London_Girl
Age: 124
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"It was wrong to do this," said the angel. "You should live like a flower, Holding malice like a puppy, Waging war like a lambkin."
"Not so," quoth the man Who had no fear of spirits; "It is only wrong for angels Who can live like the flowers, Holding malice like the puppies, Waging war like the lambkins."
London_Girl
Age: 124
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Blustering God, Stamping across the sky With loud swagger, I fear You not. No, though from Your highest heaven You plunge Your spear at my heart, I fear You not. No, not if the blow Is as the lightning blasting a tree, I fear You not, puffing braggart.
ii
If Thou canst see into my heart That I fear Thee not, Thou wilt see why I fear Thee not, And why it is right. So threaten not, Thou, with Thy bloody spears, Else Thy sublime ears shall hear curses.
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Withal, there is One whom I fear: I fear to see grief upon that face. Perchance, friend, He is not your God; If so, spit upon Him. By it you will do no profanity. But I -- Ah, sooner would I die Than see tears in those eyes of my soul.
London_Girl
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Why do you strive for greatness, fool? Go pluck a bough and wear it. It is as sufficing.
My Lord, there are certain barbarians Who tilt their noses As if the stars were flowers, And Thy servant is lost among their shoe-buckles. Fain would I have mine eyes even with their eyes.
London_Girl
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A man went before a strange God -- The God of many men, sadly wise. And the deity thundered loudly, Fat with rage, and puffing. "Kneel, mortal, and cringe And grovel and do homage To My Particularly Sublime Majesty."
The man fled.
Then the man went to another God -- The God of his inner thoughts. And this one looked at him With soft eyes Lit with infinite comprehension, And said, "My poor child!"
London_Girl
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I stood musing in a black world, Not knowing where to direct my feet. And I saw the quick stream of men Pouring ceaselessly, Filled with eager faces, A torrent of desire. I called to them, "Where do you go? What do you see?" A thousand voices called to me. A thousand fingers pointed. "Look! look! There!"
I know not of it. But, lo! In the far sky shone a radiance Ineffable, divine -- A vision painted upon a pall; And sometimes it was, And sometimes it was not. I hesitated. Then from the stream Came roaring voices, Impatient: "Look! look! There!"
So again I saw, And leaped, unhesitant, And struggled and fumed With outspread clutching fingers. The hard hills tore my flesh; The ways bit my feet. At last I looked again. No radiance in the far sky, Ineffable, divine; No vision painted upon a pall; And always my eyes ached for the light. Then I cried in despair, "I see nothing! Oh, where do I go?" The torrent turned again its faces: "Look! look! There!"
And at the blindness of my spirit They screamed, "Fool! fool! fool!"
London_Girl
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Once there was a man -- Oh, so wise! In all drink He detected the bitter, And in all touch He found the sting. At last he cried thus: "There is nothing -- No life, No joy, No pain -- There is nothing save opinion, And opinion be damned."
London_Girl
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Many red devils ran from my heart And out upon the page, They were so tiny The pen could mash them. And many struggled in the ink. It was strange To write in this red muck Of things from my heart.
London_Girl
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Tradition, thou art for suckling children, Thou art the enlivening milk for babes; But no meat for men is in thee. Then -- But, alas, we all are babes.
London_Girl
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There came whisperings in the winds: "Good-bye! Good-bye!" Little voices called in the darkness: "Good-bye! Good-bye!" Then I stretched forth my arms. "No -- no -- " There came whisperings in the wind "Good-bye! Good-bye!" Little voices called in the darkness: "Good-bye! Good-bye!"
London_Girl
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I walked in a desert. And I cried, "Ah, God, take me from this place!" A voice said, "It is no desert." I cried, "Well, But -- The sand, the heat, the vacant horizon." A voice said, "It is no desert."
London_Girl
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Love walked alone. The rocks cut her tender feet, And the brambles tore her fair limbs. There came a companion to her, But, alas, he was no help, For his name was heart's pain.
London_Girl
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And you love me
I love you.
You are, then, cold coward.
Aye; but, beloved, When I strive to come to you, Man's opinions, a thousand thickets, My interwoven existence, My life, Caught in the stubble of the world Like a tender veil -- This stays me. No strange move can I make Without noise of tearing I dare not.
If love loves, There is no world Nor word. All is lost Save thought of love And place to dream. You love me?
London_Girl
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The livid lightnings flashed in the clouds; The leaden thunders crashed. A worshipper raised his arm. "Hearken! Hearken! The voice of God!"
