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diff --git a/34966-8.txt b/34966-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4b64e8c --- /dev/null +++ b/34966-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1974 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Eidola, by Frederic Manning + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Eidola + +Author: Frederic Manning + +Release Date: January 15, 2011 [EBook #34966] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EIDOLA *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + EIDOLA + BY FREDERIC MANNING + + [Greek: skias eidôlon] + AESCHYLUS + + LONDON + JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. + 1917 + + + + + BY FREDERIC MANNING + + POEMS. 3_s._ 6_d._ net + SCENES AND PORTRAITS. 6_s._ net + THE VIGIL OF BRUNHILD. 2_s._ 6_d._ net + + LONDON: JOHN MURRAY + + + + +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + + + TO + THE COUNTESS OF ANCASTER + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + THE CHOOSERS 1 + SACRIFICE 3 + RELIEVED 5 + REACTION 6 + THE OLD CALVARY 9 + THE GUNS 10 + THE SIGN 12 + A SHELL 14 + THE FACE 15 + WIND 16 + BOIS DE MAMETZ 18 + THE TRENCHES 22 + LEAVES 25 + TRANSPORT 27 + [Greek: autarkeia] 29 + EPIGRAM, R. B. 31 + NOW 32 + GROTESQUE 35 + DESIRE 36 + BLUE AND GOLD 38 + GANHARDINE'S SONG 39 + THE SOUL'S ANSWER 41 + WINTER 42 + THE FAUN 43 + THE CUP 44 + PAROLES SANS MUSIQUE 45 + DANAE 47 + WORSHIP 49 + TO A GIRL 50 + EROS ATHANATOS 52 + DEMETER MOURNING 54 + THE LOST ANGEL 57 + THE MOCKING SONG 59 + THE MOTHER 63 + MEDITATION 65 + THE HONEY GATHERER 67 + CROCUS SONG 70 + THE IMAGE SELLER 72 + SIMAETHA 74 + TO THE UNKNOWN GODDESS 76 + HURLEYWAYNE 78 + TO SÀÏ 80 + THE SHEPHERDS' CAROL OF BETHLEHEM 82 + PAST 85 + THE BELOVED 86 + + + + +EIDOLA + + + + +THE CHOOSERS + + + O ye! Fragile, tremulous + Haunters of the deep glades, + Whose fingers part the leaves + Of beech and aspen ere ye slip thro', + Shall I see ye again? + + Men have said unto me: + These are but flying lights and shadows, + Light on the beech-boles, clouds shadowing the corn-fields, + The wind in the flame of birches in autumn, + Wind shadowing the clear pools. + But ye cried, laughing, down the wind: + _Men are but shadows, but a vain breath!_ + + So here cometh unto me + That cry from the rejoicing air: + Men are but shadows! And prone about me + I see them, hushed and sleeping in the hut, + Made solemn and holy by the night, + In the dead light o' the moon: + Shadowy, swathed in their blankets, + As sleep, in hewn sepulchral caves, + Egypt's and Asia's kings. + While between them are the footsteps + Of glittering presences, who say: Lo, one + To be a sword upon my thigh! + And the sleepers stir restlessly and murmur + As between them pass + The bright-mailed choosers of the dead. + + Shall I see ye again, O flying feet + O' the forest-haunters, while I couch silent, + In a wet brake o' blossom, + Dark ivy wreathing your whiteness; + Ere I am torn from the scabbard: + (Lo, one + To be a sword upon my thigh!) + Knowing no longer that earth + Lieth in the dews, shining and sacred? + + + + +SACRIFICE + + + Love suffereth all things. + And we, + Out of the travail and pain of our striving, + Bring unto thee the perfect prayer: + For the heart of no man uttereth love, + Suffering even for love's sake. + + For us no splendid apparel of pageantry, + Burnished breast-plates, scarlet banners and trumpets + Sounding exultantly. + But the mean things of the earth hast thou chosen, + Decked them with suffering, + Made them beautiful with the passion for rightness, + Strong with the pride of love. + + Yea, tho' our praise of thee slayeth us, + Yet love shall exalt us beside thee triumphant, + Dying, that these live: + And the earth again be beautiful with orchards, + Yellow with wheatfields, + And the lips of others praise thee, tho' our lips + Be stopped with earth, and songless. + + But we shall have brought thee their praises, + Brought unto thee the perfect prayer: + For the lips of no man uttereth love, + Suffering even for love's sake. + + O God of sorrows, + Whose feet come softly thro' the dews, + Stoop thou unto us, + For we die so thou livest, + Our hearts the cups of thy vintage: + And the lips of no man uttereth love, + Suffering even for love's sake. + + + + +RELIEVED + +FOR S. J. KIMM + + + We are weary and silent, + There is only the rhythm of marching feet; + Tho' we move tranced, we keep it + As clock-work toys. + + But each man is alone in this multitude; + We know not the world in which we move, + Seeing not the dawn, earth pale and shadowy, + Level lands of tenuous grays and greens; + For our eye-balls have been seared with fire. + + Only we have our secret thoughts, + Our sense floats out from us, delicately apprehensive, + To the very fringes of our being, + Where light drowns. + + + + +REACTION + + + What make you here, Aphrodite, + Lady of the Golden Cymbals, + Would you dance to awaken earth again + As of old on Ida? + Here are no threshing-floors.... + + Men call you delicate, a lover of softness: + Making thine images of ivory, stained with sanguine; + Strewing frail petals of roses before you; + Bringing you soft stuffs of sea-dyes, + Vermilion and saffron sandals, + Floating wimples of filmy webs, that veil you, + As clear water the glittering limbs + Of a nymph beloved of Pan. + + But you come among us, + With sleepy eyelids, and a sleep-soft smile, + Ere we have scraped our boots of the mud + That is half human.... + You come, tho' we are killing the