Stephen Vincent Benét

“ Blessed are fools! A gift remains for those!" His hand sought out his sword, and lightnings flared Across the sky in one great bloom of fire. Poised like a toppling mountain, it hung bared; Suns that were jewels glared Along its hilt. The air burnt like a pyre. Once more the genie spoke: "Something I owe To thee, thou fool, thou fool. Come, canst thou sing? Yea? Sing then; if thy song be brave, then go Free and released — or no! Find first some task, some overmastering thing I cannot do, and find it speedily, For if thou dost not thou shalt surely die!" The sword whirled back. ”

“ It may well be that the rebirth of poetry is to be manifest in a reappearance of the obvious, —in a love of the sea and of the beauty of clouds, in the adventure of death and the yet more amazing adventure of living, in a vital love of colour, whether of the Orient or the drug-shop, in childlike love of melody, and the cool cleansing of rain, in strange faces and old memories. ”

“ One alone sings not. Tiredly She sees the white blooms crushed, and smells The heavy scent. They chatter: "See! White Zira thinks of nothing else But the morn's jollity — "Then Haroun takes her!" But she dreams, Unhearing, of a certain field Of poppies, cut by many streams, Like lines across a round Turk shield, Where now the hot sun gleams. The field whereon they walked that day, And splendor filled her body up, And his; and then the trampled clay, And slow smoke climbing the sky's cup From where the village lay. ”

“ Their shouts rolled to the rafters, The drink-horns crashed and rang, And all their talk was a clangor of war, As swords together sang! But dimly, through the deep night, Where stars like flowers shone, A passionate shape came gliding — I saw one thing alone. I only saw my young love Shining against the dark, The whiteness of her raiment, The head that bent to hark. I only saw my young love, Like flowers in the sun — Her hands like waxen petals, Where yawning poppies run. I only felt there, chrysmal, Against my cheek her breath, Though all the winds were baying, And the sky bright with Death. ”

“ The Quality of Courage Black trees against an orange sky, Trees that the wind shook terribly, Like a harsh spume along the road, Quavering up like withered arms, Writhing like streams, like twisted charms Of hot lead flung in snow. Below The iron ice stung like a goad, Slashing the torn shoes from my feet, And all the air was bitter sleet. And all the land was cramped with snow, Steel-strong and fierce and glimmering wan, Like pale plains of obsidian. — And yet I strove — and I was fire And ice — and fire and ice were one In one vast hunger of desire. ”

“ A dim desire, of pleasant places, And lush fields in the summer sun, And logs aflame, and walls, and faces, — And wine, and old ambrosial talk, A golden ball in fountains dancing, And unforgotten hands. (Ah, God, I trod them down where I have trod, And they remain, and they remain, Etched in unutterable pain, Loved lips and faces now apart, That once were closer than my heart — In agony, in agony, And horribly a part of me.... For Lethe is for no man set, And in Hell may no man forget.) ”

“ The strength more sure than surety, The mercy that endures. "Then, though they give you to be burned, And slay you like a stoat, You have found the world's heart in the turn of a cheek, Heaven in the lift of a throat. "Although they break you on the wheel, That stood so straight in the sun, Behind you the trumpets split the sky, Where the lost and furious fight goes by — And God, our God, will have victory When the red day is done!" ”

“ Like a wind-blown fruit between sea and sun, A black thing writhed at a yard-arm. Slowly then, and awesomely, The ship sank, and the gallows-tree, And there was nought between sea and sun — Nought but the sun and the sky and the sea. But down by the marsh where the fever breeds, Only the water chuckles and pleads; For the hemp clings fast to a dead man's throat, And blind Fate gathers back her seeds. ”

“ Their great vans beat the cloven air, like eagles they mount up, Motes in the wine of morning, specks in a crystal cup, And lest his wings should melt apace old Daedalus flies low, But Icarus beats up, beats up, he goes where lightnings go. He cares no more for warnings, he rushes through the sky, Braving the crags of ether, daring the gods on high, Black 'gainst the crimson sunset, golden o'er cloudy snows, With all Adventure in his heart the first winged man arose. ”

