Appendix Poems in Greek and in French Greek Epigram Lorsque rien n'existait Sur les grands sommets blancs Note on the Texts Index of Titles Index of First Lines

Poems from Manuscripts

Circa 1909 1910

Perfect thy motion

Perfect thy motion ever within me,

Master of mind.

Grey of the brain, flash of the lightning,

Brilliant and blind,

These thou linkest, the world to mould,

Writing the thought in a scroll of gold

Violet lined.

Tablet of brain thou hast made for thy writing,

Master divine.

Calmly thou writest or full of thy grandeur

Flushed as with wine.

Then with a laugh thou erasest the scroll,

Bringing another, like waves that roll

And sink supine.

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A Dialogue

ACHAB

Stamp out, stamp out the sun from the high blue

And all o'erarching firmament of heaven;

Forget the mighty ocean when it spumes

Under the thunder-deafened cliffs and soars

To crown their tops with spray, but never hope

That Baal will excuse, Baal forgive.

That's an ambition more impossible,

A thought more rebel from the truth.

ESARHADDON

Baal!

It seems to me that thou believ'st in Baal!

ACHAB

And what dost thou believe in? The gross crowd

Believe the sun is God or else a stone.

This though I credit not, yet Baal lives.

ESARHADDON

And if he lives, then you and I are Baal,

Deserve as much the prayer and sacrifice

As he does. Nay, then, sit and tell him, "Lord,

If thou art Baal, let the fire be lit

Upon thy altar without agency,

Let men believe." Can God do this, and if

He cannot, if he needs a flint and fuel

And human hands to light his sacred fire,

Is he not less than man? The flint and fuel

Are for our work sufficient. What is he

If not a helpless name that cannot live

Unless men's lips repeat him?

Page – 286

ACHAB

And the flint,

The fuel? Who made these or formed the hands

That lit the fire? the lips that prove him nothing?

Or who gave thee thy clear and sceptic brain,

Thy statecraft and thy bold and scornful will

Despising what thou usest? Was it thou

That mad'st them?

ESARHADDON

No, my parents did. Say then

The seed is God that touched my mother's womb

And by familiar process built this house

Inhabited by Esarhaddon.

ACHAB

Who

Fashioned the seed?

ESARHADDON

It grew from other seed,

That out of earth and water, light and heat,

And ether, eldest creature of the world.

All is a force that irresistibly

Works by its nature which it cannot help,

And that is I and that the wood and flint,

That Achab, that Assyria, that the world.

ACHAB

How came the force in being?

ESARHADDON

From of old

It is.

Page – 287

ACHAB

Then why not call it Baal?

ESARHADDON

For me

I care not what 'tis called, Mithra or God.

You call it Baal, Perizade says

'Tis Ormuzd, Mithra and the glorious Sun.

I say 'tis force.

ACHAB

Then wherefore strive to change

Assyria's law, o'erthrow the cult of Baal?

ESARHADDON

I do not, for it crumbles of itself.

Why keep the rubbish? Priest, I need a cult

More gentle and less bloody to the State,

Not crying at each turn for human blood

Which means the loss of so much labour, gold,

Soldiers and strength. This Mithra's worship is.

Come, priest, you are incredulous yourself,

But guard your trade, so do I mine, so all.

Will it be loss to you, if it be said

Baal and Mithra, these are one, but Baal

Changes and grows more mild and merciful,

A friend to men? Or if instead of blood's

Unprofitable revenue we give

Offerings of price, and heaps of captive gold

In place of conquered victims?

ACHAB

So you urge,

The people's minds are not so mobile yet.

Page – 288

ESARHADDON

If you and I agree, who will refuse?

I care not, man, how it is done. Invent

Scriptures, forge ancient writings, let the wild

Mystics who slash their limbs on Baal's hill,

Cry out the will of Baal while they slash.

You are subtle, if you choose. The head of all

Assyria's state ecclesiastical,

Assured a twentieth of my revenues,

And right of all the offerings votaries heap

On Mithra, that's promotion more than any

Onan can give, the sullen silent slave,

Or Ikbal Sufa with his politic brain.

ACHAB

Why that?

ESARHADDON

You think I do not know! I see

Each motion of your close conspiring brains,

Achab.

ACHAB

And if you do, why hold your hand?

ESARHADDON

That's boldly questioned, almost honestly.

Because a State is ill preserved by blood.

The policy that sees a fissure here,

A wall in ill repair, and builds it up,

Is better than to raze the mansion down

And make it new. I know the people's mind

Sick of a malady no leech can name;

I see a dangerous motion in the soil,

Page – 289

And make my old foundations sure. Achab,

You know I have a sword, and yet it sleeps;

I offer you the gem upon the hilt

And friendship. Will you take it? See, I need

A brain as clear as yours, a heart as bold.

What should I do by killing you, but lose

A statesman born?

ACHAB

You have conquered, King. I yield.

ESARHADDON

'Tis well. Here is my hand on our accord.

Page – 290