There is peace with the anointed
Of the scarlet oils of Bel,
With the Fish God, where the whirlpool
Is a winding stair to hell,
With the pathless pyramids of slime,
Where the mitred negro lifts
To his black cherub in the cloud
Abominable gifts,
With the leprous silver cities
Where the dumb priests dance and nod,
But not with the three windows
And the last name of God.’”
They are firing, we are falling, and the red skies rend and shiver us,
Barbara, Barbara, we may not loose a breath—
Be at the bursting doors of doom, and in the dark deliver us,
Who loosen the last window on the sun of sudden death.
“Barbara the beautiful
Stood up as queen set free,
Whose mouth is set to a terrible cup
And the trumpet of liberty.
‘I have looked forth from a window
That no man now shall bar,
Caesar’s toppling battle-towers
Shall never stretch so far.
The slaves are dancing in their chains,
The child laughs at the rod,
Because of the bird of the three wings,
And the third face of God.’
The sword upon his shoulder
Shifted and shone and fell,
And Barbara lay very small
And crumpled like a shell.”
What wall upon what hinges turned stands open like a door?
Too simple for the sight of faith, too huge for human eyes,
What light upon what ancient way shines to a far-off floor,
The line of the lost land of France or the plains of Paradise?
“Caesar smiled above the gods,
His lip of stone was curled,
His iron armies wound like chains
Round and round the world,