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+The Project Gutenberg Etext of Spirits in Bondage, by C. S. Lewis
+#1 in our series by C. S. Lewis
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+Spirits in Bondage
+
+by C. S. Lewis [Clive Hamilton]
+
+December, 1999  [Etext #2003]
+
+
+The Project Gutenberg Etext of Spirits in Bondage, by C. S. Lewis
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+
+
+SPIRITS IN BONDAGE
+A CYCLE OF LYRICS
+
+By Clive Hamilton [C. S. Lewis]
+
+
+
+
+In Three Parts
+I.    The Prison House
+II.   Hesitation
+III.The Escape
+
+"The land where I shall never be
+The love that I shall never see"
+
+
+
+
+Historical Background
+
+Published under the pseudonym, Clive Hamilton, Spirits in Bondage
+was C. S. Lewis' first book. Released in 1919 by Heinemann, it
+was reprinted in 1984 by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich and included
+in Lewis' 1994 Collected Poems. It is the first of Lewis' major
+published works to enter the public domain in the United States.
+Readers should be aware that in other countries it may still be
+under copyright protection.
+
+Most of the poems appear to have been written between 1915 and
+1918, a period during which Lewis was a student under W. T.
+Kirkpatrick, a military trainee at Oxford, and a soldier serving
+in the trenches of World War I. Their outlook varies from Romantic
+expressions of love for the beauty and simplicity of nature to
+cynical statements about the presence of evil in this world. In
+a September 12, 1918 letter to his friend Arthur Greeves, Lewis
+said that his book was, "mainly strung around the idea that I
+mentioned to you before--that nature is wholly diabolical &
+malevolent and that God, if he exists, is outside of and in
+opposition to the cosmic arrangements." In his cynical poems,
+Lewis is dealing with the same questions about evil in nature
+that Alfred Lord Tennyson explored from a position of troubled
+faith in "In Memoriam A. H." (Stanzas 54f). In a letter written
+perhaps to reassure his father, Lewis claimed, "You know who
+the God I blaspheme is and that it is not the God that you or
+I worship, or any other Christian."
+
+Whatever Lewis believed at that time, the attitude in many of
+these poems is quite different from the attitude he expressed
+in his many Christian books from the 1930s on. Attempts in movies
+and on stage plays to portray Lewis as a sheltered professor who
+knew little about pain until the death of his wife late in life,
+have to deal not only with the many tragedies he experienced
+from a boy on, but also with the disturbing issues he faced in
+many of these early poems.
+
+
+
+
+Prologue
+
+As of old Phoenician men, to the Tin Isles sailing
+Straight against the sunset and the edges of the earth,
+Chaunted loud above the storm and the strange sea's wailing,
+Legends of their people and the land that gave them birth-
+Sang aloud to Baal-Peor, sang unto the horned maiden,
+Sang how they should come again with the Brethon treasure laden,
+Sang of all the pride and glory of their hardy enterprise,
+How they found the outer islands, where the unknown stars arise;
+And the rowers down below, rowing hard as they could row,
+Toiling at the stroke and feather through the wet and weary weather,
+Even they forgot their burden in the measure of a song,
+And the merchants and the masters and the bondsmen all together,
+Dreaming of the wondrous islands, brought the gallant ship along;
+So in mighty deeps alone on the chainless breezes blown
+In my coracle of verses I will sing of lands unknown,
+Flying from the scarlet city where a Lord that knows no pity,
+Mocks the broken people praying round his iron throne,
+-Sing about the Hidden Country fresh and full of quiet green.
+Sailing over seas uncharted to a port that none has seen.
+
+
+Part I  The Prison House
+
+I. Satan Speaks
+
+I am Nature, the Mighty Mother,
+I am the law: ye have none other.
+
+I am the flower and the dewdrop fresh,
+I am the lust in your itching flesh.
+
+I am the battle's filth and strain,
+I am the widow's empty pain.
+
+I am the sea to smother your breath,
+I am the bomb, the falling death.
+
+I am the fact and the crushing reason
+To thwart your fantasy's new-born treason.
+
+I am the spider making her net,
+I am the beast with jaws blood-wet.
+
+I am a wolf that follows the sun
+And I will catch him ere day be done.
+
+
+II. French Nocturne (Monchy-Le-Preux)
+
+Long leagues on either hand the trenches spread
+And all is still; now even this gross line
+Drinks in the frosty silences divine
+The pale, green moon is riding overhead.
+
+The jaws of a sacked village, stark and grim;
+Out on the ridge have swallowed up the sun,
+And in one angry streak his blood has run
+To left and right along the horizon dim.
+
+There comes a buzzing plane: and now, it seems
+Flies straight into the moon. Lo! where he steers
+Across the pallid globe and surely nears
+In that white land some harbour of dear dreams!
+
+False mocking fancy! Once I too could dream,
+Who now can only see with vulgar eye
+That he's no nearer to the moon than I
+And she's a stone that catches the sun's beam.
+
+What call have I to dream of anything?
+I am a wolf. Back to the world again,
+And speech of fellow-brutes that once were men
+Our throats can bark for slaughter: cannot sing.
+
+
+III. The Satyr
+
+When the flowery hands of spring
+Forth their woodland riches fling,
+  Through the meadows, through the valleys
+Goes the satyr carolling.
+
+From the mountain and the moor,
+Forest green and ocean shore
+  All the faerie kin he rallies
+Making music evermore.
+
+See! the shaggy pelt doth grow
+On his twisted shanks below,
+  And his dreadful feet are cloven
+Though his brow be white as snow-
+
+Though his brow be clear and white
+And beneath it fancies bright,
+  Wisdom and high thoughts are woven
+And the musics of delight,
+
+Though his temples too be fair
+Yet two horns are growing there
+  Bursting forth to part asunder
+All the riches of his hair.
+
+Faerie maidens he may meet
+Fly the horns and cloven feet,
+  But, his sad brown eyes with wonder
+Seeing-stay from their retreat.
+
+
+IV. Victory
+
+Roland is dead, Cuchulain's crest is low,
+The battered war-rear wastes and turns to rust,
+And Helen's eyes and Iseult's lips are dust
+And dust the shoulders and the breasts of snow.
+
+The faerie people from our woods are gone,
+No Dryads have I found in all our trees,
+No Triton blows his horn about our seas
+And Arthur sleeps far hence in Avalon.
+
+The ancient songs they wither as the grass
+And waste as doth a garment waxen old,
+All poets have been fools who thought to mould
+A monument more durable than brass.
