Poet in the Desert, The - Part 27
Not till Man be lawless will he be lawful.
Not till he may freely be immoral will he be moral.
Not till he may freely be impure will he be pure.
And the soul of Purity is Beauty. They are one.
None shall use force against another who uses not force.
Neither the many against one
Nor one against any:
The great restraint to know and understand
Nature's first commandment. Freedom respecting freedom.
Even as the blackberry vine, throwing out its trailing garlands
On the mountain, will perish in the swamp,
And the glossy-leaved cranberry with scarlet beads
Perish on the mountainside,
So will man perish if he refuse the commandment;
But if he understand, he will rise toward the sky
As the long-leaved pine builds its cathedral
Upon the ungentle but nursing rock.
Behold the grass and the trees.
Do they think fearfully lest they offend
The grass and trees of the past?
As the trees blossom so should man blossom.
The apple-trees, unchecked, to red or golden fruit;
The locust-trees tossing their blonde curls
To seduce the breeze with honey.
When the trees feel the sap stir,
Do they ask leave to blossom?
O, that everywhere were the laughter of children
As in Spring everywhere the singing of birds.
I will not publish the wonderful march of the Seasons
Until everywhere the breasts of mothers are full.
Shall I concern myself with distant Antares
Or the hushed murmur of amorous leaves by night,
Or stand with young lovers in the enfolding darkness,
Young lovers who beget new slaves?
No. Not till Love is free.
Shall I thrill in the feeble voice of the katydid,
Or chirp a querulous tune,
Like a blackbird clinging to a cat-tail above a marsh,
While Love, master of Life, is in bond
To the edicts of Superstition?
I will observe the free things.
I will watch the whirling skirts of Rain
Coming down from the hills,
Flaunting diaphanous draperies,
And delightedly I will watch the new-born buds
Weaving veils of verdure before the altar of the sun.
I will rejoice in the singing of grasshoppers,
Crickets and cicadas,
Little unseen poets,
Chanting the mystical passion of Summer.
For them the world is free, save only the great conditions.
We watch Creation set aflame her pageantry of worlds
And light her candles down the halls of space,
Yet dare to beckon almighty Love from Heaven
To fat an obscene god with guts of gold.
Shall we who look up to the stars
From a level no higher than the tortoise,
Nay, cannot soar so far as the dusky beetle,
Fasten shackles onto Love, and in a double slavery
Breed for exploiting and for slaughter?
Not till he may freely be immoral will he be moral.
Not till he may freely be impure will he be pure.
And the soul of Purity is Beauty. They are one.
None shall use force against another who uses not force.
Neither the many against one
Nor one against any:
The great restraint to know and understand
Nature's first commandment. Freedom respecting freedom.
Even as the blackberry vine, throwing out its trailing garlands
On the mountain, will perish in the swamp,
And the glossy-leaved cranberry with scarlet beads
Perish on the mountainside,
So will man perish if he refuse the commandment;
But if he understand, he will rise toward the sky
As the long-leaved pine builds its cathedral
Upon the ungentle but nursing rock.
Behold the grass and the trees.
Do they think fearfully lest they offend
The grass and trees of the past?
As the trees blossom so should man blossom.
The apple-trees, unchecked, to red or golden fruit;
The locust-trees tossing their blonde curls
To seduce the breeze with honey.
When the trees feel the sap stir,
Do they ask leave to blossom?
O, that everywhere were the laughter of children
As in Spring everywhere the singing of birds.
I will not publish the wonderful march of the Seasons
Until everywhere the breasts of mothers are full.
Shall I concern myself with distant Antares
Or the hushed murmur of amorous leaves by night,
Or stand with young lovers in the enfolding darkness,
Young lovers who beget new slaves?
No. Not till Love is free.
Shall I thrill in the feeble voice of the katydid,
Or chirp a querulous tune,
Like a blackbird clinging to a cat-tail above a marsh,
While Love, master of Life, is in bond
To the edicts of Superstition?
I will observe the free things.
I will watch the whirling skirts of Rain
Coming down from the hills,
Flaunting diaphanous draperies,
And delightedly I will watch the new-born buds
Weaving veils of verdure before the altar of the sun.
I will rejoice in the singing of grasshoppers,
Crickets and cicadas,
Little unseen poets,
Chanting the mystical passion of Summer.
For them the world is free, save only the great conditions.
We watch Creation set aflame her pageantry of worlds
And light her candles down the halls of space,
Yet dare to beckon almighty Love from Heaven
To fat an obscene god with guts of gold.
Shall we who look up to the stars
From a level no higher than the tortoise,
Nay, cannot soar so far as the dusky beetle,
Fasten shackles onto Love, and in a double slavery
Breed for exploiting and for slaughter?
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