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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:13:39 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:13:39 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/39783-0.txt b/39783-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e099db --- /dev/null +++ b/39783-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3021 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 39783 *** + +CANZONI & RIPOSTES + +OF + +EZRA POUND + + +WHERETO ARE APPENDED THE + +COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF + +T.E. HULME + + +LONDON + +ELKIN MATHEWS, CORK STREET + +M CM XIII + + + + +CANZONI + +TO + +OLIVIA AND DOROTHY SHAKESPEAR + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CANZON: THE YEARLY SLAIN + CANZON: THE SPEAR + CANZON: TO BE SUNG BENEATH A WINDOW + CANZON: OF INCENSE + CANZONE: OF ANGELS + TO OUR LADY OF VICARIOUS ATONEMENT + TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI + SONNET IN TENZONE + SONNET: CHI È QUESTA? + BALLATA, FRAGMENT + CANZON: THE VISION + OCTAVE + SONNET: THE TALLY-BOARD + BALLATETTA + MADRIGALE + ERA MEA + THRENOS + THE TREE + PARACELSUS IN EXCELSIS + DE AEGYPTO + LI BEL CHASTEUS + PRAYER FOR HIS LADY'S LIFE (FROM PROPERTIUS) + PSYCHE OF EROS + "BLANDULA, TENULLA, VAGULA" + ERAT HORA + EPIGRAMS. I. + II. (THE SEA OF GLASS) + LA NUVOLETTA + ROSA SEMPITERNA + THE GOLDEN SESTINA + ROME (FROM DU BELLAY) + HER IMAGE (FROM LEOPARDI) + VICTORIAN ECLOGUES. I. + II. SATIEMUS + III. ABELARD + A PROLOGUE + MAESTRO DI TOCAR + ARIA + L'ART + SONG IN THE MANNER OF HOUSMAN + HEINE, TRANSLATIONS FROM + UND DRANG + + + + +CANZONI + + + + CANZON: THE YEARLY SLAIN + + (WRITTEN IN REPLY TO MANNING'S "KORÈ.") + + + + "Et huiusmodi stantiae usus est fere in omnibus + cantionibus suis Arnaldus Danielis et nos eum secuti + sumus." + DANTE, _De Vulgari Eloquio_, II. 10. + + + + + + I + + Ah! red-leafed time hath driven out the rose + And crimson dew is fallen on the leaf + Ere ever yet the cold white wheat be sown + That hideth all earth's green and sere and red; + The Moon-flower's fallen and the branch is bare, + Holding no honey for the starry bees; + The Maiden turns to her dark lord's demesne. + + II + + Fairer than Enna's field when Ceres sows + The stars of hyacinth and puts off grief, + Fairer than petals on May morning blown + Through apple-orchards where the sun hath shed + His brighter petals down to make them fair; + Fairer than these the Poppy-crowned One flees, + And Joy goes weeping in her scarlet train. + + III + + The faint damp wind that, ere the even, blows + Piling the west with many a tawny sheaf, + Then when the last glad wavering hours are mown + Sigheth and dies because the day is sped; + This wind is like her and the listless air + Wherewith she goeth by beneath the trees, + The trees that mock her with their scarlet stain. + + IV + + Love that is born of Time and comes and goes! + Love that doth hold all noble hearts in fief! + As red leaves follow where the wind hath flown, + So all men follow Love when Love is dead. + O Fate of Wind! O Wind that cannot spare, + But drivest out the Maid, and pourest lees + Of all thy crimson on the wold again, + + V + + Korè my heart is, let it stand sans gloze! + Love's pain is long, and lo, love's joy is brief! + My heart erst alway sweet is bitter grown; + As crimson ruleth in the good green's stead, + So grief hath taken all mine old joy's share + And driven forth my solace and all ease + Where pleasure bows to all-usurping pain. + + VI + + Crimson the hearth where one last ember glows! + My heart's new winter hath no such relief, + Nor thought of Spring whose blossom he hath known + Hath turned him back where Spring is banished. + Barren the heart and dead the fires there, + Blow! O ye ashes, where the winds shall please, + But cry, "Love also is the Yearly Slain." + + VII + + Be sped, my Canzon, through the bitter air! + To him who speaketh words as fair as these, + Say that I also know the "Yearly Slain." + + + + CANZON: THE SPEAR + + + I + + 'Tis the clear light of love I praise + That steadfast gloweth o'er deep waters, + A clarity that gleams always. + Though man's soul pass through troubled waters, + Strange ways to him are openèd. + To shore the beaten ship is sped + If only love of light give aid. + + II + + That fair far spear of light now lays + Its long gold shaft upon the waters. + Ah! might I pass upon its rays + To where it gleams beyond the waters, + Or might my troubled heart be fed + Upon the frail clear light there shed, + Then were my pain at last allay'd. + + III + + Although the clouded storm dismays + Many a heart upon these waters, + The thought of that far golden blaze + Giveth me heart upon the waters, + Thinking thereof my bark is led + To port wherein no storm I dread; + No tempest maketh me afraid. + + IV + + Yet when within my heart I gaze + Upon my fair beyond the waters, + Meseems my soul within me prays + To pass straightway beyond the waters. + Though I be alway banished + From ways and woods that she doth tread, + One thing there is that doth not fade, + + V + + Deep in my heart that spear-print stays, + That wound I gat beyond the waters, + Deeper with passage of the days + That pass as swift and bitter waters, + While a dull fire within my head + Moveth itself if word be said + Which hath concern with that far maid. + + VI + + My love is lovelier than the sprays + Of eglantine above clear waters, + Or whitest lilies that upraise + Their heads in midst of moated waters. + No poppy in the May-glad mead + Would match her quivering lips' red + If 'gainst her lips it should be laid. + + VII + + The light within her eyes, which slays + Base thoughts and stilleth troubled waters, + Is like the gold where sunlight plays + Upon the still o'ershadowed waters. + When anger is there mingled + There comes a keener gleam instead, + Like flame that burns beneath thin jade. + + VIII + + Know by the words here mingled + What love hath made my heart his stead, + Glowing like flame beneath thin jade. + + + + CANZON + + TO BE SUNG BENEATH A WINDOW + + + I + + Heart mine, art mine, whose embraces + Clasp but wind that past thee bloweth + E'en this air so subtly gloweth, + Guerdoned by thy sun-gold traces, + That my heart is half afraid + For the fragrance on him laid; + Even so love's might amazes! + + II + + Man's love follows many faces, + My love only one face knoweth; + Towards thee only my love floweth, + And outstrips the swift stream's paces. + Were this love well here displayed, + As flame flameth 'neath thin jade + Love should glow through these my phrases. + + III + + Though I've roamed through many places, + None there is that my heart troweth + Fair as that wherein fair groweth + One whose laud here interlaces + Tuneful words, that I've essayed. + Let this tune be gently played + Which my voice herward upraises. + + IV + + If my praise her grace effaces, + Then 'tis not my heart that showeth, + But the skilless tongue that soweth + Words unworthy of her graces. + Tongue, that hath me so betrayed, + Were my heart but here displayed, + Then were sung her fitting praises. + + + + CANZON: OF INCENSE + + + I + + Thy gracious ways, + O Lady of my heart, have + O'er all my thought their golden glamour cast; + As amber torch-flames, where strange men-at-arms + Tread softly 'neath the damask shield of night, + Rise from the flowing steel in part reflected, + So on my mailed thought that with thee goeth, + Though dark the way, a golden glamour falleth. + + II + + The censer sways + And glowing coals some art have + To free what frankincense before held fast + Till all the summer of the eastern farms + Doth dim the sense, and dream up through the light, + As memory, by new-born love corrected-- + With savour such as only new love knoweth-- + Through swift dim ways the hidden pasts recalleth. + + III + + On barren days, + At hours when I, apart, have + Bent low in thought of the great charm thou hast, + Behold with music's many-stringed charms + The silence groweth thou. O rare delight! + The melody upon clear strings inflected + Were dull when o'er taut sense thy presence floweth, + With quivering notes' accord that never palleth. + + IV + + The glowing rays + That from the low sun dart, have + Turned gold each tower and every towering mast; + The saffron flame, that flaming nothing harms + Hides Khadeeth's pearl and all the sapphire might + Of burnished waves, before her gates collected: + The cloak of graciousness, that round thee gloweth, + Doth hide the thing thou art, as here befalleth. + + V + + All things worth praise + That unto Khadeeth's mart have + From far been brought through perils over-passed, + All santal, myrrh, and spikenard that disarms + The pard's swift anger; these would weigh but light + 'Gainst thy delights, my Khadeeth! Whence protected + By naught save her great grace that in him showeth, + My song goes forth and on her mercy calleth. + + VI + + O censer of the thought that golden gloweth, + Be bright before her when the evening falleth. + + VII + + Fragrant be thou as a new field one moweth, + O song of mine that "Hers" her mercy calleth. + + + + CANZONE: OF ANGELS + + + I + + He that is Lord of all the realms of light + Hath unto me from His magnificence + Granted such vision as hath wrought my joy. + Moving my spirit past the last defence + That shieldeth mortal things from mightier sight, + Where freedom of the soul knows no alloy, + I saw what forms the lordly powers employ; + Three splendours, saw I, of high holiness, + From clarity to clarity ascending + Through all the roofless, tacit courts extending + In aether which such subtle light doth bless + As ne'er the candles of the stars hath wooed; + Know ye herefrom of their similitude. + + II + + Withdrawn within the cavern of his wings, + Grave with the joy of thoughts beneficent, + And finely wrought and durable and clear, + If so his eyes showed forth the mind's content, + So sate the first to whom remembrance clings, + Tissued like bat's wings did his wings appear, + Not of that shadowy colouring and drear, + But as thin shells, pale saffron, luminous; + Alone, unlonely, whose calm glances shed + Friend's love to strangers though no word were said, + Pensive his godly state he keepeth thus. + Not with his surfaces his power endeth, + But is as flame that from the gem extendeth. + + III + + My second marvel stood not in such ease, + But he, the cloudy pinioned, winged him on + Then from my sight as now from memory, + The courier aquiline, so swiftly gone! + The third most glorious of these majesties + Give aid, O sapphires of th' eternal see, + And by your light illume pure verity. + That azure feldspar hight the microcline, + Or, on its wing, the Menelaus weareth + Such subtlety of shimmering as beareth + This marvel onward through the crystalline, + A splendid calyx that about her gloweth, + Smiting the sunlight on whose ray she goeth. + + IV + + The diver at Sorrento from beneath + The vitreous indigo, who swiftly riseth, + By will and not by action as it seemeth, + Moves not more smoothly, and no thought surmiseth + How she takes motion from the lustrous sheath + Which, as the trace behind the swimmer, gleameth + Yet presseth back the aether where it streameth. + To her whom it adorns this sheath imparteth + The living motion from the light surrounding; + And thus my nobler parts, to grief's confounding, + Impart into my heart a peace which starteth + From one round whom a graciousness is cast + Which clingeth in the air where she hath past. + + V--TORNATA + + Canzon, to her whose spirit seems in sooth + Akin unto the feldspar, since it is + So clear and subtle and azure, I send thee, saying: + That since I looked upon such potencies + And glories as are here inscribed in truth, + New boldness hath o'erthrown my long delaying, + And that thy words my new-born powers obeying-- + Voices at last to voice my heart's long mood-- + Are come to greet her in their amplitude. + + + + TO OUR LADY OF VICARIOUS ATONEMENT + + (BALLATA) + + + I + + Who are you that the whole world's song + Is shaken out beneath your feet + Leaving you comfortless, + Who, that, as wheat + Is garnered, gather in + The blades of man's sin + And bear that sheaf? + Lady of wrong and grief, + Blameless! + + II + + All souls beneath the gloom + That pass with little flames, + All these till time be run + Pass one by one + As Christs to save, and die; + What wrong one sowed, + Behold, another reaps! + Where lips awake our joy + The sad heart sleeps + Within. + + No man doth bear his sin, + But many sins + Are gathered as a cloud about man's way. + + + + TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI + + + Dante and I are come to learn of thee, + Ser Guido of Florence, master of us all, + Love, who hath set his hand upon us three, + Bidding us twain upon thy glory call. + Harsh light hath rent from us the golden pall + Of that frail sleep, _His_ first light seigniory, + And we are come through all the modes that fall + Unto their lot who meet him constantly. + Wherefore, by right, in this Lord's name we greet thee, + Seeing we labour at his labour daily. + Thou, who dost know what way swift words are crossed + O thou, who hast sung till none at song defeat thee, + Grant! by thy might and hers of San Michele, + Thy risen voice send flames this pentecost. + + + + SONNET IN TENZONE + + + LA MENTE + + "O Thou mocked heart that cowerest by the door + And durst not honour hope with welcoming, + How shall one bid thee for her honour sing, + When song would but show forth thy sorrow's store? + What things are gold and ivory unto thee? + Go forth, thou pauper fool! Are these for naught? + Is heaven in lotus leaves? What hast thou wrought, + Or brought, or sought, wherewith to pay the fee?" + + + IL CUORE + + "If naught I give, naught do I take return. + '_Ronsard me celebroit!_' behold I give + The age-old, age-old fare to fairer fair + And I fare forth into more bitter air; + Though mocked I go, yet shall her beauty live + Till rimes unrime and Truth shall truth unlearn." + + + + SONNET: CHI È QUESTA? + + + Who is she coming, that the roses bend + Their shameless heads to do her passing honour? + Who is she coming with a light upon her + Not born of suns that with the day's end end? + Say is it Love who hath chosen the nobler part? + Say is it Love, that was divinity, + Who hath left his godhead that his home might be + The shameless rose of her unclouded heart? + If this be Love, where hath he won such grace? + If this be Love, how is the evil wrought, + That all men write against his darkened name? + If this be Love, if this ... + O mind give place! + What holy mystery e'er was noosed in thought? + Own that thou scan'st her not, nor count it shame! + + + + BALLATA, FRAGMENT + + + II + + Full well thou knowest, song, what grace I mean, + E'en as thou know'st the sunlight I have lost. + Thou knowest the way of it and know'st the sheen + About her brows where the rays are bound and crossed, + E'en as thou knowest joy and know'st joy's bitter cost. + Thou know'st her grace in moving, + Thou dost her skill in loving, + Thou know'st what truth she proveth, + Thou knowest the heart she moveth, + O song where grief assoneth! + + + + CANZON: THE VISION + + + I + + When first I saw thee 'neath the silver mist, + Ruling thy bark of painted sandal-wood, + Did any know thee? By the golden sails + That clasped the ribbands of that azure sea, + Did any know thee save my heart alone? + O ivory woman with thy bands of gold, + Answer the song my luth and I have brought thee! + + II + + Dream over golden dream that secret cist, + Thy heart, O heart of me, doth hold, and mood + On mood of silver, when the day's light fails, + Say who hath touched the secret heart of thee, + Or who hath known what my heart hath not known + O slender pilot whom the mists enfold, + Answer the song my luth and I have wrought thee! + + III + + When new love plucks the falcon from his wrist, + And cuts the gyve and casts the scarlet hood, + Where is the heron heart whom flight avails? + O quick to prize me Love, how suddenly + From out the tumult truth has ta'en his own, + And in this vision is our past unrolled. + Lo! With a hawk of light thy love hath caught me. + + IV + + And I shall get no peace from eucharist, + Nor doling out strange prayers before the rood, + To match the peace that thine hands' touch entails; + Nor doth God's light match light shed over me + When thy caught sunlight is about me thrown, + Oh, for the very ruth thine eyes have told, + Answer the rune this love of thee hath taught me. + + V + + After an age of longing had we missed + Our meeting and the dream, what were the good + Of weaving cloth of words? Were jewelled tales + An opiate meet to quell the malady + Of life unlived? In untried monotone + Were not the earth as vain, and dry, and old, + For thee, O Perfect Light, had I not sought thee? + + VI + + Calais, in song where word and tone keep tryst + Behold my heart, and hear mine hardihood! + Calais, the wind is come and heaven pales + And trembles for the love of day to be. + Calais, the words break and the dawn is shown. + Ah, but the stars set when thou wast first bold, + Turn! lest they say a lesser light distraught thee. + + VII + + O ivory thou, the golden scythe hath mown + Night's stubble and my joy. Thou royal souled, + Favour the quest! Lo, Truth and I have sought thee + + + + OCTAVE + + + Fine songs, fair songs, these golden usuries + A Her beauty earns as but just increment, + And they do speak with a most ill intent + Who say they give when they pay debtor's fees. + + I call him bankrupt in the courts of song + Who hath her gold to eye and pays her not, + Defaulter do I call the knave who hath got + Her silver in his heart, and doth her wrong. + + + + SONNET + + + If on the tally-board of wasted days + They daily write me for proud idleness, + Let high Hell summons me, and I confess, + No overt act the preferred charge allays. + + To-day I thought--what boots it what I thought? + Poppies and gold! Why should I blurt it out? + Or hawk the magic of her name about + Deaf doors and dungeons where no truth is bought? + + Who calls me idle? I have thought of her. + Who calls me idle? By God's truth I've seen + The arrowy sunlight in her golden snares. + + Let him among you all stand summonser + Who hath done better things! Let whoso hath been + With worthier works concerned, display his wares! + + + + BALLATETTA + + + The light became her grace and dwelt among + Blind eyes and shadows that are formed as men + Lo, how the light doth melt us into song: + + The broken sunlight for a healm she beareth + Who hath my heart in jurisdiction. + In wild-wood never fawn nor fallow fareth + So silent light; no gossamer is spun + So delicate as she is, when the sun + Drives the clear emeralds from the bended grasses + Lest they should parch too swiftly, where she passes. + + + + MADRIGALE + + + Clear is my love but shadowed + By the spun gold above her, + Ah, what a petal those bent sheaths discover! + + _The olive wood hath hidden her completely._ + _She was gowned that discreetly_ + _The leaves and shadows concealed her completely._ + + Fair is my love but followed + In all her goings surely + By gracious thoughts, she goeth so demurely. + + + + ERA MEA + + + Era mea + In qua terra + Dulce myrti floribus, + Rosa amoris + Via erroris + Ad te coram + Veniam? + + + ANGLICÈ REDDITA + + Mistress mine, in what far land, + Where the myrtle bloweth sweet + Shall I weary with my way-fare, + Win to thee that art as day fair, + Lay my roses at thy feet? + + + + THRENOS + + + No more for us the little sighing, + No more the winds at twilight trouble us. + + Lo the fair dead! + + No more do I burn. + No more for us the fluttering of wings + That whirred in the air above us. + + Lo the fair dead! + + No more desire flayeth me, + No more for us the trembling + At the meeting of hands. + + Lo the fair dead! + + No more for us the wine of the lips, + No more for us the knowledge. + + Lo the fair dead! + + No more the torrent, + No more for us the meeting-place + (Lo the fair dead!) + Tintagoel. + + + + THE TREE + + + I stood still and was a tree amid the wood, + Knowing the truth of things unseen before; + Of Daphne and the laurel bow + And that god-feasting couple old + That grew elm-oak amid the wold. + 'Twas not until the gods had been + Kindly entreated, and been brought within + Unto the hearth of their heart's home + That they might do this wonder thing; + Nathless I have been a tree amid the wood + And many a new thing understood + That was rank folly to my head before. + + + + PARACELSUS IN EXCELSIS + + + "Being no longer human why should I + Pretend humanity or don the frail attire? + Men have I known, and men, but never one + Was grown so free an essence, or become + So simply element as what I am. + The mist goes from the mirror and I see! + Behold! the world of forms is swept beneath-- + Turmoil grown visible beneath our peace, + And we, that are grown formless, rise above-- + Fluids intangible that have been men, + We seem as statues round whose high-risen base + Some overflowing river is run mad, + In us alone the element of calm!" + + + + DE AEGYPTO + + + I even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + I have beheld the Lady of Life, + I, even I, who fly with the swallows. + + Green and gray is her raiment, + Trailing along the wind. + + I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + Manus animam pinxit, + My pen is in my hand + + To write the acceptable word.... + My mouth to chant the pure singing! + + Who hath the mouth to receive it, + The song of the Lotus of Kumi? + + I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + I am flame that riseth in the sun, + I, even I, who fly with the swallows. + + The moon is upon my forehead, + The winds are under my lips. + + The moon is a great pearl in the waters of sapphire, + Cool to my fingers the flowing waters. + + I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + I will return to the halls of the flowing, + Of the truth of the children of Ashu. + + I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Of the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + + + LI BEL CHASTEUS + + + That castle stands the highest in the land + Far seen and mighty. Of the great hewn stones + What shall I say? And deep foss way + That far beneath us bore of old + A swelling turbid sea + Hill-born and tumultuous + Unto the fields below, where + Staunch villein and + Burgher held the land and tilled + Long labouring for gold of wheat grain + And to see the beards come forth + For barley's even time. + + But archèd high above the curl of life + We dwelt amid the ancient boulders, + Gods had hewn and druids turned + Unto that birth most wondrous, that had grown + A mighty fortress while the world had slept, + And we awaited in the shadows there + When mighty hands had laboured sightlessly + And shaped this wonder 'bove the ways of men. + Me seems we could not see the great green waves + Nor rocky shore by Tintagoel + From this our hold, + But came faint murmuring as undersong, + E'en as the burghers' hum arose + And died as faint wind melody + Beneath our gates. + + + + PRAYER FOR HIS LADY'S LIFE + + FROM PROPERTIUS, ELEGIAE, LIB. III, 26 + + + Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm, + Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness. + So many thousand beauties are gone down to Avernus + Ye might let one remain above with us. + + With you is Iope, with you the white-gleaming Tyro, + With you is Europa and the shameless Pasiphae, + And all the fair from Troy and all from Achaia, + From the sundered realms, of Thebes and of aged Priamus; + And all the maidens of Rome, as many as they were, + They died and the greed of your flame consumes them. + + _Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm,_ + _Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness._ + _So many thousand fair are gone down to Avernus,_ + _Ye might let one remain above with us._ + + + + SPEECH FOR PSYCHE IN THE GOLDEN BOOK OF APULEIUS + + + All night, and as the wind lieth among + The cypress trees, he lay, + Nor held me save as air that brusheth by one + Close, and as the petals of flowers in falling + Waver and seem not drawn to earth, so he + Seemed over me to hover light as leaves + And closer me than air, + And music flowing through me seemed to open + Mine eyes upon new colours. + O winds, what wind can match the weight of him! + + + + "BLANDULA, TENULLA, VAGULA." + + + What hast thou, O my soul, with paradise? + Will we not rather, when our freedom's won, + Get us to some clear place wherein the sun + Lets drift in on us through the olive leaves + A liquid glory? If at Sirmio + My soul, I meet thee, when this life's outrun, + Will we not find some headland consecrated + By aery apostles of terrene delight, + Will not our cult be founded on the waves, + Clear sapphire, cobalt, cyanine, + On triune azures, the impalpable + Mirrors unstill of the eternal change? + + Soul, if She meet us there, will any rumour + Of havens more high and courts desirable + Lure us beyond the cloudy peak of Riva? + + + + ERAT HORA + + + "Thank you, whatever comes." And then she turned + And, as the ray of sun on hanging flowers + Fades when the wind hath lifted them aside, + Went swiftly from me. Nay, whatever comes + One hour was sunlit and the most high gods + May not make boast of any better thing + Than to have watched that hour as it passed. + + + + EPIGRAMS + + + I + + O ivory, delicate hands! + O face that hovers + Between "To-come" and "Was," + Ivory thou wast, + A rose thou wilt be. + + II + + (THE SEA OF GLASS) + + I looked and saw a sea + roofed over with rainbows, + In the midst of each + two lovers met and departed; + Then the sky was full of faces + with gold glories behind them. + + + + + LA NUVOLETTA + + Dante to an unknown lady, beseeching her not to + interrupt his cult of the dead Beatrice. From "Il + Canzoniere," Ballata II. + + + Ah little cloud that in Love's shadow lief + Upon mine eyes so suddenly alightest, + Take some faint pity on the heart thou smitest + That hopes in thee, desires, dies, in brief. + + Ah little cloud of more than human fashion + Thou settest a flame within my mind's mid space + With thy deathly speech that grieveth; + + Then as a fiery spirit in thy ways + Createst hope, in part a rightful passion, + Yet where thy sweet smile giveth + His grace, look not! For in Her my faith liveth. + + Think on my high desire whose flame's so great + That nigh a thousand who were come too late, + Have felt the torment of another's grief. + + + + ROSA SEMPITERNA + + + A rose I set within my "Paradise" + Lo how his red is turned to yellowness, + Not withered but grown old in subtler wise + Between the empaged rime's high holiness + Where Dante sings of that rose's device + Which yellow is, with souls in blissfulness. + Rose whom I set within my paradise, + Donor of roses and of parching sighs, + Of golden lights and dark unhappiness, + Of hidden chains and silvery joyousness, + Hear how thy rose within my Dante lies, + O rose I set within my paradise. + + + + THE GOLDEN SESTINA + + FROM THE ITALIAN OF PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA + + + In the bright season when He, most high Jove, + From welkin reaching down his glorying hand, + Decks the Great Mother and her changing face, + Clothing her not with scarlet skeins and gold + But with th' empurpling flowers and gay grass, + When the young year renewed, renews the sun, + + When, then, I see a lady like the sun, + One fashioned by th' high hand of utmost Jove, + So fair beneath the myrtles on gay grass + Who holdeth Love and Truth, one by each hand, + It seems, if I look straight, two bands of gold + Do make more fair her delicate fair face. + + Though eyes are dazzled, looking on her face + As all sight faileth that looks toward the sun, + New metamorphoses, to rained gold, + Or bulls or whitest swans, might fall on Jove + Through her, or Phoebus, his bag-pipes in hand, + Might, mid the droves, come barefoot o'er our grass, + + Alas, that there was hidden in the grass + A cruel shaft, the which, to wound my face, + My Lady took in her own proper hand. + If I could not defend me 'gainst that sun + I take no shame, for even utmost Jove + Is in high heaven pierced with darts of gold. + + Behold the green shall find itself turned gold + And spring shall be without her flowers and grass, + And hell's deep be the dwelling place of Jove + Ere I shall have uncarved her holy face + From my heart's midst, where 'tis both Sun and sun + And yet she beareth me such hostile hand! + + O sweet and holy and O most light hand, + O intermingled ivory and gold, + O mortal goddess and terrestrial sun + Who comest not to foster meadow grass, + But to show heaven by a likened face + Wert sent amongst us by th' exalted Jove, + + I still pray Jove that he permit no grass + To cover o'er thy hands, thy face, thy gold + For heaven's sufficed with a single sun. + + + + ROME + + FROM THE FRENCH OF JOACHIM DU BELLAY + + "Troica Roma resurges." + PROPERTIUS. + + + O thou new comer who seek'st Rome in Rome + And find'st in Rome no thing thou canst call Roman; + Arches worn old and palaces made common, + Rome's name alone within these walls keeps home. + + Behold how pride and ruin can befall + One who hath set the whole world 'neath her laws, + All-conquering, now conquered, because + She is Time's prey and Time consumeth all. + + Rome that art Rome's one sole last monument, + Rome that alone hast conquered Rome the town, + Tiber alone, transient and seaward