Part 1
HEAVENS AND EARTH A BOOK OF POEMS
BY
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
[Illustration: [Logo]]
NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1920
COPYRIGHT, 1920 BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
TO GEORGE THEODORE ACHELIS 1897–1920
Grateful acknowledgment is made to _Ainslie’s Magazine_, _The Bowling Green_, _Books and the Book World_, _The Dial_, _The New Republic_, _Romance_, _Sun_, _The Sun Dial_, _The Yale Review_ and _The Yale Literary Magazine_ for permission to reprint poems included in this volume.
CONTENTS
TWO VISIONS OF HELEN PAGE THE FIRST VISION OF HELEN 3 THE LAST VISION OF HELEN 9
CHARIOTS AND HORSEMEN THE RETORT DISCOURTEOUS 21 TWO AT THE CROSSROADS 23 SIR JOHN RIMBECK TO THE PRINCESS OF ACRE 25 THREE DAYS’ RIDE 26 THE PLOW (_A New England Tragedy_) 30
THE TALL TOWN COLLOQUY OF THE STATUES (_The Avenue. Night Before Pershing’s Parade_) 39 LUNCH-TIME ALONG BROADWAY 41 THE WALKERS (_Strike Pickets—Lower Fifth Ave._) 42 8:30 A. M. ON 32ND STREET 44 CHANSON AT MADISON SQUARE 46 HYMN IN COLUMBUS CIRCLE (_After Seeing a Certain Window Display_) 48
APPLES OF EDEN THE ETCHER 51 GRAND LARCENY 53 NOVEMBER PROTHALAMION 55 EXPRESSIONS NEAR THE END OF WINTER 57 LOST LIGHTS 58 COME BACK! 60 RESURRECTION (_To J. W. A._) 62 FLOOD-TIDE (_Maine Coast—1917_) 65 THE SONG OF COLD AND PAIN 67 WISDOM-TEETH 69
THE KINGDOM OF THE MAD THE ORIGINAL IMPULSE 75 LUNCH AT A CITY CLUB (_For, though not to, D. M. C._) 76 THE KNOCKOUT 77 DEVOURER OF NATIONS 78 ABRAHAM’S BOSOM 79 PROHIBITION 80 MORTUARY PARLORS 81 TALK 82 NEARSIGHT 83 BEFORE MICHAEL’S LAST FIGHT 84 ALWAYS THE SONNETTEER 85 PORTRAIT OF YOUNG LOVE 86 TWO MORE MUSES 87 OPERATION (_For J. F. C., Jr._) 88 THE TRAPEZE PERFORMER (_For C. M._) 89 EPITAPH TO BE SPOKEN 90 JUDGMENT 91 BOARDING-HOUSE HALL 92 BLOOD BROTHERS 93 WATCHMEN 94 “LES CRUCHES CASSÉES” 95 P. P. C.—MADAM LIFE 96 POSITIVELY THE LAST PERFORMANCE 97
TWO VISIONS OF HELEN
THE FIRST VISION OF HELEN
_Argument—Itys, nurtured by centaurs, meets and falls in love with Helen of Troy, before her marriage with Menelaus. What befell therefrom._
Slowly blanch-handed Dawn, eyes half-awake, Upraised magnificent the silver urn, Heaped with white roses at the trembling lip, Flowers that burn with crystalline accord And die not ever. Like a pulsing heart Beat from within against the fire-loud verge A milky vast transparency of light Heavy with drowning stars; a swimming void _Morning._ Of august ether, formless as the cloud, And light made absolute. The mountains sighed, Turning in sleep. Dawn held the frozen flame An instant high above the shaggy world, Then, to the crowing of a thousand cocks, Poured out on earth the unconquerable sun!
The centaurs awoke! they aroused from their beds of pine, Their long flanks hoary with dew, and their eyes, deep-drowned In the primal slumber of stones, stirred bright to the shine! And they stamped with their hooves and their gallop abased the ground!
