Emblems Of Love, Part III Virginity And Perfection

JUDITH     I     THE BESIEGED CITY OF BETHULIA     JUDITH (at the window of an upper room of her house).     This pitiable city! - But, O God,     Strengthen me that I bend not into scorn     Of all this desperate folk; for I am weak     With pitying their lamentable souls.     Ah, when I hear the grief wail'd in the streets,     And the same breath their tears nigh strangle, used     To brag the God in them inviolate     And fighting off the hands of the heathen, - Lord,     Pardon me that I come so near to scorn;     Pardon me, soul of mine, that I have loosed     The rigour of my mind and leant towards scorn! -         Friends, wives and husbands, sons and daughters, dead     Of plague, famine, and arrows: and the houses     Battered unsafe by cannonades of stone     Hurled in by the Assyrians: the town-walls     Crumbling out of their masonry into mounds     Of foolish earth, so smitten by the rams:     The hunger-pangs, the thirst like swallowed lime     Forcing them gulp green water maggot-quick     That lurks in corners of dried cisterns: yea,     Murders done for a drink of blood, and flesh     Sodden of infants: and no hope alive     Of rescue from this heat of prisoning anguish     Until Assyrian swords drown it in death; -     These, and abandoned words like these, I hear     Daylong shrill'd and groan'd in the lanes beneath.     What needeth Holofernes more? The Jews,     The People of God, the Jews, lament their fortune;     Their souls are violated by the world;     Jewry is conquered; and the crop of men     Sown for the barns of God, is withered down,     Like feeblest grass flat-trodden by the sun,     In one short season of fear. Yea, swords and fire     Can do no more destruction on this folk:     A fierce untimely mowing now befits     This corn incapable of sacred bread,     This field unprofitable but to flame!         What should the choice of God do for a people,     But give them souls of temper to withstand     The trying of the furnace of the world? -     And they are molten, and from God's device     Unfashion'd, crazed in dismay; yea, God's skill     Fails in them, as the skill a founder put     In brass fails when the coals seize on his work.     For this fierce Holofernes and his power,     This torture poured on the city, is no more     Than a wild gust of wicked heat breathed out     Against our God-wrought souls by the world's furnace.     No new thing, this camp about the city:     Nebuchadnezzar and his hosted men     But fearfully image, like a madman's dream,     The fierce infection of the world, that waits     To soil the clean health of the soul and mix     Stooping decay into its upward nature.     Soul in the world is all besieged: for first     The dangerous body doth desire it;     And many subtle captains of the mind     Secretly wish against its fortune; next,     Circle on circle of lascivious world     Lust round the foreign purity of soul     For chance or violence to ravish it.         But the pure in the world are mastery.     Divinely do I know, when life is clean,     How like a noble shape of golden glass     The passions of the body, powers of the mind,     Chalice the sweet immortal wine of soul,     That, as a purple fragrance dwells in air     From vintage poured, fills the corrupting world     With its own savour. And here I am alone     Sound in my sweetness, incorrupt; the rest     (They noise it unashamed) are stuff gone sour;     The world has meddled with them. They have broacht     The wine that had pleas'd God to flocking thirst     Of flies and wasps, to fears and worldly sorrows.     Nay, they are poured out into the dung of the world,     And drench, pollute, the fortune of their state,     When they should have no fortune but themselves     And the God in them, and be sealed therein.         Ah, my sweet soul, that knoweth its own sweetness,     Where only love may drink, and only - alas! -     The ghost of love. But I am sweet for him,     For him and God, and for my sacred self!         But hark, a troop of new woe comes this way,     Making the street to ring and the stones wet     With cried despair and brackish agony.     CITIZENS lamenting in the street below.     They have crawled back like beasts dying of thirst,     The life all clotted in them. They went out     Soldiers, and back like beaten dogs they came     Breathing in whines, slow maimed four-footed things     On hands and knees degraded, groaning steps.     Their brains were full of battle, they were made     Of virtue, brave men; now in their brains shudder     Minds that cringe like children burnt with fever.     Often they stood to face the enemies' ranks     All upright as a flame in windless air,     Wearing their arm and the bright skill of swords     Like spirits clad in flashing fire of heaven;     And now in darken'd rooms they lie afraid     And whimper if the nurse moves suddenly. -     Ah God, that such an irresistible fiend,     Pain, in the beautiful housing of man's flesh     Should sleep, light as a leopard in its hunger,     Beside the heavenly soul; and at a wound     Leap up to mangle her, the senses' guest! -     That in God's country heathen men should do     This worse than murder on men full of God!     Judith.     What matter of new wailing do your tongues     Wear in this shivering misery of sound?     A Citizen.     The captains which were chosen to go out     And treat with Holofernes have come back.     Judith.     And did the Ninevite demon treat with them?     A Citizen.     The words they had from him were flaying knives,     And burning splinters fixt in their skinless flesh,     And stones thrown till their breasts were broken in.     Judith.     What, torture our embassage?     A Citizen.             Yea, for he means     Nothing but death to all the Jews he takes.     Another.     There was a jeering word tied round the neck     Of each tormented man: "Behold, ye Jews,     These chiefs of yours have learnt to crawl in prayer     Before the god Nebuchadnezzar; come,     Leave your city of thirst and your weak god,     And learn good worship even as these have learnt."     Another.     I saw them coming in: O horrible!     With broken limbs creeping along the ground -     Judith.     Were I a man among you, I would not stay     Behind the walls to weep this insolence;     I'ld take a sword in my hand and God in my mind,     And seek under the friendship of the night     That tent where Holofernes' crimes and hate     Sleep in his devilish brain.     A Citizen.             There is no night     Where Holofernes sleeps, as thou couldst tell.     Didst thou not shut thyself up in thine ease     Away from the noise and tears of common woe.     Come to the walls this evening, and I'll show thee     The golden place of light, the little world     Of triumphing glory framed in midst of the dark,     Pillar'd on four great bonfires fed with spice,     Enclosing in a globe of flame the tent     Wherein the sleepless lusts of Holofernes     Madden themselves all night, a revel-rout     Of naked girls luring him as he lies     Filling his blood with wine, the scented air     Injur'd marvellously with piping shrills     Of lechery made music, and small drums     That with a dancing throb drive his swell'd heart     Into desires beyond the strength of man.     Judith.     And this beast is thine enemy, God!     Another Citizen.             Nor beast,     Nor man, but one of those lascivious gods     Our lonely God detests, Chemosh or Baal     Or Peor who goes whoring among women.     Another.     And now come down braving in God's own land,     Pitching the glory of his fearful heaven     All night among God's hills.     Judith.             You fools, he is     A life our God could snap as a woman snaps     Thread of her sewing.     A Citizen.             Who shall break him off,     Who on the earth, from his huge twisted power?     Another.     For in his brain, as in a burning-glass     Wide glow of sun drawn to a pin of fire,     Are gathered into incredible fierceness all     The rays of the dark heat of heathen strength.     Another.     His eyes, they say, can kill a man.     Another.             And sure     No murder could approach his naming nights.     Another.     Unless it came as a woman at whose beauty     His lust hath never sipt; for into his flesh     To drink unknown desirable limbs as wine     Torments him still, like a thirst when fever pours     A man's life out in drenching sweats.     Judith.             Peace, peace;     The siege hath given you shameless tongues, and minds     No more your own: yea, the foul Ninevite     Hath mastered you already, for your thoughts     Dwell in his wickedness and marvel at it.     Hate not a thing too much, lest you be drawn     Wry from yourselves and close to the thing ye hate.     A Citizen.     We know thy wisdom, Judith; but our lives     Belong to death; and wisdom to a man     Dying, is water in a broken jar.     Judith.     Yea, if thou wilt die of a parching mouth.     A Citizen.     Thou art rich, and thou hast much cool store of wine.     But the town thirsts, and every beat of our blood     Hastens us on to maniac agony.     The Assyrians have our wells, and half the tanks     Are dry, and the pools shoal with baking mud:     The water left to us is pestilent.     And therefore have we asked the governors     For death: and it is granted us.     Another.             Five days     Hath Prince Ozias bidden us endure.     Another.     For there are still fools among us who dare trust     God has not made a bargain of our lives.     Another.     We are a small people, and our war is weak:     Who knows whether our God doth not desire     Armies and great plains full of spears and horses,     And cities made of bronze and hewn white stone     And scarlet awnings, throng'd with sworded men,     To shout his name up from the earth and kill     All crying at the gates of other heavens;     And hath grown tired of peaceable praise and folk     That in a warren of dry mountains dwell,     Whose few throats can make little noise in heaven.     A Young Man.     For sure God's love hath wandered to strange nations;     His pleasure in the breasts of Jerusalem     Is a delight grown old. Yea, he would change     That shepherd-woman of the earthly cities,     Whose mind is as the clear light of her hills,     Full of the sound of a hundred waters falling;     And poureth his desire out, belike,     Upon that queen the wealth of the world hath clad,     Babylon, for whose golden bed the gods     Wrangle like young men with great gifts and boasts;     Whose mind is as a carbuncle of fire,     Full of the sound of amazing flames of music.     Another.     Yea, what can Israel offer against her,     Whom the rich earth out of her mines hath shod,     And crowned with emeralds grown in secret rocks,     Who on her shoulders wears the gleam of the sea's     Purple and pearls, and the flax of Indian ground     Is linen on her limbs cool as moonlight,     And fells of golden beasts cover her throne;     Whose passion moves in her thought as in the air     Melody moves of flutes and silver horns:     What can Jerusalem the hill-city     Offer to keep God's love from Babylon?     Judith.     What but the beauty of holiness, and sound     Of music made by hearts adoring God?     You that speak lewdly of God, you yet shall see     Jerusalem treading upon her foes.     But what was that of five days one of you spoke?     A Citizen.     Ozias sware an oath: hast thou not heard?     Judith.     No, for I keep my mind away from your tongues     Wisely. Who walks in wind-blown dust of streets,     That hath a garden where the roses breathe?     A Citizen.     I have no garden where the roses breathe;     I have a city full of women crying     And babies starving and men weak with thirst     Who fight each other for a dole of water.     Another.     Not only thou hast pleasant garden-hours,     Judith, here in Bethulia; the Lord Death     Has bought the city for his garden-close,     And saunters in it watching the souls bloom     Out of their buds of flesh, and with delight     Smelling their agony.     Another.             But in five days     Either our God will turn his mind to us,     Or, if he careth not for us nor his honour,     Ozias will let open the main gate     And let the Assyrians end our dreadful lives.     Judith.     O I belong to a nation utterly lost!     