Part 3

... But the wonder wavers-- The light goes out. I am in the void no more; changes are imminent. Time with a million beating wings Deafens the air in migratory flight Like the roar of seas--and is gone ... And a silence Lasts deafeningly. In darkness and perfect silence I wander groping in my agony, Far from the light lost in the upper ether-- Unknown, unknowable, so nearly mine. And the ages pass by me, Thousands each instant, yet I feel them all To the last second of their dragging time. Thus have I striven always Since the world began. And when it dies I still must struggle ...

* * * * *

The voice I knew so long ago, like a muffled echo under the sea Is coming nearer. Strong hands Grip mine. And words whose tones are warm with some forgotten consolation, Some unintelligible hope, Drag me upward in horrible mercy; And the cold once-familiar daylight glares into my eyes.

He stands there, The white apostate monk, Speaking low lying words to soothe me. And I lift my voice out of its vales of agony And laugh in his face, Mocking him with astonishment of wonder. For he has denied; And I have come so near, so near to knowing.... Then as his hand touches me gently, I am drawn up from the lonely abysses, And suffer him to lead me back into the green valleys of the living.

_THE BEGINNING OF THE JOURNEY_

Where are you, Dear? What is it that I hold-- A shape, a phantom, who will not ease my pain? O Beloved! My beloved! What is it comes between our seeking arms? Lip to lip we press And breast to breast, Straining to overleap the barrier, And all the while we know We are apart. We know tomorrow we shall be More horribly Alone.

Do you remember When we first cried out each to each? How the valleys rang with laughter and gay words And eager promises? Do you remember how we told each other Pain was over, That nothing now could come We could not still with kisses? Do you remember those first days When the world was lost in a dream and a forgetting And eternity was ours?

Then, as the years followed, Do you remember how we found That pain must be? How, heavy-hearted, we gazed bewildered Into each other’s eyes, Asking, why?

One night you would not speak, And when I pressed you for your cause of silence You said “I tried to tell you once My heart’s dim heaviness, But you are a man, you can never understand.” And then I saw That we were far away from one another, For I had thought the same.

And after In a quick ache of sympathy We kissed and clung, And then you slept. I heard the little sobbing breaths Like a hurt child’s Of a loneliness I had no power to soothe. We asked so much! We looked to each other as some look to God, And when God came not And our lifted hands were empty We cried out that love was dead.

We have grown patient since And pitifully wise, We see how little may be given, And we are thankful Lest there be nothing. Yet even when I lay my wearied head Upon your knees and fall asleep To waken with your hand on my hot brow, Then, when I thank God, if there be a God, For you-- We are apart.

Yesterday I watched you Protect the child against the winter cold. Warmly you wrapped him While his baby face laughed back at you From its frame of softest fur: I think a great hand comes and wraps us so, Each in his loneliness as in an enfolding garment, That we shall be ready To make our last great journeying Alone.

As the years go onward Little by little we turn And draw away from love’s dominion, Little by little we loose the clinging hands That hinder from adventuring, Oftener and more often We go apart To ask ourselves The inevitable question. The friends we seek are questioners Who strive, like us, to cross with thoughts The illimitable void:

Therefore, Dear, give over Trying to comfort, Give over the wish to yield me All I need--

Once long ago I lost myself in you, Once long ago I was but part of you, Bereft without you, Mad for lack of you, Now I am I, Preparing to go onward When the end shall come Alone.

III

STORIES IN METRE

_THE PRISONER_

“We had a prisoner once,” the Warden said, “Who was no common man. I could not say To make it clear, where lay the difference, And yet, and yet,--something was there I know.”

“Tell me of him,” I said, drawing a chair, Knowing that in the old man’s heart there lay Many a story.

“Willingly,” he answered, “Yet when all’s said, you’ll know no more than I Why his words puzzle me; why, when I pass His cell, I always think that I can see His eyes, his following eyes, that seemed to ask Over and over again, some kind of question.”

He thought a moment, then began his story As if by careful measuring of his words He tried to make me see what he found dim.

“You know the row of cells,” he said, “they built To make the fourth row ’round the hollow square? They front the East, and so I put him there. I’d hardly like to say what was the reason,-- It seems so foolish; but, the day he came, Just as the big door opened, I had seen Him turn his head, and this is what he said: ‘And it is I,--I, who have loved the Dawn!’ A queer thing, wasn’t it? I suppose he thought That he would never see it any more.

