.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 40786
   :PG.Title: The Black Riders and Other Lines
   :PG.Released: 2012-09-17
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Stephen Crane
   :DC.Title: The Black Riders and Other Lines
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1905
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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THE BLACK RIDERS AND OTHER LINES
================================

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      Cover

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      THE BLACK RIDERS AND
      OTHER LINES

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      BY STEPHEN CRANE

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      PRIVATELY REPRINTED
      BY COURTESY OF SMALL,
      MAYNARD & COMPANY

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      Copyright, 1905, by Copeland & Day  

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   I

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   |   Black Riders came from the sea.
   |   There was clang and clang of spear and shield,
   |   And clash and clash of hoof and heel,
   |   Wild shouts and the wave of hair
   |   In the rush upon the wind:
   |   Thus the ride of Sin.

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   II

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   |   Three little birds in a row
   |   Sat musing.
   |   A man passed near that place.
   |   Then did the little birds nudge each other.
   |   They said, "He thinks he can sing."
   |   They threw back their heads to laugh,
   |   With quaint countenances
   |   They regarded him.
   |   They were very curious,
   |   Those three little birds in a row.

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   III

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   |   In the desert
   |   I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
   |   Who, squatting upon the ground,
   |   Held his heart in his hands,
   |   And ate of it.
   |   I said, "Is it good, friend?"
   |   "It is bitter--bitter," he answered;
   |   "But I like it
   |   Because it is bitter,
   |   And because it is my heart."

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   IV

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   |   Yes, I have a thousand tongues,
   |   And nine and ninety-nine lie.
   |   Though I strive to use the one,
   |   It will make no melody at my will,
   |   But is dead in my mouth.


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   V

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   |   Once there came a man
   |   Who said,
   |   "Range me all men of the world in rows."
   |   And instantly
   |   There was terrific clamor among the people
   |   Against being ranged in rows.
   |   There was a loud quarrel, world-wide.
   |   It endured for ages;
   |   And blood was shed
   |   By those who would not stand in rows,
   |   And by those who pined to stand in rows,
   |   Eventually, the man went to death, weeping.
   |   And those who staid in bloody scuffle
   |   Knew not the great simplicity.

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   VI

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   |   God fashioned the ship of the world carefully
   |   With the infinite skill of an All-Master
   |   Made He the hull and the sails,
   |   Held He the rudder
   |   Ready for adjustment.
   |   Erect stood He, scanning his work proudly.
   |   Then--at fateful time--a Wrong called,
   |   And God turned, heeding.
   |   Lo, the ship, at this opportunity, slipped slyly,
   |   Making cunning noiseless travel down the ways.
   |   So that, forever rudderless, it went upon the seas
   |   Going ridiculous voyages,
   |   Making quaint progress,
   |   Turning as with serious purpose
   |   Before stupid winds.
   |   And there were many in the sky
   |   Who laughed at this thing.



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   VII

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   |   Mystic Shadow, bending near me,
   |   Who art thou?
   |   Whence come ye?
   |   And--tell me--is it fair
   |   Or is the truth bitter as eaten fire?
   |   Tell me!
   |   Fear not that I should quaver,
   |   For I dare--I dare.
   |   Then, tell me!



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   VIII

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   |   I looked here;
   |   I looked there;
   |   Nowhere could I see my love.
   |   And--this time--
   |   She was in my heart.
   |   Truly, then, I have no complaint,
   |   For though she be fair and fairer,
   |   She is none so fair as she
   |   In my heart.



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   IX

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   |   I stood upon a high place,
   |   And saw, below, many devils
   |   Running, leaping,
   |   And carousing in sin.
   |   One looked up, grinning,
   |   And said, "Comrade!  Brother!"



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   X

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   |   Should the wide world roll away,
   |   Leaving black terror,
   |   Limitless night,
   |   Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand
   |   Would be to me essential,
   |   If thou and thy white arms were there,
   |   And the fall to doom a long way.