+
+For these decay: but not for that decays
+The yearning, high, rebellious spirit of man
+That never rested yet since life began
+From striving with red Nature and her ways.
+
+Now in the filth of war, the baresark shout
+Of battle, it is vexed. And yet so oft
+Out of the deeps, of old, it rose aloft
+That they who watch the ages may not doubt.
+
+Though often bruised, oft broken by the rod,
+Yet, like the phoenix, from each fiery bed
+Higher the stricken spirit lifts its head
+And higher-till the beast become a god.
+
+
+V. Irish Nocturne
+
+Now the grey mist comes creeping up
+From the waste ocean's weedy strand
+And fills the valley, as a cup
+If filled of evil drink in a wizard's hand;
+And the trees fade out of sight,
+Like dreary ghosts unhealthily,
+Into the damp, pale night,
+Till you almost think that a clearer eye could see
+Some shape come up of a demon seeking apart
+His meat, as Grendel sought in Harte
+The thanes that sat by the wintry log-
+Grendel or the shadowy mass
+Of Balor, or the man with the face of clay,
+The grey, grey walker who used to pass
+Over the rock-arch nightly to his prey.
+But here at the dumb, slow stream where the willows hang,
+With never a wind to blow the mists apart,
+Bitter and bitter it is for thee. O my heart,
+Looking upon this land, where poets sang,
+Thus with the dreary shroud
+Unwholesome, over it spread,
+And knowing the fog and the cloud
+In her people's heart and head
+Even as it lies for ever upon her coasts
+Making them dim and dreamy lest her sons should ever arise
+And remember all their boasts;
+For I know that the colourless skies
+And the blurred horizons breed
+Lonely desire and many words and brooding and never a deed.
+
+
+VI. Spooks
+
+Last night I dreamed that I was come again
+Unto the house where my beloved dwells
+After long years of wandering and pain.
+
+And I stood out beneath the drenching rain
+And all the street was bare, and black with night,
+But in my true love's house was warmth and light.
+
+Yet I could not draw near nor enter in,
+And long I wondered if some secret sin
+Or old, unhappy anger held me fast;
+
+Till suddenly it came into my head
+That I was killed long since and lying dead-
+Only a homeless wraith that way had passed.
+
+So thus I found my true love's house again
+And stood unseen amid the winter night
+And the lamp burned within, a rosy light,
+And the wet street was shining in the rain.
+
+
+VII. Apology
+
+If men should ask, Despoina, why I tell
+Of nothing glad nor noble in my verse
+To lighten hearts beneath this present curse
+And build a heaven of dreams in real hell,
+
+Go you to them and speak among them thus:
+"There were no greater grief than to recall,
+Down in the rotting grave where the lithe worms crawl,
+Green fields above that smiled so sweet to us."
+
+Is it good to tell old tales of Troynovant
+Or praises of dead heroes, tried and sage,
+Or sing the queens of unforgotten age,
+Brynhild and Maeve and virgin Bradamant?
+
+How should I sing of them? Can it be good
+To think of glory now, when all is done,
+And all our labour underneath the sun
+Has brought us this-and not the thing we would?
+
+All these were rosy visions of the night,
+The loveliness and wisdom feigned of old.
+But now we wake. The East is pale and cold,
+No hope is in the dawn, and no delight.
+
+
+VIII. Ode for New Year's Day
+
+Woe unto you, ye sons of pain that are this day in earth,
+Now cry for all your torment: now curse your hour of birth
+And the fathers who begat you to a portion nothing worth.
+And Thou, my own beloved, for as brave as ere thou art,
+Bow down thine head, Despoina, clasp thy pale arms over it,
+Lie low with fast-closed eyelids, clenched teeth, enduring heart,
+For sorrow on sorrow is coming wherein all flesh has part.
+The sky above is sickening, the clouds of God's hate cover it,
+Body and soul shall suffer beyond all word or thought,
+Till the pain and noisy terror that these first years have wrought
+Seem but the soft arising and prelude of the storm
+That fiercer still and heavier with sharper lightnings fraught
+Shall pour red wrath upon us over a world deform.
+
+Thrice happy, O Despoina, were the men who were alive
+In the great age and the golden age when still the cycle ran
+On upward curve and easily, for them both maid and man
+And beast and tree and spirit in the green earth could thrive.
+But now one age is ending, and God calls home the stars
+And looses the wheel of the ages and sends it spinning back
+Amid the death of nations, and points a downward track,
+And madness is come over us and great and little wars.
+He has not left one valley, one isle of fresh and green
+Where old friends could forgather amid the howling wreck.
+It's vainly we are praying. We cannot, cannot check
+The Power who slays and puts aside the beauty that has been.
+
+It's truth they tell, Despoina, none hears the heart's complaining
+For Nature will not pity, nor the red God lend an ear,
+Yet I too have been mad in the hour of bitter paining
+And lifted up my voice to God, thinking that he could hear
+The curse wherewith I cursed Him because the Good was dead.
+But lo! I am grown wiser, knowing that our own hearts
+Have made a phantom called the Good, while a few years have sped
+Over a little planet. And what should the great Lord know of it
+Who tosses the dust of chaos and gives the suns their parts?
+Hither and thither he moves them; for an hour we see the show of it:
+Only a little hour, and the life of the race is done.
+And here he builds a nebula, and there he slays a sun
+And works his own fierce pleasure. All things he shall fulfill,
+And O, my poor Despoina, do you think he ever hears
+The wail of hearts he has broken, the sound of human ill?
+He cares not for our virtues, our little hopes and fears,
+And how could it all go on, love, if he knew of laughter and tears?
+
+Ah, sweet, if a man could cheat him! If you could flee away
+Into some other country beyond the rosy West,
+To hide in the deep forests and be for ever at rest
+From the rankling hate of God and the outworn world's decay!
+
+
+IX. Night
+
+After the fret and failure of this day,
+And weariness of thought, O Mother Night,
+Come with soft kiss to soothe our care away
+And all our little tumults set to right;
+Most pitiful of all death's kindred fair,
+Riding above us through the curtained air
+On thy dusk car, thou scatterest to the earth
+Sweet dreams and drowsy charms of tender might
+And lovers' dear delight before to-morrow's birth.
