Classic Poem

I

Saying, " She goes forth clean of all harassing " —
I caught nevertheless that recent crying
Wrenched out of your heart at Duse's dying;
And my heart was a bitter lake with shadows massing
Under a sultry electric twilight, glassing
The surface with a sudden terror, flying
Wild with the wild goose phalanx, and denying
Death's stealthy shoe, the gust of his grey passing.

Such was the unbelief and such the aching
Of one who had splintered many a lance in tilt
With you when your brain was a banner shaking,
A white plume streaming, a glittering dagger hilt —
Who now on the black lake's edge sees a hand sunder
The lake and grip the sword and pull it under.

II

People would speak of you as having far
Too little of the central stuff that churns
To a white fire in Keats and instantly burns
The apprehension livid like a star;
And yet I felt when you were most bizarre,
Beneath the crackle of colour, the twists and turns
Of your phrase-fury, a sense of desolate urns,
Grey roses, brittle vials of vinegar.

Those verbal agitations and those tall
Minarets of music seemed escape:
You clicked against your palate a proud grape —
Only to taste the sting of golden gall;
And then you slit your veins and spilled their hot
Wine on a white page in a brilliant blot.

III

It was vouchsafed me once or twice to share
Your memorable sessions with the few
Anointed, and to do as they would do,
Toying with lichee nuts or candied pear,
Until a strange intensity made us aware
Of the presence! — and a long thrill ran us through —
And we stood up — and it was vividly You
Saluting your uhlans from the head of the stair!

You talked as none had since the Cheshire Cheese
Rocked to the roaring Leviathan: every word
Shot and splintered sapphire, if you please,
And in the velvet havana's haze I heard
Occasional sentences as dark as trees
In a sunken forest where there was no bird.

IV

The ravens of the valley will of course
Disturb your faults, according to their kind;
Peck at your candid eyes, pronounce you blind
And celebrate their subtleties perforce;
And the young eagles rallying to the source
Will sniff the speed that left them well behind
And launch their wings, contemptuously to find
Your Pegasus a star hitched to a horse!

Nor will you lack the solemn exercise
Of vestals and gregorian gentlemen
Plucking their harps and humming between sighs
The plaintive panegyric. . . . Until then
Permit me to recall your candid eyes
And what you said ... and where it was ... and when.