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Read Ebook: The Black Panther: A book of poems by Wheelock John Hall
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Ebook has 312 lines and 17600 words, and 7 pages
Through the old room What phantoms throng, what shapes that to and fro Tremble, and lips that laughed here long ago-- Gone back into the gloom!
A whip-poor-will Bleakly across the baleful country cries From a blurred mouth; and from the west replies Echo--and all is still.
Now from her shell, Her body's prison, with the ancient doubt And terror stricken, the scared soul looks out, Asking if all be well.
Great kings have been, Poets, and mighty prophets--shapes have cried About the world, or moved in mournful pride; And are no longer seen.
From many lands Their plaint was lifted; from how many a shore Sorrows have wailed, that are not any more! They sleep with folded hands.
They have their day: Their cry is loud about the earth, who come To the one end; the singing lips grow dumb Always in the one way.
Though they implore, Brief is the plea, inflexible the fate! Silence has the last word; and then--the great Silence, forevermore.
Pondering these, The fretful spirit in bewilderment Quickens with a vague doubt, and, not content, Broods--and is ill at ease.
Her being is Throned on so frail a pulse; such fleeting breath Bears up her dream across the gulf of death And the obscure abyss.
Always she hears The hurtling chariots of the hurrying blood, Her shuttling breath that in the solitude Weaves the one self she wears.
Now first the vast Veil over heaven is rent, and bares the whole Shining Reality; whereat the soul Sickens, and is aghast!
Darkness reveals The tragic truth; her will sinks hopeless wings Before the inexorable Fact of things, Humbling the dread she feels.
With the old Awes Confronted and the flaming Mystery, She may not speak; but pondering, suddenly Grows silent, and withdraws.
She may not bear That sight: the spangled heavens, from east to west, Stretch out too wide the confines of the breast, Straining in wonder there.
Upon what Brow Of awful eminence--O thought that stuns!-- Is laid that chaplet of a million suns, Upon what Forehead now?
Who was it wrought This universal glory all around, Of glittering worlds forever without bound?-- Great Poet, what a Thought!
It is a Word Unutterable that is written there; The spirit, gazing, is one voiceless prayer, Careless if it be heard.
Her thoughts ascend, Star beyond star, height beyond aching height Upward, in adoration infinite, Forever, without end.
Till God divide And rend asunder the embroidered hem Of darkness; till the starry diadem And crown be set aside!
THE SORROWFUL MASQUERADE
Even as to a music, stately and sad, The young girl's feet begin to move in a dance, And curiously, for joy, shift and advance; So to a mournful waltz, sombre and sweet, All laughing things move with delighted feet-- So all things that draw light and laughing breath Move to the mournful waltz of life and death: Comedy is a girl dancing in time To the tragic pipes, sorrowful and sublime; And ever she laughs back, and as she skips Mimics the mournful music with her lips; Then, for sheer anger at her own pretense, Sobs violently at her own vehemence; And mocks her tears. But when the pipings sleep, She needs must cover up her face and weep.
OCTOBER MOONLIGHT
Heaven is like an empty room to-night; From rim to chilly rim Wells the clear radiance of the cold moonlight, And the earth-ways are dim.
Who has departed from this perfect place! What fiery one here set His throne in splendor, whom, vanished now, the face Of heaven remembers yet!
Emptiness--emptiness--the skies are bare, And the stark earth no less Grows vacant as a memory: everywhere Sleeps the cold loveliness.
Old is the earth, too old; her voice is shrill Against the end of things-- To the inevitable her bitter will Grows humbler as she sings.
Now from my breast the very soul takes flight, Leaving her chambers bare Of all save lonely memory and moonlight-- And Song is silent there.
THE FLESH AND THE DREAM
The baffled dreamer, the defeated Christ That for your love upon the cross-tree hung-- O take Him to your bosom, give Him rest Close at the wanton wonder of your breast, O carnal World, forever well and young!
VAUDEVILLE
When to a cheap and tawdry tune the orchestra cried out, Frantic, in violent syncopation, and began Your holy, adorable body in mournful grace to move about Through the old, devious motions, the device of man--
How suddenly then, silent magnificence, you put to shame The crowded and garish theatre, the strangled cries Of flute and trumpet! O mortal body, bearer of our flame Through the drear lands of death, flower of the eternities!
O through what generations have you lured, what secret ways, Man's fainting heart to be reborn! What splendors move Deep in his breast when, dolorous, your reluctant beauty sways In the old weary rhythms of eternal love!
I lift my gaze beyond the night, and see, Above the banners of Man's hate unfurled, The holy figure that on Calvary Stretched arms out wide enough for all the world.
THE BELOV?D
Life, Belov?d, I lay my heart against Your heart, Long, long I peer into the dark pool of Your eyes; Never will I forsake You, O adorable One!
I cannot comprehend You, but I love You. In the shadow of Your locks I hide my eyes from the terrors; But You are not greatly concerned-- Closer and closer I draw toward the dear Face.
See--I set my lips against Your lips, But You do not answer: Steadfast and grave beyond me Your eyes are burning, As of one that dreams.
I am clinging here at Your heart! I am singing my love of You for sheer joy! Mother, what is it that trembles on Your lashes so soft-- And Your lips are salt as the taste of the sea?
Can it be for me Your eyes are brimming, Mother, Even as they smile? Can they be for me, these drops on Your lips so warm? Dear One, do I understand at last!
O holy draught, wine of the world, bewildering and bitter-sweet! Sacred tears, from the depths of what wild love welling! Deeper and deeper let me drink and draw-- Nirvana, divine oblivion....
Bitter is the taste of Your lips, Belov?d!
Though I lie in the darkness, yet often do I remember You--and wonder-- And the touch of Your lips, how strange, and how sad.
PROUD DOOM
The crucifixion of Beauty on the cross Of mortal destiny--the eternal law-- The thorny crown of death about her brows Fills me with anger--then with sudden awe:
So dear, so lovely her adorable sorrow Shows in the darkness, 'mid the tragic doom, The very heart in me leaps up with laughter, And hastens, proud and secret, toward the tomb.
THE SECRET ONE
Here, by this frame and network of the flesh And wires of her control Surrounded, central in her subtle mesh And secret, sits the soul,
Urgent through all the body, while each part Obeys, and all are one-- While in her dungeons labors the lone heart To make her will be done.
She reins the forces in their wild career That bear her, as they go, Over the dark abyss; and knows how sheer Reaches the gulf below.
How dubious her life and slenderly Hangs, by a scarlet thread, Between eternity and eternity-- She guesses, wise in dread;
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