+Thus art thou wont thy quiet lands to leave
+And pillared courts beyond the Milky Way,
+Wherein thou tarriest all our solar day
+While unsubstantial dreams before thee weave
+A foamy dance, and fluttering fancies play
+About thy palace in the silver ray
+Of some far, moony globe. But when the hour,
+The long-expected comes, the ivory gates
+Open on noiseless hinge before thy bower
+Unbidden, and the jewelled chariot waits
+With magic steeds. Thou from the fronting rim
+Bending to urge them, whilst thy sea-dark hair
+Falls in ambrosial ripples o'er each limb,
+With beautiful pale arms, untrammelled, bare
+For horsemanship, to those twin chargers fleet
+Dost give full rein across the fires that glow
+In the wide floor of heaven, from off their feet
+Scattering the powdery star-dust as they go.
+Come swiftly down the sky, O Lady Night,
+Fall through the shadow-country, O most kind,
+Shake out thy strands of gentle dreams and light
+For chains, wherewith thou still art used to bind
+With tenderest love of careful leeches' art
+The bruised and weary heart
+In slumber blind.
+
+
+X. To Sleep
+
+I will find out a place for thee, O Sleep-
+A hidden wood among the hill-tops green,
+Full of soft streams and little winds that creep
+  The murmuring boughs between.
+
+A hollow cup above the ocean placed
+Where nothing rough, nor loud, nor harsh shall be,
+But woodland light and shadow interlaced
+  And summer sky and sea.
+
+There in the fragrant twilight I will raise
+A secret altar of the rich sea sod,
+Whereat to offer sacrifice and praise
+  Unto my lonely god:
+
+Due sacrifice of his own drowsy flowers,
+The deadening poppies in an ocean shell
+Round which through all forgotten days and hours
+  The great seas wove their spell.
+
+So may he send me dreams of dear delight
+And draughts of cool oblivion, quenching pain,
+And sweet, half-wakeful moments in the night
+  To hear the falling rain.
+
+And when he meets me at the dusk of day
+To call me home for ever, this I ask-
+That he may lead me friendly on that way
+  And wear no frightful mask.
+
+
+XI. In Prison
+
+I cried out for the pain of man,
+I cried out for my bitter wrath
+Against the hopeless life that ran
+For ever in a circling path
+From death to death since all began;
+Till on a summer night
+I lost my way in the pale starlight
+And saw our planet, far and small,
+Through endless depths of nothing fall
+A lonely pin-prick spark of light,
+Upon the wide, enfolding night,
+With leagues on leagues of stars above it,
+And powdered dust of stars below-
+Dead things that neither hate nor love it
+Not even their own loveliness can know,
+Being but cosmic dust and dead.
+And if some tears be shed,
+Some evil God have power,
+Some crown of sorrow sit
+Upon a little world for a little hour-
+Who shall remember? Who shall care for it?
+
+
+XII. De Profundis
+
+Come let us curse our Master ere we die,
+For all our hopes in endless ruin lie.
+The good is dead. Let us curse God most High.
+
+Four thousand years of toil and hope and thought
+Wherein man laboured upward and still wrought
+New worlds and better, Thou hast made as naught.
+
+We built us joyful cities, strong and fair,
+Knowledge we sought and gathered wisdom rare.
+And all this time you laughed upon our care,
+
+And suddenly the earth grew black with wrong,
+Our hope was crushed and silenced was our song,
+The heaven grew loud with weeping. Thou art strong.
+
+Come then and curse the Lord. Over the earth
+Gross darkness falls, and evil was our birth
+And our few happy days of little worth.
+
+Even if it be not all a dream in vain
+-The ancient hope that still will rise again-
+Of a just God that cares for earthly pain,
+
+Yet far away beyond our labouring night,
+He wanders in the depths of endless light,
+Singing alone his musics of delight;
+
+Only the far, spent echo of his song
+Our dungeons and deep cells can smite along,
+And Thou art nearer. Thou art very strong.
+
+O universal strength, I know it well,
+It is but froth of folly to rebel;
+For thou art Lord and hast the keys of Hell.
+
+Yet I will not bow down to thee nor love thee,
+For looking in my own heart I can prove thee,
+And know this frail, bruised being is above thee.
+
+Our love, our hope, our thirsting for the right,
+Our mercy and long seeking of the light,
+Shall we change these for thy relentless might?
+
+Laugh then and slay. Shatter all things of worth,
+Heap torment still on torment for thy mirth-
+Thou art not Lord while there are Men on earth.
+
+
+XIII. Satan Speaks
+
+I am the Lord your God: even he that made
+Material things, and all these signs arrayed
+Above you and have set beneath the race
+Of mankind, who forget their Father's face
+And even while they drink my light of day
+Dream of some other gods and disobey
+My warnings, and despise my holy laws,
+Even tho' their sin shall slay them. For which cause,
+Dreams dreamed in vain, a never-filled desire
+And in close flesh a spiritual fire,
+A thirst for good their kind shall not attain,
+A backward cleaving to the beast again.
+A loathing for the life that I have given,
+A haunted, twisted soul for ever riven
+Between their will and mine-such lot I give
+White still in my despite the vermin live.
+They hate my world! Then let that other God
+Come from the outer spaces glory-shod,
+And from this castle I have built on Night
+Steal forth my own thought's children into light,
+If such an one there be. But far away
+He walks the airy fields of endless day,
+And my rebellious sons have called Him long
+And vainly called. My order still is strong
+And like to me nor second none I know.
+Whither the mammoth went this creature too shall go.
+
+
+XIV. The Witch
+
+Trapped amid the woods with guile
+They've led her bound in fetters vile
+To death, a deadlier sorceress
+Than any born for earth's distress
+Since first the winner of the fleece
+Bore home the Colchian witch to Greece-
+Seven months with snare and gin
+They've sought the maid o'erwise within
+The forest's labyrinthine shade.
+The lonely woodman half afraid
+Far off her ragged form has seen
+Sauntering down the alleys green,
+Or crouched in godless prayer alone
+At eve before a Druid stone.
+But now the bitter chase is won,
+The quarry's caught, her magic's done,
+The bishop's brought her strongest spell
+To naught with candle, book, and bell;
+With holy water splashed upon her,
+She goes to burning and dishonour
+Too deeply damned to feel her shame,
+For, though beneath her hair of flame
+Her thoughtful head be lowly bowed
+It droops for meditation proud
+Impenitent, and pondering yet
+Things no memory can forget,
+Starry wonders she has seen
+Brooding in the wildwood green
+With holiness. For who can say
+In what strange crew she loved to play,
+What demons or what gods of old
+Deep mysteries unto her have told
+At dead of night in worship bent
+At ruined shrines magnificent,
+Or how the quivering will she sent
+Alone into the great alone
+Where all is loved and all is known,
+Who now lifts up her maiden eyes
+And looks around with soft surprise
+Upon the noisy, crowded square,
+The city oafs that nod and stare,
+The bishop's court that gathers there,
+The faggots and the blackened stake
+Where sinners die for justice' sake?
