By Chance and not by Choice

By chance and not by choice—

Nay, not by chance but by design

Of These mysterious Lords of mine,

I heard a Voice.

Clear, cool, and musical it came

Forth from its hiding-place

It thrilled me with the flame

Of instinct, no mere human tone

But the authentic Word of the Unknown

Seeking me out, me only, to some end

Inscrutable, the message of my Lord

Striking a solemn chord

Within my soul's Abyss unkenned.

I knew it, and I leapt to master it.

I smote my will upon it urgent-pure

I, at the mercy of the accident

That having joined us, might demit—

Nay, I was sure

Of the event

The strange Voice gave consent

Against all custom; ear had heard

And known, let eye confirm,

Illuminate the Word

By vision; even so the germ

Of Cosmos was a Voice: Let there be Light!

Light was; the unimaginable might

Of that One Word was manifest

As Form.

The storm

Of stars broke wild in the black breast

Of Night, of Nature. What will incarnate

That Voice of mine—my Fate?

II.

The hour came. At the post assigned

I watched. The hooting ears, the hurrying folk,

The loungers and the loiterers woke

No signal in my soul. I knew

That I should know her, not by mind

But by that yet unmeasured wit

That recognizes false and true

Infallibility. I throbbed with it.

At last. A dull blue flame of silk. Straight through

The centre of the ways it moved serene

Like a great ship full-sailed. How mean,

How pigmy seemed the traffic to my keen

Swift eyes as I was sure of her! I knew.

No! She passed on, not looking left or right,

Out of my sight, alas, out of my sight!

Shame shook me; it was she, I could not doubt

My soul. So she had seen me, and passed on

Disdainful. I despaired of my own Gods.

Is life worth while against such odds?

Do they find sport to flout

Their slaves who love Them? She was gone.

The minutes passed. Ah! but the Gods' device

Was love, a piquant spice

To Their choice meat! The blue flame burned anew.

Upon the street—and now, ah now! she stepped

Straight toward me with a smile: ah! through and through

My soul it shone, fearless & frank. How leapt

My heart to meet it! All my spirit kindled,

My spirit that so many a month had slept

Its beauty dulled and dwindled,

Starved for the lack of love's pure oil. But now,

Now of a sudden it sprang up

Drinking of life from the carved crimson cup

Of her pure mouth. I know not how

I greeted her, for he that I had been

So long, such weary years, was gone

Into oblivion.

I, the true I, sprang up, once more a man,

A poet, fit to face the world, to fight

Among the hosts of Light

Against the accurséd ban

Of Fear, of Fraud, of felon fratricide.

Yea, and to love, loyal and eager-eyed,

All things that are in this strange universe,

Interpreting, transmuting its old curse,

Enkindling every atom to rejoice

Even as her Vision justified her Voice.

Feeble my heart, contemptible my mind,

You had imagined her the common sort

Willing to meet you for mere whim, light sport,

Jest, or romance; despite your master's deep

Insistent whisper, you had thought to find

Your shallowness in her. Experience

World-wisdom, common sense,

Concurred. And lo! the High Gods laugh,

Thresh out the cynicism-chaff

From the gold wheat of truth.

She is the glory of youth

The bliss of beauty, the supreme

Desire beyond all dream,

The sympathy of sisterhood,

The faith of friendship, the beatitude

Of understanding harmony, the tense

Delight of quick intelligence,

The rapture and the wonder and the glow

Of goodness, the enchantment of soft low

Laughter that tempers the harsh winds of life,

That eases hardship, and assuages strife,

The grace of worship of that purity

Whose contemplation serves to sanctify

All other offerings on her altar spent

And consecrates her as the sacrament

Single in complex ardours, that the shrine

Of life hold naught not utterly divine.

Gracious as gold and sure as steel,

She is the axle of the wheel

Of my existence, she the goal

As she the fountain of my soul.

From her spring all my spirit's fires;

To her my secret soul aspires;

About her whirl my dreams and deeds;

In her the fruit of all their seeds

Ripens—Oh Voice whose accent called,

Whose word allowed, whose soul enthralled

My soul, I hear! Oh Vision rare

Beyond imagining, oh fair,

Oh fated—how should I extol

The perfect passion of my soul?

I find myself in thee. Apart

From thee, naught moves within my heart,

I may not say I love thee, seeing

Thou art the essence of my being.

And yet I would: endure the stress

And pain of feeling separateness

So to be rapt again in bliss

And anguish of that deadly kiss

Whose virtue slays the self, that Fate

Arises to annihilate

The Universe, stoop once and smite—

Its dissolution in delight.

Ay! let us love! Invoke the pang

Of passion! Let us feel the fang

Of Fate! With Fate made one, become

The movement of the pendulum

That swings from Love through Death to Love,

Behold its anguish from above

In silence, yet experience

All possibilities, intense

With new self-knowledge, good and ill

Equal expressions of our will

To find ourselves afresh, reveal

New truth with every fact we feel,

Perfect our picture's period,

Found in ourselves as lost in God.

Ah Voice! caress me now! Thy breath!

Ah Vision! dazzle me to death!

Come! This is Love: our Beings blend

In this Beginning without End.

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