lirik lagu richard mitchley - the hound of heaven by francis thompson
i fled him, down the nights and down the days;
i fled him, down the arches of the years;
i fled him, down the labyrinthine ways
of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
i hid from him, and under running laughter
up vistaed hopes, i sped;
and shot, precipitated
adown titanic glooms of chasmèd fears
from those strong feet that followed, followed after
but with unhurrying chase
and unperturbèd pace
deliberate speed, majestic instancy
they beat—and a voice beat
more instant than the feet—
“all things betray thee, who betrayest me.”
i plеaded, out law~wise
by many a heartеd cas~m~nt, curtained red
trellised with intertwining charities
(for, though i knew his love who followèd
yet was i sore adread
lest, having him, i must have naught beside);
but, if one little cas~m~nt parted wide
the gust of his approach would clash it to
fear wist not to evade as love wist to pursue
across the margent of the world i fled
and troubled the gold gateways of the stars
smiting for shelter on their clangèd bars;
fretted to dulcet jars
and silvern chatter the pale ports o’ the moon
i said to dawn: be sudden; to eve: be soon—
with thy young skyey blossoms heap me over
from this tremendous lover!
float thy vague veil about me, lest he see!
i tempted all his servitors, but to find
my own betrayal in their constancy
in faith to him their fickleness to me
their traitorous trueness, and their loyal deceit
to all swift things for swiftness did i sue;
clung to the whistling mane of every wind
but whether they swept, smoothly fleet
the long savannahs of the blue;
or whether, thunder~driven
they clanged his chariot ‘thwart a heaven
plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn o’ their feet:—
fear wist not to evade as love wist to pursue
still with unhurrying chase
and unperturbèd pace
deliberate speed, majestic instancy
came on the following feet
and a voice above their beat—
“naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter me.”
i sought no more that after which i strayed
in face of man or maid;
but still within the little children’s eyes
seems something, something that replies
they at least are for me, surely for me!
i turned me to them very wistfully;
but just as their young eyes grew sudden fair
with dawning answers there
their angel plucked them from me by the hair
come then, ye other children
nature’s—share
with me” (said i) “your delicate fellowship;
let me greet you lip to lip
let me twine with you caresses
wantoning
with our lady~mother’s vagrant tresses
banqueting
with her in her wind~walled palace
underneath her azured daïs
quaffing, as your taintless way is
from a chalice
lucent~weeping out of the dayspring.”
so it was done;
i in their delicate fellowship was one—
drew the bolt of nature’s secrecies
i knew all the swift importings
on the wilful face of skies;
i knew how the clouds arise
spumèd of the wild sea~snortings;
all that’s born or dies
rose and drooped with; made them shapers
of mine own moods, or wailful or divine—
with them joyed and was bereaven
i was heavy with the even
when she lit her glimmering tapers
round the day’s dead sanctities
i laughed in the morning’s eyes
i triumphed and i saddened with all weather
heaven and i wept together
and its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine;
against the red throb of its sunset~heart
i laid my own to beat
and share commingling heat;
but not by that, by that, was eased my human smart
in vain my tears were wet on heaven’s grey cheek
for ah! we know not what each other says
these things and i; in sound i speak—
their sound is but their stir, they speak by silences
nature, poor stepdame, cannot slake by drouth;
let her, if she would owe me
drop yon blue bosom~veil of sky, and show me
the br~~sts o’ her tenderness:
never did any milk of hers once bless
my thirsting mouth
nigh and nigh draws the chase
with unperturbèd pace
deliberate speed, majestic instancy
and past those noisèd feet
a voice comes yet more fleet—
“lo! naught contents thee, who content’st not me.”
naked i wait thy love’s uplifted stroke!
my harness piece by piece thou hast hewn from me
and smitten me to my knee;
i am defenceless utterly
i slept, methinks, and woke
and, slowly gazing, find me stripped in sleep
in the rash l~stihead of my young powers
i shook the pillaring hours
and pulled my life upon me; grimed with smears
i stand amid the dust o’ the mounded years—
my mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap
my days have crackled and gone up in smoke
have puffed and burst as sun~starts on a stream
yea, faileth now even dream
the dreamer, and the lute the lutanist;
even the linked fantasies, in whose blossomy twist
i swung the earth a trinket at my wrist
are yielding; cords of all too weak account
for earth, with heavy griefs so overplussed
ah! is thy love indeed
a weed, albeit an amaranthine weed
suffering no flowers except its own to mount?
ah! must—
designer infinite!—
ah! must thou char the wood ere thou canst limn with it?
my freshness spent its wavering shower i’ the dust;
and now my heart is as a broken fount
wherein tear~drippings stagnate, spilt down ever
from the dank thoughts that shiver
upon the sighful branches of my mind
such is; what is to be?
the pulp so bitter, how shall taste the rind?
i dimly guess what time in mists confounds;
yet ever and anon a trumpet sounds
from the hid battlements of eternity:
those shaken mists a sp~ce unsettle, then
round the half~glimpsèd turrets slowly wash again;
but not ere him who summoneth
i first have seen, enwound
and now my heart is as a broken fount
wherein tear~drippings stagnate, spilt down ever
from the dank thoughts that shiver
with glooming robes purpureal, cypress~crowned;
his name i know, and what his trumpet saith
whether man’s heart or life it be which yields
thee harvest, must thy harvest fields
be dunged with rotten death?
now of that long pursuit
comes on at hand the bruit;
that voice is round me like a bursting sea:
“and is thy earth so marred
shattered in shard on shard?
lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest me!
strange, piteous, futile thing
wherefore should any set thee love apart?
seeing none but i makes much of naught” (he said)
“and human love needs human meriting:
how hast thou merited—
of all man’s clotted clay the dingiest clot?
alack, thou knowest not
how little worthy of any love thou art!
whom wilt thou find to love ign0ble thee
save me, save only me?
all which i took from thee i did but take
not for thy harms
but just that thou might’st seek it in my arms
all which thy child’s mistake
fancies as lost, i have stored for thee at home:
rise, clasp my hand, and come.”
halts by me that footfall:
is my gloom, after all
shade of his hand, outstretched caressingly?
“ah, fondest, blindest, weakest
i am he whom thou seekest!
thou dravest love from thee, who dravest me.”
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