God! thou hast no tribe on the earth; thy folk     Are helpless in the living places like     The ghosts that grieve in the winds under the earth.     Remember now thy glory among the living,     And let the beauty of thy renown endure     In a firm people knitted like the stone     Of hills, no mischief harms of frost or fire;     But now dust in a gale of fear they are.     They have blasphemed thee; but forgive them, God;     And let my life inhabit to its end     The spirit of a people built to God. -     So you have given God five days to come     And help you? You would make your souls as wares     Merchants hold up to bidders, and say, "God,     Pay us our price of comfort, or we sell     To death for the same coin"? Five days God hath     To find the cost of Jewry, or death buys you?     A Citizen.     Here comes Ozias: ask him.     Judith.             Hold him there.             [JUDITH comes down into the street.]     Ozias.     Judith, I came to speak with thee.     Judith.             And I     Would speak with thee. What tale is this they tell     That thou hast sworn to give this people death?     Ozias.     In five days those among us who still live     Will have no souls but the fierce anguish of thirst.     If God ere then relieves us, well. If not,     We give ourselves away from God to death.     Judith.     Darest thou do this wickedness, and set     Conditions to the mercy of our God?     Ozias.     Death hath a mercy equal unto God's. -     Look at the air above thee; is there sign     Of mercy in that naked splendour of fire?     Too Godlike! We are his: he covers us     With golden flame of air and firmament     Of white-hot gold, marvellous to see.     But whom, what heathen land hated of God,     Do his grey clouds shadow with comfort of rain?     Over our chosen heads his glory glows:     And in five days the torment in his city     Will be beyond imagining. We will go     Through swords into the quiet and cloud of death.     Judith.     Ozias, wilt thou be an infamy?     Bethulia fallen, all Judea lies     Open to the feet and hoofs of Assyria.     Ozias.     Yea, and what doth Judea but cower down     Behind us? There's no rescue comes from there.     We are alone with Holofernes' power.     Judith.     But if we hold him off, will he not grant     The meed of a brave fight, captivity? -     Or we may treat with him, make terms for yielding.     Ozias.     We know his mind: he hath written it plain     In the torn flesh of our ambassadors.     His mind to us is death; we can but choose     Between sharp swords and the slow slaying of thirst.     Judith.     He may torment us if we yield.     Ozias.             He may.     But not to yield is grisly and sure torment.     Judith.     There must be hope, if we could reckon right!     Ozias.     Well, thou and God have five days more to build     A bridge of hope over our broken world.     And, for the town even now fearfully aches     In scalding thirst, not five days had I granted,     Had it not been for somewhat I must say     Secretly to thee.     Judith.             Secretly? Then here;     Send off these men to labour at their groans     Elsewhere; for not within my house thou comest;     I'll have no thoughts against God in my house.             [OZIAS disperses the citizens.]     Ozias.     Judith, we are two upright minds in this     Herd of grovelling cowardice. We should,     To spiritual vision which can see     Stature of spirit, seem to stand in our folk     Like two unaltered stanchions in the heap     Of a house pulled down by fire. I know thy soul     Tempered by trust in God against this ruin;     But not in God, but in mortality     Thy soul stands founded; and death even now     Is digging at thy station in the world;     And as a man with ropes and windlasses     Pulls for new building columns of wreckt halls     Down with a breaking fall, so death has rigged     His skill about us, so he will break us down,     Ruin our height and courage; and as stone,     Carved with the beautiful pride of kings, hath made,     Hammer'd to rubble and ground for mortar, walls     Of farms and byres, our kill'd and broken natures,     With all their beauty of passion, yea, and delight     In God, death will shape and grind up to new     Housing for souls not royal as we are,     New flesh and mind for mean souls and dull hearts:     For death is only life destroying life     To roof the coming swarms in mortal shelter     Of flesh and mind experienced in joy.     Judith.     Thy specious prologue means no good, I trow.     Thou wert to tell me wherefore for five days     We may pretend to be God's people still;     Why thou didst not make us over to death     Soon as the folk began to wail despair.     Ozias.     This reasoning will tell thee why. - No need,     I think, to bring up into speech the years     Since in the barley-field Manasses lay     Shot by the sun. I tried (nor failed, I think),     To hold thy soul up from its hurt, and be     Somewhat of sight to thee, until thy long     Blind season of disaster should be changed.     Always I have found friendship in thine eyes;     And pleasant words, and silences more pleasant,     Have made us moments wherein all the world     Left our sequester'd minds; so that I dared     Often believe our friendliness might be     The brink of love.     Judith.             Stop! for thou hast enough     Disgraced mine ears.     Ozias.             I pray thee hear me out.     The dream of loving thee and being loved     Hath been my life; yea, with it I have kept     My heart drugg'd in a long delicious night     Colour'd with candles of imagined sense,     And musical with dreamt desire. I said,     The day will surely come upon the world,     To scatter this sweet night of fantasy     With morning, pour'd on my dream-feasted heart     Out of thine eyes, Judith. And yet I still     Feared for my dream, even as a maiden fears     The body of her lover. But, in the midst     Of all this charm'd delaying, - behold Death     Leapt into our world, lording it, standing huge     In front of the future, looking at us!     Thou seest now why, when the people came     Crying wildly to be given up to death,     I bade them wait five days? - That I at last     Might stamp the image of my glorious dream     Upon the world, even though it be wax     And the fires are kindling that must melt it out.     Judith, thou hast now five days more to live     This life of beautiful passion and sweet sense:     And now my love comes to thee like an angel     To call thee out of thy visionary love     For lost Manasses, out of ghostly desire     And shadows of dreams housing thy soul, that are     Vainer than mine were, dreams of dear things which death     Hath for ever broken; and lead thy life     To a brief shadowless place, into an hour     Made splendid to affront the coming night     By passion over sense more grandly burning     Than purple lightning over golden corn,     When all the distance of the night resounds     With the approach of wind and terrible rain,     That march to torment it down to the ground.     Judith, shall we not thus together make     Death admirable, yea, and triumph through     The gates of anguish with a prouder song     Than ever lifted a king's heart, who rode     Back from his war, with nations whipt before him,     Into trumpeting Nineveh?     Judith.             Thou fool,     Death is nothing to me, and life is all.     But what foul wrong have I done to thee, Ozias,     That thou shouldst go about to put such wrong     Into my life as these defiling words?     Ozias.     Is it defilement to hear love spoken?     Judith.     Yes! thou hast soiled me: to know my beauty,     Wherewith I loved Manasses, and still love,     Has all these years dwelt in thy heart a dream     Of favourite lust, - O this is foul in my mind.     Ozias.     I meant not what thou callest lust, but love.     Judith.     What matters that? Thou hast desired me.     And knowing that, I feel my beauty clutch     About my soul with a more wicked shame     Than if I lived corrupt with leprosy.     Ozias.     Wilt thou still let the dead have claim on thee?     Judith, wilt thou be married to a grave?     Judith.     I am married to my love; and it is vile,     Yea, it is burning in me like a sin,     That when my love was absent, thy desire     Shouldst trespass where my love is single lord.     Ozias.     This is but superstition. Love belongs     To living souls. It is a light that kills     Shadows and ghosts haunting about the mind.     Yea, even now when death glooms so immense     Over the heaven of our being, Love     Would keep us white with day amid the dark     Down-coming of the storm, till the end took us.     And joy is never wasted. If we love,     Then although death shall break and bray our flesh,     The joy of love that thrilled in it shall fly     Past his destruction, subtle as fragrance, strong     And uncontrollable as fire, to dwell     In the careering onward of man's life,     Increasing it with passion and with sweetness.     Duty is on us therefore that we love     And be loved. Wert thou made to set alight     Such splendour of desire in man, and yet,     For a grave's sake, keep all thy beauty null,     And nothing be of good nor help to thy kind?     Judith.     Help? What help in me?     Ozias.             To let go forth     The joy whereof thy beauty is the sign     Into the mind of man, and be therein     Courage of golden music and loud light     Against his enemies, the eternal dark     And silence.     Judith.             Ah, not thus. Yet - could I not help? -     Why talk we? What thing should I say to thee     To pierce the pride of lust wrapping thy heart?     How show thee that, as in maidens unloved     There is virginity to make their sex     Shrink like a wound from eyes of love untimely,     So in a woman who hath learnt herself     By her own beauty sacred in the clasp     Of him whom her desire hath sacred made,     There is a fiercer and more virgin wrath     Against all eyes that come desiring her?     [A Psalm of many voices strikes their ears, and through the street pass old men chanting, followed and answered by a troop of young men.]     Chorus: Old Men.     Wilt thou not examine our hearts, O Lord God of our strength?     Wilt thou still be blindly trying us? Wilt thou not at length     Believe the crying of our words, that never our knees have bent     To foreign gods, nor any Jewish mouth or brain hath sent     Prayers to beseech the favour of abominable thrones     Worshipt by the heathen men with furnaces, wounds, and groans?     Young Men.     And what good in our lives, strength or delighted glee,         Hath God paid to purchase our purity?     Though lust starve in our flesh, still he devises fire         To prove our lives pure as his fierce desire.     With huge heathenish tribes roaring exultant here,         Jewry fights as maid with a ravisher:         Tribes who better than we deal with the gods their lords,     For they pleasantly sin, yet the gods sharpen and drive their swords.     Old Men.     Hast thou not tried us enough, Jehovah? Hast thou found any fire     Will draw from our hearts a smoke of burn'd idolatrous desire?     There is none in us, Lord: no other God in us but thee;     Only thy fires make our clean souls glitter with agony.     Pure we are, pure in our prayers, pure our souls look to thee, Lord;     And to be shewn to the world devoured by evil is our reward.     Young Men.             We whose hearts were alone giving our God renown,          Under the wheels of hell we are fallen down!         False the heaven we built, fashion'd of purity;          'Tis heathen heavens, made out of sin, stand high.         Come, make much of our God! Comfort his ears with song,          Lest his pride the gods with their laughter wrong,         Seeing, huddled as beasts held by a fearful night     Full of lions and hunger, his folk crouch to the heathen might.     Old Men.     Jehovah, still we refrain from crying to the infamous gates     That open easily into the heavens thy mind of jealousy hates.     Power is in them: hast thou no power? Wilt thou not beware     Lest thy mood now press our minds to venturous despair?     Young Men.     Fool'd, fool'd, fool'd are our lives, held by the world in jeer;         With crazed eyes we behold veils of enormous fear         Hiding dreadfully those marvellous gates and stairs     Where the heathen delighted with sin throng with their prosperous prayers.     Old Men.     