No More Learning

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Softly stirred the curtains. From the river Came a sound of whistles. In the street Flared the first few lamps. A barrel-organ
Rasped a mournful measure. Night was here.
"Ah, the cities," cried he, "and the faces Like an endless river rolling on —
From what unknown deeps of being risen
All those myriads, to what shadowy coast
"Of huge doom in sullen grandeur moving, The vast waters of the human soul!
Can you see it still—as in an ocean Every sea-drop sparkles of the sea,
"Foams, and perishes—, so for a moment From each living face the dauntless, dear
Eyes of life look out at us to greet us, Shine —and hurry by into the night!
"Is it beautiful," he cried, "my brother? " With such fiery question burned his glance,
That to quiet him in haste I answered,
"All that you have said is doubtless so;
"But, pray, calm yourself, my dear, good fellow, Let it be, and let it go at that. "
And I drew the covers 'round him closer, Smoothed his pillow for him. He began:
"Do you 'mind that night beside the beaches When the whole world in one brimming cup,
Earth and sky, the sea, clouds, dews, and starlight, To our lips was lifted, and we drank,
"Dizzy with dread joy and sacrificial Rapture of self-loss and sorrow dear,
Deep of beauty's draught, divine nirvana, The bewildering wine of all the world? "
"I remember certain lonely beaches," Wearily I answered, "nothing more.
Starlight is a usual occurrence
Any pleasant night beside the sea. "
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For my heart was sick and sore within me, — The poor fellow, every word he spoke
Shamed me, there was something in his gesture Almost comic that I could not bear.
Yet I feared this time that I had hurt him, Such offended silence long he kept:
On his hand I laid my hand in pity, Penitent, —and softly he began,
"Ah that night in May, do you remember?
Nightingales are singing from the wood — —
And the moonlight through the lattice streaming Silence —and deep midnight —and one face
"Like a moonlit land, desire's kingdom, Luring from the breast the homesick self! "
Can you see it still," he cried, "my brother? Then in anger broke my wounded heart.
"Streets I see," I said, "and squalid alleys Where one lamp flares foully in the night,
Darkened windows full of empty faces — The sad jest and tragedy of man! "
"This," he cried aloud, "this, too, is holy— O dear beauty in what beggar's guise
You may hide your splendor, yet I know you; Though the ears be deaf, the eyes be blind,
"Glorious are all things, and forever Beautiful and holy is the real! "
Now I could not answer him, most strangely Touched me those old words I knew so well.
And I felt the night between us deepen,
Heard the clock that ticked upon the shelf,
The great silence closing in around us,
And his hand that he withdrew from mine.
Suddenly he struggled upward laughing,
Tears of joy were streaming down his face:
In my breast the pang of some departure Seized me, and I wept, I know not why.
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From a gully of the jaded city
Drunken laughter filtered through the night
Where I knelt, and toward the open window Reached my hands before me as in prayer.
"Yes" I whispered "this, too, holy, Even this holy and divine,
Though to poets known and lovers only
The dear face that looks from meanest things
"And the majesty that moves about us,
The bright splendor what common guise.
O dear beauty, though forever banished, Your lost angel by the outer gate,
"Though no more see, no more may sound The lost truth that was my very soul,
Let me, baffled still yet still believing, In the darkness loyal to the light,
"Deep within this exiled bosom bear Silent, the great faith forevermore:
Beautiful are all things, and forever Holy, holy, holy the real! "
From the proud, pale east the patient morning Glimmered sadly on million rooves.
'Round me the old sorrow was awaking, And the breaking of some mighty heart.
On his breast his hands in peace folded Decently, and closed the staring eyes. —
He and had known such days together And loved him better than myself.
FACES
By Mary Morris Duane
Faces passing
Beautiful, plain,
Brutal, sweet—
Faces by the thousands,
Day after day they pass me,
Shades in world of shadows;
Only the face see with the inner vision Passes me never.