lice in our shirts, + To fill our eyes with the wine of your vision, + Tho' we are weary, and our hearts + Emptied of the old jests. + + _Satia te sanguine_ + You come among men; laughing + At the ramp of the strange beasts + Roaring our songs in estaminets, + With our hands hungry for life again. + You are come curious of our crude intoxications, + The savage pleasures and the gross lusts, + Being weary of the veiled lights, the whispers, + The languid colours, and rare spiced meats + That of old delighted you + In Paphos. + + You would couch with us in the golden straw + Of these great Gothic barns, + With curious curved beams arching, as in shadowy aisles; + While through the broken mud-wall + Light rays, + Like the golden dust + On Danae poured. + + And we turn from the harshness of swords, + Hungering for you.... + And know not that your breasts, + Carven delicately of ivory and gold, + The lips, red and subtile, + Are born of the bitter sea-foam and bright blood. + + + + +THE OLD CALVARY + +TO THE REV. D. L. PROSSER + + + It is propped in a corner of the yard, + Where vines wreathe it + With leaves and delicate tendrils; + A mutilated trunk, + Worn, and gray with weather stains; + Lichens cling to its flesh as a leprosy. + + But for a moment I stood in adoration, + Reverent, as the sun-rays + Struck between the glistening leaves; + Lighting the frail, lean form, + The shrunken flanks, + That knew more suffering than held + The agonies of Laocoon. + + For the memory of many prayers clung to it, + Tenderly, and glistening, + Even as the delicate vine + To the sacred flesh. + + + + +THE GUNS + + + Menace, hidden, but pulsing in the air of night: + Then a throbbing thunder, split and seared + With the scarlet flashes of innumerable shells, + And against it, suddenly, a shell, closer; + A purr that changes to a whine + Like a beast of prey that has missed its kill, + And again, closer. + + But even in the thunder of the guns + There is a silence: and the soul groweth still. + Yea, it is cloaked in stillness: + And it is not fear. + + But the torn and screaming air + Trembles under the onset of warring angels + With terrible and beautiful faces; + And the soul is stilled, knowing these awful shapes, + That burden the night with oppression, + To be but the creatures of its own lusts. + + + + +THE SIGN + + + We are here in a wood of little beeches: + And the leaves are like black lace + Against a sky of nacre. + + One bough of clear promise + Across the moon. + + It is in this wise that God speaketh unto me. + He layeth hands of healing upon my flesh, + Stilling it in an eternal peace. + Until my soul reaches out myriad and infinite hands + Toward him; + And is eased of its hunger. + + And I know that this passes: + This implacable fury and torment of men, + As a thing insensate and vain: + And the stillness hath said unto me, + Over the tumult of sounds and shaken flame, + Out of the terrible beauty of wrath, + _I alone am eternal._ + + One bough of clear promise + Across the moon. + + + + +A SHELL + + + Here we are all, naked as Greeks, + Killing the lice in our shirts: + Suddenly the air is torn asunder, + Ripped as coarse silk, + Then a dull thud.... + We are all squatting. + + + + +THE FACE + + + Out of the smoke of men's wrath, + The red mist of anger, + Suddenly, + As a wraith of sleep, + A boy's face, white and tense, + Convulsed with terror and hate, + The lips trembling.... + + Then a red smear, falling.... + I thrust aside the cloud, as it were tangible, + Blinded with a mist of blood. + The face cometh again + As a wraith of sleep: + A boy's face delicate and blonde, + The very mask of God, + Broken. + + + + +WIND + + + Blow, wind! Strip the great trees + That are like ebony against a sky of jade, + Ebony fretted and contorted. + Blow, hunt the piled clouds that lash the earth with rain; + Roar among the swayed branches; sing shrilly in the grass, + Burdening the pines with the music of pain; + For mine eyes desire the stars. + + Drown the senseless thunder of the guns, + Stream on the ways of air hurrying before thee + The yellow leaves, and the tawny, and scarlet, + Till my soul dance with them, + Dance delightedly as a child or a kitten + Catching at the gay leaves laughingly, + For I would forget, I would forget and laugh again. + + Sing, thou great wind; smite the harp of the wood, + For in thee the souls of slain men are singing exultant, + Now free of the air, feather-footed! Yea, they swim therein + Toward the green twilight, surging + Naked and beautiful with playing muscles, + Yea, even the naked souls of men + Whose beauty is a fierce thing, and slayeth us + Like the terrible majesty of the gods; + Blow, thou great wind, scatter the yellowing leaves. + + + + +BOIS DE MAMETZ + +FOR H. L. + + + Men have marred thee, O Mother: + Autumn hath now no tawny and gilded leaves; + Nor murmuring among sleepy boughs; + But stark and writhen as a woman ravished, + With twisted tortured limbs, + Are Mametz' woods. + + Hath not thy child, Persephone, tall men, + Yea, even all the children of the earth, + Bringing her tribute? + But the reapers sing not in thy wheatfields: + Tall sheaves wait ungarnered, + Though swallows are shrilling in the skies. + + We are reaped, who were thy reapers, and slain our songs; + We are torn as Iason, beloved of thee, Mother: + Heavy the clay upon our lips, + The gray rats fear us not, but pass quickly, sated, + Over prone trunks, rent limbs, dead faces, + That are ashen under the moon. + + Love, who begat us, shall Love slay us