| I AM that which began; | |
| Out of me the years roll; | |
| Out of me God and man; | |
| I am equal and whole; | |
| God changes, and man, and the form of them bodily; I am the soul. | 5 |
| |
| Before ever land was, | |
| Before ever the sea, | |
| Or soft hair of the grass, | |
| Or fair limbs of the tree, | |
| Or the flesh-coloured fruit of my branches, I was, and thy soul was in me. | 10 |
| |
| First life on my sources | |
| First drifted and swam; | |
| Out of me are the forces | |
| That save it or damn; | |
| Out of me man and woman, and wild-beast and bird: before God was, I am. | 15 |
| |
| Beside or above me | |
| Naught is there to go; | |
| Love or unlove me, | |
| Unknow me or know, | |
| I am that which unloves me and loves; I am stricken, and I am the blow. | 20 |
| |
| I the mark that is missed | |
| And the arrows that miss, | |
| I the mouth that is kissed | |
| And the breath in the kiss, | |
| The search, and the sought, and the seeker, the soul and the body that is. | 25 |
| |
| I am that thing which blesses | |
| My spirit elate; | |
| That which caresses | |
| With hands uncreate | |
| My limbs unbegotten that measure the length of the measure of fate. | 30 |
| |
| But what thing dost thou now, | |
| Looking Godward, to cry | |
| ‘I am I, thou art thou, | |
| I am low, thou art high’? | |
| I am thou, whom thou seekest to find him; find thou but thyself, thou art I. | 35 |
| |
| I the grain and the furrow, | |
| The plough-cloven clod | |
| And the ploughshare drawn thorough, | |
| The germ and the sod, | |
| The deed and the doer, the seed and the sower, the dust which is God. | 40 |
| |
| Hast thou known how I fashioned thee, | |
| Child, underground? | |
| Fire that impassioned thee, | |
| Iron that bound, | |
| Dim changes of water, what thing of all these hast thou known of or found? | 45 |
| |
| Canst thou say in thine heart | |
| Thou hast seen with thine eyes | |
| With what cunning of art | |
| Thou wast wrought in what wise, | |
| By what force of what stuff thou wast shapen, and shown on my breast to the skies? | 50 |
| |
| Who hath given, who hath sold it thee, | |
| Knowledge of me? | |
| Hath the wilderness told it thee? | |
| Hast thou learnt of the sea? | |
| Hast thou communed in spirit with night? have the winds taken counsel with thee? | 55 |
| |
| Have I set such a star | |
| To show light on thy brow | |
| That thou sawest from afar | |
| What I show to thee now? | |
| Have ye spoken as brethren together, the sun and the mountains and thou? | 60 |
| |
| What is here, dost thou know it? | |
| What was, hast thou known? | |
| Prophet nor poet | |
| Nor tripod nor throne | |
| Nor spirit nor flesh can make answer, but only thy mother alone. | 65 |
| |
| Mother, not maker, | |
| Born, and not made; | |
| Though her children forsake her, | |
| Allured or afraid, | |
| Praying prayers to the God of their fashion, she stirs not for all that have prayed. | 70 |
| |
| A creed is a rod, | |
| And a crown is of night; | |
| But this thing is God, | |
| To be man with thy might, | |
| To grow straight in the strength of thy spirit, and live out thy life as the light. | 75 |
| |
| I am in thee to save thee, | |
| As my soul in thee saith, | |
| Give thou as I gave thee, | |
| Thy life-blood and breath, | |
| Green leaves of thy labour, white flowers of thy thought, and red fruit of thy death. | 80 |
| |
| Be the ways of thy giving | |
| As mine were to thee; | |
| The free life of thy living, | |
| Be the gift of it free; | |
| Not as servant to lord, nor as master to slave, shalt thou give thee to me. | 85 |
| |
| O children of banishment, | |
| Souls overcast, | |
| Were the lights ye see vanish meant | |
| Alway to last, | |
| Ye would know not the sun overshining the shadows and stars overpast. | 90 |
| |
| I that saw where ye trod | |
| The dim paths of the night | |
| Set the shadow called God | |
| In your skies to give light; | |
| But the morning of manhood is risen, and the shadowless soul is in sight. | 95 |
| |
| The tree many-rooted | |
| That swells to the sky | |
| With frondage red-fruited, | |
| The life-tree am I; | |
| In the buds of your lives is the sap of my leaves: ye shall live and not die. | 100 |
| |
| But the Gods of your fashion | |
| That take and that give, | |