“ Still in deep-hushed woods, When the incredible silver of the moon Comes like a living wind through sleep-bowed branches, Still steal dark shapes from the enchanted glens, Which yet are purple with high dreams, and still Fronting that quiet and eternal shield Which is much more than Peace, does there still stand One sharp black shadow — and the short, smooth horns Are clear against that disk? ”

“ Now he shouts, now he sings in the rapture of his wings, And his great heart burns intenser with the strength of his desire, As he circles like a swallow, wheeling, flaming, gyre on gyre. Gazing straight at the sun, half his pilgrimage is done, And he staggers for a moment, hurries on, reels backward, swerves In a rain of scattered feathers as he falls in broken curves. Icarus, Icarus, though the end is piteous, Yet forever, yea, forever we shall see thee rising thus, See the first supernal glory, not the ruin hideous. ”

“ And all around Are devils. One can laugh... but that hunched shape The face one stone, like those Assyrian kings! One sees in carvings, watching men flayed red Horribly laughable in leaps and writhes; That face — utterly evil, clouded round With evil like a smoke — it turns smiles sour! ... And Nero there, the flabby cheeks astrain And sweating agony... long agony... Imperishable, unappeasable For ever... well... it droops the mouth. Till I Look up. There's one blue patch no smoke dares touch. Sky, clear, ineffable, alive with light, Always the same... ”

“ A wind puffed out his mind's faint spark. He was absorbed into the dark. He woke again and felt a surge Within him, a mysterious urge That grew one hungry flame of passion; The whole world altered shape and fashion. Deceived, befooled, bereft and torn, He scourged the heavens with his scorn, Lifting a bitter voice to cry Against the eternal treachery — Till, suddenly, he found the breast, And ceased, and all things were at rest, The earth grew one warm languid sea And he a wave. ”

“ Opium — brown and warm and slender-breasted She rises, shaking off the cool black water, And twisting up her hair, that ripples down, A torrent of black water, to her feet; How the drops sparkle in the moonlight! Once I made a rhyme about it, singing softly: Over Damascus every star Keeps his unchanging course and cold, The dark weighs like an iron bar, The intense and pallid night is old, Dim the moon's scimitar. Still the lamps blaze within those halls, Where poppies heap the marble vats For girls to tread ”

“ Half-blotting with dark the deeper dark of her hair, Where she lies, head pillowed on arm, and one hand curved round To shield the white face and neck from the faint thin glare. Gently she breathes — and the long limbs lie at ease, And the rise and fall of the young, slim, virginal breast Is as certain-sweet as the march of slow wind through trees, Or the great soft passage of clouds in a sky at rest. ”

“ Agony. Agony. Something stirs in the window, Shattering the moonlight. White wings fan. Father, Father! All its plumage fiery with the starshine, Nacreous, shimmering, weeping, iridescent, It drifts across the floor and mounts the bed, To the tap of little satin shoes. Gazing with infernal eyes. Its quick beak thrusting, rending, devil's crimson... Screams, great tortured screams shake the dark canopy. The light flickers, the shadow in the corner stirs; The wax face lifts; the eyes open. ”

“ Nos Immortales Perhaps we go with wind and cloud and sun, Into the free companionship of air; Perhaps with sunsets when the day is done, All's one to me — I do not greatly care; So long as there are brown hills — and a tree Like a mad prophet in a land of dearth — And I can lie and hear eternally The vast monotonous breathing of the earth. ”

“ Brazen helms and cars Clanged to a fierce resurgence of old wars Above the screaming horns. In state they passed, Trampling and splendid on and sought the vast — Rending the darkness like a leaping knife, The flame, the noble pageant of our life! The burning seal that stamps man's high indenture To vain attempt and most forlorn adventure; Romance, and purple seas, and toppling towns, And the wind's valiance crying o'er the downs ”

“ I, I have praised thee, yet I do not know What moves my mind so strangely, save that once I lay all night upon a thymy hill, And watched the slow clouds pass like heaped-up foam Across blue marble, till at last no speck Blotted the clear expanse, and the full moon Rose in much light, and all night long I saw Her ordered progress, till, in midmost heaven, There came a terrible silence, and the mice Crept to their holes, the crickets did not chirp, All the small night-sounds stopped — and clear pure light Rippled like silk over the universe, Most cold and bleak ”

