Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MASKED BALL, by WILSON PUGSLEY MACDONALD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MASKED BALL, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The heralds of dawn are blowing at the last star
Last Line: And the dancers will lean homeward on their weariness.
Subject(s): Religion; Theology


THE heralds of dawn are blowing at the last star;
When it goes out the masks will come off
And the dancers will lean homeward on their weariness.

All who dance at the Ball of Life are masked
Save the children and the poets and dreamers
And a few old men and women.

Sometimes a daring soul tugs at his mask;
And the smart young fellows chide him and he hesitates,
And the gay young ladies taunt him and he desists.

No man can see God through a mask:
No man can enter Heaven who is masked:
But God and Heaven are small things at the Masked Ball.

When the masks are tossed away I shall see
The lovely, grown hideous -- the hideous, lovely.
O, the joy when I shall behold nakedness of soul!

Then shall I observe the courage of the coward
And the timidity of the brave man.
O, the joy when I shall behold nakedness of soul!

Then shall I discover the purity of harlots
And the lewdness of men at their morning prayers.
O, the joy when I shall behold nakedness of soul!

A mask is a hiding-place from truth,
From virtue, from honor:
It hates the nudity of love and the nakedness of kindness.

At the Masked Ball the false are the proudest
Of flesh, and their limbs are all beauty --
Their breasts are abundant, their fingers are tapered.

But when the masks are torn from their eyes
Their flesh will be foul and their limbs will be laggard,
And their breasts will be milkless and withered.

If Jesus should come to-day He would say:
"Tear off the masks."
And the Pharisees would lift another cross against the sky.

Masks, masks, masks!
How He hated them -- this Man of the Desert
Who came once and danced with us at the Masked Ball.

Comrades, I warn you the Masked Ball is near an end --
The heralds of dawn are blowing at the last star;
When it goes out the masks will come off
And the dancers will lean homeward on their weariness.





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