A Trio for Twelfth-Night

WHO first brought man the morning dream
Of a world’s hero? Whence the gleam
Which grew to glory full and sweet
As the wide wealth of waving wheat
Springs from one grain of corn ?
What drew the spirits of earth’s gray prime
To lean out from their tower of time
Toward the small sound of Hope’s far chime
Heard betwixt night and morn ?

First it was sung by heaven; then scrolled
By the scribe-stars on leaves of gold
In that long-buried book of Seth,
Which slept a secret deep as death,
Unknown to men forlorn,
Till a seer touched a jasper lid
In a sand-sunken pyramid,
And out the oracular secret slid,
Betwixt the night and morn.

Zarathustra, Bactria’s king, next said,
“ When in the sky’s blue garden-bed
A lily-petaled star shall fold
A human shape, the gift foretold
Shall blossom and be born :
Then shall the world-tides flow reversed,
New gods shall rise, the last be first,
And the best come from out the worst,
As night gives birth to morn.”

So while the drowsed earth swooned and slept
Mute holy men their vigils kept,
By twelve and twelve: as light decayed,
They marked through evening’s rosy shade
The curled moon’s coming horn,
All stars that fed in silent flock,
And each tossed meteor’s back-blown lock.
So watched they from their wind-swept rock,
Betwixt the night and morn.

Slow centuries passed ; at last there came
By night a dawn of silver flame,
Whose flower-like heart grew white and round
To a smooth, perfect pearl, with sound
Of music planet-born,
In whose clear disk a fair child lay,
And “ Follow me ” was heard to say :
Round him the pale stars fled away
As night before the morn.

Forthwith from morning’s crimson gate
The Three Kings rode in morning state
Across Uläi’s storied stream,
With westward wistful eyes agleam,
As pilgrims westward borne,
They left the tide to sing old deeds,
The stork to plash half-hid in reeds :
A thousand spears, a thousand steeds,
They rode ’twixt night and morn.

Melchior had coat and shoes of red,
And a pure alb sewn with gold thread;
Beneath a tire of Syrian mode
Streamed the soft storm of hair that snowed
From cheek and chin unshorn ;
Down to the ground his saffron pall
Fell as warm sunbeams earthward fall,
And he, sun-like, seemed king of all,
Betwixt the night and morn.

Red-robed, red-sandaled, golden-clad,
Came Caspar, beardless as a lad :
Through his fair hair’s divided stream
His red cheeks glowed as poppies gleam
Through sheaves of yellow corn.
Love’s life in him was scarce fulfilled,
Like as when daybreak shadows yield
Night’s iron lids lie half unsealed
In colors of the morn.

Bronzed Balthasar, with beard thick-fed,
Came last, in tunic royal red
And broidered alb and yellow shoon.
With him life’s rose had touched its noon,
And died and left the thorn, —
Which proved by its sharp, thrilling heat
That larger life is less complete
Till the heart’s bitter grows to sweet,
As night melts into morn.

Said Melchior, “ In blue silk I fold
The rock’s best fruit, red-hearted gold :
So grant us, mighty Mother East,
One who shall raise thy power decreased,
And break Rome’s pride and scorn,
Till our red, wine-warm world hath sent
Its breath through the cold West, and blent
The Orient with the Occident
In one wide sea of morn.”

Said Gaspar, “ I bring frankincense
From Caraman’s hills, whose thickets dense
Hide the balm-bleeding bark which feeds
The fuming shrine with fragrant seeds :
So may this child, when born,
Be Love’s high Lord, and yield his love
As incense, and draw down the Dove
To crown his brows in sign thereof,
Betwixt the night and morn.”

Said Balthasar, “And I bring myrrh,
In death and life man’s minister ;
Which braves decay as burial-balm,
Or, mixed with wine, brings the deep calm
Which power and love both scorn :
Such be this child, — God’s answering breath
To the one prayer the whole world saith,
‘ Oh, grant us myrrh for pain and death,
Betwixt our night and morn.’ ”

Twice fifty sennights o’er them bent
The fierce blue weight of firmament.
Through sea-like sands they still pursued
The unsetting star, until it stood
Above where, travail-worn,
A new-made mother smiled, whose head
Lay near the stalled ox, as she fed
Her babe from her warm heart, on bed
Of straw, ’twixt night and morn.

As day new-sprung from drooping day,
Near her in shrining light he lay,
And made the darkness beautiful.
Couched on low straw and flakes of wool
From Bethlehem’s lambs late-shorn,
He seemed a star which clouds enfold,
Swathed with soft fire and aureoled
With sun-born beams of tender gold,
The very star of morn.

At her son’s feet the kingly Three
Laid, with bowed head and bended knee,
Their gold and frankincense and myrrh,
Nor tarried, — so the interpreter
Of God’s dream once did warn, —
But hied them home ere the day broke;
While without awe the neighbor folk
Flocked to the door, and looked and spoke,
Betwixt the night and morn.

A tall centurion first drew near,
Brass-booted, on whose crest sat Fear,
He bent low to the fragrant bed,
With beard coal-black and cheek rust-red,
And each palm hard as horn;
Quoth he, “ Our old gods’ empire shakes,
Meherculé !Now this babe o’ertakes
All that our Venus-Mother makes
Betwixt the night and morn.”

A shepherd spake : “ Behold the Lamb,
Who ere he reign as heaven’s I AM
Must undergo and overcome,
As sheep before the shearers dumb,
Unfriended, faint, forlorn.
Him then as King the skies shall greet,
And with strewn stars beneath his feet
This Lamb shall couch in God’s gold seat,
And rule from night to morn.”

A woman of the city came,
Who said, “ In me hope conquers shame.
Four names in this child’s line shall be
As signs to all who love like me,—
God pities where men scorn :
Dame Rahab, Bathshebah, forsooth,
Tamar, whose love outloved man’s truth,
And she cast out, sweet alien Ruth,
Betwixt the night and morn.”

Next Joseph, spouse of Mary, came,—
Joseph Bar-Panther was his name, —
Who said, “ This babe, Lord God, is thine
Only begotten Son divine,
As thou didst me forewarn ;
And I will stand beside his throne,
And all the lands shall be his own
Which the sun girds with burning zone,
And leads from night to morn.”

Said Zacharias, “ Love and will
With God make all things possible.
Shall God be childless? God unwed?
Nay; see God’s first-born in this bed
Which kings with gifts adorn.
I would this babe might be at least
As I, an incense-burning priest,
Till all man’s incense-fires have ceased,
Betwixt the night and morn.”

Whereat his wife Elisabeth:
“ My thoughts are on the myrrh, since death
Shades my sere cheek, which, as a shore,
Is wrought with wrinkles o’er and o’er.
Now be this child new-born
A prophet, like my prophet-boy, —
A voice to shake down and destroy
Throne, shrine, each carved and painted toy,
Betwixt the night and morn.”

But Mary, God’s pure lily, smiled :
“Lord, with thy manhood crown my child,—
More man, more God ; for they who shine
Most human shall be most divine.
Of those I think no scorn,
King, prophet, priest, when worlds began;
But higher than these my prayer and plan:
Oh, make my child the Perfect Man,
The Star ’twixt night and morn.”