| In their pity and passion | |
| That scourge and forgive, | |
| They are worms that are bred in the bark that falls off; they shall die and not live. | 105 |
| |
| My own blood is what stanches | |
| The wounds in my bark; | |
| Stars caught in my branches | |
| Make day of the dark, | |
| And are worshipped as suns till the sunrise shall tread out their fires as a spark. | 110 |
| |
| Where dead ages hide under | |
| The live roots of the tree, | |
| In my darkness the thunder | |
| Makes utterance of me; | |
| In the clash of my boughs with each other ye hear the waves sound of the sea. | 115 |
| |
| That noise is of Time, | |
| As his feathers are spread | |
| And his feet set to climb | |
| Through the boughs overhead, | |
| And my foliage rings round him and rustles, and branches are bent with his tread. | 120 |
| |
| The storm-winds of ages | |
| Blow through me and cease, | |
| The war-wind that rages, | |
| The spring-wind of peace, | |
| Ere the breath of them roughen my tresses, ere one of my blossoms increase. | 125 |
| |
| All sounds of all changes, | |
| All shadows and lights | |
| On the world’s mountain-ranges | |
| And stream-riven heights, | |
| Whose tongue is the wind’s tongue and language of storm-clouds on earth-shaking nights; | 130 |
| |
| All forms of all faces, | |
| All works of all hands | |
| In unsearchable places | |
| Of time-stricken lands, | |
| All death and all life, and all reigns and all ruins, drop through me as sands. | 135 |
| |
| Though sore be my burden | |
| And more than ye know, | |
| And my growth have no guerdon | |
| But only to grow, | |
| Yet I fail not of growing for lightnings above me or deathworms below. | 140 |
| |
| These too have their part in me, | |
| As I too in these; | |
| Such fire is at heart in me, | |
| Such sap is this tree’s, | |
| Which hath in it all sounds and all secrets of infinite lands and of seas. | 145 |
| |
| In the spring-coloured hours | |
| When my mind was as May’s, | |
| There brake forth of me flowers | |
| By centuries of days, | |
| Strong blossoms with perfume of manhood, shot out from my spirit as rays. | 150 |
| |
| And the sound of them springing | |
| And smell of their shoots | |
| Were as warmth and sweet singing | |
| And strength to my roots; | |
| And the lives of my children made perfect with freedom of soul were my fruits. | 155 |
| |
| I bid you but be; | |
| I have need not of prayer; | |
| I have need of you free | |
| As your mouths of mine air; | |
| That my heart may be greater within me, beholding the fruits of me fair. | 160 |
| |
| More fair than strange fruit is | |
| Of faiths ye espouse; | |
| In me only the root is | |
| That blooms in your boughs; | |
| Behold now your God that ye made you, to feed him with faith of your vows. | 165 |
| |
| In the darkening and whitening | |
| Abysses adored, | |
| With dayspring and lightning | |
| For lamp and for sword, | |
| God thunders in heaven, and his angels are red with the wrath of the Lord. | 170 |
| |
| O my sons, O too dutiful | |
| Toward Gods not of me, | |
| Was not I enough beautiful? | |
| Was it hard to be free? | |
| For behold, I am with you, am in you and of you; look forth now and see. | 175 |
| |
| Lo, winged with world’s wonders, | |
| With miracles shod, | |
| With the fires of his thunders | |
| For raiment and rod, | |
| God trembles in heaven, and his angels are white with the terror of God. | 180 |
| |
| For his twilight is come on him, | |
| His anguish is here; | |
| And his spirits gaze dumb on him, | |
| Grown grey from his fear; | |
| And his hour taketh hold on him stricken, the last of his infinite year. | 185 |
| |
| Thought made him and breaks him, | |
| Truth slays and forgives; | |
| But to you, as time takes him, | |
| This new thing it gives, | |
| Even love, the beloved Republic, that feeds upon freedom and lives. | 190 |
| |
| For truth only is living, | |
| Truth only is whole, | |
| And the love of his giving | |
| Man’s polestar and pole; | |
| Man, pulse of my centre, and fruit of my body, and seed of my soul. | 195 |
| |
| One birth of my bosom; | |
| One beam of mine eye; | |
| One topmost blossom | |
| That scales the sky; | |
| Man, equal and one with me, man that is made of me, man that is I. | 200 |
