  But I went through and didn't fall. And thought This is a way to live, I'll preach awhile, And see what comes. I took a church and preached, Was known as Smith the eloquent, the earnest. But all the time I heard a voice that said: "They'd never know me now." When I came in The Sunday School and little children flocked About my knees and patient teachers looked With white, pure faces at me, then that voice "They'd never know me now" was in my ear.... Well, to go on, a widow in my church Young, beautiful and rich began to beat Her wings around my flame, and on the Sunday I preached about the rich young man, she came, Invited me to dinner. We commenced, Were married in six months. And to conserve Her properties I studied law, at last Was spending days with brokers, business men, Began to tell her that my health was failing, Saw doctors frequently to play the part. And then she said: You must resign your charge, Your health is breaking, dear. And I resigned To spend the time in checking mortgages, Collecting rents:—"They'd never know me now"... We went the round of summer places, travel, Saw Europe, China, India and the Isles. Near Florence had a villa for a time, Met people of all kinds, when I was forty I had a thousand selves, but if I had A self in truth it was submerged or scrawled Like a palimpsest all over and so lost. I didn't know myself, was anything To every one, and everything to all. I felt the walking age come on me now: A polar bear in a terrible rhythm swings His body back and forth behind the bars, And I would walk in restlessness or think Of other skies and places, teased and stung By memories of my other selves, by wonder About what may be happening here or there; What are they doing now? What is she doing? There were a dozen shes to wonder about, And if you think of one you wish to see, And dream she knows delight apart from you, You simply thrill, the wings you lost revolve, Like thumbs, vestigial stubs—but there you sit. Thank God the aeroplane came on to help, And wipe out distance, for you find at last Distance is tragedy, terrifies the soul With space which must be mastered by the soul. And so I bought a hydroplane. Perhaps Would be upon my lawn at sun-down holding These children on my knees, a lovely picture! Then as a fish darts out of darkened water Into a water sun-lit, there would come A thought—we'll say of Alice—in two hours I'd be upon her little sleeping porch Two hundred miles away, beneath the stars Of middle summer, having killed that space, And found the hour I wanted—hearing too "They'd never know me now" sung in my ears. And I remember when we were in Florence My tribe had gone to Milan for some weeks, And I was quite alone, too bored to live. One listless afternoon who should come in? My wife's friend Constance—but to tell the truth More friend of mine than hers, for all my life I seemed to have these secret understandings, And was two persons to a twain who thought They were the bond, whereas the bond existed Between myself and one, and to the other Was not so much as dreamed. And Constance brought A certain Countess with her. In a glance We two, the Countess and myself, beheld A flame that joined our hands. And in a week The Countess took me on her yacht to Capri, And round the Mediterranean. No one knew, Not Constance, nor my wife, for I returned Before she came from Milan. Oh that week! That breeze that sung the port-holes, waters blue And stars at night and music; and the Countess Whose voice was like a lute of gold, who lived, Knew life, was unafraid. She heard me say "They'd never know me now." And softly murmured Smiling the while: il lupo cangia Il pelo ma non il vizio Adding, Qual matto! Something yet remains That makes you charming! Oh the feasts and wine, The songs and poems, till at last too soon We anchored in the bay of Naples. When I saw Vesuvius, then I felt again That sinking of the heart that I had known, That sickness, strange, nostalgia, from a boy, Of which a word again. But now it was Precursive of the end, the finished idyll. The Countess took my hand, with misty eyes— They let me off and rowed me to the dock, I caught the train to Florence, magically Before I had forgotten, seemed to be Upon the yacht still, was in truth alone Amid the silence of my dining room, Supping alone—"They'd never know me now!" Later I had the fever, was delirious And saw myself receding as if backing Into a funnel toward the little end, And growing smaller as the funnel narrowed Until I was so small I held myself Within the palm's hand of my other self, Laughed like a devil, scared the nurse to death, Saying "They'd never know me now—just look!" My wife too had the fever. I awoke Out of this illness, found that she was gone, Had died a week before and for a week Had been entombed while I was raving—then If any real self of me ever was it came Back to me then. I bowed my head and wept And scanned my life back: What was that in me Which made me homesick from a boy right through This life of mine, not for my home, for something, Some place, some hand, some scene, which made me dread All partings, overwhelmed me with a grief For ended raptures, kept my brain too full Of memories, never lost, that grew until I lost myself, and seemed a thousand selves Wandering through a thousand years, how restless! Then mutterings shook our skies! Another war, France, Germany and England, so it seemed Best to return here to America. I gathered up the children—all but one, The boy eighteen escaped me, ran away And joined the English army. Now I saw One self of me repeated, that which went To free the Cubans! Curse these freedom wars! They shipped him off to India, soon he had His fill of liberty. But I came back And here I am. "They'd never know me now!" For what is left of me, what ever was To be peeled off to realest core? The soldier Gone out of me entirely; long ago, The dreamer of a better world; the self That said I'm on the pinnacle, took arms To free the Cubans; self of me that hungered For pyramids and mountains, ancient streams, Nile and the Ganges; self of me that turned To be a father holding on his knees A romping bevy; self of me that dreamed One heart, one hand enough, oh even the self That dreamed there is a hand a heart for me, Who found in truth no solace in the wife But only a teasing, torturing recollection That I had missed the one, or missed the many. So I was in America again, Had fled the war and plunged into the war:— The waves roared yonder, but the shores were here Where wreckage, putrid monsters were thrown up, Corpses of ancient liberties and bones Of treasured beauty; and I saw the Land Don every despot weapon, as it did When I fought for the Cubans, even worse. They shipped my boy to Africa; in spite Of censorship I pieced the picture out, Knew what he suffered, how they took his faith And dimmed its flame with ordure. Then came forth That father self of me. I brooded on His blue eyes, gentle ways, sat terrified And tried to trace the days through and the years When he had slipped from just a little boy Into a stripling, soldier finally— While I—what was I doing? Oh, my God, Living these other selves, oblivious That this boy was. I'd jump from soundest sleep Thinking of him in Africa, and seized With dreams that I must fly to him. O years Wherein I lost that boy. How could I live So many lives and not lose out of some, Some precious thing? Well, then I broke at last, They brought me here: "They'd never know me now." |
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