Yea, hung like the front of pestilent winds, thunderous dark before     The way into the heathen heavens, terrible curtains pour,     Webs of black imagination and woven frenzy of sin;     And yet we know power on earth belongs to those within.     Young Men.      Yea, through Jehovah's jealousy,          Burning dimly at last we see          The great brass made like rigid flame,          The gates of the heavens we dare not name.          Take hold of wickedness! Yea, have heart          To tear the darkness of sin apart;          And find, beyond, our comforted sight          Flash full of a glee of fiery light, -          The gods the heathen know through sin,          The gods who give them the world to win!     Judith.     This may I not escape. My world hath need     Of me who still hold God firm in my mind.     It is no matter if I fail: I must     Send the God in me forth, and yield to him     The shaping of whatever chance befall. -     Ozias! hateful thou hast made thyself     To me; for thou hast hatefully soiled my beauty,     My preciousest, given me to attire my soul     For her long marriage festival of life.     Yet I must make request to thee, and thou     Must grant it. When the sun is down to-night,     Quietly set the main gate open: I     Will pass therethrough and treat with Holofernes.     Ozias.     What, wilt thou go to be murdered by these fiends?     Judith.     Ask nothing, but do simply my request.     Ozias.     I will: so thou shalt know the reverent heart     I have for thee, although its worship thou     So bitterly despisest; but thy will     Shall be a sacred thing for me to serve.     Thou hast thy dangerous demand, because     It is thou who askest, it is I who may     Grant it to thee, - this only! Yea, I will send     Thy heedless body among risks that thou,     Looking alone at the great shining God     Within thy mind, seest not; but I see     And sicken at them. Yet do I not require     Thy purpose; whether thy proud heart must have     The wound of death from steel that has not toucht     The peevish misery these Jews call blood;     Whether thy mind is for velvet slavery     In the desires of some Assyrian lord -     Forgive me, Judith! there my love spoke, made     Foolish with injury; and I should be     Unwise to stay here, lest it break the hold     I have it in. I go, and I am humbled.     But thou shalt have thy asking: the gate is thine.             [He goes.]     Judith.     How can it harm me more, to feel my beauty     Read by man's eyes to mean his lust set forth?     Yea, Holofernes now can bring no shame     Upon me that Ozias hath not brought.     But this is chief: what balance can there be     In my own hurt against a nation's pining?     God hath given me beauty, and I may     Snare with it him whose trap now bites my folk.     There is naught else to think of. Let me go     And set those robes in order which best pleased     Manasses' living eyes; and let me fill     My gown with jewels, such as kindle sight,     And have some stinging sweetness in my hair. -     Manasses, my Manasses, lost to me,     Gone where my love can nothing search, and hidden     Behind the vapours of these worldly years,     The many years between me and thy death;     Thine ears are sealed with immortal blessedness     Against our miserable din of living;     Through thy pure sense goeth no soil of grief.     Forgive me! for thou hast left me here to be hurt     And moved to pity by the dolour of men.     The garment of my soul is splasht with sorrow,     Sorrowful noise and sight; and like to fires     Of venom spat on me, the sorrow eats     Through the thin robe of sense into my soul.     And it is cried against me, this keen anguish,     By my own people and my God's; - and thou     Didst love them. Therefore thou must needs forgive me,     That I devise how this my beauty, this     Sacred to thy long-dead joy of desire,     May turn to weapon in the hand of God;     Such weapon as he hath taken aforetime     To sword whole nations at a stroke to their knees, -     Storms of the air and hilted fire from heaven,     And sightless edge of pestilence hugely swung     Down on the bulk of armies in the night.     Such weapon in God's hand, and wielded so,     A woman's beauty may be now, I pray;     A pestilence suddenly in this foreign blood,     A blight on the vast growth of Assyrian weed,     A knife to the stem of its main root, the heart     Of Holofernes. God! Let me hew him down,     And out of the ground of Israel wither our plague!     II     BEFORE THE TENT OF HOLOFERNES     Holofernes.     Night and her admirable stars again!     And I again envying her and questioning!     What hast thou, Night, achieved, denied to me,     That maketh thee so full of quiet stars?     What beauty has been mingled into thee     So that thy depth burns with the peace of stars? -     I now with fires of uproarious heat,     Exclaiming yellow flames and towering splendour     And a huge fragrant smoke of precious woods,     Must build against thy overlooking, Stars,     And against thy terrible eternal news     Of Beauty that burns quietly and pure,     A lodge of wild extravagant earthly fire;     Even as under passions of fleshly pleasure     I hide myself from my desiring soul.             [Enter Guards with JUDITH.]     Guard 1.         We found this woman wandering in the trenches,     And calling out, "Take me to Holofernes,     Assyrians, I am come for Holofernes."     Guard 2.         She would not, for no words of ours, unveil,     And something held us back from handling her.     Guard 1.         We think she must be beautiful, although     She is so stubborn with that veil of hers.     Guard 2.         We minded my lord's word, that he be shewn     All the seized women which are strangely fair.     Holofernes.     Take off thy veil.     Judith.             I will not.     Holofernes.             Take thy veil     From off thy face, Jewess, or thou straight goest     To entertain my soldiers.     Judith.             I will not.     Holofernes.     Am I to tear it, then?     Judith.             My lord, thou durst not.     Holofernes.     Ha, there is spirit here. I have the whim,     Jewess, almost to believe thee: I dare not!     But tell me who thou art.     Judith.             That shalt thou know     Before the night has end.     Holofernes.             Take off thy veil.     Judith.     Alone for Holofernes am I come.     Holofernes.     And there is only Holofernes here.     These fellows are but thoughts of mine; my whole     Army, that treads down all the earth and breaks     The banks of fending rivers into marsh,     Is nought but my forth-going imagination.     Where I am, there is no man else: if I     Appeared before thee in a throng of spears,     I'ld stand alone before thee, girt about     By powers of my mind made visible.     Judith.     For captured peasants or for captured kings     Such words would have the right big sound. But I     Am woman, and I hear them not: I say     I will not, before any man but thee,     Make known my face; I am only for thee.     When I have thee alone and in thy tent     I will unveil.     Holofernes (to the Guards).             What! Staring? - Hence, you dogs!     III     IN THE TENT OF HOLOFERNES     Holofernes (alone with Judith).     Thou art the woman! Thou hast come to me! -     O not as I thought! not with senses blazing     Far into my deep soul abiding calm     Within their glory of knowledge, as the vast     Of night behind her outward sense of stars.     Now am I but the place thy beauty brightens,     And of myself I have no light of sense     Nor certainty of being: I am made     Empty of all my wont of life before thee,     A vessel where thy splendour may be poured,     After the way the great vessel of air     Accepts the morning power of the sun.     Now nothing I have known of me remains,     Save that, within me, far as the world is high     Beneath this dawn that gilds my spirit's air,     Some depth, more inward even than my soul,     Troubles and flashes like the shining sea.         O Jewish woman, if thou knewest all     The hunger and the tears the punisht world     Suffers by cause of thee, and of my dream     That thou wert somewhere hidden in mankind!     I could not but obey my dream, and toil     To break the nations and to sift them fine,     Pounding them with my warfare into dust,     And searching with my many iron hands     Through their destruction as through crumbs of marl,     Until my palms should know the jewel-stone     Betwixt them, the Woman who is Beauty, -     Nature so long hath like a miser kept     Buried away from me in this heap of Jews!     Now that we twain might meet, women and men     In every land where I have felt for thee     Have taken desolation for their home,     Crying against me, - and against thee unknowing.         Ah, but I had given over to despair     The mind in me, I ground the stubborn tribes,     I quarried them like rocks and broke them small     And ground them down to flinders and to sands;     But never gleamed the jewel-stone therein,     Naught but the common flint of earth I found.     And in a dreary anger I kept on     Assailing the whole kind of man, because     Some manner of war my soul must needs inhabit.     Like a man making himself in drunken sleep     A king, my soul, drunk with its earthly war,     Kept idle all its terrible want of thee,     Believed itself managing arms with God;     Yea, when my trampling hurry through the earth     Made cloudy wind of the light human dust,     I thought myself to move in the dark danger     Of blinding God's own face with blasts of war!     Until my rage forgot his crime against me,     His hiding thee, the beauty I had dreamt.     Yea and I filled my flesh with furious pleasure,     That in the noise of it my soul should hear     No whispering thought of desperate desire.         Nevertheless, I knew well that my heart's     Sightless imagination lifted his face     Continually awake for news of thee.     But 'twas infirm and crazy waking, like     As when a starving sentry, put to guard     The sleep of a broken soldiery that flees     Through winter of wild hills from hounding foes,     Hath but the pain of frozen wounds, and fear     Feeding on his dark spirit, to watch withal.     And lo,     As suddenly, as blessedly thou comest     Now to my heart's unseeing watch for thee,     As out of the night behind him into the heart,     Drugg'd senseless with its ache, of that lost soldier     An arrow leaps, and ere the stab can hurt,     His frozen waking is the ease of death.     So I am killed by thee; all the loud pain     Of pleasure that had lockt my heart in life,     Wherein with blinded and unhearing face     My hope of thee yet stood and strained to look     And listen for thy coming, - all this life     Is killed before thee; yea, like marvellous death,     Spiritual sense invests my heart's desire;     And round the quiet and content thereof,     The striving hunger of my fleshly sense     Fails like a web of hanging cloth in fire. -     Tell me now, if thou knowest, why thou hast come!     Judith.     Sufficeth not for us that I have come? -     Let not unseemly things live in my mouth;     Yet I would praise thee as thou praisest me,     But in a manner that my people use,     Things to approach in song they list not speak.     And song, thou knowest, inwrought with chiming strings,     Sweetens with sweet delay loving desire:     Also thine eyes will feed, and thy heart wonder. -          Balkis was in her marble town,          And shadow over the world came down.          Whiteness of walls, towers and piers,          That all day dazzled eyes to tears,          Turned from being white-golden flame,          And like the deep-sea blue became.          Balkis into her garden went;          Her spirit was in discontent          Like a torch in restless air.          Joylessly she wandered there,          And saw her city's azure white          Lying under the great night,          Beautiful as the memory          Of a worshipping world would be          In the mind of a god, in the hour          When he must kill his outward power;          And, coming to a pool where trees          Grew in double greeneries,          Saw herself, as she went by          The water, walking beautifully,          And saw the stars shine in the glance          Of her eyes, and her own fair countenance          Passing, pale and wonderful,          Across the night that filled the pool.          