Upon a red stone flung on the red sand, In length as great as some sarcophagus Showed under heaven; no furtive lizard slipped, Or stationary shrilled his tuneless cry; No shadow stirr'd, nor luminous haze uprose, Quivering against the blanched blue of the marge. I sat unbonneted, and my throat baked, And my tongue loll'd dogwise. Red sand below, Blazing from marge to marge. I did not pray, And with both hands I held my head which throbbed. I, who had sought for God, had followed God Through the fair world which stings with sharp desire For him of whom its hints and whisperings are, For naked access to his inmost shrine,— Now found God doubtless, for he filled the heaven Like brass, he breathed upon the air like fire. But I, a speck 'twixt the strown sand and sky, Being yet an atom of pure and living will, And perdurable as any God of brass, With all my soul, with all my mind and strength Hated this God. O, for a little cloud No bigger than a man's hand on the rim, To rise with rain and thunder in its womb, And blot God out! But no such cloud would come. I felt my brain on fire, heard each pulse tick; It was a God to make a man stark mad; I rose with neck out-thrust, and nodding head, While with dry chaps I could not choose but laugh; Ha, ha, ha, ha, across the air it rang, No sweeter than the barking of a dog, It must have buffeted the heaven; I ceased, Now when the sense returned my lips were wet, And cheeks and chin were wet, with a dank dew, Acrid and icy, and one shadow huge Hung over me blue-black, while all around The fierce light glared. O joy, a living thing, Emperor of this red domain of sand, A giant snake! One fold, one massy wreath Arched over me; a man's expanded arms Could not embrace the girth of this great lord Thus gazing each conceived the other's thought, Aware how each read each; the Serpent mused, "Are all the giants dead, a long time dead, Born of the broad-hipped women, grave and tall, In whom God's sons poured a celestial seed? A long time dead, whose great deeds filled the earth With clamour as of beaten shields, all dead, And Cush and Canaan, Mizraim and Phut, And the boy Nimrod storming through large lands Like earthquake through tower'd cities, these depart, And what remains? Behold, the elvish thing We raised from out his swoon, this now is man. Of great, pure, simple sin, and vast revolt; He meets, but visible Might blocks the broad sky, For thee my sly, small cousin may suffice, A vibrant tongue Had in a moment pricked upon my brow 'Hence' and 'avoid,' dim horror seized on me, |