"Jungles thinned, and the clearings merged Where the wandering clans drew breath. Druids rose and the people surged. Then the blessing of Nazareth Fell on them mad and mild, Boasting itself a child. Smite it! And yet it smiled. There, as it kneeled, Lowliness rose to might, Deeming our days a night, Bodily joy a plight Soon to be healed; Gave to one god all credit for creation, But, lest the Path should seem the Destination, Strove to attune man's heartstrings to a rack, Until the soul was fortified to change hells, While saints and poets chanted songs of angels, Confessing earth was black But Afterwards was gold. "Faith was raised to the power of millions, Went as wine to a single head, Took its chiefs for the sun's postillions, Claimed to speak in its founder's stead; Till in the western skies Reason's epiphanies Beckoned the other-wise Men to rebirth. Doubt, that makes spirits lithe, Woke and began to writhe, Burst through the osier withe, Freed the old earth. Nature cried out again for recognition, Claiming that flesh is more than mere transition, That mouths were made for sweeter things than prayer. Yea, she, that first revealed the superhuman, Out of the depths in us shall bring the new man Who knows that earth is fair, And Afterwards--who knows!" We knew his childish searching meant no harm, But his own people somehow took alarm; For when his heart was healed, and he returned With songs, 'tis said that he and they were burned. Only this one survived. I put it by Lest one who lived so much should wholly die. He tried to spend far more than every day, And never asked what he would have to pay. To him a pint of music was a potion That set him dabbling in some small emotion. Wherever he could drown he marked an ocean He got no pleasure but the pains he took To bring himself to death by one small book Filled with what he had heard, the babble of a brook. XII THE LEGEND OF THE PEASANT They passed a field of purple _badinjan_. A peasant raised his head to hear the tune, And, seeking some excuse for holiday, He followed humming ballads, this the first: "It happened say a century ago, Somewhere between Mazanderan and Fars, A Frank was in the picture--that I know-- Mud-walls and roses, cypresses and stars, White dust and shadows black. "It happened She was loved by more than One, Though no one now recalls the name and rank Of even One, whose heart was like the stone That framed the water of the garden tank Long gone to utter wrack.