“ Winged Man The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits, The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates, The cliffs were robed in scarlet, the sands were cinnabar, Where first two men spread wings for flight and dared the hawk afar. There stands the cunning workman, the crafty past all praise, The man who chained the Minotaur, the man who built the Maze. ”

“ Pouring and dripping on the roofs and rods, Smelling of woods and hills and fresh-turned sods, Black on the sidewalks, gray in the far sky, Crashing on thirsty panes, on gutters dry, Hurrying the crowd to shelter, making fair The streets, the houses, and the heat-soaked air, — Merciful, holy, charging, sweeping, flashing, It smote the soul with a most iron clashing!... ”

“ Space grew a toy for children's play, Sleep bolted fast the gates of Sense — He lay in naked impotence; Like a drenched moth that creeps and crawls Heavily up brown, light-baked walls, To fall in wreck, her task undone, Yet somehow striving toward the sun. ”

“ Others with subtle hands may pluck the strings, Making even Love in music audible, And earth one glory. I am but a shell That moves, not of itself, and moving sings; Leaving a fragrance, faint as wine new-shed, A tremulous murmur from great days long dead. ”

“ She is all peace, all quiet, All passionate desires, the eloquent thunder Of new, glad suns, shouting aloud for joy, Over fresh worlds and clean, trampling the air Like stooping hawks, to the long wind of horns, Flung from the bastions of Eternity... ”

“ Choosing to breathe, not stifle and be wise, And let the air pour in upon my cage. The breeze blows cool and there are stars and stars Beyond the dark, soft masses of the elms That whisper things in windy tones and light. They seem to wheel for dim, celestial wars ”

“ Hot white sand The lazy body lies at rest in, Or sun-dried, scented grass to nest in, And fires, innumerable fires, Great fagots hurling golden gyres Of sparks far up, and the red heart In sea-coals, crashing as they part To tiny flares, and kindling snapping, Bunched sticks that burst their string and wrapping And fall like jackstraws ”

“ But in the body of woman He raises up the dead. "Gracile and straight as birches, Swift as the questing birds, They fill true-lovers' drink-horns up, Who speak not, having no words. "Love is not delicate toying, A slim and shimmering mesh; It is two souls wrenched into one, Two bodies made one flesh. "Lust is a sprightly servant, Gallant where wines are poured; Love is a bitter master, Love is an iron lord. ”

“ My body becomes strange, the sun takes it and changes it, it does not feel, it is like the body of another. The air blazes. The air is diamond. Small noises move among the grass... Blackly, A hawk mounts, mounts in the inane Seeking the star-road, Seeking the end... ”

“ This, in the past, has been poetry, and this will be poetry again. The singer who, out of a full heart, can offer to the world his vision of its beauty, and out of a noble mind, his conception of its destiny, will bestow upon his time the most precious gift which we can now receive, the gift of his healing power. ”

“ Satin ease of the body, Fattened sloth of the hands, These and their like he will not send, Only immortal fires to rend — And the world's end is your journey's end, And your stream chokes in the sands. ”

“ I have known hours, slow and golden-glowing, Lovely with laughter and suffused with light, O Lord, in such a time appoint my going, When the hands clench, and the cold face grows white, And the spark dies within the feeble brain, Spilling its star-dust back to dust again. ”

“ Colors bloomed and fled, Maroon and turquoise, saffron, red, Wave upon wave that broke and whirled To vanish in the grey-green gloom, Perspectiveless and shadowy. A bulging world that had no walls, A flowing world, most like the sea, Compassing all infinity Within a shapeless, ebbing room, An endless tide that swells and falls... ”

“ Love in Twilight There is darkness behind the light — and the pale light drips Cold on vague shapes and figures, that, half-seen loom Like the carven prows of proud, far-triumphing ships — And the firelight wavers and changes about the room, As the three logs crackle and burn with a small still sound ”

“ Ghosts of a Lunatic Asylum Here, where men's eyes were empty and as bright As the blank windows set in glaring brick, When the wind strengthens from the sea — and night Drops like a fog and makes the breath come thick ”