And cruel was the grief that played          With the queen's spirit; and she said:          "What do I hear, reigning alone?          For to be unloved is to be alone.          There is no man in all my land          Dare my longing understand;          The whole folk like a peasant bows          Lest its look should meet my brows          And be harmed by this beauty of mine.          I burn their brains as I were sign          Of God's beautiful anger sent          To master them with punishment          Of beauty that must pour distress          On hearts grown dark with ugliness.          But it is I am the punisht one.          Is there no man, is there none,          In whom my beauty will but move          The lust of a delighted love;          In whom some spirit of God so thrives          That we may wed our lonely lives?          Is there no man, is there none?" -          She said, "I will go to Solomon."     Holofernes.     I shall not bear it: dreamed, it hath made my life     Fail almost, like a storm broken in heaven     By its internal fire; and now I feel     Love like a dreadful god coming to do     His pleasure on me, to tear me with his joy     And shred my flesh-wove strength with merciless     Utterance through me of inhuman bliss. -     I must have more divinity within me. -     Come to me, slave!    [Calling out to his attendants.]     Judith.             Thou callest someone? Alas!     O, where's my veil? - Cry him to stay awhile! -     Holofernes.     Thou troubled with such whimsy! - But 'tis no one,     A mere sexless thing of mine.     Judith.             He is coming!     I threw my veil - where? - I must bow my face     Close to the ground, or his eyes will find me out;     And - O my lord, hold him back with thy voice!             [She has knelt down.]     Hold him in doubt to enter a moment, while     I loosen my hair into some manner of safety     Against his prying.     Holofernes.             Slave, dost thou hear me? Come! -     I marvel, room for such a paltering mood     Should be within thy mind, now so nearly     Deified with the first sense of my love.             [A Eunuch comes in.]     Holofernes.     Wine! The mightiest wine my sutlers have;     Wine with the sun's own grandeur in it, and all     The wildness of the earth conceiving Spring     From the sun's golden lust: wine for us twain!     And when thou hast brought it, burn anear my bed     Storax and cassia; and let wealth be found     To cover my bed with such strife of colour,     Crimson and tawny and purple-inspired gold,     That eyes beholding it may take therefrom     Splendid imagination of the strife     Of love with love's implacable desire.     Judith (still kneeling).     I must lean on thee now, my God! A weight     Of pitiable weakness thou must bear     And move as it were thine own strength; tell my heart     How not to sicken in abomination,     Show me the way to loathe this vile man's rage,     Now close to seize me into the use of his pleasure,     With the loathing that is terrible delight.     So that not fainting, but refresht and astonisht     And strangely spirited and divinely angry     My body may arise out of its passion,     Out of being enjoyed by this fiend's flesh.     Then man my arm; then let mine own revenge     Utter thy vengeance, Lord, as speech doth meaning;     Yea, with hate empower me to say bravely     The glittering word that even now thy mind     Purposes, God, - the swift stroke of a falchion!     Holofernes.     Woman, beloved, why art thou fixt so long     Kneeling and downward crookt, and in thy hair     Darkened? - Ah, thy shoulders urging shape     Of loveliness into thy hair's pouring gleam!     Judith.     Needs must I pray my Jewish God for help     Against my bridal joys. For I do fear them.     Holofernes.     I also: these are the joys that fear doth own.     IV     At the Gate of Bethulia. On the walls, on either side of     the Gate, are citizens watching the Assyrian camp;     OZIAS also, standing by himself.     Ozias.     When wilt thou cure thyself, spirit of the earth,     When wilt thou cure thyself of thy long fever,     That so insanely doth ferment in thee? -     'Tis not man only: the whole blood of life     Is fever'd with desire. But as the brain,     Being lord of the body, is served by blood     So well that a hidden canker in the flesh     May send, continuous as a usury,     Its breeding venom upward, till in the brain     It vapour into enormity of dreaming:     So man is lord of life upon the earth;     And like a hastening blood his nature wells     Up out of the beasts below him, they the flesh     And he the brain, they serving him with blood;     And blood so loaden with brute lust of being     It steams the conscious leisure of man's thought     With an immense phantasma of desire,     An unsubduable dream of unknown pleasure;     Which he sends hungering forth into the world,     But never satisfied returns to him.     Who hath found beauty? Who hath not desired it?     'Tis but the feverish spirit of earthly life     Working deliriously in man, a dream     Questing the world that throngs upon man's mind     To find therein an image of herself;     And there is nothing answers her entreaty. -         I climb towards death: it is not falling down     For me to die, but up the event of the world     As up a mighty ridge I climb, and look     With lifted vision backward down on life.     So high towards death I am gone, listless I gaze     Where on the earth beneath me, into the fires     Of that Assyrian strength, our siege of fate,     Judith, the dream of my desire of beauty,     Goes daring forth, to shape herself therein,     Seeking to fashion in its turbulence     Some deed that will be likeness of herself.     For now I know her purpose: and I know     She will be murdered there. Against the world     The beauty I have lived in, my loved dream,     Goes, wild to master the world; and she will     Therefore be murdered. It is nothing now;     Wind from the heights of death is on my brow.     Talk among the other watchers.     It must be, God is for us. Such a mind     As this of Judith's could not be, unless     God had spoken it into her. She is     His special voice, to tell the Assyrians     Terrible matters.             Is she God's? I think     'Tis Holofernes hath her now.             If not,     Upon his soldiers he hath lavisht her.         Not he. Now they have known her, his filled senses     Never will leave go our wonderful Judith.         Ay, wonderful in Jewry. But there are     In Babylon women so beautiful,     They make men's spirits desperate, to know     Flesh cannot ever minister enough     Delight to ease the craving they are taskt with.         Who talks of Babylon when God even now     Is training her fierce champion, Holofernes,     Into the death a woman holds before him?         A woman killing Holofernes!             Ay;     Be she abused by him or not, I know     God means to give her marvellous hands to-night.     I know it by my heart so strangely sick     With looking out for the first drowsy stir     In that huge flaming quiet of the camp.     Now fearfuller qualm than famine eagerly     Handles my life and pulls at it, - my faith's     Hunger for being fed with sounds and visions:     The firelight mixt with a trooping bustle of shadows,     The silence suddenly shouting with surprise,     That tells of men astounded out of sleep     To find that God hath dreadfully been among them.         We have mistaken Judith.             Even as now     God is mistaken by your doubting hearts.         She that has dealt with such a pride of spirit     In all her ways of life, so that she seemed     To feel like shadow, falling on the light     Her own mind made, the common thoughts of men;     Ay, she that to-day came down into our woe     And stood among the griefs that buzz upon us,     Like one who is forced aside from a bright journey     To stoop in a small-room'd cottage, where loud flies     Pester the inmates and the windows darken;     This she, this Judith, out of her quiet pride,     And out of her guarded purity, to walk     Where God himself from violent whoredom could     Scarcely preserve her shuddering flesh! and all     For our sake, for the lives she hath in scorn,     This horrible Assyrian risk she ventures.         There should be prayer for that. Let us ask God     To bind the men, whose greed now glares upon her,     In some strange feebleness; surely he will;     Surely not with woman's worst injury     Her noble obedience he will reward!     Let us ask God to bind these men before her.         They are not his to bind: else, were they here?     They are the glorying of Nebuchadnezzar's     Heart of fury against our God, sent here     Like insolent shouting into his holy quiet.     God could not bind these bragging noises up     In Nebuchadnezzar's heart; it is not his,     But made by Babylonian gods or owned     By thrones that hold the heavens over Nineveh.     For all these outland greatnesses, these kings     Whose war goes pealing through the world, these towns     Infidel and triumphant, reaching forth     Armies to hug the world close to their lust, -     What are they but the gods making a scorn     Of our God on the earth? Then how can he     Alter these men from wicked delight? or how     Keep Judith all untoucht among their hands,     When his own quietness he could not keep     Unbroken by the god's Assyrian insult?         But with a thunder he can shatter this     Intruding noise, and make his quiet again.         And in their lust he can entangle them,     Deceiving them far into Judith's beauty,     Which is his power, and lop them from their gods.         Their outrage will be ornament upon her!         Out of the hands of the goblins she will come     Not markt with shame, but wearing their vile usage     Like one whom earthly reign covers with splendour.         The ignominy they thought of shall be turned     To shining, yea, to announcing through the world     How God hath used her to beguile the heathen.     It begins! Now it begins! Lo, how dismay     Is fallen on the camp in a strange wind:     The ground, that seemed as spread with yellow embers,     Leaps into blazing, and like cinders whirled     And scattered up among the flames, are black     Bands of frantic men flickering about!         Ozias! seest thou how our enemies     Are labouring in amazement? How they run     Flinging fuel to light them against fear?         Now they begin to roar their terror: now     They wave and beckon wordless desperate things     One to another.                             Hear the iron and brass     Ringing above their voices, as they snatch     The arms that seem to fight among themselves,     Seized by their masters' anguish; dost thou hear     The clumsy terror in the camp, the men     Hasting to arm themselves against our God,     Ozias?     Ozias.             Lions have taken a sentinel.     A Citizen.     Judith hath taken Holofernes.     Judith's voice outside, under the gate.             Yea,     And brought him back with her. Open the gates.     The Citizens.     Open the gates. Bring torches. Wake, ye Jews!     Hail, Judith, marvellously chosen woman!     How bringst thou Holofernes? Show him to us.     Judith.     Dare you indeed behold him?     A Citizen.             Is he bound?     Judith.     Drugged rather, with a medicine that God     Prepared for him and gave into my hands.     Open the gates! It is a harmless thing,     The Holofernes I have made your show;     You may gaze blithely upon him. I have tamed     The man's pernicious brain. Open the gates!     What, are your hands still nerveless? But my hands,     The hands of a woman, have done notable work.     The Gates open. JUDITH appears, standing against     the night and the Assyrian fires. Torches and     shouting in the town.     Citizens.     Judith! Judith alone! Where is thy boast     Of Holofernes captured?     Judith.             I am alone,     Indeed; and you are many; yet with me     Comes Holofernes, certainly a captive.     Ozias.     What trifle is this?     Judith.             Trifle? It is the word.     A trifle, a thing of mere weight, I have brought you     From the Assyrian camp. My apron here     Is loaded now more heavily, but as meanly     As an old witch's skirt, when she comes home     From seeking camel's-dung for kindling; yet     My burden was, an hour ago, the world     Where you were ground to tortures; it was the brain     Inventing your destruction. - Look you now!             [Holding up the head of HOLOFERNES.]     This is the mouth through which commandment came     Of massacre and damnation to the Jews;     Here was the mind the gods that hate our God     Used to empower the agonies they devised     Against us; here your dangers were all made,     Your horrible starvation; and the thirst     Those wicked gods supposed would murder you,     Here a creature became, a ravenous creature;     Yea, here those mighty vigours lived which took,     Like ocean water taking frost, the hate     Those gods have for Jehovah, shaping it     Atrociously into the war that clencht     Their fury about you, frozen into iron.     Jews, here is the head of Holofernes: take it     And let it grin upon our highest wall     Over against the camp of the Assyrians.             [She throws them the head.]     Ay, you may worry it; now is the jackals' time;     Snarl on your enemy, now he is dead.     Ozias.     Judith, be not too scornful of their noise.     There are no words may turn this deed to song:     Praise cannot reach it. Only with such din,     Unmeasured yelling exultation, can     Astonishment speak of it. In me, just now,     Thought was the figure of a god, firm standing,     A dignity like carved Egyptian stone;     Thou like a blow of fire hast splinter'd it;     It is abroad like powder in a wind,     Or like heapt shingle in a furious tide,     Thou having roused the ungovernable waters     My mind is built amidst, a dangerous tower.     My spirit therein dwelling, so overwhelmed     In joy or fear, disturbance without name,     Out of the rivers it is fallen in     Can snatch no substance it may shape to words     Answerable to thy prowess and thy praise.     We are all abasht by thee, and only know     To worship thee with shouts and astounded passion.     Judith.     Yes, now the world has got a voice against me:     At last now it may howl a triumph about me.     Ozias.     This, nevertheless, my thought can seize from out     The wildness that goes pouring past it. God,     Wondrously having moved thee to this deed,     Hath shown the Jews a wondrous favouring love.     Thee it becomes not, standing though thou art     On this high action, to think scorn of men     Whom God thinks worthy of having thee for saviour.     Judith.     This is a subtle flattery. What know I     Of whom God loves, of whom God hates? I know     This only: in my home, in my soul's chamber,     A filthy verminous beast hath made his lair.     I let him in; I let this grim lust in;     Not only did not bolt my doors against     His forcing, but even put them wide and watcht     Him coming in, to make my house his stable.     What though I killed him afterward? All my place,     And all the air I live in, is foul with him.     I killed him? Truly, I am mixt with him;     Death must have me before it hath all him.     Ozias.     In thee, too, are the floods, the wild rivers,     Overrunning thy thought, the nameless mind?     How else, indeed? Nay, we are dull with joy:     Of thee we thought not, out of the hands of outrage     Coming back, although with victory coming.     But this makes surety once more of my thought,     And gives again my reason its lost station;     For it may come now in my privilege     (A thing that could cure madness in my brain)     That thou from me persuasion hast to endure     What well I know thy soul, thy upright soul,     Feels as abominable harness on it     Fastening thee unwillingly to crime, -     The wickedness that hath delighted in thee.     Judith.     Ay? Art thou there already? Tasting, art thou,     What the Assyrians may have forced on me,     Ere thou hast well swallowed thy new freedom?     Indeed, I know this is the wine of the feast     Which I have set for thee and thy Bethulia;     And 'tis the wine makes delicate the banquet.     Ozias.     Wait: listen to me. 'Tis I now must be wise     And thou the hearkener. Not without wound     (So I make out, at least, thy hurrying words)     Comest thou back to us from conquering.     And such a wound, I easily believe,     As eats into thy soul and rages there;     Yea, I that know thee, Judith, know thy soul     Worse rankling hath in it from heathen insult     Than flesh could take from steel bathed in a venom     Art magic brewed over a charcoal fire,     Blown into flame by hissing of whipt lizards.     Yet is it likely, by too much regarding,     Thy hurt is pamper'd in its poisonous sting.     Wounds in the spirit need no surgery     But a mind strong not to insist on them.     See, then, thou hast not too much horror of this;     Who that fights well in battle comes home sound? -     Much less couldst thou, who must, with seeming weakness,     Invite the power of Holofernes forth     Ere striking it, thy womanhood the ambush.     For thou didst plan, I guess, to duel him     In snares, weaving his greed about his limbs,     Drawn out and twisted winding round his strength     By ministry of thy enticing beauty;     That when he thought himself spending on thee     Malicious violence, and thou hadst made him     Languish, stupid with boasting and delight,     Thy hands might find him a tied quiet victim     Under their anger, maiming him of life.     Now, thy device accomplisht, wilt thou grudge     Its means? Wilt thou scruple to understand     Thy abus'd sex will show upon thy fame     A nobler colour of glory than a soldier's     Wounded bravery rusting his habergeon?     Nay, will not the world rejoice, thou being found     Among its women, ready such insolence     To bear as is unbearable to think on,     Thereby to serve and save God and his people?     Judith.     The world rejoice over me? Yea, I am certain.     Ozias.     Then art thou too fastidious. It is weak     To make thyself a shame of being injured;     And is it injury indeed? Nay, is it     Anything but a mere opinion hurt?     Not thou, but customary thought is here     Molested and annoyed; the only nerve     Can carry anguish from this to thy soul,     Is that credulity which ties the mind     Firmly to notional creature as to real.     Advise thee, then; dark in thyself keep hid     This grief; and thou wilt shortly find it dying.     A Citizen.     Judith,     Pardon our ecstasy. 'Tis time thou hadst     Our honour. But first tell us all the event,     That in thy proper height thou with thy deed     May stand against our worship.     Judith.             Why do you stop     Your shouts, and glare upon me? Have you need     Truly to hear my tale? I think, not so.     Ozias here, as he hath whiled at ease     Upon the walls my stay in the camp yonder,     Hath fairly fancied all that I have done,     And more exactly, and with a relishing gust,     All that was done to me. Ask him, therefore;     If he hath not already entertained     Your tedious leisure with my story told     Pat to your liking, enjoyed, and glosst with praise. -     And yet, why ask him? Why go even so far     To hear it? Ask but the clever libidinousness     Dwelling in each of your hearts, and it will surely     Imagine for you how I trained to my arms     Lewd Holofernes, and kept him plied with lust,     Until his wild blood in the end paused fainting,     And he lay twitching, drained of all his wits; -     But there was wine as well working in him,     Feebling his sinews; 'twas not all my doing,     The snoring fit that came before his death,     The routing beastly slumber that was my time.     You know it all! Why ask me for the tale?     Ozias.     Comfort her: praise her. She is strangely ashamed     Of Holofernes having evilly used her.     A Citizen.     We will contrive the triumph of our joy     Into some tune of words, and bring thee on,     Accompanied by singing, to thy house.     Judith.     I pray you, rather let me go alone.     You will do better to be searching out     All sharpen'd steel that may take weapon-use.     The Assyrians are afraid: it is your time.             [They surround JUDITH and go with her.]     CHORUS of Citizens praising JUDITH and     leading her to her house.     Over us and past us go the years;     Like wind that taketh sound from jubilee     And aloud flieth ringing,     Over us goeth the speed of the years,     Like loud noise eternally bringing     The greatness women have done.         Deborah was great; with her singing     She hearten'd the men that the horses had dismayed;     Deborah, the wife of Lapidoth, alone     Stood singing where the men were horribly afraid,     Singing of God in the midst of fear;     When archers out of Hazor were     Eating the land like grasshoppers,     And darkness at noon was plundering the air     Of the light of the sun's insulted fires,     Red darkness covering Sisera's host     As Jewry was covered by the Canaanite's boast:     For the earth was broken into dust beneath     The force of his chariots' thundering tyres,     Nine hundred chariots of iron.         Deborah was great in her prophesying;     But, though her anger moved through the Israelites,     And the loose tribes her indignant crying     Bound into song, fashion'd to an army;     And before the measure of her song went flying,     Like leaves and breakage of the woods     Fallen into pouring floods,     The iron and the men of Sisera and Jabin;     Not by her alone     God's punishment was done     On Canaan intending a monstrous crime,     On the foaming and poison of the serpent in Hazor;     Two women were the power of God that time.         Yea, and sullenly down     Into its hiding town,     Even though the lightning were still in its heart,     The broken dragon, drawing in its fury,     Had croucht to mend its shatter'd malice,     Had lifted its head again and spat against God.     But God its endlessly devising brain,     Its braving spirit, its captain Sisera,     Into the hands of another woman brought:     In nets of her persuasion     She that wild spirit caught,     She fasten'd up that uncontrollable thought.     Sisera spake, and the crops were flames;     Sisera lookt, and blood ran down the door-sills.     But weary, trusting his entertainment,     He came to Jael, the Kenite woman;     A woman who gave him death for a bed,     And with base tools nailed down his murderous head     Fast to the earth his rage had fed     With men unreckonably slain.         But than these wonderfully greater,     Judith, art thou;     The praise of both shall follow like a shadow     After thy glory now,     Who alone the measureless striding,     The high ungovern'd brow,     Of Assur upon the hills of the world     Hast tript and sent him hugely sliding,     Like a shot beast, down from his towering,     By his own lamed     Mightiness hurl'd     To lie a filth in disaster.     Deborah and Jael, famously named,     Like rich lands enriching the city their master,     Bring thee now their most golden honour.     For the beauty of thy limbs was found     By a dreadfuller enemy dreadful as the sound     Of Deborah's singing, though hers was a song     That had for its words thousands of men.     But thou thyself, looking upon them,     Didst weaken the Assyrians mortally.     They thought it terrible to see thee coming;     They falter'd in their impiousness,     Their hearts gave in to thee; they went     Backward before thee and shewed thee the tent     Where Holofernes would have thee in to him,     Yea, for his slayer waiting,     Waiting thee to entertain,     Desiring thee, his death, to enjoy, as Jael     Waited for Sisera her slain.     Judith.     Have done! Do you think I know not why your souls     Are so delighted round me? Do you think     I see not what it is you praise? - not me,     But you yourselves triumphing in me and over me.     A Citizen.     Did we kill Holofernes?     Judith.             No: nor I.     That corpse was not his death. He is alive,     And will be till there is no more a world     Filled with his hidden hunger, waiting for souls     That ford the monstrous waters of the world.     Alive in you is Holofernes now,     But fed and rejoicing; I have filled your hunger.     Yea, and alive in me: my spirit hath been     Enjoyed by the lust of the world, and I am changed     Vilely by the vile thing that clutcht on me,     Like sulphurous smoke eating into silver.     Your song is all of this, this your rejoicing;     You have good right to circle me with song!     You are the world, and you have fed on me.     