utterly? + Shall we not mingle with earth, as with sleep, + Dream into grasses, leafage, flowers, + Such being our very flesh; and shudder + In the glitter of thin shivering poplars, + That tremble like slim girls shaken + At a caress, + Bowed in a clear, keen wind? + + Lo, in us the glory of a new being, + A wonder, a terror, an exultation, + Even in the filth of our shambles, + Loosened as lightnings upon us, devouring us; + Till we be but a shaken wrath of flames, + A many-tongued music of thunder, + Beyond the thunder of guns. + And we fail beneath it, + Sink into our ashes, cower as dogs; + While the glory of many shaken flames + Drowns in the gray of thy dawns, + That reveal unto us + Earth wasted and riven with iron and fire. + Desolate! + + Thou hast turned from us.... + Even so thou art lovely, + As a woman grown old in sorrows, + With patient kindly eyes, + From whom hath passed the shadow of desire; + And her ears keep the whispers of many lovers, + As things heard in sleep. + But thou heed'st not our prayers, our strivings, + The moans of our anguish, + Our mute agonies; + Though thy loins bare us in travail, + Though thou art the bride of our desiring, + Yea, and the child of our desire, + In triple deity; + Knowing things past, and things to come, when both + Meet on the instant, rounding to a who + This intense keen edge of flame + Consuming our poor dust. + + Sit'st thou thus wisely silent, + With subtile and inviolate eyes, + Knowing us but the shadow of thy substance, + As transitory as the leaves? + + Wiselier even.... + Knowing us from the matter of our lives: + Not the sweet leaves the wind stirs, + But the wind, + Whose passage the leaves shadoweth. + + There are no leaves now in thy woods, Mametz. + + + + +THE TRENCHES + + + Endless lanes sunken in the clay, + Bays, and traverses, fringed with wasted herbage, + Seed-pods of blue scabious, and some lingering blooms; + And the sky, seen as from a well, + Brilliant with frosty stars. + We stumble, cursing, on the slippery duck-boards, + Goaded like the damned by some invisible wrath, + A will stronger than weariness, stronger than animal fear, + Implacable and monotonous. + + Here a shaft, slanting, and below + A dusty and flickering light from one feeble candle + And prone figures sleeping uneasily, + Murmuring, + And men who cannot sleep, + With faces impassive as masks, + Bright, feverish eyes, and drawn lips, + Sad, pitiless, terrible faces, + Each an incarnate curse. + + Here in a bay, a helmeted sentry + Silent and motionless, watching while two sleep, + And he sees before him + With indifferent eyes the blasted and torn land + Peopled with stiff prone forms, stupidly rigid, + As tho' they had not been men. + + Dead are the lips where love laughed or sang, + The hands of youth eager to lay hold of life, + Eyes that have laughed to eyes, + And these were begotten, + O love, and lived lightly, and burnt + With the lust of a man's first strength: ere they were rent, + Almost at unawares, savagely; and strewn + In bloody fragments, to be the carrion + Of rats and crows. + + And the sentry moves not, searching + Night for menace with weary eyes. + + + + +LEAVES + + + A frail and tenuous mist lingers on baffled and intricate branches; + Little gilt leaves are still, for quietness holds every bough; + Pools in the muddy road slumber, reflecting indifferent stars; + Steeped in the loveliness of moonlight is earth, and the valleys, + Brimmed up with quiet shadow, with a mist of sleep. + + But afar on the horizon rise great pulses of light, + The hammering of guns, wrestling, locked in conflict + Like brute, stone gods of old struggling confusedly; + Then overhead purrs a shell, and our heavies + Answer, with sudden clapping bruits of sound, + Loosening our shells that stream whining and whimpering precipitately, + Hounding through air athirst for blood. + + And the little gilt leaves + Flicker in falling, like waifs and flakes of flame. + + + + +TRANSPORT + + + The moon swims in milkiness, + The road glimmers curving down into the wooded valley + And with a clashing and creaking of tackle and axles + The train of limbers passes me, and the mules + Splash me with mud, thrusting me from the road into puddles, + Straining at the tackle with a bitter patience, + Passing me.... + And into a patch of moonlight, + With beautiful curved necks and manes, + Heads reined back, and nostrils dilated, + Impatient of restraint, + Pass two gray stallions, + Such as Oenetia bred; + Beautiful as the horses of Hippolytus + Carven on some antique frieze. + And my heart rejoices seeing their strength in play, + The mere animal life of them, + Lusting, + As a thing passionate and proud. + + Then again the limbers and grotesque mules. + + + + +[Greek: autarkeia] + + + I am alone: even ranked with multitudes: + And they alone, each man. + So are we free. + For some few friends of me, some earth of mine, + Some shrines, some dreams I dream, some hopes that emerge + From the rude stone of life vaguely, and tend + Toward form in me: the progeny of dreams + I father; even this England which is mine + Whereof no man has seen the loveliness + As with mine eyes: and even too, my God + Whom none have known as I: for these I fight, + For mine own self, that thus in giving self + Prodigally, as a mere breath in the air, + I may possess myself, and spend me so + Mingling with earth, and dreams, and God: and being + In them the master of all these in me, + Perfected thus. + Fight for your own dreams, you. + + + + +EPIGRAM, R. B. + + + Earth