.....

Almost the tears were seen in Jonathan’s eyes,
Because of David’s words, of which he knew
The poor ghosts hiding somewhere in his own heart. 
And then he spoke his fear, and then the words,
Resting his sword, “I love him.  Let him go.” 
And David stept out of the emerald light
That played up from the grass floor of the tent,
Into the full flood of the April noon,
And walked a little way, and those two stood
Parted a hundred paces, the man of terror,
Hewn massy and with shock of builded limbs,
And David moulded like a sea boy risen
From caves of music where the water spins
Wet sand into the shapes of flowing flowers;
David with limbs all bright with the sun’s tones,
And ruddy locks curling with youth and light,
His body all alert on steady loins,
Clean spun of flesh that knew the winter snows,
And mellow pools of summer, and the dews
Dropping among the crocuses of dawn. 
His sandle-straps bound ankles as a girl’s,
And fluttering to his knees the sheepskin hung,
Cloaking one shoulder, while the other gleamed. 
And there he paused, the sling in his right hand,
His left hand fingering the pouch of pebbles,
While Israel fearing murmured, and the hosts
Of Philistine derision rocked the noon. 
Then did Goliath cry, “Am I a dog,
For a boy’s whipping?  Have you not a man,
That you would send a cleaner up of crumbs
From the queen’s table?  Come then, and be broken,
For birds to find you and the dogs at night.” 
And Jonathan heard Philistia shout again,
And David, like a flame unwinded, stood
Quivering at the cry, and laid a stone
In the sling’s fold, and cast his staff, and ran,
Fleet as the king bird gliding under leaves,
Towards Goliath.  And a giant spear
Swung from the Philistine hand, and forty paces
Sang in the air and brushed the flying sheepskin,
And sudden David’s feet were planted firm,
Locked on the earth, and circling in the sun
The tight thong flashed and loosened, and the stone
Smote the Philistine wrath above the eyes,
And the day was clouded from him, and he fell.

.....

Then Israel spared not.  And, when night was come,
Jonathan sent for David to his tent,
And those two sat while the yellow torches burned,
And Jonathan spoke and said, “David, my brother,
To-day you have made a story that shall be
For ever fruitful in the heart of man. 
This day is David’s.  But of this day I too
Share, not in the honour, but in the harvesting,
Or the harvesting I think is wholly mine. 
Shall I speak on?” And David said, “Speak on.” 
Then Jonathan—­“This morning there was a man,
And it was Jonathan, who many years
Had gone snared in a purpose not his own,
That is, not truly mine.  Always I knew,
Walking by that self I said was honest,
Another self, the true self, in a shadow,
Or at an angle that my eyes refused.