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   XI

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   |   In a lonely place,
   |   I encountered a sage
   |   Who sat, all still,
   |   Regarding a newspaper.
   |   He accosted me:
   |   "Sir, what is this?"
   |   Then I saw that I was greater,
   |   Aye, greater than this sage.
   |   I answered him at once,
   |   "Old, old man, it is the wisdom of the age."
   |   The sage looked upon me with admiration.



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   XII

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   |         "and the sins of the fathers shall be
   |         visited upon the heads of the children,
   |         even unto the third and fourth
   |         generation of them that hate me."

   |   Well, then, I hate thee, Unrighteous Picture;
   |   Wicked Image, I hate thee;
   |   So, strike with thy vengeance
   |   The heads of those little men
   |   Who come blindly.
   |   It will be a brave thing.



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   XIII

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   |   If there is a witness to my little life,
   |   To my tiny throes and struggles,
   |   He sees a fool;
   |   And it is not fine for gods to menace fools.



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   XIV

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   |   There was crimson clash of war.
   |   Lands turned black and bare;
   |   Women wept;
   |   Babes ran, wondering.
   |   There came one who understood not these things.
   |   He said, "Why is this?"
   |   Whereupon a million strove to answer him.
   |   There was such intricate clamor of tongues,
   |   That still the reason was not.



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   XV

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   |   "Tell brave deeds of war."

   |   Then they recounted tales,--
   |   "There were stern stands
   |   "And bitter runs for glory."

   |   Ah, I think there were braver deeds.



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   XVI

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   |   Chanty, thou art a lie,
   |   A toy of women,
   |   A pleasure of certain men.
   |   In the presence of justice,
   |   Lo, the walls of the temple
   |   Are visible
   |   Through thy form of sudden shadows.



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   XVII

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   |   There were many who went in huddled procession,
   |   They knew not whither;
   |   But, at any rate, success or calamity
   |   Would attend all in equality.

   |   There was one who sought a new road.
   |   He went into direful thickets,
   |   And ultimately he died thus, alone;
   |   But they said he had courage.



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   XVIII

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   |   In Heaven,
   |   Some little blades of grass
   |   Stood before God.
   |   "What did you do?"
   |   Then all save one of the little blades
   |   Began eagerly to relate
   |   The merits of their lives.
   |   This one stayed a small way behind,
   |   Ashamed.
   |   Presently, God said,
   |   "And what did you do?"
   |   The little blade answered, "Oh, my Lord,
   |   "Memory is bitter to me,
   |   "For, if I did good deeds,
   |   "I know not of them."
   |   Then God, in all His splendor,
   |   Arose from His throne.
   |   "Oh, best little blade of grass!" He said.



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   XIX

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   |   A god in wrath
   |   Was beating a man;
   |   He cuffed him loudly
   |   With thunderous blows
   |   That rang and rolled over the earth.
   |   All people came running.
   |   The man screamed and struggled,
   |   And bit madly at the feet of the god.
   |   The people cried,
   |   "Ah, what a wicked man!"
   |   And--
   |   "Ah, what a redoubtable god!"



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   XX

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   |   A learned man came to me once.
   |   He said, "I know the way,--come."
   |   And I was overjoyed at this.
   |   Together we hastened.
   |   Soon, too soon, were we
   |   Where my eyes were useless,
   |   And I knew not the ways of my feet
   |   I clung to the hand of my friend;
   |   But at last he cried, "I am lost."



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   XXI

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   |   There was, before me,
   |   Mile upon mile
   |   Of snow, ice, burning sand.
   |   And yet I could look beyond all this,
   |   To a place of infinite beauty;
   |   And I could see the loveliness of her
   |   Who walked in the shade of the trees.
   |   When I gazed,
   |   All was lost
   |   But this place of beauty and her.
   |   When I gazed,
   |   And in my gazing, desired,
   |   Then came again
   |   Mile upon mile,
   |   Of snow, ice, burning sand.