held thee not, whom now the gray seas hold, + By the blue Cyclades, and even the sea + Palls but the mortal, for men's hearts enfold, + Inviolate, the untamed youth of thee. + + + + +NOW + + + I praise ye for the noble and prodigal virtues, + That are spendthrift of all, + Giving and taking with a light hand; + For this moment only is ours: + + Of old ye were provident, and frugal, + With the parsimony of peace. + Now ye will jeopard your lives for a song, + For a mere breath, the shadow of a desire; + Cloaking your valour with a jest, + Veiling its holiness, + Lest wisdom deem ye fools; + The vain wisdom of peace. + + The old and hoary craft, + That seeth not the brightness of the sun, + That hideth in the earths of foxes, + That weigheth love, and delight, and laughter, + Against minted gold. + The wise ... + These but traffic in our gems, + They are but the merchants of our pleasure + Miserly! + + Who shall hoard up life + As it were but a heap of golden discs? + For it hath the lightest of light feet, + This quarry of our chase: + As it were Proteus, + Flowing from shape to shape under our hands.... + Who shall spread a net to entoil it + Or snare it as a bird? + + Ye play with life as with a gamester, + Full of doubles and shifts, + And ye laugh at each turn of the game, + Your hearts hawking at a chance + With a keen-edged zest. + Ye know not what ye seek, + Having it always. + + Ye have stolen of my riches; + But ye have given me of your dearth + The last fragment of your broken bread + And gone hungry yourselves: + Despising the matter of our lives, + The faults and incompleteness + Of the crude earth, + From which we are moulding, + With cunning and nimble fingers, + Images of desire. + + Let us laugh and understand each other, + For how could I blame you, my friends, + When ye are so generous + With the fruit of your thefts? + + Yea, this moment is sufficient: + And being artists, after our diverse manners, + When each white dawn cometh + Build we the earth anew: + Repenting not + Yesterdays now drowned in dark, nor desiring + The hastening to-morrows. + + + + +GROTESQUE + + + These are the damned circles Dante trod, + Terrible in hopelessness, + But even skulls have their humour, + An eyeless and sardonic mockery: + And we, + Sitting with streaming eyes in the acrid smoke, + That murks our foul, damp billet, + Chant bitterly, with raucous voices + As a choir of frogs + In hideous irony, our patriotic songs. + + + + +DESIRE + + + I would sing thy face + Sitting here in the firelight; + Mid the senseless noise of guns + Comes it as a flower between the flames. + + Sea-blue thine eyes, and bright as hawk's are, + Yet frail thy face as an image in clear water + As a pearl lying there, hidden or plain, when light + Wavers upon it: mobile as thy moods are + Or faint as a star in the mist's milk: + And frail thine hands, + Delicate, + Hovering in infinite slow gesture, nigh speech + Hesitating, poised, + Fragile: they would not mar + Gray bloom on a ripe plum. + + I would sing thy face + To forget this.... + But thy face sings to me from the slim flames + And my praise is silence, and my prayer. + + + + +BLUE AND GOLD + + + Blue and gold are April days, + All the wealth of spring unrolled + Down the wet, bird-haunted ways + Blue and gold. + In their rapture uncontrolled, + From the trees the blackbirds raise + Songs of triumph, clear and bold: + And the distance is blue haze, + Where the hills the fields enfold, + Like still seas in sheltered bays + Blue and gold. + + + + +GANHARDINE'S SONG + + + When my lady climbs the stair, + From the wet, surf-beaten sands, + Loosening her cloak of hair, + With her slender, foam-white hands, + All my soul cries out in me: + What fair things God maketh be! + + Praise her white, and red, and gold; + Praise her lips made sweet with mirth, + Her grave eyes, that dreaming hold + Tears, which tremble ere their birth! + Yet what song shall snare the feet + Of white dawn upon the wheat? + + Surely earth's swift-changing grace, + Starry waters, starry skies + Fallen in some flower-loved place, + Speak such peace as speak her eyes; + There earth's sudden wonders are + Glassed, as waters glass a star. + + When my lady climbs the stair, + Every wandering golden tress + Streams out, through the living air, + Like a flame for loveliness, + And my soul cries out in me: + What fair things God maketh be. + + + + +THE SOUL'S ANSWER + + + My soul said unto me: Yea, God is wise + With wisdom far too bright for our weak eyes. + I answered thus my soul: Yea, God is wise! + + My soul said unto me: Yea, God is good + And maketh love to be our daily food. + I answered thus my soul: Yea, God is good! + + I sent my soul from me that it might tell + The damned and make a Heaven where was Hell, + It smiled and said: Nay, fear not, all is well! + + + + +WINTER + +TO U. A. T. + + + Bare are the boughs where Love took cover, + Once in the spring: + Nor bird to bird, nor lover to lover, + Whisper or sing. + + A low moon floodeth the level meadows + With frosty light: + Sheep come softly through mist as shadows, + Grey in the night. + + And over pasture and plough and fallow + My dreams go, + For thy mouth to kiss and thine hands to hallow, + Thine heart to know. + + + + +THE FAUN + + + Kore, O Kore, where art thou fled, + Now that the spring blows white in the land? + Shake out the honeyed locks o' thine head; + Plunder the lilies that lie to thine hand, + Glistering saffron loved of the bees + Murmuring in them, till shadows grow long + With dew-dropping