Swifter than arrowy birds in an eager sky, _The_ White-browed kings of the hills where old Titans feast, _Running_ —Cheiron ordered the charge with a neighing cry, _of the_ And the thousand hunters tramped like a single beast! _Centaurs._
Beautiful monstrous dreams they seemed as they ran, Trees come alive at the nod of a god grown mute! Their eyes looked up to the sun like a valiant man; Their bows clashed shrill on the loins and limbs of the brute!
Laughing, rejoicing, white as a naked birch, Slim as a spear in a torrent of moving towers, Itys, the prince, ran gay in the storm of their search, Silverly shod on feet that outstripped the Hours!
Over by Sparta bays a horn! _Ohé, Helena!_ Over by Sparta bays a horn! And the black hound grins to his milk-teeth torn; And the tall stag wishes he’d never been born! _Helena hunts on the hills!_
Past the Eurotas the chase sweeps hot! _Ohé, Helena!_ Past the Eurotas the chase sweeps hot! And the pack has nosed at a royal slot! And a white-armed girl has a magic lot! _Helena hunts on the hills!_
Echoed at Elis the dogs give tongue! _Ohé, Helena!_ Echoed at Elis the dogs give tongue! The stag flees on but his mort is sung! _The Hunting_ And the world and Helen are very young! _of_ _Helena hunts on the hills!_ _Helen._
Down by Argos the flight is stayed! _Ohé, Helena!_ Down by Argos the flight is stayed! And proud blood stifles the reeking blade!
And they cut the tongue for the golden maid! _Helena hunts on the hills!_
Over in Troy by a kingly door, _Ohé, Helena!_ Over in Troy by a kingly door, Hector’s sword is asleep from war! “Wait!” whines the bitter steel, “Two years more!” _Helena hunts on the hills!_
So the two molten clamors fused a space As silver marries brass to make a bell, Then thrust apart and vanished, save for some Faint interlocking tentacles of sound That chimed to Itys. Something halted him From the swift gallop and the embracing air, Put in him troubling languor, drove him out To rest beside a round coin of a pool, Casually flung among a cloud of pines. He dreamed as a dog dreams, uneasily.
The dreams blow North and South. Pitiless-bright they gleam. Send, Zeus, a flower across my mouth! The wing of a silver dream!
The visions smoke from the deep, _Itys_ Bannering East and West. _Dreams_ Guide, Zeus, the stumbling old feet of Sleep, That bring a dream to my breast!
I have gazed in immaculate eyes! My soul is a flame astream! Zeus, strike swift from the raging skies, That I may die with my dream!
He waked and saw two hounds, tugging their leash, Burst through the covert, and heard laughter bell Like a clear stream as Helen followed them. They drank, were quiet. Itys stood at gaze; _Itys_ Seeing in all things one miraculous face, _Beholds_ And how her tunic left one bright breast bare, _Helen_ And how she smoothed her hair back with one hand.... But very presently he was aware That some one not himself possessed his voice And used it now to talk with—babbling words Foolish and laughable to that still Beauty.
Tempest from the valiant sky, Music of the shaken reed, Can a thousand kisses buy You and April, mine indeed? _Fling the dice and let them lie!_
Not a joy from all your mind Will you toss me, beggar’s dole, And you never would be kind _Itys’_ Though I kissed your very soul! _Song_ _Race the coursers up the wind!_
Queen of desperate alarms, Though Destruction be the priest That must bring me to your arms, He shall wed our bones at least! _Life was vintage, borage-crowned, Pour the cup upon the ground!_
Vines grow in my garden; Blossoms a snake in size. Sun warms and knife-winds harden, Till the silk-stained globes arise; And men peer over the hedges With fury come in their eyes.
Pears grow in my garden; Honey a wild bee clips. _Helen’s_ Robbers afraid of pardon, _Song_ The princes steal from their ships, And pluck the fruit of iniquity And take it not from their lips.
Fate grows in my garden; Black as a cypress shoot. Sleepily smiles the warden, Guarding the gorgeous loot, Seeing the Tree, Deliciousness, And the tall lords dead at its root!
Their lips broke from the kiss. Helena sighed, Then started up, afraid. Straight toward the pool Rending the brake with hounds, shouting aloud, Crashed like a cast spear the returning chase. _The Death_ “Itys!” she said, “My brothers. They will kill.” _of Itys_ He looked down at his hands that held no sword. Helena’s hounds belled answer to their pack. Swift as a closing hand, unreal as dream, Danger shut down around them. “Dear” he said. Pollux, the shining-speared, burst through the leaves.