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   XXII

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   |   Once I saw Mountains angry,
   |   And ranged in battle-front.
   |   Against them stood a little man;
   |   Aye, he was no bigger than my finger.
   |   I laughed, and spoke to one near me,
   |   "Will he prevail?"
   |   "Surely," replied this other;
   |   "His grandfathers beat them many times."
   |   Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers,--
   |   At least, for the little man
   |   Who stood against the Mountains.



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   XXIII

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   |   Places among the stars,
   |   Soft gardens near the sun,
   |   Keep your distant beauty;
   |   Shed no beams upon my weak heart.
   |   Since she is here
   |   In a place of blackness,
   |   Not your golden days
   |   Nor your silver nights
   |   Can call me to you.
   |   Since she is here
   |   In a place of blackness,
   |   Here I stay and wait.



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   XXIV

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   |   I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
   |   Round and round they sped.
   |   I was disturbed at this;
   |   I accosted the man.
   |   "It is futile," I said,
   |   "You can never"--

   |   "You lie," he cried,
   |   And ran on.



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   XXV

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   |   Behold, the grave of a wicked man,
   |   And near it, a stern spirit.

   |   There came a drooping maid with violets,
   |   But the spirit grasped her arm.
   |   "No flowers for him," he said.
   |   The maid wept:
   |   "Ah, I loved him."
   |   But the spirit, grim and frowning:
   |   "No flowers for him."

   |   Now, this is it--
   |   If the spirit was just,
   |   Why did the maid weep?



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   XXVI

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   |   There was set before me a mighty hill,
   |   And long days I climbed
   |   Through regions of snow.
   |   When I had before me the summit-view,
   |   It seemed that my labor
   |   Had been to see gardens
   |   Lying at impossible distances.



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   XXVII

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   |   A youth in apparel that glittered
   |   Went to walk in a grim forest.
   |   There he met an assassin
   |   Attired all in garb of old days;
   |   He, scowling through the thickets,
   |   And dagger poised quivering,
   |   Rushed upon the youth.
   |   "Sir," said this latter,
   |   "I am enchanted, believe me,
   |   "To die, thus,
   |   "In this medieval fashion,
   |   "According to the best legends;
   |   "Ah, what joy!"
   |   Then took he the wound, smiling,
   |   And died, content.



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   XXVIII

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   |   "Truth," said a traveller,
   |   "Is a rock, a mighty fortress;
   |   "Often have I been to it,
   |   "Even to its highest tower,
   |   "From whence the world looks black."

   |   "Truth," said a traveller,
   |   "Is a breath, a wind,
   |   "A shadow, a phantom;
   |   "Long have I pursued it,
   |   "But never have I touched
   |   "The hem of its garment."

   |   And I believed the second traveller;
   |   For truth was to me
   |   A breath, a wind,
   |   A shadow, a phantom,
   |   And never had I touched
   |   The hem of its garment.



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   XXIX

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   |   Behold, from the land of the farther suns
   |   I returned.
   |   And I was in a reptile-swarming place,
   |   Peopled, otherwise, with grimaces,
   |   Shrouded above in black impenetrableness.
   |   I shrank, loathing,
   |   Sick with it.
   |   And I said to him,
   |   "What is this?"
   |   He made answer slowly,
   |   "Spirit, this is a world;
   |   "This was your home."



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   XXX

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   |   Supposing that I should have the courage
   |   To let a red sword of virtue
   |   Plunge into my heart,
   |   Letting to the weeds of the ground
   |   My sinful blood,
   |   What can you offer me?
   |   A gardened castle?
   |   A flowery kingdom?

   |   What?  A hope?
   |   Then hence with your red sword of virtue.



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   XXXI

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   |   Many workmen
   |   Built a huge ball of masonry
   |   Upon a mountain-top.
   |   Then they went to the valley below,
   |   And turned to behold their work.
   |   "It is grand," they said;
   |   They loved the thing.

   |   Of a sudden, it moved:
   |   It came upon them swiftly;
   |   It crushed them all to blood.
   |   But some had opportunity to squeal.



