Collected Works (Vol. I)

30 SONGS OF THE SPIRIT THE GOAD. av’ bypov dumratnv alfépa mépow yaias ‘EdXavlas dorépas éomépous otov, olov &dyos érador, pirat. EURIPIDES. AMSTERDAM, December 237d, 1897. LET me pass out beyond the city gate. All day I loitered in the little streets Of black worn houses tottering, like the fate That hangs above my head even now, and meets Prayer and defiance as not hearing it. They lean, these old black streets ! a little sky Peeps through the gap, the rough stone path is lit Just for a little by the sun, and I Watch his red face pass over, fade away To other streets, and other passengers, See him take pleasure where the heathen pray, See him relieve the hunter of his furs, All the wide world awaiting him, all folk Glad at his coming, only I must weep: Rise he or sink, my weary eyes invoke Only the respite of a little sleep; Sleep, just a little space of sleep, to rest The fevered head and cool the aching eyes; Sleep for a space, to fall upon the breast Of the dear God, that He may sympathise, Long has the day drawn out; a bitter frost Sparkles along the streets; the shipping heaves With the slow murmur of the sea, half lost In the last rustle of forgotten leaves. Over the bridges pass the throngs; the sound, Deep and insistent, penetrates the mist— [I hear it not, I contemplate the wound Stabbed in the flanks of my dear silver Christ. He hangs in anguish there; the crown of thorns Pierces that palest brow; the nails drip blood ; There is the wound; no Mary by Him mourns, There is no John beside the cruel wood ; I am alone to kiss the silver lips ; I rend my clothing for the temple veil ; My heart’s black night must act the sun’s eclipse ; My groans must play the earthquake, till I quail At my own dark imagining ; and now The wind is bitterer ; the air breeds snow ; I put my Christ away ; I turn my brow Towards the south stedfastly ; my feet must go Some journey of despair. I dare not turn To meet the sun; I will not follow him: Better to pass where sand and sulphur burn, And days are hazed with heat, and nights are dim With some malarial poison. Better lie Far and forgotten on some desert isle, Where I may watch the silent ships go by, And let them share my burden for awhile. Let me pass out beyond the city gate Where I may wander by the water still, And see the faint few stars immaculate Watch their own beauty in its depth, and chill | Their own desire within its icy stream. Let me move on with vacant eyes, as one Lost in the labyrinth of some ill dream, Move and move on, and never see the sun Lap all the mist with orange and red gold, Throw some lank windmill into iron shade, And stir the chill canal with manifold Rays of clear morning ; never grow afraid When he dips down beyond the far flat land, Know never more the day and_ night apart, Know not where frost has laid his iron hand Save only that it fastens on my heart ; Save only that it grips with icy fire These veins no fire of hell could satiate ; Save only that it quenches this desire. Let me pass out beyond the city gate.