You know me, I know you, and both know that!
So, if Apollo bids us fast, we fast:
But where does Venus order we stop sense (1960)
When Master Pietro rhymes a pleasantry?
Give alms prescribed on Friday,—but, hold hand
Because your foe lies prostrate,—where’s the word
Explicit in the book debars revenge?
The rationale of your scheme is just
“Pay toll here, there pursue your pleasure free!”
So do you turn to use the medium-powers,
Mars and Minerva, Bacchus and the rest,
And so are saved propitiating—what?
What all good, all wise and all potent Jove (1970)
Vexed by the very sins in man, himself
Made life’s necessity when man he made?
Irrational bunglers! So, the living truth
Revealed to strike Pan dead, ducks low at last,
Prays leave to hold its own and live good days
provided it go masque grotesquely, called
Christian not Pagan? Oh, you purged the sky
Of all gods save One, the great and good,
Clapped hands and triumphed! But the change came fast:
The inexorable need in man for life— (1980)
Life,—you may mulct and minish to a grain
Out of the lump, so the grain left but live,—
Laughed at your substituting death for life,
And bade you do your worst,—which worst was done
—Pass that age styled the primitive and pure
When Saint this, Saint that, dutifully starved,
Froze, fought with beasts, was beaten and abused,
And finally ridded of his flesh by fire,
Keeping the while unspotted from the world!—
Good: but next age, how goes the game, who gives (1990)
His life and emulates Saint that and this?
They mutiny, mutter who knows what excuse?
In fine make up their minds to leave the new,
Stick to the old,—enjoy old liberty,
No prejudice, all the same, if so it please,
To the new profession: sin o’ the sly, henceforth!
Let the law stand: the letter kills, what then?
The spirit saves as unmistakeably.
Omniscience sees, Omnipotence could stop,
All-mercifulness pardons,—it must be, (2000)
Frown law its fiercest, there’s a wink somewhere.
I, like the rest, wrote “poison” on my bread;
But broke and ate:—said “those that use the sword
“Shall perish by the same;” then stabbed my foe.
I stand on solid earth, not empty air:
Dislodge me, let your Pope’s crook hale me hence!
Not he, nor you! And I so pity both,
I’ll make the speech you want the wit to make:
“Count Guido, who reveal our mystery, (2010)
“You trace all issues to the love of life:
“We have a life to love and guard, like you.
“Why did you put us upon self- defence?
“You well knew what prompt pass-word would appease
“The sentry’s ire when folk infringe his bounds,
“And yet kept mouth shut: do you wonder then
“If, in mere decency, he shot you dead?
“He can’t have people play such pranks as you
“Beneath his nose at noonday, who disdain
“To give him an excuse before the world, (2020)
“By crying ‘I break rule to save our camp!’
“Under the old rule, such offence were death;
“And so had you heard Pontifex pronounce
“‘Since you slay foe and violate the form,
“‘That turns to murder, which were sacrifice
“‘Had you, while, say, law-suiting him to death,
“‘But raised an altar to the Unknown God,
“‘Or else the Genius of the Vatican.’
“Why then this pother?—all because the Pope
“Doing his duty, cries ‘A foreigner, (2030)
“‘You scandalise the natives: here at Rome
“‘Romano vivitur more: wise men, here,
“‘Put the Church forward and efface themselves.
“‘The fit defence had been,—you stamped on wheat,
“‘Intending all the time to trample tares,—
“‘Were fain extirpate, then, the heretic,
“‘And now find, in your haste you slew a fool:
“‘Nor Pietro, nor Violante, nor your wife
“‘Meant to breed up your babe a Molinist!
“‘Whence you are duly contrite. Not one word (2040)
“‘Of all this wisdom did you urge!—Which slip
“‘Death must atone for!”’
So ends mistake, so end mistakers!—end
perhaps to recommence,—how should I know?
Only, be sure, no punishment, no pain
Childish, preposterous, impossible,
But some such fate as Ovid could foresee,—
Byblis in fluvium, let the weak soul end
In water, sed Lycaon in lupum, but (2050)
The strong become a wolf for evermore!
Change that Pompilia to a puny stream
Fit to reflect the daisies on its bank!
Let me turn wolf, be whole, and sate, for once,—
Wallow in what is now a wolfishness
Coerced too much by the humanity
That’s half of me as well! Grow out of man,
Glut the wolf-nature,—what remains but grow
Into the man again, be man indeed
And all man? Do I ring the changes right (2060)
Deformed, transformed, reformed, informed, conformed!
The honest instinct, pent and crossed through life,
Let surge by death into a visible flow
Of rapture: as the strangled thread of flame
painfully winds, annoying and annoyed,
Malignant and maligned, thro’ stone and ore,
Till earth exclude the stranger: vented once,
It finds full play, is recognised a-top
Some mountain as no such abnormal birth.
Fire for the mount, the streamlet for the vale! (2070)
Ay, of the water was that wife of mine—
Be it for good, be it for ill, no run
O’ the red thread through that insignificance!
Again, how she is at me with those eyes!
Away with the empty stare! Be holy still,
And stupid ever! Occupy your patch
Of private snow that’s somewhere in what world
May now be growing icy round your head,
And
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