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Title: War is Kind
Author: Stephen Crane
Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9870]
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR IS KIND ***
</pre>
<h2>"War is Kind" by Stephen Crane </h2>
<img alt="War is Kind, by Stephen Crane"
src="title.jpg"/>
<p align="center"><font size=5> WAR IS KIND</font><br>
by Stephen Crane<br><br>
<br>
Drawings by Will Bradley
<br>
<br>
</p>
<br>
<img alt="(illustration--stylized corn)" align="bottom" src="p7corn.jpg"/>
<img alt="(illustration--maiden with sword, arrows, and doves)" align="top" src="p8maiden.jpg"/>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.<br>
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky<br>
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,<br>
Do not weep.<br>
War is kind.<br>
<br>
Hoarse, booming drums of the<br>
    regiment,<br>
Little souls who thirst for fight,<br>
These men were born to drill and die.<br>
The unexplained glory files above<br>
    them,<br>
Great is the battle-god, great, and his<br>
    kingdom—;<br>
A field where a thousand corpses lie.<br>
<br>
Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.<br>
Because your father tumbled in the yellow<br>
    trenches,<br>
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,<br>
Do not weep.<br>
War is kind.<br>
<br>
Swift blazing flag of the regiment,<br>
Eagle with crest of red and gold,<br>
These men were born to drill and die.<br>
Point for them the virtue of the slaughter,<br>
Make plain to them the excellence of killing<br>
And a field where a thousand corpses<br>
    lie.<br>
<br>
Mother whose heart hung humble as a button<br>
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,<br>
Do not weep.<br>
War is kind.<br>
</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>
What says the sea, little shell?<br>
“What says the sea?<br>
“Long has our brother been silent to us,<br>
“Kept his message for the ships,<br>
“Awkward ships, stupid ships.”<br>
<br>
“The sea bids you mourn, O Pines,<br>
“Sing low in the moonlight.<br>
“He sends tale of the land of doom,<br>
“Of place where endless falls<br>
“A rain of women's tears,<br>
“And men in grey robes—<br>
“Men in grey robes—<br>
“Chant the unknown pain.”</p>
<p> </p>
<img alt="(illustration--sea and wind)" align="bottom" src="seawind.jpg">
<p> </p>
<img alt="(illustration--tall vase)" align="bottom" src="p14vase.jpg">
<p>“What says the sea, little shell?<br>
“What says the sea?<br>
“Long has our brother been silent to us,<br>
“Kept is message for the ships,<br>
“Puny ships, silly ships.”<br>
<br>
“The sea bids you teach, O Pines,<br>
“Sing low in the moonlight;<br>
“Teach the gold of patience,<br>
“Cry gospel of gentle hands,<br>
“Cry a brotherhood of hearts.<br>
“The sea bids you teach, O Pines.”<br>
<br>
“And where is the reward, little shell?<br>
“What says the sea?<br>
“Long has our brother been silent to us,<br>
“Kept his message for the ships,<br>
“Puny ships, silly ships.”<br></p>
<br>
<img alt="(illustration--birds)" align="bottom" src="p15birds.jpg"/>
<p>“No word says the sea, O Pines,<br>
“No word says the sea.<br>
“Long will your brother be silent to you,<br>
“Keep his message for the ships,<br>
“O puny ships, silly pines.”</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>To the maiden<br>
The sea was blue meadow,<br>
Alive with little froth-people<br>
Singing.<br>
<br>
To the sailor, wrecked,<br>
The sea was dead grey walls<br>
Superlative in vacancy,<br>
Upon which nevertheless at fateful time<br>
Was written<br>
The grim hatred of nature.<br></p>
<img alt="(illustration--lyre)" align="bottom" src="p19lyre.jpg"/>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>A little ink more or less!<br>
It surely can't matter?<br>
Even the sky and the opulent sea,<br>
The plains and the hills, aloof,<br>
Hear the uproar of all these books.<br>
But it is only a little ink more or less.<br>
<br>
What?<br>
You define me God with these trinkets?<br>
Can my misery meal on an ordered walking<br>
Of surpliced numskulls?<br>
And a fanfare of lights?<br>
Or even upon the measured pulpitings<br>
Of the familiar false and true?<br>
Is this God?<br>
Where, then is hell?<br>
Show me some bastard mushrooms<br>
Sprung from a pollution of blood.<br>
