Stephen crane: the black riders and other lines  (Page 3/8)

“OH, BEST LITTLE BLADE OF GRASS!” HE SAID.

Xix

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A GOD IN WRATH

WAS BEATING A MAN;

HE CUFFED HIM LOUDLY

WITH THUNDEROUS BLOWS

THAT 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!”

Xx

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A LEARNED MAN CAME TO ME ONCE.

HE SAID, “I KNOW THE WAY,—COME.”

AND I WAS OVERLOYED AT THIS.

TOGETHER WE HASTENED.

SOON, TOO SOON, WERE WE

WHERE MY EYES WERE USELESS,

AND I KNEW NOT THE WAYS OF MY FEET.

I CLUNG TO THE HAND OF MY FRIEND;

BUT AT LAST HE CRIED, “I AM LOST.”

Xxi

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THERE WAS, BEFORE ME,

MILE UPON MILE

OF SNOW, ICE, BURNING SAND.

AND YET I COULD LOOK BEYOND ALL THIS,

TO A PLACE OF INFINITE BEAUTY;

AND I COULD SEE THE LOVELINESS OF HER

WHO WALKED IN THE SHADE OF THE TREES.

WHEN I GAZED,

ALL WAS LOST

BUT THIS PLACE OF BEAUTY AND HER.

WHEN I GAZED,

AND IN MY GAZING, DESIRED,

THEN CAME AGAIN

MILE UPON MILE,

OF SNOW, ICE, BURNING SAND.

Xxii

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ONCE I SAW MOUNTAINS ANGRY,

AND RANGED IN BATTLE-FRONT.

AGAINST THEM STOOD A LITTLE MAN;

AYE, HE WAS NO BIGGER THAN MY FINGER.

I LAUGHED, AND SPOKE TO ONE NEAR ME,

“WILL HE PREVAIL?”

“SURELY,” REPLIED THIS OTHER;

“HIS GRANDFATHERS BEAT THEM MANY TIMES.”

THEN DID I SEE MUCH VIRTUE IN GRANDFATHERS,—

AT LEAST, FOR THE LITTLE MAN

WHO STOOD AGAINST THE MOUNTAINS.

Xxiii

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PLACES AMONG THE STARS,

SOFT GARDENS NEAR THE SUN,

KEEP YOUR DISTANT BEAUTY;

SHED NO BEAMS UPON MY WEAK HEART.

SINCE SHE IS HERE

IN A PLACE OF BLACKNESS,

NOT YOUR GOLDEN DAYS

NOR YOUR SILVER NIGHTS

CAN CALL ME TO YOU.

SINCE SHE IS HERE

IN A PLACE OF BLACKNESS,

HERE I STAY AND WAIT.

Xxiv

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I SAW A MAN PURSUING THE HORIZON’

ROUND AND ROUND THEY SPED.

I WAS DISTURBED AT THIS’

I ACCOSTED THE MAN.

“IT IS FUTILE,” I SAID,

“YOU CAN NEVER”—

“YOU LIE,” HE CRIED

AND RAN ON.

Xxv

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BEHOLD, THE GRAVE OF A WICKED MAN,

AND NEAR IT, A STERN SPIRIT.

THERE CAME A DROOPING MAID WITH VIOLETS,

BUT THE SPIRIT GRASPED HER ARM.

“NO FLOWERS FOR HIM,” HE SAID.

THE MAID WEPT:

“AH, I LOVED HIM.”

BUT THE SPIRIT, GRIM AND FROWNING:

“NO FLOWERS FOR HIM.”

NOW, THIS IS IT—

IF THE SPIRIT WAS JUST,

WHY DID THE MAID WEEP?

Xxvi

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THERE WAS SET BEFORE ME A MIGHTY HILL,

AND LONG DAYS I CLIMBED

THROUGH REGIONS OF SNOW.

WHEN I HAD BEFORE ME THE SUMMIT-VIEW,

IT SEEMED THAT MY LABOR

HAD BEEN TO SEE GARDENS

LYING AT IMPOSSIBLE DISTANCES.

Xxvii

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A YOUTH IN APPAREL THAT GLITTERED

WENT TO WALK IN A GRIM FOREST.

THERE HE MET AN ASSASSIN

ATTIRED 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,