“It’s strange how little things come back to you! I can remember when he saw his cell He bent his head, making a kind of greeting, Then quickly stepped across and glanced around: ‘And this is what I have to call my home’ Was what he thought, I guess. It always seems To sicken me somehow, to show ’em in, The hopeful ones the most, I know so well How soon the eager look will disappear!”

“But tell me what he was in prison for?” I said, and met the old man’s quick “What for? Oh well, there wasn’t room enough outside. Why do you want to know? What does it matter? He was no common man. You’d think by now I’d stop my foolish bothering. I’m used Enough, God knows, to tangled human threads-- Oh what’s the use to try and tell it now? I’m such a fool! I can’t go by his cell Without the wondering clutching at me here!” He laid his hand upon his breast; I thought His mind had dwelt too long with pain, and now His fancies troubled him. “Mad then, perhaps?” I asked, and saw my blundering words had been Salt to a wound. He turned away and said “No, no, he was not that, not mad,” and stepped Beside a shelf of little useless things Fumbling among them.

Presently he turned And placed within my hands a woman’s picture. I took it silently, afraid to comment. “Think what you please,” he said, “for I don’t know, As no one came to take away his things I kept the picture. It was dear to him.”

A gentle woman’s face looked up at me; A tender face, lips parted, young grave eyes. I seemed to see within their depths a question, And turned to meet the old man’s twisted smile. Nodding, he murmured, “So, you see it too?” Then took the picture from me and began Again, though haltingly, his troubled tale.

“At first he read and spoke and ate his food As if he thought he would not be here long And must be patient. Often he would ask What time it was, or if it rained or shone, Begging for outside news, and when I brought Letters or papers, seized them greedily And strained his eyes to get the contents quickly. Sometimes he’d hail me as I passed along With such a flow of eager questioning talk, I wondered anyone so rich in words Could bear his solitude and not go mad With silence; but--our prison rules are stern. I shot the bolts that dulled that silver voice, And now I hear it echoing down the years.”

The old man rose and made a little pretence To put the picture back upon the shelf.

“Well, time went on,” seating himself, he said, “And as I made my rounds each day I thought The prisoner seemed to draw himself away. Not rudely; more as if he could not break The current of his thoughts, and up and down He’d walk; they all do that, but he as if He had some light inside his mind. Don’t think I’m crazy, but,--it’s hard to put in words. Sometimes I’d have my little try to break Across the distance. With a sudden smile He’d lay his hand upon me--‘Yes, I know, I know,’ and so would push me to the door. I feared to go to him, and yet I loved The man as if he’d been my son. I knew The end was coming soon. My heart was sore, But I was powerless.

“One thing alone Could wean him from his strange expectancy, A little written word that came half-yearly. I knew that it was due, and when it came I beat upon his door; I had the letter-- Slowly he turned to meet me and I stopped, Seeing it was too late.

“Then from my hands He took the letter, lifting it silently, The way a priest lifts up the sacrament, Then gave it slowly back to me and said, ‘Why bring me bread? So little, little bread? Why eke my life along so grudgingly? Take back the letter, I am far away, Keep back the bread and I shall sooner know.’ And followed by his eyes, I left the cell And soon he died.

“No no, he was not mad, But only one to whom the Dawn was real.”

_ELLIE_

She came to do my nails. Came in my door and stood before me waiting, A great big lummox of a girl-- A continent. Her dress was rusty black And scant, Her hat, a melancholy jumble of basement counter bargains. Her sullen eyes, Like a whipped animal’s, Shone out between her silly bulging cheeks and puffy forehead.

She dropped her coat upon a chair And waited; Then, at a word, busied herself With files and delicate scissors, Sweet-smelling oils and my ten finger-tips.

She proved so deft and silent I bade her come again; And twice a week While summer dawned and flushed and waned She used me in her parasitic trade. The dress grew rustier, The hat more melancholy, And Ellie fatter.

Each time she came I wondered as she worked If thought lay anywhere Behind that queer uncouthness. She had a trick of seizing with her eyes Each passing thing, An insatiate greediness for something out of reach; And yet she seemed enwrapped In a kind of solemn patience, Large, aloof and waiting. We hardly ever spoke-- I could not think of anything worth saying; One does not chatter with a continent. Finally it was homing time; The seashore town was raw and desolate And idlers flitted. The last day Ellie came Her calm was gone, she had been crying. Fat people never ought to cry; It’s awful.... The hot drops fell upon my hand While Ellie dropped the scissors suddenly And sniffed and blew and sobbed In disconcerting and unreserved abandonment. I said the usual things; I would have patted her but for the grease, But Ellie was not comforted.