silence under the trees, + Ere break the voluptuous thrillings of song + From the brown-throated sweet harbourers there + Raptured and grieving under the stars.... + + + + +THE CUP + + + Ye mock me, wantons, that I come among you + Drunken, bedecked with garlands + Like a white sacrificial bull. + Laugh then! + So Cypris laughing shakes one petal down + From her rose-braided hair, + Honeyed with kisses, to perfume + The glowing purple that brims up this gold. + Laugh then, and mock, but kiss me! For what man + Would come among you sober? Wise, I come + Borne on Silenus' ass to praise Eros. + + + + +PAROLES SANS MUSIQUE + +FOR JELLY D'ARÀNYI + + + Ah, the night! The eyes! + You are white beneath the plum-blossoms, + As an oread beneath the shadow + Of flowering branches: immobile, + Among things fugitive and frail. + For God hath filled you with the memory + Of things forgotten by man; and your eyelids + Close upon lost splendours. + Yea! They are heavy with the secrets of time; + Troubled by the strangeness of beauty. + But mine heart knoweth the secret + Of your subtile lips and eyes: the silence + Wherein throng presently, with maddening cymbals, + With bright-tressed torches, the maenads, + Their cool flesh wreathed with dark vines. + + Ah, the night! The eyes! + Honey pale are you, pallid as ivory: + An amber grape, whose sweetness will be wine + On some king's lip! + Here 'mid these golds and purples, + These dusked magnificences, + Amid strange faces + Only your face against the plum-blossom + Know I: remembering + Bright spear heads in the moonlight + By the still tents, the red embers, + The strings and flutes of pain.... + And again the weariness of desiring. + + Ah, the night! The eyes! + + + + +DANAE + + + Thou, whom the gray seas bare more fierce than they. + O bitter Love! Have pity on his weeping, + Smite me with pain; lo, I am all thy prey! + Sleep thou, my son, as all the world is sleeping; + Sleep thou, my babe; and sleep, thou bitter sea; + And sleep, O grief, within the heart of me. + + Ashen thy fruit, O Love, thy crown is pain! + Sweet were thy words to me, thy soft caresses. + Child of my heart, O gain beyond all gain. + Sleep, while I shelter thee with arms and tresses! + Sleep thou, my babe, and sleep, thou bitter sea; + And sleep, O grief, within the heart of me. + + Yea, I am thine, O Love. I am thy spoil! + Sleep thou, my son, sleep softly till the morrow! + Love, thou hast snared me in thy golden toil, + Still the loud seas though thou still not my sorrow! + Sleep thou, my babe; and sleep, thou bitter sea; + And sleep, O grief, within the heart of me. + + + + +WORSHIP + + + Earth, sea, and skies, + For me are in thine eyes, + Yea, thou for me + Holdest within thyself eternity. + + As the dew's sphere + Encloses all the clear + Fires hung in the night, + The thin moon and the shaken seas delight. + + And there the rose + Where seraphs throne them, glows + Quiring God's name, + With music that is sound of joy made flame. + + God's very grace + Is perfect in thy face, + Mirrored such wise + That I mine own soul there imparadise. + + + + +TO A GIRL + +(MISS E. F.) + + + Thy face, which love renews ever with loveliness, + Is known and strange as earth, from night each dawn is new: + Stirred with such restless beauty + As water that wind shadoweth. + + How may love snare thy soul, or know the ways thereof? + Subtile as flame it is, and secret as the dews: + Even thus closely folded + Love hath thee not, but followeth. + + From change to change, nor surfeiteth his ecstasy + That from so brief a joy desireth new delight, + As tho' the sweet life in thee + Were fugitive and bodiless. + + Nay, love, in thee all change immortal is; nor dies, + Being the soul of thee that pastures on brief joy: + And this earth's shows mere seeming + In thy clear love's eternity. + + + + +EROS ATHANATOS + + + As a rose bends in rain + Your face is bowed into mine arms, + Spilling its golden drops there: + And the fragrance of wet roses + Is in my nostrils, + And the long bright tendrils of your hair + Upon me. + + Under my hand you tremble as a reed + When wind ruffles the water; + Such great joy floweth beneath my fingers, + And the rain passes, and the wind strews + The ripples with crimson petals + Bright as blood upon their polished silver. + + But my delight of you + Fragrant and humid in mine arms, + Of a white body convulsive, shaken + With the soul's passion; lips fierce, eager, + Passes not, but as a song, as a breath passes, + To hide it in a silence, a sleep, + Among cherishing dews, being music: + Nor the mere lute, nor the singer, + But the shaped passion of a god + Embodied in us, + Beyond us, eternal, exultant. + + + + +DEMETER MOURNING + + + I have seen her in sorrow, as one blind + With grief, across the furrows on soiled feet + Pass, as the cold gray dawn came with cold wind, + Gray as fine steel and keen with bitter sleet, + Beneath the white moon waning in the skies: + And I grew holy gazing in her eyes. + + Then her voice came: Ah! but thou wert too fair + To seek among the dim realms of the dead + Love: and what hands will tremble in thine hair + Or lips faint on thy lips? The clear stars shed + All night their dews on me: and the wind's breath + Pierced; and my heart grew hungry too for death. + + O flower! O clear pool mirroring the trees, + Whose sight was all my soul! O golden one, + Whose hair was like the corn, and rippling seas + Of new-sprung grasses where the light winds run! + O thou, whose breath was music, and whose mirth + Ran like bright