James Stephens

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In the Poppy Field

Mad Patsy said, he said to me,

That every morning he could see

An angel walking on the sky;

Across the sunny skies of morn

He threw great handfuls far and nigh

Of poppy seed among the corn;

And then, he said, the angels run

To see the poppies in the sun.

A poppy is a devil weed,

I said to him -- he disagreed;

He said the devil had no hand

In spreading flowers tall and fair

Through corn and rye and meadow land,

By garth and barrow everywhere:

The devil has not any flower,

But only money in his power.

And then he stretched out in the sun

And rolled upon his back for fun:

He kicked his legs and roared for joy

Because the sun was shining down,

He said he was a little boy

And would not work for any clown:

He ran and laughed behind a bee,

And danced for very ecstasy.

In the Cool of the Evening

I thought I heard Him calling. Did you hear

A sound, a little sound? My curious ear

Is dinned with flying noises, and the tree

Goes -- whisper, whisper, whisper silently

Till all its whispers spread into the sound

Of a dull roar. Lie closer to the ground,

The shade is deep and He may pass us by.

We are so very small, and His great eye,

Customed to starry majesties, may gaze

Too wide to spy us hiding in the maze;

Ah, misery! the sun has not yet gone

And we are naked: He will look upon

Our crouching shame, may make us stand upright

Burning in terror -- O that it were night!

He may not come . . . what! listen, list now --

He is here! lie closer . . . Adam, where art thou?

The Lonely God

So Eden was deserted, and at eve

Into the quiet place God came to grieve.

His face was sad, His hands hung slackly down

Along his robe; too sorrowful to frown

He paced along the grassy paths and through

The silent trees, and where the flowers grew

Tended by Adam. All the birds had gone

Out to the world, and singing was not one

To cheer the lonely God out of His grief --

The silence broken only when a leaf

Tapt lightly on a leaf, or when the wind,

Slow-handed, swayed the bushes to its mind.

And so along the base of a round hill,

Rolling in fern, He bent His way until

He neared the little hut which Adam made,

And saw its dusky rooftree overlaid

With greenest leaves. Here Adam and his spouse

Were wont to nestle in their little house

Snug at the dew-time: here He, standing sad,

Sighed with the wind, nor any pleasure had

In heavenly knowledge, for His darlings twain

Had gone from Him to learn the feel of pain,

And what was meant by sorrow and despair, --

Drear knowledge for a Father to prepare.

There he looked sadly on the little place;

A beehive round it was, without a trace

Of occupant or owner; standing dim

Among the gloomy trees it seemed to Him

A final desolation, the last word

Wherewith the lips of silence had been stirred.

Chaste and remote, so tiny and so shy,

So new withal, so lost to any eye,

So pac't of memories all innocent

Of days and nights that in it had been spent

In blithe communion, Adam, Eve, and He,

Afar from Heaven and its gaudery;

And now no more! He still must be the God

But not the friend; a Father with a rod

Whose voice was fear, whose countenance a threat,

Whose coming terror, and whose going wet

With penitential tears; not evermore

Would they run forth to meet Him as before

With careless laughter, striving each to be

First to His hand and dancing in their glee

To see Him coming -- they would hide instead

At His approach, or stand and hang the head,

Speaking in whispers, and would learn to pray

Instead of asking, 'Father, if we may.'

Never again to Eden would He haste

At cool of evening, when the sun had paced

Back from the tree-tops, slanting from the rim

Of a low cloud, what time the twilight dim

Knit tree to tree in shadow, gathering slow

Till all had met and vanished in the flow

Of dusky silence, and a brooding star

Stared at the growing darkness from afar,

While haply now and then some nested bird

Would lift upon the air a sleepy word

Most musical, or swing its airy bed

To the high moon that drifted overhead.

'Twas good to quit at evening His great throne,

To lay His crown aside, and all alone

Down through the quiet air to stoop and glide

Unkenned by angels: silently to hide

In the green fields, by dappled shades, where brooks

Through leafy solitudes and quiet nooks

Flowed far from heavenly majesty and pride,

From light astounding and the wheeling tide

Of roaring stars. Thus does it ever seem

Good to the best to stay aside and dream

In narrow places, where the hand can feel

Something beside, and know that it is real.

His angels! silly creatures who could sing

And sing again, and delicately fling

The smoky censer, bow and stand aside

All mute in adoration: thronging wide,

Till nowhere could He look but soon He saw

An angel bending humbly to the law

Mechanic; knowing nothing more of pain,

Than when they were forbid to sing again,

Or swing anew the censer, or bow down

In humble adoration of His frown.

This was the thought in Eden as He trod --

. . . It is a lonely thing to be a God.

So long! afar through Time He bent His mind,

For the beginning, which He could not find,

Through endless centuries and backwards still

Endless forever, till His 'stonied will

Halted in circles, dizzied in the swing

Of mazy nothingness. -- His mind could bring

Not to subjection, grip or hold the theme

Whose wide horizon melted like a dream

To thinnest edges. Infinite behind

The piling centuries were trodden blind

In gulfs chaotic -- so He could not see

When He was not who always had To Be.

