And as the saint drew near, he heard
The birds talk, each to each,
The fire-bird to the glory-bird.
He understood their speech.
One said: “The saint was terrified
Because the hunters came.”
Another said: “The bloodhounds cried,
And all their eyes were flame.”
Another said: “No shame to him,
For mortal men are blind:
They cannot see beyond the grim
Into the peace behind.”
Another sang: “They cannot know,
Unless we give the clue,
The power that waits in them below
The things they are and do.”
Another sang: “They never guess
That deep within them stand
Courage and peace and loveliness,
Wisdom and skill of hand.”
Another sang: “Sing, brothers! come,
Make beauty in the air!
The saint is shamed with martyrdom
Beyond his strength to bear.
“Sing, brothers! every bird that flies!”
They stretcht their throats to sing,
With the sweetness known in Paradise
When the bells of heaven ring.
“Open the doors, good saint!” they cried,
Pass deeper to your soul;
There is a spirit in your side
That hell cannot control.
“Open the doors to let him in,
That beauty with the sword;
The hounds are silly shapes of sin,
They shrivel at a word.
“Come, saint!” and as they sang, the air
Shone with the shapes of flame,
Bird after bright bird glittered there,
Crying aloud they came.