Charles Sorley
(SCENE: _A valley with a wood on one side and a road running up to
a distant hill: as it might be, the valley to the east of West
Woods, that runs up to Oare Hill, only much larger._ TIME: _Autumn.
Four wise men are marching hillward along the road._)
ONE WISE MAN
I wonder where the valley ends?
On, comrades, on.
ANOTHER WISE MAN
The rain-red road,
Still shining sinuously, bends
Leagues upwards.
A THIRD WISE MAN
To the hill, O friends,
To seek the star that once has glowed
Before us; turning not to right
Nor left, nor backward once looking.
Till we have clomb–and with the night
We see the King.
ALL THE WISE MEN
The King! The King!
THE THIRD WISE MAN
Long is the road but–
A FOURTH WISE MAN
Brother, see,
There, to the left, a very aisle
Composed of every sort of tree–
THE FIRST WISE MAN
Still onward–
THE FOURTH WISE MAN
Oak and beech and birch,
Like a church, but homelier than church,
The black trunks for its walls of tile;
Its roof, old leaves; its floor, beech nuts;
The squirrels its congregation–
THE SECOND WISE MAN
Tuts!
For still we journey–
THE FOURTH WISE MAN
But the sun weaves
A water-web across the grass,
Binding their tops. You must not pass
The water cobweb.
THE THIRD WISE MAN
Hush! I say.
Onward and upward till the day–
THE FOURTH WISE MAN
Brother, that tree has crimson leaves.
You’ll never see its like again.
Don’t miss it. Look, it’s bright with rain–
THE FIRST WISE MAN
O prating tongue. On, on.
THE FOURTH WISE MAN
And there
A toad-stool, nay, a goblin stool.
No toad sat on a thing so fair.
Wait, while I pluck–and there’s–and here’s
A whole ring … what?… berries?
(_The Fourth Wise Man drops behind, botanizing._)
THE WISEST OF THE REMAINING THREE WISE MEN
O fool!
Fool, fallen in this vale of tears
His hand had touched the plough: his eyes
Looked back: no more with us, his peers,
He’ll climb the hill and front the skies
And see the Star, the King, the Prize.
But we, the seekers, we who see
Beyond the mists of transiency–
Our feet down in the valley still
Are set, our eyes are on the hill.
Last night the star of God has shone,
And so we journey, up and on,
With courage clad, with swiftness shod,
All thoughts of earth behind us cast,
Until we see the lights of God,
–And what will be the crown at last?
ALL THREE WISE MEN
On, on.
(_They pass on: it is already evening when the Other Wise Man limps
along the road, still botanizing._)
THE OTHER WISE MAN
A vale of tears, they said!
A valley made of woes and fears,
To be passed by with muffled head
Quickly. I have not seen the tears,
Unless they take the rain for tears,
And certainly the place is wet.
Rain laden leaves are ever licking
Your cheeks and hands … I can’t get on.
There’s a toad-stool that wants picking.
There, just there, a little up,
What strange things to look upon
With pink hood and orange cup!
And there are acorns, yellow–green …
They said the King was at the end.
They must have been
Wrong. For here, here, I intend
To search for him, for surely here
Are all the wares of the old year,
And all the beauty and bright prize,
And all God’s colours meetly showed,
Green for the grass, blue for the skies,
Red for the rain upon the road;
And anything you like for trees,
But chiefly yellow brown and gold,
Because the year is growing old
And loves to paint her children these.
I tried to follow … but, what do you think?
The mushrooms here are pink!
And there’s old clover with black polls
Black-headed clover, black as coals,
And toad-stools, sleek as ink!
And there are such heaps of little turns
Off the road, wet with old rain:
Each little vegetable lane
Of moss and old decaying ferns,
Beautiful in decay,
Snatching a beauty from whatever may
Be their lot, dark-red and luscious: till there pass’d
Over the many-coloured earth a grey
Film. It was evening coming down at last.
And all things hid their faces, covering up
Their peak or hood or bonnet or bright cup
In greyness, and the beauty faded fast,
With all the many-coloured coat of day.
