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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=521220" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Quality of Courage</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Black trees against an orange sky, <br>Trees that the wind shook terribly, <br>Like a harsh spume along the road, <br>Quavering up like withered arms, <br>Writhing like streams, like twisted charms <br>Of hot lead flung in snow. Below <br>The iron ice stung like a goad, <br>Slashing the torn shoes from my feet, <br>And all the air was bitter sleet. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And all the land was cramped with snow, <br>Steel-strong and fierce and glimmering wan, <br>Like pale plains of obsidian. <br>-- And yet I strove -- and I was fire <br>And ice -- and fire and ice were one <br>In one vast hunger of desire. <br>A dim desire, of pleasant places, <br>And lush fields in the summer sun, <br>And logs aflame, and walls, and faces, <br>-- And wine, and old ambrosial talk, <br>A golden ball in fountains dancing, <br>And unforgotten hands. (Ah, God, <br>I trod them down where I have trod, <br>And they remain, and they remain, <br>Etched in unutterable pain, <br>Loved lips and faces now apart, <br>That once were closer than my heart -- <br>In agony, in agony, <br>And horribly a part of me. . . . <br>For Lethe is for no man set, <br>And in Hell may no man forget.) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And there were flowers, and jugs, bright-glancing, <br>And old Italian swords -- and looks, <br>A moment's glance of fire, of fire, <br>Spiring, leaping, flaming higher, <br>Into the intense, the cloudless blue, <br>Until two souls were one, and flame, <br>And very flesh, and yet the same! <br>As if all springs were crushed anew <br>Into one globed drop of dew! <br>But for the most I thought of heat, <br>Desiring greatly. . . . Hot white sand <br>The lazy body lies at rest in, <br>Or sun-dried, scented grass to nest in, <br>And fires, innumerable fires, <br>Great fagots hurling golden gyres <br>Of sparks far up, and the red heart <br>In sea-coals, crashing as they part <br>To tiny flares, and kindling snapping, <br>Bunched sticks that burst their string and wrapping <br>And fall like jackstraws; green and blue <br>The evil flames of driftwood too, <br>And heavy, sullen lumps of coke <br>With still, fierce heat and ugly smoke. . . . <br>. . . And then the vision of his face, <br>And theirs, all theirs, came like a sword, <br>Thrice, to the heart -- and as I fell <br>I thought I saw a light before. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I woke. My hands were blue and sore, <br>Torn on the ice. I scarcely felt <br>The frozen sleet begin to melt <br>Upon my face as I breathed deeper, <br>But lay there warmly, like a sleeper <br>Who shifts his arm once, and moans low, <br>And then sinks back to night. Slow, slow, <br>And still as Death, came Sleep and Death <br>And looked at me with quiet breath. <br>Unbending figures, black and stark <br>Against the intense deeps of the dark. <br>Tall and like trees. Like sweet and fire <br>Rest crept and crept along my veins, <br>Gently. And there were no more pains. . . . </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Was it not better so to lie? <br>The fight was done. Even gods tire <br>Of fighting. . . . My way was the wrong. <br>Now I should drift and drift along <br>To endless quiet, golden peace . . . <br>And let the tortured body cease. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then a light winked like an eye. <br>. . . And very many miles away <br>A girl stood at a warm, lit door, <br>Holding a lamp. Ray upon ray <br>It cloaked the snow with perfect light. <br>And where she was there was no night <br>Nor could be, ever. God is sure, <br>And in his hands are things secure. <br>It is not given me to trace <br>The lovely laughter of that face, <br>Like a clear brook most full of light, <br>Or olives swaying on a height, <br>So silver they have wings, almost; <br>Like a great word once known and lost <br>And meaning all things. Nor her voice <br>A happy sound where larks rejoice, <br>Her body, that great loveliness, <br>The tender fashion of her dress, <br>I may not paint them. <br>These I see, <br>Blazing through all eternity, <br>A fire-winged sign, a glorious tree! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She stood there, and at once I knew <br>The bitter thing that I must do. <br>There could be no surrender now; <br>Though Sleep and Death were whispering low. <br>My way was wrong. So. Would it mend <br>If I shrank back before the end? <br>And sank to death and cowardice? <br>No, the last lees must be drained up, <br>Base wine from an ignoble cup; <br>(Yet not so base as sleek content <br>When I had shrunk from punishment) <br>The wretched body strain anew! <br>Life was a storm to wander through. <br>I took the wrong way. Good and well, <br>At least my feet sought out not Hell! <br>Though night were one consuming flame <br>I must go on for my base aim, <br>And so, perhaps, make evil grow <br>To something clean by agony . . . <br>And reach that light upon the snow . . . <br>And touch her dress at last . . . <br>So, so, <br>I crawled. I could not speak or see <br>Save dimly. The ice glared like fire, <br>A long bright Hell of choking cold, <br>And each vein was a tautened wire, <br>Throbbing with torture -- and I crawled. <br>My hands were wounds. <br>So I attained <br>The second Hell. The snow was stained <br>I thought, and shook my head at it <br>How red it was! Black tree-roots clutched <br>And tore -- and soon the snow was smutched <br>Anew; and I lurched babbling on, <br>And then fell down to rest a bit, <br>And came upon another Hell . . . <br>Loose stones that ice made terrible, <br>That rolled and gashed men as they fell. <br>I stumbled, slipped . . . and all was gone <br>That I had gained. Once more I lay <br>Before the long bright Hell of ice. <br>And still the light was far away. <br>There was red mist before my eyes <br>Or I could tell you how I went <br>Across the swaying firmament, <br>A glittering torture of cold stars, <br>And how I fought in Titan wars . . . <br>And died . . . and lived again upon <br>The rack . . . and how the horses strain <br>When their red task is nearly done. . . . </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I only know that there was Pain, <br>Infinite and eternal Pain. <br>And that I fell -- and rose again. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So she was walking in the road. <br>And I stood upright like a man, <br>Once, and fell blind, and heard her cry . . . <br>And then there came long agony. <br>There was no pain when I awoke, <br>No pain at all. Rest, like a goad, <br>Spurred my eyes open -- and light broke <br>Upon them like a million swords: <br>And she was there. There are no words. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heaven is for a moment's span. <br>And ever. <br>So I spoke and said, <br>&quot;My honor stands up unbetrayed, <br>And I have seen you. Dear . . .&quot; <br>Sharp pain <br>Closed like a cloak. . . . <br>I moaned and died. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here, even here, these things remain. <br>I shall draw nearer to her side. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh dear and laughing, lost to me, <br>Hidden in grey Eternity, <br>I shall attain, with burning feet, <br>To you and to the mercy-seat! <br>The ages crumble down like dust, <br>Dark roses, deviously thrust <br>And scattered in sweet wine -- but I, <br>I shall lift up to you my cry, <br>And kiss your wet lips presently <br>Beneath the ever-living Tree. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This in my heart I keep for goad! <br>Somewhere, in Heaven she walks that road. <br>Somewhere . . . in Heaven . . . she walks . . . that . . . road. . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Stephen+Vincent+Benet">Stephen Vincent Benet</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=521220" data-title="The Quality of Courage de Stephen Vincent Benet" data-description="Black trees against an orange sky, 
Trees that the wind shook terribly, 
Like a harsh spume along the road, 
Quavering up like withered arms, 
Writhing like streams, like twisted charms 
Of hot lead flung in snow. Below 
The iron ice stung like a ..."></div>
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