Francis Joseph Sherman: Verses about Steel Arms

She pauseth; and as each great mirror swings
(O ruined Helen, O once golden hair)
I see Œnone’s ashes scattered there.
Another, and, behold, the shadowed things
Are violated tombs of shrunken kings.


And yet another (O, how thou wert fair!),
And I see one, black-clad, who prayeth where
No sound of sword on cloven helmet rings.
Yet, were I Paris, once more should I see
Troy’s seaward gates for us swung open wide.


Or old Nile’s glory, were I Anthony.
Or were I Launcelot, the garden-side
At Joyous Gard. Surely; for even to me,
Where Love hath lived hath Beauty never died.

Let us bury him here
Where the maples are red!
He is dead,
And he died thanking God that he fell with the fall of the leaf and the year.

Where the hillside is sheer,

Let it echo our tread
Whom he led;
Let us follow as gladly as ever we followed who never knew fear.

Ere he died, they had fled;
Yet they heard his last cheer


Ringing clear,―
When we lifted him up, he would fain have pursued, but grew
dizzy instead.

Break his sword and his spear!
Let this last prayer be said
By the bed


We have made underneath the wet wind in the maple trees
moaning so drear:

“O Lord God, by the red
Sullen end of they year
That is here,
We beseech Thee to guide us and strengthen our swords till his


slayers be dead!”

Come and let me make thee glad
In this house that I have made!
Nowhere ( I am unafraid!)
Canst thou find its like on Earth:
Come, and learn the perfect worth

Of the labor I have had.

I have fashioned it for thee,
Every room and pictured wall;
Every marble pillar tall,
Every door and window-place;


All were done that thy fair face
Might look kindlier on me.

Here, moreover, thou shalt find
Strange, delightful, far-brought things:
Dulcimers, whose tightened strings,


Once, dead women loved to touch;
(Deeming they could mimic much
Of the music of the wind!)

Heavy candlesticks of brass;
Chess-men carved of ivory;


Mass-books written perfectly
By some patient monk of old;
Flagons wrought of thick, red gold,
Set with gems and colored glass;

Burnished armor, once some knight


(Dead, I deem, long wars ago!)
Its great strength was glad to know
When his Lady needed him:
(Now that both his eyes are dim
Both his sword and shield are bright!)



Come, and share these things with me,
Men have died to leave to us!
We shall find life glorious
In this splendid house of love;
Come, and claim thy part thereof,―


I have fashioned it for thee!

I will go now where my dear Lady is,
And tell her how I won in this great fight;
Ye know not death who say this shape is his
That loometh up between me and the light.

As if death could wish anything of one


Who hath to-day brought many men to death!
Why should it not grow dark?—Surely the sun
Heath seen since morning much that wearieth.

Dead bodies; red, red blood upon the land;
Torn sails of scattered ships upon the sea;


And dead forgotten men stretched on the sand
Close to the sea’s edge, where the waves are free;

What day hat seen such thing and hath not fled?
What day hath stayed, hearing, for frequent sounds,
The flashing swords of men well-helmeted,


The moans of warriors sick of many wounds?

Ye know not death; this thing is but the night.
Wherefore I should be glad that it is come:
For when I left my Lady for this fight,
I said, “At sunset I am coming home.”

20

“When you return, I shall be here,” she said,
“God knows that I must pray a little while.”
And as she put my helmet on my head,
She kissed me; and her blue eyes tried to smile.

And still she waiteth underneath the trees.


(When we had gone a little on our way
I turned and looked; she knelt there on her knees:
I heard her praying many times to-day.)

Nay, nay, I need no wine! She waiteth still
Watching and praying till I come to her.


She saw the sun dropp down behind the hill
And wondereth I am a loiterer.

So I must go. Bring me my shield and sword!
(Is there no unstained grass will clean this stain?)
This day is won;—but now the great reward


Cometh! O Love, thy prayers were not in vain!

I am well rested now.—Nay, I can rise
Without your help! Why do ye look at me
With so much pain and pity in your eyes,
Who gained with me to-day this victory?



I think we should be glad we are not dead,
―Only, perchance, no Lady waiteth you,
No Lady who is all uncomforted,
And who hath watched and prayed these long hours through.