bent, + Remains of Rome. O world, thou unconstant mime! + That which stands firm in thee Time batters down, + And that which fleeteth doth outrun swift time. + + + + HER MONUMENT, THE IMAGE CUT THEREON + + FROM THE ITALIAN OF LEOPARDI + + (Written 1831-3 circa) + + + Such wast thou, + Who art now + But buried dust and rusted skeleton. + Above the bones and mire, + Motionless, placed in vain, + Mute mirror of the flight of speeding years, + Sole guard of grief + Sole guard of memory + Standeth this image of the beauty sped. + + O glance, when thou wast still as thou art now, + How hast thou set the fire + A-tremble in men's veins; O lip curved high + To mind me of some urn of full delight, + O throat girt round of old with swift desire, + O palms of Love, that in your wonted ways + Not once but many a day + Felt hands turn ice a-sudden, touching ye, + That ye were once! of all the grace ye had + That which remaineth now + Shameful, most sad + Finds 'neath this rock fit mould, fit resting place! + + And still when fate recalleth, + Even that semblance that appears amongst us + Is like to heaven's most 'live imagining. + All, all our life's eternal mystery! + To-day, on high + Mounts, from our mighty thoughts and from the fount + Of sense untellable, Beauty + That seems to be some quivering splendour cast + By the immortal nature on this quicksand, + And by surhuman fates + Given to mortal state + To be a sign and an hope made secure + Of blissful kingdoms and the aureate spheres; + And on the morrow, by some lightsome twist, + Shameful in sight, abject, abominable + All this angelic aspect can return + And be but what it was + With all the admirable concepts that moved from it + Swept from the mind with it in its departure. + + Infinite things desired, lofty visions + 'Got on desirous thought by natural virtue, + And the wise concord, whence through delicious seas + The arcane spirit of the whole Mankind + Turns hardy pilot ... and if one wrong note + Strike the tympanum, + Instantly + That paradise is hurled to nothingness. + + O mortal nature, + If thou art + Frail and so vile in all, + How canst thou reach so high with thy poor sense; + Yet if thou art + Noble in any part + How is the noblest of thy speech and thought + So lightly wrought + Or to such base occasion lit and quenched? + + + + + VICTORIAN ECLOGUES + + + + I + + EXCUSES + + + Ah would you turn me back now from the flowers, + You who are different as the air from sea is, + Ah for the pollen from our wreath of hours, + You who are magical, not mine as she is, + Say will you call us from our time of flowers? + + You whom I loved and love, not understanding, + Yea we were ever torn with constant striving, + Seeing our gods are different, and commanding + One good from them, and in my heart reviving + Old discords and bent thought, not understanding. + + We who have wept, we who have lain together + Upon the green and sere and white of every season, + We who have loved the sun but for the weather + Of our own hearts have found no constant reason, + What is your part, now we have come together? + + What is your pain, Dear, what is your heart now + A little sad, a little.... Nay, I know not + Seeing I never had and have no part now + In your own secret councils wherein blow not + My roses. My vineyard being another heart now? + + You who were ever dear and dearer being strange, + How shall I "go" who never came anear you? + How could I stay, who never came in range + Of anything that halved; could never hear you + Rightly in your silence; nay, your very speech was strange. + + You, who have loved not what I was or will be, + You who but loved me for a thing I could be, + You who love not a song whate'er its skill be + But only love the cause or what cause should be, + How could I give you what I am or will be? + + Nay, though your eyes are sad, you will not hinder, + You, who would have had me only near not nearer, + Nay though my heart had burned to a bright cinder + Love would have said to me: "Still fear her, + Pain is thy lot and naught she hath can hinder," + + So I, for this sad gladness that is mine now, + Who never spoke aright in speaking to you, + Uncomprehending anything that's thine now, + E'en in my spoken words more wrong may do you + In looking back from this new grace that's mine now. + + _Sic semper finis deest._ + + + + II + + SATIEMUS + + + What if I know thy speeches word by word? + And if thou knew'st I knew them wouldst thou speak? + What if I know thy speeches word by word, + And all the time thou sayest them o'er I said, + "Lo, one there was who bent her fair bright head, + Sighing as thou dost through the golden speech." + Or, as our laughters mingle each with each, + As crushed lips take their respite fitfully, + What if my thoughts were turned in their mid reach + Whispering among them, "The fair dead + Must know such moments, thinking on the grass; + On how white dogwoods murmured overhead + In the bright glad days!" + How if the low dear sound within thy throat + Hath as faint lute-strings in its dim accord + Dim tales that blind me, running one by one + With times told over as we tell by rote; + What if I know thy laughter word by word + Nor find aught novel in thy merriment? + + + + III + + ABELARD + + "_Pere Esbaillart a Sanct Denis._" + VILLON. + + + "Because my soul cried out, and only the long ways + Grown weary, gave me answer and + Because she answered when the very ways were dumb + With all their hoarse, dry speech grown faint and chill. + Because her answer was a call to me, + Though I have sinned, my God, and though thy angels + Bear no more now my thought to whom I love; + Now though I crouch afraid in all thy dark + Will I once cry to thee: + Once more! Once more my strength! + Yea though I sin to call him forth once more, + Thy messengers for mine, Their wings my power! + And let once more my wings fold down above her, + Let their cool length be spread + Over her feet and head + And let thy calm come down + To dwell within her, and thy gown of peace + Clothe all her body in its samite. + O Father of all the blind and all the strong, + Though I have left thy courts, though all the throng + Of thy gold-shimmering choir know me not, + Though I have dared the body and have donned + Its frail strong-seeming, and although + Its lightening joy is made my swifter song, + Though I have known thy stars, yea all, and chosen one. + Yea though I make no barter, and repent no jot, + Yet for the sunlight of that former time + Grant me the boon, O God, + Once more, once more, or I or some white thought + Shall rise beside her and, enveloping + All her strange glory in its wings of light, + Bring down thy peace upon her way-worn soul. + Oh sheathe that sword of her in some strong case, + The doe-skin scabbard of thy clear Rafael! + Yea let thy angels walk, as I have seen + Them passing, or have seen their wings + Spread their pavilions o'er our twin delight. + Yea I have seen them when the purple light + Hid all her garden from my drowsy eyes. + + + + A PROLOGUE + + + SCENE--IN THE AIR + + _The Lords of the Air_: + + What light hath passed us in the silent ways? + + _The Spirits of Fire_: + + We are sustainèd, strengthened suddenly. + + _The Spirits of Water_: + + Lo, how the utmost deeps are clarified! + + _The Spirits Terrene_: + + What might is this more potent than the spring? + Lo, how the night + Which wrapped us round with its most heavy cloths + Opens and breathes with some strange-fashioned brighness! + + + IN HEAVEN + + _Christ, the eternal Spirit in Heaven speaketh thus, + over the child of Mary_: + + O star, move forth and write upon the skies, + "This child is born in ways miraculous." + * * * * * + O windy spirits, that are born in Heaven, + Go down and bid the powers of Earth and Air + Protect his ways until the Time shall come. + * * * * * + O Mother, if the dark of things to be + Wrap round thy heart with cloudy apprehensions, + Eat of thy present corn, the aftermath + Hath its appointed end in whirling light. + Eat of thy present corn, thou so hast share + In mightier portents than Augustus hath. + * * * * * + In every moment all to be is born, + Thou art the moment and need'st fear no scorn. + + _Echo of the Angels singing "Exultasti"_: + + Silence is born of many peaceful things, + Thus is the starlight woven into strings + Whereon the Powers of peace make sweet accord. + Rejoice, O Earth, thy Lord + Hath chosen Him his holy resting-place. + + Lo, how the winged sign + Flutters above that hallowed chrysalis. + + + IN THE AIR + + _The invisible Spirit of the Star answers them_: + + Bend in your singing, gracious potencies, + Bend low above your ivory bows and gold! + That which ye know but dimly hath been wrought + High in the luminous courts and azure ways: + Bend in your praise; + For though your subtle thought + Sees but in part the source of mysteries, + Yet are ye bidden in your songs, sing this: + + _"Gloria! gloria in excelsis_ + _Pax in terra nunc natast."_ + + _Angels continuing in song_: + + Shepherds and kings, with lambs and frankincense + Go and atone for mankind's ignorance: + Make ye soft savour from your ruddy myrrh. + Lo, how God's son is turned God's almoner. + Give ye this little + Ere he give ye all. + + + ON EARTH + + _One of the Magi_: + + How the deep-voicèd night turns councillor! + And how, for end, our starry meditations + Admit us to his board! + + _A Shepherd_: + + Sir, we be humble and perceive ye are + Men of great power and authority, + And yet we too have heard. + + + + DIANA IN EPHESUS + + (_Lucina dolentibus_:) + + + "Behold the deed! Behold the act supreme! + With mine own hands have I prepared my doom, + Truth shall grow great eclipsing other truth, + And men forget me in the aging years." + + _Explicit._ + + + + MAESTRO DI TOCAR + + (W.R.) + + + You, who are touched not by our mortal ways + Nor girded with the stricture of our bands, + Have but to loose the magic from your hands + And all men's hearts that glimmer for a day, + And all our loves that are so swift to flame + Rise in that space of sound and melt away. + + + + ARIA + + + My love is a deep flame + that hides beneath the waters. + + --My love is gay and kind, + My love is hard to find + as the flame beneath the waters. + + The fingers of the wind + meet hers + With a frail + swift greeting. + My love is gay + and kind + and hard + of meeting, + As the flame beneath the waters + hard of meeting. + + + + L'ART + + + When brightest colours seem but dull in hue + And noblest arts are shown mechanical, + When study serves but to heap clue on clue + That no great line hath been or ever shall, + But hath a savour like some second stew + Of many pot-lots with a smack of all. + 'Twas one man's field, another's hops the brew, + Twas vagrant accident not fate's fore-call. + Horace, that thing of thine is overhauled, + And "Wood notes wild" weaves a concocted sonnet. + Here aery Shelley on the text hath called, + And here, Great Scott, the Murex, Keats comes on it. + And all the lot howl, "Sweet Simplicity!" + 'Tis Art to hide our theft exquisitely. + + + + SONG IN THE MANNER OF HOUSMAN + + + O Woe, woe, + People are born and die, + We also shall be dead pretty soon + Therefore let us act as if we were + dead already. + + The bird sits on the hawthorn tree + But he dies also, presently. + Some lads get hung, and some get shot. + Woeful is this human lot. + _Woe! woe, etcetera_.... + + London is a woeful place, + Shropshire is much pleasanter. + Then let us smile a little space + Upon fond nature's morbid grace. + _Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera_.... + + + + TRANSLATIONS FROM HEINE + + + VON "DIE HEIMKEHR" + + + I + + Is your hate, then, of such measure? + Do you, truly, so detest me? + Through all the world will I complain + Of _how_ you have addressed me. + + O ye lips that are ungrateful, + Hath it never once distressed you, + That you can say such _awful_ things + Of _any_ one who ever kissed you? + + + II + + So thou hast forgotten fully + That I so long held thy heart wholly, + Thy little heart, so sweet and false and small + That there's no thing more sweet or false at all. + + Love and lay thou hast forgotten fully, + And my heart worked at them unduly. + I know not if the love or if the lay were better stuff, + But I know now, they both were good enough. + + + III + + Tell me where thy lovely love is, + Whom thou once did sing so sweetly, + When the fairy flames enshrouded + Thee, and held thy heart completely. + + All the flames are dead and sped now + And my heart is cold and sere; + Behold this book, the urn of ashes, + 'Tis my true love's sepulchre. + + + IV + + I dreamt that I was God Himself + Whom heavenly joy immerses, + And all the angels sat about + And praised my verses. + + + V + + The mutilated choir boys + When I begin to sing + Complain about the awful noise + And call my voice too thick a thing. + + When light their voices lift them up, + Bright notes against the ear, + Through trills and runs like crystal, + Ring delicate and clear. + + They sing of Love that's grown desirous, + Of Love, and joy that is Love's inmost part, + And all the ladies swim through tears + Toward such a work of art. + + + VI + + This delightful young man + Should not lack for honourers, + He propitiates me with oysters, + With Rhine wine and liqueurs. + + How his coat and pants adorn him! + Yet his ties are more adorning, + In these he daily comes to ask me: + Are you feeling well this morning? + + He speaks of my extended fame, + My wit, charm, definitions, + And is diligent to serve me, + Is detailed in his provisions. + + In evening company he sets his face + In most spiritu_el_ positions, + And declaims before the ladies + My _god-like_ compositions. + + O what comfort is it for me + To find him such, when the days bring + No comfort, at my time of life when + All good things go vanishing. + + + _TRANSLATOR TO TRANSLATED_ + + _O Harry Heine, curses be,_ + _I live too late to sup with thee!_ + _Who can demolish at such polished ease_ + _Philistia's pomp and Art's pomposities!_ + + + VII + + SONG FROM DIE HARZREISE + + I am the Princess Ilza + In Ilsenstein I fare, + Come with me to that castle + And we'll be happy there. + + Thy head will I cover over + With my waves' clarity + Till thou forget thy sorrow, + O wounded sorrowfully. + + Thou wilt in my white arms there, + Nay, on my breast thou must + Forget and rest and dream there + For thine old legend-lust. + + My lips and my heart are thine there + As they were his and mine. + His? Why the good King Harry's, + And he is dead lang syne. + + Dead men stay alway dead men, + Life is the live man's part, + And I am fair and golden + With joy breathless at heart. + + If my heart stay below there, + My crystal halls ring clear + To the dance of lords and ladies + In all their splendid gear. + + The silken trains go rustling, + The spur-clinks sound between, + The dark dwarfs blow and bow there + Small horn and violin. + + Yet shall my white arms hold thee, + That bound King Harry about. + Ah, I covered his ears with them + When the trumpet rang out. + + + + UND DRANG + + Nay, dwells he in cloudy rumour alone? + + BINYON. + + + I + + I am worn faint, + The winds of good and evil + Blind me with dust + And burn me with the cold, + There is no comfort being over-man; + Yet are we come more near + The great oblivions and the labouring night, + Inchoate truth and the sepulchral forces. + + + II + + Confusion, clamour, 'mid the many voices + Is there a meaning, a significance? + + That life apart from all life gives and takes, + This life, apart from all life's bitter and life's sweet, + Is good. + + Ye see me and ye say: exceeding sweet + Life's gifts, his youth, his art, + And his too soon acclaim. + + I also knew exceeding bitterness, + Saw good things altered and old friends fare forth, + And what I loved in me hath died too soon, + Yea I have seen the "gray above the green"; + Gay have I lived in life; + Though life hath lain + Strange hands upon me and hath torn my sides, + Yet I believe. + * * * * * + Life is most cruel where she is most wise. + + + III + + The will to live goes from me. + I have lain + Dull and out-worn + with some strange, subtle sickness. + Who shall say + That love is not the very root of this, + O thou afar? + + Yet she was near me, + that eternal deep. + O it is passing strange that love + Can blow two ways across one soul. + * * * * * + And I was Aengus for a thousand years, + And she, the ever-living, moved with me + And strove amid the waves, and + would not go. + + + IV + + ELEGIA + + + "_Far buon tempo e trionfare_" + + + "I have put my days and dreams out of mind' + For all their hurry and their weary fret + Availed me little. But another kind + Of leaf that's fast in some more sombre wind, + Is man on life, and all our tenuous courses + Wind and unwind as vainly. + * * * * * + I have lived long, and died, + Yea I have been dead, right often, + And have seen one thing: + The sun, while he is high, doth light our wrong + And none can break the darkness with a song. + + To-day's the cup. To-morrow is not ours: + Nay, by our strongest bands we bind her not, + Nor all our fears and our anxieties + Turn her one leaf or hold her scimitar. + + The deed blots out the thought + And many thoughts, the vision; + And right's a compass with as many poles + As there are points in her circumference, + 'Tis vain to seek to steer all courses even, + And all things save sheer right are vain enough. + The blade were vain to grow save toward the sun, + And vain th' attempt to hold her green forever. + + All things in season and no thing o'er long! + Love and desire and gain and good forgetting, + Thou canst not stay the wheel, hold none too long! + + + V + + How our modernity, + Nerve-wracked and broken, turns + Against time's way and all the way of things, + Crying with weak and egoistic cries! + * * * * * + All things are given over, + Only the restless will + Surges amid the stars + Seeking new moods of life, + New permutations. + * * * * * + See, and the very sense of what we know + Dodges and hides as in a sombre curtain + Bright threads leap forth, and hide, and leave no pattern. + + + VI + + I thought I had put Love by for a time + And I was glad, for to me his fair face + Is like Pain's face. + A little light, + The lowered curtain and the theatre! + And o'er the frail talk of the inter-act + Something that broke the jest! A little light, + The gold, and half the profile! + The whole face + Was nothing like you, yet that image cut + Sheer through the moment. + + + VIb + + I have gone seeking for you in the twilight, + Here in the flurry of Fifth Avenue, + Here where they pass between their teas and teas. + Is it such madness? though you could not be + Ever in all that crowd, no gown + Of all their subtle sorts could be your gown. + + Yet I am fed with faces, is there one + That even in the half-light mindeth me. + + + VII + + THE HOUSE OF SPLENDOUR + + 'Tis Evanoe's, + A house not made with hands, + But out somewhere beyond the worldly ways + Her gold is spread, above, around, inwoven, + Strange ways and walls are fashioned out of it. + + And I have seen my Lady in the sun, + Her hair was spread about, a sheaf of wings, + And red the sunlight was, behind it all. + + And I have seen her there within her house, + With six great sapphires hung along the wall, + Low, panel-shaped, a-level with her knees, + And all her robe was woven of pale gold. + + There are there many rooms and all of gold, + Of woven walls deep patterned, of email, + Of beaten work; and through the claret stone, + Set to some weaving, comes the aureate light. + + Here am I come perforce my love of her, + Behold mine adoration + Maketh me clear, and there are powers in this + Which, played on by the virtues of her soul, + Break down the four-square walls of standing time. + + + VIII + + THE FLAME + + 'Tis not a game that plays at mates and mating, + Provençe knew; + 'Tis not a game of barter, lands and houses, + Provençe knew. + We who are wise beyond your dream of wisdom, + Drink our immortal moments; we "pass through." + We have gone forth beyond your bonds and borders, + Provençe knew; + And all the tales they ever writ of Oisin + Say but this: + That man doth pass the net of days and hours. + Where time is shrivelled down to time's seed corn + We of the Ever-living, in that light + Meet through our veils and whisper, and of love. + + O smoke and shadow of a darkling world, + Barters of passion, and that tenderness + That's but a sort of cunning! O my Love, + These, and the rest, and all the rest we knew. + + 'Tis not a game that plays at mates and mating, + 'Tis not a game of barter, lands and houses, + 'Tis not "of days and nights" and troubling years, + Of cheeks grown sunken and glad hair gone gray; + There _is_ the subtler music, the clear light + + Where time burns back about th' eternal embers. + We are not shut from all the thousand heavens: + Lo, there are many gods whom we have seen, + Folk of unearthly fashion, places splendid, + Bulwarks of beryl and of chrysophrase. + + Sapphire Benacus, in thy mists and thee + Nature herself's turned metaphysical, + Who can look on that blue and not believe? + + Thou hooded opal, thou eternal pearl, + O thou dark secret with a shimmering floor, + Through all thy various mood I know thee mine; + + If I have merged my soul, or utterly + Am solved and bound in, through aught here on earth, + There canst thou find me, O thou anxious thou, + Who call'st about my gates for some lost me; + I say my soul flowed back, became translucent. + Search not my lips, O Love, let go my hands, + This thing that moves as man is no more mortal. + If thou hast seen my shade sans character, + If thou hast seen that mirror of all moments, + That glass to all things that o'ershadow it, + Call not that mirror me, for I have slipped + Your grasp, I have eluded. + + + IX + + (HORAE BEATAE INSCRIPTIO) + + How will this beauty, when I am far hence, + Sweep back upon me and engulf my mind! + + How will these hours, when we twain are gray, + Turned in their sapphire tide, come flooding o'er us! + + + X + + (THE ALTAR) + + Let us build here an exquisite friendship, + The flame, the autumn, and the green rose of love + Fought out their strife here, 'tis a place of wonder; + Where these have been, meet 'tis, the ground is holy. + + + IX + + (AU SALON) + + Her grave, sweet haughtiness + Pleaseth me, and in like wise + Her quiet ironies. + Others are beautiful, none more, some less. + + + I suppose, when poetry comes down to facts, + When our souls are returned to the gods + and the spheres they belong in, + Here in the every-day where our acts + Rise up and judge us; + + I suppose there are a few dozen verities + That no shift of mood can shake from us: + + One place where we'd rather have tea + (Thus far hath modernity brought us) + "Tea" (Damn you!) + Have tea, damn the Caesars, + Talk of the latest success, give wing to some scandal, + Garble a name we detest, and for prejudice? + Set loose the whole consummate pack + to bay like Sir Roger de Coverley's + + This our reward for our works, + sic crescit gloria mundi: + Some circle of not more than three + that we prefer to play up to, + + Some few whom we'd rather please + than hear the whole aegrum vulgrus + Splitting its beery jowl + a-meaowling our praises. + + Some certain peculiar things, + cari laresque, penates, + Some certain accustomed forms, + the absolute unimportant. + + + XII + + (AU JARDIN) + + O You away high there, + you that lean + From amber lattices upon the cobalt night, + I am below amid the pine trees, + Amid the little pine trees, hear me! + + "The jester walked in the garden." + Did he so? + Well, there's no use your loving me + That way, Lady; + For I've nothing but songs to give you. + + I am set wide upon the world's ways + To say that life is, some way, a gay thing, + But you never string two days upon one wire + But there'll come sorrow of it. + And I loved a love once, + Over beyond the moon there, + I loved a love once, + And, may be, more times, + + But she danced like a pink moth in the shrubbery. + + Oh, I know you women from the "other folk," + And it'll all come right, + O' Sundays. + + "The jester walked in the garden." + Did he so? + + + + + RIPOSTES OF EZRA POUND + + + Gird on thy star, We'll have this out with fate + + + + + TO + + WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS + + + + CONTENTS + + + SILET + IN EXITUM CUIUSDAM + APPARUIT + THE TOMB AT AKR ÇAAR + PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME + N.Y. + A GIRL + "PHASELLUS ILLE" + AN OBJECT + QUIES + THE SEAFARER + ECHOES: I. + ECHOES: II. + AN IMMORALITY + DIEU! QU'IL LA FAIT + SALVE PONTIFEX + DORIA [Greek] + THE NEEDLE + SUB MARE + PLUNGE + A VIRGINAL + PAN IS DEAD + THE PICTURE + OF JACOPO DEL SELLAIO + THE RETURN + EFFECTS OF MUSIC UPON A COMPANY OF PEOPLE + I. DEUX MOVEMENTS + II. FROM A THING BY SCHUMANN + + + THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF T.E. HULME + + PREFATORY NOTE + AUTUMN + MANA ABODA + ABOVE THE DOCK + THE EMBANKMENT + CONVERSION + + + + RIPOSTES + + + + SILET + + + When I behold how black, immortal ink + Drips from my deathless pen--ah, well-away! + Why should we stop at all for what I think? + There is enough in what I chance to say. + + It is enough that we once came together; + What is the use of setting it to rime? + When it is autumn do we get spring weather, + Or gather may of harsh northwindish time? + + It is enough that we once came together; + What if the wind have turned against the rain? + It is enough that we once came together; + Time has seen this, and will not turn again; + + And who are we, who know that last intent, + To plague to-morrow with a testament! + + + + IN EXITUM CUIUSDAM + + _On a certain one's departure_ + + + "Time's bitter flood"! Oh, that's all very well, + But where's the old friend hasn't fallen off, + Or slacked his hand-grip when you first gripped fame? + + I know your circle and can fairly tell + What you have kept and what you've left behind: + I know my circle and know very well + How many faces I'd have out of mind. + + + + APPARUIT + + + Golden rose the house, in the portal I saw + thee, a marvel, carven in subtle stuff, a portent. + Life died down in the lamp and flickered, + caught at the wonder. + + Crimson, frosty with dew, the roses bend where + thou afar moving in the glamorous sun + drinkst in life of earth, of the air, the tissue + golden about thee. + + Green the ways, the breath of the fields is thine there, + open lies the land, yet the steely going + darkly hast thou dared and the dreaded æther + parted before thee. + + Swift at courage thou in the shell of gold, casting + a-loose the cloak of the body, camest + straight, then shone thine oriel and the stunned light + faded about thee. + + Half the graven shoulder, the throat aflash with + strands of light inwoven about it, loveliest + of all things, frail alabaster, ah me! + swift in departing, + + Clothed in goldish weft, delicately perfect, + gone as wind! The cloth of the magical hands! + Thou a slight thing, thou in access of cunning + dar'dst to assume this? + + + + THE TOMB AT AKR ÇAAR + + + "I am thy soul, Nikoptis. I have watched + These five millennia, and thy dead eyes + Moved not, nor ever answer my desire, + And thy light limbs, wherethrough I leapt aflame, + Burn not with me nor any saffron thing. + + See, the light grass sprang up to pillow thee, + And kissed thee with a myriad grassy tongues; + But not thou me. + + I have read out the gold upon the wall, + And wearied out my thought upon the signs. + And there is no new thing in all this place. + + I have been kind. See, I have left the jars sealed, + Lest thou shouldst wake and whimper for thy wine. + And all thy robes I have kept smooth on thee. + + O thou unmindful! How should I forget! + --Even the river many days ago, + The river, thou wast over young. + And three souls came upon Thee-- + + And I came. + And I flowed in upon thee, beat them off; + I have been intimate with thee, known thy ways. + Have I not touched thy palms and finger-tips, + Flowed in, and through thee and about thy heels? + How 'came I in'? Was I not thee and Thee? + + And no sun comes to rest me in this place, + And I am torn against the jagged dark, + And no light beats upon me, and you say + No word, day after day. + + Oh! I could get me out, despite the marks + And all their crafty work upon the door, + Out through the glass-green fields.... + * * * * * + Yet it is quiet here: + I do not go." + + + + PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME + + + Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea, + London has swept about you this score years + And bright ships left you this or that in fee: + Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things, + Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price. + Great minds have sought you--lacking someone else. + You have been second always. Tragical? + No. You preferred it to the usual thing: + One dull man, dulling and uxorious, + One average mind--with one thought less, each year. + Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit + Hours, where something might have floated up. + And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay. + You are a person of some interest, one comes to you + And takes strange gain away: + Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion; + Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two, + Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else + That might prove useful and yet never proves, + That never fits a corner or shows use, + Or finds its hour upon the loom of days: + The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work; + Idols and ambergris and rare inlays, + These are your riches, your great store; and yet + For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things, + Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff: + In the slow float of differing light and deep, + No! there is nothing! In the whole and all, + Nothing that's quite your own. + Yet this is you. + + + + N.Y. + + + My City, my beloved, my white! + Ah, slender, + Listen! Listen to me, and I will breathe into thee a soul. + Delicately upon the reed, attend me! + + _Now do I know that I am mad,_ + _For here are a million people surly with traffic;_ + _This is no maid._ + _Neither could I play upon any reed if I had one._ + + My City, my beloved, + Thou art a maid with no breasts, + Thou art slender as a silver reed. + Listen to me, attend me! + And I will breathe into thee a soul, + And thou shalt live for ever. + + + + A GIRL + + + The tree has entered my hands, + The sap has ascended my arms, + The tree has grown in my breast-- + Downward, + The branches grow out of me, like arms. + + Tree you are, + Moss you are, + You are violets with wind above them. + A child--_so_ high--you are, + And all this is folly to the world. + + + + "PHASELLUS ILLE" + + + This _papier-mâché_, which you see, my friends, + Saith 'twas the worthiest of editors. + Its mind was made up in "the seventies," + Nor hath it ever since changed that concoction. + It works to represent that school of thought + Which brought the hair-cloth chair to such perfection, + Nor will the horrid threats of Bernard Shaw + Shake up the stagnant pool of its convictions; + Nay, should the deathless voice of all the world + Speak once again for its sole stimulation, + 'Twould not move it one jot from left to right. + + Come Beauty barefoot from the Cyclades, + She'd find a model for St Anthony + In this thing's sure _decorum_ and behaviour. + + + + AN OBJECT + + + This thing, that hath a code and not a core, + Hath set acquaintance where might be affections, + And nothing now + Disturbeth his reflections. + + + + QUIES + + + This is another of our ancient loves. + Pass and be silent, Rullus, for the day + Hath lacked a something since this lady passed; + Hath lacked a something. 