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Robert W Service - The Sightless Man
Work rating: Low

Out of the night a crash,
A roar, a rampart of light;
A flame that leaped like a lash,
Searing forever my sight;
Out of the night a flash,
Then, oh, forever the Night!

Here in the dark I sit,
I who so loved the sun;
Supple and strong and fit,
In the dark till my days be done;
Aye, that`s the hell of it,
Stalwart and twenty-one.

Marie is stanch and true,
Willing to be my wife;
Swears she has eyes for two . . .
Aye, but it`s long, is Life.
What is a lad to do
With his heart and his brain at strife?

There now, my pipe is out;
No one to give me a light;
I grope and I grope about.
Well, it is nearly night;
Sleep may resolve my doubt,
Help me to reason right. . . .

                (He sleeps and dreams.)

I heard them whispering there by the bed . . .
Oh, but the ears of the blind are quick!
Every treacherous word they said
Was a stab of pain and my heart turned sick.
Then lip met lip and they looked at me,
Sitting bent by the fallen fire,
And they laughed to think that I couldn`t see;
But I felt the flame of their hot desire.
He`s helping Marie to work the farm,
A dashing, upstanding chap, they say;
And look at me with my flabby arm,
And the fat of sloth, and my face of clay —
Look at me as I sit and sit,
By the side of a fire that`s seldom lit,
Sagging and weary the livelong day,
When every one else is out on the field,
Sowing the seed for a golden yield,
Or tossing around the new-mown hay. . . .

Oh, the shimmering wheat that frets the sky,
Gold of plenty and blue of hope,
I`m seeing it all with an inner eye
As out of the door I grope and grope.
And I hear my wife and her lover there,
Whispering, whispering, round the rick,
Mocking me and my sightless stare,
As I fumble and stumble everywhere,
Slapping and tapping with my stick;
Old and weary at thirty-one,
Heartsick, wishing it all was done.
Oh, I`ll tap my way around to the byre,
And I`ll hear the cows as they chew their hay;
There at least there is none to tire,
There at least I am not in the way.
And they`ll look at me with their velvet eyes
And I`ll stroke their flanks with my woman`s hand,
And they`ll answer to me with soft replies,
And somehow I fancy they`ll understand.
And the horses too, they know me well;
I`m sure that they pity my wretched lot,
And the big fat ram with the jingling bell . . .
Oh, the beasts are the only friends I`ve got.
And my old dog, too, he loves me more,
I think, than ever he did before.
Thank God for the beasts that are all so kind,
That know and pity the helpless blind!

Ha! they`re coming, the loving pair.
My hand`s a-shake as my pipe I fill.
What if I steal on them unaware
With a reaping-hook, to kill, to kill? . . .
I`ll do it . . . they`re there in the mow of hay,
I hear them saying: "He`s out of the way!"
Hark! how they`re kissing and whispering. . . .
Closer I creep . . . I crouch . . . I spring. . . .

                (He wakes.)

Ugh! What a horrible dream I`ve had!
And it isn`t real . . . I`m glad, I`m glad!
Marie is good and Marie is true . . .
But now I know what it`s best to do.
I`ll sell the farm and I`ll seek my kind,
I`ll live apart with my fellow-blind,
And we`ll eat and drink, and we`ll laugh and joke,
And we`ll talk of our battles, and smoke and smoke;
And brushes of bristle we`ll make for sale,
While one of us reads a book of Braille.
And there will be music and dancing too,
And we`ll seek to fashion our life anew;
And we`ll walk the highways hand in hand,
The Brotherhood of the Sightless Band;
Till the years at last shall bring respite
And our night is lost in the Greater Night.
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