Chapter V: Ivory

I

The shining rose called Pearl-and-Gold
Shall never show
In highest light,
Dissolving into softest fold
A purer glow
Of warmer white:
O ivory, ivory,

The glimmering robe of cloistered nun,
Kneeling in bliss
At vesper bells,
No fairer radiance hath won
Than even this
The ivory tells:
O ivory, ivory,

And so the beasts whereof we speak
May still possess--
Ah me, who knows?
The very loveliness we seek
In nun’s white dress,
In glowing rose!
O ivory, ivory.

II

In the far eastern East,
They say,
A vast forest beast
Went mad, one day:

Nor was he among beast mere catlike King,
But rather Councillor, a kindlier thing;
Yet mad, March-mad was he
As hare or man might be;
Else why, all uncontrollable, assail
With fierce trunk flying as a flail,
The sacred person of her Majesty’s Mail?

Ah, who shall guess what dim far eastern spells
Had traitorous crept to slime the mighty cells
Of that large brain, routing forever thence
Its recent tenant, mild Obedience?
Was it long-smouldering, sudden-flaming hate
For Man, the master of the dumb brute’s fate?

We only know,
That day, before the dusk,
Man laid him low,
Hide, trump, and tusk.

III

And now, this monarch means, for you and me,
But this, a hand’s breadth of fine ivory,
In tint and texture exquisite indeed,
Responding to the cunning carver’s need

To shape a tale of saints on missal cover,
To celebrate the Mourning Mother’s grace,
To mould forever for some eager lover
The perfect flower of his lady’s face;

Nay more, for love of father, mother, friend,
To frame a fond remembrance; to enscroll
A fleeting glimpse, a vista without end,
That mortal mystery, a maiden’s soul.