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Read Ebook: Challenge by Untermeyer Louis
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Ebook has 198 lines and 14330 words, and 4 pages
me with my tinkling that patters like rain On a rickety pane; With a jingle of words and old tunes which have long Done duty in song; Spreading my verse, like a showman, before you... And you turn to the world, as you turn to the bosom that bore you.
In all this singing at your heart, In all this ringing through the day, In the bravado of the May I have no part.... For I am not one with the conquering year That wakes without fear The lyrical souls of the feathery throng, That flames in the heavens when evenings are long; That surges with power and urges with cheer The boldness of love, the laugh of the strong, And the confident song...
I am no longer the masterful lover Storming my way to the shrine of your heart; Reckless with youth and the zest to discover All that the world sets apart. I am no longer Wiser and stronger; No longer I shout in the face of the world; No longer my challenge is sounded and hurled With such fury that even the heavens must hear it. No longer I mount on a passionate flood-- Something has changed my arrogant spirit, Something has left my braggart blood. Something has left me--something has entered in-- Something I knew not, something beyond my desire. Deeper and gentler I hold you; all that has been Seems like a spark that is lost in a forest of fire. Minor my song is, for still the old memories burn-- Only in you and your thought do I find my release... I have done with the blustering airs, and I turn From the clamorous strife to the greater heroics of peace.
Hold me again-- Oft have we wandered apart; Now it is all made plain... Here in your heart.
Heal me again-- Cleanse me with tears that remove Pain and the ruins of pain... Here in your love.
Minor my song was--abashed I must lower my voice; Something has touched me with nobler and holier fire; Something that thrills, as when trumpets and children rejoice; Something I knew not, something beyond my desire... Minor no longer--the sighing and droning depart; In a chorus of triumph the jubilant spirits increase-- Shelter and spur me forever in the merciful strength of your heart, You who have soothed me with passion and roused me with passionate peace.
LEAVING THE HARBOR
At last the great, red sun sank low, An evil, blood-shot eye, And cooling airs sprang up to blow The sea that challenged, glow for glow, The angry face of the sky.
Still burned the streets we had left behind, Where, tortured and broken down, The millions scarcely hoped to find A moment's escape from the maddening grind In the terrible furnace of town.
And, blotting out cities, the twilight fell With a single star at seven... The sea grew wider beneath the spell And the moon, like a broken silver shell, Lay on the shore of heaven.
THE SHELL TO THE PEARL
Grow not so fast, glow not so warm; Thy hidden fires burn too wild-- Too perfect is thy rounded form; Cling close, my child.
Be yet my babe, rest quiet when The great sea-urges beat and call; Too soon wilt thou be ripe for men, The world and all.
Thy shining skin, thy silken sheath, These will undo thee all too soon; And men will fight for thee beneath Some paler moon...
Aye, thou my own, my undefiled, Shalt make the lewd world dream and start, When they have seized and torn thee, child, Out of my heart.
With velvets shall thy bed be laid; A royal captive thou shalt be-- And oh, what prices will be paid To ransom thee.
Thy path shall be a track of gold, Of lust, of death and countless crimes; Bought by a sensual world--and sold A thousand times...
And each shall lose thee at the last, Hating, yet still desiring thee... While I lie, where I have been cast, Back in the sea.
THE YOUNG MYSTIC
We sat together close and warm, My little tired boy and I-- Watching across the evening sky The coming of the storm.
No rumblings rose, no thunders crashed, The west-wind scarcely sang aloud; But from a huge and solid cloud The summer lightnings flashed.
And then he whispered "Father, watch; I think God's going to light His moon--" "And when, my boy" ... "Oh, very soon-- I saw Him strike a match!"
HEALED
The winds like a pack of hounds Snap at my dragging heels With sudden leapings and playful bounds They urge me out to the greener grounds Where the butterfly sinks and the swallow reels Giddy with Spring, with its smells and sounds-- And I go...
For of late I have fretted and sulked, and clung to my books and the house; Lethargic with winter fancies and dulled with a torpid mood-- But now I am called by the grasses; the rumor of blossoming boughs; The hints of a thousand singers and the ancient thrill of the wood.
For the streets run over with sunlight and spill A glory on bricks and the dustiest sill; And Life, like a great drum, pulses and pounds-- I follow the world and I follow my will, And I go to see what the park reveals When the winds, like a pack of buoyant hounds, Snap at my dragging heels...
Once with the green again How I am changed-- Lo, I have seen again Friends long estranged. Once more the lyrical Rose-bush and river; Once more the miracle, Greater than ever!
