BRIGHT Reason mocked me from her silver mask. Her severe voice made my knees shake together Like dry stalks in late Autumn's stormy weather, So that I feared, hearing her ask: "Are you now come to me, tired of contending Against the flesh, against ambition's snare, Ill-hap, and the monotony of care, Weary of getting, weary of spending? "Bringing but disappointment do you creep Hither, like a beggar to an alien Throne? Ready to yield the unknown for the known, Your long pursuit for ease, and sleep?" She mocked me, smiling. Suave lords at her side Fluttered, and a sly-voiced parrot spoke! "Yield now to Reason, smooth and light her yoke!" Fearing no more I replied: "How shall I yield? Reason was never my liege. I am bruised by the flesh, perjured for Fame's sake; Ill-hap and care indeed conspire to shake My will, with long petty siege. "But what has a Queen in a mask to give to me? Chill is her voice, like freezing rain that falls Turning to ice: I am dumb when she calls. When I look, anon, I see "A silver mask, and eyes as cold as clay. Faithful are all her subjects, but all sad. I come from men who are faithless, merry and mad, Who near and pass away "Seeking always for what no man has found— A home for childhood's hope, a heaven or hell Where remorse never comes, and none knows well, Nor cares, whither he is bound." As though I uttered treason they glared and hung, Like captived wings shuddering within the cage; Till one half proud, half piteous, hoar with age, Breathed with smooth tongue: "Reason divides the world for empire. See, Even faith and love themselves to her subdue. Blind wanderer, she will take pity on you, Shield you with Authority. "No more fatigue, then, no uncertain path, But secure ways and shelter, ease profound, With Instinct in the Traitor's Dungeon bound, Age lingering to soft death." I shook my head, for Reason's reasons seemed Half fears, and all her mercies like the bands Egyptian mummies wear, head, trunk, feet, hands. "Once, long ago," I cried, "I dreamed "Of myself young and light, dancing quick-limbed, And woke too soon, and the sweet image gone. Yet, cold masked Regent, still I brood upon The vision, still undimmed, "Of an instinctive, free, unanxious life, Past my own power, past any mortal shaping. Pursued, it flies; I follow it escaping, Happy in loss, serene in strife." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DESIRE OF NATIONS by EDWIN MARKHAM LENNIE SWENSON by KAREN SWENSON THE COLORED BAND by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A PSALM OF LIFE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW PRAYER OF AN UNEMPLOYED MAN by W. C. ACKERLY |