Iii. The Poet

The poet: Miracle-working lo, the seed Of blessed dreams, sown in his heart, takes roots; He is like mind entranced in ecstasy, Born upon wings!

Under his wings, all things are images Of creatures beautiful for him to sing, Whether they are roses April-born Or warring legions!

And neither the war's roaring gun nor yet The river of red blood swift-flowing on Can make the flower fade that fills my breast With fragrances!

I am the faithful friend of song; therefore, I tremble not like child before a blackman; Midst blood and flames and lashings horrible, I bring thee, Love!

Thy footprints mark a shining trail of lights New-risen, guiding with their gleams my steps; The restless gambol of thy fire, Dawn's smile Upon my night.

Thine eyes, O Fountainhead of Beauty's stream, Mirror within them all things beautiful: And lo, the eagles of the Czars, on wings Sky-roaming, sail.

The war, when thine eyes look on it, becomes Under the magic of thy glance pure wine Of holiness. The German is the wonder Of deed and thought;

Where Tolstoi lived, all things are justly blessed; Where Goethe dwelt all things are light and wisdom; And yet my heart's pure love flows now for thee, For thee, O France!

Though first I sucked my god-sprung mother's milk, Still thou wert later manna unto me, Desert-born, joy of mine and guide and teacher, My second mother.

On thy world-trodden earth, I have not stood; Nor didst thou bathe me, Seine, in thy cold waters; Yet is thy vision light unto my song, O second mother!

O Celtic oak-trees and Galatian-born White lilies in lyric Paris blossoming, With Hugo and with thee, O Lamartine, Revels and wings!

Dante and Nietzsche, Ibsen, Shakespeare, all, Poured wine for me with their thrice-holy hands Into thy gleaming cup of gold and bade Me rise on high.

A child: And thou didst flash before me first, Tearing the maps of dazzled Europe's lands With the world's Mirabeaus and with the world's Napoleons.

Thou art not for the gnawing worm of graves. Thy gods still live with thee, Hypatia! Glory and Victory may dwell with thee, Democracy!

From the number of the life influences which we have scantily traced in Palamas' work we may conclude that he is a true representative of the great world and of the age in which he lives. Loving and true to his immediate surroundings, he does not localize himself in them, nor does he shut his thought within his personal feelings and experiences, but he travels far and wide with the thought and action of the universal man and fills his life with the life of his age.

It is exactly this universalism that makes The Twelve Words of the Gypsy his best expression and at the same time the most difficult to understand thoroughly. The poem is reflective both of the growth of the poet himself and of the development of the human spirit throughout the ages with the history and land of Hellas as its natural background. Consequently, its message is both subjective and objective. Although differently treated, the theme is the same as that of the "Ascrean" which appears in the latter part of Life Immovable and which may be considered as a prelude to The Twelve Words of the Gypsy. There is a flood of feeling and a cosmic imagery throughout, but they only form the gorgeous palace within which Thought dwells in full magnificence and mystic dimness. "As the thread of my song," says the poet in his preface, "unrolled itself, I saw that my heart was full of mind, that its pulses were of thought, that my feeling had something musical and difficult to measure, and that I accepted the rapture of contemplation just as a lad accepts his sweetheart's kiss. And then I saw that I am the poet, surely a poet among many--a mere soldier of the verse, but always the poet who desires to close within his verse the longings and questions of the universal man and the cares and fanaticism of the citizen. I may not be a worthy citizen. But it cannot be that I am the poet of myself alone; I am the poet of my age and of my race; and what I hold within me cannot be divided from the world without."

WASHINGTON, D.C. July 5, 1919.