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“The Passing Strange” by John Masefield 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 (1 Jun 1878 – 12 May 1967)
Out of the earth to rest or range
Perpetual in perpetual change,
The unknown passing through the strange.
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Water and saltness held together
To tread the dust and stand the weather,
And plough the field and stretch the tether,
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To pass the wine-cup and be witty,
Water the sands and build the city,
Slaughter like devils and have pity,
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Be red with rage and pale with lust,
Make beauty come, make peace, make trust,
Water and saltness mixed with dust;
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Drive over earth, swim under sea,
Fly in the eagle’s secrecy,
Guess where the hidden comets be;
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Know all the deathy seeds that still
Queen Helen’s beauty, Caesar’s will,
And slay them even as they kill;
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Fashion an altar for a rood,
Defile a continent with blood,
And watch a brother starve for food:
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Love like a madman, shaking, blind,
Till self is burnt into a kind
Possession of another mind;
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Brood upon beauty, till the grace
Of beauty with the holy face
Brings peace into the bitter place;
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Prove in the lifeless granites, scan
The stars for hope, for guide, for plan;
Live as a woman or a man;
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Fasten to lover or to friend,
Until the heart break at the end:
The break of death that cannot mend;
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Then to lie useless, helpless, still,
Down in the earth, in dark, to fill
The roots of grass or daffodil.
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Down in the earth, in dark, alone,
A mockery of the ghost in bone,
The strangeness, passing the unknown.
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Time will go by, that outlasts clocks,
Dawn in the thorps will rouse the cocks,
Sunset be glory on the rocks:
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But it, the thing, will never heed
Even the rootling from the seed
Thrusting to suck it for its need.
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Since moons decay and suns decline,
How else should end this life of mine?
Water and saltness are not wine.
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But in the darkest hour of night,
When even the foxes peer for sight,
The byre-cock crows; he feels the light.
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So, in this water mixed with dust,
The byre-cock spirit crows from trust
That death will change because it must;
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For all things change, the darkness changes,
The wandering spirits change their ranges,
The corn is gathered to the granges.
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The corn is sown again, it grows;
The stars burn out, the darkness goes;
The rhythms change, they do not close.
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They change, and we, who pass like foam,
Like dust blown through the streets of Rome,
Change ever, too; we have no home,
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Only a beauty, only a power,
Sad in the fruit, bright in the flower,
Endlessly erring for its hour,
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But gathering, as we stray, a sense
Of Life, so lovely and intense,
It lingers when we wander hence,
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That those who follow feel behind
Their backs, when all before is blind,
Our joy, a rampart to the mind.