After the slaying, wide-eyed Helen paused To clasp the dead hands loosely, and unhook A swaying torque of gold from the white neck That it might burn, a sun, between her breasts. —The chase passed with hot noon, and in the cool A straying centaur came, snuffed the new blood And, seeing Itys dead, neighed in loud fear; Calling the hairy tramplers of the woods To mourn their friend with strange solemnities.
Close his eyes with the coins; bind his chin with the shroud; Carry this clay along, in the time of the westing cloud; Lay you the cakes beside, for the three-mouthed dog of Hell; _Death-_ Slain on the grass in fight, surely his end is well. ‰_Chant of The Centaurs_‰
Love was the wind he sought, ignorant whence it went; Now he has clasped it close, silent and eloquent; Slow as the stream and strong, answering knee to knee, Carry this clay along—it is more wise than we.
The chanting died away upon the hills, Sobbingly low. And Night reversed the urn; _Night_ Drawing all sunlight back to the hot deeps, And leaving the high heavens full of stars.
THE LAST VISION OF HELEN
_Argument—Helen, after the fall of Troy, departs to Egypt with ghostly companions, as in the old tale. She encounters the Sphinx and a marvel is wrought upon her._
Measureless sand ... interminable sand....
The smooth hide of that yellow lion, Earth, Ruffled a little and was dark again Beneath the descending torrents of the night, Plunging like cobalt from the cliffs of the sky, Blotting the stiff wedge of each pyramid With the slow gurgle of a rising wave, A wave burning with stars....
The Sphinx alone Couched on her forepaws like a sleepy hound Under the weight of a caress of rock And smiled her woman’s and chimera’s smile Inexorably, drowned with the savage dark.
The black tide filled the heavens up and ceased, A little tongueing flame ran on the sand Bright as a fire of paper, swift and light As a bird’s restless eyes. It rose. It bloomed, An angry dream before the Sphinx’s feet, The exhalation of a furious thought, Tall as the ghosts of Heaven’s battlements, The apparition that had once been Troy!
A girl went out in the summer skies, (_The dice lie white for the throwing!_) A girl went out in the summer skies And the sunlight laughed as it kissed her eyes! (_And the wind of Fate is blowing!_) _Song of the City Troy_
She was ruddy and gold as a changing leaf When gilded Autumn gathers the sheaf.
She was lily and pale as a sleeping moth When the full moon bleaches the skies like cloth.
The grass was glad to be under her shoe, The poppy proud to be floor unto The silvering dance of her feet like dew!
... But her lord walks chill as a cloud of snow Where the kings of the earth are bending the bow.
They are roaring the fame of the flying dart, But he whispers low, in a place apart, With the evil ice of his freezing heart.
“Helena, Helena, mouth of wine, Two more days for your sun to shine!
Helena, Helena, mouth of musk. Two more days and I make you dusk.
Two more nights on your silky bed, And your lover over it, bloody and dead, And your body broken as I break bread!”
His lips are writhing, sucking and cold, His hands are twitching like trees grown old, He shivers as if he had trod on mold.
The _Golden Queen_ at her anchor strains. (_Sails on the sapphire, snowing_) Paris walks on the deck like a man in chains. (_And the wind of Fate is blowing._)
He wastes in his love like leaves in a flame, But his mind is a spear in a dauntless game, And the face of his doom has a girl’s soft name.
The fifty sailors are whetting their swords. The brown sun beats on the tarry boards.
And Helena skims by the rolling sand And waves with the fleck of a foam-white hand.
And the blood of Youth pounds hot in the throat As the long oars lash from the lunging boat.
Richly she came through the leaping green, Like the shrine of a god, like a sun first seen, And they cried “Hurrah for the Golden Queen!”
The white sails soar like a rising gull, The water spins by the speeding hull.
She smiles with her chin cupped into her hand At the drowning shadow of fading land —And Paris shakes like a torching brand.