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   XXXII

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   |   Two or three angels
   |   Came near to the earth.
   |   They saw a fat church.
   |   Little black streams of people
   |   Came and went in continually.
   |   And the angels were puzzled
   |   To know why the people went thus,
   |   And why they stayed so long within.



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   XXXIII

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   |   There was one I met upon the road
   |   Who looked at me with kind eyes.
   |   He said, "Show me of your wares."
   |   And this I did,
   |   Holding forth one.
   |   He said, "It is a sin."
   |   Then held I forth another;
   |   He said, "It is a sin."
   |   Then held I forth another;
   |   He said, "It is a sin."
   |   And so to the end;
   |   Always he said, "It is a sin."
   |   And, finally, I cried out,
   |   "But I have none other."
   |   Then did he look at me
   |   With kinder eyes.
   |   "Poor soul!" he said.



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   XXXIV

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   |   I stood upon a highway,
   |   And, behold, there came
   |   Many strange pedlers.
   |   To me each one made gestures.
   |   Holding forth little images, saying,
   |   "This is my pattern of God.
   |   "Now this is the God I prefer."

   |   But I said, "Hence!
   |   "Leave me with mine own,
   |   "And take you yours away;
   |   "I can't buy of your patterns of God,
   |   "The little Gods you may rightly prefer."



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   XXXV

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   |   A man saw a ball of gold in the sky;
   |   He climbed for it,
   |   And eventually he achieved it--
   |   It was clay.

   |   Now this is the strange part:
   |   When the man went to the earth
   |   And looked again,
   |   Lo, there was the ball of gold.
   |   Now this is the strange part:
   |   It was a ball of gold.
   |   Aye, by the Heavens, it was a ball of gold.



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   XXXVI

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   |   I met a seer.
   |   He held in his hands
   |   The book of wisdom.
   |   "Sir," I addressed him,
   |   "Let me read."
   |   "Child--" he began.
   |   "Sir," I said,
   |   "Think not that I am a child,
   |   "For already I know much
   |   "Of that which you hold.
   |   "Aye, much."

   |   He smiled.
   |   Then he opened the book
   |   And held it before me.--
   |   Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.



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   XXXVII

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   |   On the horizon the peaks assembled;
   |   And as I looked,
   |   The march of the mountains began.
   |   As they marched, they sang,
   |   "Aye!  We come!  We come!"



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   XXXVIII

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   |   The ocean said to me once,
   |   "Look!
   |   "Yonder on the shore
   |   "Is a woman, weeping.
   |   "I have watched her.
   |   "Go you and tell her this,--
   |   "Her lover I have laid
   |   "In cool green hall.
   |   "There is wealth of golden sand
   |   "And pillars, coral-red;
   |   "Two white fish stand guard at his bier.

   |   "Tell her this
   |   "And more,--
   |   "That the king of the seas
   |   "Weeps too, old, helpless man.
   |   "The bustling fates
   |   "Heap his hands with corpses
   |   "Until he stands like a child,
   |   "With surplus of toys."



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   XXXIX

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   |   The livid lightnings flashed in the clouds;
   |   The leaden thunders crashed.
   |   A worshipper raised his arm.
   |   "Hearken!  Hearken!  The voice of God!"

   |   "Not so," said a man.
   |   "The voice of God whispers in the heart
   |   "So softly
   |   "That the soul pauses,
   |   "Making no noise,
   |   "And strives for these melodies,
   |   "Distant, sighing, like faintest breath,
   |   "And all the being is still to hear."