'Twas but marginal. + + + + THE SEAFARER + + (_From the early Anglo-Saxon text_) + + + May I for my own self song's truth reckon, + Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days + Hardship endured oft. + Bitter breast-cares have I abided, + Known on my keel many a care's hold, + And dire sea-surge, and there I oft spent + Narrow nightwatch nigh the ship's head + While she tossed close to cliffs. Coldly afflicted, + My feet were by frost benumbed. + Chill its chains are; chafing sighs + Hew my heart round and hunger begot + Mere-weary mood. Lest man know not + That he on dry land loveliest liveth, + List how I, care-wretched, on ice-cold sea, + Weathered the winter, wretched outcast + Deprived of my kinsmen; + Hung with hard ice-flakes, where hail-scur flew, + There I heard naught save the harsh sea + And ice-cold wave, at whiles the swan cries, + Did for my games the gannet's clamour, + Sea-fowls' loudness was for me laughter, + The mews' singing all my mead-drink. + Storms, on the stone-cliffs beaten, fell on the stern + In icy feathers; full oft the eagle screamed + With spray on his pinion. + Not any protector + May make merry man faring needy. + This he little believes, who aye in winsome life + Abides 'mid burghers some heavy business, + Wealthy and wine-flushed, how I weary oft + Must bide above brine. + Neareth nightshade, snoweth from north, + Frost froze the land, hail fell on earth then + Corn of the coldest. Nathless there knocketh now + The heart's thought that I on high streams + The salt-wavy tumult traverse alone. + Moaneth alway my mind's lust + That I fare forth, that I afar hence + Seek out a foreign fastness. + For this there's no mood-lofty man over earth's midst, + Not though he be given his good, but will have in his youth greed; + Nor his deed to the daring, nor his king to the faithful + But shall have his sorrow for sea-fare + Whatever his lord will. + He hath not heart for harping, nor in ring-having + Nor winsomeness to wife, nor world's delight + Nor any whit else save the wave's slash, + Yet longing comes upon him to fare forth on the water. + Bosque taketh blossom, cometh beauty of berries, + Fields to fairness, land fares brisker, + All this admonisheth man eager of mood, + The heart turns to travel so that he then thinks + On flood-ways to be far departing. + Cuckoo calleth with gloomy crying, + He singeth summerward, bodeth sorrow, + The bitter heart's blood. Burgher knows not-- + He the prosperous man--what some perform + Where wandering them widest draweth. + So that but now my heart burst from my breast-lock, + My mood 'mid the mere-flood, + Over the whale's acre, would wander wide. + On earth's shelter cometh oft to me, + Eager and ready, the crying lone-flyer, + Whets for the whale-path the heart irresistibly, + O'er tracks of ocean; seeing that anyhow + My lord deems to me this dead life + On loan and on land, I believe not + That any earth-weal eternal standeth + Save there be somewhat calamitous + That, ere a man's tide go, turn it to twain. + Disease or oldness or sword-hate + Beats out the breath from doom-gripped body. + And for this, every earl whatever, for those speaking after-- + Laud of the living, boasteth some last word, + That he will work ere he pass onward, + Frame on the fair earth 'gainst foes his malice, + Daring ado,... + So that all men shall honour him after + And his laud beyond them remain 'mid the English, + Aye, for ever, a lasting life's-blast, + Delight mid the doughty. + Days little durable, + And all arrogance of earthen riches, + There come now no kings nor Cæsars + Nor gold-giving lords like those gone. + Howe'er in mirth most magnified, + Whoe'er lived in life most lordliest, + Drear all this excellence, delights undurable! + Waneth the watch, but the world holdeth. + Tomb hideth trouble. The blade is layed low. + Earthly glory ageth and seareth. + No man at all going the earth's gait, + But age fares against him, his face paleth, + Grey-haired he groaneth, knows gone companions, + Lordly men are to earth o'ergiven, + Nor may he then the flesh-cover, whose life ceaseth, + Nor eat the sweet nor feel the sorry, + Nor stir hand nor think in mid heart, + And though he strew the grave with gold, + His born brothers, their buried bodies + Be an unlikely treasure hoard. + + + + ECHOES + + + I + + GUIDO ORLANDO, SINGING + + + Befits me praise thine empery, + Lady of Valour, + Past all disproving; + Thou art the flower to me-- + Nay, by Love's pallor-- + Of all good loving. + + Worthy to reap men's praises + Is he who'd gaze upon + Truth's mazes. + In like commend is he, + Who, loving fixedly, + Love so refineth, + + Till thou alone art she + In whom love's vested; + As branch hath fairest flower + Where fruit's suggested. + + This great joy comes to me, + To me observing + How swiftly thou hast power + To pay my serving. + + + + II[1] + + + Thou keep'st thy rose-leaf + Till the rose-time will be over, + Think'st thou that Death will kiss thee? + Think'st thou that the Dark House + Will find thee such a lover + As I? Will the new roses miss thee? + + Prefer my cloak unto the cloak of dust + 'Neath which the last year lies, + For thou shouldst more mistrust + Time than my eyes. + + [1] Asclepiades, Julianus Ægyptus. + + + + AN IMMORALITY + + + Sing we for love and idleness, + Naught else is worth the having. + + Though I have been in many a land, + There is naught else in living. + + And I would rather have my sweet, + Though rose-leaves die of grieving, + + Than do high deeds in Hungary + To pass all men's believing. + + + + DIEU! QU'IL LA FAIT + + _From Charles D'Orleans_ + _For music_ + + + God! that mad'st her well regard her, + How she is so fair and bonny; + For the great charms that are upon her + Ready are all folk to reward her. + + Who could part him from her borders + When spells are alway renewed on her? + God! that mad'st her well regard her, + How she is so fair and bonny. + + From here to there to the sea's border, + Dame nor damsel there's not any + Hath of perfect charms so many. + Thoughts of her are of dream's order: + God! that mad'st her well regard her. + + + + SALVE PONTIFEX + + (A.C.S.) + + + One after one they leave thee, + High Priest of Iacchus, + Intoning thy melodies as winds intone + The whisperings of leaves on sunlit days. + And the sands are many + And the seas beyond the sands are one + In ultimate, so we here being many + Are unity; nathless thy compeers, + Knowing thy melody, + Lulled with the wine of thy music + Go seaward silently, leaving thee sentinel + O'er all the mysteries, + High Priest of Iacchus. + For the lines of life lie under thy fingers, + And above the vari-coloured strands + Thine eyes look out unto the infinitude + Of the blue waves of heaven, + And even as Triplex Sisterhood + Thou fingerest the threads knowing neither + Cause nor the ending, + High Priest of Iacchus, + Draw'st forth a multiplicity + Of strands, and, beholding + The colour thereof, raisest thy voice + Towards the sunset, + O High Priest of Iacchus! + And out of the secrets of the inmost mysteries + Thou chantest strange far-sourced canticles: + O High Priest of Iacchus! + Life and the ways of Death her + Twin-born sister, that is life's counterpart, + And of night and the winds of night; + Silent voices ministering to the souls + Of hamadryads that hold council concealèd + In streams and tree-shadowing + Forests on hill slopes, + O High Priest of Iacchus, + All the manifold mystery + Thou makest a wine of song, + And maddest thy following even + With visions of great deeds + And their futility, + O High Priest of Iacchus! + Though thy co-novices are bent to the scythe + Of the magian wind that is voice of Persephone, + Leaving thee solitary, master of initiating + Mænads that come through the + Vine-entangled ways of the forest + Seeking, out of all the world, + Madness of Iacchus, + That being skilled in the secrets of the double cup + They might turn the dead of the world + Into pæans, + O High Priest of Iacchus, + Wreathed with the glory of thy years of creating + Entangled music, + Breathe! + Now that the evening cometh upon thee, + Breathe upon us, that low-bowed and exultant + Drink wine of Iacchus, that since the conquering + Hath been chiefly containèd in the numbers + Of them that, even as thou, have woven + Wicker baskets for grape clusters + Wherein is concealèd the source of the vintage, + O High Priest of Iacchus, + Breathe thou upon us + Thy magic in parting! + Even as they thy co-novices, + At being mingled with the sea, + While yet thou madest thy canticles + Serving upright before the altar + That is bound about with shadows + Of dead years wherein thy Iacchus + Looked not upon the hills, that being + Uncared for, praised not him in entirety. + O High Priest of Iacchus, + Being now near to the border of the sands + Where the sapphire girdle of the sea + Encinctureth the maiden + Persephone, released for the spring, + Look! Breathe upon us + The wonder of the thrice encinctured mystery + Whereby thou being full of years art young, + Loving even this lithe Persephone + That is free for the seasons of plenty; + Whereby thou being young art old + And shalt stand before this Persephone + Whom thou lovest, + In darkness, even at that time + That she being returned to her husband + Shall be queen and a maiden no longer, + Wherein thou being neither old nor young + Standing on the verge of the sea + Shalt pass from being sand, + O High Priest of Iacchus, + And becoming wave + Shalt encircle all sands, + Being transmuted through all + The girdling of the sea. + + O High Priest of Iacchus, + Breathe thou upon us! + + + _Note._--This apostrophe was written three years + before Swinburne's death. + + + + DORIA [Greek] + + + Be in me as the eternal moods of the bleak wind, and not + As transient things are--gaiety of flowers. + Have me in the strong loneliness of sunless cliffs + And of grey waters. + Let the gods speak softly of us + In days hereafter, + The shadowy flowers of Orcus + Remember Thee. + + + + THE NEEDLE + + + Come, or the stellar tide will slip away, + Eastward avoid the hour of its decline, + Now! for the needle trembles in my soul! + + Here have we had our vantage, the good hour. + Here we have had our day, your day and mine. + Come now, before this power + That bears us up, shall turn against the pole. + + Mock not the flood of stars, the thing's to be. + O Love, come now, this land turns evil slowly. + The waves bore in, soon will they bear away. + + The treasure is ours, make we fast land with it. + Move we and take the tide, with its next favour, + Abide + Under some neutral force + Until this course turneth aside. + + + + SUB MARE + + + It is, and is not, I am sane enough, + Since you have come this place has hovered round me, + This fabrication built of autumn roses, + Then there's a goldish colour, different. + + And one gropes in these things as delicate + Algae reach up and out beneath + Pale slow green surgings of the under-wave, + 'Mid these things older than the names they have, + These things that are familiars of the god. + + + + PLUNGE + + + I would bathe myself in strangeness: + These comforts heaped upon me, + smother me! + I burn, I scald so for the new, + New friends, new faces, + Places! + Oh to be out of this, + This that is all I wanted + --save the new. + And you, + Love, you the much, the more desired! + Do I not loathe all walls, streets, stones, + All mire, mist, all fog, + All ways of traffic? + You, I would have flow over me like water, + Oh, but far out of this! + Grass, and low fields, and hills, + And sun, + Oh, sun enough! + Out and alone, among some + Alien people! + + + + A VIRGINAL + + + No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately, + I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness, + For my surrounding air has a new lightness; + Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly + And left me cloaked as with a gauze of æther; + As with sweet leaves; as with a subtle clearness. + Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness + To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her. + + No, no! Go from me. I have still the flavour, + Soft as spring wind that's come from birchen bowers. + Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches, + As winter's wound with her sleight hand she staunches, + Hath of the tress a likeness of the savour: + As white their bark, so white this lady's hours. + + + + PAN IS DEAD + + + Pan is dead. Great Pan is dead. + Ah! bow your heads, ye maidens all, + And weave ye him his coronal. + + There is no summer in the leaves, + And withered are the sedges; + How shall we weave a coronal, + Or gather floral pledges? + + That I may not say, Ladies. + Death was ever a churl. + That I may not say, Ladies. + How should he show a reason, + That he has taken our Lord away + Upon such hollow season? + + + + THE PICTURE[1] + + + The eyes of this dead lady speak to me, + For here was love, was not to be drowned out, + And here desire, not to be kissed away. + + The eyes of this dead lady speak to me. + + + [1] "Venus Reclining," by Jacopo del Sellaio (1442-93). + + + + OF JACOPO DEL SELLAIO + + + This man knew out the secret ways of love, + No man could paint such things who did not know. + + And now she's gone, who was his Cyprian, + And you are here, who are "The Isles" to me. + + And here's the thing that lasts the whole thing out: + The eyes of this dead lady speak to me. + + + + THE RETURN + + + See, they return; ah, see the tentative + Movements, and the slow feet, + The trouble in the pace and the uncertain + Wavering! + + See, they return, one, and by one, + With fear, as half-awakened; + As if the snow should hesitate + And murmur in the wind, + and half turn back; + These were the "Wing'd-with-Awe," + Inviolable. + + Gods of the wingèd shoe! + With them the silver hounds, + sniffing the trace of air! + + Haie! Haie! + These were the swift to harry; + These the keen-scented; + These were the souls of blood. + + Slow on the leash, + pallid the leash-men. + + + + EFFECTS OF MUSIC UPON A COMPANY OF PEOPLE + + + I + + DEUX MOVEMENTS + + 1. Temple qui fut. + 2. Poissons d'or. + + + 1 + + A soul curls back, + Their souls like petals, + Thin, long, spiral, + Like those of a chrysanthemum curl + Smoke-like up and back from the + Vavicel, the calyx, + Pale green, pale gold, transparent, + Green of plasma, rose-white, + Spirate like smoke, + Curled, + Vibrating, + Slowly, waving slowly. + O Flower animate! + O calyx! + O crowd of foolish people! + + 2 + + The petals! + On the tip of each the figure + Delicate. + See, they dance, step to step. + Flora to festival, + Twine, bend, bow, + Frolic involve ye. + Woven the step, + Woven the tread, the moving. + Ribands they move, + Wave, bow to the centre. + Pause, rise, deepen in colour, + And fold in drowsily. + + + II + + FROM A THING BY SCHUMANN + + + Breast high, floating and welling + Their soul, moving beneath the satin, + Plied the gold threads, + Pushed at the gauze above it. + The notes beat upon this, + Beat and indented it; + Rain dropped and came and fell upon this, + Hail and snow, + My sight gone in the flurry! + + And then across the white silken, + Bellied up, as a sail bellies to the wind, + Over the fluid tenuous, diaphanous, + Over this curled a wave, greenish, + Mounted and overwhelmed it. + This membrane floating above, + And bellied out by the up-pressing soul. + + Then came a mer-host, + And after them legion of Romans, + The usual, dull, theatrical! + + + + + + THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF T.E. HULME + + + + PREFATORY NOTE + + + In publishing his _Complete Poetical Works_ + at thirty,[1] Mr Hulme has set an enviable + example to many of his contemporaries + who have had less to say. + + They are reprinted here for good + fellowship; for good custom, a custom + out of Tuscany and of Provence; and + thirdly, for convenience, seeing their smallness + of bulk; and for good memory, + seeing that they recall certain evenings + and meetings of two years gone, dull + enough at the time, but rather pleasant + to look back upon. + + As for the "School of Images," which + may or may not have existed, its principles + were not so interesting as those of the + "inherent dynamists" or of _Les Unanimistes_, + yet they were probably sounder + than those of a certain French school + which attempted to dispense with verbs + altogether; or of the Impressionists who + brought forth: + + "Pink pigs blossoming upon the hillside"; + + or of the Post-Impressionists who beseech + their ladies to let down slate-blue hair + over their raspberry-coloured flanks. + + _Ardoise_ rimed richly--ah, richly and rarely + rimed!--with _framboise_. + + As for the future, _Les Imagistes_, the + descendants of the forgotten school of + 1909, have that in their keeping. + + I refrain from publishing my proposed + _Historical Memoir_ of their forerunners, + because Mr Hulme has threatened to + print the original propaganda. + + E.P. + + + [1] Mr Pound has grossly exaggerated my age.--T.E.H. + + + + AUTUMN + + + A touch of cold in the Autumn night-- + I walked abroad, + And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge + Like a red-faced farmer. + I did not stop to speak, but nodded, + And round about were the wistful stars + With white faces like town children. + + + + MANA ABODA + + Beauty is the marking-time, the stationary vibration, + the feigned ecstasy of an arrested impulse unable to + reach its natural end. + + + Mana Aboda, whose bent form + The sky in archèd circle is, + Seems ever for an unknown grief to mourn. + Yet on a day I heard her cry: + "I weary of the roses and the singing poets-- + Josephs all, not tall enough to try." + + + + ABOVE THE DOCK + + + Above the quiet dock in mid night, + Tangled in the tall mast's corded height, + Hangs the moon. What seemed so far away + Is but a child's balloon, forgotten after play. + + + + THE EMBANKMENT + + (The fantasia of a fallen gentleman on a + cold, bitter night.) + + + Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy, + In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement. + Now see I + That warmth's the very stuff of poesy. + Oh, God, make small + The old star-eaten blanket of the sky, + That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie. + + + + CONVERSION + + + Lighthearted I walked into the valley wood + In the time of hyacinths, + Till beauty like a scented cloth + Cast over, stifled me. I was bound + Motionless and faint of breath + By loveliness that is her own eunuch. + + Now pass I to the final river + Ignominiously, in a sack, without sound, + As any peeping Turk to the Bosphorus. + + + FINIS + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Canzoni & Ripostes, by Ezra Pound and T.E. Hulme + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 39783 *** diff --git a/39783-h/39783-h.htm b/39783-h/39783-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9bad0ad --- /dev/null +++ b/39783-h/39783-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3102 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of CANZONI & RIPOSTES, by EZRA POUND. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + background-color: #FAEBD7; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +a:link {color: #800000; text-decoration: none; } +v:link {color: #800000; text-decoration: none; } + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +.small {font-size: 0.8em;} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 39783 ***</div> + +<h1 style="color: #000099;">CANZONI & RIPOSTES</h1> + +<h4>OF</h4> + +<h3 style="color: #000099;">EZRA POUND</h3> + + +<h4>WHERETO ARE APPENDED THE</h4> + +<h4>COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF</h4> + +<h4>T.E. HULME</h4> + + +<h5>LONDON</h5> + +<h5>ELKIN MATHEWS, CORK STREET</h5> + +<h5>M CM XIII</h5> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CANZONI" id="CANZONI"></a>CANZONI</h3> + +<h5>TO</h5> + +<h5>OLIVIA AND DOROTHY SHAKESPEAR</h5> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p style="margin-left: 25%; font-size: 0.8em;"> +<br /><br /> +<span class="caption">CONTENTS</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a href="#CANZON_THE_YEARLY_SLAIN">CANZON: THE YEARLY SLAIN</a><br /> +<a href="#CANZON_THE_SPEAR">CANZON: THE SPEAR</a><br /> +<a href="#CANZON">CANZON: TO BE SUNG BENEATH A WINDOW</a><br /> +<a href="#CANZON_OF_INCENSE">CANZON: OF INCENSE</a><br /> +<a href="#CANZONE_OF_ANGELS">CANZONE: OF ANGELS</a><br /> +<a href="#TO_OUR_LADY_OF_VICARIOUS_ATONEMENT">TO OUR LADY OF VICARIOUS ATONEMENT</a><br /> +<a href="#TO_GUIDO_CAVALCANTI">TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI</a><br /> +<a href="#SONNET_IN_TENZONE">SONNET IN TENZONE</a><br /> +<a href="#SONNET_CHI_E_QUESTA">SONNET: CHI È QUESTA?</a><br /> +<a href="#BALLATA_FRAGMENT">BALLATA, FRAGMENT</a><br /> +<a href="#CANZON_THE_VISION">CANZON: THE VISION</a><br /> +<a href="#OCTAVE">OCTAVE</a><br /> +<a href="#SONNET">SONNET: THE TALLY-BOARD</a><br /> +<a href="#BALLATETTA">BALLATETTA</a><br /> +<a href="#MADRIGALE">MADRIGALE</a><br /> +<a href="#ERA_MEA">ERA MEA</a><br /> +<a href="#THRENOS">THRENOS</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_TREE">THE TREE</a><br /> +<a href="#PARACELSUS_IN_EXCELSIS">PARACELSUS IN EXCELSIS</a><br /> +<a href="#DE_AEGYPTO">DE AEGYPTO</a><br /> +<a href="#LI_BEL_CHASTEUS">LI BEL CHASTEUS</a><br /> +<a href="#PRAYER_FOR_HIS_LADYS_LIFE">PRAYER FOR HIS LADY'S LIFE (FROM PROPERTIUS)</a><br /> +<a href="#SPEECH_FOR_PSYCHE_IN_THE_GOLDEN_BOOK_OF_APULEIUS">PSYCHE OF EROS</a><br /> +<a href="#BLANDULA_TENULLA_VAGULA">"BLANDULA, TENULLA, VAGULA"</a><br /> +<a href="#ERAT_HORA">ERAT HORA</a><br /> +<a href="#EPIGRAMS">EPIGRAMS. I.</a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.25em;"><a href="#E_II">II. (THE SEA OF GLASS)</a></span><br /> +<a href="#LA_NUVOLETTA">LA NUVOLETTA</a><br /> +<a href="#ROSA_SEMPITERNA">ROSA SEMPITERNA</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_GOLDEN_SESTINA">THE GOLDEN SESTINA</a><br /> +<a href="#ROME">ROME (FROM DU BELLAY)</a><br /> +<a href="#HER_MONUMENT_THE_IMAGE_CUT_THEREON">HER IMAGE (FROM LEOPARDI)</a><br /> +<a href="#I_E">VICTORIAN ECLOGUES. I.</a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11.25em;"><a href="#II_E">II. SATIEMUS</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;"><a href="#ABELARD">III. ABELARD</a></span><br /> +<a href="#A_PROLOGUE">A PROLOGUE</a><br /> +<a href="#MAESTRO_DI_TOCAR">MAESTRO DI TOCAR</a><br /> +<a href="#ARIA">ARIA</a><br /> +<a href="#LART">L'ART</a><br /> +<a href="#SONG_IN_THE_MANNER_OF_HOUSMAN">SONG IN THE MANNER OF HOUSMAN</a><br /> +<a href="#TRANSLATIONS_FROM_HEINE">HEINE, TRANSLATIONS FROM</a><br /> +<a href="#UND_DRANG">UND DRANG</a><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p style="margin-left: 25%;"> +<a name="CANZON_THE_YEARLY_SLAIN" id="CANZON_THE_YEARLY_SLAIN"></a>CANZON: THE YEARLY SLAIN<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(WRITTEN IN REPLY TO MANNING'S "KORÈ.")</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 25%;">"Et huiusmodi stantiae usus est fere in omnibus cantionibus suis<br /> +Arnaldus Danielis et nos eum secuti sumus."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 45%; font-size: 0.8em;"> +DANTE, <i>De Vulgari Eloquio</i>, II. 10.</span> +<br /><br /></p> + + +<p style="margin-left: 25%;"> +I<br /> +<br /> +Ah! red-leafed time hath driven out the rose<br /> +And crimson dew is fallen on the leaf<br /> +Ere ever yet the cold white wheat be sown<br /> +That hideth all earth's green and sere and red;<br /> +The Moon-flower's fallen and the branch is bare,<br /> +Holding no honey for the starry bees;<br /> +The Maiden turns to her dark lord's demesne.<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +Fairer than Enna's field when Ceres sows<br /> +The stars of hyacinth and puts off grief,<br /> +Fairer than petals on May morning blown<br /> +Through apple-orchards where the sun hath shed<br /> +His brighter petals down to make them fair;<br /> +Fairer than these the Poppy-crowned One flees,<br /> +And Joy goes weeping in her scarlet train.<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +The faint damp wind that, ere the even, blows<br /> +Piling the west with many a tawny sheaf,<br /> +Then when the last glad wavering hours are mown<br /> +Sigheth and dies because the day is sped;<br /> +This wind is like her and the listless air<br /> +Wherewith she goeth by beneath the trees,<br /> +The trees that mock her with their scarlet stain.<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +Love that is born of Time and comes and goes!<br /> +Love that doth hold all noble hearts in fief!<br /> +As red leaves follow where the wind hath flown,<br /> +So all men follow Love when Love is dead.<br /> +O Fate of Wind! O Wind that cannot spare,<br /> +But drivest out the Maid, and pourest lees<br /> +Of all thy crimson on the wold again,<br /> +<br /> +V<br /> +<br /> +Korè my heart is, let it stand sans gloze!<br /> +Love's pain is long, and lo, love's joy is brief!<br /> +My heart erst alway sweet is bitter grown;<br /> +As crimson ruleth in the good green's stead,<br /> +So grief hath taken all mine old joy's share<br /> +And driven forth my solace and all ease<br /> +Where pleasure bows to all-usurping pain.<br /> +<br /> +VI<br /> +<br /> +Crimson the hearth where one last ember glows!<br /> +My heart's new winter hath no such relief,<br /> +Nor thought of Spring whose blossom he hath known<br /> +Hath turned him back where Spring is banished.<br /> +Barren the heart and dead the fires there,<br /> +Blow! O ye ashes, where the winds shall please,<br /> +But cry, "Love also is the Yearly Slain."<br /> +<br /> +VII<br /> +<br /> +Be sped, my Canzon, through the bitter air!<br /> +To him who speaketh words as fair as these,<br /> +Say that I also know the "Yearly Slain."<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CANZON_THE_SPEAR" id="CANZON_THE_SPEAR"></a>CANZON: THE SPEAR<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +'Tis the clear light of love I praise<br /> +That steadfast gloweth o'er deep waters,<br /> +A clarity that gleams always.<br /> +Though man's soul pass through troubled waters,<br /> +Strange ways to him are openèd.<br /> +To shore the beaten ship is sped<br /> +If only love of light give aid.<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +That fair far spear of light now lays<br /> +Its long gold shaft upon the waters.<br /> +Ah! might I pass upon its rays<br /> +To where it gleams beyond the waters,<br /> +Or might my troubled heart be fed<br /> +Upon the frail clear light there shed,<br /> +Then were my pain at last allay'd.<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +Although the clouded storm dismays<br /> +Many a heart upon these waters,<br /> +The thought of that far golden blaze<br /> +Giveth me heart upon the waters,<br /> +Thinking thereof my bark is led<br /> +To port wherein no storm I dread;<br /> +No tempest maketh me afraid.<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +Yet when within my heart I gaze<br /> +Upon my fair beyond the waters,<br /> +Meseems my soul within me prays<br /> +To pass straightway beyond the waters.