And Paris crushes her, breath to breath, And she gives him her honey of love and death.
But chill Menelaus a Fury hath, He has thawed his hate to a roaring wrath! He is loosing his hounds on the ocean-path!
The blooms of the years are withered and fall. (_Dawn—and a red flame crowing_) And Time’s cracked fingers number them all. (_And the wind of Fate is blowing._)
And a wooden horse is trampling Troy As a hoof-thrust crushes a crumpling toy.
Ruddy and gold where the torches stare Helena sits in her carven chair.
Lovely and strange as a moonlit cloud— But her head droops down like a petal bowed.
Beneath her the blood and the wine run deep —But her eyes are seas more quiet than sleep.
The drunkards brawl and the cup goes round; But she gives no sign and she makes no sound.
Red Menelaus has poured her drink; And she does not sip and she does not shrink.
And her mouth is a flower that says “Depart!” And the hilt of a knife is under her heart.
The kings of the world have finished their chase, They dash their wine in the glorious face.
And Paris is dead in a sickly land; And they wrench the rings from the plume-white hand.
They dice for her rings and the game is sweet And lean Menelaus is smiling sleet.
And the captains chuckle, counting their scars, For the hosts of the earth have finished their wars And Helen and Troy are cold as the stars.
Waves in the dusk with a sound like tears (_And the deep tide foaming and flowing_) Saying one name for a thousand years! (_And the wind of Fate is blowing!_)
Like air beaten by swords, like the long cry Of an old trumpet harsh with rust and gold The ballad rose assaulting, struck and died Into a clamorous echo. The Sphinx stirred, Shaking the drifted moonlight from her coat As a dog shakes water, rising mountainously; Then from that drum of terrible stone, her throat, Rolled back her answer at the enormous sky.
The arrow of Eros flies _The Song_ In the dark, in the trembling dark; _of the_ Piercing and sweet is the song it cries _Sphinx_ And the cup of the heart its mark! And the cup of the heart is dust, And the wine of the heart is spilled. And the barb flings whimpering back to Lust With “Master, see—I have killed!” _It was thus and thus that you were begot! I am Death’s bright arrow! Forgive me not!_
The ribbon of Fate unreels In the road of the days and nights;
There are flute-voiced airs for the dancing heels, But over them hang the kites! And the path grows dark as the laws And the kites drop down in a ring, Till a blind stag torn by the slashing claws Is the end of the trumpeting! _It is there and there that your fathers rot! I am Destiny’s halter! Unloose me not!_
The mirror of Wisdom shines Like a face in a troubled pool. Like the eyes of a snake are its weaving signs To the eyes of the anxious fool. For the secret form of the soul Is there in its terror shown —And it rends the sight like a crumbling coal Till the eyes of the fool are stone! _It was this and this that your ardor sought! I am Wisdom’s mirror! Behold me not!_
Then, like a forgotten tumult of the heart, The multitude of men who died for Helen, Vague, terrible, wounded forms began to chant.
Glance at us once from your sacred tower, Helen divine! The cutworm crawls in the almond-flower, The rats are eating the thrones of power, _Song of_ Yet glance at us once and the clouds will shower _the Men_ Our lips with wine! _of Helen_
Loosen your hair to the storm again, To the whistling brine! We are very desperate men,
Reeds when fire goes over the fen, Lighten our dark with your marvel then, Helen divine!
Give us drink for our bitter thirst, Helen divine! Bless you the thieves that each priest has cursed, Queen of us, queen of us, last and first, Flame we followed and child we nursed, Star at trine!
Open the heaven of your embrace, Oh burning sign! This is the end of the bloody race, Whispering sea and the stars like lace, You gather our souls to your shining place, Helen divine!
The thunder ebbed away into a sigh, Died into sand, was calm. And suddenly Helen of anguish, Helen of the song, Helen the victory on the lips of Zeus, Helen the princely word, the proud despair, The voiceless cry of the ecstatic dream, Shone with the radiance of a consuming wish Upon the desert, and stretched out her arms As if to take that whole great ghost of Troy, Pennon and panoply, champion and car, Back to its home, her breast.
