The Ballad Of The Quest

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Title:     The Ballad Of The Quest
Author: Virna Sheard [More Titles by Sheard]

"Some day," I said, "before Life is over,
I will shut my house door, and will be a rover."

Under the sky where the great stars roll,
I will search for my faith, and search for my soul.

I have fared without them this many a day
Through the market-place of the world's high-way.

The truth I gave in exchange for a lie,
And I bartered my dreams to a passer-by.

I have met Delilah,--her enchantments I know
As the man of strength knew them ages ago.

Fool's gold and fool's joy have been my reaping,
And my heart has nothing that's worth the keeping.

But the world is wide and the world is free,
And the things I have lost may come back to me.

I will follow the path of the bird that flies,
And look for a woman with honest eyes.

If I travel hard, and travel alone,
I may overtake Peace, and make it my own.

Only the Sun and the Moon's sweet light
Shall mark my day, or measure my night.

Silks and satins and embroidered things,
I'll exchange for blossoms and butter-flies' wings.

And under a thorn-hedge I will dine
On a handful of berries, as red as wine.

Or I'll earn my bread on the out-bound ships,
With the sun in my eyes, and salt on my lips.

And for the softness of beds and pillows,
I'll take a hammock that swings with the billows.

It may be the trail will lead me afar
To mountain paths, where the wild sheep are.

Or with simple people, and free from guile,
I will pitch my tent and will rest awhile.

I am weary of softness and things of ease,
And weary of Scribes, and of Pharisees.

On a morning road where the wind is strong,
I may learn again to whistle a song.

Down forest paths, or the ways of the sea,
My soul and my faith may come back to me.

And always and ever beneath the skies,
I will look for a woman with honest eyes.

I will follow no will at all but my own,
And the road I take I will take alone.

"Some day," I said, "before Life is over,
I will shut my house door, and will be a rover."

* * * * *

II

But the day when it came was a troubled day,
And the road I took was a troubled way.

Then never a will I had of my own,
And never a step did I travel alone.

We marched by day, and we marched by night,
Through the Sun's hot gold, or the Moon's cool light.

We marched with laughter, we marched with song,
Or in dreadful silence we marched along.

The man at my right cursed low at his fate,
The man at my left smiled early and late.

And the faces I saw at the edge of day,
Were young, young faces, turned old and grey.

The field where poppies flashed red in the wheat,
Was a hell we tramped through on stumbling feet.

I forgot I had said "before Life is over,
I will shut my house door, and will be a rover."

Out on the roads where the guns took toll
I gave little heed to my faith, or my soul.

In the trenches where only the dead could rest,
Life was a candle-flame--Death was a jest.

The stars swung round in a blood-red sky,
And the earth was red where the men reeled by.

I laughed--for I was living and strong,--
And I tossed them the line of a battle song.

May-day came in,--but the sweet o' the Spring,--
Who should know there was any such thing?

For the lovers were gone, who used to know
The English lanes where the hawthorns blow--

And the lovers from lands far over the sea,--
Ah! The watching moon only, knew where they might be.

I shook my impotent hand at the sky,
And travelled on with a battle cry.

* * * * *

III

On a desperate night--bitter black with pain,--
My soul returned to haunt me again.

We two kept vigil till break of day,
But the moon bore witness, I did not pray.

I dreamt I drifted with a name on my lips,
Where the clouds were sea waves, and the stars little ships.

I dreamt,--and lay on the shell-bitten sod,
Like a thing that had been forgotten of God.

I saw the smoke of the battle roll
Over many a swift departing soul,--

But when the dawn was a violet tide,
A shadow came and knelt at my side.

No--not a shadow--or mystery--
But a rose of the darkness, she came to me.

Mist-grey was her gown, and about her head
Was a shining band with a cross of red.

Her eyes were closed, for she dared not see
What the guns and the dark had made of me.

So I caught her gown in fear she would pass,
Like a lovely shadow, across the grass.

"Who are you?" I cried, "who have found me here
Where I have lain, this year upon year?"

"No! No! but one night, beloved,"--she said,
"While I searched for you all among the dead.

"But you were so strong you could not die,
Though Azrael touched you as he passed by."

And then by a flame that lit up the skies,
I looked once again in Delilah's eyes.

They had out-lived fear, and were sweet, and deep
As the eyes of an Angel, who bringeth sleep.

"O brave one!" she said, "You soon shall see
From your thirst and your pain I can set you free!

"Here! The water flask!--I will lift your head,--
Drink if you will, and spare not," she said.

"Be patient, and wait! See here in your arm,
The poppies of God shall work their charm."

So she spoke, while her voice seemed faint and far
As though it drifted down from a star.

"I have come," she faltered, "belovéd at last"--
"Even so"--I said, "from the long-gone past.

"I would know," I cried, "how you came to me
Through this hell where no woman should ever be?"

"I heard you call," she answered, "and then
I followed the road of the out-bound men.

"I followed the bearers, for far--and far,--
They travel wherever the wounded are.

"Picket and sentry, and the men who fly,
Made the holy sign as I hurried by."

"Here and there where the grass was red,
I stopped for a moment beside the dead.

"I pressed my lips to their tunic's hem,--
And often I folded the hands of them.

"But I could not stay,--and when dawn was near,
You called again--and I found you here."

"O Sweet--no more!" I said. "Tell me no more!
For Peace has come in through the morning's door.

"There is only this at the end of my quest--
Only you--and Love--and a spirit at rest."

* * * * *

Then came the bearers to lift me away--
But beside me her shadow moved--tender and grey.

[The end]
Virna Sheard's poem: Ballad Of The Quest

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