Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE TROUBLED SPIRIT, by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Said god, go, spirit, thou hast served me well Last Line: Some weariness, while time smiles to himself. Alternate Author Name(s): Blunden, Edmund Subject(s): World War I; First World War | ||||||||
SAID God, Go, spirit, thou hast served me well In these our palaces, and choose out one star Of all the universe beneath us lies, And see what other beauty I have made. So spoke the Almighty, in whose eyes there burned A dimmer light, and whose bowed head revealed Some weariness: while Time smiled to himself. Now takes the spirit thought, whether to search The rosy fires of suns innumerable That seem not to have rest even for a spirit, Or to some tinier satellite to fly And kindlier radiance beckoning. Thus comes he To earth, and sees the restless water curve Round lands wherefrom a rumour smokes, scarce loud As the voices of the waters, and there seems In these lands but a quiet interchange Of music, jarred, yet nigh to full concent. So comes the spirit. And now, passing among The moving multitude, he sees how most Are strong and lusty in their generation, And though their countenance to their fellows yield Small comfort, yet the most seem in themselves To find all that this world might ever give. The ringing cities shine in the morning light And in the evening glitter unafraid, The beasts are droved to furnish their proud tables. The deeps yield up their mystery for their need. Over the green fields, over the silver waters Goes the good spirit, and earth's willing plenty Warms him to rapture, while the zeal and power Of busy man, thinks he, is the bright flower Of all besides; nay even the songs of heaven Scarce seem so brave, and though death takes his toll, The strong still flourish, and the grief's soon past. But now the poursuivant, making swift way, Happy as swallows in the blue calm air, While the rich harvest glows and the hives rejoice, Espies a wilderness where little's green, And the land clawed as by great dragon's pounces Yet dumb, dun, mournful lieth by itself, With wounds ten thousand times ten thousand writhed. Over this golgotha poising like a kestrel He stares, he wonders -- here the very quiet Is a vast hubbub, here the sun's uprising Is the annihilation of night's mercy, The fallen jaw grins, the eyes are glazed with foulness. O Spirit, fly thy swiftest! Pondering deep He leaves the brown waste far away, he comes To a white village peeping through its elms. There he stoops down and in a coppice rests. The twilight now bids timid hares come forth And play like children in the woodside corn, Hot youth flings by, and age as bold though slow, But one there trembling comes where rests the spirit, And stands half silent, as for very shame To himself muttering. Yet the spirit looks And sees his eyes as eyes set earnestly On some one listening and of one mind with him. Where the soul's uttered, though the words be halt, They are a language understood in heaven, And thus the spirit, now first listening close, Hears not unwitting. "Like a ghost am I, Having no part in common day or joy, Young, and yet older than the oldest men. There's none to understand though some may love. Nay, those might understand would shun to open Their heart, but bind old memories as with chains. Has summer come? and has she passed her noon? How once I told myself of summer coming When I'd amaze myself with every minute From the first thrill of day till midnight hawks Laughed bedlam down the hedge -- if I should live To see those magic summers. And I live; But now the moss upon the churchyard stone Has felt the radiance with a joy not mine, And summer seems a rumour in the past. So high flamed life when death was gesturing by, So faint burns now. A day of that gone age Was more than all the days that now shall come. Then friendship was, that mightier grew than love. Why are you fallen, friend after friend? for these Lie now lapt in their silence and the clay Whose stubborn hatred they so often fought, And these are scattered listless and estranged. All climbed the summits of the immense, all learned The secrets of the tempest and the dawn, In Zara desert now all bleach or crawl. But come you, friends, let necromantic thought Be our reunion; find we our old selves And our old haunts, half-stricken towns that dare Keep mirth alive, old cellars and rare sleep, Lines where glad poppies burn or pollards stalk, And terror broods not greater than we can bear, Sleep's double sweet, wit twice as precious there. And there joy triumphs, from such danger snatcht, And there we'll sit and make our sad selves merry, Nor reckon up to-morrow and its fate; Enjoy the franchise of wild-running nature, Nor prophesy to-morrow's maniac battle. Fine merry franions -------" Tears no words can tell Fall now; the spirit goes abroad attuned To this wild mood, and hears it from all sides, And musing with a dimness on his brow The wreck of earth, the soul's worse solitude, Returns to heaven, is stationed by the throne, And now first sees how the bowed head reveals Some weariness, while Time smiles to himself. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...D'ANNUNZIO by ERNEST HEMINGWAY 1915: THE TRENCHES by CONRAD AIKEN TO OUR PRESIDENT by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE HORSES by KATHARINE LEE BATES CHILDREN OF THE WAR by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE U-BOAT CREWS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE RED CROSS NURSE by KATHARINE LEE BATES WAR PROFITS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE UNCHANGEABLE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN ALMSWOMEN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |
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