Yea, I must go.—What? Am I tired yet?


Let me lie here and rest my aching side.
The thought of her hath made me quite forget
How sharp his sword was just before he died

Under the sun, the Kingfisher
From his high place was watching her.

He knew she came from some far place;
For when she threw her body down,
She seemed quite tired; and her face


Had dust upon it; and her gown,
That had been yellow, now was brown.

She lay near where the shadows lie
At noontime when they meet the sun.
The water floated slowly by


Her feet. Her hair was all undone,
And with the grass its gold was spun.

The trees were tall and green behind,
And hid the house upon the hill.
This place was sheltered from the wind,


And all the little leaves were still,
And every fern and daffodil.

Her face was hidden in her hands;
And through the grass, and through her hair,
The sunlight found the golden bands


About her wrists. (It was aware,
Also, that her two arms were bare.)

From his high branch, the Kingfisher
Looked down on her and pitied her.

He wondered who that she could be,―


This dear, strange lady, who had come
To vex him with her misery;
And why her days were wearisome,
And what far country was her home.

Her home must be far off indeed,


Wherein such bitter grief could grow.
Had there been no one there to plead
For her when they had wronged her so?
Did none her perfect honor know?

Was there no sword or pennoned lance


Omnipotent in hall or field
For her complete deliverance?
To make them cry, “We yield! we yield”?
Were not her colors on some shield?

Had he been there, the Kingfisher,


How he had fought and died for her!

A little yellow bird flew by;
And where the water-weeds were still,
Hovered a great blue dragon-fly;
Small fishes set the streams a-thrill.

The Kingfisher forgot to kill.

He only thought of her who lay
Upon the ground and was so fair,―
As fair as she who came one day
And sat long with her lover there.


The same gold sun was in her hair.

They had come down, because of love,
From the great house on the hillside:
This lady had no share thereof,
For now this place was sanctified!


Had this fair lady’s lover died?

Was this dear lady’s lover dead?
Had she come here to wait until
Her heart and soul were comforted?
Why was it not within her will


To seek the lady on the hill?

She, too, was lonely; for he had
Beheld her just this morning, when
Her last kiss made her lover glad
Who went to fight the heathen-men:


(He said he would return again!)

That lady would have charity
He knew, because her love was great;
And this one—fairer even than she—
Should enter in her open gate


And be no more disconsolate!

Under the sun, the Kingfisher
Knew no one else might comfort her.

Now this is the ballad of seven men
Who rode to Wet Willows and back again.

It was only an hour before the dawn
When they deemed it best to awaken Sir John.

For they knew his sword long years had hung

On the wall, unhandled. (Once he was young,―

They did not remember; the tale had been told
To them by their fathers, ere they grew old―

And then his sword was dreaded thing
When the men from the North came a-warfaring!)



But the women said that the things they knew
Were best made known to their master, too:

How, down at Wet Willows, there lay on the ground
Some men who were dead and some who were bound

And unable to succor the women who wept


That the North-King had come while their warriors slept.



So it came to pass, with the wind of the dawn,
Six men with their armor girded on

Had ridden around to the Eastern gate;
It was there that Sir John had told them to wait.



And when he came they were unafraid,
And knew no envy for those who stayed

Where the walls of the castle were strong and high;
There were none save some women to bid them good-by,

And they saw, as the sky in the East grew gray,


That Sir John and his men were some miles on their way


These things were heard and seen by the sun
When noon at Wet Willows was nearly done.

After the battle, the King from the North
Bade his men lead the seven horses forth,


And bind, one on each, the Southern man
Who had dared to ride it when day began.

The words that the Northern King had said
Sir John and his men hear not, being dead;

(Nor heard they the sobs of the women who knew


That Sir John’s son’s son in the East was true

To the cross that was white on the shield that he had):
Nor knew they their home-going horses were glad;

Nor did they remember the trees by the way,
Or the streams that they crossed or the dead leaves that lay



By the roadside. And when the moon rose, red and near,
They saw not its splendor; nor more did they hear

The wind that was moaning from hill unto hill:
Their leader,—his will was his horse’s will.



