Discipline

IT is stormy, and raindrops cling like silver bees tothe pane,The thin sycamores in the playground are swingingwith flattened leaves;The heads of the boys move dimly through a yellowgloom that stainsThe class; over them all the dark net of my disciplineweaves.

It is no good, dear, gentleness and forbearance, Iendured too long.I have pushed my hands in the dark soil, under theflower of my soulAnd the gentle leaves, and have felt where the rootsare strongFixed in the darkness, grappling for the deep soil'slittle control.

And there is the dark, my darling, where the rootsare entangled and fightEach one for its hold on the oblivious darkness, Iknow that thereIn the night where we first have being, before we riseon the light,We are not brothers, my darling, we fight and wedo not spare.

And in the original dark the roots cannot keep,cannot knowAny communion whatever, but they bind themselveson to the dark,And drawing the darkness together, crush from it atwilight, a slowBurning that breaks at last into leaves and a flower'sbright spark.

I came to the boys with love, my dear, but theyturned on me;I came with gentleness, with my heart 'twixt myhands like a bowl,Like a loving-cup, like a grail, but they spilt ittriumphantlyAnd tried to break the vessel, and to violate mysoul.

But what have I to do with the boys, deep down inmy soul, my love?I throw from out of the darkness my self like a flowerinto sight,Like a flower from out of the night-time, I lift myface, and thoseWho will may warm their hands at me, comfort thisnight.

But whosoever would pluck apart my flowering shallburn their hands,So flowers are tender folk, and roots can only hide,Yet my flowerings of love are a fire, and the scarletbrandsOf my love are roses to look at, but flames to chide.

But comfort me, my love, now the fires are low,Now I am broken to earth like a winter destroyed,and allMyself but a knowledge of roots, of roots in the darkthat throwA net on the undersoil, which lies passive beneaththeir thrall.

But comfort me, for henceforth my love is yoursalone,To you alone will I offer the bowl, to you will I giveMy essence only, but love me, and I will atoneTo you for my general loving, atone as long as I live.