<br /> +Though I be alway banished<br /> +From ways and woods that she doth tread,<br /> +One thing there is that doth not fade,<br /> +<br /> +V<br /> +<br /> +Deep in my heart that spear-print stays,<br /> +That wound I gat beyond the waters,<br /> +Deeper with passage of the days<br /> +That pass as swift and bitter waters,<br /> +While a dull fire within my head<br /> +Moveth itself if word be said<br /> +Which hath concern with that far maid.<br /> +<br /> +VI<br /> +<br /> +My love is lovelier than the sprays<br /> +Of eglantine above clear waters,<br /> +Or whitest lilies that upraise<br /> +Their heads in midst of moated waters.<br /> +No poppy in the May-glad mead<br /> +Would match her quivering lips' red<br /> +If 'gainst her lips it should be laid.<br /> +<br /> +VII<br /> +<br /> +The light within her eyes, which slays<br /> +Base thoughts and stilleth troubled waters,<br /> +Is like the gold where sunlight plays<br /> +Upon the still o'ershadowed waters.<br /> +When anger is there mingled<br /> +There comes a keener gleam instead,<br /> +Like flame that burns beneath thin jade.<br /> +<br /> +VIII<br /> +<br /> +Know by the words here mingled<br /> +What love hath made my heart his stead,<br /> +Glowing like flame beneath thin jade.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CANZON" id="CANZON"></a>CANZON<br /> +<br /> +TO BE SUNG BENEATH A WINDOW<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +Heart mine, art mine, whose embraces<br /> +Clasp but wind that past thee bloweth<br /> +E'en this air so subtly gloweth,<br /> +Guerdoned by thy sun-gold traces,<br /> +That my heart is half afraid<br /> +For the fragrance on him laid;<br /> +Even so love's might amazes!<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +Man's love follows many faces,<br /> +My love only one face knoweth;<br /> +Towards thee only my love floweth,<br /> +And outstrips the swift stream's paces.<br /> +Were this love well here displayed,<br /> +As flame flameth 'neath thin jade<br /> +Love should glow through these my phrases.<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +Though I've roamed through many places,<br /> +None there is that my heart troweth<br /> +Fair as that wherein fair groweth<br /> +One whose laud here interlaces<br /> +Tuneful words, that I've essayed.<br /> +Let this tune be gently played<br /> +Which my voice herward upraises.<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +If my praise her grace effaces,<br /> +Then 'tis not my heart that showeth,<br /> +But the skilless tongue that soweth<br /> +Words unworthy of her graces.<br /> +Tongue, that hath me so betrayed,<br /> +Were my heart but here displayed,<br /> +Then were sung her fitting praises.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CANZON_OF_INCENSE" id="CANZON_OF_INCENSE"></a>CANZON: OF INCENSE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +Thy gracious ways,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">O Lady of my heart, have</span><br /> +O'er all my thought their golden glamour cast;<br /> +As amber torch-flames, where strange men-at-arms<br /> +Tread softly 'neath the damask shield of night,<br /> +Rise from the flowing steel in part reflected,<br /> +So on my mailed thought that with thee goeth,<br /> +Though dark the way, a golden glamour falleth.<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +The censer sways<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And glowing coals some art have</span><br /> +To free what frankincense before held fast<br /> +Till all the summer of the eastern farms<br /> +Doth dim the sense, and dream up through the light,<br /> +As memory, by new-born love corrected—<br /> +With savour such as only new love knoweth—<br /> +Through swift dim ways the hidden pasts recalleth.<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +On barren days,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">At hours when I, apart, have</span><br /> +Bent low in thought of the great charm thou hast,<br /> +Behold with music's many-stringed charms<br /> +The silence groweth thou. O rare delight!<br /> +The melody upon clear strings inflected<br /> +Were dull when o'er taut sense thy presence floweth,<br /> +With quivering notes' accord that never palleth.<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +The glowing rays<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">That from the low sun dart, have</span><br /> +Turned gold each tower and every towering mast;<br /> +The saffron flame, that flaming nothing harms<br /> +Hides Khadeeth's pearl and all the sapphire might<br /> +Of burnished waves, before her gates collected:<br /> +The cloak of graciousness, that round thee gloweth,<br /> +Doth hide the thing thou art, as here befalleth.<br /> +<br /> +V<br /> +<br /> +All things worth praise<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">That unto Khadeeth's mart have</span><br /> +From far been brought through perils over-passed,<br /> +All santal, myrrh, and spikenard that disarms<br /> +The pard's swift anger; these would weigh but light<br /> +'Gainst thy delights, my Khadeeth! Whence protected<br /> +By naught save her great grace that in him showeth,<br /> +My song goes forth and on her mercy calleth.<br /> +<br /> +VI<br /> +<br /> +O censer of the thought that golden gloweth,<br /> +Be bright before her when the evening falleth.<br /> +<br /> +VII<br /> +<br /> +Fragrant be thou as a new field one moweth,<br /> +O song of mine that "Hers" her mercy calleth.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CANZONE_OF_ANGELS" id="CANZONE_OF_ANGELS"></a>CANZONE: OF ANGELS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +He that is Lord of all the realms of light<br /> +Hath unto me from His magnificence<br /> +Granted such vision as hath wrought my joy.<br /> +Moving my spirit past the last defence<br /> +That shieldeth mortal things from mightier sight,<br /> +Where freedom of the soul knows no alloy,<br /> +I saw what forms the lordly powers employ;<br /> +Three splendours, saw I, of high holiness,<br /> +From clarity to clarity ascending<br /> +Through all the roofless, tacit courts extending<br /> +In aether which such subtle light doth bless<br /> +As ne'er the candles of the stars hath wooed;<br /> +Know ye herefrom of their similitude.<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +Withdrawn within the cavern of his wings,<br /> +Grave with the joy of thoughts beneficent,<br /> +And finely wrought and durable and clear,<br /> +If so his eyes showed forth the mind's content,<br /> +So sate the first to whom remembrance clings,<br /> +Tissued like bat's wings did his wings appear,<br /> +Not of that shadowy colouring and drear,<br /> +But as thin shells, pale saffron, luminous;<br /> +Alone, unlonely, whose calm glances shed<br /> +Friend's love to strangers though no word were said,<br /> +Pensive his godly state he keepeth thus.<br /> +Not with his surfaces his power endeth,<br /> +But is as flame that from the gem extendeth.<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +My second marvel stood not in such ease,<br /> +But he, the cloudy pinioned, winged him on<br /> +Then from my sight as now from memory,<br /> +The courier aquiline, so swiftly gone!<br /> +The third most glorious of these majesties<br /> +Give aid, O sapphires of th' eternal see,<br /> +And by your light illume pure verity.<br /> +That azure feldspar hight the microcline,<br /> +Or, on its wing, the Menelaus weareth<br /> +Such subtlety of shimmering as beareth<br /> +This marvel onward through the crystalline,<br /> +A splendid calyx that about her gloweth,<br /> +Smiting the sunlight on whose ray she goeth.<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +The diver at Sorrento from beneath<br /> +The vitreous indigo, who swiftly riseth,<br /> +By will and not by action as it seemeth,<br /> +Moves not more smoothly, and no thought surmiseth<br /> +How she takes motion from the lustrous sheath<br /> +Which, as the trace behind the swimmer, gleameth<br /> +Yet presseth back the aether where it streameth.<br /> +To her whom it adorns this sheath imparteth<br /> +The living motion from the light surrounding;<br /> +And thus my nobler parts, to grief's confounding,<br /> +Impart into my heart a peace which starteth<br /> +From one round whom a graciousness is cast<br /> +Which clingeth in the air where she hath past.<br /> +<br /> +V—TORNATA<br /> +<br /> +Canzon, to her whose spirit seems in sooth<br /> +Akin unto the feldspar, since it is<br /> +So clear and subtle and azure, I send thee, saying:<br /> +That since I looked upon such potencies<br /> +And glories as are here inscribed in truth,<br /> +New boldness hath o'erthrown my long delaying,<br /> +And that thy words my new-born powers obeying—<br /> +Voices at last to voice my heart's long mood—<br /> +Are come to greet her in their amplitude.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="TO_OUR_LADY_OF_VICARIOUS_ATONEMENT" id="TO_OUR_LADY_OF_VICARIOUS_ATONEMENT"></a>TO OUR LADY OF VICARIOUS ATONEMENT<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 27.5%; font-size: 0.8em;">(BALLATA)</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +Who are you that the whole world's song<br /> +Is shaken out beneath your feet<br /> +Leaving you comfortless,<br /> +Who, that, as wheat<br /> +Is garnered, gather in<br /> +The blades of man's sin<br /> +And bear that sheaf?<br /> +Lady of wrong and grief,<br /> +Blameless!<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +All souls beneath the gloom<br /> +That pass with little flames,<br /> +All these till time be run<br /> +Pass one by one<br /> +As Christs to save, and die;<br /> +What wrong one sowed,<br /> +Behold, another reaps!<br /> +Where lips awake our joy<br /> +The sad heart sleeps<br /> +Within.<br /> +<br /> +No man doth bear his sin,<br /> +But many sins<br /> +Are gathered as a cloud about man's way.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="TO_GUIDO_CAVALCANTI" id="TO_GUIDO_CAVALCANTI"></a>TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Dante and I are come to learn of thee,<br /> +Ser Guido of Florence, master of us all,<br /> +Love, who hath set his hand upon us three,<br /> +Bidding us twain upon thy glory call.<br /> +Harsh light hath rent from us the golden pall<br /> +Of that frail sleep, <i>His</i> first light seigniory,<br /> +And we are come through all the modes that fall<br /> +Unto their lot who meet him constantly.<br /> +Wherefore, by right, in this Lord's name we greet thee,<br /> +Seeing we labour at his labour daily.<br /> +Thou, who dost know what way swift words are crossed<br /> +O thou, who hast sung till none at song defeat thee,<br /> +Grant! by thy might and hers of San Michele,<br /> +Thy risen voice send flames this pentecost.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SONNET_IN_TENZONE" id="SONNET_IN_TENZONE"></a>SONNET IN TENZONE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">LA MENTE</span><br /> +<br /> +"O Thou mocked heart that cowerest by the door<br /> +And durst not honour hope with welcoming,<br /> +How shall one bid thee for her honour sing,<br /> +When song would but show forth thy sorrow's store?<br /> +What things are gold and ivory unto thee?<br /> +Go forth, thou pauper fool! Are these for naught?<br /> +Is heaven in lotus leaves? What hast thou wrought,<br /> +Or brought, or sought, wherewith to pay the fee?"<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">IL CUORE</span><br /> +<br /> +"If naught I give, naught do I take return.<br /> +'<i>Ronsard me celebroit!</i>' behold I give<br /> +The age-old, age-old fare to fairer fair<br /> +And I fare forth into more bitter air;<br /> +Though mocked I go, yet shall her beauty live<br /> +Till rimes unrime and Truth shall truth unlearn."<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SONNET_CHI_E_QUESTA" id="SONNET_CHI_E_QUESTA"></a>SONNET: CHI È QUESTA?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Who is she coming, that the roses bend<br /> +Their shameless heads to do her passing honour?<br /> +Who is she coming with a light upon her<br /> +Not born of suns that with the day's end end?<br /> +Say is it Love who hath chosen the nobler part?<br /> +Say is it Love, that was divinity,<br /> +Who hath left his godhead that his home might be<br /> +The shameless rose of her unclouded heart?<br /> +If this be Love, where hath he won such grace?<br /> +If this be Love, how is the evil wrought,<br /> +That all men write against his darkened name?<br /> +If this be Love, if this ...<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">O mind give place!</span><br /> +What holy mystery e'er was noosed in thought?<br /> +Own that thou scan'st her not, nor count it shame!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="BALLATA_FRAGMENT" id="BALLATA_FRAGMENT"></a>BALLATA, FRAGMENT<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +Full well thou knowest, song, what grace I mean,<br /> +E'en as thou know'st the sunlight I have lost.<br /> +Thou knowest the way of it and know'st the sheen<br /> +About her brows where the rays are bound and crossed,<br /> +E'en as thou knowest joy and know'st joy's bitter cost.<br /> +Thou know'st her grace in moving,<br /> +Thou dost her skill in loving,<br /> +Thou know'st what truth she proveth,<br /> +Thou knowest the heart she moveth,<br /> +O song where grief assoneth!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CANZON_THE_VISION" id="CANZON_THE_VISION"></a>CANZON: THE VISION<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +When first I saw thee 'neath the silver mist,<br /> +Ruling thy bark of painted sandal-wood,<br /> +Did any know thee? By the golden sails<br /> +That clasped the ribbands of that azure sea,<br /> +Did any know thee save my heart alone?<br /> +O ivory woman with thy bands of gold,<br /> +Answer the song my luth and I have brought thee!<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +Dream over golden dream that secret cist,<br /> +Thy heart, O heart of me, doth hold, and mood<br /> +On mood of silver, when the day's light fails,<br /> +Say who hath touched the secret heart of thee,<br /> +Or who hath known what my heart hath not known<br /> +O slender pilot whom the mists enfold,<br /> +Answer the song my luth and I have wrought thee!<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +When new love plucks the falcon from his wrist,<br /> +And cuts the gyve and casts the scarlet hood,<br /> +Where is the heron heart whom flight avails?<br /> +O quick to prize me Love, how suddenly<br /> +From out the tumult truth has ta'en his own,<br /> +And in this vision is our past unrolled.<br /> +Lo! With a hawk of light thy love hath caught me.<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +And I shall get no peace from eucharist,<br /> +Nor doling out strange prayers before the rood,<br /> +To match the peace that thine hands' touch entails;<br /> +Nor doth God's light match light shed over me<br /> +When thy caught sunlight is about me thrown,<br /> +Oh, for the very ruth thine eyes have told,<br /> +Answer the rune this love of thee hath taught me.<br /> +<br /> +V<br /> +<br /> +After an age of longing had we missed<br /> +Our meeting and the dream, what were the good<br /> +Of weaving cloth of words? Were jewelled tales<br /> +An opiate meet to quell the malady<br /> +Of life unlived? In untried monotone<br /> +Were not the earth as vain, and dry, and old,<br /> +For thee, O Perfect Light, had I not sought thee?<br /> +<br /> +VI<br /> +<br /> +Calais, in song where word and tone keep tryst<br /> +Behold my heart, and hear mine hardihood!<br /> +Calais, the wind is come and heaven pales<br /> +And trembles for the love of day to be.<br /> +Calais, the words break and the dawn is shown.<br /> +Ah, but the stars set when thou wast first bold,<br /> +Turn! lest they say a lesser light distraught thee.<br /> +<br /> +VII<br /> +<br /> +O ivory thou, the golden scythe hath mown<br /> +Night's stubble and my joy. Thou royal souled,<br /> +Favour the quest! Lo, Truth and I have sought thee<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="OCTAVE" id="OCTAVE"></a>OCTAVE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Fine songs, fair songs, these golden usuries<br /> +A Her beauty earns as but just increment,<br /> +And they do speak with a most ill intent<br /> +Who say they give when they pay debtor's fees.<br /> +<br /> +I call him bankrupt in the courts of song<br /> +Who hath her gold to eye and pays her not,<br /> +Defaulter do I call the knave who hath got<br /> +Her silver in his heart, and doth her wrong.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SONNET" id="SONNET"></a>SONNET<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +If on the tally-board of wasted days<br /> +They daily write me for proud idleness,<br /> +Let high Hell summons me, and I confess,<br /> +No overt act the preferred charge allays.<br /> +<br /> +To-day I thought—what boots it what I thought?<br /> +Poppies and gold! Why should I blurt it out?<br /> +Or hawk the magic of her name about<br /> +Deaf doors and dungeons where no truth is bought?<br /> +<br /> +Who calls me idle? I have thought of her.<br /> +Who calls me idle? By God's truth I've seen<br /> +The arrowy sunlight in her golden snares.<br /> +<br /> +Let him among you all stand summonser<br /> +Who hath done better things! Let whoso hath been<br /> +With worthier works concerned, display his wares!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="BALLATETTA" id="BALLATETTA"></a>BALLATETTA<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +The light became her grace and dwelt among<br /> +Blind eyes and shadows that are formed as men<br /> +Lo, how the light doth melt us into song:<br /> +<br /> +The broken sunlight for a healm she beareth<br /> +Who hath my heart in jurisdiction.<br /> +In wild-wood never fawn nor fallow fareth<br /> +So silent light; no gossamer is spun<br /> +So delicate as she is, when the sun<br /> +Drives the clear emeralds from the bended grasses<br /> +Lest they should parch too swiftly, where she passes.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="MADRIGALE" id="MADRIGALE"></a>MADRIGALE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Clear is my love but shadowed<br /> +By the spun gold above her,<br /> +Ah, what a petal those bent sheaths discover!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The olive wood hath hidden her completely.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>She was gowned that discreetly</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The leaves and shadows concealed her completely.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +Fair is my love but followed<br /> +In all her goings surely<br /> +By gracious thoughts, she goeth so demurely.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ERA_MEA" id="ERA_MEA"></a>ERA MEA<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Era mea<br /> +In qua terra<br /> +Dulce myrti floribus,<br /> +Rosa amoris<br /> +Via erroris<br /> +Ad te coram<br /> +Veniam?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">ANGLICÈ REDDITA</span><br /> +<br /> +Mistress mine, in what far land,<br /> +Where the myrtle bloweth sweet<br /> +Shall I weary with my way-fare,<br /> +Win to thee that art as day fair,<br /> +Lay my roses at thy feet?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THRENOS" id="THRENOS"></a>THRENOS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +No more for us the little sighing,<br /> +No more the winds at twilight trouble us.<br /> +<br /> +Lo the fair dead!<br /> +<br /> +No more do I burn.<br /> +No more for us the fluttering of wings<br /> +That whirred in the air above us.<br /> +<br /> +Lo the fair dead!<br /> +<br /> +No more desire flayeth me,<br /> +No more for us the trembling<br /> +At the meeting of hands.<br /> +<br /> +Lo the fair dead!<br /> +<br /> +No more for us the wine of the lips,<br /> +No more for us the knowledge.<br /> +<br /> +Lo the fair dead!<br /> +<br /> +No more the torrent,<br /> +No more for us the meeting-place<br /> +(Lo the fair dead!)<br /> +Tintagoel.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_TREE" id="THE_TREE"></a>THE TREE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I stood still and was a tree amid the wood,<br /> +Knowing the truth of things unseen before;<br /> +Of Daphne and the laurel bow<br /> +And that god-feasting couple old<br /> +That grew elm-oak amid the wold.<br /> +'Twas not until the gods had been<br /> +Kindly entreated, and been brought within<br /> +Unto the hearth of their heart's home<br /> +That they might do this wonder thing;<br /> +Nathless I have been a tree amid the wood<br /> +And many a new thing understood<br /> +That was rank folly to my head before.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PARACELSUS_IN_EXCELSIS" id="PARACELSUS_IN_EXCELSIS"></a>PARACELSUS IN EXCELSIS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"Being no longer human why should I<br /> +Pretend humanity or don the frail attire?<br /> +Men have I known, and men, but never one<br /> +Was grown so free an essence, or become<br /> +So simply element as what I am.<br /> +The mist goes from the mirror and I see!<br /> +Behold! the world of forms is swept beneath—<br /> +Turmoil grown visible beneath our peace,<br /> +And we, that are grown formless, rise above—<br /> +Fluids intangible that have been men,<br /> +We seem as statues round whose high-risen base<br /> +Some overflowing river is run mad,<br /> +In us alone the element of calm!"<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="DE_AEGYPTO" id="DE_AEGYPTO"></a>DE AEGYPTO<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I even I, am he who knoweth the roads<br /> +Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.<br /> +<br /> +I have beheld the Lady of Life,<br /> +I, even I, who fly with the swallows.<br /> +<br /> +Green and gray is her raiment,<br /> +Trailing along the wind.<br /> +<br /> +I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads<br /> +Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.<br /> +<br /> +Manus animam pinxit,<br /> +My pen is in my hand<br /> +<br /> +To write the acceptable word....<br /> +My mouth to chant the pure singing!<br /> +<br /> +Who hath the mouth to receive it,<br /> +The song of the Lotus of Kumi?<br /> +<br /> +I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads<br /> +Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.<br /> +<br /> +I am flame that riseth in the sun,<br /> +I, even I, who fly with the swallows.<br /> +<br /> +The moon is upon my forehead,<br /> +The winds are under my lips.<br /> +<br /> +The moon is a great pearl in the waters of sapphire,<br /> +Cool to my fingers the flowing waters.<br /> +<br /> +I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads<br /> +Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.<br /> +<br /> +I will return to the halls of the flowing,<br /> +Of the truth of the children of Ashu.<br /> +<br /> +I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads<br /> +Of the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="LI_BEL_CHASTEUS" id="LI_BEL_CHASTEUS"></a>LI BEL CHASTEUS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +That castle stands the highest in the land<br /> +Far seen and mighty. Of the great hewn stones<br /> +What shall I say? And deep foss way<br /> +That far beneath us bore of old<br /> +A swelling turbid sea<br /> +Hill-born and tumultuous<br /> +Unto the fields below, where<br /> +Staunch villein and<br /> +Burgher held the land and tilled<br /> +Long labouring for gold of wheat grain<br /> +And to see the beards come forth<br /> +For barley's even time.<br /> +<br /> +But archèd high above the curl of life<br /> +We dwelt amid the ancient boulders,<br /> +Gods had hewn and druids turned<br /> +Unto that birth most wondrous, that had grown<br /> +A mighty fortress while the world had slept,<br /> +And we awaited in the shadows there<br /> +When mighty hands had laboured sightlessly<br /> +And shaped this wonder 'bove the ways of men.<br /> +Me seems we could not see the great green waves<br /> +Nor rocky shore by Tintagoel<br /> +From this our hold,<br /> +But came faint murmuring as undersong,<br /> +E'en as the burghers' hum arose<br /> +And died as faint wind melody<br /> +Beneath our gates.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PRAYER_FOR_HIS_LADYS_LIFE" id="PRAYER_FOR_HIS_LADYS_LIFE"></a>PRAYER FOR HIS LADY'S LIFE<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">FROM PROPERTIUS, ELEGIAE, LIB. III, 26</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm,<br /> +Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness.<br /> +So many thousand beauties are gone down to Avernus<br /> +Ye might let one remain above with us.<br /> +<br /> +With you is Iope, with you the white-gleaming Tyro,<br /> +With you is Europa and the shameless Pasiphae,<br /> +And all the fair from Troy and all from Achaia,<br /> +From the sundered realms, of Thebes and of aged Priamus;<br /> +And all the maidens of Rome, as many as they were,<br /> +They died and the greed of your flame consumes them.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>So many thousand fair are gone down to Avernus,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Ye might let one remain above with us.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SPEECH_FOR_PSYCHE_IN_THE_GOLDEN_BOOK_OF_APULEIUS" id="SPEECH_FOR_PSYCHE_IN_THE_GOLDEN_BOOK_OF_APULEIUS"></a>SPEECH FOR PSYCHE IN THE GOLDEN BOOK OF APULEIUS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +All night, and as the wind lieth among<br /> +The cypress trees, he lay,<br /> +Nor held me save as air that brusheth by one<br /> +Close, and as the petals of flowers in falling<br /> +Waver and seem not drawn to earth, so he<br /> +Seemed over me to hover light as leaves<br /> +And closer me than air,<br /> +And music flowing through me seemed to open<br /> +Mine eyes upon new colours.<br /> +O winds, what wind can match the weight of him!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="BLANDULA_TENULLA_VAGULA" id="BLANDULA_TENULLA_VAGULA"></a>"BLANDULA, TENULLA, VAGULA."<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +What hast thou, O my soul, with paradise?<br /> +Will we not rather, when our freedom's won,<br /> +Get us to some clear place wherein the sun<br /> +Lets drift in on us through the olive leaves<br /> +A liquid glory? If at Sirmio<br /> +My soul, I meet thee, when this life's outrun,<br /> +Will we not find some headland consecrated<br /> +By aery apostles of terrene delight,<br /> +Will not our cult be founded on the waves,<br /> +Clear sapphire, cobalt, cyanine,<br /> +On triune azures, the impalpable<br /> +Mirrors unstill of the eternal change?<br /> +<br /> +Soul, if She meet us there, will any rumour<br /> +Of havens more high and courts desirable<br /> +Lure us beyond the cloudy peak of Riva?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ERAT_HORA" id="ERAT_HORA"></a>ERAT HORA<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"Thank you, whatever comes." And then she turned<br /> +And, as the ray of sun on hanging flowers<br /> +Fades when the wind hath lifted them aside,<br /> +Went swiftly from me. Nay, whatever comes<br /> +One hour was sunlit and the most high gods<br /> +May not make boast of any better thing<br /> +Than to have watched that hour as it passed.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="EPIGRAMS" id="EPIGRAMS"></a>EPIGRAMS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +O ivory, delicate hands!<br /> +O face that hovers<br /> +Between "To-come" and "Was,"<br /> +Ivory thou wast,<br /> +A rose thou wilt be.<br /> +<br /> +<a name="E_II" id="E_II"></a>II<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(THE SEA OF GLASS)</span><br /> +<br /> +I looked and saw a sea<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">roofed over with rainbows,</span><br /> +In the midst of each<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">two lovers met and departed;</span><br /> +Then the sky was full of faces<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">with gold glories behind them.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="LA_NUVOLETTA" id="LA_NUVOLETTA"></a>LA NUVOLETTA<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">"Dante to an unknown lady, beseeching her not to interrupt his</span><br /> +<span class="small">cult of the dead Beatrice. From "Il Canzoniere," Ballata II</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Ah little cloud that in Love's shadow lief<br /> +Upon mine eyes so suddenly alightest,<br /> +Take some faint pity on the heart thou smitest<br /> +That hopes in thee, desires, dies, in brief.<br /> +<br /> +Ah little cloud of more than human fashion<br /> +Thou settest a flame within my mind's mid space<br /> +With thy deathly speech that grieveth;<br /> +<br /> +Then as a fiery spirit in thy ways<br /> +Createst hope, in part a rightful passion,<br /> +Yet where thy sweet smile giveth<br /> +His grace, look not! For in Her my faith liveth.<br /> +<br /> +Think on my high desire whose flame's so great<br /> +That nigh a thousand who were come too late,<br /> +Have felt the torment of another's grief.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ROSA_SEMPITERNA" id="ROSA_SEMPITERNA"></a>ROSA SEMPITERNA<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +A rose I set within my "Paradise"<br /> +Lo how his red is turned to yellowness,<br /> +Not withered but grown old in subtler wise<br /> +Between the empaged rime's high holiness<br /> +Where Dante sings of that rose's device<br /> +Which yellow is, with souls in blissfulness.