It is better.<br>
<br>
Where is God?</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>“Have you ever made a just man?”<br>
“Oh, I have made three,” answered<br>
    God,<br>
“But two of them are dead,<br>
“And the third—<br>
“Listen! Listen!<br>
“And you will hear the thud of his defeat.”</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>I explain the silvered passing of a ship<br>
    at night,<br>
The sweep of each sad lost wave,<br>
The dwindling boom of the steel thing's striving,<br>
The little cry of a man to a man,<br>
A shadow falling across the greyer night,<br>
And the sinking of the small star;<br>
<br>
Then the waste, the far waste of waters,<br>
And the soft lashing of black waves<br>
For long and in loneliness.<br>
<br>
Remember, thou, O ship of love,<br>
Thou leavest a far waste of waters,<br>
And the soft lashing of black waves<br>
For long and in loneliness.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>“I have heard the sunset song of the<br>
    birches,<br>
“A white melody in the silence,<br>
“I have seen a quarrel of the pines.<br>
“At nightfall<br>
“The little grasses have rushed by me<br>
“With the wind men.<br>
“These things have I lived,” quoth the<br>
    maniac,<br>
“Possessing only eyes and ears.<br>
“But you—<br>
“You don green spectacles before you look at roses.”</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>Fast rode the knight<br>
With spurs, hot and reeking,<br>
Ever waving an eager sword,<br>
“To save my lady!”<br>
Fast rode the knight,<br>
And leaped from saddle to war.<br>
Men of steel flickered and gleamed<br>
Like riot of silver lights,<br>
And the gold of the knight's good banner<br>
Still waved on a castle wall.<br>
<b>. . . . . . .</b><br>
A horse,<br>
Blowing, staggering, bloody thing,<br>
Forgotten at foot of castle wall.<br>
A horse<br>
Dead at foot of castle wall.</p>
<img alt="(illustration--dead horse at foot of castle wall)" align="bottom" src="deadhors.jpg"/>
<p> </p>
<img alt="(illustration--sylized leaf" align="bottom" src="p30leaf.jpg"/>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>Forth went the candid man<br>
And spoke freely to the wind—<br>
When he looked about him he was in a far<br>
    strange country.<br>
<br>
Forth went the candid man<br>
And spoke freely to the stars—<br>
Yellow light tore sight from his eye.<br>
<br>
“My good fool,” said a learned bystander,<br>
“Your operations are mad.”<br>
<br>
“You are too candid,” cried the candid man.<br>
And when his stick left the head of the<br>
    learned bystander<br>
It was two sticks.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>You tell me this is God?<br>
I tell you this is a printed list,<br>
A burning candle and an ass.</p>
<img alt="illustration--a candle" align="bottom" src="p35candl.jpg"/>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>On the desert<br>
A silence from the moon's deepest<br>
    valley.<br>
Fire rays fall athwart the robes<br>
Of hooded men, squat and dumb.<br>
Before them, a woman<br>
Moves to the blowing of shrill whistles<br>
And distant thunder of drums,<br>
While mystic things, sinuous, dull with<br>
    terrible color,<br>
Sleepily fondle her body<br>
Or move at her will, swishing stealthily over<br>
    the sand.<br>
The snakes whisper softly;<br>
The whispering, whispering snakes,<br>
Dreaming and swaying and staring,<br>
But always whispering, softly whispering.<br>
The wind streams from the lone reaches<br>
Of Arabia, solemn with night,<br>
And the wild fire makes shimmer of blood<br>
Over the robes of the hooded men<br>
Squat and dumb.</p>
<img alt="(illustration--a woman)" align="bottom" src="p37woman.jpg"/>
<p> </p>
<img alt="(illustration--stylized leaf)" align="bottom" src="p38leaf.jpg"/>
<br>
<p>Bands of moving bronze, emerald, yellow,<br>
Circle the throat and arms of her,<br>
And over the sands serpents move warily<br>
Slow, menacing and submissive,<br>
Swinging to the whistles and drums,<br>
The whispering, whispering snakes,<br>
Dreaming and swaying and staring,<br>
But always whispering, softly whispering.<br>
The dignity of the accursed;<br>
The glory of slavery, despair, death,<br>
Is in the dance of the whispering snakes.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>A newspaper is a collection of half-injustices<br>