In the Eastern sky faint streaks of gray


Were changed to red, and it was day. [page 79]

The women had waited all night long
Where the castle tower was high and strong;

And now, at last, they beheld Sir John,
And his men, and the horses they rode upon,



Just crossing the brow of the nearest hill.
The women’s cries rose loud and shrill,

And in their joy they pitied not,
The men Sir John and his men had fought

And slain at Wet Willows. (Sir John was not young


They knew well; but the might of his sword as it swung,

In the old fighting days, was a thing they well knew,―
A shield was but glass as it clove its way through!)


So they who had waited and watched and prayed
The long night through were no more afraid



To open the gate,—for Sir John and his men
Who had fought at Wet Willows were home again.

I MARKED the slow withdrawal of the year.
Out on the hills the scarlet maples shone—
The glad, first herald of triumphant dawn.
A robin’s song fell through the silence—clear
As long ago it rang when June was here.


Then, suddenly, a few grey clouds were drawn
Across the sky; and all the song was gone,
And all the gold was quick to disappear.
That day the sun seemed loth to come again;
And all day long the low wind spoke of rain,


Far off, beyond the hills; and moaned, like one
Wounded, among the pines: as though the Earth,
Knowing some giant grief had come to birth,
Had wearied of the Summer and the Sun.


I WATCHED the slow oncoming of the Fall.
Slowly the leaves fell from the elms, and lay
Along the roadside; and the wind’s strange way
Was their way, when they heard the wind’s far call.
The crimson vines that clung along the wall

Grew thin as snow that lives on into May;
Grey dawn, grey noon,—all things and hours were grey,
When quietly the darkness covered all.
And while no sunset flamed across the west,
And no great moon rose where the hills were low,


The day passed out as if it had not been:
And so it seemed the year sank to its rest,
Remembering naught, desiring naught,—as though
Early in Spring its young leaves were not green.
A LITTLE while before the Fall was done
A day came when the frail year paused and said:
“Behold! a little while and I am dead;
Wilt thou not choose, of all the old dreams, one?”
Then dwelt I in a garden, where the sun


Shone always, and the roses all were red;
Far off, the great sea slept, and overhead,
Among the robins, matins had begun.
And I knew not at all it was a dream
Only, and that the year was near its close;


Garden and sunshine, robin-song and rose,
The half-heard murmur and the distant gleam
Of all the unvext sea, a little space
Were as a mist above the Autumn’s face.


AND in this garden sloping to the sea
I dwelt (it seemed) to watch a pageant pass,—
Great Kings, their armour strong with iron and brass,
Young Queens, with yellow hair bound wonderfully.
For love’s sake, and because of love’s decree,


Most went, I knew; and so the flowers and grass
Knew my steps also: yet I wept Alas,
Deeming the garden surely lost to me.
But as the days went over, and still our feet
Trod the warm, even places, I knew well


(For I, as they, followed the close-heard beat
Of Love’s wide wings who was her sentinel)
That here had Beauty built her citadel
And only we should reach her mercy-seat.

AND Ye, are ye not with me now alway?—
Thy raiment, Glauce, shall be my attire!
East of the Sun I, too, seek my desire!
My kisses, also, quicken the well-wrought clay!
And thou, Alcestis, lest my little day

Be done, art glad to die! Upon my pyre,
O Brynhild, let thine ashes feed the fire!
And, O thou Wood Sun, pray for me, I pray!
Yea, ye are mine! Yet there remaineth one
Who maketh Summer-time of all the year,


Whose glory darkeneth the very sun.
For thee my sword was sharpened and my spear,
For thee my least poor deed was dreamed and done,
O Love, O Queen, O Golden Guenevere! [page 9]


THEN, suddenly, I was awake. Dead things
Were all about me and the year was dead.
Save where the birches grew, all leaves were shed
And nowhere fell the sound of song or wings.
The fields I deemed were graves of worshipped Kings

Had lost their bloom: no honey-bee now fed
Therein, and no white daisy bowed its head
To harken to the wind’s love-murmurings.
Yet, by my dream, I know henceforth for me
This time of year shall hold some unknown grace


When the leaves fall, and shall be sanctified:
As April only comes for memory
Of him who kissed the veil from Beauty’s face
That we might see, and passed at Easter-tide