<br /> +Rose whom I set within my paradise,<br /> +Donor of roses and of parching sighs,<br /> +Of golden lights and dark unhappiness,<br /> +Of hidden chains and silvery joyousness,<br /> +Hear how thy rose within my Dante lies,<br /> +O rose I set within my paradise.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_GOLDEN_SESTINA" id="THE_GOLDEN_SESTINA"></a>THE GOLDEN SESTINA<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">FROM THE ITALIAN OF PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +In the bright season when He, most high Jove,<br /> +From welkin reaching down his glorying hand,<br /> +Decks the Great Mother and her changing face,<br /> +Clothing her not with scarlet skeins and gold<br /> +But with th' empurpling flowers and gay grass,<br /> +When the young year renewed, renews the sun,<br /> +<br /> +When, then, I see a lady like the sun,<br /> +One fashioned by th' high hand of utmost Jove,<br /> +So fair beneath the myrtles on gay grass<br /> +Who holdeth Love and Truth, one by each hand,<br /> +It seems, if I look straight, two bands of gold<br /> +Do make more fair her delicate fair face.<br /> +<br /> +Though eyes are dazzled, looking on her face<br /> +As all sight faileth that looks toward the sun,<br /> +New metamorphoses, to rained gold,<br /> +Or bulls or whitest swans, might fall on Jove<br /> +Through her, or Phoebus, his bag-pipes in hand,<br /> +Might, mid the droves, come barefoot o'er our grass,<br /> +<br /> +Alas, that there was hidden in the grass<br /> +A cruel shaft, the which, to wound my face,<br /> +My Lady took in her own proper hand.<br /> +If I could not defend me 'gainst that sun<br /> +I take no shame, for even utmost Jove<br /> +Is in high heaven pierced with darts of gold.<br /> +<br /> +Behold the green shall find itself turned gold<br /> +And spring shall be without her flowers and grass,<br /> +And hell's deep be the dwelling place of Jove<br /> +Ere I shall have uncarved her holy face<br /> +From my heart's midst, where 'tis both Sun and sun<br /> +And yet she beareth me such hostile hand!<br /> +<br /> +O sweet and holy and O most light hand,<br /> +O intermingled ivory and gold,<br /> +O mortal goddess and terrestrial sun<br /> +Who comest not to foster meadow grass,<br /> +But to show heaven by a likened face<br /> +Wert sent amongst us by th' exalted Jove,<br /> +<br /> +I still pray Jove that he permit no grass<br /> +To cover o'er thy hands, thy face, thy gold<br /> +For heaven's sufficed with a single sun.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ROME" id="ROME"></a>ROME<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">FROM THE FRENCH OF JOACHIM DU BELLAY</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em; font-size: 0.8em;">"Troica Roma resurges."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em; font-size: 0.8em;">PROPERTIUS.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +O thou new comer who seek'st Rome in Rome<br /> +And find'st in Rome no thing thou canst call Roman;<br /> +Arches worn old and palaces made common,<br /> +Rome's name alone within these walls keeps home.<br /> +<br /> +Behold how pride and ruin can befall<br /> +One who hath set the whole world 'neath her laws,<br /> +All-conquering, now conquered, because<br /> +She is Time's prey and Time consumeth all.<br /> +<br /> +Rome that art Rome's one sole last monument,<br /> +Rome that alone hast conquered Rome the town,<br /> +Tiber alone, transient and seaward bent,<br /> +Remains of Rome. O world, thou unconstant mime!<br /> +That which stands firm in thee Time batters down,<br /> +And that which fleeteth doth outrun swift time.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="HER_MONUMENT_THE_IMAGE_CUT_THEREON" id="HER_MONUMENT_THE_IMAGE_CUT_THEREON"></a>HER MONUMENT, THE IMAGE CUT THEREON<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">FROM THE ITALIAN OF LEOPARDI</span><br /> +<span class="small">(Written 1831-3 circa)</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Such wast thou,<br /> +Who art now<br /> +But buried dust and rusted skeleton.<br /> +Above the bones and mire,<br /> +Motionless, placed in vain,<br /> +Mute mirror of the flight of speeding years,<br /> +Sole guard of grief<br /> +Sole guard of memory<br /> +Standeth this image of the beauty sped.<br /> +<br /> +O glance, when thou wast still as thou art now,<br /> +How hast thou set the fire<br /> +A-tremble in men's veins; O lip curved high<br /> +To mind me of some urn of full delight,<br /> +O throat girt round of old with swift desire,<br /> +O palms of Love, that in your wonted ways<br /> +Not once but many a day<br /> +Felt hands turn ice a-sudden, touching ye,<br /> +That ye were once! of all the grace ye had<br /> +That which remaineth now<br /> +Shameful, most sad<br /> +Finds 'neath this rock fit mould, fit resting place!<br /> +<br /> +And still when fate recalleth,<br /> +Even that semblance that appears amongst us<br /> +Is like to heaven's most 'live imagining.<br /> +All, all our life's eternal mystery!<br /> +To-day, on high<br /> +Mounts, from our mighty thoughts and from the fount<br /> +Of sense untellable, Beauty<br /> +That seems to be some quivering splendour cast<br /> +By the immortal nature on this quicksand,<br /> +And by surhuman fates<br /> +Given to mortal state<br /> +To be a sign and an hope made secure<br /> +Of blissful kingdoms and the aureate spheres;<br /> +And on the morrow, by some lightsome twist,<br /> +Shameful in sight, abject, abominable<br /> +All this angelic aspect can return<br /> +And be but what it was<br /> +With all the admirable concepts that moved from it<br /> +Swept from the mind with it in its departure.<br /> +<br /> +Infinite things desired, lofty visions<br /> +'Got on desirous thought by natural virtue,<br /> +And the wise concord, whence through delicious seas<br /> +The arcane spirit of the whole Mankind<br /> +Turns hardy pilot ... and if one wrong note<br /> +Strike the tympanum,<br /> +Instantly<br /> +That paradise is hurled to nothingness.<br /> +<br /> +O mortal nature,<br /> +If thou art<br /> +Frail and so vile in all,<br /> +How canst thou reach so high with thy poor sense;<br /> +Yet if thou art<br /> +Noble in any part<br /> +How is the noblest of thy speech and thought<br /> +So lightly wrought<br /> +Or to such base occasion lit and quenched?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="VICTORIAN_ECLOGUES" id="VICTORIAN_ECLOGUES"></a>VICTORIAN ECLOGUES<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +<a name="EXCUSES" id="EXCUSES"></a>EXCUSES<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Ah would you turn me back now from the flowers,<br /> +You who are different as the air from sea is,<br /> +Ah for the pollen from our wreath of hours,<br /> +You who are magical, not mine as she is,<br /> +Say will you call us from our time of flowers?<br /> +<br /> +You whom I loved and love, not understanding,<br /> +Yea we were ever torn with constant striving,<br /> +Seeing our gods are different, and commanding<br /> +One good from them, and in my heart reviving<br /> +Old discords and bent thought, not understanding.<br /> +<br /> +We who have wept, we who have lain together<br /> +Upon the green and sere and white of every season,<br /> +We who have loved the sun but for the weather<br /> +Of our own hearts have found no constant reason,<br /> +What is your part, now we have come together?<br /> +<br /> +What is your pain, Dear, what is your heart now<br /> +A little sad, a little.... Nay, I know not<br /> +Seeing I never had and have no part now<br /> +In your own secret councils wherein blow not<br /> +My roses. My vineyard being another heart now?<br /> +<br /> +You who were ever dear and dearer being strange,<br /> +How shall I "go" who never came anear you?<br /> +How could I stay, who never came in range<br /> +Of anything that halved; could never hear you<br /> +Rightly in your silence; nay, your very speech was strange.<br /> +<br /> +You, who have loved not what I was or will be,<br /> +You who but loved me for a thing I could be,<br /> +You who love not a song whate'er its skill be<br /> +But only love the cause or what cause should be,<br /> +How could I give you what I am or will be?<br /> +<br /> +Nay, though your eyes are sad, you will not hinder,<br /> +You, who would have had me only near not nearer,<br /> +Nay though my heart had burned to a bright cinder<br /> +Love would have said to me: "Still fear her,<br /> +Pain is thy lot and naught she hath can hinder,"<br /> +<br /> +So I, for this sad gladness that is mine now,<br /> +Who never spoke aright in speaking to you,<br /> +Uncomprehending anything that's thine now,<br /> +E'en in my spoken words more wrong may do you<br /> +In looking back from this new grace that's mine now.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Sic semper finis deest.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SATIEMUS" id="SATIEMUS"></a>SATIEMUS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +What if I know thy speeches word by word?<br /> +And if thou knew'st I knew them wouldst thou speak?<br /> +What if I know thy speeches word by word,<br /> +And all the time thou sayest them o'er I said,<br /> +"Lo, one there was who bent her fair bright head,<br /> +Sighing as thou dost through the golden speech."<br /> +Or, as our laughters mingle each with each,<br /> +As crushed lips take their respite fitfully,<br /> +What if my thoughts were turned in their mid reach<br /> +Whispering among them, "The fair dead<br /> +Must know such moments, thinking on the grass;<br /> +On how white dogwoods murmured overhead<br /> +In the bright glad days!"<br /> +How if the low dear sound within thy throat<br /> +Hath as faint lute-strings in its dim accord<br /> +Dim tales that blind me, running one by one<br /> +With times told over as we tell by rote;<br /> +What if I know thy laughter word by word<br /> +Nor find aught novel in thy merriment?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ABELARD" id="ABELARD"></a>ABELARD<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em; font-size: 0.8em;">"<i>Pere Esbaillart a Sanct Denis.</i>"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15.5em; font-size: 0.8em;">VILLON.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"Because my soul cried out, and only the long ways<br /> +Grown weary, gave me answer and<br /> +Because she answered when the very ways were dumb<br /> +With all their hoarse, dry speech grown faint and chill.<br /> +Because her answer was a call to me,<br /> +Though I have sinned, my God, and though thy angels<br /> +Bear no more now my thought to whom I love;<br /> +Now though I crouch afraid in all thy dark<br /> +Will I once cry to thee:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Once more! Once more my strength!</span><br /> +Yea though I sin to call him forth once more,<br /> +Thy messengers for mine, Their wings my power!<br /> +And let once more my wings fold down above her,<br /> +Let their cool length be spread<br /> +Over her feet and head<br /> +And let thy calm come down<br /> +To dwell within her, and thy gown of peace<br /> +Clothe all her body in its samite.<br /> +O Father of all the blind and all the strong,<br /> +Though I have left thy courts, though all the throng<br /> +Of thy gold-shimmering choir know me not,<br /> +Though I have dared the body and have donned<br /> +Its frail strong-seeming, and although<br /> +Its lightening joy is made my swifter song,<br /> +Though I have known thy stars, yea all, and chosen one.<br /> +Yea though I make no barter, and repent no jot,<br /> +Yet for the sunlight of that former time<br /> +Grant me the boon, O God,<br /> +Once more, once more, or I or some white thought<br /> +Shall rise beside her and, enveloping<br /> +All her strange glory in its wings of light,<br /> +Bring down thy peace upon her way-worn soul.<br /> +Oh sheathe that sword of her in some strong case,<br /> +The doe-skin scabbard of thy clear Rafael!<br /> +Yea let thy angels walk, as I have seen<br /> +Them passing, or have seen their wings<br /> +Spread their pavilions o'er our twin delight.<br /> +Yea I have seen them when the purple light<br /> +Hid all her garden from my drowsy eyes.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="A_PROLOGUE" id="A_PROLOGUE"></a>A PROLOGUE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">SCENE—IN THE AIR</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>The Lords of the Air</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">What light hath passed us in the silent ways?</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>The Spirits of Fire</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">We are sustainèd, strengthened suddenly.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>The Spirits of Water</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Lo, how the utmost deeps are clarified!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>The Spirits Terrene</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">What might is this more potent than the spring?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Lo, how the night</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Which wrapped us round with its most heavy cloths</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Opens and breathes with some strange-fashioned brighness!</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">IN HEAVEN</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Christ, the eternal Spirit in Heaven speaketh thus,<br /> +over the child of Mary</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">O star, move forth and write upon the skies,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"This child is born in ways miraculous."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">O windy spirits, that are born in Heaven,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Go down and bid the powers of Earth and Air</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Protect his ways until the Time shall come.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">O Mother, if the dark of things to be</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Wrap round thy heart with cloudy apprehensions,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Eat of thy present corn, the aftermath</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Hath its appointed end in whirling light.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Eat of thy present corn, thou so hast share</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">In mightier portents than Augustus hath.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">In every moment all to be is born,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thou art the moment and need'st fear no scorn.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Echo of the Angels singing "Exultasti"</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Silence is born of many peaceful things,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thus is the starlight woven into strings</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Whereon the Powers of peace make sweet accord.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Rejoice, O Earth, thy Lord</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Hath chosen Him his holy resting-place.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Lo, how the winged sign</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Flutters above that hallowed chrysalis.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">IN THE AIR</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>The invisible Spirit of the Star answers them</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Bend in your singing, gracious potencies,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Bend low above your ivory bows and gold!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">That which ye know but dimly hath been wrought</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">High in the luminous courts and azure ways:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Bend in your praise;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">For though your subtle thought</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Sees but in part the source of mysteries,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Yet are ye bidden in your songs, sing this:</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"><i>"Gloria! gloria in excelsis</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"><i>Pax in terra nunc natast."</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Angels continuing in song</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Shepherds and kings, with lambs and frankincense</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Go and atone for mankind's ignorance:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Make ye soft savour from your ruddy myrrh.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Lo, how God's son is turned God's almoner.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Give ye this little</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Ere he give ye all.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">ON EARTH</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>One of the Magi</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">How the deep-voicèd night turns councillor!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And how, for end, our starry meditations</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Admit us to his board!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>A Shepherd</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Sir, we be humble and perceive ye are</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Men of great power and authority,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And yet we too have heard.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">DIANA IN EPHESUS</span><br /> +<br /> +(<i>Lucina dolentibus</i>:)<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"Behold the deed! Behold the act supreme!<br /> +With mine own hands have I prepared my doom,<br /> +Truth shall grow great eclipsing other truth,<br /> +And men forget me in the aging years."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Explicit.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="MAESTRO_DI_TOCAR" id="MAESTRO_DI_TOCAR"></a>MAESTRO DI TOCAR<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(W.R.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +You, who are touched not by our mortal ways<br /> +Nor girded with the stricture of our bands,<br /> +Have but to loose the magic from your hands<br /> +And all men's hearts that glimmer for a day,<br /> +And all our loves that are so swift to flame<br /> +Rise in that space of sound and melt away.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ARIA" id="ARIA"></a>ARIA<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +My love is a deep flame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">that hides beneath the waters.</span><br /> +<br /> +—My love is gay and kind,<br /> +My love is hard to find<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">as the flame beneath the waters.</span><br /> +<br /> +The fingers of the wind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">meet hers</span><br /> +With a frail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">swift greeting.</span><br /> +My love is gay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">and kind</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">and hard</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">of meeting,</span><br /> +As the flame beneath the waters<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">hard of meeting.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="LART" id="LART"></a>L'ART<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +When brightest colours seem but dull in hue<br /> +And noblest arts are shown mechanical,<br /> +When study serves but to heap clue on clue<br /> +That no great line hath been or ever shall,<br /> +But hath a savour like some second stew<br /> +Of many pot-lots with a smack of all.<br /> +'Twas one man's field, another's hops the brew,<br /> +Twas vagrant accident not fate's fore-call.<br /> +Horace, that thing of thine is overhauled,<br /> +And "Wood notes wild" weaves a concocted sonnet.<br /> +Here aery Shelley on the text hath called,<br /> +And here, Great Scott, the Murex, Keats comes on it.<br /> +And all the lot howl, "Sweet Simplicity!"<br /> +'Tis Art to hide our theft exquisitely.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SONG_IN_THE_MANNER_OF_HOUSMAN" id="SONG_IN_THE_MANNER_OF_HOUSMAN"></a>SONG IN THE MANNER OF HOUSMAN<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +O Woe, woe,<br /> +People are born and die,<br /> +We also shall be dead pretty soon<br /> +Therefore let us act as if we were<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">dead already.</span><br /> +<br /> +The bird sits on the hawthorn tree<br /> +But he dies also, presently.<br /> +Some lads get hung, and some get shot.<br /> +Woeful is this human lot.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Woe! woe, etcetera</i>....</span><br /> +<br /> +London is a woeful place,<br /> +Shropshire is much pleasanter.<br /> +Then let us smile a little space<br /> +Upon fond nature's morbid grace.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera</i>....</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="TRANSLATIONS_FROM_HEINE" id="TRANSLATIONS_FROM_HEINE"></a>TRANSLATIONS FROM HEINE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">VON "DIE HEIMKEHR"</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +Is your hate, then, of such measure?<br /> +Do you, truly, so detest me?<br /> +Through all the world will I complain<br /> +Of <i>how</i> you have addressed me.<br /> +<br /> +O ye lips that are ungrateful,<br /> +Hath it never once distressed you,<br /> +That you can say such <i>awful</i> things<br /> +Of <i>any</i> one who ever kissed you?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +So thou hast forgotten fully<br /> +That I so long held thy heart wholly,<br /> +Thy little heart, so sweet and false and small<br /> +That there's no thing more sweet or false at all.<br /> +<br /> +Love and lay thou hast forgotten fully,<br /> +And my heart worked at them unduly.<br /> +I know not if the love or if the lay were better stuff,<br /> +But I know now, they both were good enough.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +Tell me where thy lovely love is,<br /> +Whom thou once did sing so sweetly,<br /> +When the fairy flames enshrouded<br /> +Thee, and held thy heart completely.<br /> +<br /> +All the flames are dead and sped now<br /> +And my heart is cold and sere;<br /> +Behold this book, the urn of ashes,<br /> +'Tis my true love's sepulchre.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +I dreamt that I was God Himself<br /> +Whom heavenly joy immerses,<br /> +And all the angels sat about<br /> +And praised my verses.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +V<br /> +<br /> +The mutilated choir boys<br /> +When I begin to sing<br /> +Complain about the awful noise<br /> +And call my voice too thick a thing.<br /> +<br /> +When light their voices lift them up,<br /> +Bright notes against the ear,<br /> +Through trills and runs like crystal,<br /> +Ring delicate and clear.<br /> +<br /> +They sing of Love that's grown desirous,<br /> +Of Love, and joy that is Love's inmost part,<br /> +And all the ladies swim through tears<br /> +Toward such a work of art.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +VI<br /> +<br /> +This delightful young man<br /> +Should not lack for honourers,<br /> +He propitiates me with oysters,<br /> +With Rhine wine and liqueurs.<br /> +<br /> +How his coat and pants adorn him!<br /> +Yet his ties are more adorning,<br /> +In these he daily comes to ask me:<br /> +Are you feeling well this morning?<br /> +<br /> +He speaks of my extended fame,<br /> +My wit, charm, definitions,<br /> +And is diligent to serve me,<br /> +Is detailed in his provisions.<br /> +<br /> +In evening company he sets his face<br /> +In most spiritu<i>el</i> positions,<br /> +And declaims before the ladies<br /> +My <i>god-like</i> compositions.<br /> +<br /> +O what comfort is it for me<br /> +To find him such, when the days bring<br /> +No comfort, at my time of life when<br /> +All good things go vanishing.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em;"><i>TRANSLATOR TO TRANSLATED</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>O Harry Heine, curses be,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>I live too late to sup with thee!</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Who can demolish at such polished ease</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Philistia's pomp and Art's pomposities!</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +VII<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">SONG FROM DIE HARZREISE</span><br /> +<br /> +I am the Princess Ilza<br /> +In Ilsenstein I fare,<br /> +Come with me to that castle<br /> +And we'll be happy there.<br /> +<br /> +Thy head will I cover over<br /> +With my waves' clarity<br /> +Till thou forget thy sorrow,<br /> +O wounded sorrowfully.<br /> +<br /> +Thou wilt in my white arms there,<br /> +Nay, on my breast thou must<br /> +Forget and rest and dream there<br /> +For thine old legend-lust.<br /> +<br /> +My lips and my heart are thine there<br /> +As they were his and mine.<br /> +His? Why the good King Harry's,<br /> +And he is dead lang syne.<br /> +<br /> +Dead men stay alway dead men,<br /> +Life is the live man's part,<br /> +And I am fair and golden<br /> +With joy breathless at heart.<br /> +<br /> +If my heart stay below there,<br /> +My crystal halls ring clear<br /> +To the dance of lords and ladies<br /> +In all their splendid gear.<br /> +<br /> +The silken trains go rustling,<br /> +The spur-clinks sound between,<br /> +The dark dwarfs blow and bow there<br /> +Small horn and violin.<br /> +<br /> +Yet shall my white arms hold thee,<br /> +That bound King Harry about.<br /> +Ah, I covered his ears with them<br /> +When the trumpet rang out.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small"><a name="UND_DRANG" id="UND_DRANG"></a>UND DRANG</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em; font-size: 0.8em;">Nay, dwells he in cloudy rumour alone?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em; font-size: 0.8em;">BINYON.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +I am worn faint,<br /> +The winds of good and evil<br /> +Blind me with dust<br /> +And burn me with the cold,<br /> +There is no comfort being over-man;<br /> +Yet are we come more near<br /> +The great oblivions and the labouring night,<br /> +Inchoate truth and the sepulchral forces.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +Confusion, clamour, 'mid the many voices<br /> +Is there a meaning, a significance?<br /> +<br /> +That life apart from all life gives and takes,<br /> +This life, apart from all life's bitter and life's sweet,<br /> +Is good.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ye see me and ye say: exceeding sweet</span><br /> +Life's gifts, his youth, his art,<br /> +And his too soon acclaim.<br /> +<br /> +I also knew exceeding bitterness,<br /> +Saw good things altered and old friends fare forth,<br /> +And what I loved in me hath died too soon,<br /> +Yea I have seen the "gray above the green";<br /> +Gay have I lived in life;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Though life hath lain</span><br /> +Strange hands upon me and hath torn my sides,<br /> +Yet I believe.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +Life is most cruel where she is most wise.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +The will to live goes from me.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">I have lain</span><br /> +Dull and out-worn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">with some strange, subtle sickness.</span><br /> +Who shall say<br /> +That love is not the very root of this,<br /> +O thou afar?<br /> +<br /> +Yet she was near me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">that eternal deep.</span><br /> +O it is passing strange that love<br /> +Can blow two ways across one soul.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +And I was Aengus for a thousand years,<br /> +And she, the ever-living, moved with me<br /> +And strove amid the waves, and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">would not go.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">ELEGIA</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em; font-size: 0.8em;">"<i>Far buon tempo e trionfare</i>"</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"I have put my days and dreams out of mind'<br /> +For all their hurry and their weary fret<br /> +Availed me little. But another kind<br /> +Of leaf that's fast in some more sombre wind,<br /> +Is man on life, and all our tenuous courses<br /> +Wind and unwind as vainly.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +I have lived long, and died,<br /> +Yea I have been dead, right often,<br /> +And have seen one thing:<br /> +The sun, while he is high, doth light our wrong<br /> +And none can break the darkness with a song.