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   XL

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..

   |   And you love me?

   |   I love you.

   |   You are, then, cold coward.

   |   Aye; but, beloved,
   |   When I strive to come to you,
   |   Man's opinions, a thousand thickets,
   |   My interwoven existence,
   |   My life,
   |   Caught in the stubble of the world
   |   Like a tender veil,--
   |   This stays me.
   |   No strange move can I make
   |   Without noise of tearing.
   |   I dare not.

   |   If love loves,
   |   There is no world
   |   Nor word.
   |   All is lost
   |   Save thought of love
   |   And place to dream.
   |   You love me?

   |   I love you.

   |   You are, then, cold coward.

   |   Aye; but beloved--



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   XLI

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   |   Love walked alone.
   |   The rocks cut her tender feet,
   |   And the brambles tore her fair limbs.
   |   There came a companion to her,
   |   But, alas, he was no help,
   |   For his name was Heart's Pain.



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   XLII

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..

   |   I walked in a desert.
   |   And I cried,
   |   "Ah, God, take me from this place!"
   |   A voice said, "It is no desert."
   |   I cried, "Well, but--
   |   "The sand, the heat, the vacant horizon."
   |   A voice said, "It is no desert."



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   XLIII

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..

   |   There came whisperings in the winds
   |   "Good bye!  Good bye!"
   |   Little voices called in the darkness:
   |   "Good bye!  Good bye!"
   |   Then I stretched forth my arms.
   |   "No--no--"
   |   There came whisperings in the wind:
   |   "Good bye!  Good bye!"
   |   Little voices called in the darkness:
   |   "Good bye!  Good bye!"



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   XLIV

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..

   |   I was in the darkness;
   |   I could not see my words
   |   Nor the wishes of my heart.
   |   Then suddenly there was a great light--
   |   "Let me into the darkness again."



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   XLV

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..

   |   Tradition, thou art for suckling children,
   |   Thou art the enlivening milk for babes;
   |   But no meat for men is in thee.
   |   Then--
   |   But, alas, we all are babes.



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   XLVI

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..

   |   Many red devils ran from my heart
   |   And out upon the page,
   |   They were so tiny
   |   The pen could mash them.
   |   And many struggled in the ink.
   |   It was strange
   |   To write in this red muck
   |   Of things from my heart.



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   XLVII

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..

   |   "Think as I think," said a man,
   |   "Or you are abominably wicked;
   |   "You are a toad."

   |   And after I had thought of it,
   |   I said, "I will, then, be a toad."



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   XLVIII

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..

   |   Once there was a man,--
   |   Oh, so wise!
   |   In all drink
   |   He detected the bitter,
   |   And in all touch
   |   He found the sting.
   |   At last he cried thus:
   |   "There is nothing,--
   |   "No life,
   |   "No joy,
   |   "No pain,--
   |   "There is nothing save opinion,
   |   "And opinion be damned."



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   XLIX

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..

   |   I stood musing in a black world,
   |   Not knowing where to direct my feet.
   |   And I saw the quick stream of men
   |   Pouring ceaselessly,
   |   Filled with eager faces,
   |   A torrent of desire.
   |   I called to them,
   |   "Where do you go?  What do you see?"
   |   A thousand voices called to me.
   |   A thousand fingers pointed.
   |   "Look!  Look!  There!"

   |   I know not of it.
   |   But, lo! in the far sky shone a radiance
   |   Ineffable, divine,--
   |   A vision painted upon a pall;
   |   And sometimes it was,
   |   And sometimes it was not.
   |   I hesitated.
   |   Then from the stream
   |   Came roaring voices,
   |   Impatient:
   |   "Look!  Look!  There!"

   |   So again I saw,
   |   And leaped, unhesitant,
   |   And struggled and fumed
   |   With outspread clutching fingers.
   |   The hard hills tore my flesh;
   |   The ways bit my feet.
   |   At last I looked again.
   |   No radiance in the far sky,
   |   Ineffable, divine;
   |   No vision painted upon a pall;
   |   And always my eyes ached for the light.
   |   Then I cried in despair,
   |   "I see nothing! Oh, where do I go?"
   |   The torrent turned again its faces:
   |   "Look!  Look!  There!"
   |   And at the blindness of my spirit
   |   They screamed,
   |   "Fool!  Fool!  Fool!"




