Jephthah and Other Mysteries

30 Ct: JEPHTHAH. My open spirit by their influence, And taught mine ears to catch no doubtful sound Of prophecy, but fix it in my mind, A lambent liquid fire of poetry Full of all meaning as the very stars. Yet of my own life they have never breathed One chilly word of fear, or one divine Roseate syllable of hope and joy. Still less of love. For no sweet life of love Lies to my hand, but I am bound by Fate To the strong compulsion of the sword; my lips Shall fasten on my wife’s not much; nor those Pure lips of innocent girlhood that call me Father ; but my lips must wreathe smiles no more, But set in fearful strength of purpose toward The blood of enemies, in horrid gouts And hideous fountains leaping from great gashes, Rather than that belovéd blood that wells Fervent and red-rose-wise in loving breasts, And little veins of purple in the arms, Or cheeks that are already flushed with it, To crimson them with the intense delight Of eyes that meet and know the spirit dwells Beyond their profound depth in sympathy. Nay, my delight must find some dearest foe, And cleave his body with a lusty stroke That sets the blood sharp tingling in my arm. Yet tell me if perchance I lay aside One day the harness of cold iron, bind on The lighter reins of roses deftly twined