water o'er the thirsting earth. + + Surely now where the frail, dim shadows dwell + Thou hast sown all the marvel of Earth's flowers + And lit with wonder all the ways of Hell + And winged the feet of their slow-footed hours, + While I sit lonely by the water-springs + On the bare earth where not one linnet sings! + + The dead leaves fluttered round her, and she sate + There by the well-side filmed with silver frost, + Like some old woman, stricken in her fate, + With no more heart to wail what she hath lost: + And silence grew about her, as though grief + Stilled the rude winds, and every withered leaf. + + + + +THE LOST ANGEL + + + Thy love is as clear rivers to a thirsty land, + Even as the rivers of earth bringing the wonder of boughs, + The rivers of thy love have filled up the channels of time. + Earth is a lure unto mine eyes. Lo! now I love + The fragile fleeting days, warm lips of women. + Delights that slip away as fish through water. + O, God, thou knowest what is in my heart. + + Soiled am I now with dust, and frustrate glories + Wane, and are tarnished on my darkened brows; + Yea, all my love is for the joys that perish. + How may mine eyes behold my naked soul + No more arrayed in wings of my desire? + The cold rains smite me, and the winds of sorrow + Have driven me down the bitter ways of time. + O, God, thou knowest what is in my heart. + + How shall I come again into my peace, + So heavy is the darkness on eyes and feet? + One sayeth: Lo, now, God's lost angel crowned + With broken hopes, and clothed with grief, and mute, + Sitting with his despair through the long starless night, + I, God's lost angel. Even thus I grow + Starry amid the solitudes, yea, crowned + With my despair, throned even in my fall, + O, God, thou knowest what is in my heart. + + + + +THE MOCKING SONG + + + Surely now in the spring-time shall I waken my singing + And song shall blossom out of my lips, + Glowing, as gloweth the golden crocus of Zeus. + + For the soft white flakes of the winter have covered me over + With a deep stillness not to be told, + And my heart hath gathered honey of many dreams. + + Now may they blossom as flames, tawny and eager, + Shaking out their bright hair on the wind. + The soft wind that streameth through the long green, rippling grasses. + + Yea, like a bee, my heart hath fed on the honey of flowers + And is made drunken, and full of strength, + Full of the blood-red wine that is fierce and exultant. + + But ye have turned your faces from song and from dreaming, + Ye stirred in the winter and wakened, + Your grain was garnered and threshed, yet a hunger filled you. + + But the breasts of Earth had filled me, mine eyes had garnered + Many-coloured may, and sweet, red apples, + Through every sense had I drunk up her strength, and was sated. + + What have ye, O wise ones? The corn ye reaped ye shall sow, + Ye shall watch for rains and tempests; + Only I hearing the hail on the roofs shall be gladdened. + + Ye, being mockers, said: What profiteth him his singing? + Ye stored not the sweetness in your hearts, + Ye are bent double with the burden of the past, fearful of Time. + + Ye go forth into the furrows, but who shall come to the reaping? + Lo, now the golden grain falleth to earth! + Though ye be rich in this wise, yet are ye desolate. + + I have gleaned in the hedgerows and wild glades of the forest, + And that sweetness sufficeth to me: + For sweet it is to feel the rain upon face and hair. + + Surely ye have this day: but the wise sweetness in my heart + Is the honey of all days which ye have not. + So shall my soul mock you, when dying, lo! ye are empty. + + Even so when I hungered ye gave me bread, + With hard words ye gave it me. + So give I this song unto you with hard words in mockery. + + + + +THE MOTHER + + + She hath such quiet eyes, + That feed on all earth's wonders! She will sit + Here in the orchard, and the bewildering beauty + Of blossoming boughs lulls her as day grows late + And level sunlight streameth through the tree-stems + Lying as pale gold on the green fallows, and gilding the fleeces + Of the slow-feeding sheep in the pastures. + While in her there stirs, + A dream, a delight, a wonder her being knew not, + Yet now remembers, wistfully, as a thing long lost, + Sunken in dim, green, lucid sea-caves; + And her desire goeth out from her, toward God, through the twilight, + Lost, too, in the waters of unfathomable silence. + + But the child, gazing upward, + Sees the glory of the apple-blossom suddenly scattered, + As a bird flies through the branches; + And he reaches toward the soft, white fluttering petals + That light upon his face, and laughs; and she + Stoops over him quickly with sudden, hot, passionate kisses, + Smiling for all her tears. + + + + +MEDITATION + + + Even tho' I descend into the darkness of deep valleys, + Yet have mine eyes beheld the light, + And my heart treasureth it. + + One, seeing thy face, loseth it not in dreams. + It shall abide with him through all the days; + And his heart treasureth it. + + Earth dieth in the darkness, but when dawn cometh + Slowly the trees and hills grow into the light.... + The heart of darkness cherisheth the dawn. + + Who shall forget thee having seen thy face? + I have dreamed in my sleep of thee, as a man dreameth of a maiden. + + Yea! the silence and darkness held thee as a dream. + Lo! I have seen thee. How shall I forget? + + Thy beauty is treasured up in my heart. + + + + +THE HONEY GATHERER + + + I would drink of the honeyed wine that is heavy with poppies + Until