Dominant City, 1911-1912 / John Gould Fletcher [electronic text]

THE ANARCHIST'S DREAM.

I.

I KNELT amid the martyr-saints redeemed, Before the glory of God's stainless throne; And, thinking to praise Him there, I idly deemed Myself, amongst them all, the worthiest one: "Lo, I am he who flung a sphere of death; And I am he who, steadfast there, was caught; And I am he who fainted, torn of breath, And to my soul's hurt, told the plot I wrought; And to my soul's cure died a felon there. Vile infamy was heaped upon my corse." A Voice rang out, a Voice of dire despair, "Thou shall return to Earth and taste remorse."

II.

So now, amid a sneaking, servile rout, On dreary, filthy streets, I stand and mark Grim t0wers shattering the iron dark With lights that like thin blades of steel leap out. And in these leaden walls I hear the noise Of grey machines which, grinding petty laws, Keep sharp and bright the strong gold-clutching claws To mock God's Law of Life, to clip old joys, To bind men's souls in slavery's dull hell, To starve and threaten them, to break their might, To rob them of last pitiful show of right, So that these vultures fatten, waste, and swell.

III.

III. Is there a man, then, with a scrap of soul? Has God denied salvation now, to all? How can they stand indifferent while there fall The nights about them, and the shadows roll? The tempest threatens and their faith runs down; They have no God, the people, and no will: Are they to wait for midnight's blackest frown, Or bow themselves to servitude's baser ill? Can my example stir no frozen heart, Let loose upon the sky the avenging fire, Like a red scourge that leaps upon the smart, And sweeps away the last of vile desire?

IV.

It is in vain to call on God or man. Come Hell then, and blot out this land in deep Folds of thick darkness, so no eye may scan Its horrors, and no heart for it may weep! Like a scrawled schoolboy's legend wet with tears, Erase man's story from the slate of years; And bring to him no comfort from air, No promise, even of misery, to his mind: But hurl the dead earth downward, whence no star May gleam upon its voyage, vast and blind.

V.

I waken. 'Tis myself has made the plea, Which I myself must answer once again: — The silence which arises now in me Beats back the echoes of my joy and pain:

It is a refuge whereto I may fly, A pole of ice, around which I see rolled Creation's endless shame and misery, Of death and life, and love and hate, untold.

Beyond's God's sun or Lucifer's red star, Beyond all heavens and hells and men, I go Unto my goal illimitably afar Amid the eternal silence of the snow.