The Queen of Seven Swords

G. K. Chesterton

• Éditeur: Rare Treasure Editions
• Année: 2021
• ISBN:
  9781774644560
• Sujet: Literature
• Sous-sujet: Religious Poetry

The Queen of Seven Swordsis a rare book of poems byG. K. Chesterton, focused on Mary, the mother of Jesus. It is avolume of poems that Chesterton published in 1926, the title being a reference to the second chapter of Luke's Gospel. When Mary and Joseph presented the baby Jesus at the Temple, Simeon rejoiced that his eyes had seen God's salvation.Chesterton refers to a "seven-fold splendour" surrounding Mary, corresponding to the seven wounds of Christ, and there are seven poems in this collection corresponding to the seven champions of Christendom.

The Queen of Seven Swords

by G. K. CHESTERTON

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

IN MEMORIAM
THE WHITE WITCH
THE RETURN OF EVE
A PARTY QUESTION
A LITTLE LITANY
THE BALLAD OF KING ARTHUR
REGINA ANGELORUM
THE PARADOX
THE TOWERS OF TIME
THE TWO MAIDENS
AN AGREEMENT
IN OCTOBER
LAUGHTER
THE BLACK VIRGIN
IMAGES
THE TRINKETS
THE QUEEN OF SEVEN SWORDS
ST. JAMES OF SPAIN
ST. DENYS OF FRANCE
ST. ANTHONY OF ITALY
ST. PATRICK OF IRELAND
ST. ANDREW OF SCOTLAND
ST. DAVID OF WALES
ST. GEORGE OF ENGLAND
ALL THE SEVEN

IN MEMORIAM

J.S.P.

You go before me on all roads
On bridges broad enough to spread
Between the learned and the dunce
Between the living and the dead

THE WHITE WITCH

The dark Diana of the groves
Whose name is Hecate in hell
Heaves up her awful horns to heaven
White with the light I know too well.

The moon that broods upon her brows
Mirrors the monstrous hollow lands
In leprous silver; at the term
Of triple twisted roads she stands.

Dreams are no sin or only sin
For them that waking dream they dream;
But I have learned what wiser knights
Follow the Grail and not the Gleam.

I found One hidden in every home,
A voice that sings about the house,
A nurse that scares the nightmares off,
A mother nearer than a spouse,

Whose picture once I saw; and there
Wild as of old and weird and sweet,
In sevenfold splendour blazed the moon
Not on her brow; beneath her feet.

THE RETURN OF EVE

When Man rose up out of the red mountains
Of which Man was made
A giant ribbed out of the red mountains
Reared and displayed.
Of him was not posterity nor parent
Future or past
But the sun beheld him for a beauteous monster
The first and last.

When God arose upon the red mountains
Man had fallen prone
Flat and flung wide like a continent, capes and headlands,
The vast limbs thrown.
And the Lord lamented over Man, saying "Never
Shall there be but one
For no man born shall be mighty as he was mighty
To amaze the sun.

"Not till I put upon me the red armour
That was man's clay
And walk the world with the mask of man for a vizor
Not till that day.
For on God alone shall the image of God be graven
Which Adam wore
Seeing I alone can lift up this load of ruin
To walk once more."

But the Lord looked down on the beauty of Woman shattered,
A fallen sky,
Crying "O crown and wonder and world's desire
Shall this too die?
Lo, it repenteth me that this too is taken;
I will repay,
I will repair and repeat of the ancient pattern
Even in this clay

"And this alone out of all things fallen and formless
I will form anew
And this red lily of all the uprooted garden
Plant where it grew
That the dear dead thing that was all and only a woman
Without stain or scar
Rise, fallen no more with Lucifer Son of Morning,
The Morning Star."

The cloud came down upon the red mountains
Long since untrod
Red quarries of incredible creation
Red mines of God
And a dwarfed and dwindled race in the dark red deserts
Stumbled and strayed
While one in the mortal shape that was once for immortals
Made, was remade.

Till a face looked forth from a window in one white daybreak
Small streets above
As the face of the first love of our first father,
The world's first love.
And men looked up at the woman made for the morning
When the stars were young,
For whom, more rude than a beggar's rhyme in the gutter,
These songs are sung.

A PARTY QUESTION

"You hear a great deal about His Mother, for Our Lady has become the patron of a party, whereas Christ was never a party leader."—MR. ARNOLD LUNN, on "Roman Converts."

The golden roses of the glorious mysteries
Grew wild as cowslips on the common land:
Hers, who was more humanity's than history's,
Until you banned them as a badge is banned.

The silver roses of the sorrow of Mary,
And the red roses of her royal mirth,
Were free; till you, turned petulant and wary,
Went weeding wild-flowers from your mother-earth.

Mother of Man; the Mother of the Maker;
Silently speaking as the flowering trees,
What made of her a striker and a breaker
Who spoke no scorn even of men like these?

She named no hypocrites a viper race,
She nailed no tyrant for a vulpine cur,
She flogged no hucksters from the holy place;
Why was your new wise world in dread of her?

Whom had she greeted and not graced in greeting,
Whom did she touch and touch not to his peace;
And what are you, that made of such a meeting
Quarrels and quibble...