+Now she is set upon the pile,
+The mob grows still a little while,
+Till lo! before the eager folk
+Up curls a thin, blue line of smoke.
+"Alas!" the full-fed burghers cry,
+"That evil loveliness must die!"
+
+
+XV. Dungeon Grates
+
+So piteously the lonely soul of man
+Shudders before this universal plan,
+So grievous is the burden and the pain,
+So heavy weighs the long, material chain
+From cause to cause, too merciless for hate,
+The nightmare march of unrelenting fate,
+I think that he must die thereof unless
+Ever and again across the dreariness
+There came a sudden glimpse of spirit faces,
+A fragrant breath to tell of flowery places
+And wider oceans, breaking on the shore
+From which the hearts of men are always sore.
+It lies beyond endeavour; neither prayer
+Nor fasting, nor much wisdom winneth there,
+Seeing how many prophets and wise men
+Have sought for it and still returned again
+With hope undone. But only the strange power
+Of unsought Beauty in some casual hour
+Can build a bridge of light or sound or form
+To lead you out of all this strife and storm;
+When of some beauty we are grown a part
+Till from its very glory's midmost heart
+Out leaps a sudden beam of larger light
+Into our souls. All things are seen aright
+Amid the blinding pillar of its gold,
+Seven times more true than what for truth we hold
+In vulgar hours. The miracle is done
+And for one little moment we are one
+With the eternal stream of loveliness
+That flows so calm, aloft from all distress
+Yet leaps and lives around us as a fire
+Making us faint with overstrong desire
+To sport and swim for ever in its deep-
+Only a moment.
+                      O! but we shall keep
+Our vision still. One moment was enough,
+We know we are not made of mortal stuff.
+And we can bear all trials that come after,
+The hate of men and the fool's loud bestial laughter
+And Nature's rule and cruelties unclean,
+For we have seen the Glory-we have seen.
+
+
+XVI. The Philosopher
+
+Who shall be our prophet then,
+Chosen from all the sons of men
+To lead his fellows on the way
+Of hidden knowledge, delving deep
+To nameless mysteries that keep
+Their secret from the solar day!
+Or who shall pierce with surer eye!
+This shifting veil of bittersweet
+And find the real things that lie
+Beyond this turmoil, which we greet
+With such a wasted wealth of tears?
+Who shall cross over for us the bridge of fears
+And pass in to the country where the ancient Mothers dwell?
+Is it an elder, bent and hoar
+Who, where the waste Atlantic swell
+On lonely beaches makes its roar,
+In his solitary tower
+Through the long night hour by hour
+Pores on old books with watery eye
+When all his youth has passed him by,
+And folly is schooled and love is dead
+And frozen fancy laid abed,
+While in his veins the gradual blood
+Slackens to a marish flood?
+For he rejoiceth not in the ocean's might,
+Neither the sun giveth delight,
+Nor the moon by night
+Shall call his feet to wander in the haunted forest lawn.
+He shall no more rise suddenly in the dawn
+When mists are white and the dew lies pearly
+Cold and cold on every meadow,
+To take his joy of the season early,
+The opening flower and the westward shadow,
+And scarcely can he dream of laughter and love,
+They lie so many leaden years behind.
+Such eyes are dim and blind,
+And the sad, aching head that nods above
+His monstrous books can never know
+The secret we would find.
+But let our seer be young and kind
+And fresh and beautiful of show,
+And taken ere the lustyhead
+And rapture of his youth be dead;
+Ere the gnawing, peasant reason
+School him over-deep in treason
+To the ancient high estate
+Of his fancy's principate,
+That he may live a perfect whole,
+A mask of the eternal soul,
+And cross at last the shadowy bar
+To where the ever-living are.
+
+
+XVII. The Ocean Strand
+
+O leave the labouring roadways of the town,
+The shifting faces and the changeful hue
+Of markets, and broad echoing streets that drown
+The heart's own silent music. Though they too
+Sing in their proper rhythm, and still delight
+The friendly ear that loves warm human kind,
+Yet it is good to leave them all behind,
+Now when from lily dawn to purple night
+Summer is queen,
+Summer is queen in all the happy land.
+Far, far away among the valleys green
+Let us go forth and wander hand in hand
+Beyond those solemn hills that we have seen
+So often welcome home the falling sun
+Into their cloudy peaks when day was done-
+Beyond them till we find the ocean strand
+And hear the great waves run,
+With the waste song whose melodies I'd follow
+And weary not for many a summer day,
+Born of the vaulted breakers arching hollow
+Before they flash and scatter into spray,
+On, if we should be weary of their play
+Then I would lead you further into land
+Where, with their ragged walls, the stately rocks
+Shunt in smooth courts and paved with quiet sand
+To silence dedicate. The sea-god's flocks
+Have rested here, and mortal eyes have seen
+By great adventure at the dead of noon
+A lonely nereid drowsing half a-swoon
+Buried beneath her dark and dripping locks.
+
+
+XVIII. Noon
+
+Noon! and in the garden bower
+The hot air quivers o'er the grass,
+The little lake is smooth as glass
+And still so heavily the hour
+Drags, that scarce the proudest flower
+Pressed upon its burning bed
+Has strength to lift a languid head:
+-Rose and fainting violet
+By the water's margin set
+Swoon and sink as they were dead
+Though their weary leaves be fed
+With the foam-drops of the pool
+Where it trembles dark and cool
+Wrinkled by the fountain spraying
+O'er it. And the honey-bee
+Hums his drowsy melody
+And wanders in his course a-straying
+Through the sweet and tangled glade
+With his golden mead o'erladen,
+Where beneath the pleasant shade
+Of the darkling boughs a maiden
+-Milky limb and fiery tress,
+All at sweetest random laid-
+Slumbers, drunken with the excess
+Of the noontide's loveliness.
+
+
+XIX. Milton Read Again (In Surrey)
+
+Three golden months while summer on us stole
+I have read your joyful tale another time,
+Breathing more freely in that larger clime
+And learning wiselier to deserve the whole.
+
+Your Spirit, Master, has been close at hand
+And guided me, still pointing treasures rare,
+Thick-sown where I before saw nothing fair
+And finding waters in the barren land,
+
+Barren once thought because my eyes were dim.