Which, bawled by boys from mile to mile,<br>
Spreads its curious opinion<br>
To a million merciful and sneering men,<br>
While families cuddle the joys of the fireside<br>
When spurred by tale of dire lone agony.<br>
A newspaper is a court<br>
Where every one is kindly and unfairly tried<br>
By a squalor of honest men.<br>
A newspaper is a market<br>
Where wisdom sells its freedom<br>
And melons are crowned by the crowd.<br>
A newspaper is a game<br>
Where his error scores the player victory<br>
While another's skill wins death.<br>
A newspaper is a symbol;<br>
It is fetless life's chronical,<br>
A collection of loud tales<br>
Concentrating eternal stupidities,<br>
That in remote ages lived unhaltered,<br>
Roaming through a fenceless world.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>The wayfarer,<br>
Perceiving the pathway to truth,<br>
Was struck with astonishment.<br>
It was thickly grown with weeds.<br>
“Ha,” he said,<br>
“I see that none has passed here<br>
“In a long time.”<br>
Later he saw that each weed<br>
Was a singular knife.<br>
“Well,” he mumbled at last,<br>
“Doubtless there are other roads.”</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>A slant of sun on dull brown walls,<br>
A forgotten sky of bashful blue.<br>
<br>
Toward God a mighty hymn,<br>
A song of collisions and cries,<br>
Rumbling wheels, hoof-beats, bells,<br>
Welcomes, farewells, love-calls, final moans,<br>
Voices of joy, idiocy, warning, despair,<br>
The unknown appeals of brutes,<br>
The chanting of flowers,<br>
The screams of cut trees,<br>
The senseless babble of hens and wise men—<br>
A cluttered incoherency that says at the<br>
    stars;<br>
“O God, save us!”</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>Once a man clambering to the housetops<br>
Appealed to the heavens.<br>
With a strong voice he called to the deaf<br>
  spheres;<br>
A warrior's shout he raised to the suns.<br>
Lo, at last, there was a dot on the clouds,<br>
And—at last and at last—<br>
—God—the sky was filled with armies.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>There was a man with tongue of wood<br>
Who essayed to sing,<br>
And in truth it was lamentable.<br>
But there was one who heard<br>
The clip-clapper of this tongue of wood<br>
And knew what the man<br>
Wished to sing,<br>
And with that the singer was content.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>The successful man has thrust himself<br>
Through the water of the years,<br>
Reeking wet with mistakes,—<br>
Bloody mistakes;<br>
Slimed with victories over the lesser,<br>
A figure thankful on the shore of money.<br>
Then, with the bones of fools<br>
He buys silken banners<br>
Limned with his triumphant face;<br>
With the skins of wise men<br>
He buys the trivial bows of all.<br>
Flesh painted with marrow<br>
Contributes a coverlet,<br>
A coverlet for his contented slumber.<br>
In guiltless ignorance, in ignorant guilt,<br>
He delivered his secrets to the riven multitude.<br>
  “Thus I defended: Thus I wrought.”<br>
Complacent, smiling,<br>
He stands heavily on the dead.<br>
Erect on a pillar of skulls<br>
He declaims his trampling of babes;<br>
Smirking, fat, dripping,<br>
He makes speech in guiltless ignorance,<br>
Innocence.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>In the night<br>
Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys,<br>
And the peaks looked toward God alone.<br>
  “O Master that movest the wind with a<br>
  finger,<br>
  “Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.<br>
  “Grant that we may run swiftly across<br>
  the world<br>
  “To huddle in worship at Thy feet.”<br>
<br>
In the morning<br>
A noise of men at work came the clear blue miles,<br>
And the little black cities were apparent.<br>
  “O Master that knowest the meaning of raindrops,<br>
  “Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.<br>
  “Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord,<br>
  “That we may sing Thy goodness to the sun.”<br>
<br>
In the evening<br>
The far valleys were sprinkled with tiny lights.<br>
  “O Master,<br>
  “Thou that knowest the value of kings and birds,<br>
  “Thou hast made us humble, idle, futile peaks.<br>
  “Thous only needest eternal patience;<br>
  “We bow to Thy wisdom, O Lord—<br>