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   |   You say you are holy,
   |   And that
   |   Because I have not seen you sin.
   |   Aye, but there are those
   |   Who see you sin, my friend.



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   LI

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   |   A man went before a strange god,--
   |   The god of many men, sadly wise.
   |   And the deity thundered loudly,
   |   Fat with rage, and puffing,
   |   "Kneel, mortal, and cringe
   |   "And grovel and do homage
   |   "To my particularly sublime majesty."

   |             The man fled.

   |   Then the man went to another god,--
   |   The god of his inner thoughts.
   |   And this one looked at him
   |   With soft eyes
   |   Lit with infinite comprehension,
   |   And said, "My poor child!"



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   |   Why do you strive for greatness, fool?
   |   Go pluck a bough and wear it.
   |   It is as sufficing.

   |   My lord, there are certain barbarians
   |   Who tilt their noses
   |   As if the stars were flowers,
   |   And thy servant is lost among their shoe-buckles.
   |   Fain would I have mine eyes even with their eyes.

   |   Fool, go pluck a bough and wear it.



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   |   Blustering god,
   |   Stamping across the sky
   |   With loud swagger,
   |   I fear you not.
   |   No, though from your highest heaven
   |   You plunge your spear at my heart,
   |   I fear you not.
   |   No, not if the blow
   |   Is as the lightning blasting a tree,
   |   I fear you not, puffing braggart.


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   |   If thou can see into my heart
   |   That I fear thee not,
   |   Thou wilt see why I fear thee not,
   |   And why it is right.
   |   So threaten not, thou, with thy bloody spears,
   |   Else thy sublime ears shall hear curses.


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   |   Withal, there is one whom I fear;
   |   I fear to see grief upon that face.
   |   Perchance, Friend, he is not your god;
   |   If so, spit upon him.
   |   By it you will do no profanity.
   |   But I--
   |   Ah, sooner would I die
   |   Than see tears in those eyes of my soul.



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   |   "It was wrong to do this," said the angel.
   |   "You should live like a flower,
   |   "Holding malice like a puppy,
   |   "Waging war like a lambkin."

   |   "Not so," quoth the man
   |   Who had no fear of spirits;
   |   "It is only wrong for angels
   |   "Who can live like the flowers,
   |   "Holding malice like the puppies,
   |   "Waging war like the lambkins."



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   |   A man toiled on a burning road,
   |   Never resting.
   |   Once he saw a fat, stupid ass
   |   Grinning at him from a green place.
   |   The man cried out in rage,
   |   "Ah!  Do not deride me, fool!
   |   "I know you--
   |   "All day stuffing your belly,
   |   "Burying your heart
   |   "In grass and tender sprouts:
   |   "It will not suffice you."
   |   But the ass only grinned at him from the green place.



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   |   A man feared that he might find an assassin;
   |   Another that he might find a victim.
   |   One was more wise than the other.



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   |   With eye and with gesture
   |   You say you are holy.
   |   I say you lie;
   |   For I did see you
   |   Draw away your coats
   |   From the sin upon the hands
   |   Of a little child.
   |   Liar!



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   |   The sage lectured brilliantly.
   |   Before him, two images:
   |   "Now this one is a devil,
   |   "And this one is me."
   |   He turned away.
   |   Then a cunning pupil
   |   Changed the positions.
   |   Turned the sage again:
   |   "Now this one is a devil,
   |   "And this one is me."
   |   The pupils sat, all grinning,
   |   And rejoiced in the game.
   |   But the sage was a sage.



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   |   Walking in the sky,
   |   A man in strange black garb
   |   Encountered a radiant form.
   |   Then his steps were eager;
   |   Bowed he devoutly.
   |   "My Lord," said he.
   |   But the spirit knew him not.