+Like one I am grown to whom the common field
+And often-wandered copse one morning yield
+New pleasures suddenly; for over him
+
+Falls the weird spirit of unexplained delight,
+New mystery in every shady place,
+In every whispering tree a nameless grace,
+New rapture on the windy seaward height.
+
+So may she come to me, teaching me well
+To savour all these sweets that lie to hand
+In wood and lane about this pleasant land
+Though it be not the land where I would dwell.
+
+.
+XX. Sonnet
+
+The stars come out; the fragrant shadows fall
+About a dreaming garden still and sweet,
+I hear the unseen bats above me bleat
+Among the ghostly moths their hunting call,
+And twinkling glow-worms all about me crawl.
+Now for a chamber dim, a pillow meet
+For slumbers deep as death, a faultless sheet,
+Cool, white and smooth. So may I reach the hall
+With poppies strewn where sleep that is so dear
+With magic sponge can wipe away an hour
+Or twelve and make them naught. Why not a year,
+Why could a man not loiter in that bower
+Until a thousand painless cycles wore,
+And then-what if it held him evermore?
+
+
+XXI. The Autumn Morning
+
+See! the pale autumn dawn
+Is faint, upon the lawn
+  That lies in powdered white
+      Of hoar-frost dight
+
+And now from tree to tree
+The ghostly mist we see
+  Hung like a silver pall
+      To hallow all.
+
+It wreathes the burdened air
+So strangely everywhere
+  That I could almost fear
+      This silence drear
+
+Where no one song-bird sings
+And dream that wizard things
+  Mighty for hate or love
+      Were close above.
+
+White as the fog and fair
+Drifting through the middle air
+  In magic dances dread
+      Over my head.
+
+Yet these should know me too
+Lover and bondman true,
+  One that has honoured well
+      The mystic spell
+
+Of earth's most solemn hours
+Wherein the ancient powers
+  Of dryad, elf, or faun
+      Or leprechaun
+
+Oft have their faces shown
+To me that walked alone
+  Seashore or haunted fen
+      Or mountain glen
+
+Wherefore I will not fear
+To walk the woodlands sere
+  Into this autumn day
+      Far, far away.
+
+
+Part II  Hesitation
+
+XXII. L'Apprenti Sorcier
+
+Suddenly there came to me
+The music of a mighty sea
+That on a bare and iron shore
+Thundered with a deeper roar
+Than all the tides that leap and run
+With us below the real sun:
+Because the place was far away,
+Above, beyond our homely day,
+Neighbouring close the frozen clime
+Where out of all the woods of time,
+Amid the frightful seraphim
+The fierce, cold eyes of Godhead gleam,
+Revolving hate and misery
+And wars and famines yet to be.
+And in my dreams I stood alone
+Upon a shelf of weedy stone,
+And saw before my shrinking eyes
+The dark, enormous breakers rise,
+And hover and fall with deafening thunder
+Of thwarted foam that echoed under
+The ledge, through many a cavern drear,
+With hollow sounds of wintry fear.
+And through the waters waste and grey,
+Thick-strown for many a league away,
+Out of the toiling sea arose
+Many a face and form of those
+Thin, elemental people dear
+Who live beyond our heavy sphere.
+And all at once from far and near,
+They all held out their arms to me,
+Crying in their melody,
+"Leap in! Leap in and take thy fill
+Of all the cosmic good and ill,
+Be as the Living ones that know
+Enormous joy, enormous woe,
+Pain beyond thought and fiery bliss:
+For all thy study hunted this,
+On wings of magic to arise,
+And wash from off thy filmed eyes
+The cloud of cold mortality,
+To find the real life and be
+As are the children of the deep!
+Be bold and dare the glorious leap,
+Or to thy shame, go, slink again
+Back to the narrow ways of men."
+So all these mocked me as I stood
+Striving to wake because I feared the flood.
+
+
+XXIII. Alexandrines
+
+There is a house that most of all on earth I hate.
+Though I have passed through many sorrows and have been
+In bloody fields, sad seas, and countries desolate,
+Yet most I fear that empty house where the grasses green
+Grow in the silent court the gaping flags between,
+And down the moss-grown paths and terrace no man treads
+Where the old, old weeds rise deep on the waste garden beds.
+Like eyes of one long dead the empty windows stare
+And I fear to cross the garden, I fear to linger there,
+For in that house I know a little, silent room
+Where Someone's always waiting, waiting in the gloom
+To draw me with an evil eye, and hold me fast-
+Yet thither doom will drive me and He will win at last.
+
+
+XXIV. In Praise of Solid People
+
+Thank God that there are solid folk
+Who water flowers and roll the lawn,
+And sit an sew and talk and smoke,
+And snore all through the summer dawn.
+
+Who pass untroubled nights and days
+Full-fed and sleepily content,
+Rejoicing in each other's praise,
+Respectable and innocent.
+
+Who feel the things that all men feel,
+And think in well-worn grooves of thought,
+Whose honest spirits never reel
+Before man's mystery, overwrought.
+
+Yet not unfaithful nor unkind,
+with work-day virtues surely staid,
+Theirs is the sane and humble mind,
+And dull affections undismayed.
+
+O happy people! I have seen
+No verse yet written in your praise,
+And, truth to tell, the time has been
+I would have scorned your easy ways.
+
+But now thro' weariness and strife
+I learn your worthiness indeed,
+The world is better for such life
+As stout suburban people lead.
+
+Too often have I sat alone
+When the wet night falls heavily,
+And fretting winds around me moan,
+And homeless longing vexes me
+
+For lore that I shall never know,
+And visions none can hope to see,
+Till brooding works upon me so
+A childish fear steals over me.
+
+I look around the empty room,
+The clock still ticking in its place,
+And all else silent as the tomb,
+Till suddenly, I think, a face
+
+Grows from the darkness just beside.
+I turn, and lo! it fades away,
+And soon another phantom tide
+Of shifting dreams begins to play,
+
+And dusky galleys past me sail,
+Full freighted on a faerie sea;
+I hear the silken merchants hail
+Across the ringing waves to me
+
+-Then suddenly, again, the room,
+Familiar books about me piled,
+And I alone amid the gloom,
+By one more mocking dream beguiled.
+
+And still no neared to the Light,
+And still no further from myself,
+Alone and lost in clinging night
+-(The clock's still ticking on the shelf).
+
+Then do I envy solid folk
+Who sit of evenings by the fire,
+After their work and doze and smoke,
+And are not fretted by desire.
