Gnatho

Gnatho, Satyr, homing at dusk,     Trotting home like a tired dog,     By mountain slopes 'twixt the junipers     And flamed oleanders near the sea,     Found a girl-child asleep in a fleece,     Frail as wax, golden and rose;     Whereat at first he skipt aside     And stayed him, nosing and peering, whereto     Next he crept, softly breathing,     Blinking his fear. None was there     To guard; the sun had dipt in the sea,     Faint fire empurpled the flow     Of heaving water; no speck, no hint     Of oar or wing on the main, on the deep     Sky, empty as a great shell,     Fainting in its own glory. This thing,     This rare breath, this miracle--     Alone with him in the world! His     To wonder, fall to, with craning eyes     Fearfully daring; next, since it moved not,     Stooping, to handle, to stroke, to peer upon     Closely, nosing its tender length,     Doglike snuffing--at last to kiss     In reverence wonderful, lightlier far     Than thistledown falls, brushing the Earth.     But the child awoke and, watching him, cried not,     Cruddled visage, choppy hands,     Blinking eyes, red-litten, astare,     Horns and feet--nay, crowed and strained     To reach this wonder.         As one a glass     Light as foam, hued like the foam,     A breath-bubble of fire, will carry,     He in arms lifted his freight,     Looking wonderfully upon it     With scarce a breath, and humbleness     To be so brute ebbed to the flood     Of pride in his new assurd worth--     Trusted so, who could be vile?     So to his cave in the wood he bore her,     Fleeting swift as a fear thro' the dark trees.     There in the silence of tall trees,     Under the soaring shafts,     Far beneath the canopied leafage,     In the forest whisper, the thick silences;     Or on the wastes     Of sheltered mountains where the spires     Of solemn cypress frame the descent     Upon the blue, and open to sea--     Here grew Ianthe maiden slim     With none to spy but this gnarled man-brute;     Most fair, most hid, like a wood-flower     Slim for lack of light; so she grew     In flowering line of limb     And flower of face, retired and shy,     Urged by the bland air; unknown,     Lonely and lovely, husbanding     Her great possessions--hers now,     Another's when he cared to claim them.     For thus went life: to lead the herds     Of pricking deer she saw the great stags     Battle in empty glades, then mate;     Thus on the mountains chose the bears,     And in the woods she heard the wolves     Anguishing in their loves     Thro' the dense nights, far in the forest.     And so collected went she, and sure     Her time would come and with it her master.     But Gnatho watcht her under his brows     When she lay heedless, spilling beauty--     How ever lovelier, suppler, sleeker,     How more desirable, how near;     How rightly his, how surely his--     Then gnaw'd his cheek and turn'd his head.     For unsuspect, some dim forbidding     Rose within him and knockt at his heart     And said, Not thine, but for reverence.     And some wild horror desperate drove him,     Suing a pardon from unknown Gods     For untold trespass, to seek the sea,     Upon whose shore, to whose cool breathing     He'd stretch his arms, broken with strife     Of self and self; and all that water     Steadfast lapt and surged. Came tears     To furrow his cheeks, came strength to return     To her, and bear with longer breath     Her sweet familiarities, blind     Obedience to nascent blind desire--     Till again he lookt and burn'd again.     Thus his black ferment boil'd. O' nights     He'd dream and revel frenziedly     As with the love-stung nymphs. Awake,     In a chill sweat, he'd tear at himself,     Claw at his flesh and leap in the brook,     Drench the red embers of his vice     Into a mass abhorred. Clean then,     He'd seek his bed and pass unscath'd     The bower of fern where the sleek limbs     Of white Ianthe, mesht in her hair,     Lay lax in sleep. But Gnatho now     Saw only God, as on some still peak     Snowy and lonely under the stars     We look, and see God in all that calm.     One night of glamour, under a moon     That seemed to steep the air with gold,     They two sat stilly and watcht the sea     Tremulously heaving over a path     Of light like a river of molten gold.     Warm blew the breeze to land; she lean'd     Her idle head, idly played     Her fingers in his belt, and he     Embracing held her, yielding, subdued;     Sideways saw the curve of her cheek,     Downcast lashes, droopt lip     Which seem'd to court his pleasure--         Then     On waves of fire came racing his needs     With zest of rage to possess and tear     That which his frenzy, maskt as love,     Courted: so he lean'd to her ear,     Thrilled in torrents hoarse his case--     "Love, I burn, I burn!     Slake me, love!" He raved in whisper.     And she lookt up with her wide full eyes,     Saying, "My love!" and yielded herself.     Deep night settled on hill and plain,     The moon went out, the concourse of stars     Lay strewn above, and with golden eyes     Peered on them lockt. Far and faint     The great stags belled; far and faint     Quested the wolves; the leopards' howling     Lent desolation to night; and low     The night-jar purr'd. At sea one light     Swayed restlessly, and on the rocks     Sounded the tireless lapping deep.     Lockt they lay thro' all the silences.     Dawn stole in with whimper of rain     And a wailing wind from the sea--     Gray sea, gray dawn and scurrying clouds     And scud of rain. The fisher boat,     The sands, the headlands fringed with broom     And tamarisk were blotted.         Alone,     Caged in the mist of earth     That beat his torment back to himself,     So that in vain he sought for the Gods,     And lifted up hands in vain     To witness this white wreck prone and still--     Gnatho the Satyr blinkt on his work.     1898-1912.