Not until the storm was spent And only little catching breaths were left I got the reason. “I’m so fat,” she gulped, “so awful, awful fat The boys won’t look at me.” And then it came, the stammered, passionate cry: Could I not help? Could I not find a medicine? We talked and talked And when at dusk she went, a teary smile Hovered a moment on her mouth And in those sullen, swollen eyes A little hope perhaps; I did not know.

The city and its interests soon engulfed me. A letter or two, A doctor’s vague advice to bant and exercise, And Ellie and her woes passed from my mind Until, as summer dawned again, I heard that she was dead. A curious letter written stiffly, From Ellie’s mother, Told me I was invited to the funeral “By wish of the Deceased.”

Wondering I travelled to the little town Where the sea beat and groaned And sorrowed endlessly, And made my way down the steep street To Ellie’s door. Her mother met me in the hall And motioned, “She wanted you to see her,” Then ushered me into an awful place, the parlor-- A place of emerald plush and golden oak Set round with pride and symmetry, And in the midst A black and silver coffin-- Ellie’s coffin. Raising the lid she pointed and I looked.

Somewhere in Florence Mino da Fiesole Has made a tomb Where deathless beauty lies with upturned face. Two gentle hands, palms meeting, Touch with their pointed forefingers A delicate chin, and over the vibrant body Clings a white robe Enshrouding chastely Warm curving lines of adolescent grace. No sleeper this,-- The figure glows, alert, awake, aware, As if some sudden ecstacy had stolen life And held imprisoned there The moment of attainment Rapt, imperishable and fair.

Even so lay Ellie, And when from somewhere far I heard The mother’s voice I listened vacantly.

The woman chattered on, “The dress you know, white chiffon, like a wedding dress-- I never knew she had it, She must ’a made it by herself. It’s queer it fitted perfectly An’ her all thin like that-- She must ’a thought--”

Then black-robed relatives came streaming in To look at Ellie. I watched them start And glance around for explanation. The mother pinched my arm: “Don’t ask me anything now,” she whispered; “Come back tonight.”

Then old, old words were sung and prayed and droned, While everybody dutifully cried, And when the village parson Rhythmically proclaimed, And this mortal shall put on immortality,-- With a great welcoming And a great lightening I knew at last the ancient affirmation.

When evening came I found the mother Sitting amidst her golden oak and plush In a kind of isolated stateliness. She led me in. “’Twas the stuff she took that did it,” She began; “I never knew till after she was dead. The bottles in the woodshed, hundreds of ’em All labelled ‘Caldwell’s Great Obesity Cure Warranted Safe and Rapid.’ Oh ain’t it awful?” and she fell to crying miserably; “But wasn’t she real pretty in her coffin?” And then she cried again And clung to me.

_THE PARK BENCH_

A STRANGER, A MAN, A WOMAN

_The pallid night wind touched their burning cheeks With fetid breath, whispered a dim distress And flickered out; while whirling insects danced Their crazy steps with death around the light._

THE STRANGER

The night is hot and the crowds intolerable, May I sit here between you on this bench?

THE MAN

I s’pose the bench is free to anybody.

THE STRANGER

I’ve been walking up and down and wondering If I should speak. You sat here silently, You two. I could not tell what troubled you.

THE WOMAN

I guess I was thinkin’, Mister. I didn’t know There was any other person anywhere near.

THE MAN

I don’t know who she is. She’s nothin’ to me. She’s got a kid there in her shawl, maybe Her trouble’s there.

THE STRANGER

It’s hard to keep up courage; The heat is sickening, it weighs you down. I’d like to see the child; may I see its face?

THE WOMAN

He’s two weeks old today.

THE STRANGER

A sturdy youngster! What do you call him? What’s his name, I mean? Don’t turn away. I meant no harm, you know.

THE MAN

Didn’t I tell you? Something’s wrong, I guess. Maybe He’s deserted, with another comin’ on. Ask her again; likely she’s needin’ help.

THE STRANGER

You seem unhappy. Can’t you tell me why? I’d like to help you if I can, because-- Well, once I had a little son like that. Come! what have you got to tell? Out with the story. See there, the boy is stretching out a hand, He knows a friend is somewhere ’round, eh, Sonny?

THE WOMAN

You’d like to know what I have got to tell? I guess you don’t know what you’re askin’, Mister. You see that big house over there? You see This baby blinkin’ here? Well, that’s the house His father lives in. I just found it out, Found where it was, I mean, then I come here-- Oh, what’s the sense o’ tellin’ any more? That’s all there is, I guess.