+
+
+Part III  The Escape
+
+XXV. Song of the Pilgrims
+
+O Dwellers at the back of the North Wind,
+What have we done to you? How have we sinned
+Wandering the Earth from Orkney unto Ind?
+
+With many deaths our fellowship is thinned,
+Our flesh is withered in the parching wind,
+Wandering the earth from Orkney unto Ind.
+
+We have no rest. We cannot turn again
+Back to the world and all her fruitless pain,
+Having once sought the land where ye remain.
+
+Some say ye are not. But, ah God! we know
+That somewhere, somewhere past the Northern snow
+Waiting for us the red-rose gardens blow:
+
+-The red-rose and the white-rose gardens blow
+In the green Northern land to which we go,
+Surely the ways are long and the years are slow.
+
+We have forsaken all things sweet and fair,
+We have found nothing worth a moment's care
+Because the real flowers are blowing there.
+
+Land of the Lotus fallen from the sun,
+Land of the Lake from whence all rivers run,
+Land where the hope of all our dreams is won!
+
+Shall we not somewhere see at close of day
+The green walls of that country far away,
+And hear the music of her fountains play?
+
+So long we have been wandering all this while
+By many a perilous sea and drifting isle,
+We scarce shall dare to look thereon and smile.
+
+Yea, when we are drawing very near to thee,
+And when at last the ivory port we see
+Our hearts will faint with mere felicity:
+
+But we shall wake again in gardens bright
+Of green and gold for infinite delight,
+Sleeping beneath the solemn mountains white,
+While from the flowery copses still unseen
+Sing out the crooning birds that ne'er have been
+Touched by the hand of winter frore and lean;
+
+And ever living queens that grow not old
+And poets wise in robes of faerie gold
+Whisper a wild, sweet song that first was told
+
+Ere God sat down to make the Milky Way.
+And in those gardens we shall sleep and play
+For ever and for ever and a day.
+
+Ah, Dwellers at the back of the North Wind,
+What have we done to you? How have we sinned,
+That yes should hide beyond the Northern wind?
+
+Land of the Lotus, fallen from the Sun,
+When shall your hidden, flowery vales be won
+And all the travail of our way be done?
+
+Very far we have searched; we have even seen
+The Scythian waste that bears no soft nor green,
+And near the Hideous Pass our feet have been.
+
+We have heard Syrens singing all night long
+Beneath the unknown stars their lonely song
+In friendless seas beyond the Pillars strong.
+
+Nor by the dragon-daughter of Hypocras
+Nor the vale of the Devil's head we have feared to pass,
+Yet is our labour lost and vain, alas!
+
+Scouring the earth from Orkney unto Ind,
+Tossed on the seas and withered in the wind,
+We seek and seek your land. How have we sinned?
+
+Or is it all a folly of the wise,
+Bidding us walk these ways with blinded eyes
+While all around us real flowers arise?
+
+But, by the very God, we know, we know
+That somewhere still, beyond the Northern snow
+Waiting for us the red-rose gardens blow.
+
+
+XXVI. Song
+
+Faeries must be in the woods
+Or the satyrs' laughing broods-
+Tritons in the summer sea,
+Else how could the dead things be
+Half so lovely as they are?
+How could wealth of star on star
+Dusted o'er the frosty night
+Fill thy spirit with delight
+And lead thee from this care of thine
+Up among the dreams divine,
+Were it not that each and all
+Of them that walk the heavenly hall
+Is in truth a happy isle,
+Where eternal meadows smile,
+And golden globes of fruit are seen
+Twinkling through the orchards green;
+Were the Other People go
+On the bright sward to and fro?
+Atoms dead could never thus
+Stir the human heart of us
+Unless the beauty that we see
+The veil of endless beauty be,
+Filled full of spirits that have trod
+Far hence along the heavenly sod
+And see the bright footprints of God.
+
+
+XXVII. The Ass
+
+I woke and rose and slipt away
+To the heathery hills in the morning grey.
+
+In a field where the dew lay cold and deep
+I met an ass, new-roused from sleep.
+
+I stroked his nose and I tickled his ears,
+And spoke soft words to quiet his fears.
+
+His eyes stared into the eyes of me
+And he kissed my hands of his courtesy.
+
+"O big, brown brother out of the waste,
+How do thistles for breakfast taste?
+
+"And do you rejoice in the dawn divine
+With a heart that is glad no less than mine?
+
+"For, brother, the depth of your gentle eyes
+Is strange and mystic as the skies:
+
+"What are the thoughts that grope behind,
+Down in the mist of a donkey mind?
+
+"Can it be true, as the wise men tell,
+That you are a mask of God as well,
+
+"And, as in us, so in you no less
+Speaks the eternal Loveliness,
+
+"And words of the lips that all things know
+Among the thoughts of a donkey go?
+
+"However it be, O four-foot brother,
+Fair to-day is the earth, our mother.
+
+"God send you peace and delight thereof,
+And all green meat of the waste you love,
+
+"And guard you well from violent men
+Who'd put you back in the shafts again."
+
+But the ass had far too wise a head
+To answer one of the things I said,
+
+So he twitched his fair ears up and down
+And turned to nuzzle his shoulder brown.
+
+
+XXVIII. Ballade Mystique
+
+The big, red-house is bare and lone
+The stony garden waste and sere
+With blight of breezes ocean blown
+To pinch the wakening of the year;
+My kindly friends with busy cheer
+My wretchedness could plainly show.
+They tell me I am lonely here-
+What do they know? What do they know?
+
+They think that while the gables moan
+And easements creak in winter drear
+I should be piteously alone
+Without the speech of comrades dear;
+And friendly for my sake they fear,
+It grieves them thinking of me so
+While all their happy life is near-
+What do they know? What do they know?
+
+That I have seen the Dagda's throne
+In sunny lands without a tear
+And found a forest all my own
+To ward with magic shield and spear,
+Where, through the stately towers I rear
+For my desire, around me go
+Immortal shapes of beauty clear:
+They do not know, they do not know.
+
+L'Envoi
+
+The friends I have without a peer
+Beyond the western ocean's glow,
+Whither the faerie galleys steer,
+They do not know: how should they know?
