Classic Poem

The mist that was white as a shroud
Rolled away, and the Voice said, “Write.”
Far through the rift in the cloud,
Like a bird when the storm is loud,
Darted my sight.

I saw the things that have been,—
A vision which all may see,—
And the vision denied to men,
The things that are yet to be;
And I shuddered, and veiled my sight;
Yet the Voice said, “Write.”

I saw the crownéd Twain,
Hand in hand, heart to heart, vein to vein,
And the taller was fair as the sun,
And the strength of them both was as one,
And the sin of them both as of one.

For under the floor of their car,
With its draping of stripe and of star,
Came the bearers dusky as night,
Came the bearers haggard and white,
With the burden too great to bear.

For the lissome arm so brown
With the lash and the chain dropped down
Heavy as lead;
And the gold that the fair Queen grasps
Had the weight of the sod on the dead;
And the bearers they breathed in gasps
And they reeled in their tread.

Then a flash hid them all from my sight,
And it paled; and the Voice said, “Write.”

I saw the crownéd Twain,
But the darker was crownless now,
And the light had left her brow,
And gone was her vassal train.
And the bearers haggard and white
Brightened with wild delight,
For the Queen that was fair as the sun,
In her joy at the victory won,
Lavished her gifts in their sight.

And they saw not, unshown,
That the burden they bore
Was as great as before
And they bore it alone.

Then a cloud hid the scene from my sight,
And it passed, and the Voice said, “Write.”

And the bearers haggard and pale
Writhed with the burden they bore,
And sank in the mire and the sands,
Lifting imploring hands
With shriek and desolate wail,
And their cry was loud in the lands.

And some cried, “More! More! More!
Open, O Queen, thy store!”
(They had drunken her gifts like wine
In the days that had seemed divine),
And some were beginning to curse,
And to cry, “Was the dark Queen worse?
We have borne this weight from of yore,
And now we will bear no more.”

And now we will bear no more.”

And their Queen had a hunted face,
Haggard and full of fear,
As the stag when the sounds of chase
Proclaim that the hounds are near;
And she reached for the lash in vain
That had fallen from the dark Queen's hands,
And she showered her gifts like rain,
For the cry was loud in the lands.
Yet the cry rose more and more,
“Open, O Queen, thy store!”

Then a curtain dropped on my sight,
And it rose; and the Voice said, “Write.”

And the bearers haggard and white
Were frantic with wild delight,
For they said, “We shall slay her now
For the rings that are on her hand
And the crown that is on her brow.”
And the fair Queen strove to stand,
And she cast appealing eyes.
Then I saw the dark Queen rise,
Scornful and tall and grand,
Shadowing all the land,

And her lissome arm had the swing
Of the eagle's rushing wing
As he swoops with the prey in his grasp,
And the sting of the deadly asp
Was the sting of the lash she swayed.
And the bearers moaned,
And the bearers groaned,
But they kneeled them down and obeyed.

So again beneath the car,
With its draping of stripe and star,
Came the bearers dusky as night,
Came the bearers haggard and white,
With the burden too great to bear.

For the strength of the Queens was as one,
And the shame of them both as of one.

And I asked, “Shall this always be?”
And the Voice said, “Wait and see.”