Archibald MacLeish

“ What fool desires a woman that no arms
May crush the wine of, and no lips find sweet?
All
Helen of Troy, Call Helen up, Call Helen!
Matthiolus
Show us that mind can fashion out of air
The beauty that the flesh surrendered up. ”

“ But you, for you old magics yet remain
Of restless whispering winds that press along
Dim casements of the sense-enshuttered brain.
Beauty has called you, and the worlds that wane
From crescent into crescent of thin song. ”

“ Never stop the piping of the Pan god's tune:—
⁠"Life's a music hath no word,
⁠Death's a lute no hand has stirred,
Eternity's a rondeau in an old, old rune."
⁠Never stop their piping there,
⁠Never yield them—never spare,
⁠Lest thou dream Christ's lily fair—
⁠More fair than thou. ”

“ That withdrawing leaves thereunder
Vanishing, dim legends where it clomb.
Unforgotten, unremembered
Shall thy beauty haunt the brain
Like old magic cities embered
Where the golden sunsets wane;—
Ah, my love let be to-morrow! ”

“ Light as a swallow wheels and dips
⁠Above the flowing grain.
The Song of Songs it was, strange wrought
⁠Beyond the heather hills
From memories and dreams, and taught
By shepherd women who had caught
⁠Its lilt from mountain rills. ”

“ And all the sweetness of slow tears
Is turned to mockery.
O white Lord Christ, Thy love's caress,
Thy prophecy that saith
These dead shall wake from weariness,
Shames all who mourn for death ”

“ How worlds are spawned and where the dead gods go,—
All shall be shard of broken memories.
And there shall linger other, magic things,—
The fog that creeps in wanly from the sea,
The rotten harbor smell, the mystery
Of moonlit elms, the flash of pigeon wings,
The sunny Green, the old-world peace that clings
About the college yard, where endlessly
The dead go up and down. These things shall be
Enchantment of our hearts' rememberings. ”

“ Our yesterday is dawned from infinite
Oblivion; to-morrow's fading light
Shall darken to that misted morn, and lo!
No terror clothes the oblivion we know.
Breathe deep the gloaming of death's second night. ”

“ Plucking from Autumn's lap of days
Gold fruits of life to crush and eat,
Yet lustful are his lips always,
For only dreams of love are sweet."
But last I learned the truth of love,
That carnal love the world obeys. ”

“ A LIBRARY OF LAW
Adjudicated quarrels of mankind,
Brown row on row!—how well these lawyers bind
Their records of dead sin,—as if they feared
The hate might spill and their long shelves be smeared
With slime of human souls,—brown row on row
Span on Philistine span, a greasy show
Of lust and lies and cruelty, dried grime
Streaked from the finger of the beggar, Time. ”

“ Into to-morrow;
⁠There go
The seed of God
Toward the furrow;
⁠I know
Where shines the sun
On windy spaces,
⁠Where low
The shadows run,
The swallow races;
⁠But Oh!
When youth is gone
The glory passes. ”

“ Stings unseeing eyes with sight,
Mocks the heart's uncertainty
With itself, stern infinite,
Numbs the brain that comprehends
Neither end nor endlessness,—
Save the solemn flesh that tends
Solemnly its vineyard press ”

“ And cows of rich autumnal hues
⁠A-browse in flowered meads,
And shepherd dogs in buffs and blues
⁠And shepherd boys in tweeds.
She weaves them all into a net,
⁠And, silk for Circe's wine,
Enchants them there with mignonette
⁠In intricate design. ”

“ Again Tintagel's towers stand,
⁠And blows the corn again,
⁠The russet corn again.
Again, again the shoreward waves
⁠Make wondrous undertone,
That whispers down the forest naves
⁠When melody is flown,
⁠When twilight birds are flown. ”

“ Bobbing in stolen milk,
Or hear Baron Thrush to the cherries,
Or touch spider silk?
How, when no flesh makes you weary,
How will you find your rest,
Heels to the logs and brown sherry,
When body is dust? ”

“ And passion's cup holds bitter lees,
⁠And pale, soft hands grow cold;
All shimmering reality,
⁠The world that shines and seems,
The earth, the mountains and the sea,
⁠Are shadows of old dreams. ”

“ Of Wittenberg's immortals. But no smoke
Of Alexander. 'Twas a tearful king,
A bulk of griefs.
Christopher
⁠The Apostate Julian
Declares his soul had entered into flesh
Before he conquered Persia. He would be
No better than a lion.
Fritz
⁠Circe then!
We'll have a woman. What's an age-dead man?
Old heroes are as thick as water-cress.
But women, Ah!—the roses that are fallen,
Stars that are dust, old sorrows and old songs!
What woman?
Matthiolus
⁠Helen of Troy!
All
⁠Helen of Troy!
Come, call her back for us, let us see Helen! ”

“ And through the voices of the fields
⁠A sweeter voice that said,
"It is the coward heart that yields
To dreams its heritage, nor wields
⁠A sword unscabbarded."
Ah, voice that singeth bravely there,
⁠Dost think that dreams are peace? ”

“ Breathes in the hush, and troubled thunder crawls
Along the rim of earth. 'Tis almost time,
'Tis almost midnight. Hearken!
Faustus
⁠So, my boy!
'Twill be at midnight. Naming of a name
Ne'er brought Shekinah sooner to the ark.
Wagner [hurriedly]
You told them, master, how the bells were rung
At Rome to flout the devil. Tell them now
How you became Mahomet.
Faustus
⁠Ha! Mahomet!
To see me clad in linen setting forth
A crocodility of hours and houris!
The sultan prayed to me; but Moslem faith
Is no theology for scholars. Phew! ”

“ The great room of an ancient tavern in the village of Rimlich. Stubs of candles guttering in their sconces on the back wall, and a smouldering fire in a wide chimney-place give an uncertain light. Three students from Wittenberg sit together at one end of the oak table. They are singing in high good humor. ”

“ OUR LADY OF TROY
[In the Dutch translation of the original Faust Legend, published by Spiess in Frankfurt in 1587, it is established that the "notorious sorcerer and black-artist" was seized by the Devil at midnight on the 23d of October, 1538, while sitting with a company of students in the tavern of Rimlich near Wittenberg.] ”