my trembling eyelids close, and only the murmur + Of Life I should know: as the murmur of seas to one sleeping. + Glide now the soft, slim feet + Of white dreams that are lovely and fugitive + To whom thy sorrow is alien, my beloved! + Sweetly their feet stir the young grasses, they lie coiled + In clear dark waters, or couched in the thickets, + Their whiteness dappled with shadow, + So might I forget again the sword of thy beauty + And the desire that looked out from thine eyes, until mine heart leapt + Forth to meet it, and was seared in the flame. + Life was as a net about me, and mine hands might not rend it, + But I lay in fear among the toils, and afar + Mine ears strained to catch the footsteps of the hunter. + + Honey and poppies! + Until desire is drowned within me, until sleep + Hath builded a world that is gateless, + A world of beautiful luminous waters + Through which the white dreams slip and swim, + Pearled with fine spray, their bright hair floating, + To whom love and desire and sorrow are foolishness + And thy beauty a shadow, that the wind breaketh. + And thy body but dust for the wind's pasture + And thy sorrow but a murmur of waters.... + There are they, the exultant, the swan-throated; + Through the night cometh the sound of their trumpets, + Until mine heart is drunken with their wine. + + Honey and poppies! + Until sleep is heavy upon me as a garment, + Until the winged joys come. + But even then, O my beloved! is desire and a grieving; + Even in the deep waters my soul remembereth + How it hath been troubled by thy hands. + + + + +CROCUS SONG + +FOR M. C. + + + The first flame, the first spear of the spring, + A thing perfected of the dews and fire, + Saffron in hoar-frost, brightened as with wine: + Thou blossoming in the heart of me! + Ah, golden + Is she whose love hath led me through the world + A thing of dews and fire, of wine and saffron! + Gray willows veiling my beloved + Bend above her, + As though you would love her, + Now clear water shadoweth her whiteness. + + Ere brown bees go abroad murmuring, + One saffron crocus hath made glad desire, + To follow on swift feet slim feet of thine; + Love wakening for joy of thee, + Beholden + As golden petals of one flower unfurled, + Brimmed up with dews and fire, with wine and saffron. + Clear waters shadowing her whiteness + Flow beside her, + As tho' you would hide her, + Jealous that mine eyes have my beloved. + + + + +THE IMAGE SELLER + + + I would bring them again unto you, + The gods with broad and placid brows; + And for you have I wrought their images + Of carven ivory and gold; + That your lips may be shaped to praise them, + And your praises be laughter and all delights of the body, + Dancing and exultation, a dance of torches + In scarlet sandals, with burnished targes: + A dance of boys by the wine-press + Naked, with must-stained purple thighs: + Of young girls by the river in saffron vesture + Dancing to smitten strings and reed flutes. + Praise then mine images: Helios; Artemis, + With a leash of straining hounds: and the Foam-born. + + Turning from love to sleep, drowsy and smiling, + With the fluttering of doves and dreams about her + And, softer than silk, Hephaistos' golden net. + Lo, Bacchus and his painted beasts! + Praise ye mine images! + A dryad whom clinging ivy holds while laughs + The swarthy centaur pursuing; and a troop + Of small Pans delicate and deformed. + Yet your lips praise not, + Crying: We too would be deathless as these are, + We, the hunted! But dance and adore them, + Praise my sweet grave gods of the blue, and the earth-born! + Praise their strong grace and swiftness! + For in these gods mine hands have wrought, + In these alone are ye deathless. + + + + +SIMAETHA + +FOR D. S. D. + + + Thou art wine, Simaetha! When mine eyes drink thee + My blood flames with the golden joy thou art, + Bewildering me, until thy loveliness + Is veiled in its own light: nor know I then + Pure brows, and placid lips and eyes, and hair + With wind and sunlight glorious: but all + Are mingled in one flame. O thou, in me, + Art shrined, as none hath seen thee, as gods live + Whom Time shall not consume; nor rusts thy gold + Ever, so hath my soul enclosed thee round + With its divine air. Yea, thy very life, + Which flows through all the guises of thy moods, + Escaping as they die, and laughs and weeps + And builds again its beauty, have I set + Beyond the jeopards of rough time: yea! all + Thine ivory, imperilled loveliness, + And winey sanguine where the cheek's curve takes + Light as a bloom upon it, not to pass + So there be God. + Thy praise hath made speech song + And song from lip to lip flies, and black ships + Bear it from sea to sea; and on some quay + Where rise tall masts, and gay booths flank the ways + A tumbler sings it; and an alien air + Trembles with thee, while strange men wonder, dumb + To see thee pass: thou being all my song. + + + + +TO THE UNKNOWN GODDESS + + + Gross, sensual faces herded; and then you + With magical wide eyes came. Eyes that kept + The mirth of dews at dawn in them, and slept + To the tumult of the street. They held the blue, + Sweet, flowering spaces under pines; and knew + Cropped lawns, where naked dryads dancing leapt + To the clash of golden cymbals, while there crept + Furtively on white bellies through the dew, + To glut on grace, ambiguous fauns, whose eyes + Burned glittering with desire: until the horn + Of the moon turned ashen; and through the still trees + The lithe shapes feed: and dawn brimmed up the skies + With