"Not so," said a man. "The voice of God whispers in the heart So softly That the soul pauses, Making no noise, And strives for these melodies, Distant, sighing, like faintest breath, And all the being is still to hear."
London_Girl
Age: 124
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The ocean said to me once, "Look! Yonder on the shore Is a woman, weeping. I have watched her. Go you and tell her this -- Her lover I have laid In cool green hall. There is wealth of golden sand And pillars, coral-red; Two white fish stand guard at his bier.
"Tell her this And more -- That the king of the seas Weeps too, old, helpless man. The bustling fates Heap his hands with corpses Until he stands like a child With a surplus of toys."
London_Girl
Age: 124
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I met a seer. He held in his hands The book of wisdom. "Sir," I addressed him, "Let me read." "Child -- " he began. "Sir," I said, "Think not that I am a child, For already I know much Of that which you hold. Aye, much."
He smiled. Then he opened the book And held it before me. -- Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.
London_Girl
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A man saw a ball of gold in the sky; He climbed for it, And eventually he achieved it -- It was clay.
Now this is the strange part: When the man went to the earth And looked again, Lo, there was the ball of gold. Now this is the strange part: It was a ball of gold. Aye, by the heavens, it was a ball of gold.
London_Girl
Age: 124
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I stood upon a highway, And, behold, there came Many strange peddlers. To me each one made gestures, Holding forth little images, saying, "This is my pattern of God. Now this is the God I prefer."
But I said, "Hence! Leave me with mine own, And take you yours away; I can't buy of your patterns of God, The little gods you may rightly prefer."
London_Girl
Age: 124
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There was one I met upon the road Who looked at me with kind eyes. Her said, "Show me of your wares." And this I did, Holding forth one. He said, "It is a sin." Then held I forth another; He said, "It is a sin." Then held I forth another; He said, "It is a sin." And so to the end; Always he said, "It is a sin." And, finally, I cried out, "But I have none other." Then did he look at me With kinder eyes. "Poor soul!" he said.
London_Girl
Age: 124
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Two or three angels Came near to the earth. They saw a fat church. Little black streams of people Came and went in continually. And the angels were puzzled To know why the people went thus, And why they stayed so long within.
London_Girl
Age: 124
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Many workmen Built a huge ball of masonry Upon a mountain-top. Then they went to the valley below, And turned to behold their work. "It is grand," they said; They loved the thing.
Of a sudden, it moved: It came upon them swiftly; It crushed them all to blood. But some had opportunity to squeal
London_Girl
Age: 124
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Supposing that I should have the courage To let a red sword of virtue Plunge into my heart, Letting to the weeds of the ground My sinful blood, What can you offer me? A gardened castle? A flowery kingdom?
What? A hope? Then hence with your red sword of virtue
London_Girl
Age: 124
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Behold, from the land of the farther suns I returned. And I was in a reptile-swarming place, Peopled, otherwise, with grimaces, Shrouded above in black impenetrableness. I shrank, loathing, Sick with it. And I said to him, "What is this?" He made answer slowly, "Spirit, this is a world; This was your home."
London_Girl
Age: 124
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Truth," said a traveller, "Is a rock, a mighty fortress; Often have I been to it, Even to its highest tower, From whence the world looks black."
"Truth," said a traveller, "Is a breath, a wind, A shadow, a phantom; Long have I pursued it, But never have I touched The hem of its garment." And I believed the second traveller; For truth was to me A breath, a wind, A shadow, a phantom, And never had I touched The hem of its garment.
London_Girl
Age: 124
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A youth in apparel that glittered Went to walk in a grim forest. There he met an assassin Attired all in garb of old days; He, scowling through the thickets, And dagger poised quivering, Rushed upon the youth. "Sir," said this latter, "I am enchanted, believe me, To die, thus, In this medieval fashion, According to the best legends; Ah, what joy!" Then took he the wound, smiling, And died, content.
London_Girl
Age: 124
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There was set before me a mighty hill, And long days I climbed Through regions of snow. When I had before me the summit-view, It seemed that my labour Had been to see gardens Lying at impossible distances.
London_Girl
Age: 124
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Behold, the grave of a wicked man, And near it, a stern spirit.
There came a drooping maid with violets, But the spirit grasped her arm. "No flowers for him," he said. The maid wept: "Ah, I loved him." But the spirit, grim and frowning: "No flowers for him."
Now, this is it -- If the spirit was just, Why did the maid weep?