Where is there dulness now-- Rich with new urges Life in its fullness now Surges and purges All that is brash in me-- Sunlight and Song These things will fashion me Splendid and strong.
Splendid and strong I shall grow once again; Joyful and clean as the mind of a child, As tears after pain, Or hearts reconciled, As woods washed with rain, As love in the wild, Or that bird to whom all things but singing is vain.
"Bird, there were songs in your heart just as rapturous As these that you bring-- Why when we longed for your magic to capture us Did you not sing? Now with the world making music we heed you not. Coward, for all your fine challenge, we need you not-- We too are brave with the Spring!"
So I sang--but a something was missing; the song and the sunlight were stale, Though a squirrel had sat on my shoulder and sparrows had fed from my hand; Though I heard the white laughter of ripples and the breezes' faint answering hail, And somewhere a bird's voice I knew not--yet hearing could half understand...
And lo, at my doorstep I saw it; it shouted to me as I came-- It laughed in its simple revealment, a miracle common and wild; Plainly I heard and beheld it, bright as a forest of flame-- And its face was the face of a mother, and its voice was the voice of a child.
THE STIRRUP-CUP
Your eyes--and a thousand stars Leap from the night to aid me; I scale the impossible bars, I laugh at a world that dismayed me.
Your voice--and the thundering skies Tremble and cease to appall me-- Coward no longer, I rise Spurred for what battles may call me.
Your arms--and my purpose grows strong; Your lips--and high passions complete me... For your love, it is armor and Song-- And where is the thing to defeat me!
SPRING ON BROADWAY
Make way for Spring-- Spring that's a stranger in the city, Spring that's a truant in the town. Make way for Spring, for she has no pity And she will tear your barriers down-- Make way for Spring!
See from her hidden valleys, With mirth that never palls, She comes with songs and sallies, With bells and magic calls, And dances down your alleys, And whispers through your walls.
You who never once have missed her In your town of pomp and pride Now in vain you will resist her-- You will feel her at your side; Even in the smallest street, Even in the densest throng, She will follow at your feet, She will walk with you along. She will stop you as you start Here and there, and growing bolder, She will touch you on the shoulder, She will clutch you at the heart...
Merchant, you who drink your mead From a golden cup, Shut your ears, and do not heed; Look not up. Beware--for she is light as air, And her charm will work confusion; Spring is but an old delusion And a snare.... Merchant, you who drink your mead While the thirsty die, Shut your eyes, and do not heed-- Pass her by.
Maiden with the nun-like eyes Do not pause to greet her; Spring is far too wild and wise-- Do not meet her. Do not listen while she tells Her persuasive lures and spells; Do not learn her secrets, lest She should plant them in your breast; Whisper things to shame and shock you, Make your heart beat fast--and mock you; Send you dreams that rob your rest... Maiden with the nun-like eyes Spring is far too wild and wise.
And you, my friend, with hasty stride Think you to escape her; Ah, like fire touching paper, She will burn into your side. She will rouse you once again; She will sway you, till you follow Like the smallest singing swallow In her train.
Put irons on your feet, my friend, And chain your soul with golden weights, Lest she should move you in the end And lead you past the city gates; And make you frolic with the wind; And play a thousand godlike parts; And sing--until within you starts A pity for the senseless blind, The deaf, the dumb and all their kind Whose eager, aimless footsteps wind Forever to the frantic marts, Through every mad and breathless street.., My friend, put irons on your feet.
So--and that is right, my friend; Do not yield. Send her on her way, and end All her follies; let her spend Her reckless days and nights concealed In wood and field...... The paths beyond the town are clear; These skies are wan-- Bid her begone. What is she doing here?
What is she doing here--and why? The city is no place for Spring. What can she have; what can she bring That you would care to buy. Her songs? Alas, you do not sing. Her smiles? You have no time to try. Her wings? You do not care to fly-- Spring has not fashioned anything To tempt your jaded eye.
The city is no place for her-- It is too violent and shrill; Too full of graver things--but still Beneath the throbbing surge and stir, Her spirit lives and moves, until Even the dullest feel the spur Of an awakened will.
Make way then--Life, rejoicing, Calls, with a lyric rout, Till in this mighty voicing The very stones sing out; Till nowhere is a single Sleeping or silent thing, And worlds that meet and mingle Fairly tingle with the Spring.
Make way for Her-- For the fervor of Life, For the passions that stir, For the courage of Strife; For the struggles that bring A more vivid day-- Make way for Spring; Make way!
IN A CAB
Rain--and the lights of the city, Blurred by the mist on the pane. A thing without passion or pity-- This is the rain.
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