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THE WORD MAKER
Words! words! they travailled in the brain, some red and fierce as flame,And some as pale as rainy dawns that from the Storm womb came;And little ones to join their hands, and big ones all alone,They chattered in the singing leaf, they muttered on a stone!
Some danced like maidens in the spring, or moths in summer lust;Some rolled and crowed as naked babes about the blossom-dust;Some stalked, a chief to council grave; some broke against a kiss;Some hounded Death on lurking Hate; some rippled into bliss.
United in a stately march, they grew to mighty things.Some halted, falling by the way; but some were wise with wings.And he forgot his shrunken limb, where rhyme with quick rhyme met,And he forgot his puny form, and made the world forget.
He sang the words by ruddy fires; he cried them to the height,Till to the door of skins there crept an amber maid one night.He barred the way with rigid arm, and he laughed low. and long,"Thou canst go find a lesser man, for I have wed my song!
