Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HE ATE THE LAUREL AND IS MAD, by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HE ATE THE LAUREL AND IS MAD, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Is it a dream that the world is fair?
Last Line: Found fair — found fair — found fair!'
Subject(s): Fantasy; God; Laurels


IS IT a dream that the world is fair?
And the voice in my blood's melodious beat —
Is it only in dreams heard smooth and fleet?
Lightly singing, 'Somewhere, somewhere,
There is one who shall make thy whole life sweet,
Making all beautiful things complete
With the fairest of things found fair!'

I drank at dawn the Muses' breath;
In boyhood's blossom and flood
I bit the laurel; I know till death
Its poison will flow in my blood.
Into my speech a glory slips;
A throbbing pains my side;
One is the breath of the Muses' lips;
One is the laurel — woe betide!
All day my perilous pulses keep
A music sweeter than the spheres;
All day, all night, heart-high they leap,
They witch my eyes with hopes and fears.
I bit the laurel so deep, so deep,
That every lovely thing appears
A spirit clad in maidenhood —
The glamour flies on Dian's foot,
And music rushes through the wood.
So long I ate Apollo's root,
There shooteth through me, blood and brain,
A burning bliss, by day, by night —
Here — there — her face! — if love be pain,
'Tis pain exceeding all delight!
For who the laurel-madness hath
Shall hold the vision-haunted path,
Searching with song the whole world through,
Where spreads the green, where rolls the blue.
A maiden draws me, feet and eyes,
The way by happy lovers ranged;
And, maiden-touched, my sweet youth dies
To sweeter manhood, maiden-changed.
Though I be mad, I shall not wake;
I shall not fall to common sight;
Only the god himself may take
This music out of my blood, this glory out of my breath,
This lift, this rapture, this singing might,
And love that outlasts death.

I shall go singing, blood and brain,
I shall make music of voice and lyre,
Triumphs of sorrow, pæans of pain,
And at every fall shall the song leap higher;
Whether through Love victorious made,
Or in his victories victim-laid,
Him will I praise, whatever fates are,
On my lips the flower, in my eyes the star,
My heart his passion, my soul his flame —
Love, our divine and intimate lord,
Who out of the infinite, all-adored,
Into the heart of nature came,
With splendor of ten million suns;
And instant back his longing runs
Through bud and billow, through drift and blaze,
Through thought, through prayer, the thousand ways
The spirit journeys from despair;
He sees all things that they are fair,
But feels them as the daisied sod —
This slumbrous beauty, this light, this room,
The chrysalis and broken tomb
He cleaveth on his way to God.

I shall go singing over-seas:
'The million years of the planet's increase,
All pangs of death, all cries of birth,
Are clasped at one by the heart of the earth.'

I shall go singing by tower and town:
'The thousand cities of men that crown
Empire slow-rising from horde and clan
Are clasped at one by the heart of man.'

I shall go singing by flower and brier:
'The multitudinous stars of fire,
And man made infinite under the sod,
Are clasped at one by the heart of God.'

I shall go singing up ice and snow:
'Blow soon, dread angel, greatly blow,
Break up, ye gulfs, beneath, above,
Peal, time's last music — "love, love, love"!'
And wheresoever my feet shall rest,
The place shall be named of the lovers' guest;
And where in the night I journey on,
The place shall be called of the lover gone;
My life shall be as a sweet song sung,
My death as a knell by maidens rung,
Lightly singing, 'Somewhere, somewhere,
There is one to make thy whole life sweet,
Making all beautiful things complete
With the fairest of things found fair!'
And before the silence wholly fall,
Faintly shall soft echoes call,
Syllabling some heavenly air,
As if my spirit lingered there —
'Found fair — found fair — found fair!'





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