Would there ever be a bud _Helen’s_ If the sap considered storm? _Song_ It would stay in happy mud,
Damned and sleepy, safe and warm! Who would want to be a rose If its petals thought of snows?
Why I lived I never knew. Life—I took it like a toy, Something like a worship, too, To adore and to enjoy. Then the gods began to play —And the toy was put away.
Like a perfume made intense, Like the planet of a dark, I became magnificence For my hour, in my spark, There is rapture in my ghost, Telling all my least and most.
Fate and Wisdom, judging loud, These are shadows I can mock With the thoughtlessness of cloud, With the indolence of rock. Let them air the inn they keep! I am tired. I would sleep.
So, with the pause, all earth and sky were still As if they had just been made—and the Sphinx lay Silent, engulfed in silence. Then she moved Uneasily, and settled back again, And in a low harshness of diminished sound Spoke out her final judgment.
Zeus of the silver dawning took the scarf of a cloud, He quickened the wraith with fire till the life cried out aloud,
He called Desire from his lightning, Despair from her weaving old, And they fashioned the shape to a woman that men might die to behold!
Golden Zeus of the sunbeam slapped his hand on his thigh _The Last_ As the swords ran out of their scabbards and the arrows sang in the sky, _Song of the_ And the woman like leafy April was the chant that an archer sings _Sphinx_ Over sands grown bloody with purple that has come from the hearts of kings!
Zeus of the brazen twilight, nodding his eyes awake, Armed him a doom for Helen lest Earth burn up for her sake; Chill on the heart of incense, the hands that desired so much, Fell the snow-like veil of his wisdom, till the flesh was still at its touch!
Iron Zeus of the night-time, watching the chariot moon Trample the skies to whiteness, turns like a moving dune To gaze at the shade of Helen. His eyes as the skies are vast; Seeing her sleep like a swallow in Death’s wide bed at last.
Helen stood Within the tremendous circle of the paws, Moving like light towards the dark secret heart. The Sphinx cried terribly with a wordless sound Of birth and anguish struggling to be heard ... And the light vanished ... And Helen and the Sphinx Were one forever, stone and ghost and dream— And Troy was gone like vapor in the dark.
So the dawn came, and toiling caravans, Whose princes halted, arrogant as hawks, To stare but once into the Sphinx’s eyes ... And so were staring till Death breathed on them With the slant feathers of his ruffling wing, Seeking within the rock, the stubborn rock. The gaze and burning of their Lost Desire.
CHARIOTS AND HORSEMEN
THE RETORT DISCOURTEOUS
(_Italy—16th Century_)
But what, by the fur on your satin sleeves, The rain that drags at my feather And the great Mercurius, god of thieves, Are we thieves doing together?
Last night your blades bit deep for their hire, And we were the sickled barley. To-night, atoast by the common fire, You ask me to join your parley.
Your spears are shining like Iceland spar, The blood-grapes drip for your drinking; For you folk follow the rising star, I follow the star that’s sinking!
My queen is old as the frosted whins, Nay, how could her wrinkles charm me? And the starving bones are bursting the skins In the ranks of her ancient army.
You marshal a steel-and-silken troop, Your cressets are fed with spices, And you batter the world like a rolling hoop To the goal of your proud devices.
I have rocked your thrones—but your fight is won. To-night, as the highest bidder, You offer a share of your brigand-sun, Consider, old bull, consider!
Ahead, red Death and the Fear of Death, Your vultures, stoop to the slaughter! But I shall fight you, body and breath, Till my life runs out like water!
My queen is wan as the Polar snows. Her host is a rout of specters. But I gave her Youth like a burning rose, And her age shall not lack protectors!
I would not turn for the thunderclap Or the face of the woman who bore me, With her battered badge still scarring my cap, And the drums of defeat before me!
Roll your hands in the honey of life! Kneel to your white-necked strumpets! You came to your crowns with a squealing fife But I shall go out with trumpets!
Poison the steel of the plunging dart! Holloa your hounds to their station! I march to my ruin with such a heart As a king to his coronation!
Your poets roar of your golden feats— I have herded the stars like cattle. And you may die in the perfumed sheets, But I shall die in the battle!
TWO AT THE CROSSROADS