winey gold, and walked upon the corn; + And murmuring through the vines came gleaming bees. + + + + +HURLEYWAYNE + +FOR M. S. + + + Such cool peace as fills + Green solitudes with trembling light at eve, + Fresh after summer thunder: and thin leaves + Stir gleaming, and grow still; then the green light + Alone moves, pulsing in pooled air, that shakes + No more with sound. Quiet brims full; then break + As dropping rain hurrying elfin feet, + A silvery foam of sound blown as white spray, + Sparkling with great bright bubbles: no sound to sense, + Bright foam upon blue pools of quiet tossed: + And a sight of waven manes that gleam + Shaken in the twilight under luminous leaves; + And challenging fairy horns that invite to the chace + Gay, light o' heart. And the galloping host, + Winding their horns, rush by as wind in the grass, + Shimmering; and the horns from afar ring out, + Farther and farther away. + + + + +TO SÀÏ + + + You chase the blue butterflies, + The shining dew is shaken by your feet, + That are white in the young grasses; + Swift, you hesitate, poised; + And they elude you; fluttering + In the windless gold. + + Sàï is small, + But a little child, + With little sorrows; + Yet her tears shine with laughter, + Her face comes and goes between the wet leaves, + As a face in sleep + Comes and goes between green shadows, + As moving lights hide and shine in the marshes. + + I shall not look at her, + Lest she should hide from mine eyes + In the shadow. + I bring her pale honey in a comb, apples + Sweet and smelling; and leave them beside me; + Then comes she softly. + There is a bee in the willow-weed, + From flower to flower it climbs, and I watch it + Till the honey and apples are eaten. + Sàï is quite close to me; now she has gone + She has forgotten me. + + Sàï is small, + But a little child. + + + + + THE SHEPHERDS' CAROL OF + BETHLEHEM + + + A golden star hangs in the night, + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + And all the fields are clad in white: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow. + + What maketh Mary's face so pale? + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + It is the hour of her travail: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow. + + She lies between an ass and beast, + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + Three kings come riding from the east: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow. + + Caspar, Melchior, Balthazar, + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + They have ridden out of the lands afar: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow. + + In ermine furs and cramasie, + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + A duffle cloak will shelter me: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow. + + The kings have stooped to Mary's hem, + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + But her eyes travel away from them: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow. + + What gifts have we to bring the Lord? + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + Neither a sceptre, nor a sword: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow. + + We bring no gifts but milk and cheese: + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + And a fleece of wool for Mary's knees: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow. + + Nor myrrh, nor frankincense, nor gold: + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + But a fleece to shield Him from the cold: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow. + + Down miry ways, tho' storms be wild, + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + A warm soft fleece for a naked child: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow. + + Now Mary turns her face to sleep: + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + While we go back to tend our sheep: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow. + + The sparks fly from the crackling thorn, + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + Our God was in a stable born: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow. + + Tho' three wise kings rode from the east, + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + He was born between an ass and beast: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow. + + I saw no trail of starry light, + Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow! + I heard a child wail in the night: + I saw three shepherds out in the snow! + + + + +PAST + + + We played in this garden, long ago, + Long ago! Wind stirs the young grasses; + Petals drift from the apple-boughs, + Like snow, that covers up everything, + Everything! + + + + +THE BELOVED + +(TO THE COUNTESS OF KINTORE) + + + Love, when they told me you were dead, I replied not; + I smiled, and they thought me mad. + They wept anointing thy body, they swathed thee in linen bands + and laid thee in the earth. + Their hands touched thee as a thing sacred, they mourned for thee + with shaken hearts. + It was dawn, my beloved, and they came in, into my room, where I lay + close to sleep smiling, and they told me you were dead. + I smiled hearing the swallows coming and going under the eaves, + and they told me you were dead. + The earth dreamed in dews, the sheep were in the pastures, + and they told me you were dead. + + O my beloved, these knew thee not. + + + + +Certain of these poems have appeared in _The Spectator_, _Poetry_, _The +Forum_, _The Quest_, and _The Windsor Magazine_. 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