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The Wild Knight, By: G.K. Chesterton

March 13, 2023 by poetrycatalog

The Wild Knight, By: G.K. Chesterton

    The wasting thistle whitens on my crest,
    The barren grasses blow upon my spear,
    A green, pale pennon: blazon of wild faith
    And love of fruitless things: yea, of my love,
    Among the golden loves of all the knights,
    Alone: most hopeless, sweet, and blasphemous,
    The love of God:
    I hear the crumbling creeds
    Like cliffs washed down by water, change, and pass;
    I hear a noise of words, age after age,
    A new cold wind that blows across the plains,
    And all the shrines stand empty; and to me
    All these are nothing: priests and schools may doubt
    Who never have believed; but I have loved.
    Ah friends, I know it passing well, the love
    Wherewith I love; it shall not bring to me
    Return or hire or any pleasant thing–
    Ay, I have tried it: Ay, I know its roots.
    Earthquake and plague have burst on it in vain
    And rolled back shattered–
    Babbling neophytes!
    Blind, startled fools–think you I know it not?
    Think you to teach me?    Know I not His ways?
    Strange-visaged blunders, mystic cruelties.
    All! all! I know Him, for I love Him. Go!

    So, with the wan waste grasses on my spear,
    I ride for ever, seeking after God.
    My hair grows whiter than my thistle plume,
    And all my limbs are loose; but in my eyes
    The star of an unconquerable praise:
    For in my soul one hope for ever sings,
    That at the next white corner of a road
    My eyes may look on Him….
    Hush–I shall know
    The place when it is found: a twisted path
    Under a twisted pear-tree–this I saw
    In the first dream I had ere I was born,
    Wherein He spoke….
    But the grey clouds come down
    In hail upon the icy plains: I ride,
    Burning for ever in consuming fire.

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