The Marionettes

The Marionettes written by Walter de la Mare

Motley and Other Poems (1918)

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Let the foul Scene proceed:
 There's laughter in the wings;
'Tis sawdust that they bleed,
 But a box Death brings.

How rare a skill is theirs -
 These extreme pangs to show,
How real a frenzy wears
 Each feigner of woe!

Gigantic dins uprise!
 Even the gods must feel
A smarting of the eyes
 As these fumes upswell.

Strange, such a Piece is free,
 While we Spectators sit,
Aghast at its agony,
 Yet absorbed in it!

Dark is the outer air,
 Cold the night draughts blow
Mutely we stare, and stare
 At the frenzied Show.

Yet heaven hath its quiet shroud
 Of deep, immutable blue -
We cry "An end!" We are bowed
 By the dread, "'Tis true!"

While the Shape who hoofs applause
 Behind our deafened ear,
Hoots - angel-wise - "the Cause!"
 And affright even fear.

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