A Farewell to Mathematics

I laboured on the anvil of my brain
And beat a metal out of pageantry.
Figure and form I carry in my train
To load the scaffolds of Eternity.
Where the masters are
Building star on star;
Where, in solemn ritual,
The great Dead Mathematical
Wait and wait and wait for me.
To the deliberate presence of the Sun
(Bright cynosure of every darkling sign,
Wherein all numbers consummate in One,)
Poised on the bolt of an Un-finite line,
As one whose spirit's state,
Is unafraid but desperate,
Through far unfathomed fears,
Through Time to timeless years,
I soar, through Shade to Shine.
They say that on a night there came to Euler,
As eager-eyed he stared upon a star,
And fought the far infinitude, a toiler
Like to himself and me, for things that are
Buried from the eyes alone
Of men whose sight is made of stone,
And led him out in ecstasy,
Over the dim boundary
By the pale gleam of a scimitar.
Then Euler, mindful of thy lesser need,
Be thou my pilot in this treacherous hour,
That I be less unworth thy greater meed,
O my strong brother in the halls of power;
For here and hence I sail
Alone beyond the pale.
Where square and circle coincide,
And the parallels collide,
And perfect pyramids flower.

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The hearts of the mountains were void,
The sea spake foreign tongues,
From the speed of the wind I gat me no breath,
And the temples of Time were as sepulchres.
I walked about the world in the midnight,
I stood under water, and over stars,
I cast Life from me,
I handled Death,
I walked naked into lightning,
I had so great a thirst for God.
* * * * *
The heart of the Mountain overfloweth,
The sea speaketh clear words,
The Ark is brought to the Tabernacle.
Lightnings, that withered in the sky,
Are become great beacons roaring in a wind
I see Death, lying in the arms of Life,
And, in the womb of Death, I see Joy.
I had said 'The spirit of the Earth is white,
But lo! He is red with joy.
He devoureth the meat of many nations,
He absorbeth a vintage of scarlet.
Though my head be with the stars,
All the flowers of Earth are singing in mine ears.
Though my foot be planted on the sea-bed.
Yet is it shod with the thunder.
Sorrow for Earth Transient is passed away,
Pain of martyr'd splendour is no more.
They have left a fair child in my lap —
A lusty infant shouting to the dawn.
The Ogre of midnight hath perished.
He shivered in the glare of the mountain,
He screamed upon the sea-swords,
His bowels rushed out upon the lances of the Wind.
I shall look through the eye of Mountain,
I shall set in my scabbard the sabre of Sea,
And the spear of Wind shall be my hand's delight.
I shall not descend from the Hill.
Never go down to the Valley;
For I see, on a snow-crowned peak,
The glory of the Lord,
Erect as Orion,
Belted as to his blade.
But the roots of the mountains mingle with mist.
And raving skeletons run thereon.
I shall not go hence,
For here is my Priest,
Who hath broken me in the waters of Disdain.
Here is my Jester,
Who hath mended me on the wheels of Mirth.
Here is my Champion,
Who hath confounded mine ancient Enemy
Ardgay — the slayer of Giants.

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Over the Dead

Who in the splendour of a simple thought,
Whether for England or her enemies,
Went in the night, and in the morning died;
Each bleeding piece of human earth that lies
Stark to the carrion wind, and groaning cries
For burial — each Jesu crucified —
Hath surely won the thing he dearly bought,
For wrong is right, when wrong is greatly wrought.
Yet is the Nazarene no thigh of Thor,
To play on partial fields the puppet king
Bearing the battle down with bloody hand.
Serene he towers above the gods of war,
A naked man where shells go thundering —
The great unchallenged Lord of No-Man's Land.

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