THE STRANGER

I’d like the story; Sometimes the pain is eased by speaking out.

THE WOMAN

I don’t know why you want to know about me, It’s no concern of yours, but if you’ll promise You’ll let him be, I’ll tell you all there is.

THE STRANGER

You have my promise.

THE WOMAN

More’n a year ago It was, I seen him first, an’ ’twasn’t long Before I thought a lot and so did he. He said he’d take a flat and furnish it And we’d keep house together all alone. He said he had to travel, but he’d come As often as he could, and stay as long. I’d worked, you know; I never had a place I liked to live in, an’ he let me buy A lot of things I wanted; then he’d laugh And say I liked the flat so much, perhaps He’d better stay away and not muss up The tidies on the chairs. He always had A lot of money. When he gave me some He’d never say how much it was, but just, “Here’s more to buy the tidies with,” and laugh. It wasn’t long--that little time. I like To think about it, but it seems so far! Just like another city or a place That wasn’t any more; I don’t know why, I guess the flat’s there still, if I should go-- Hush, honey, hush--don’t you be cryin’ now.

I s’pose I’d ought to tell you that he said I mustn’t have the kid. I didn’t care; I didn’t want it, neither. When I knew, I had to tell, because I got so sick. He didn’t say a word to make me cry, Not much of anything. He put a lot Of money in the drawer and went away-- I never seen him since, until--today. Until--today--over there, this afternoon I seen him laughin’ with another kid, And mine right here, right here, do you understand?

THE STRANGER

I think I understand, but please go on.

THE WOMAN

I told you he’d put money in the drawer; I hated takin’ it; but o’ course it lasted For quite a while,--until I had to go And be took care of at a hospital. At first I tried to find him, but I knew He didn’t want me to. I thought perhaps When I could take the kid, he’d like it then. When I was packin’ up I found a paper, A bill, I guess, all rumpled, in a coat He left. It had a name I didn’t know. At first I didn’t think, but lyin’ there All quiet in the hospital I saw It was his name, his truly name, and where He lived and all. This afternoon my time Was up--by rights I’d oughta left the ward Four days ago. They gave me this, for the food, Directions how to fix it right, you know, And told me I could go, and so I came. I thought he’d surely want to see me now, When I was well again, just like I was.

I waited in the park and watched the house, It looked so big I couldn’t ring the bell. Maybe ’twas six o’clock I saw him come; Just by the steps a baby carriage turned And waited for him comin’ up the street. The woman wheelin’ it called out “Look there! There’s Daddy! Can’t you throw a kiss to him?” I saw him lift the baby ’way up high, And carry it in the house. Then I come here.

THE STRANGER

I see. And that is all you plan to do? I mean, you won’t go back?

THE WOMAN

What can I do? You see, he doesn’t want me any more. I’d like to die, but here’s the kid! I guess I can’t leave him. An’ anyway I’m ’fraid To die alone. I don’ know what I’ll do.

THE MAN

I wish that I could think of anything To say that maybe’d help a little bit. May I just--shake your hand?--Excuse me, Mister.

THE WOMAN

I didn’t know as you was listenin’ too.

THE MAN

Perhaps you’d like to hear what’s happened to me. You’ll see that somebody has known the like Of what you’re feelin’, maybe it will help.

THE STRANGER

Ah! I was right then? Both of you are troubled? The night has brought us three together here; We must be friends. It’s queer how loneliness Makes one reach one, as I have reached, to you. I think each one of us needs both the others.

THE MAN

Well, Mister, you don’t look as if you’d need Our help, but maybe you do, maybe, who knows? I’ll tell you what’s been happening to me. I’m sick of thoughts goin’ round and round and round, I wonder if anybody’ll ever know, I mean to understand, what I’ve been thinkin’.

THE STRANGER

Why don’t you start? We’ll try to understand.

THE MAN

I’ll tell you first that I’m a drinking man, And that’s a thing that causes lots of trouble. She’s not to blame, she stood it for a while. She had the children, there are two, you know, But I was pretty bad. I hated it, But there it was, and every day a fight, And oftener and oftener I’d lose. One day she went away and took the children. They served some papers on me; I was drunk And didn’t care; but pretty soon I knew That she had gone for good. A lawyer came And talked to me, after she’d talked to him. And afterwards I saw her in the Court. The Judge said I must leave our house, and if, For two years, I could cut the liquor out She’d let me back.