Hertha

I AM that which began;Out of me the years roll;Out of me God and man;I am equal and whole;God changes, and man, and the form of them bodily; I am the soul.5

Before ever land was,Before ever the sea,Or soft hair of the grass,Or fair limbs of the tree,Or the flesh-colour'd fruit of my branches, I was, and thy soul was in10me.

First life on my sourcesFirst drifted and swam;Out of me are the forcesThat save it or damn;15Out of me man and woman, and wild-beast and bird: before God was, Iam.

Beside or above meNaught is there to go;Love or unlove me,20Unknow me or know,I am that which unloves me and loves; I am stricken, and I am theblow.

I the mark that is miss'dAnd the arrows that miss,25I the mouth that is kiss'dAnd the breath in the kiss,The search, and the sought, and the seeker, the soul and the body thatis.

I am that thing which blesses30My spirit elate;That which caressesWith hands uncreateMy limbs unbegotten that measure the length of the measure of fate.

But what thing dost thou now,35Looking Godward, to cry,'I am I, thou art thou,I am low, thou art high'?I am thou, whom thou seekest to find him; find thou but thyself, thouart I.40

I the grain and the furrow,The plough-cloven clodAnd the ploughshare drawn thorough,The germ and the sod,The deed and the doer, the seed and the sower, the dust which is God.45

Hast thou known how I fashion'd thee,Child, underground?Fire that impassion'd thee,Iron that bound,Dim changes of water, what thing of all these hast thou known of or50found?

Canst thou say in thine heartThou hast seen with thine eyesWith what cunning of artThou wast wrought in what wise,55By what force of what stuff thou wast shapen, and shown on my breastto the skies?

Who hath given, who hath sold it thee,Knowledge of me?Has the wilderness told it thee?60Hast thou learnt of the sea?Hast thou communed in spirit with night? have the winds taken counselwith thee?

Have I set such a starTo show light on thy brow65That thou sawest from afarWhat I show to thee now?Have ye spoken as brethren together, the sun and the mountains andthou?

What is here, dost thou know it?70What was, hast thou known?Prophet nor poetNor tripod nor throneNor spirit nor flesh can make answer, but only thy mother alone.

Mother, not maker,75Born, and not made;Though her children forsake her,Allured or afraid,Praying prayers to the God of their fashion, she stirs not for allthat have pray'd.80

A creed is a rod,And a crown is of night;But this thing is God,To be man with thy might,To grow straight in the strength of thy spirit, and live out thy life85as the light.

I am in thee to save thee,As my soul in thee saith;Give thou as I gave thee,Thy life-blood and breath,90Green leaves of thy labour, white flowers of thy thought, and redfruit of thy death.

Be the ways of thy givingAs mine were to thee;The free life of thy living,95Be the gift of it free;Not as servant to lord, nor as master to slave, shalt thou give theeto me.

O children of banishment,Souls overcast,100Were the lights ye see vanish meantAlway to last,Ye would know not the sun overshining the shadows and stars overpast.

I that saw where ye trodThe dim paths of the night105Set the shadow call'd GodIn your skies to give light;But the morning of manhood is risen, and the shadowless soul is insight.

The tree many-rooted110That swells to the skyWith frondage red-fruited,The life-tree am I;In the buds of your lives is the sap of my leaves: ye shall live andnot die.115

But the Gods of your fashionThat take and that give,In their pity and passionThat scourge and forgive,They are worms that are bred in the bark that falls off; they shall120die and not live.

My own blood is what stanchesThe wounds in my bark;Stars caught in my branchesMake day of the dark,125And are worshipp'd as suns till the sunrise shall tread out theirfires as a spark.

Where dead ages hide underThe live roots of the tree,In my darkness the thunder130Makes utterance of me;In the clash of my boughs with each other ye hear the waves sound ofthe sea.

That noise is of Time,As his feathers are spread135And his feet set to climbThrough the boughs overhead,And my foliage rings round him and rustles, and branches are bent withhis tread.

The storm-winds of ages140Blow through me and cease,The war-wind that rages,The spring-wind of peace,Ere the breath of them roughen my tresses, ere one of my blossomsincrease.145

All sounds of all changes,All shadows and lightsOn the world's mountain-rangesAnd stream-riven heights,Whose tongue is the wind's tongue and language of storm-clouds on150earth-shaking nights;

All forms of all faces,All works of all handsIn unsearchable placesOf time-stricken lands,155All death and all life, and all reigns and all ruins, drop through meas sands.

Though sore be my burdenAnd more than ye know,And my growth have no guerdon160But only to grow,Yet I fail not of growing for lightnings above me or deathworms below.

These too have their part in me,As I too in these;Such fire is at heart in me,165Such sap is this tree's,Which hath in it all sounds and all secrets of infinite lands and ofseas.

In the spring-colour'd hoursWhen my mind was as May's170There brake forth of me flowersBy centuries of days,Strong blossoms with perfume of manhood, shot out from my spirit asrays.

And the sound of them springing175And smell of their shootsWere as warmth and sweet singingAnd strength to my roots;And the lives of my children made perfect with freedom of soul were myfruits.180

I bid you but be;I have need not of prayer;I have need of you freeAs your mouths of mine air;That my heart may be greater within me, beholding the fruits of me185fair.

More fair than strange fruit isOf faiths ye espouse;In me only the root isThat blooms in your boughs;190Behold now your God that ye made you, to feed him with faith of yourvows.

In the darkening and whiteningAbysses adored,With dayspring and lightning195For lamp and for sword,God thunders in heaven, and his angels are red with the wrath of theLord.

O my sons, O too dutifulToward Gods not of me,200Was not I enough beautiful?Was it hard to be free?For behold, I am with you, am in you and of you; look forth now andsee.

Lo, wing'd with world's wonders,205With miracles shod,With the fires of his thundersFor raiment and rod,God trembles in heaven, and his angels are white with the terror ofGod.210

For his twilight is come on him,His anguish is here;And his spirits gaze dumb on him,Grown gray from his fear;And his hour taketh hold on him stricken, the last of his infinite215year.

Thought made him and breaks him,Truth slays and forgives;But to you, as time takes him,This new thing it gives,220Even love, the beloved Republic, that feeds upon freedom and lives.

For truth only is living,Truth only is whole,And the love of his givingMan's polestar and pole;225Man, pulse of my centre, and fruit of my body, and seed of my soul.

One birth of my bosom;One beam of mine eye;One topmost blossomThat scales the sky;230Man, equal and one with me, man that is made of me, man that is I.