  “Humble, idle, futile peaks.”<br>
<br>
In the night<br>
Grey heavy clouds muffles the valleys,<br>
And the peaks looked toward God alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<img alt="(illustration--candles)" align="bottom" src="p49candl.jpg"/>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top.<br>
<br>
Blood—blood and torn grass—<br>
Had marked the rise of his agony—<br>
This lone hunter.<br>
The grey-green woods impassive<br>
Had watched the threshing of his limbs.<br>
<br>
A canoe with flashing paddle,<br>
A girl with soft searching eyes,<br>
A call: “John!”<br>
<b>. . . . . . .</b><br>
Come, arise, hunter!<br>
Can you not hear?<br>
<br>
The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top.<br></p>
<p> </p>
<img alt="(illustration--burning sticks)" align="bottom" src="matches.jpg"/>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>The impact of a dollar upon the heart<br>
Smiles warm red light,<br>
Sweeping from the hearth rosily upon the<br>
    white table,<br>
With the hanging cool velvet shadows<br>
Moving softly upon the door.<br>
<br>
The impact of a million dollars<br>
Is a crash of flunkys,<br>
And yawning emblems of Persia<br>
Cheeked against oak, France and a sabre,<br>
The outcry of old beauty<br>
Whored by pimping merchants<br>
To submission before wine and chatter.<br>
Silly rich peasants stamp the carpets of men,<br>
Dead men who dreamed fragrance and light<br>
Into their woof, their lives;<br>
The rug of an honest bear<br>
Under the feet of a cryptic slave<br>
Who speaks always of baubles,<br>
Forgetting state, multitude, work, and state,<br>
Champing and mouthing of hats,<br>
Making ratful squeak of hats,<br>
Hats.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>A man said to the universe:<br>
“Sir, I exist!”<br>
“However,” replied the universe,<br>
“The fact has not created in me<br>
“A sense of obligation.”<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>When the prophet, a complacent fat<br>
    man,<br>
Arrived at the mountain-top,<br>
He cried: “Woe to my knowledge!<br>
“I intended to see good white lands<br>
“And bad black lands,<br>
“But the scene is grey.”</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>There was a land where lived no<br>
    violets.<br>
A traveller at once demanded: “Why?”<br>
The people told him:<br>
“Once the violets of this place spoke thus:<br>
“’Until some woman freely give her lover<br>
“’To another woman<br>
“’We will fight in bloody scuffle.’”<br>
Sadly the people added:<br>
“There are no violets here.”</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>There was one I met upon the road<br>
Who looked at me with kind eyes.<br>
He said: “Show me of your wares.”<br>
And I did,<br>
Holding forth one,<br>
He said: “It is a sin.”<br>
Then I held forth another.<br>
He said: “It is a sin.”<br>
Then I held forth another.<br>
He said: “It is a sin.”<br>
And so to the end.<br>
Always He said: “It is a sin.”<br>
At last, I cried out:<br>
“But I have non other.”<br>
He looked at me<br>
With kinder eyes.<br>
“Poor soul,” he said.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>Aye, workman, make me a dream,<br>
A dream for my love.<br>
Cunningly weave sunlight,<br>
Breezes, and flowers.<br>
Let it be of the cloth of meadows.<br>
And—good workman—<br>
And let there be a man walking thereon.</p>
<img alt="(illustration--man walking)" align="bottom" src="manwalk.jpg"/>
<p> </p>
<img alt="(illustration--stylized leaf)" align="bottom" src="p62leaf.jpg"/>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>Each small gleam was a voice,<br>
A lantern voice—<br>
In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.<br>
A chorus of colors came over the water;<br>
The wondrous leaf-shadow no longer wavered,<br>
No pines crooned on the hills,<br>
The blue night was elsewhere a silence,<br>
When the chorus of colors came over the<br>
    water,<br>
Little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.<br>
<br>
Small glowing pebbles<br>
Thrown on the dark plane of evening<br>
Sing good ballads of God<br>
And eternity, with soul's rest.<br>
Little priests, little holy fathers,<br>
None can doubt the truth of hour hymning.<br>
When the marvellous chorus comes over the<br>
    water,<br>
Songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>The trees in the garden rained flowers.<br>
Children ran there joyously.<br>
They gathered the flowers<br>
Each to himself.<br>
Now there were some<br>
Who gathered great heaps—<br>
Having opportunity and skill—<br>
Until, behold, only chance blossoms<br>
Remained for the feeble.<br>
Then a little spindling tutor<br>
Ran importantly to the father, crying:<br>
“Pray, come hither!<br>
“See this unjust thing in your garden!”<br>
But when the father had surveyed,<br>
He admonished the tutor:<br>
“Not so, small sage!<br>
“This thing is just.<br>
“For, look you,<br>
“Are not they who possess the flowers<br>
“Stronger, bolder, shrewder<br>
“Than they who have none?<br>
“Why should the strong—<br>
“The beautiful strong—<br>
“Why should they not have the flowers?<br>
<br>
Upon reflection, the tutor bowed to the<br>
    ground.<br>
“My lord,” he said,<br>
“The stars are displaced<br>
“By this towering wisdom.”</p>
<img alt="illustration--vase of flowers" align="bottom" src="p66vase.jpg"/>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
INTRIGUE<br>
<br>
<p>Thou art my love,<br>
And thou art the peace of sundown<br>
When the blue shadows soothe,<br>
And the grasses and the leaves sleep<br>
To the song of the little brooks,<br>
Woe is me.<br>
<br>
Thou art my love,<br>
And thou art a strorm<br>
That breaks black in the sky,<br>
And, sweeping headlong,<br>
Drenches and cowers each tree,<br>
And at the panting end<br>
There is no sound<br>
Save the melancholy cry of a single owl—<br>
Woe is me!<br>
<br>
Thou are my love,<br>
And thou art a tinsel thing,<br>
And I in my play<br>
Broke thee easily,<br>
And from the little fragments<br>
Arose my long sorrow—<br>
Woe is me.<br>
<br>
Thou art my love,<br>
And thou art a wary violet,<br>
Drooping from sun-caresses,<br>
Answering mine carelessly—<br>
Woe is me.</p>
<img alt="(illustration--stylized flower)" align="bottom" src="p70flwer.jpg"/>
<br>
<p>Thou art my love,<br>
And thou art the ashes of other men's love,<br>
And I bury my face in these ashes,<br>
And I love them—<br>
Woe is me.<br>
<br>
Thou art my love,<br>
And thou art the beard<br>
On another man's face—<br>
Woe is me.<br>
<br>
Thou art my love,<br>
And thou art a temple,<br>
And in this temple is an altar,<br>
And on this altar is my heart—<br>
Woe is me.<br>
<br>
Thou art my love,<br>
And thou art a wretch.<br>
Let these sacred love-lies choke thee,<br>
From I am come to where I know your lies<br>
    as truth<br>
And you truth as lies—<br>
Woe is me.</p>
<br>
<img alt="(illustration--cruel woman)" align="bottom" src="cruelwmn.jpg">
<p> </p>
<img alt="(illustration--column)" align="top" src="column.jpg">
<br>
<p>Thou art my love,<br>
And thou art a priestess,<br>
And in they hand is a bloody dagger,<br>
And my doom comes to me surely—<br>
Woe is me.<br>
<br>
Thou art my love,<br>
And thou art a skull with ruby eyes,<br>
And I love thee—<br>
Woe is me.<br>
<br>
Thou art my love,<br>
And I doubt thee.<br>
And if peace came with thy murder<br>
Then would I murder—<br>
Woe is me.</p>
<img alt="illustration--happy and sad masks" align="bottom" src="masks.jpg"/>
<br>
<p>Thou art my love,<br>
And thou art death,<br>
Aye, thou art death<br>
Black and yet black,<br>
But I love thee,<br>
I love thee—<br>
Woe, welcome woe, to me.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>Love, forgive me if I wish you grief,<br>
For in your grief<br>
You huddle to my breast,<br>
And for it<br>
Would I pay the price of your grief.<br>
<br>
You walk among men<br>
And all men do not surrender,<br>
And thus I understand<br>
That love reaches his hand<br>
In mercy to me.<br>
<br>
He had your picture in his room,<br>
A scurvy traitor picture,<br>
And he smiled<br>
—Merely a fat complacence of men who<br>
    know fine women—<br>
And thus I divided with him<br>
A part of my love.<br>
<br>
Fool, not to know that thy little shoe<br>
Can make men weep!<br>
—Some men weep.<br>
I weep and I gnash,<br>
And I love the little shoe,<br>
The little, little shoe.<br>
<br>
God give me medals,<br>
God give me loud honors,<br>
That I may strut before you, sweetheart,<br>
And be worthy of—<br>
The love I bear you.</p>
<img alt="(illustration--sword" align="bottom" src="sword.jpg"/>
<br>
<p>Now let me crunch you<br>
With full weight of affrighted love.<br>
