home *** CD-ROM | disk | FTP | other *** search
- BLOOD AND THE MOON
-
- BLESSED be this place,
- More blessed still this tower;
- A bloody, arrogant power
- Rose out of the race
- Uttering, mastering it,
- Rose like these walls from these
- Storm-beaten cottages --
- In mockery I have set
- A powerful emblem up,
- And sing it rhyme upon rhyme
- In mockery of a time
- HaIf dead at the top.
- Alexandria's was a beacon tower, and Babylon's
- An image of the moving heavens, a log-book of the
- sun's journey and the moon's;
- And Shelley had his towers, thought's crowned powers
- he called them once.
- I declare this tower is my symbol; I declare
- This winding, gyring, spiring treadmill of a stair is my
- ancestral stair;
- That Goldsmith and the Dean, Berkeley and Burke
- have travelled there.
- Swift beating on his breast in sibylline frenzy blind
- Because the heart in his blood-sodden breast had
- dragged him down into mankind,
- Goldsmith deliberately sipping at the honey-pot of his
- mind,
- And haughtier-headed Burke that proved the State a
- tree,
- That this unconquerable labyrinth of the birds, cen-
- tury after century,
- Cast but dead leaves to mathematical equality;
- And God-appointed Berkeley that proved all things a
- dream,
- That this pragmatical, preposterous pig of a world, its
- farrow that so solid seem,
- Must vanish on the instant if the mind but change its
- theme;
- i{Saeva Indignatio} and the labourer's hire,
- The strength that gives our blood and state magnani-
- mity of its own desire;
- Everything that is not God consumed with intellectual
- fire.
- III
- The purity of the unclouded moon
- Has flung its atrowy shaft upon the floor.
- Seven centuries have passed and it is pure,
- The blood of innocence has left no stain.
- There, on blood-saturated ground, have stood
- Soldier, assassin, executioner.
- Whether for daily pittance or in blind fear
- Or out of abstract hatred, and shed blood,
- But could not cast a single jet thereon.
- Odour of blood on the ancestral stair!
- And we that have shed none must gather there
- And clamour in drunken frenzy for the moon.
-
- IV
- Upon the dusty, glittering windows cling,
- And seem to cling upon the moonlit skies,
- Tortoiseshell butterflies, peacock butterflies,
- A couple of night-moths are on the wing.
- Is every modern nation like the tower,
- Half dead at the top? No matter what I said,
- For wisdom is the property of the dead,
- A something incompatible with life; and power,
- Like everything that has the stain of blood,
- A property of the living; but no stain
- Can come upon the visage of the moon
- When it has looked in glory from a cloud.
-