The Thing and the Shadow

 

Among the mists of sleep a clock struck Five.

Nought but the silent Night was yet alive.

An owl glid past the window and was gone.

Some scattered stars among the branches shone,

And slowly ever westward seemed to drive.

 

So turning towards sleep, I said, “Alas..

Here comes another day for me to pass.

Still sixty days before the ballets come.

Or ninety days, according unto some.

How beautiful the last year’s ballet was.”

 

So, thinking of the dancers I had seen,

I slept again, as though no bell had been,

Till suddenly, the room shone with the sun,

And poised without the window there was one

Clad as in hawthorn, white, with flecks of green.

 

“I am a Spirit of the Dance,” she said,

“And you, who love the dance, shall be repaid;

Tread the untrodden air and have no fear.”

She was as young and beautiful and dear

As any hawthorn Maytime ever made.

 

She leaned, as dancers lean, and touched my hand;

At once we sped across a sunlit land,

Swift as the shadow of a cloud that dims

The many-ruffled grasses as it skims,

And is across the downland before scanned.

 

She led me to a valley green with Spring,

Where hawthorns white with blossom made a ring;

There were so many daisies red and white

You scarcely saw the grass for their delight,

May never yet had made a fairer thing.

 

And singing blackbirds cried to me, “Be hold.

Here the eternal May time grows not old,

Here the bright beauty that is Man’s an hour

Endures and fruits, yet never ceases flower,

And green leaves never fade nor flowers fold.”

 

And singing thrushes cried, “Come, enter, friend.

The living beauty that the stars intend,

Already makes the bluebell’s leafage green.

And hither come our Ruler and his Queen,

Whose services are Joys that cannot end.”

 

My Helper touched my hand and halted there.

“See, see,” she said, “that brightness in the air.

Our Rulers come in glory to their throne.

Whatever Man’s illumined soul has known

That King and Queen in Heaven first made fair.”

 

Athwart the blueness of the sky there came

A brightness of white swans in sweet acclaim,

And multitudes of summer-homing birds,

Their little throats all babbling pretty words,

Attended down the Two who have no name.

 

First, He, like rays at burning-point, intent

As the poised humming-bird at honey-scent,

Hovered, and from his wings the fire blew;

All Wisdom Man can ever know, or knew,

Were sparkles from his feathers as he went.

 

At his approach, all dull things took on light,

All colourless took colour and were bright,

All broken, or mis-shapen, or mis-geared,

Took order and perfection and appeared

As miracles to testify his might.

 

Then She; but none can tell her beauty... none...

The grace that the blue sky is to the sun,

The peace that the full moon is to the night,

The selflessness of uttermost delight,

These were the havings of that lovely one.

 

The while they took their thrones all song was stilled.

Then blackbird, thrush and nightingale uptrilled;

And pressing thither without any fear

Came otter, hare and rabbit, fox and deer;

And every budding’s wrapping burst and spilled.

 

I heard the whisper of my Spirit say,

“Watch, now, the Dance of Everlasting May.

You, who on earth, have ever loved our art,

Woll now behold its shining counterpart,

The Living Dance, whose shadow we display.

 

“Watch, you, who cherish dancing, and be sure

The ecstasies you watch forever endure.

What beauty we create is shadow caught

Out of the fire of our Rulers’ thought,

Beyond white-violet sweet, past snowdrop pure.”

 

Then speeding from my side, she joined a quire,

Swift as the wind and beautiful as fire;

They were the dancers whom I longed to see,

The thirty ministers of ecstasy,

Dancing as though their feet could never tire.

 

In miracles of grace their dancing sped

Upon the pretty daisies white and red.

Their flying feet were all like flitting flames.

I stood and blessed them, telling o’er their names,

And wishing luck upon each happy head.

 

Still swifter sped the dance, the wilding cherry,

The hawthorn, the red apple, the white perry,

All shed their petals, till they whirled like snow;

They danced into the peace the planets know,

That hate can wry not, nor convulsion herry.

 

An otter with her cubs watched from the brook,

I saw a red fox and a rabbit look

Together, side by side, at those swift feet.

They twitched in brush and scut to mark the beat.

And still into the dance more petals shook.

 

And then, a church-bell chimed for coming day;

The King and Queen spread wings to be away,

They leaned upon the little wind and rose

Above those hawthorns heaped with drifted snows;

The singing ceased and all seemed gone astray.

 

My Helper dimmed, but yet her lovely face

Smiled with most merry eyes and winning grace,

“This place of blossom never dims,” said she;

“We praise our Rulers here eternally;

Love them like us, and you will find the place.”

 

Then I awoke in bed, and saw the rim

Of the red sun above the skyline swim.

Out of the jasmine with a burst of dew

And cackle of joy a waking blackbird flew.

Then he sang loud, and all birds answered him.

And cackle of joy a waking blackbird flew.

Then he sang loud, and all birds answered him.

 

John Masefield