A Citizen.     We are the world; yes, but the world for ever     Honouring thee.     Judith.             How am I honoured so,     If I no honour have for the world, but rather     Hold it an odious and traitorous thing,     That means no honour but to those whose spirits     Have yielded to its ancient lechery? -     Defiled, defiled!     A Citizen.             Thou wert moved by our grief:     Was that a vile thing?     Judith.             That was the cunning world.     It moved me by your grief to give myself     Into the pleasure of its ravenous love.     A Citizen.     Judith, if thy hot spirit beareth still     Indignant suffering of villainy,     Think, that thou hast no wrong from it. Such things     Are in themselves dead, and have only life     From what lives round them. And around thee glory     Lives and will force its splendour on the harm     Thy purity endured, making it shine     Like diamond in sunlight, as before     Unviolated it could not.     Judith.             Ay, to you     I doubt not I seem admirable now,     Worthy of being sung in loudest praise;     But to myself how seem I?     A Citizen.             Surely as one     Whose charity went down the stairs of hell,     And barter'd with the fiends thy sacredest     For our deliverance.     Judith.             And that you praise! -     I was a virgin spirit. Whence I come     I know not, and I care not whither I go.     One fearful knowledge holds me: that I am     A spirit walking dangerously here.     For the world covets me. I am alone,     And made of something which the world has not,     Unless its substance can devour my spirit.     And it hath devoured me! In Holofernes     It seized me, fed on me; and then gibed on me,     With show of his death scoffing at my rage, -     His death! - He lay there, drunken, glutted with me,     And his bare falchion hung beside the bed, -     Look on it, and look on the blood I made     Go pouring thunder of pleasure through his brain! -     And like a mad thing hitting at the madness     Thronging upon it in a grinning rout,     I my defilement smote, that Holofernes.     But does a maniac kill the frenzy in him,     When with his fists he beats the clambering fiends     That swarm against his limbs? No more did I     Kill my defilement; it was fast within me;     And like a frenzy can go out of me     And dress its hideous motions in my world.     For when I come back here, behold the thing     I murdered in the camp leaps up and yells!     The carrion Holofernes, my defilement,     Dances a triumph round me, roars and rejoices,     Quickened to hundreds of exulting lives.     A Citizen.     God help thee in this wildness! Are we then     As Holofernes to thee?     Judith.             You are naught     But the defilement that is in me now,     Rejoicing to be lodged safely within me.     You are the lust I entertained, rejoicing     To wreak itself upon my purity.     The stratagems of my ravishment you are,     Rejoicing that the will you serve has dealt     Its power on me. O, I hate you not.     You and your crying grief should have blown past     My heart like wind shaking a fasten'd casement.     But I must have you in. Myself I loathe     For opening to you, and thereby opening     To the demon which had set you on to whine     Pitiably in the porches of my spirit.     You are but noise; but he is the lust of the world,     The infinite wrong the spirit, the virgin spirit,     Must fasten against, or be for ever vile.     A Citizen.     But is it naught that we, the folk of God,     Are safe by thee?     Judith.             God hath his own devices.     But I would be God's helper! I would be     Known as the woman whom his strength had chosen     To ruin the Assyrians! - O my God,     How dreadfully thou punishest small sins!     If it is thou who punishest; but rather     It is that, when we slacken in perceiving     The world's intent towards us, and fatally,     Enticed out of suspicion by fair signs,     Go from ignoring its proposals, down     To parley, - thou our weakness dost permit.     In all my days I from the greed of the world     Virginal have kept my spirit's dwelling, -     Till now; yea, all my being I have maintained     Sacredly my own possession; for love     But made more beautiful and more divine     My spirit's ownership. And yet no warning,     When I infatuate went down to be     Procuress of myself to the world's desire,     Did God blaze on my blindness, no rebuke.     Therefore I am no more my virgin own,     But hatefully, unspeakably, the world's.     To these now I belong; they took me and used me.     I have no pride to live for; and why else     Should one stay living, if not joyfully proud?     For I have yielded now; mercilessly     What is makes foolish nothing of what was.     To know the world, for all its grasping hands,     For all its heat to utter its pent nature     Into the souls that must go faring through it,     Availing nothing against purity,     Made always like rebellion trodden under, -     By this was life a noble labour. Now     I have been persuaded into the world's pleasure:     And now at last I will all certainly     Contrive for myself the death of Holofernes.          [OZIAS comes behind her and catches the lifted falchion.]     Judith.     It was well done, Ozias.     Ozias.             I have watcht     Thy anguish growing, and I lookt for this.     Judith.     Thou knowest me better than I know myself.     What moves in me is strange and uncontrolled,     That once I thought was ruled: thou knew'st me better. -     Indeed thou must forgive me; what was I     To take so bitterly thy suit? What right     Had I to give thee anger, when thou wouldst     Brighten thy hopeless death with me enjoyed,     I, even from that anger, going to be     Holofernes' pleasure? - Thou knewest me better,     And therefore shalt forgive me. Ay, no doubt     My spirit answered thee so fiercely then     Because it felt thee reading me aright,     How a mere bragging was my purity.     But now to pardon askt, I must add thanks. -     I had forgot Manasses! Even love     Was driven forth of me by these loud mouths!     Whether in death he waits for me, I know not;     But it had been an unforgivable thing     To have made this the end; not to have gone     To death as unto spousals, leaving life     As one sets down a work faithfully done,     And knows oneself by service justified,     Worthy of love, whether love be or not.     But, soiled with detestation, to have thrown     Fiercely aside the garment of this light;     Proved at the last impatient, death desiring     Like a mere doffing of foul drenchd clothes;     Release from the wicked hindering mire of sorrow;     A comfortable darkness hiding me     Out of the glowing world myself have made     An insult, domineering me with splendour; -     O such a death had turned, past all forgiving,     My insult to Manasses, and searcht him out,     Even where he is quiet, with the blaze,     Ranging like din, of this contempt, this triumph.     Not crying out such hateful news should I     Flee hunted into death, unto my love.     From this, Ozias, thou hast saved me. Now     I am to learn my shame, that not amazed,     But practised in my burden, I at last,     When my time comes, may all in gladness fare     The road made sacred by Manasses' feet.             [JUDITH goes into her house.]     Ozias (addressing the citizens).     You do well to be stricken silent here.     Terrible Holofernes slain by a woman     Was something wonderful, to be noised aloud;     But this is a wonder past applauding thought,     This grief darkening Judith, in the midst     Of the new shining glory she herself     Has brought to conquer in our skies the storm.     You do well to be dumb: for you have seen     Virginity. That spirit you have seen,     Seen made wrathfully plain that secret spirit,     Whereby is man's frail scabbard filled with steel.     This, cumbered in the earthen kind of man,     Which ceaseless waters would be wearing down,     Alone giveth him stubborn substance, holds him     Upright and hard against impious fate.     All things within it would the world possess,     And have them in the tide of its desire:     Man hath his nature of the vehement world;     He is a torrent like the stars and beasts     Flowing to answer the fierce world's desire.     But like a giant wading in the sea     Stands in the rapture, and refusing it,     And looking upward out of it to find     Who knows what sign? - spirit, virginity;     A power caught by the power of the world;     The spirit in whose unknown hope doth man     Deny the mastery of his fortune here;     Virginity, whose pride, impassion'd only     To be as she herself would be, nor thence     To loosen for the world's endeavouring,     And, though all give the rash obedience, stand     Her own possession, - this virginity,     This pride of the spirit, asking no reward     But to be pride unthrown, this is the force     Whereby man hath his courage in the strange     Fearful turmoil of being conscious man.     Yea, worshipping this spirit, he will at last     Grow into high divine imagination,     Wherein the envious wildness of the world     Yieldeth its striving up to him, and takes     His mind, building the endless stars like stone     To house his towering joy of self-possessing.     This made you dumb; ignorant knowledge of this,     Blind vision of virginity's mightiness,     Did chide the exclamation in your hearts.     And think not you have seen, in Judith's grief,     Virginity drown'd in the pouring world.     For what is done is naught; what is, is all:     And Judith is virginity's appointed.     Even by her injury she showeth us,     As fire by violence may be revealed,     How sovereign is virginity. -     But let us now consult what way her grief,     Which is not to be understood by us,     May spend itself, with naught to urge its power.     Let us within our walls keep close this tale,     Close as the famine and the thirst were kept     Devouring us by the Assyrians.     Let there be no news going through the land     Out of Bethulia but this: that we     At Judith's hands had our deliverance,     But she from Holofernes and his crew     Unwilling and astonisht reverence,     As they were men with minds opprest by God.     THE ETERNAL WEDDING     He.     Even as a wind that hasteth round the world     From out cold hours fill'd with shadow of earth,     To pour alight against the risen sun;     So unto thee adoring, out of its shadow     Floweth my spirit, into the light of thee     Which Beauty is, and Joy. From my own fate,     From out the darkness wherein long I fared     Worshipping stars and morsels of the light,     Through doors of golden morning now I pass     Into the great whole light and perfect day     Of shining Beauty, open to me at last.     Yea, into thee now do I pass, beloved:     Beauty and thou are mine!     She.             And I am thine!     I am desirable to my desire:     Thence am I clean as immortality     With Beauty and Joy, the fiery power of Beauty.     He.     And by my spirit made marvellous here by thee,     Poured out all clear into the gold of thee,     Not myself only do I know; I have     Golden within me the whole fate of man:     That every flesh and soul belongs to one     Continual joyward ravishment, whose end     Is here, in this perfection. Now I know -     For all my speculation soareth up,     A bird taking eternity for air, -     Now being mixt with thee, in the burning midst     Of Beauty for my sense and mind and soul, -     That life hath highest gone which hath most joy.     For like great wings forcefully smiting air     And driving it along in rushing rivers,     Desire of joy beats mightily pulsing forward     The world's one nature, and all the loose lives therein,     Carried and greatly streaming on a gale     Of craving, swept fiercely along in beauty; -     Like a great weather of wind and shining sun,     When the airs pick up whole huge waves of sea,     Crumble them in their grasp and high aloft     Sow them glittering, a white watery dust,     To company with light: so we are driven     Onward and upward in a wind of beauty,     Until man's race be wielded by its joy     Into some high incomparable day,     Where perfectly delight may know itself, -     No longer need a strife to know itself,     Only by its prevailing over pain.     She.     Beloved, but no pain may strive with us.     He.     