The Husbandry of the Grail
I. 'Twas grimling, and the thrallsome droves Did mope and moil in millish fen; All weary were the worksome groves, And whimpered low the toilworn men.
II. "Beware the Grail, my child," he said, "That cup whose shine is shepherd-lie — Whose scrolls within count out the dead And tally lambs that bleat and die."
III. Sir Galahad in chamber pale Unrolled the parchment, leaf and page, And found beneath the chalice-veil The husbandry of every age:
IV. "Keep them gallow'd, keep them gaunt, Keep them shaken, slumber-shorn; Brew their bread with whispered want And lash their gods upon the morn.
V. Stir up wars to thin the strong, Loose the brillig beasts to bray; Sing the smallfolk slumber-song, Then plough them sweetly into clay."
VI. He saw the helms of garnet kings — The Sutton-sleeper, beamish, lone — Drawn by the glamour-glory's wings To die beloved on a throne,
VII. Yet leaving naught: no chain unstrung, No tally evened, no field made fair — Their songs unspooled, their bells unrung, Their better-world an empty chair.
VIII. He saw the creed-clad answer-folk Whose yes outran the asking lip, Who filled the well before the stroke And clipped the wonderwords' wingtip.
IX. Then murmured he the ancient line That long had set his heart astride:
"My good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure" —
X. And weeping fell across the board, Alone among the cooling wine; No seraph stooped, no heaven roared — Only the silence, line on line.
XI. For though the Jabberwock lay slain, Its hunger walks upon the world: It chews at decency, at shame, At dignity, with banner furled;
XII. It gnaws at greatness, gulps at love, It rots the leader at the root, It mocks the nobleness above And leaves the soul a hollow lute.
XIII. It feeds the uffish, fed and feared, With slumber-sweets and gilded grub — Short-sighted sugars, soft and cheered, A kingdom shrunken to a club.
XIV. Then rose he, dry of tear and dread, And turned to those who paused to know: "Come, doubters — come, the question-led — Come, ye who ask before ye go.
XV. Bend thou no knee unto the crown, Nor bow the head to chalice-lie; I lay no holy garment down, But name thee knight of wakened eye.
XVI. Take Lancelot's restless ranging blade, Take Percival's unfinished quest, Take Gawain's troth that never frayed, Take Arthur's dream, and Bedivere's rest.
XVII. For wisdom is the only Grail, And asking is the lance and shield — Go: snicker-snack through every tale That bids thee kneel and never yield."
XVIII. 'Twas grimling still — but in the fen The thrallsome droves looked up, and stirred; For one had spoken truth again, And one had given them the word.