Then I looked up, and lo! the sunset sky
Had taken the beauty from the autumn earth.
Such colour, O such colour, could not die.
The trees stood black against such revelry
Of lemon-gold and purple and crimson dye.
And even as the trees, so I
Stood still and worshipped, though by evening’s birth
I should have capped the hills and seen the King.
The King? The King?
I must be miles away from my journey’s end;
The others must be now nearing
The summit, glad. By now they wend
Their way far, far, ahead, no doubt.
I wonder if they’ve reached the end.
If they have, I have not heard them shout.
_1 December 1913_
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem plays on the theme of a journey, both literal and metaphorical, focusing on the differing perceptions of a group of travelers as they march toward a distant hill in search of a “King.” The four wise men represent different approaches to the quest, highlighting the tension between the goal-oriented, single-minded pursuit of their mission and the allure of the present moment, with all its richness and beauty.
The first three wise men are impatient, fixated on the prize they seek—the King, a symbol of some greater understanding or divine truth. They are determined to reach their goal without distraction, each line spoken by them reinforcing their steadfastness and their disregard for the immediate surroundings. Their dialogue reflects a collective, almost dogged, resolve. As they urge one another onward, the world around them seems to lose importance in the face of their mission. The steady rhythm of their march carries them ever closer to their goal, and they dismiss any distractions along the way as trivial or irrelevant.
In contrast, the fourth wise man represents a different kind of wisdom: the appreciation of the journey itself, the act of seeking rather than the destination. His dialogue is filled with observations of the landscape, the trees, and the natural beauty around him. The fourth man stops to appreciate the world he is passing through—the “aisle of trees,” the “water-web” across the grass, the “crimson leaves”—suggesting a more mindful and present approach to life. However, his distraction from the main goal is not received kindly by the others, particularly the Wisest of the remaining three, who scold him for losing focus. The poem, through this contrast, seems to question the nature of wisdom itself—whether it lies in an unflinching pursuit of a distant goal or in an open-eyed appreciation of the world as it is.
The third wise man, who is portrayed as the most driven and serious, is the one who voices the collective ambition of the group. His speech is laced with a sense of urgency, and he urges the others to keep their eyes fixed on the “hill” and the “star” they are striving toward. His tone is religious, even prophetic, and he articulates the sense of a higher purpose guiding them on their way. The idea of “the Star” and “the King” gives the journey a spiritual dimension, framing the entire expedition as a quest for meaning, enlightenment, or divine truth.
The fourth wise man, on the other hand, presents a more personal and grounded perspective. As he lingers to observe the nature around him, it becomes clear that his journey is not just a physical one, but a spiritual exploration of the self and the world. His musings on the colors of autumn, the “mushrooms…pink,” and the “old clover with black polls,” reveal an appreciation for beauty in decay, a meditation on the impermanence of life, and an acceptance of the present moment. His refusal to rush ahead suggests a different kind of wisdom—one that values the journey over the destination.
As the poem progresses, the fourth wise man becomes more and more isolated, separated from the others by his refusal to abandon his appreciation for the present. He continues to “botanize,” even as the others move further up the road. His perspective shifts dramatically as the evening descends, with the sunset sky filling him with awe. In this moment, he experiences what can only be described as a spiritual revelation, seeing beauty not just in the physical world but in the very act of observing it. The “sunset sky” with its “lemon-gold and purple and crimson dye” becomes an image of transcendence, a moment of union with the divine.
The poem closes with the fourth wise man alone, still questioning his path. The earlier certainty of his fellow travelers contrasts sharply with his own indecision. In his final lines, he reflects on the futility of his pursuit and questions whether the “King” he sought ever truly existed, or if he had been caught in the web of his own search.
Ultimately, the poem is about the tension between the search for an external goal—represented by the “King”—and the internal discovery of meaning and beauty along the way. The fourth wise man, though left behind in the physical sense, may have reached a greater understanding of the true nature of the journey. In focusing on the present, he finds a kind of fulfillment that the others, in their single-minded pursuit, may never experience. The poem thus invites readers to reflect on the nature of wisdom and the value of both the destination and the journey.