No, for we are flown far ahead of life:     The feet of our Spirit have wonderfully trod     The dangers of the rushing fate of life,     As summer-searching birds tread with their wings     Mountainous surges in the air. But many,     Not strongly fledge to ride the world's great rapture,     Must break, down fallen into steep confusion,     Where we climb easily and tower with joy.     Nevertheless doth life foretell in us     How it shall all make seizure at the last     Upon this height of ecstasy, this fort     Life like an army storms: Captains we are     In the great assault; and where we stand alone     Within these hours, built like establisht flames     Round us, at long last all man's life shall stand     At peace with joy, wearing delighted sense     As meadows wear their golden pleasure of flowers.     Certain my heart dwells in these builded hours,     That there is no more beauty beyond thee.     Thou art my utter beauty; and - behold     The marvel, God in Heaven! - I am thine.     Therefore we know, in this height-guarded place     Whereto the speed of our desire hath brought us;     Here in this safety crowning, like a fort     Built upon topmost peaks, the height of beauty, -     We know to be glad of life as we were gods     Timelessly glad of deity; yea, to enjoy     Fleshly, spiritual Being till the swift     Torrent of glee (as hurled star-dust can change     Dim earthly weather to a moment like the sun,)     Doth startle life to self-adoring godhead, -     Divine body of Power and divine     Burning soul of Light and self-desire.     And having given ourselves all to amazement,     We are made like a prophesying song     Of life all joy, a bride in the arms of God. -     Yea, God shall marry his people at the last;     And every man and woman who has sworn     That only joy can make this Being sacred,     Weaves at the wedding-garment.     She.             Ah, my beloved,     Feelest thou too that out of earth and time     We are transgressing into Heavenly hours?     Or, threading the dark worldly multitude     And making lightning of its path, there comes     A zeal from God posting along our lives.     He.     For some eternal pulse hath chosen us,     Some divine anger beats within our hearts.     She.     Anger? But how far off is love from anger!     He.     Nay, both belong to joy; joy's kind is twain.     And close as in the pouring of sun-flame     Are mingled glory of light and fury of heat,     Joy utters its twin radiance, love and anger;     If joy be not indeed all sacred wrath     With circumstance; indignant memory     Of what hath been, when the new lusts of God     Exulted unimaginably, before     Rigours of law fastened like creeping habit     Upon their measureless wont, and forced them drive     Their ranging music of delighted being     Through the fixt beating tune of a circling world. -     Is not love so? Amazement of an anger     Against created shape and narrowness?     The bound rage of the uncreated Spirit     Whose striving doth impassion us and the world?     A wrath that thou and I are not one being?     She.     Yes, and not only words that thou and I     Out of our sexes with a flame's escape     Are fashioned into one. The Spirit in us     Hath, like imagination in a prison,     Kindled itself free of all boundary,     So that it hath no room but its own joy,     Ample as at the first, before it fell     Into this burthenous habit of a world.     What have we now to do with the world? We are     Made one unworldly thing; we are past the world;     Yea, and unmade: we are immortality.     He.     And only fools abominably crazed,     Those who will set imagination down     As less in truth than their dim sensual wit,     Dare doubt that, while these dreams of ours, these bodies,     Still quiver in the world each with its own     Delight, the great divine wrath of our love     Hath stricken off from us the place of the world!     Yea, as we walk in spiritual freedom     Upright before the shining face of God,     Behold, as it were the shadow of our stature     Thrown by that light, we draw the world behind us, -     That world wherein, darkly I remember,     We thought we were as twain.     She.             Yet, since God means     That love should sunder our fixt separateness     And make our married spirits leap together,     As lightning out of the clouds of sexual flesh,     Into one sexless undivided joy;     Why hath he made us a divided flesh?     We being single ecstasy, now as strange     As if a shadow stained where no one stood     The ground in the noon-glare, seemeth to me     The long blind time wherein our lives and the world     Lay stretcht out dark upon the light of heaven,     Like shadow of some bulk that took the glory;     While yet there stood not over it, to shade     The splendour from it, our heaven-fronting love,     This great new soul that our two souls have kindled.     Yea, and how like, that in the world's chance-medley     This our exulting destiny had been slain,     Though here it lords the world as a man his shadow!     He.     But the world is not chance, except to those     Most feeble in desire: who needeth aught     Shall have it, if he fill his soul with the need.     While still our ignorant lives were drowned beneath     The flooding of the earthly fate, and chance     Seemed pouring mightily dark and loud between us,     Unspeakable news oft visited our hearts:     We knew each other by desire; yea, spake     Out of the strength of darkness flowing o'er us,     Across the hindering outcry of the world     One to another sweet desirable things.     Until at last we took such heavenly lust     Of those unheard messages into our lives,     We were made abler than the worldly fate.     We held its random enmity as frost     The storming Northern seas, and fastened it     In likeness of our love's imagining;     Or as a captain with his courage holds     The mutinous blood of an army aghast with fear,     And maketh it unwillingly dare his purpose,     Our lust of love struck its commandment deep     Into the froward turbulence of world     That parted us. Suddenly the dark noise     Cleft and went backward from us, and we stood     Knowing each other in a quiet light;     And like wise music made of many strings     Following and adoring underneath     Prevailing song, fate lived beneath our love,     Under the masterful excellent silence of it,     A multitudinous obedience.     She.     Yea, but not this my marvel: not that we     Should master with desire the sundering world,     We who bore in our hearts such destiny,     There was no force knew to be dangerous     Against it, but must turn its malice clean     Into obsequious favour worshipping us.     Rather hath this astonisht me, that we     Have not for ever lived in this high hour.     Only to be twin elements of joy     In this extravagance of Being, Love,     Were our divided natures shaped in twain;     And to this hour the whole world must consent.     Is it not very marvellous, our lives     Can only come to this out of a long     Strange sundering, with the years of the world between us?     He.     Shall life do more than God? for hath not God     Striven with himself, when into known delight     His unaccomplisht joy he would put forth, -     This mystery of a world sign of his striving?     Else wherefore this, a thing to break the mind     With labouring in the wonder of it, that here     Being - the world and we - is suffered to be! -     But, lying on thy breast one notable day,     Sudden exceeding agony of love     Made my mind a trance of infinite knowledge.     I was not: yet I saw the will of God     As light unfashion'd, unendurable flame,     Interminable, not to be supposed;     And there was no more creature except light, -     The dreadful burning of the lonely God's     Unutter'd joy. And then, past telling, came     Shuddering and division in the light:     Therein, like trembling, was desire to know     Its own perfect beauty; and it became     A cloven fire, a double flaming, each     Adorable to each; against itself     Waging a burning love, which was the world; -     A moment satisfied in that love-strife     I knew the world! - And when I fell from there,     Then knew I also what this life would do     In being twain, - in being man and woman!     For it would do even as its endless Master,     Making the world, had done; yea, with itself     Would strive, and for the strife would into sex     Be cloven, double burning, made thereby     Desirable to itself. Contrivd joy     Is sex in life; and by no other thing     Than by a perfect sundering, could life     Change the dark stream of unappointed joy     To perfect praise of itself, the glee that loves     And worships its own Being. This is ours!     Yet only for that we have been so long     Sundered desire: thence is our life all praise. -     But we, well knowing by our strength of joy     There is no sundering more, how far we love     From those sad lives that know a half-love only,     Alone thereby knowing themselves for ever     Sealed in division of love, and therefore made     To pour their strength out always into their love's     Fierceness, as green wood bleeds its hissing sap     Into red heat of a fire! Not so do we:     The cloven anger, life, hath left to wage     Its flame against itself, here turned to one     Self-adoration. - Ah, what comes of this?     The joy falters a moment, with closed wings     Wearying in its upward journey, ere     Again it goes on high, bearing its song,     Its delight breathing and its vigour beating     The highest height of the air above the world.     She.     What hast thou done to me! - I would have soul,     Before I knew thee, Love, a captive held     By flesh. Now, inly delighted with desire,     My body knows itself to be nought else     But thy heart's worship of me; and my soul     Therein is sunlight held by warm gold air.     Nay, all my body is become a song     Upon the breath of spirit, a love-song.     He.     And mine is all like one rapt faculty,     As it were listening to the love in thee,     My whole mortality trembling to take     Thy body like heard singing of thy spirit.     She.     Surely by this, Beloved, we must know     Our love is perfect here, - that not as holds     The common dullard thought, we are things lost     In an amazement that is all unware;     But wonderfully knowing what we are!     Lo, now that body is the song whereof     Spirit is mood, knoweth not our delight?     Knoweth not beautifully now our love,     That Life, here to this festival bid come     Clad in his splendour of worldly day and night,     Filled and empower'd by heavenly lust, is all     The glad imagination of the Spirit?     He.     Were it not so, Love could not be at all:     Nought could be, but a yearning to fulfil     Desire of beauty, by vain reaching forth     Of sense to hold and understand the vision     Made by impassion'd body, - vision of thee!     But music mixt with music are, in love,     Bodily senses; and as flame hath light,     Spirit this nature hath imagined round it,     No way concealed therein, when love comes near,     Nor in the perfect wedding of desires     Suffering any hindrance.     She.             Ah, but now,     Now am I given love's eternal secret!     Yea, thou and I who speak, are but the joy     Of our for ever mated spirits; but now     The wisdom of my gladness even through Spirit     Looks, divinely elate. Who hath for joy     Our Spirits? Who hath imagined them     Round him in fashion'd radiance of desire,     As into light of these exulting bodies     Flaming Spirit is uttered?     He.             Yea, here the end     Of love's astonishment! Now know we Spirit,     And Who, for ease of joy, contriveth Spirit.     Now all life's loveliness and power we have     Dissolved in this one moment, and our burning     Carries all shining upward, till in us     Life is not life, but the desire of God,     Himself desiring and himself accepting.     Now what was prophecy in us is made     Fulfilment: we are the hour and we are the joy,     We in our marvellousness of single knowledge,     Of Spirit breaking down the room of fate     And drawing into his light the greeting fire     Of God, - God known in ecstasy of love     Wedding himself to utterance of himself.     MARRIAGE SONG     I     Come up, dear chosen morning, come,     Blessing the air with light,     And bid the sky repent of being dark:     Let all the spaces round the world be white,     And give the earth her green again.     