<br /> +<br /> +To-day's the cup. To-morrow is not ours:<br /> +Nay, by our strongest bands we bind her not,<br /> +Nor all our fears and our anxieties<br /> +Turn her one leaf or hold her scimitar.<br /> +<br /> +The deed blots out the thought<br /> +And many thoughts, the vision;<br /> +And right's a compass with as many poles<br /> +As there are points in her circumference,<br /> +'Tis vain to seek to steer all courses even,<br /> +And all things save sheer right are vain enough.<br /> +The blade were vain to grow save toward the sun,<br /> +And vain th' attempt to hold her green forever.<br /> +<br /> +All things in season and no thing o'er long!<br /> +Love and desire and gain and good forgetting,<br /> +Thou canst not stay the wheel, hold none too long!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +V<br /> +<br /> +How our modernity,<br /> +Nerve-wracked and broken, turns<br /> +Against time's way and all the way of things,<br /> +Crying with weak and egoistic cries!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +All things are given over,<br /> +Only the restless will<br /> +Surges amid the stars<br /> +Seeking new moods of life,<br /> +New permutations.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +See, and the very sense of what we know<br /> +Dodges and hides as in a sombre curtain<br /> +Bright threads leap forth, and hide, and leave no pattern.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +VI<br /> +<br /> +I thought I had put Love by for a time<br /> +And I was glad, for to me his fair face<br /> +Is like Pain's face.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">A little light,</span><br /> +The lowered curtain and the theatre!<br /> +And o'er the frail talk of the inter-act<br /> +Something that broke the jest! A little light,<br /> +The gold, and half the profile!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">The whole face</span><br /> +Was nothing like you, yet that image cut<br /> +Sheer through the moment.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +VIb<br /> +<br /> +I have gone seeking for you in the twilight,<br /> +Here in the flurry of Fifth Avenue,<br /> +Here where they pass between their teas and teas.<br /> +Is it such madness? though you could not be<br /> +Ever in all that crowd, no gown<br /> +Of all their subtle sorts could be your gown.<br /> +<br /> +Yet I am fed with faces, is there one<br /> +That even in the half-light mindeth me.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +VII<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">THE HOUSE OF SPLENDOUR</span><br /> +<br /> +'Tis Evanoe's,<br /> +A house not made with hands,<br /> +But out somewhere beyond the worldly ways<br /> +Her gold is spread, above, around, inwoven,<br /> +Strange ways and walls are fashioned out of it.<br /> +<br /> +And I have seen my Lady in the sun,<br /> +Her hair was spread about, a sheaf of wings,<br /> +And red the sunlight was, behind it all.<br /> +<br /> +And I have seen her there within her house,<br /> +With six great sapphires hung along the wall,<br /> +Low, panel-shaped, a-level with her knees,<br /> +And all her robe was woven of pale gold.<br /> +<br /> +There are there many rooms and all of gold,<br /> +Of woven walls deep patterned, of email,<br /> +Of beaten work; and through the claret stone,<br /> +Set to some weaving, comes the aureate light.<br /> +<br /> +Here am I come perforce my love of her,<br /> +Behold mine adoration<br /> +Maketh me clear, and there are powers in this<br /> +Which, played on by the virtues of her soul,<br /> +Break down the four-square walls of standing time.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +VIII<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">THE FLAME</span><br /> +<br /> +'Tis not a game that plays at mates and mating,<br /> +Provençe knew;<br /> +'Tis not a game of barter, lands and houses,<br /> +Provençe knew.<br /> +We who are wise beyond your dream of wisdom,<br /> +Drink our immortal moments; we "pass through."<br /> +We have gone forth beyond your bonds and borders,<br /> +Provençe knew;<br /> +And all the tales they ever writ of Oisin<br /> +Say but this:<br /> +That man doth pass the net of days and hours.<br /> +Where time is shrivelled down to time's seed corn<br /> +We of the Ever-living, in that light<br /> +Meet through our veils and whisper, and of love.<br /> +<br /> +O smoke and shadow of a darkling world,<br /> +Barters of passion, and that tenderness<br /> +That's but a sort of cunning! O my Love,<br /> +These, and the rest, and all the rest we knew.<br /> +<br /> +'Tis not a game that plays at mates and mating,<br /> +'Tis not a game of barter, lands and houses,<br /> +'Tis not "of days and nights" and troubling years,<br /> +Of cheeks grown sunken and glad hair gone gray;<br /> +There <i>is</i> the subtler music, the clear light<br /> +<br /> +Where time burns back about th' eternal embers.<br /> +We are not shut from all the thousand heavens:<br /> +Lo, there are many gods whom we have seen,<br /> +Folk of unearthly fashion, places splendid,<br /> +Bulwarks of beryl and of chrysophrase.<br /> +<br /> +Sapphire Benacus, in thy mists and thee<br /> +Nature herself's turned metaphysical,<br /> +Who can look on that blue and not believe?<br /> +<br /> +Thou hooded opal, thou eternal pearl,<br /> +O thou dark secret with a shimmering floor,<br /> +Through all thy various mood I know thee mine;<br /> +<br /> +If I have merged my soul, or utterly<br /> +Am solved and bound in, through aught here on earth,<br /> +There canst thou find me, O thou anxious thou,<br /> +Who call'st about my gates for some lost me;<br /> +I say my soul flowed back, became translucent.<br /> +Search not my lips, O Love, let go my hands,<br /> +This thing that moves as man is no more mortal.<br /> +If thou hast seen my shade sans character,<br /> +If thou hast seen that mirror of all moments,<br /> +That glass to all things that o'ershadow it,<br /> +Call not that mirror me, for I have slipped<br /> +Your grasp, I have eluded.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +IX<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(HORAE BEATAE INSCRIPTIO)</span><br /> +<br /> +How will this beauty, when I am far hence,<br /> +Sweep back upon me and engulf my mind!<br /> +<br /> +How will these hours, when we twain are gray,<br /> +Turned in their sapphire tide, come flooding o'er us!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +X<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(THE ALTAR)</span><br /> +<br /> +Let us build here an exquisite friendship,<br /> +The flame, the autumn, and the green rose of love<br /> +Fought out their strife here, 'tis a place of wonder;<br /> +Where these have been, meet 'tis, the ground is holy.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +IX<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(AU SALON)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em; font-size: 0.8em;">Her grave, sweet haughtiness</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em; font-size: 0.8em;">Pleaseth me, and in like wise</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em; font-size: 0.8em;">Her quiet ironies.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em; font-size: 0.8em;">Others are beautiful, none more, some less.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I suppose, when poetry comes down to facts,<br /> +When our souls are returned to the gods<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">and the spheres they belong in,</span><br /> +Here in the every-day where our acts<br /> +Rise up and judge us;<br /> +<br /> +I suppose there are a few dozen verities<br /> +That no shift of mood can shake from us:<br /> +<br /> +One place where we'd rather have tea<br /> +(Thus far hath modernity brought us)<br /> +"Tea" (Damn you!)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Have tea, damn the Caesars,</span><br /> +Talk of the latest success, give wing to some scandal,<br /> +Garble a name we detest, and for prejudice?<br /> +Set loose the whole consummate pack<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">to bay like Sir Roger de Coverley's</span><br /> +<br /> +This our reward for our works,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">sic crescit gloria mundi:</span><br /> +Some circle of not more than three<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">that we prefer to play up to,</span><br /> +<br /> +Some few whom we'd rather please<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">than hear the whole aegrum vulgrus</span><br /> +Splitting its beery jowl<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">a-meaowling our praises.</span><br /> +<br /> +Some certain peculiar things,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">cari laresque, penates,</span><br /> +Some certain accustomed forms,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">the absolute unimportant.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +XII<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(AU JARDIN)</span><br /> +<br /> +O You away high there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">you that lean</span><br /> +From amber lattices upon the cobalt night,<br /> +I am below amid the pine trees,<br /> +Amid the little pine trees, hear me!<br /> +<br /> +"The jester walked in the garden."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Did he so?</span><br /> +Well, there's no use your loving me<br /> +That way, Lady;<br /> +For I've nothing but songs to give you.<br /> +<br /> +I am set wide upon the world's ways<br /> +To say that life is, some way, a gay thing,<br /> +But you never string two days upon one wire<br /> +But there'll come sorrow of it.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">And I loved a love once,</span><br /> +Over beyond the moon there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">I loved a love once,</span><br /> +And, may be, more times,<br /> +<br /> +But she danced like a pink moth in the shrubbery.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, I know you women from the "other folk,"<br /> +And it'll all come right,<br /> +O' Sundays.<br /> +<br /> +"The jester walked in the garden."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Did he so?</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 75%;" /> + +<h3><a name="RIPOSTES_OF_EZRA_POUND" id="RIPOSTES_OF_EZRA_POUND"></a>RIPOSTES OF EZRA POUND</h3> + + +<p class="center">Gird on thy star, We'll have this out with fate</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h5>TO</h5> + +<h5>WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS</h5> + + +<p style="margin-left: 25%; font-size: 0.8em;"> +<br /><br /> +<span class="caption">CONTENTS</span><br /> +<br /> +<a href="#SILET">SILET</a><br /> +<a href="#IN_EXITUM_CUIUSDAM">IN EXITUM CUIUSDAM</a><br /> +<a href="#APPARUIT">APPARUIT</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_TOMB_AT_AKR_CAAR">THE TOMB AT AKR ÇAAR</a><br /> +<a href="#PORTRAIT_DUNE_FEMME">PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME</a><br /> +<a href="#NY">N.Y.</a><br /> +<a href="#A_GIRL">A GIRL</a><br /> +<a href="#PHASELLUS_ILLE">"PHASELLUS ILLE"</a><br /> +<a href="#AN_OBJECT">AN OBJECT</a><br /> +<a href="#QUIES">QUIES</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_SEAFARER">THE SEAFARER</a><br /> +<a href="#I_E">ECHOES: I.</a><br /> +<a href="#E_II">ECHOES: II.</a><br /> +<a href="#AN_IMMORALITY">AN IMMORALITY</a><br /> +<a href="#DIEU_QUIL_LA_FAIT">DIEU! QU'IL LA FAIT</a><br /> +<a href="#SALVE_PONTIFEX">SALVE PONTIFEX</a><br /> +<a href="#DELTA-omega-rho-iota-alpha">Δώρια</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_NEEDLE">THE NEEDLE</a><br /> +<a href="#SUB_MARE">SUB MARE</a><br /> +<a href="#PLUNGE">PLUNGE</a><br /> +<a href="#A_VIRGINAL">A VIRGINAL</a><br /> +<a href="#PAN_IS_DEAD">PAN IS DEAD</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_PICTURE">THE PICTURE</a><br /> +<a href="#OF_JACOPO_DEL_SELLAIO">OF JACOPO DEL SELLAIO</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_RETURN">THE RETURN</a><br /> +<a href="#EFFECTS_OF_MUSIC_UPON_A_COMPANY_OF_PEOPLE">EFFECTS OF MUSIC UPON A COMPANY OF PEOPLE</a>——<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"><a href="#DEUX_MOVEMENTS">I. DEUX MOVEMENTS</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><a href="#FROM_A_THING_BY_SCHUMANN">II. FROM A THING BY SCHUMANN</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF T.E. HULME<br /> +<br /> +<a href="#PREFATORY_NOTE">PREFATORY NOTE</a><br /> +<a href="#AUTUMN">AUTUMN</a><br /> +<a href="#MANA_ABODA">MANA ABODA</a><br /> +<a href="#ABOVE_THE_DOCK">ABOVE THE DOCK</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_EMBANKMENT">THE EMBANKMENT</a><br /> +<a href="#CONVERSION">CONVERSION</a><br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<h4>RIPOSTES</h4> +<p style="margin-left: 25%;"> +<br /> +<a name="SILET" id="SILET"></a>SILET<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +When I behold how black, immortal ink<br /> +Drips from my deathless pen—ah, well-away!<br /> +Why should we stop at all for what I think?<br /> +There is enough in what I chance to say.<br /> +<br /> +It is enough that we once came together;<br /> +What is the use of setting it to rime?<br /> +When it is autumn do we get spring weather,<br /> +Or gather may of harsh northwindish time?<br /> +<br /> +It is enough that we once came together;<br /> +What if the wind have turned against the rain?<br /> +It is enough that we once came together;<br /> +Time has seen this, and will not turn again;<br /> +<br /> +And who are we, who know that last intent,<br /> +To plague to-morrow with a testament!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="IN_EXITUM_CUIUSDAM" id="IN_EXITUM_CUIUSDAM"></a>IN EXITUM CUIUSDAM<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em; font-size: 0.8em;"><i>On a certain one's departure</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"Time's bitter flood"! Oh, that's all very well,<br /> +But where's the old friend hasn't fallen off,<br /> +Or slacked his hand-grip when you first gripped fame?<br /> +<br /> +I know your circle and can fairly tell<br /> +What you have kept and what you've left behind:<br /> +I know my circle and know very well<br /> +How many faces I'd have out of mind.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="APPARUIT" id="APPARUIT"></a>APPARUIT<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Golden rose the house, in the portal I saw<br /> +thee, a marvel, carven in subtle stuff, a portent.<br /> +Life died down in the lamp and flickered,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">caught at the wonder.</span><br /> +<br /> +Crimson, frosty with dew, the roses bend where<br /> +thou afar moving in the glamorous sun<br /> +drinkst in life of earth, of the air, the tissue<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">golden about thee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Green the ways, the breath of the fields is thine there,<br /> +open lies the land, yet the steely going<br /> +darkly hast thou dared and the dreaded æther<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">parted before thee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Swift at courage thou in the shell of gold, casting<br /> +a-loose the cloak of the body, camest<br /> +straight, then shone thine oriel and the stunned light<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">faded about thee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Half the graven shoulder, the throat aflash with<br /> +strands of light inwoven about it, loveliest<br /> +of all things, frail alabaster, ah me!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">swift in departing,</span><br /> +<br /> +Clothed in goldish weft, delicately perfect,<br /> +gone as wind! The cloth of the magical hands!<br /> +Thou a slight thing, thou in access of cunning<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">dar'dst to assume this?</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_TOMB_AT_AKR_CAAR" id="THE_TOMB_AT_AKR_CAAR"></a>THE TOMB AT AKR ÇAAR<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"I am thy soul, Nikoptis. I have watched<br /> +These five millennia, and thy dead eyes<br /> +Moved not, nor ever answer my desire,<br /> +And thy light limbs, wherethrough I leapt aflame,<br /> +Burn not with me nor any saffron thing.<br /> +<br /> +See, the light grass sprang up to pillow thee,<br /> +And kissed thee with a myriad grassy tongues;<br /> +But not thou me.<br /> +<br /> +I have read out the gold upon the wall,<br /> +And wearied out my thought upon the signs.<br /> +And there is no new thing in all this place.<br /> +<br /> +I have been kind. See, I have left the jars sealed,<br /> +Lest thou shouldst wake and whimper for thy wine.<br /> +And all thy robes I have kept smooth on thee.<br /> +<br /> +O thou unmindful! How should I forget!<br /> +—Even the river many days ago,<br /> +The river, thou wast over young.<br /> +And three souls came upon Thee—<br /> +<br /> +And I came.<br /> +And I flowed in upon thee, beat them off;<br /> +I have been intimate with thee, known thy ways.<br /> +Have I not touched thy palms and finger-tips,<br /> +Flowed in, and through thee and about thy heels?<br /> +How 'came I in'? Was I not thee and Thee?<br /> +<br /> +And no sun comes to rest me in this place,<br /> +And I am torn against the jagged dark,<br /> +And no light beats upon me, and you say<br /> +No word, day after day.<br /> +<br /> +Oh! I could get me out, despite the marks<br /> +And all their crafty work upon the door,<br /> +Out through the glass-green fields....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +Yet it is quiet here:<br /> +I do not go."<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PORTRAIT_DUNE_FEMME" id="PORTRAIT_DUNE_FEMME"></a>PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,<br /> +London has swept about you this score years<br /> +And bright ships left you this or that in fee:<br /> +Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things,<br /> +Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price.<br /> +Great minds have sought you—lacking someone else.<br /> +You have been second always. Tragical?<br /> +No. You preferred it to the usual thing:<br /> +One dull man, dulling and uxorious,<br /> +One average mind—with one thought less, each year.<br /> +Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit<br /> +Hours, where something might have floated up.<br /> +And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay.<br /> +You are a person of some interest, one comes to you<br /> +And takes strange gain away:<br /> +Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion;<br /> +Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two,<br /> +Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else<br /> +That might prove useful and yet never proves,<br /> +That never fits a corner or shows use,<br /> +Or finds its hour upon the loom of days:<br /> +The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work;<br /> +Idols and ambergris and rare inlays,<br /> +These are your riches, your great store; and yet<br /> +For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things,<br /> +Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff:<br /> +In the slow float of differing light and deep,<br /> +No! there is nothing! In the whole and all,<br /> +Nothing that's quite your own.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Yet this is you.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="NY" id="NY"></a>N.Y.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +My City, my beloved, my white!<br /> +Ah, slender,<br /> +Listen! Listen to me, and I will breathe into thee a soul.<br /> +Delicately upon the reed, attend me!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Now do I know that I am mad,</i><br /> +<i>For here are a million people surly with traffic;</i><br /> +<i>This is no maid.</i><br /> +<i>Neither could I play upon any reed if I had one.</i><br /> +<br /> +My City, my beloved,<br /> +Thou art a maid with no breasts,<br /> +Thou art slender as a silver reed.<br /> +Listen to me, attend me!<br /> +And I will breathe into thee a soul,<br /> +And thou shalt live for ever.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="A_GIRL" id="A_GIRL"></a>A GIRL<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +The tree has entered my hands,<br /> +The sap has ascended my arms,<br /> +The tree has grown in my breast—<br /> +Downward,<br /> +The branches grow out of me, like arms.<br /> +<br /> +Tree you are,<br /> +Moss you are,<br /> +You are violets with wind above them.<br /> +A child—<i>so</i> high—you are,<br /> +And all this is folly to the world.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PHASELLUS_ILLE" id="PHASELLUS_ILLE"></a>"PHASELLUS ILLE"<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +This <i>papier-mâché</i>, which you see, my friends,<br /> +Saith 'twas the worthiest of editors.<br /> +Its mind was made up in "the seventies,"<br /> +Nor hath it ever since changed that concoction.<br /> +It works to represent that school of thought<br /> +Which brought the hair-cloth chair to such perfection,<br /> +Nor will the horrid threats of Bernard Shaw<br /> +Shake up the stagnant pool of its convictions;<br /> +Nay, should the deathless voice of all the world<br /> +Speak once again for its sole stimulation,<br /> +'Twould not move it one jot from left to right.<br /> +<br /> +Come Beauty barefoot from the Cyclades,<br /> +She'd find a model for St Anthony<br /> +In this thing's sure <i>decorum</i> and behaviour.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="AN_OBJECT" id="AN_OBJECT"></a>AN OBJECT<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +This thing, that hath a code and not a core,<br /> +Hath set acquaintance where might be affections,<br /> +And nothing now<br /> +Disturbeth his reflections.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="QUIES" id="QUIES"></a>QUIES<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +This is another of our ancient loves.<br /> +Pass and be silent, Rullus, for the day<br /> +Hath lacked a something since this lady passed;<br /> +Hath lacked a something. 'Twas but marginal.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_SEAFARER" id="THE_SEAFARER"></a>THE SEAFARER<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(<i>From the early Anglo-Saxon text</i>)</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +May I for my own self song's truth reckon,<br /> +Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days<br /> +Hardship endured oft.<br /> +Bitter breast-cares have I abided,<br /> +Known on my keel many a care's hold,<br /> +And dire sea-surge, and there I oft spent<br /> +Narrow nightwatch nigh the ship's head<br /> +While she tossed close to cliffs. Coldly afflicted,<br /> +My feet were by frost benumbed.<br /> +Chill its chains are; chafing sighs<br /> +Hew my heart round and hunger begot<br /> +Mere-weary mood. Lest man know not<br /> +That he on dry land loveliest liveth,<br /> +List how I, care-wretched, on ice-cold sea,<br /> +Weathered the winter, wretched outcast<br /> +Deprived of my kinsmen;<br /> +Hung with hard ice-flakes, where hail-scur flew,<br /> +There I heard naught save the harsh sea<br /> +And ice-cold wave, at whiles the swan cries,<br /> +Did for my games the gannet's clamour,<br /> +Sea-fowls' loudness was for me laughter,<br /> +The mews' singing all my mead-drink.<br /> +Storms, on the stone-cliffs beaten, fell on the stern<br /> +In icy feathers; full oft the eagle screamed<br /> +With spray on his pinion.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Not any protector</span><br /> +May make merry man faring needy.<br /> +This he little believes, who aye in winsome life<br /> +Abides 'mid burghers some heavy business,<br /> +Wealthy and wine-flushed, how I weary oft<br /> +Must bide above brine.<br /> +Neareth nightshade, snoweth from north,<br /> +Frost froze the land, hail fell on earth then<br /> +Corn of the coldest. Nathless there knocketh now<br /> +The heart's thought that I on high streams<br /> +The salt-wavy tumult traverse alone.<br /> +Moaneth alway my mind's lust<br /> +That I fare forth, that I afar hence<br /> +Seek out a foreign fastness.<br /> +For this there's no mood-lofty man over earth's midst,<br /> +Not though he be given his good, but will have in his youth greed;<br /> +Nor his deed to the daring, nor his king to the faithful<br /> +But shall have his sorrow for sea-fare<br /> +Whatever his lord will.<br /> +He hath not heart for harping, nor in ring-having<br /> +Nor winsomeness to wife, nor world's delight<br /> +Nor any whit else save the wave's slash,<br /> +Yet longing comes upon him to fare forth on the water.<br /> +Bosque taketh blossom, cometh beauty of berries,<br /> +Fields to fairness, land fares brisker,<br /> +All this admonisheth man eager of mood,<br /> +The heart turns to travel so that he then thinks<br /> +On flood-ways to be far departing.<br /> +Cuckoo calleth with gloomy crying,<br /> +He singeth summerward, bodeth sorrow,<br /> +The bitter heart's blood. Burgher knows not—<br /> +He the prosperous man—what some perform<br /> +Where wandering them widest draweth.<br /> +So that but now my heart burst from my breast-lock,<br /> +My mood 'mid the mere-flood,<br /> +Over the whale's acre, would wander wide.<br /> +On earth's shelter cometh oft to me,<br /> +Eager and ready, the crying lone-flyer,<br /> +Whets for the whale-path the heart irresistibly,<br /> +O'er tracks of ocean; seeing that anyhow<br /> +My lord deems to me this dead life<br /> +On loan and on land, I believe not<br /> +That any earth-weal eternal standeth<br /> +Save there be somewhat calamitous<br /> +That, ere a man's tide go, turn it to twain.<br /> +Disease or oldness or sword-hate<br /> +Beats out the breath from doom-gripped body.<br /> +And for this, every earl whatever, for those speaking after—<br /> +Laud of the living, boasteth some last word,<br /> +That he will work ere he pass onward,<br /> +Frame on the fair earth 'gainst foes his malice,<br /> +Daring ado,...<br /> +So that all men shall honour him after<br /> +And his laud beyond them remain 'mid the English,<br /> +Aye, for ever, a lasting life's-blast,<br /> +Delight mid the doughty.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Days little durable,</span><br /> +And all arrogance of earthen riches,<br /> +There come now no kings nor Cæsars<br /> +Nor gold-giving lords like those gone.<br /> +Howe'er in mirth most magnified,<br /> +Whoe'er lived in life most lordliest,<br /> +Drear all this excellence, delights undurable!<br /> +Waneth the watch, but the world holdeth.<br /> +Tomb hideth trouble. The blade is layed low.<br /> +Earthly glory ageth and seareth.<br /> +No man at all going the earth's gait,<br /> +But age fares against him, his face paleth,<br /> +Grey-haired he groaneth, knows gone companions,<br /> +Lordly men are to earth o'ergiven,<br /> +Nor may he then the flesh-cover, whose life ceaseth,<br /> +Nor eat the sweet nor feel the sorry,<br /> +Nor stir hand nor think in mid heart,<br /> +And though he strew the grave with gold,<br /> +His born brothers, their buried bodies<br /> +Be an unlikely treasure hoard.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +ECHOES<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="I_E" id="I_E"></a>I<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">GUIDO ORLANDO, SINGING</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Befits me praise thine empery,<br /> +Lady of Valour,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Past all disproving;</span><br /> +Thou art the flower to me—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nay, by Love's pallor—</span><br /> +Of all good loving.<br /> +<br /> +Worthy to reap men's praises<br /> +Is he who'd gaze upon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Truth's mazes.</span><br /> +In like commend is he,<br /> +Who, loving fixedly,<br /> +Love so refineth,<br /> +<br /> +Till thou alone art she<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In whom love's vested;</span><br /> +As branch hath fairest flower<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where fruit's suggested.</span><br /> +<br /> +This great joy comes to me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me observing</span><br /> +How swiftly thou hast power<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To pay my serving.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="II_E" id="II_E"></a>II<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Thou keep'st thy rose-leaf<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the rose-time will be over,</span><br /> +Think'st thou that Death will kiss thee?<br /> +Think'st thou that the Dark House<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will find thee such a lover</span><br /> +As I? Will the new roses miss thee?<br /> +<br /> +Prefer my cloak unto the cloak of dust<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Neath which the last year lies,</span><br /> +For thou shouldst more mistrust<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Time than my eyes.</span><br /> +</p> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Asclepiades, Julianus Ægyptus.</p></div> + +<p style="margin-left: 25%;"> +<br /> +<a name="AN_IMMORALITY" id="AN_IMMORALITY"></a>AN IMMORALITY<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Sing we for love and idleness,<br /> +Naught else is worth the having.<br /> +<br /> +Though I have been in many a land,<br /> +There is naught else in living.