BLUE

THE earth again like a ship steams out of the dark
    sea over
The edge of the blue, and the sun stands up to see
    us glide
Slowly into another day; slowly the rover
Vessel of darkness takes the rising tide.

I, on the deck, am startled by this dawn confronting
Me who am issued amazed from the darkness,
    stripped
And quailing here in the sunshine, delivered from
    haunting
The night unsounded whereon our days are shipped.

Feeling myself undawning, the day’s light playing
    upon me,
I who am substance of shadow, I all compact
Of the stuff of the night, finding myself all wrongly
Among the crowds of things in the sunshine jostled
    and racked.

I with the night on my lips, I sigh with the silence
    of death;
And what do I care though the very stones should
    cry me unreal, though the clouds
Shine in conceit of substance upon me, who am less
    than the rain.
Do I not know the darkness within them? What
    are they but shrouds?

The clouds go down the sky with a wealthy ease
Casting a shadow of scorn upon me for my share in
    death; but I
Hold my own in the midst of them, darkling, defy
The whole of the day to extinguish the shadow I lift
    on the breeze.

Yea, though the very clouds have vantage over
    me,
Enjoying their glancing flight, though my love is
    dead,
I still am not homeless here, I’ve a tent by day
Of darkness where she sleeps on her perfect bed.

And I know the host, the minute sparkling of darkness Which vibrates untouched and virile through the grandeur of night, But which, when dawn crows challenge, assaulting the vivid motes Of living darkness, bursts fretfully, and is bright:

    Runs like a fretted arc-lamp into light,
    Stirred by conflict to shining, which else
    Were dark and whole with the night.

    Runs to a fret of speed like a racing wheel,
    Which else were aslumber along with the whole
    Of the dark, swinging rhythmic instead of a-reel.

    Is chafed to anger, bursts into rage like thunder;
    Which else were a silent grasp that held the
         heavens
    Arrested, beating thick with wonder.

    Leaps like a fountain of blue sparks leaping
    In a jet from out of obscurity,
    Which erst was darkness sleeping.

    Runs into streams of bright blue drops,
    Water and stones and stars, and myriads
    Of twin-blue eyes, and crops

    Of floury grain, and all the hosts of day,
    All lovely hosts of ripples caused by fretting
    The Darkness into play.