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As large as hope； in ink that shines by night。
For sure I see； but now I'd rather look
At you； and you are not a pleasant sight。
〃Forbear； forgive。 Ten years are on my soul；
And on my conscience。 I've an incubus：
My one distinction； and a parlous toll
To glory； but hope lives on clamorous。
〃'Twas hope； though heaven I grant you knows of what
The kind that blinks and rises when it falls；
Whether it sees a reason why or not
That heard Broadway's hard…throated siren…calls；
〃'Twas hope that brought me through December storms；
To shores again where I'll not have to be
A lonely man with only foreign worms
To cheer him in his last obscurity。
〃But what it was that hurried me down here
To be among the ghosts； I leave to you。
My thanks are yours； no less； for one thing clear：
Though you are silent； what you say is true。
〃There may have been the devil in my feet；
For down I blundered； like a fugitive；
To find the old room in Eleventh Street。
God save us！ I came here again to live。〃
We rose at that； and all the ghosts rose then；
And followed us unseen to his old room。
No longer a good place for living men
We found it； and we shivered in the gloom。
The goods he took away from there were few；
And soon we found ourselves outside once more；
Where now the lamps along the Avenue
Bloomed white for miles above an iron floor。
〃Now lead me to the newest of hotels；〃
He said； 〃and let your spleen be undeceived：
This ruin is not myself； but some one else；
I haven't failed； I've merely not achieved。〃
Whether he knew or not； he laughed and dined
With more of an immune regardlessness
Of pits before him and of sands behind
Than many a child at forty would confess；
And after； when the bells in ‘Boris' rang
Their tumult at the Metropolitan；
He rocked himself； and I believe he sang。
〃God lives；〃 he crooned aloud； 〃and I'm the man！〃
He was。 And even though the creature spoiled
All prophecies； I cherish his acclaim。
Three weeks he fattened； and five years he toiled
In Yonkers； and then sauntered into fame。
And he may go now to what streets he will
Eleventh； or the last； and little care；
But he would find the old room very still
Of evenings； and the ghosts would all be there。
I doubt if he goes after them； I doubt
If many of them ever come to him。
His memories are like lamps； and they go out；
Or if they burn； they flicker and are dim。
A light of other gleams he has to…day
And adulations of applauding hosts；
A famous danger； but a safer way
Than growing old alone among the ghosts。
But we may still be glad that we were wrong：
He fooled us； and we'd shrivel to deny it；
Though sometimes when old echoes ring too long；
I wish the bells in ‘Boris' would be quiet。
The Unforgiven
When he； who is the unforgiven；
Beheld her first； he found her fair：
No promise ever dreamt in heaven
Could then have lured him anywhere
That would have been away from there；
And all his wits had lightly striven；
Foiled with her voice； and eyes； and hair。
There's nothing in the saints and sages
To meet the shafts her glances had；
Or such as hers have had for ages
To blind a man till he be glad；
And humble him till he be mad。
The story would have many pages；
And would be neither good nor bad。
And； having followed； you would find him
Where properly the play begins；
But look for no red light behind him
No fumes of many…colored sins；
Fanned high by screaming violins。
God knows what good it was to blind him；
Or whether man or woman wins。
And by the same eternal token；
Who knows just how it will all end？
This drama of hard words unspoken；
This fireside farce； without a friend
Or enemy to comprehend
What augurs when two lives are broken；
And fear finds nothing left to mend。
He stares in vain for what awaits him；
And sees in Love a coin to toss；
He smiles； and her cold hush berates him
Beneath his hard half of the cross；
They wonder why it ever was；
And she； the unforgiving； hates him
More for her lack than for her loss。
He feeds with pride his indecision；
And shrinks from what will not occur；
Bequeathing with infirm derision
His ashes to the days that were；
Before she made him prisoner；
And labors to retrieve the vision
That he must once have had of her。
He waits； and there awaits an ending；
And he knows neither what nor when；
But no magicians are attending
To make him see as he saw then；
And he will never find again
The face that once had been the rending
Of all his purpose among men。
He blames her not； nor does he chide her；
And she has nothing new to say；
If he were Bluebeard he could hide her；
But that's not written in the play；
And there will be no change to…day；
Although； to the serene outsider；
There still would seem to be a way。
Theophilus
By what serene malevolence of names
Had you the gift of yours； Theophilus？
Not even a smeared young Cyclops at his games
Would have you long； and you are one of us。
Told of your deeds I shudder for your dreams；
And they； no doubt； are few and innocent。
Meanwhile； I marvel； for in you； it seems；
Heredity outshines environment。
What lingering bit of Belial； unforeseen；
Survives and amplifies itself in you？
What manner of devilry has ever been
That your obliquity may never do？
Humility befits a father's eyes；
But not a friend of us would have him weep。
Admiring everything that lives and dies；
Theophilus； we like you best asleep。
Sleep sleep； and let us find another man
To lend another name less hazardous：
Caligula； maybe； or Caliban；
Or Cain； but surely not Theophilus。
Veteran Sirens
The ghost of Ninon would be sorry now
To laugh at them； were she to see them here；
So brave and so alert for learning how
To fence with reason for another year。
Age offers a far comelier diadem
Than theirs； but anguish has no eye for grace；
When time's malicious mercy cautions them
To think a while of number and of space。
The burning hope； the worn expectancy；
The martyred humor； and the maimed allure；
Cry out for time to end his levity；
And age to soften its investiture；
But they； though others fade and are still fair；
Defy their fairness and are unsubdued；
Although they suffer； they may not forswear
The patient ardor of the unpursued。
Poor flesh； to fight the calendar so long；
Poor vanity； so quaint and yet so brave；
Poor folly； so deceived and yet so strong；
So far from Ninon and so near the grave。
Siege Perilous
Long warned of many terrors more severe
To scorch him than hell's engines could awaken；
He scanned again； too far to be so near；
The fearful seat no man had ever taken。
So many other men with older eyes
Than his to see with older si