Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, FLAME, by HERMAN FORD MARTIN


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

FLAME, by                    
First Line: It was april. In the orchard
Last Line: "go to search the city."
Subject(s): Wandering & Wanderers


It was April. In the orchard,
A gay, wine-tinted brake,
Burned an ancient magic
To make a lad's heart ache.

There I found him sleeping
On a bed of gold.
A thousand perfumes drenched him
From wind and brimming mould.

His face was brown from sun and sea,
And seamed with sin and pleasure;
And he was as old as the gnarled hills
To my young measure.

Bravely I shook his shoulder
Till he looked up at me.
His eyes were like charred faggots
Smouldering internally.

I said: "My father's anger
Is a blighting thing to know.
He always sets the dogs on tramps,
I think you'd better go.

"Three years ago a stranger
To our village came.
His voice was like the singing sea,
And in his eyes a flame.

"My mother went away with him
Without a word or a kiss.
My father never spoke her name
From that day to this."

Strangely he stared up at me
With his eyes like smothered fires,
And here was question and answer
To all a lad's desire.

"You say," he mused, "he had a flame
Within his eyes?
God pity then your mother, lad,
Who fed his hungry lies.

"We, whom the flame illumes,
Are marked for sacrament.
No woman's arm can cage us,
Nay, nor a continent.

"Our sires were roving minstrels
In olden times,
Sprinkling court and countryside
With their tinkling rhymes.

"And for some penance, we must go
Winning only loss;
But from our ranks -- a Dante,
A Christ upon a cross.

"Always beyond each border
A hidden wonder waits.
We are the spenders of beauty,
Immortal profligates.

"Women are but taverns
To quench a moment's thirst,
Then drunk again with stars and tunes
We go our way accurst.

"Ah, lad, you say he had a flame,
And a singing voice?
God pity then your mother
For her enravished choice."

Then I saw my father
Listening stiffly there;
And his face was frozen
With a stark despair.

"Come, my son," he said to me;
And: "Vagabond, there's still
Something left from breakfast
Your magic mouth to fill."

That night he called her name again,
Terrible with pity;
And: "Son, my son, to-morrow we
Go to search the city."





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net