MONTIUCHET-LE-JARDJN
The hero's throat in which the words are spoken,
From which the chant comes close upon the ear,
Out of the hero's being, the deliverer
Delivering the prisoner by his words,
So that the skeleton in the moonlight
sing~,
Sings of an heroic world beyond the cell,
No, not believing, but to make the cell
A hero's world in which he is the hero.
Man must become the hero of his world.
The salty skeleton must dance because
He must, in the aroma of summer nights,
Licentious violet and lascive rose,
Midsummer love and softest silences,
Weather of night creatures, whistling all day, too,
And echoing rhetorics more than our own.
He hears the earliest poems of the world
In which man is the hero. He hears the words,
Before the speaker's youngest breath is taken:
Fear never the brute clouds nor winter-stop
And let the water-belly of ocean roar,
Nor feel the x malisons of other men,
Since in the hero-land to which we go,
A little nearer by each multitude,
To which we come as into bezeled plain,
The
poi~on
in the blood will have been purged,
An inner miracle and sun-sacrament,
One of the major miracles, that fall
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