Into new hours of beautiful delight,     Out of the shadow where she has lain,     Bring the earth awake for glee,     Shining with dews as fresh and clear     As my beloved's voice upon the air.     For now, O morning chosen of all days, on thee     A wondrous duty lies:     There was an evening that did loveliness foretell;     Thence upon thee, O chosen morn, it fell     To fashion into perfect destiny     The radiant prophecy.     For in an evening of young moon, that went     Filling the moist air with a rosy fire,     I and my beloved knew our love;     And knew that thou, O morning, wouldst arise     To give us knowledge of achieved desire.     For, standing stricken with astonishment,     Half terrified in the delight,     Even as the moon did into clear air move     And made a golden light,     Lo there, croucht up against it, a dark hill,     A monstrous back of earth, a spine     Of hunchd rock, furred with great growth of pine,     Lay like a beast, snout in its paws, asleep;     Yet in its sleeping seemed it miserable,     As though strong fear must always keep     Hold of its heart, and drive its blood in dream.     Yea, for to our new love, did it not seem,     That dark and quiet length of hill,     The sleeping grief of the world? - Out of it we     Had like imaginations stept to be     Beauty and golden wonder; and for the lovely fear     Of coming perfect joy, had changed     The terror that dreamt there!     And now the golden moon had turned     To shining white, white as our souls that burned     With vision of our prophecy assured:     Suddenly white was the moon; but she     At once did on a woven modesty     Of cloud, and soon went in obscured:     And we were dark, and vanisht that strange hill.     But yet it was not long before     There opened in the sky a narrow door,     Made with pearl lintel and pearl sill;     And the earth's night seem'd pressing there, -     All as a beggar on some festival would peer, -     To gaze into a room of light beyond,     The hidden silver splendour of the moon.     Yea, and we also, we     Long gazed wistfully     Towards thee, O morning, come at last,     And towards the light that thou wilt pour upon us soon!     II     O soul who still art strange to sense,     Who often against beauty wouldst complain,     Doubting between joy and pain:     If like the startling touch of something keen     Against thee, it hath been     To follow from an upland height     The swift sun hunting rain     Across the April meadows of a plain,     Until the fields would flash into the air     Their joyous green, like emeralds alight;     Or when in the blue of night's mid-noon     The burning naked moon     Draws to a brink of cloudy weather near,     A breadth of snow, firm and soft as a wing,     Stretcht out over a wind that gently goes, -     Through the white sleep of snowy cloud there grows     An azure-border'd shining ring,     The gleaming dream of the approaching joy of her; -     What now wilt thou do, Soul? What now,     If with such things as these troubled thou wert?     How wilt thou now endure, or how     Not now be strangely hurt? -     When utter beauty must come closer to thee     Than even anger or fear could be;     When thou, like metal in a kiln, must lie     Seized by beauty's mightily able flame;     Enjoyed by beauty as by the ruthless glee     Of an unescapable power;     Obeying beauty as air obeys a cry;     Yea, one thing made of beauty and thee,     As steel and a white heat are made the same!      - Ah, but I know how this infirmity     Will fail and be not, no, not memory,     When I begin the marvellous hour.     This only is my heart's strain'd eagerness,     Long waiting for its bliss. -     But from those other fears, from those     That keep to Love so close,     From fears that are the shadow of delight,     Hide me, O joys; make them unknown to-night!     III     Thou bright God that in dream earnest to me last night,     Thou with the flesh made of a golden light,     Knew I not thee, thee and thy heart,     Knew I not well, God, who thou wert?     Yea, and my soul divinely understood     The light that was beneath thee a ground,     The golden light that cover'd thee round,     Turning my sleep to a fiery morn,     Was as a heavenly oath there sworn     Promising me an immortal good:     Well I knew thee, God of Marriages, thee and thy flame!     Ah, but wherefore beside thee came     That fearful sight of another mood?     Why in thy light, to thy hand chained,     Towards me its bondage terribly strained,     Why came with thee that dreadful hound,     The wild hound Fear, black, ravenous and gaunt?     Why him with thee should thy dear light surround?     Why broughtest thou that beast to haunt     The blissful footsteps of my golden dream? -     All shadowy black the body dread,     All frenzied fire the head, -     The hunger of its mouth a hollow crimson flame,     The hatred in its eyes a blaze     Fierce and green, stabbing the ruddy glaze,     And sharp white jetting fire the teeth snarl'd at me,     And white the dribbling rage of froth, -     A throat that gaped to bay and paws working violently,     Yet soundless all as a winging moth;     Tugging towards me, famishing for my heart; -     Even while thou, O golden god, wert still     Looking the beautiful kindness of thy will     Into my soul, even then must I be,     With thy bright promise looking at me,     Then bitterly of that hound afraid? -     Darkness, I know, attendeth bright,     And light comes not but shadow comes:     And heart must know, if it know thy light,     Thy wild hound Fear, the shadow of love's delight.     Yea, is it thus? Are we so made     Of death and darkness, that even thou,     O golden God of the joys of love,     Thy mind to us canst only prove,     The glorious devices of thy mind,     By so revealing how thy journeying here     Through this mortality, doth closely bind     Thy brightness to the shadow of dreadful Fear? -     Ah no, it shall not be! Thy joyous light     Shall hide me from the hunger of fear to-night.     IV     For wonderfully to live I now begin:     So that the darkness which accompanies     Our being here, is fasten'd up within     The power of light that holdeth me;     And from these shining chains, to see     My joy with bold misliking eyes,     The shrouded figure will not dare arise.     For henceforth, from to-night,     I am wholly gone into the bright     Safety of the beauty of love:     Not only all my waking vigours plied     Under the searching glory of love,     But knowing myself with love all satisfied     Even when my life is hidden in sleep;     As high clouds, to themselves that keep     The moon's white company, are all possest     Silverly with the presence of their guest;     Or as a darken'd room     That hath within it roses, whence the air     And quietness are taken everywhere     Deliciously by sweet perfume.     EPILOGUE     EPILOGUE     What shall we do for Love these days?     How shall we make an altar-blaze     To smite the horny eyes of men     With the renown of our Heaven,     And to the unbelievers prove     Our service to our dear god, Love?     What torches shall we lift above     The crowd that pushes through the mire,     To amaze the dark heads with strange fire?     I should think I were much to blame,     If never I held some fragrant flame     Above the noises of the world,     And openly 'mid men's hurrying stares,     Worshipt before the sacred fears     That are like flashing curtains furl'd     Across the presence of our lord Love.     Nay, would that I could fill the gaze     Of the whole earth with some great praise     Made in a marvel for men's eyes,     Some tower of glittering masonries,     Therein such a spirit flourishing     Men should see what my heart can sing:     All that Love hath done to me     Built into stone, a visible glee;     Marble carried to gleaming height     As moved aloft by inward delight;     Not as with toil of chisels hewn,     But seeming poised in a mighty tune.     For of all those who have been known     To lodge with our kind host, the sun,     I envy one for just one thing:     In Cordova of the Moors     There dwelt a passion-minded King,     Who set great bands of marble-hewers     To fashion his heart's thanksgiving     In a tall palace, shapen so     All the wondering world might know     The joy he had of his Moorish lass.     His love, that brighter and larger was     Than the starry places, into firm stone     He sent, as if the stone were glass     Fired and into beauty blown.         Solemn and invented gravely     In its bulk the fabric stood,     Even as Love, that trusteth bravely     In its own exceeding good     To be better than the waste     Of time's devices; grandly spaced,     Seriously the fabric stood.     But over it all a pleasure went     Of carven delicate ornament,     Wreathing up like ravishment,     Mentioning in sculptures twined     The blitheness Love hath in his mind;     And like delighted senses were     The windows, and the columns there     Made the following sight to ache     As the heart that did them make.     Well I can see that shining song     Flowering there, the upward throng     Of porches, pillars and windowed walls,     Spires like piercing panpipe calls,     Up to the roof's snow-cloud flight;     All glancing in the Spanish light     White as water of arctic tides,     Save an amber dazzle on sunny sides.     You had said, the radiant sheen     Of that palace might have been     A young god's fantasy, ere he came     His serious worlds and suns to frame;     Such an immortal passion     Quiver'd among the slim hewn stone.     And in the nights it seemed a jar     Cut in the substance of a star,     Wherein a wine, that will be poured     Some time for feasting Heaven, was stored.         But within this fretted shell,     The wonder of Love made visible,     The King a private gentle mood     There placed, of pleasant quietude.     For right amidst there was a court,     Where always muskd silences     Listened to water and to trees;     And herbage of all fragrant sort, -     Lavender, lad's-love, rosemary,     Basil, tansy, centaury, -     Was the grass of that orchard, hid     Love's amazements all amid.     Jarring the air with rumour cool,     Small fountains played into a pool     With sound as soft as the barley's hiss     When its beard just sprouting is;     Whence a young stream, that trod on moss,     Prettily rimpled the court across.     And in the pool's clear idleness,     Moving like dreams through happiness,     Shoals of small bright fishes were;     In and out weed-thickets bent     Perch and carp, and sauntering went     With mounching jaws and eyes a-stare;     Or on a lotus leaf would crawl,     A brinded loach to bask and sprawl,     Tasting the warm sun ere it dipt     Into the water; but quick as fear     Back his shining brown head slipt     To crouch on the gravel of his lair,     Where the cooled sunbeams broke in wrack,     Spilt shatter'd gold about his back.         So within that green-veiled air,     Within that white-walled quiet, where     Innocent water thought aloud, -     Childish prattle that must make     The wise sunlight with laughter shake     On the leafage overbowed, -     Often the King and his love-lass     Let the delicious hours pass.     All the outer world could see     Graved and sawn amazingly     Their love's delighted riotise,     Fixt in marble for all men's eyes;     But only these twain could abide     In the cool peace that withinside     Thrilling desire and passion dwelt;     They only knew the still meaning spelt     By Love's flaming script, which is     God's word written in ecstasies.     And where is now that palace gone,     All the magical skill'd stone,     All the dreaming towers wrought     By Love as if no more than thought     The unresisting marble was?     How could such a wonder pass?     Ah, it was but built in vain     Against the stupid horns of Rome,     That pusht down into the common loam     The loveliness that shone in Spain.     But we have raised it up again!     A loftier palace, fairer far,     Is ours, and one that fears no war.     Safe in marvellous walls we are;     Wondering sense like builded fires,     High amazement of desires,     Delight and certainty of love,     Closing around, roofing above     Our unapproacht and perfect hour     Within the splendours of love's power.