Prelude

NOT only in great cities dwells great crime ;
Not where they dash ashore, and break and moan,
Are waters deadliest; and not in rhyme,
Nor ever in words, the deepest heart is shown.
But, lost in silence, fearful things are known
To lonely souls, dumb passions, shoreless seas;
And he who fights with Death may shrink from these.

Alas ! not all the greenness of the leaves,
Not all their delicate tremble in the air,
Can pluck one stab from a fierce heart that grieves.
The harvest-moon slants on as sordid care
As wears its heart out under attic eaves;
And though all round those folded mountains sleep,
Think you that sin and heart-break are less deep ?

You see the shepherd and his flocks a-field,
Hunger and passion are present there, no less.
Fearful ! when suddenly starts forth revealed
Man's soul, unneighboured in its hideousness,
Man's darker soul, a memory to possess
Henceforth, by which all nature pales and dies,
As a city suddenly wan under sunset skies.

And I have heard long since, and I have seen,
Wrong that has sunk like iron into my soul,
That has eaten into my heart, has burned me and been
A pang and pity past my own control ;
And I have wept to think what such things mean,
And I have said I will not weep alone,
Others shall sorrow and know as I have known.

Others shall learn and shudder, and sorrow, and know
What shame is in the world they will not see.
They cover it up with leaves, they make a show
Of Maypole garlands over, but there shall be
A wind to scatter their gauds, and a wind to blow
And purify the hidden dreaded thing
Festering underneath; and so I sing.

If God had given a sword into my hand,
I would go forth and fight the battles of God ;
If God had given me wisdom, I would stand
And summon up truth with my divining rod :
But I have only a song at my command,
The froth of the world a song, as water weak :
Vet since it is my weapon, let me speak.

And listen you that are more mighty than I,
Who can go forth and do what I but dream —
Bear with me if I am vain, bear patiently.
I have lived so long with shadows, who only seem,
That now these real men murdered make me cry,
As there were none on earth but I and they,
And all else echoes, phantoms, witches' play.

But this is real, that men are wild and hard
And villainous ; while other men look on
And say it is not so ; a smell of nard
And not of blood is here ; not woe-begone
These faces, but content. Ah, what reward
For all our strife had we their quiet homes
And quiet hearts and wish that never roams!

So say ye ; for to think in all the world
There is so still and sweet a resting-place,
Where never the angry seas of passion are hurled
Against necessity, where none is base
And none is starved. There is a sort of grace
To keep so sweet a vision in our eyes,
And as you smile the true thing starves and dies.

Oh, help ! help ! it is murder that I cry,
And not a song to sell. Now if you smile
And hear me you are mad ; you are mad, or I !
For I do not sing to enchant you or beguile ;
I sing to make you think enchantment vile,
I sing to wring your hearts and make you know
What shame there is in the world, what wrongs, what woe.

Because your deaf ears, only, are in blame,
Not your deaf hearts. Look now, and if you see
Men as they are, contented in their shame,
I know that you will help, you will let them be
Foreseeing, noble, wise, and even as ye ; —
Only your eyes I ask, only your ears,
The rest I leave to him who sees and hears.

Then let me sing, and listen to my song,
Though it is rough with sobs, and harsh and wild,
And often wanders, and is often long,
As mothers tell the death-bed of their child.
My child was gentle visions, and all were wrong,
And false, and cruel ; and I bury it here :
Lend me your spades, — I do not ask a tear.

Lend me your souls, and do not stand aloof,
Saying what happy lives these peasants win,
Praising the plushy lichen on the roof.
Leave off your praising, brothers, and come in.
See, round the hearth, squat Ignorance, Fever, Sin,
See on the straw the starving baby cries ;
The mother thanks her God another dies.

Ah, look within ! Without, the world is fair,
And you are all in love with solitude ;
Yet look within : Evil and Pain are there.
Look, ye who say Life best is understood
Where greenish light falls dappling the moss-floored wood,
Look at the dumb brute souls who suffer and strive ; —
Leave the dead world, and make their souls alive !