+
+
+XXIX. Night
+
+I know a little Druid wood
+Where I would slumber if I could
+And have the murmuring of the stream
+To mingle with a midnight dream,
+And have the holy hazel trees
+To play above me in the breeze,
+And smell the thorny eglantine;
+For there the white owls all night long
+In the scented gloom divine
+Hear the wild, strange, tuneless song
+Of faerie voices, thin and high
+As the bat's unearthly cry,
+And the measure of their shoon
+Dancing, dancing, under the moon,
+Until, amid the pale of dawn
+The wandering stars begin to swoon. . . .
+Ah, leave the world and come away!
+
+The windy folk are in the glade,
+And men have seen their revels, laid
+In secret on some flowery lawn
+Underneath the beechen covers,
+Kings of old, I've heard them say,
+Here have found them faerie lovers
+That charmed them out of life and kissed
+Their lips with cold lips unafraid,
+And such a spell around them made
+That they have passed beyond the mist
+And found the Country-under-wave. . . .
+
+Kings of old, whom none could save!
+
+
+XXX. Oxford
+
+It is well that there are palaces of peace
+And discipline and dreaming and desire,
+Lest we forget our heritage and cease
+The Spirit's work-to hunger and aspire:
+
+Lest we forget that we were born divine,
+Now tangled in red battle's animal net,
+Murder the work and lust the anodyne,
+Pains of the beast 'gainst bestial solace set.
+
+But this shall never be: to us remains
+One city that has nothing of the beast,
+That was not built for gross, material gains,
+Sharp, wolfish power or empire's glutted feast.
+
+We are not wholly brute. To us remains
+A clean, sweet city lulled by ancient streams,
+A place of visions and of loosening chains,
+A refuge of the elect, a tower of dreams.
+
+She was not builded out of common stone
+But out of all men's yearning and all prayer
+That she might live, eternally our own,
+The Spirit's stronghold-barred against despair.
+
+
+XXXI. Hymn (For Boys' Voices)
+
+All the things magicians do
+Could be done by me and you
+Freely, if we only knew.
+
+Human children every day
+Could play at games the faeries play
+If they were but shown the way.
+
+Every man a God would be
+Laughing through eternity
+If as God's his eyes could see.
+
+All the wizardries of God-
+Slaying matter with a nod,
+Charming spirits with his rod,
+
+With the singing of his voice
+Making lonely lands rejoice,
+Leaving us no will nor choice,
+
+Drawing headlong me and you
+As the piping Orpheus drew
+Man and beast the mountains through,
+
+By the sweetness of his horn
+Calling us from lands forlorn
+Nearer to the widening morn-
+
+All that loveliness of power
+Could be man's peculiar dower,
+Even mine, this very hour;
+
+We should reach the Hidden Land
+And grow immortal out of hand,
+If we could but understand!
+
+We could revel day and night
+In all power and all delight
+If we learn to think aright.
+
+
+XXXII. "Our Daily Bread"
+
+We need no barbarous words nor solemn spell
+To raise the unknown. It lies before our feet;
+There have been men who sank down into Hell
+  In some suburban street,
+
+And some there are that in their daily walks
+Have met archangels fresh from sight of God,
+Or watched how in their beans and cabbage-stalks
+  Long files of faerie trod.
+
+Often me too the Living voices call
+In many a vulgar and habitual place,
+I catch a sight of lands beyond the wall,
+  I see a strange god's face.
+
+And some day this work will work upon me so
+I shall arise and leave both friends and home
+And over many lands a pilgrim go
+  Through alien woods and foam,
+
+Seeking the last steep edges of the earth
+Whence I may leap into that gulf of light
+Wherein, before my narrowing Self had birth,
+  Part of me lived aright.
+
+
+XXXIII. How He Saw Angus the God
+
+I heard the swallow sing in the eaves and rose
+All in a strange delight while others slept,
+And down the creaking stair, alone, tip-toes,
+  So carefully I crept.
+
+The house was dark with silly blinds yet drawn,
+But outside the clean air was filled with light,
+And underneath my feet the cold, wet lawn
+  With dew was twinkling bright.
+
+The cobwebs hung from every branch and spray
+Gleaming with pearly strands of laden thread,
+And long and still the morning shadows lay
+  Across the meadows spread.
+
+At that pure hour when yet no sound of man,
+Stirs in the whiteness of the wakening earth,
+Alone through innocent solitudes I ran
+  Singing aloud for mirth.
+
+Till I had found the open mountain heath
+Yellow with gorse, and rested there and stood
+To gaze upon the misty sea beneath,
+  Or on the neighbouring wood,
+
+-That little wood of hazel and tall pine
+And youngling fir, where oft we have loved to see
+The level beams of early morning shine
+  Freshly from tree to tree.
+
+Through the denser wood there's many a pool
+Of deep and night-born shadow lingers yet
+Where the new-wakened flowers are damp and cool
+  And the long grass is wet.
+
+In the sweet heather long I rested there
+Looking upon the dappled, early sky,
+When suddenly, from out the shining air
+  A god came flashing by.
+
+Swift, naked, eager, pitilessly fair,
+With a live crown of birds about his head,
+Singing and fluttering, and his fiery hair,
+  Far out behind him spread,
+
+Streamed like a rippling torch upon the breeze
+Of his own glorious swiftness: in the grass
+He bruised no feathery stalk, and through the trees
+  I saw his whiteness pass.
+
+But when I followed him beyond the wood,
+Lo! He was changed into a solemn bull
+That there upon the open pasture stood
+  And browsed his lazy full.
+
+
+XXXIV. The Roads
+
+I stand on the windy uplands among the hills of Down
+With all the world spread out beneath, meadow and sea and town,
+And ploughlands on the far-off hills that glow with friendly brown.
+
+And ever across the rolling land to the far horizon line,
+Where the blue hills border the misty west, I see the white roads twine,
+The rare roads and the fair roads that call this heart of mine.
+
+I see them dip in the valleys and vanish and rise and bend
+From shadowy dell to windswept fell, and still to the West they wend,
+And over the cold blue ridge at last to the great world's uttermost end.
+
+And the call of the roads is upon me, a desire in my spirit has grown
+To wander forth in the highways, 'twixt earth and sky alone,
+And seek for the lands no foot has trod and the seas no sail has known:
+
+For the lands to the west of the evening and east of the morning's birth,
+Where the gods unseen in their valleys green are glad at the ends of the earth
+And fear no morrow to bring them sorrow, nor night to quench their mirth.
+
+
+XXXV. Hesperus
+
+Through the starry hollow
+Of the summer night
+I would follow, follow
+Hesperus the bright,
+To seek beyond the western wave
+His garden of delight.
+
+Hesperus the fairest
+Of all gods that are,
+Peace and dreams thou bearest
+In thy shadowy car,
+And often in my evening walks
+I've blessed thee from afar.
