And clash and clash of hoof and heel,
Wild shouts and the wave of hair
In the rush upon the wind:
Thus the ride of sin.
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A youth in apparel that glittered
There he met an assassinAttired all in garb of old days;He, scowling through the thickets,And dagger poised quivering,Rushed upon the youth.‘Sir,’ said this latter,‘I am enchanted, believe me,To die, thus,In this medieval fashion,According to the best legends;Ah, what joy!’Then took he the wound, smiling,And died, content.
There was crimson clash of war.
Women wept;Babes ran, wondering.There came one who understood not these things.He said, ‘Why is this?’Whereupon a million strove to answer him.There was such intricate clamour of tongues,That still the reason was not.
The Ocean said to me once,
Yonder on the shoreIs a woman, weeping.I have watched her.Go you and tell her this-Her lover I have laidIn cool green hall.There is wealth of golden sandAnd pillars, coral-red;Two white fish stand guard at his bier.Tell her thisAnd more-That the king of the seasWeeps too, old, helpless man.The bustling FatesHeap his hands with corpsesUntil he…
There was a man who lived a life of fire.
Where purple becomes orangeAnd orange purple,This life glowed,A dire red stain, indelible;Yet when he was dead,He saw that he had not lived.
There were many who went in huddled procession,
But, at any rate, success or calamityWould attend all in equality.There was one who sought a new road.He went into direful thickets,And ultimately he died thus, alone;But they said he had courage.
A god in wrath
He cuffed him loudlyWith thunderous blowsThat rang and rolled over the earth.All people came running.The man screamed and struggled,And bit madly at the feet of the god.The people cried,‘Ah, what a wicked man!’And —‘Ah, what a redoubtable god!’
And clash and clash of hoof and heel,
Wild shouts and the wave of hair
In the rush upon the wind:
Thus the ride of sin.
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I explain the silvered passing of a ship at night,
The dwindling boom of the steel thing’s striving,The little cry of a man to a man,A shadow falling across the greyer night,And the sinking of the small star;Then the waste, the far waste of waters,And the soft lashing of black wavesFor long and in loneliness.Remember, thou, O ship of love,Thou leavest a far waste of…
To the maiden
Alive with little froth-peopleSinging.To the sailor, wrecked,The sea was dead grey wallsSuperlative in vacancy,Upon which nevertheless at fateful timeWas writtenThe grim hatred of nature.
‘It was wrong to do this,’ said the angel.
Holding malice like a puppy,Waging war like a lambkin.’‘Not so,’ quoth the manWho had no fear of spirits;‘It is only wrong for angelsWho can live like the flowers,Holding malice like the puppies,Waging war like the lambkins.’
A man saw a ball of gold in the sky;
And eventually he achieved it —It was clay.Now this is the strange part:When the man went to the earthAnd looked again,Lo, there was the ball of gold.Now this is the strange part:It was a ball of gold.Aye, by the heavens, it was a ball of gold.
God lay dead in heaven;
Purple winds went moaning,Their wings drip-drippingWith bloodThat fell upon the earth.It, groaning thing,Turned black and sank.Then from the far cavernsOf dead sinsCame monsters, livid with desire.They fought,Wrangled over the world,A morsel.But of all sadness this was sad –A woman’s arms tried to shieldThe head of a sleeping manFrom the jaws of the final beast.
Each small gleam was a voice,
In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.A chorus of colours came over the water;The wondrous leaf-shadow no longer wavered,No pines crooned on the hills,The blue night was elsewhere a silence,When the chorus of colours came over the water,Little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.Small glowing pebblesThrown on the dark plane of eveningSing good ballads…