His talkings at the wood-fire hearth,         His greetings by the way, His answering looks, his systemed books,         All man, for aye and aye. XVIII. "That so my purged, once human heart,         From all the human rent, May gather strength to pledge and drink         Your wine of wonderment, While you pardon me all blessingly         The woe mine Adam sent. XIX. "And I shall feel your unseen looks         Innumerous, constant, deep And soft as haunted Adam once,         Though sadder, round me creep,— As slumbering men have mystic ken         Of watchers on their sleep. XX. "And ever, when I lift my brow         At evening to the sun, No voice of woman or of child         Recording 'Day is done.' Your silences shall a love express,         More deep than such an one."