The young men of the tribe are such That knife or bow they dare not touch, But in close watching of the skies And reckoning counts they dim their eyes. Closed, each by each, in thoughtful bars They plot the circuits of the stars, And frozen music dulls their need Of drink and man-flesh greed. They hold that virtue from them slips When eye greets eye or lips touch lips; Down to the knee their broad beards fall And hardly are they men at all. Possessions they have none, nor schools For tribal duties, nor close rules, No gods, no rites, no totem beasts, No friendships, no love feasts. Now quit, as they, of gong-roused lust, The leap of breasts, the scattering dust, In hermit splendour at my glass I watch the skies’ procession pass, Tracing my figures on the floor Of planets’ paths and comets’ lore; In calm amaze I cloak my will, I gaze, I count, until Harsh from his House the Bull roars out, Forked lightning leaps his points about, Tattoos his shape upon the sky: Night anger fills the Serpent’s eye With desolating fire for one Who thought the Serpent’s days were done, And girlish titterings from the trees Loosen my firm knees. THE RED RIBBON DREAM As I stood by the stair-head in the upper hall The rooms to left and right were locked as before. It was senseless to hammer at an unreal door Painted on the plaster of a ten-foot wall. There was half-light here, piled darkness beyond Rising up sheer as the mountain of Time, The blank rock-face that no thought can climb, Girdled around with the Slough of Despond. I stood quite dumb, sunk fast in the mire, Lonely as the first man, or the last man, Chilled to despair since evening began, Dazed for the memory of a lost desire. But a voice said “Easily,” and a voice said “Come!” Easily I followed with no thought of doubt, Turned to the right hand, and the way stretched out; The ground held firmly; I was no more dumb. For that was the place where I longed to be, And past all hope there the kind lamp shone, The carpet was holy that my feet were on, And logs on the fire lay hissing for me. The cushions were friendship and the chairs were love, Shaggy with love was the great wolf skin, The clock ticked “Easily” as I entered in, “Come,” called the bullfinch from his cage above. Love went before me; it was shining now From the eyes of a girl by the window wall, Whose beauty I knew to be fate and all By the thin red ribbon on her calm brow. Then I was a hero and a bold boy Kissing the hand I had never yet kissed; I felt red ribbon like a snake twist In my own thick hair, so I laughed for joy. * * * * *