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   |   Upon the road of my life,
   |   Passed me many fair creatures,
   |   Clothed all in white, and radiant.
   |   To one, finally, I made speech:
   |   "Who art thou?"
   |   But she, like the others,
   |   Kept cowled her face,
   |   And answered in haste, anxiously,
   |   "I am Good Deed, forsooth;
   |   "You have often seen me."
   |   "Not uncowled," I made reply.
   |   And with rash and strong hand,
   |   Though she resisted,
   |   I drew away the veil
   |   And gazed at the features of Vanity
   |   She, shamefaced, went on;
   |   And after I had mused a time,
   |   I said of myself,
   |                     "Fool!"



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   |   There was a man and a woman
   |   Who sinned.
   |   Then did the man heap the punishment
   |   All upon the head of her,
   |   And went away gayly.


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   |   There was a man and a woman
   |   Who sinned.
   |   And the man stood with her.
   |   As upon her head, so upon his,
   |   Fell blow and blow,
   |   And all people screaming, "Fool!"
   |   He was a brave heart.


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   |   He was a brave heart.
   |   Would you speak with him, friend?
   |   Well, he is dead,
   |   And there went your opportunity.
   |   Let it be your grief
   |   That he is dead
   |   And your opportunity gone;
   |   For, in that, you were a coward.



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   |   There was a man who lived a life of fire.
   |   Even upon the fabric of time,
   |   Where purple becomes orange
   |   And orange purple,
   |   This life glowed,
   |   A dire red stain, indelible;
   |   Yet when he was dead,
   |   He saw that he had not lived.



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   LXIII

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   |   There was a great cathedral.
   |   To solemn songs,
   |   A white procession
   |   Moved toward the altar.
   |   The chief man there
   |   Was erect, and bore himself proudly.
   |   Yet some could see him cringe,
   |   As in a place of danger,
   |   Throwing frightened glances into the air,
   |   A-start at threatening faces of the past.



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   |   Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground,
   |   Why do you stand, expectant?
   |   Do you hope to see it
   |   In one of your withered days?
   |   With your old eyes
   |   Do you hope to see
   |   The triumphal march of Justice?
   |   Do not wait, friend
   |   Take your white beard
   |   And your old eyes
   |   To more tender lands.



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   |   Once, I knew a fine song,
   |   --It is true, believe me,--
   |   It was all of birds,
   |   And I held them in a basket;
   |   When I opened the wicket,
   |   Heavens!  They all flew away.
   |   I cried, "Come back, little thoughts!"
   |   But they only laughed.
   |   They flew on
   |   Until they were as sand
   |   Thrown between me and the sky.



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   |   If I should cast off this tattered coat,
   |   And go free into the mighty sky;
   |   If I should find nothing there
   |   But a vast blue,
   |   Echoless, ignorant,--
   |   What then?



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   |   God lay dead in Heaven;
   |   Angels sang the hymn of the end;
   |   Purple winds went moaning,
   |   Their wings drip-dripping
   |   With blood
   |   That fell upon the earth.
   |   It, groaning thing,
   |   Turned black and sank.
   |   Then from the far caverns
   |   Of dead sins
   |   Came monsters, livid with desire.
   |   They fought,
   |   Wrangled over the world,
   |   A morsel.
   |   But of all sadness this was sad,--
   |   A woman's arms tried to shield
   |   The head of a sleeping man
   |   From the jaws of the final beast.



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   |   A spirit sped
   |   Through spaces of night;
   |   And as he sped, he called,
   |   "God!  God!"
   |   He went through valleys
   |   Of black death-slime,
   |   Ever calling,
   |   "God!  God!"
   |   Their echoes
   |   From crevice and cavern
   |   Mocked him:
   |   "God!  God!  God!"
   |   Fleetly into the plains of space
   |   He went, ever calling,
   |   "God!  God!"
   |   Eventually, then, he screamed,
   |   Mad in denial,
   |   "Ah, there is no God!"

   |   A swift hand,
   |   A sword from the sky,
   |   Smote him,
   |   And he was dead.

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