The Sword of Song

ASCENSION DAY 19 And slide to leaning on another, God, or the doctor, or my mother. But dare you quote my fevered word For better than my health averred ? The brainish fancies of a man Hovering on delerium’s brink : Shall these be classed his utmost span ? All that he can or ought to think ? No ! the strong man and self-reliant Is the true spiritual giant. I blame no weaklings, but decline To take their maunderings for mine. You see I do not base my thesis On your Book’s being torn to pieces By knowledge : nor invoke the shade Of my own boyhood’s agony. Soul, shudder not ! Advance the blade Of fearless fact and probe the scar ! You know my first-class memory ? Well, in my life two years there are Twelve years back—not so very far ! Two years whereof no memory stays. One ageless anguish filled my days So that no item, like a star Sole in the supreme night, above Stands up for hope, or joy, or love. Nay, not one ignis fatuus glides Sole in that marsh, one agony To make the rest look light. Abides The thick sepulchral changeless shape Shapeless, continuous misery Whereof no smoke-wreaths might escape To show me whither lay the end, Whence the beginning. All is black, Void of all cause, all aim ; unkenned, As if I had been dead indeed— All in Christ’s name ! And I look back, And then and long time after lack Courage or strength to hurl the creed Down to the heaven it sprang from ! No ! Not this inspires the indignant blow 660 666 670 675 680 685 690 695 700 Poem does not treat of Palæ- ontology : nor of poet’s youth : nor of Christian infamies. Poet forced to mystic position.