Not even godly fortitude can stare

Into Eternity, nor easy bear

The insolent vacuity of Time:

It is too much, the mind can never climb

Up to its meaning, for, without an end,

Without beginning, plan, or scope, or trend

To point a path, there nothing is to hold

And steady surmise: so the mind is rolled

And swayed and drowned in dull Immensity.

Eternity outfaces even Me

With its indifference, and the fruitless year

Would swing as fruitless were I never there.

And so for ever, day and night the same,

Years flying swiftly nowhere, like a game

Played random by a madman, without end

Or any reasoned object but to spend

What is unspendable -- Eternal Woe!

O Weariness of Time that fast or slow

Goes never further, never has in view

An ending to the thing it seeks to do,

And so does nothing: merely ebb and flow,

From nowhere into nowhere, touching so

The shores of many stars and passing on,

Careless of what may come or what has gone.

O solitude unspeakable! to be

For ever with oneself! never see

An equal face, or feel an equal hand,

To sit in state and issue reprimand,

Admonishment or glory, and to smile

Disdaining what has happenèd the while!

O to be breast to breast against a foe!

Against a friend! to strive and not to know

The laboured outcome: love nor be aware

How much the other loved, and greatly care

With passion for that happy love or hate,

Nor know what joy or dole was hid in fate.

For I have ranged the spacy width and gone

Swift north and south, striving to look upon

An ending somewhere. Many days I sped

Hard to the west, a thousand years I fled

Eastwards in fury, but I could not find

The fringes of the Infinite. Behind

And yet behind, and ever at the end

Came new beginnings, paths that did not wend

To anywhere were there: and ever vast

And vaster spaces opened -- till at last

Dizzied with distance, thrilling to a pain

Unnameable, I turned to Heaven again.

And there My angels were prepared to fling

The cloudy incense, there prepared to sing

My praise and glory -- O, in fury I

Then roared them senseless, then threw down the sky

And stamped upon it, buffeted a star

With my great fist, and flung the sun afar:

Shouted My anger till the mighty sound

Rung to the width, frighting the furthest bound

And scope of hearing: tumult vaster still,

Throning the echo, dinned My ears, until

I fled in silence, seeking out a place

To hide Me from the very thought of Space.

And so, He thought, in Mine own Image I

Have made a man, remote from Heaven high

And all its humble angels: I have poured

My essence in his nostrils: I have cored

His heart with My own spirit; part of Me,

His mind with laboured growth unceasingly

Must strive to equal Mine; must ever grow

By virtue of My essence till he know

Both good and evil through the solemn test

Of sin and retribution, till, with zest,

He feels his godhead, soars to challenge Me

In Mine own Heaven for supremacy.

Through savage beasts and still more savage clay,

Invincible, I bid him fight a way

To greater battles, crawling through defeat

Into defeat again: ordained to meet

Disaster in disaster; prone to fall,

I prick him with My memory to call

Defiance at his victor and arise

With anguished fury to his greater size

Through tribulation, terror, and despair.

Astounded, he must fight to higher air,

Climb battle into battle till he be

Confronted with a flaming sword and Me.

So growing age by age to greater strength,

To greater beauty, skill and deep intent:

With wisdom wrung from pain, with energy

Nourished in sin and sorrow, he will be

Strong, pure and proud an enemy to meet,

Tremendous on a battle-field, or sweet

To walk by as friend with candid mind.

--Dear enemy or friend so hard to find,

I yet shall find you, yet shall put My breast

In enmity or love against your breast:

Shall smite or clasp with equal ecstasy

The enemy or friend who grows to Me.

The topmost blossom of his growing I

Shall take unto Me, cherish and lift high

Beside myself upon My holy throne: --

It is not good for God to be alone.

The perfect woman of his perfect race

Shall sit beside Me in the highest place

And be my Goddess, Queen, Companion, Wife,

The rounder of My majesty, the life

Of My ambition. She will smile to see

Me bending down to worship at her knee

Who never bent before, and she will say,

'Dear God, who was it taught Thee how to pray?"

And through eternity, adown the slope

Of never-ending time, compact of hope,

Of zest and young enjoyment, I and She

Will walk together, sowing jollity

Among the raving stars, and laughter through

The vacancies of Heaven, till the blue

Vast amplitudes of space lift up a song,

The echo of our presence, rolled along

And ever rolling where the planets sing

The majesty and glory of the King.

Then conquered, thou, Eternity, shalt lie

Under My hand as little as a fly.

I am the Master: I the mighty God

And you My workshop. Your pavilions trod

By Me and Mine shall never cease to be,

For you are but the magnitude of Me,

The width of My extension, the surround

Of My dense splendour. Rolling, rolling round,

To steeped infinity, and out beyond

My own strong comprehension, you are bond

And servile to My doings. Let you swing

More wide and ever wide, you do but fling

Around the instant Me, and measure still

The breadth and proportion of My Will.

Then stooping to the hut -- a beehive round --

God entered in and saw upon the ground

The dusty garland, Adam, (learned to weave)

Had loving placed upon the head of Eve

Before the terror came, when joyous they

Could look for God at closing of the day

Profound and happy. So the Mighty Guest

Rent, took, and placed the blossoms in His breast.

'This,' said He gently, 'I shall show My queen

When she hath grown to Me in space serene,

And say "'twas worn by Eve."' So, smiling fair,

He spread abroad His wings upon the air.

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Forward to Robert Calverley Trevelyan