+
+Stars without number,
+Dust the noon of night,
+Thou the early slumber
+And the still delight
+Of the gentle twilit hours
+Rulest in thy right.
+
+When the pale skies shiver,
+Seeing night is done,
+Past the ocean-river,
+Lightly thou dost run,
+To look for pleasant, sleepy lands,
+That never fear the sun.
+
+Where, beyond the waters
+Of the outer sea,
+Thy triple crown of daughters
+That guards the golden tree
+Sing out across the lonely tide
+A welcome home to thee.
+
+And while the old, old dragon
+For joy lifts up his head,
+They bring thee forth a flagon
+Of nectar foaming red,
+And underneath the drowsy trees
+Of poppies strew thy bed.
+
+Ah! that I could follow
+In thy footsteps bright,
+Through the starry hollow
+Of the summer night,
+Sloping down the western ways
+To find my heart's delight!
+
+
+XXXVI. The Star Bath
+
+A place uplifted towards the midnight sky
+Far, far away among the mountains old,
+A treeless waste of rocks and freezing cold,
+Where the dead, cheerless moon rode neighbouring by-
+And in the midst a silent tarn there lay,
+A narrow pool, cold as the tide that flows
+Where monstrous bergs beyond Varanger stray,
+Rising from sunless depths that no man knows;
+Thither as clustering fireflies have I seen
+At fixed seasons all the stars come down
+To wash in that cold wave their brightness clean
+And win the special fire wherewith they crown
+The wintry heavens in frost. Even as a flock
+Of falling birds, down to the pool they came.
+I saw them and I heard the icy shock
+Of stars engulfed with hissing of faint flame
+-Ages ago before the birth of men
+Or earliest beast. Yet I was still the same
+That now remember, knowing not where or when.
+
+
+XXXVII. Tu Ne Quaesieris
+
+For all the lore of Lodge and Myers
+I cannot heal my torn desires,
+Nor hope for all that man can speer
+To make the riddling earth grow clear.
+Though it were sure and proven well
+That I shall prosper, as they tell,
+In fields beneath a different sun
+By shores where other oceans run,
+When this live body that was I
+Lies hidden from the cheerful sky,
+Yet what were endless lives to me
+If still my narrow self I be
+And hope and fail and struggle still,
+And break my will against God's will,
+To play for stakes of pleasure and pain
+And hope and fail and hope again,
+Deluded, thwarted, striving elf
+That through the window of my self
+As through a dark glass scarce can see
+A warped and masked reality?
+But when this searching thought of mine
+Is mingled in the large Divine,
+And laughter that was in my mouth
+Runs through the breezes of the South,
+When glory I have built in dreams
+Along some fiery sunset gleams,
+And my dead sin and foolishness
+Grow one with Nature's whole distress,
+To perfect being I shall win,
+And where I end will Life begin.
+
+
+XXXVIII. Lullaby
+
+Lullaby! Lullaby!
+There's a tower strong and high
+Built of oak and brick and stone,
+Stands before a wood alone.
+The doors are of the oak so brown
+As any ale in Oxford town,
+The walls are builded warm and thick
+Of the old red Roman brick,
+The good grey stone is over all
+In arch and floor of the tower tall.
+And maidens three are living there
+All in the upper chamber fair,
+Hung with silver, hung with pall,
+And stories painted on the wall.
+And softly goes the whirring loom
+In my ladies' upper room,
+For they shall spin both night and day
+Until the stars do pass away.
+But every night at evening.
+The window open wide they fling,
+And one of them says a word they know
+And out as three white swans they go,
+And the murmuring of the woods is drowned
+In the soft wings' whirring sound,
+As they go flying round, around,
+Singing in swans' voices high
+A lonely, lovely lullaby.
+
+
+XXXIX. World's Desire
+
+Love, there is a castle built in a country desolate,
+On a rock above a forest where the trees are grim and great,
+Blasted with the lightning sharp-giant boulders strewn between,
+And the mountains rise above, and the cold ravine
+Echoes to the crushing roar and thunder of a mighty river
+Raging down a cataract. Very tower and forest quiver
+And the grey wolves are afraid and the call of birds is drowned,
+And the thought and speech of man in the boiling water's sound.
+But upon the further side of the barren, sharp ravine
+With the sunlight on its turrets is the castle seen,
+Calm and very wonderful, white above the green
+Of the wet and waving forest, slanted all away,
+Because the driving Northern wind will not rest by night or day.
+Yet the towers are sure above, very mighty is the stead,
+The gates are made of ivory, the roofs of copper red.
+
+Round and round the warders grave walk upon the walls for ever
+And the wakeful dragons couch in the ports of ivory,
+Nothing is can trouble it, hate of the gods nor man's endeavour,
+And it shall be a resting-place, dear heart, for you and me.
+
+Through the wet and waving forest with an age-old sorrow laden
+Singing of the world's regret wanders wild the faerie maiden,
+Through the thistle and the brier, through the tangles of the thorn,
+Till her eyes be dim with weeping and her homeless feet are torn.
+
+Often to the castle gate up she looks with vain endeavour,
+For her soulless loveliness to the castle winneth never.
+
+But within the sacred court, hidden high upon the mountain,
+Wandering in the castle gardens lovely folk enough there be,
+Breathing in another air, drinking of a purer fountain
+And among that folk, beloved, there's a place for you and me.
+
+
+XL. Death in Battle
+
+Open the gates for me,
+Open the gates of the peaceful castle, rosy in the West,
+In the sweet dim Isle of Apples over the wide sea's breast,
+
+Open the gates for me!
+
+Sorely pressed have I been
+And driven and hurt beyond bearing this summer day,
+But the heat and the pain together suddenly fall away,
+All's cool and green.
+
+But a moment agone,
+Among men cursing in fight and toiling, blinded I fought,
+But the labour passed on a sudden even as a passing thought,
+
+And now-alone!
+
+Ah, to be ever alone,
+In flowery valleys among the mountains and silent wastes untrod,
+In the dewy upland places, in the garden of God,
+This would atone!
+
+I shall not see
+The brutal, crowded faces around me, that in their toil have grown
+Into the faces of devils-yea, even as my own-
+When I find thee,
+
+O Country of Dreams!
+Beyond the tide of the ocean, hidden and sunk away,
+Out of the sound of battles, near to the end of day,
+Full of dim woods and streams.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Spirits in Bondage, by C. S. Lewis
+
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