I doubted you<br>
—I doubted you—<br>
And in this short doubting<br>
My love grew like a genie<br>
For my further undoing.<br>
<br>
Beware of my friends,<br>
Be not in speech too civil,<br>
For in all courtesy<br>
My weak heart sees spectres,<br>
Mists of desire<br>
Arising from the lips of my chosen;<br>
Be not civil.<br>
<br>
The flower I gave thee once<br>
Was incident to a stride,<br>
A detail of a gesture,<br>
But search those pale petals<br>
And see engraven thereon<br>
A record of my intention.</p>
<img alt="(illustration--vase of flowers)" align="bottom" src="p88vase.jpg"/>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>Ah, God, the way your little finger moved,<br>
As you thrust a bare arm backward<br>
And made play with your hair<br>
And a comb, a silly gilt comb<br>
—Ah, God—that I should suffer<br>
Because of the way a little finger moved.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>Once I saw thee idly rocking<br>
—Idly rocking—<br>
And chattering girlishly to other girls,<br>
Bell-voiced, happy,<br>
Careless with the stout heart of unscarred<br>
    womanhood,<br>
And life to thee was all light melody.<br>
I thought of the great storms of love as I<br>
    knew it,<br>
Torn, miserable, and ashamed of my open<br>
    sorrow,<br>
I thought of the thunders that lived in my<br>
    head,<br>
And I wish to be an ogre,<br>
And hale and haul my beloved to a castle,<br>
And make her mourn with my mourning.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>Tell me why, behind thee,<br>
I see always the shadow of another lover?<br>
Is it real,<br>
Or is this the thrice damned memory of a<br>
    better happiness?<br>
Plague on him if he be dead,<br>
Plague on him if he be alive—<br>
A swinish numskull<br>
To intrude his shade<br>
Always between me and my peace!</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>And yet I have seen thee happy with me.<br>
I am no fool<br>
To poll stupidly into iron.<br>
I have heard your quick breaths<br>
And seen your arms writhe toward me;<br>
At those times<br>
—God help us—<br>
I was impelled to be a grand knight,<br>
And swagger and snap my fingers,<br>
And explain my mind finely.<br>
Oh, lost sweetheart,<br>
I would that I had not been a grand knight.<br>
I said: “Sweetheart.”<br>
Thou said'st: “Sweetheart.”<br>
And we preserved an admirable mimicry<br>
Without heeding the drip of the blood<br>
From my heart.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>I heard thee laugh,<br>
And in this merriment<br>
I defined the measure of my pain;<br>
I knew that I was alone,<br>
Alone with love,<br>
Poor shivering love,<br>
And he, little sprite,<br>
Came to watch with me,<br>
And at midnight,<br>
We were like two creatures by a dead camp-<br>
    fire.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>I wonder if sometimes in the dusk,<br>
When the brave lights that gild thy<br>
    evenings<br>
Have not yet been touched with flame,<br>
I wonder if sometimes in the dusk<br>
Thou rememberest a time,<br>
A time when thou loved me<br>
And our love was to thee thy all?<br>
Is the memory rubbish now?<br>
An old gown<br>
Worn in an age of other fashions?<br>
Woe is me, oh, lost one,<br>
For that love is now to me<br>
A supernal dream,<br>
White, white, white with many suns.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>Love met me at noonday,<br>
—Reckless imp,<br>
To leave his shaded nights<br>
And brave the glare,—<br>
And I saw him then plainly<br>
For a bungler,<br>
A stupid, simpering, eyeless bungler,<br>
Breaking the hearts of brave people<br>
As the snivelling idiot-boy cracks his bowl,<br>
And I cursed him,<br>
Cursed him to and fro, back and forth,<br>
Into all the silly mazes of his mind,<br>
But in the end<br>
He laughed and pointed to my breast,<br>
Where a heart still beat for thee, beloved.</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p>I have seen thy face aflame<br>
For love of me,<br>
Thy fair arms go mad,<br>
Thy lips tremble and mutter and rave.<br>
And—surely—<br>
This should leave a man content?<br>
Thou lovest not me now,<br>
But thou didst love me,<br>
And in loving me once<br>
Thou gavest me an eternal privilege,<br>
For I can think of thee.</p>
<pre>
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