<br /> +<br /> +And I would rather have my sweet,<br /> +Though rose-leaves die of grieving,<br /> +<br /> +Than do high deeds in Hungary<br /> +To pass all men's believing.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="DIEU_QUIL_LA_FAIT" id="DIEU_QUIL_LA_FAIT"></a>DIEU! QU'IL LA FAIT<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em; font-size: 0.8em;"><i>From Charles D'Orleans</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em; font-size: 0.8em;"><i>For music</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +God! that mad'st her well regard her,<br /> +How she is so fair and bonny;<br /> +For the great charms that are upon her<br /> +Ready are all folk to reward her.<br /> +<br /> +Who could part him from her borders<br /> +When spells are alway renewed on her?<br /> +God! that mad'st her well regard her,<br /> +How she is so fair and bonny.<br /> +<br /> +From here to there to the sea's border,<br /> +Dame nor damsel there's not any<br /> +Hath of perfect charms so many.<br /> +Thoughts of her are of dream's order:<br /> +God! that mad'st her well regard her.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SALVE_PONTIFEX" id="SALVE_PONTIFEX"></a>SALVE PONTIFEX<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em; font-size: 0.8em;">(A.C.S.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +One after one they leave thee,<br /> +High Priest of Iacchus,<br /> +Intoning thy melodies as winds intone<br /> +The whisperings of leaves on sunlit days.<br /> +And the sands are many<br /> +And the seas beyond the sands are one<br /> +In ultimate, so we here being many<br /> +Are unity; nathless thy compeers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Knowing thy melody,</span><br /> +Lulled with the wine of thy music<br /> +Go seaward silently, leaving thee sentinel<br /> +O'er all the mysteries,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">High Priest of Iacchus.</span><br /> +For the lines of life lie under thy fingers,<br /> +And above the vari-coloured strands<br /> +Thine eyes look out unto the infinitude<br /> +Of the blue waves of heaven,<br /> +And even as Triplex Sisterhood<br /> +Thou fingerest the threads knowing neither<br /> +Cause nor the ending,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +Draw'st forth a multiplicity<br /> +Of strands, and, beholding<br /> +The colour thereof, raisest thy voice<br /> +Towards the sunset,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus!</span><br /> +And out of the secrets of the inmost mysteries<br /> +Thou chantest strange far-sourced canticles:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus!</span><br /> +Life and the ways of Death her<br /> +Twin-born sister, that is life's counterpart,<br /> +And of night and the winds of night;<br /> +Silent voices ministering to the souls<br /> +Of hamadryads that hold council concealèd<br /> +In streams and tree-shadowing<br /> +Forests on hill slopes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +All the manifold mystery<br /> +Thou makest a wine of song,<br /> +And maddest thy following even<br /> +With visions of great deeds<br /> +And their futility,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus!</span><br /> +Though thy co-novices are bent to the scythe<br /> +Of the magian wind that is voice of Persephone,<br /> +Leaving thee solitary, master of initiating<br /> +Mænads that come through the<br /> +Vine-entangled ways of the forest<br /> +Seeking, out of all the world,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Madness of Iacchus,</span><br /> +That being skilled in the secrets of the double cup<br /> +They might turn the dead of the world<br /> +Into pæans,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +Wreathed with the glory of thy years of creating<br /> +Entangled music,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Breathe!</span><br /> +Now that the evening cometh upon thee,<br /> +Breathe upon us, that low-bowed and exultant<br /> +Drink wine of Iacchus, that since the conquering<br /> +Hath been chiefly containèd in the numbers<br /> +Of them that, even as thou, have woven<br /> +Wicker baskets for grape clusters<br /> +Wherein is concealèd the source of the vintage,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +Breathe thou upon us<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Thy magic in parting!</span><br /> +Even as they thy co-novices,<br /> +At being mingled with the sea,<br /> +While yet thou madest thy canticles<br /> +Serving upright before the altar<br /> +That is bound about with shadows<br /> +Of dead years wherein thy Iacchus<br /> +Looked not upon the hills, that being<br /> +Uncared for, praised not him in entirety.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +Being now near to the border of the sands<br /> +Where the sapphire girdle of the sea<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Encinctureth the maiden</span><br /> +Persephone, released for the spring,<br /> +Look! Breathe upon us<br /> +The wonder of the thrice encinctured mystery<br /> +Whereby thou being full of years art young,<br /> +Loving even this lithe Persephone<br /> +That is free for the seasons of plenty;<br /> +Whereby thou being young art old<br /> +And shalt stand before this Persephone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whom thou lovest,</span><br /> +In darkness, even at that time<br /> +That she being returned to her husband<br /> +Shall be queen and a maiden no longer,<br /> +Wherein thou being neither old nor young<br /> +Standing on the verge of the sea<br /> +Shalt pass from being sand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +And becoming wave<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shalt encircle all sands,</span><br /> +Being transmuted through all<br /> +The girdling of the sea.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +Breathe thou upon us!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Note.</i>—This apostrophe was written three years<br /> +before Swinburne's death.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="DELTA-omega-rho-iota-alpha" id="DELTA-omega-rho-iota-alpha"></a>Δώρια<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Be in me as the eternal moods of the bleak wind, and not<br /> +As transient things are—gaiety of flowers.<br /> +Have me in the strong loneliness of sunless cliffs<br /> +And of grey waters.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Let the gods speak softly of us</span><br /> +In days hereafter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The shadowy flowers of Orcus</span><br /> +Remember Thee.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_NEEDLE" id="THE_NEEDLE"></a>THE NEEDLE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Come, or the stellar tide will slip away,<br /> +Eastward avoid the hour of its decline,<br /> +Now! for the needle trembles in my soul!<br /> +<br /> +Here have we had our vantage, the good hour.<br /> +Here we have had our day, your day and mine.<br /> +Come now, before this power<br /> +That bears us up, shall turn against the pole.<br /> +<br /> +Mock not the flood of stars, the thing's to be.<br /> +O Love, come now, this land turns evil slowly.<br /> +The waves bore in, soon will they bear away.<br /> +<br /> +The treasure is ours, make we fast land with it.<br /> +Move we and take the tide, with its next favour,<br /> +Abide<br /> +Under some neutral force<br /> +Until this course turneth aside.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SUB_MARE" id="SUB_MARE"></a>SUB MARE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +It is, and is not, I am sane enough,<br /> +Since you have come this place has hovered round me,<br /> +This fabrication built of autumn roses,<br /> +Then there's a goldish colour, different.<br /> +<br /> +And one gropes in these things as delicate<br /> +Algae reach up and out beneath<br /> +Pale slow green surgings of the under-wave,<br /> +'Mid these things older than the names they have,<br /> +These things that are familiars of the god.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PLUNGE" id="PLUNGE"></a>PLUNGE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I would bathe myself in strangeness:<br /> +These comforts heaped upon me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">smother me!</span><br /> +I burn, I scald so for the new,<br /> +New friends, new faces,<br /> +Places!<br /> +Oh to be out of this,<br /> +This that is all I wanted<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">—save the new.</span><br /> +And you,<br /> +Love, you the much, the more desired!<br /> +Do I not loathe all walls, streets, stones,<br /> +All mire, mist, all fog,<br /> +All ways of traffic?<br /> +You, I would have flow over me like water,<br /> +Oh, but far out of this!<br /> +Grass, and low fields, and hills,<br /> +And sun,<br /> +Oh, sun enough!<br /> +Out and alone, among some<br /> +Alien people!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="A_VIRGINAL" id="A_VIRGINAL"></a>A VIRGINAL<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately,<br /> +I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness,<br /> +For my surrounding air has a new lightness;<br /> +Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly<br /> +And left me cloaked as with a gauze of æther;<br /> +As with sweet leaves; as with a subtle clearness.<br /> +Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness<br /> +To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her.<br /> +<br /> +No, no! Go from me. I have still the flavour,<br /> +Soft as spring wind that's come from birchen bowers.<br /> +Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches,<br /> +As winter's wound with her sleight hand she staunches,<br /> +Hath of the tress a likeness of the savour:<br /> +As white their bark, so white this lady's hours.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PAN_IS_DEAD" id="PAN_IS_DEAD"></a>PAN IS DEAD<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Pan is dead. Great Pan is dead.<br /> +Ah! bow your heads, ye maidens all,<br /> +And weave ye him his coronal.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is no summer in the leaves,</span><br /> +And withered are the sedges;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How shall we weave a coronal,</span><br /> +Or gather floral pledges?<br /> +<br /> +That I may not say, Ladies.<br /> +Death was ever a churl.<br /> +That I may not say, Ladies.<br /> +How should he show a reason,<br /> +That he has taken our Lord away<br /> +Upon such hollow season?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_PICTURE" id="THE_PICTURE"></a>THE PICTURE<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +The eyes of this dead lady speak to me,<br /> +For here was love, was not to be drowned out,<br /> +And here desire, not to be kissed away.<br /> +<br /> +The eyes of this dead lady speak to me.<br /> +<br /> +</p> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_2"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> "Venus Reclining," by Jacopo del Sellaio<br /> +(1442-93).</p></div> +<p style="margin-left: 25%;"> +<a name="OF_JACOPO_DEL_SELLAIO" id="OF_JACOPO_DEL_SELLAIO"></a>OF JACOPO DEL SELLAIO<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +This man knew out the secret ways of love,<br /> +No man could paint such things who did not know.<br /> +<br /> +And now she's gone, who was his Cyprian,<br /> +And you are here, who are "The Isles" to me.<br /> +<br /> +And here's the thing that lasts the whole thing out:<br /> +The eyes of this dead lady speak to me.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_RETURN" id="THE_RETURN"></a>THE RETURN<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +See, they return; ah, see the tentative<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Movements, and the slow feet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The trouble in the pace and the uncertain</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wavering!</span><br /> +<br /> +See, they return, one, and by one,<br /> +With fear, as half-awakened;<br /> +As if the snow should hesitate<br /> +And murmur in the wind,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">and half turn back;</span><br /> +These were the "Wing'd-with-Awe,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Inviolable.</span><br /> +<br /> +Gods of the wingèd shoe!<br /> +With them the silver hounds,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">sniffing the trace of air!</span><br /> +<br /> +Haie! Haie!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These were the swift to harry;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These the keen-scented;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These were the souls of blood.</span><br /> +<br /> +Slow on the leash,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">pallid the leash-men.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="EFFECTS_OF_MUSIC_UPON_A_COMPANY_OF_PEOPLE" id="EFFECTS_OF_MUSIC_UPON_A_COMPANY_OF_PEOPLE"></a>EFFECTS OF MUSIC UPON A COMPANY OF PEOPLE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small"><a name="DEUX_MOVEMENTS" id="DEUX_MOVEMENTS"></a>DEUX MOVEMENTS</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">1. Temple qui fut</span>.<br /> +<span class="small">2. Poissons d'or.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +1<br /> +<br /> +A soul curls back,<br /> +Their souls like petals,<br /> +Thin, long, spiral,<br /> +Like those of a chrysanthemum curl<br /> +Smoke-like up and back from the<br /> +Vavicel, the calyx,<br /> +Pale green, pale gold, transparent,<br /> +Green of plasma, rose-white,<br /> +Spirate like smoke,<br /> +Curled,<br /> +Vibrating,<br /> +Slowly, waving slowly.<br /> +O Flower animate!<br /> +O calyx!<br /> +O crowd of foolish people!<br /> +<br /> +2<br /> +<br /> +The petals!<br /> +On the tip of each the figure<br /> +Delicate.<br /> +See, they dance, step to step.<br /> +Flora to festival,<br /> +Twine, bend, bow,<br /> +Frolic involve ye.<br /> +Woven the step,<br /> +Woven the tread, the moving.<br /> +Ribands they move,<br /> +Wave, bow to the centre.<br /> +Pause, rise, deepen in colour,<br /> +And fold in drowsily.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small"><a name="FROM_A_THING_BY_SCHUMANN" id="FROM_A_THING_BY_SCHUMANN"></a>FROM A THING BY SCHUMANN</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Breast high, floating and welling<br /> +Their soul, moving beneath the satin,<br /> +Plied the gold threads,<br /> +Pushed at the gauze above it.<br /> +The notes beat upon this,<br /> +Beat and indented it;<br /> +Rain dropped and came and fell upon this,<br /> +Hail and snow,<br /> +My sight gone in the flurry!<br /> +<br /> +And then across the white silken,<br /> +Bellied up, as a sail bellies to the wind,<br /> +Over the fluid tenuous, diaphanous,<br /> +Over this curled a wave, greenish,<br /> +Mounted and overwhelmed it.<br /> +This membrane floating above,<br /> +And bellied out by the up-pressing soul.<br /> +<br /> +Then came a mer-host,<br /> +And after them legion of Romans,<br /> +The usual, dull, theatrical!<br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 75%;" /> + +<h3>THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF T.E. HULME</h3> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h4><a name="PREFATORY_NOTE" id="PREFATORY_NOTE"></a>PREFATORY NOTE</h4> + + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;"> +In publishing his <i>Complete Poetical Works</i> +at thirty,<a name="FNanchor_1_3" id="FNanchor_1_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_3" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Mr Hulme has set an enviable +example to many of his contemporarieswho have had less to say.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;">They are reprinted here for good +fellowship; for good custom, a custom +out of Tuscany and of Provence; and +thirdly, for convenience, seeing their smallness +of bulk; and for good memory, +seeing that they recall certain evenings +and meetings of two years gone, dull +enough at the time, but rather pleasant +to look back upon.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;">As for the "School of Images," which +may or may not have existed, its principles +were not so interesting as those of the +"inherent dynamists" or of <i>Les Unanimistes</i>, +yet they were probably sounder +than those of a certain French school +which attempted to dispense with verbs +altogether; or of the Impressionists who +brought forth:</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;"> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Pink pigs blossoming upon the hillside";</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;">or of the Post-Impressionists who beseech +their ladies to let down slate-blue hair +over their raspberry-coloured flanks.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;"><i>Ardoise</i> rimed richly—ah, richly and rarely +rimed!—with <i>framboise</i>.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;">As for the future, <i>Les Imagistes</i>, the +descendants of the forgotten school of +1909, have that in their keeping.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;">I refrain from publishing my proposed +<i>Historical Memoir</i> of their forerunners, +because Mr Hulme has threatened to +print the original propaganda.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;">E.P.</p> + + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_3" id="Footnote_1_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_3"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Mr Pound has grossly exaggerated my age.—T.E.H.</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p style="margin-left: 25%;"><a name="AUTUMN" id="AUTUMN"></a>AUTUMN<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +A touch of cold in the Autumn night—<br /> +I walked abroad,<br /> +And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge<br /> +Like a red-faced farmer.<br /> +I did not stop to speak, but nodded,<br /> +And round about were the wistful stars<br /> +With white faces like town children.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="MANA_ABODA" id="MANA_ABODA"></a>MANA ABODA<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">Beauty is the marking-time, the stationary vibration,</span><br /> +<span class="small">the feigned ecstasy of an arrested impulse unable to</span><br /> +<span class="small">reach its natural end.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Mana Aboda, whose bent form<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sky in archèd circle is,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seems ever for an unknown grief to mourn.</span><br /> +Yet on a day I heard her cry:<br /> +"I weary of the roses and the singing poets—<br /> +Josephs all, not tall enough to try."<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ABOVE_THE_DOCK" id="ABOVE_THE_DOCK"></a>ABOVE THE DOCK<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Above the quiet dock in mid night,<br /> +Tangled in the tall mast's corded height,<br /> +Hangs the moon. What seemed so far away<br /> +Is but a child's balloon, forgotten after play.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_EMBANKMENT" id="THE_EMBANKMENT"></a>THE EMBANKMENT<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(The fantasia of a fallen gentleman</span><br /> +<span class="small">on a cold, bitter night.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy,<br /> +In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.<br /> +Now see I<br /> +That warmth's the very stuff of poesy.<br /> +Oh, God, make small<br /> +The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,<br /> +That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CONVERSION" id="CONVERSION"></a>CONVERSION +<br /> +<br /> +Lighthearted I walked into the valley wood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the time of hyacinths,</span><br /> +Till beauty like a scented cloth<br /> +Cast over, stifled me. I was bound<br /> +Motionless and faint of breath<br /> +By loveliness that is her own eunuch.<br /> +<br /> +Now pass I to the final river<br /> +Ignominiously, in a sack, without sound,<br /> +As any peeping Turk to the Bosphorus.<br /> +</p> +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h5>FINIS</h5> + + + + + + + + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 39783 ***</div> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..09e6cc9 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #39783 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39783) diff --git a/old/39783-8.txt b/old/39783-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f01f005 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/39783-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3412 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Canzoni & Ripostes, by Ezra Pound and T.E. Hulme + +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/license + + +Title: Canzoni & Ripostes + Whereto are appended the Complete Poetical Works of T.E. Hulme + +Author: Ezra Pound + T.E. Hulme + +Release Date: May 24, 2012 [EBook #39783] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANZONI & RIPOSTES *** + + + + +Produced by Andrea Ball & Marc D'Hooghe at +http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made +available by the Internet Archive) + + + + + +CANZONI & RIPOSTES + +OF + +EZRA POUND + + +WHERETO ARE APPENDED THE + +COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF + +T.E. HULME + + +LONDON + +ELKIN MATHEWS, CORK STREET + +M CM XIII + + + + +CANZONI + +TO + +OLIVIA AND DOROTHY SHAKESPEAR + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CANZON: THE YEARLY SLAIN + CANZON: THE SPEAR + CANZON: TO BE SUNG BENEATH A WINDOW + CANZON: OF INCENSE + CANZONE: OF ANGELS + TO OUR LADY OF VICARIOUS ATONEMENT + TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI + SONNET IN TENZONE + SONNET: CHI QUESTA? + BALLATA, FRAGMENT + CANZON: THE VISION + OCTAVE + SONNET: THE TALLY-BOARD + BALLATETTA + MADRIGALE + ERA MEA + THRENOS + THE TREE + PARACELSUS IN EXCELSIS + DE AEGYPTO + LI BEL CHASTEUS + PRAYER FOR HIS LADY'S LIFE (FROM PROPERTIUS) + PSYCHE OF EROS + "BLANDULA, TENULLA, VAGULA" + ERAT HORA + EPIGRAMS. I. + II. (THE SEA OF GLASS) + LA NUVOLETTA + ROSA SEMPITERNA + THE GOLDEN SESTINA + ROME (FROM DU BELLAY) + HER IMAGE (FROM LEOPARDI) + VICTORIAN ECLOGUES. I. + II. SATIEMUS + III. ABELARD + A PROLOGUE + MAESTRO DI TOCAR + ARIA + L'ART + SONG IN THE MANNER OF HOUSMAN + HEINE, TRANSLATIONS FROM + UND DRANG + + + + +CANZONI + + + + CANZON: THE YEARLY SLAIN + + (WRITTEN IN REPLY TO MANNING'S "KOR.") + + + + "Et huiusmodi stantiae usus est fere in omnibus + cantionibus suis Arnaldus Danielis et nos eum secuti + sumus." + DANTE, _De Vulgari Eloquio_, II. 10. + + + + + + I + + Ah! red-leafed time hath driven out the rose + And crimson dew is fallen on the leaf + Ere ever yet the cold white wheat be sown + That hideth all earth's green and sere and red; + The Moon-flower's fallen and the branch is bare, + Holding no honey for the starry bees; + The Maiden turns to her dark lord's demesne. + + II + + Fairer than Enna's field when Ceres sows + The stars of hyacinth and puts off grief, + Fairer than petals on May morning blown + Through apple-orchards where the sun hath shed + His brighter petals down to make them fair; + Fairer than these the Poppy-crowned One flees, + And Joy goes weeping in her scarlet train. + + III + + The faint damp wind that, ere the even, blows + Piling the west with many a tawny sheaf, + Then when the last glad wavering hours are mown + Sigheth and dies because the day is sped; + This wind is like her and the listless air + Wherewith she goeth by beneath the trees, + The trees that mock her with their scarlet stain. + + IV + + Love that is born of Time and comes and goes! + Love that doth hold all noble hearts in fief! + As red leaves follow where the wind hath flown, + So all men follow Love when Love is dead. + O Fate of Wind! O Wind that cannot spare, + But drivest out the Maid, and pourest lees + Of all thy crimson on the wold again, + + V + + Kor my heart is, let it stand sans gloze! + Love's pain is long, and lo, love's joy is brief! + My heart erst alway sweet is bitter grown; + As crimson ruleth in the good green's stead, + So grief hath taken all mine old joy's share + And driven forth my solace and all ease + Where pleasure bows to all-usurping pain. + + VI + + Crimson the hearth where one last ember glows! + My heart's new winter hath no such relief, + Nor thought of Spring whose blossom he hath known + Hath turned him back where Spring is banished. + Barren the heart and dead the fires there, + Blow! O ye ashes, where the winds shall please, + But cry, "Love also is the Yearly Slain." + + VII + + Be sped, my Canzon, through the bitter air! + To him who speaketh words as fair as these, + Say that I also know the "Yearly Slain." + + + + CANZON: THE SPEAR + + + I + + 'Tis the clear light of love I praise + That steadfast gloweth o'er deep waters, + A clarity that gleams always. + Though man's soul pass through troubled waters, + Strange ways to him are opend. + To shore the beaten ship is sped + If only love of light give aid. + + II + + That fair far spear of light now lays + Its long gold shaft upon the waters. + Ah! might I pass upon its rays + To where it gleams beyond the waters, + Or might my troubled heart be fed + Upon the frail clear light there shed, + Then were my pain at last allay'd. + + III + + Although the clouded storm dismays + Many a heart upon these waters, + The thought of that far golden blaze + Giveth me heart upon the waters, + Thinking thereof my bark is led + To port wherein no storm I dread; + No tempest maketh me afraid. + + IV + + Yet when within my heart I gaze + Upon my fair beyond the waters, + Meseems my soul within me prays + To pass straightway beyond the waters. + Though I be alway banished + From ways and woods that she doth tread, + One thing there is that doth not fade, + + V + + Deep in my heart that spear-print stays, + That wound I gat beyond the waters, + Deeper with passage of the days + That pass as swift and bitter waters, + While a dull fire within my head + Moveth itself if word be said + Which hath concern with that far maid. + + VI + + My love is lovelier than the sprays + Of eglantine above clear waters, + Or whitest lilies that upraise + Their heads in midst of moated waters. + No poppy in the May-glad mead + Would match her quivering lips' red + If 'gainst her lips it should be laid. + + VII + + The light within her eyes, which slays + Base thoughts and stilleth troubled waters, + Is like the gold where sunlight plays + Upon the still o'ershadowed waters. + When anger is there mingled + There comes a keener gleam instead, + Like flame that burns beneath thin jade. + + VIII + + Know by the words here mingled + What love hath made my heart his stead, + Glowing like flame beneath thin jade. + + + + CANZON + + TO BE SUNG BENEATH A WINDOW + + + I + + Heart mine, art mine, whose embraces + Clasp but wind that past thee bloweth + E'en this air so subtly gloweth, + Guerdoned by thy sun-gold traces, + That my heart is half afraid + For the fragrance on him laid; + Even so love's might amazes! + + II + + Man's love follows many faces, + My love only one face knoweth; + Towards thee only my love floweth, + And outstrips the swift stream's paces. + Were this love well here displayed, + As flame flameth 'neath thin jade + Love should glow through these my phrases. + + III + + Though I've roamed through many places, + None there is that my heart troweth + Fair as that wherein fair groweth + One whose laud here interlaces + Tuneful words, that I've essayed. + Let this tune be gently played + Which my voice herward upraises. + + IV + + If my praise her grace effaces, + Then 'tis not my heart that showeth, + But the skilless tongue that soweth + Words unworthy of her graces. + Tongue, that hath me so betrayed, + Were my heart but here displayed, + Then were sung her fitting praises. + + + + CANZON: OF INCENSE + + + I + + Thy gracious ways, + O Lady of my heart, have + O'er all my thought their golden glamour cast; + As amber torch-flames, where strange men-at-arms + Tread softly 'neath the damask shield of night, + Rise from the flowing steel in part reflected, + So on my mailed thought that with thee goeth, + Though dark the way, a golden glamour falleth. + + II + + The censer sways + And glowing coals some art have + To free what frankincense before held fast + Till all the summer of the eastern farms + Doth dim the sense, and dream up through the light, + As memory, by new-born love corrected-- + With savour such as only new love knoweth-- + Through swift dim ways the hidden pasts recalleth. + + III + + On barren days, + At hours when I, apart, have + Bent low in thought of the great charm thou hast, + Behold with music's many-stringed charms + The silence groweth thou. O rare delight! + The melody upon clear strings inflected + Were dull when o'er taut sense thy presence floweth, + With quivering notes' accord that never palleth. + + IV + + The glowing rays + That from the low sun dart, have + Turned gold each tower and every towering mast; + The saffron flame, that flaming nothing harms + Hides Khadeeth's pearl and all the sapphire might + Of burnished waves, before her gates collected: + The cloak of graciousness, that round thee gloweth, + Doth hide the thing thou art, as here befalleth. + + V + + All things worth praise + That unto Khadeeth's mart have + From far been brought through perils over-passed, + All santal, myrrh, and spikenard that disarms + The pard's swift anger; these would weigh but light + 'Gainst thy delights, my Khadeeth! Whence protected + By naught save her great grace that in him showeth, + My song goes forth and on her mercy calleth. + + VI + + O censer of the thought that golden gloweth, + Be bright before her when the evening falleth. + + VII + + Fragrant be thou as a new field one moweth, + O song of mine that "Hers" her mercy calleth. + + + + CANZONE: OF ANGELS + + + I + + He that is Lord of all the realms of light + Hath unto me from His magnificence + Granted such vision as hath wrought my joy. + Moving my spirit past the last defence + That shieldeth mortal things from mightier sight, + Where freedom of the soul knows no alloy, + I saw what forms the lordly powers employ; + Three splendours, saw I, of high holiness, + From clarity to clarity ascending + Through all the roofless, tacit courts extending + In aether which such subtle light doth bless + As ne'er the candles of the stars hath wooed; + Know ye herefrom of their similitude. + + II + + Withdrawn within the cavern of his wings, + Grave with the joy of thoughts beneficent, + And finely wrought and durable and clear, + If so his eyes showed forth the mind's content, + So sate the first to whom remembrance clings, + Tissued like bat's wings did his wings appear, + Not of that shadowy colouring and drear, + But as thin shells, pale saffron, luminous; + Alone, unlonely, whose calm glances shed + Friend's love to strangers though no word were said, + Pensive his godly state he keepeth thus. + Not with his surfaces his power endeth, + But is as flame that from the gem extendeth. + + III + + My second marvel stood not in such ease, + But he, the cloudy pinioned, winged him on + Then from my sight as now from memory, + The courier aquiline, so swiftly gone! + The third most glorious of these majesties + Give aid, O sapphires of th' eternal see, + And by your light illume pure verity. + That azure feldspar hight the microcline, + Or, on its wing, the Menelaus weareth + Such subtlety of shimmering as beareth + This marvel onward through the crystalline, + A splendid calyx that about her gloweth, + Smiting the sunlight on whose ray she goeth. + + IV + + The diver at Sorrento from beneath + The vitreous indigo, who swiftly riseth, + By will and not by action as it seemeth, + Moves not more smoothly, and no thought surmiseth + How she takes motion from the lustrous sheath + Which, as the trace behind the swimmer, gleameth + Yet presseth back the aether where it streameth. + To her whom it adorns this sheath imparteth + The living motion from the light surrounding; + And thus my nobler parts, to grief's confounding, + Impart into my heart a peace which starteth + From one round whom a graciousness is cast + Which clingeth in the air where she hath past. + + V--TORNATA + + Canzon, to her whose spirit seems in sooth + Akin unto the feldspar, since it is + So clear and subtle and azure, I send thee, saying: + That since I looked upon such potencies + And glories as are here inscribed in truth, + New boldness hath o'erthrown my long delaying, + And that thy words my new-born powers obeying-- + Voices at last to voice my heart's long mood-- + Are come to greet her in their amplitude. + + + + TO OUR LADY OF VICARIOUS ATONEMENT + + (BALLATA) + + + I + + Who are you that the whole world's song + Is shaken out beneath your feet + Leaving you comfortless, + Who, that, as wheat + Is garnered, gather in + The blades of man's sin + And bear that sheaf? + Lady of wrong and grief, + Blameless! + + II + + All souls beneath the gloom + That pass with little flames, + All these till time be run + Pass one by one + As Christs to save, and die; + What wrong one sowed, + Behold, another reaps! + Where lips awake our joy + The sad heart sleeps + Within. + + No man doth bear his sin, + But many sins + Are gathered as a cloud about man's way. + + + + TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI + + + Dante and I are come to learn of thee, + Ser Guido of Florence, master of us all, + Love, who hath set his hand upon us three, + Bidding us twain upon thy glory call. + Harsh light hath rent from us the golden pall + Of that frail sleep, _His_ first light seigniory, + And we are come through all the modes that fall + Unto their lot who meet him constantly. + Wherefore, by right, in this Lord's name we greet thee, + Seeing we labour at his labour daily. + Thou, who dost know what way swift words are crossed + O thou, who hast sung till none at song defeat thee, + Grant! by thy might and hers of San Michele, + Thy risen voice send flames this pentecost. + + + + SONNET IN TENZONE + + + LA MENTE + + "O Thou mocked heart that cowerest by the door + And durst not honour hope with welcoming, + How shall one bid thee for her honour sing, + When song would but show forth thy sorrow's store? + What things are gold and ivory unto thee? + Go forth, thou pauper fool! Are these for naught? + Is heaven in lotus leaves? What hast thou wrought, + Or brought, or sought, wherewith to pay the fee?" + + + IL CUORE + + "If naught I give, naught do I take return. + '_Ronsard me celebroit!_' behold I give + The age-old, age-old fare to fairer fair + And I fare forth into more bitter air; + Though mocked I go, yet shall her beauty live + Till rimes unrime and Truth shall truth unlearn." + + + + SONNET: CHI QUESTA? + + + Who is she coming, that the roses bend + Their shameless heads to do her passing honour? + Who is she coming with a light upon her + Not born of suns that with the day's end end? + Say is it Love who hath chosen the nobler part? + Say is it Love, that was divinity, + Who hath left his godhead that his home might be + The shameless rose of her unclouded heart? + If this be Love, where hath he won such grace? + If this be Love, how is the evil wrought, + That all men write against his darkened name? + If this be Love, if this ... + O mind give place! + What holy mystery e'er was noosed in thought? + Own that thou scan'st her not, nor count it shame! + + + + BALLATA, FRAGMENT + + + II + + Full well thou knowest, song, what grace I mean, + E'en as thou know'st the sunlight I have lost. + Thou knowest the way of it and know'st the sheen + About her brows where the rays are bound and crossed, + E'en as thou knowest joy and know'st joy's bitter cost. + Thou know'st her grace in moving, + Thou dost her skill in loving, + Thou know'st what truth she proveth, + Thou knowest the heart she moveth, + O song where grief assoneth! + + + + CANZON: THE VISION + + + I + + When first I saw thee 'neath the silver mist, + Ruling thy bark of painted sandal-wood, + Did any know thee? By the golden sails + That clasped the ribbands of that azure sea, + Did any know thee save my heart alone? + O ivory woman with thy bands of gold, + Answer the song my luth and I have brought thee! + + II + + Dream over golden dream that secret cist, + Thy heart, O heart of me, doth hold, and mood + On mood of silver, when the day's light fails, + Say who hath touched the secret heart of thee, + Or who hath known what my heart hath not known + O slender pilot whom the mists enfold, + Answer the song my luth and I have wrought thee! + + III + + When new love plucks the falcon from his wrist, + And cuts the gyve and casts the scarlet hood, + Where is the heron heart whom flight avails? + O quick to prize me Love, how suddenly + From out the tumult truth has ta'en his own, + And in this vision is our past unrolled. + Lo! With a hawk of light thy love hath caught me. + + IV + + And I shall get no peace from eucharist, + Nor doling out strange prayers before the rood, + To match the peace that thine hands' touch entails; + Nor doth God's light match light shed over me + When thy caught sunlight is about me thrown, + Oh, for the very ruth thine eyes have told, + Answer the rune this love of thee hath taught me. + + V + + After an age of longing had we missed + Our meeting and the dream, what were the good + Of weaving cloth of words? Were jewelled tales + An opiate meet to quell the malady + Of life unlived? In untried monotone + Were not the earth as vain, and dry, and old, + For thee, O Perfect Light, had I not sought thee? + + VI + + Calais, in song where word and tone keep tryst + Behold my heart, and hear mine hardihood! + Calais, the wind is come and heaven pales + And trembles for the love of day to be. + Calais, the words break and the dawn is shown. + Ah, but the stars set when thou wast first bold, + Turn! lest they say a lesser light distraught thee. + + VII + + O ivory thou, the golden scythe hath mown + Night's stubble and my joy. Thou royal souled, + Favour the quest! Lo, Truth and I have sought thee + + + + OCTAVE + + + Fine songs, fair songs, these golden usuries + A Her beauty earns as but just increment, + And they do speak with a most ill intent + Who say they give when they pay debtor's fees. + + I call him bankrupt in the courts of song + Who hath her gold to eye and pays her not, + Defaulter do I call the knave who hath got + Her silver in his heart, and doth her wrong. + + + + SONNET + + + If on the tally-board of wasted days + They daily write me for proud idleness, + Let high Hell summons me, and I confess, + No overt act the preferred charge allays. + + To-day I thought--what boots it what I thought? + Poppies and gold! Why should I blurt it out? + Or hawk the magic of her name about + Deaf doors and dungeons where no truth is bought? + + Who calls me idle? I have thought of her. + Who calls me idle? By God's truth I've seen + The arrowy sunlight in her golden snares. + + Let him among you all stand summonser + Who hath done better things! Let whoso hath been + With worthier works concerned, display his wares! + + + + BALLATETTA + + + The light became her grace and dwelt among + Blind eyes and shadows that are formed as men + Lo, how the light doth melt us into song: + + The broken sunlight for a healm she beareth + Who hath my heart in jurisdiction. + In wild-wood never fawn nor fallow fareth + So silent light; no gossamer is spun + So delicate as she is, when the sun + Drives the clear emeralds from the bended grasses + Lest they should parch too swiftly, where she passes. + + + + MADRIGALE + + + Clear is my love but shadowed + By the spun gold above her, + Ah, what a petal those bent sheaths discover! + + _The olive wood hath hidden her completely._ + _She was gowned that discreetly_ + _The leaves and shadows concealed her completely._ + + Fair is my love but followed + In all her goings surely + By gracious thoughts, she goeth so demurely. + + + + ERA MEA + + + Era mea + In qua terra + Dulce myrti floribus, + Rosa amoris + Via erroris + Ad te coram + Veniam? + + + ANGLIC REDDITA + + Mistress mine, in what far land, + Where the myrtle bloweth sweet + Shall I weary with my way-fare, + Win to thee that art as day fair, + Lay my roses at thy feet? + + + + THRENOS + + + No more for us the little sighing, + No more the winds at twilight trouble us. + + Lo the fair dead! + + No more do I burn. + No more for us the fluttering of wings + That whirred in the air above us. + + Lo the fair dead! + + No more desire flayeth me, + No more for us the trembling + At the meeting of hands. + + Lo the fair dead! + + No more for us the wine of the lips, + No more for us the knowledge. + + Lo the fair dead! + + No more the torrent, + No more for us the meeting-place + (Lo the fair dead!) + Tintagoel. + + + + THE TREE + + + I stood still and was a tree amid the wood, + Knowing the truth of things unseen before; + Of Daphne and the laurel bow + And that god-feasting couple old + That grew elm-oak amid the wold. + 'Twas not until the gods had been + Kindly entreated, and been brought within + Unto the hearth of their heart's home + That they might do this wonder thing; + Nathless I have been a tree amid the wood + And many a new thing understood + That was rank folly to my head before. + + + + PARACELSUS IN EXCELSIS + + + "Being no longer human why should I + Pretend humanity or don the frail attire? + Men have I known, and men, but never one + Was grown so free an essence, or become + So simply element as what I am. + The mist goes from the mirror and I see! + Behold! the world of forms is swept beneath-- + Turmoil grown visible beneath our peace, + And we, that are grown formless, rise above-- + Fluids intangible that have been men, + We seem as statues round whose high-risen base + Some overflowing river is run mad, + In us alone the element of calm!" + + + + DE AEGYPTO + + + I even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + I have beheld the Lady of Life, + I, even I, who fly with the swallows. + + Green and gray is her raiment, + Trailing along the wind. + + I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + Manus animam pinxit, + My pen is in my hand + + To write the acceptable word.... + My mouth to chant the pure singing! + + Who hath the mouth to receive it, + The song of the Lotus of Kumi? + + I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + I am flame that riseth in the sun, + I, even I, who fly with the swallows. + + The moon is upon my forehead, + The winds are under my lips. + + The moon is a great pearl in the waters of sapphire, + Cool to my fingers the flowing waters. + + I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + I will return to the halls of the flowing, + Of the truth of the children of Ashu. + + I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Of the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + + + LI BEL CHASTEUS + + + That castle stands the highest in the land + Far seen and mighty. Of the great hewn stones + What shall I say? And deep foss way + That far beneath us bore of old + A swelling turbid sea + Hill-born and tumultuous + Unto the fields below, where + Staunch villein and + Burgher held the land and tilled + Long labouring for gold of wheat grain + And to see the beards come forth + For barley's even time. + + But archd high above the curl of life + We dwelt amid the ancient boulders, + Gods had hewn and druids turned + Unto that birth most wondrous, that had grown + A mighty fortress while the world had slept, + And we awaited in the shadows there + When mighty hands had laboured sightlessly + And shaped this wonder 'bove the ways of men. + Me seems we could not see the great green waves + Nor rocky shore by Tintagoel + From this our hold, + But came faint murmuring as undersong, + E'en as the burghers' hum arose + And died as faint wind melody + Beneath our gates. + + + + PRAYER FOR HIS LADY'S LIFE + + FROM PROPERTIUS, ELEGIAE, LIB. III, 26 + + + Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm, + Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness. + So many thousand beauties are gone down to Avernus + Ye might let one remain above with us. + + With you is Iope, with you the white-gleaming Tyro, + With you is Europa and the shameless Pasiphae, + And all the fair from Troy and all from Achaia, + From the sundered realms, of Thebes and of aged Priamus; + And all the maidens of Rome, as many as they were, + They died and the greed of your flame consumes them. + + _Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm,_ + _Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness._ + _So many thousand fair are gone down to Avernus,_ + _Ye might let one remain above with us._ + + + + SPEECH FOR PSYCHE IN THE GOLDEN BOOK OF APULEIUS + + + All night, and as the wind lieth among + The cypress trees, he lay, + Nor held me save as air that brusheth by one + Close, and as the petals of flowers in falling + Waver and seem not drawn to earth, so he + Seemed over me to hover light as leaves + And closer me than air, + And music flowing through me seemed to open + Mine eyes upon new colours. + O winds, what wind can match the weight of him! + + + + "BLANDULA, TENULLA, VAGULA." + + + What hast thou, O my soul, with paradise? + Will we not rather, when our freedom's won, + Get us to some clear place wherein the sun + Lets drift in on us through the olive leaves + A liquid glory? If at Sirmio + My soul, I meet thee, when this life's outrun, + Will we not find some headland consecrated + By aery apostles of terrene delight, + Will not our cult be founded on the waves, + Clear sapphire, cobalt, cyanine, + On triune azures, the impalpable + Mirrors unstill of the eternal change? + + Soul, if She meet us there, will any rumour + Of havens more high and courts desirable + Lure us beyond the cloudy peak of Riva? + + + + ERAT HORA + + + "Thank you, whatever comes." And then she turned + And, as the ray of sun on hanging flowers + Fades when the wind hath lifted them aside, + Went swiftly from me. Nay, whatever comes + One hour was sunlit and the most high gods + May not make boast of any better thing + Than to have watched that hour as it passed. + + + + EPIGRAMS + + + I + + O ivory, delicate hands! + O face that hovers + Between "To-come" and "Was," + Ivory thou wast, + A rose thou wilt be. + + II + + (THE SEA OF GLASS) + + I looked and saw a sea + roofed over with rainbows, + In the midst of each + two lovers met and departed; + Then the sky was full of faces + with gold glories behind them. + + + + + LA NUVOLETTA + + Dante to an unknown lady, beseeching her not to + interrupt his cult of the dead Beatrice. From "Il + Canzoniere," Ballata II. + + + Ah little cloud that in Love's shadow lief + Upon mine eyes so suddenly alightest, + Take some faint pity on the heart thou smitest + That hopes in thee, desires, dies, in brief. + + Ah little cloud of more than human fashion + Thou settest a flame within my mind's mid space + With thy deathly speech that grieveth; + + Then as a fiery spirit in thy ways + Createst hope, in part a rightful passion, + Yet where thy sweet smile giveth + His grace, look not! For in Her my faith liveth. + + Think on my high desire whose flame's so great + That nigh a thousand who were come too late, + Have felt the torment of another's grief. + + + + ROSA SEMPITERNA + + + A rose I set within my "Paradise" + Lo how his red is turned to yellowness, + Not withered but grown old in subtler wise + Between the empaged rime's high holiness + Where Dante sings of that rose's device + Which yellow is, with souls in blissfulness. + Rose whom I set within my paradise, + Donor of roses and of parching sighs, + Of golden lights and dark unhappiness, + Of hidden chains and silvery joyousness, + Hear how thy rose within my Dante lies, + O rose I set within my paradise. + + + + THE GOLDEN SESTINA + + FROM THE ITALIAN OF PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA + + + In the bright season when He, most high Jove, + From welkin reaching down his glorying hand, + Decks the Great Mother and her changing face, + Clothing her not with scarlet skeins and gold + But with th' empurpling flowers and gay grass, + When the young year renewed, renews the sun, + + When, then, I see a lady like the sun, + One fashioned by th' high hand of utmost Jove, + So fair beneath the myrtles on gay grass + Who holdeth Love and Truth, one by each hand, + It seems, if I look straight, two bands of gold + Do make more fair her delicate fair face. + + Though eyes are dazzled, looking on her face + As all sight faileth that looks toward the sun, + New metamorphoses, to rained gold, + Or bulls or whitest swans, might fall on Jove + Through her, or Phoebus, his bag-pipes in hand, + Might, mid the droves, come barefoot o'er our grass, + + Alas, that there was hidden in the grass + A cruel shaft, the which, to wound my face, + My Lady took in her own proper hand. + If I could not defend me 'gainst that sun + I take no shame, for even utmost Jove + Is in high heaven pierced with darts of gold. + + Behold the green shall find itself turned gold + And spring shall be without her flowers and grass, + And hell's deep be the dwelling place of Jove + Ere I shall have uncarved her holy face + From my heart's midst, where 'tis both Sun and sun + And yet she beareth me such hostile hand! + + O sweet and holy and O most light hand, + O intermingled ivory and gold, + O mortal goddess and terrestrial sun + Who comest not to foster meadow grass, + But to show heaven by a likened face + Wert sent amongst us by th' exalted Jove, + + I still pray Jove that he permit no grass + To cover o'er thy hands, thy face, thy gold + For heaven's sufficed with a single sun. + + + + ROME + + FROM THE FRENCH OF JOACHIM DU BELLAY + + "Troica Roma resurges." + PROPERTIUS. + + + O thou new comer who seek'st Rome in Rome + And find'st in Rome no thing thou canst call Roman; + Arches worn old and palaces made common, + Rome's name alone within these walls keeps home. + + Behold how pride and ruin can befall + One who hath set the whole world 'neath her laws, + All-conquering, now conquered, because + She is Time's prey and Time consumeth all. + + Rome that art Rome's one sole last monument, + Rome that alone hast conquered Rome the town, + Tiber alone, transient and seaward bent, + Remains of Rome. O world, thou unconstant mime! + That which stands firm in thee Time batters down, + And that which fleeteth doth outrun swift time. + + + + HER MONUMENT, THE IMAGE CUT THEREON + + FROM THE ITALIAN OF LEOPARDI + + (Written 1831-3 circa) + + + Such wast thou, + Who art now + But buried dust and rusted skeleton. + Above the bones and mire, + Motionless, placed in vain, + Mute mirror of the flight of speeding years, + Sole guard of grief + Sole guard of memory + Standeth this image of the beauty sped. + + O glance, when thou wast still as thou art now, + How hast thou set the fire + A-tremble in men's veins; O lip curved high + To mind me of some urn of full delight, + O throat girt round of old with swift desire, + O palms of Love, that in your wonted ways + Not once but many a day + Felt hands turn ice a-sudden, touching ye, + That ye were once! of all the grace ye had + That which remaineth now + Shameful, most sad + Finds 'neath this rock fit mould, fit resting place! + + And still when fate recalleth, + Even that semblance that appears amongst us + Is like to heaven's most 'live imagining. + All, all our life's eternal mystery! + To-day, on high + Mounts, from our mighty thoughts and from the fount + Of sense untellable, Beauty + That seems to be some quivering splendour cast + By the immortal nature on this quicksand, + And by surhuman fates + Given to mortal state + To be a sign and an hope made secure + Of blissful kingdoms and the aureate spheres; + And on the morrow, by some lightsome twist, + Shameful in sight, abject, abominable + All this angelic aspect can return + And be but what it was + With all the admirable concepts that moved from it + Swept from the mind with it in its departure. + + Infinite things desired, lofty visions + 'Got on desirous thought by natural virtue, + And the wise concord, whence through delicious seas + The arcane spirit of the whole Mankind + Turns hardy pilot ... and if one wrong note + Strike the tympanum, + Instantly + That paradise is hurled to nothingness. + + O mortal nature, + If thou art + Frail and so vile in all, + How canst thou reach so high with thy poor sense; + Yet if thou art + Noble in any part + How is the noblest of thy speech and thought + So lightly wrought + Or to such base occasion lit and quenched? + + + + + VICTORIAN ECLOGUES + + + + I + + EXCUSES + + + Ah would you turn me back now from the flowers, + You who are different as the air from sea is, + Ah for the pollen from our wreath of hours, + You who are magical, not mine as she is, + Say will you call us from our time of flowers? + + You whom I loved and love, not understanding, + Yea we were ever torn with constant striving, + Seeing our gods are different, and commanding + One good from them, and in my heart reviving + Old discords and bent thought, not understanding. + + We who have wept, we who have lain together + Upon the green and sere and white of every season, + We who have loved the sun but for the weather + Of our own hearts have found no constant reason, + What is your part, now we have come together? + + What is your pain, Dear, what is your heart now + A little sad, a little.... Nay, I know not + Seeing I never had and have no part now + In your own secret councils wherein blow not + My roses. My vineyard being another heart now? + + You who were ever dear and dearer being strange, + How shall I "go" who never came anear you? + How could I stay, who never came in range + Of anything that halved; could never hear you + Rightly in your silence; nay, your very speech was strange. + + You, who have loved not what I was or will be, + You who but loved me for a thing I could be, + You who love not a song whate'er its skill be + But only love the cause or what cause should be, + How could I give you what I am or will be? + + Nay, though your eyes are sad, you will not hinder, + You, who would have had me only near not nearer, + Nay though my heart had burned to a bright cinder + Love would have said to me: "Still fear her, + Pain is thy lot and naught she hath can hinder," + + So I, for this sad gladness that is mine now, + Who never spoke aright in speaking to you, + Uncomprehending anything that's thine now, + E'en in my spoken words more wrong may do you + In looking back from this new grace that's mine now. + + _Sic semper finis deest._ + + + + II + + SATIEMUS + + + What if I know thy speeches word by word? + And if thou knew'st I knew them wouldst thou speak? + What if I know thy speeches word by word, + And all the time thou sayest them o'er I said, + "Lo, one there was who bent her fair bright head, + Sighing as thou dost through the golden speech." + Or, as our laughters mingle each with each, + As crushed lips take their respite fitfully, + What if my thoughts were turned in their mid reach + Whispering among them, "The fair dead + Must know such moments, thinking on the grass; + On how white dogwoods murmured overhead + In the bright glad days!" + How if the low dear sound within thy throat + Hath as faint lute-strings in its dim accord + Dim tales that blind me, running one by one + With times told over as we tell by rote; + What if I know thy laughter word by word + Nor find aught novel in thy merriment? + + + + III + + ABELARD + + "_Pere Esbaillart a Sanct Denis._" + VILLON. + + + "Because my soul cried out, and only the long ways + Grown weary, gave me answer and + Because she answered when the very ways were dumb + With all their hoarse, dry speech grown faint and chill. + Because her answer was a call to me, + Though I have sinned, my God, and though thy angels + Bear no more now my thought to whom I love; + Now though I crouch afraid in all thy dark + Will I once cry to thee: + Once more! Once more my strength! + Yea though I sin to call him forth once more, + Thy messengers for mine, Their wings my power! + And let once more my wings fold down above her, + Let their cool length be spread + Over her feet and head + And let thy calm come down + To dwell within her, and thy gown of peace + Clothe all her body in its samite. + O Father of all the blind and all the strong, + Though I have left thy courts, though all the throng + Of thy gold-shimmering choir know me not, + Though I have dared the body and have donned + Its frail strong-seeming, and although + Its lightening joy is made my swifter song, + Though I have known thy stars, yea all, and chosen one. + Yea though I make no barter, and repent no jot, + Yet for the sunlight of that former time + Grant me the boon, O God, + Once more, once more, or I or some white thought + Shall rise beside her and, enveloping + All her strange glory in its wings of light, + Bring down thy peace upon her way-worn soul. + Oh sheathe that sword of her in some strong case, + The doe-skin scabbard of thy clear Rafael! + Yea let thy angels walk, as I have seen + Them passing, or have seen their wings + Spread their pavilions o'er our twin delight. + Yea I have seen them when the purple light + Hid all her garden from my drowsy eyes. + + + + A PROLOGUE + + + SCENE--IN THE AIR + + _The Lords of the Air_: + + What light hath passed us in the silent ways? + + _The Spirits of Fire_: + + We are sustaind, strengthened suddenly. + + _The Spirits of Water_: + + Lo, how the utmost deeps are clarified! + + _The Spirits Terrene_: + + What might is this more potent than the spring? + Lo, how the night + Which wrapped us round with its most heavy cloths + Opens and breathes with some strange-fashioned brighness! + + + IN HEAVEN + + _Christ, the eternal Spirit in Heaven speaketh thus, + over the child of Mary_: + + O star, move forth and write upon the skies, + "This child is born in ways miraculous." + * * * * * + O windy spirits, that are born in Heaven, + Go down and bid the powers of Earth and Air + Protect his ways until the Time shall come. + * * * * * + O Mother, if the dark of things to be + Wrap round thy heart with cloudy apprehensions, + Eat of thy present corn, the aftermath + Hath its appointed end in whirling light. + Eat of thy present corn, thou so hast share + In mightier portents than Augustus hath. + * * * * * + In every moment all to be is born, + Thou art the moment and need'st fear no scorn. + + _Echo of the Angels singing "Exultasti"_: + + Silence is born of many peaceful things, + Thus is the starlight woven into strings + Whereon the Powers of peace make sweet accord. + Rejoice, O Earth, thy Lord + Hath chosen Him his holy resting-place. + + Lo, how the winged sign + Flutters above that hallowed chrysalis. + + + IN THE AIR + + _The invisible Spirit of the Star answers them_: + + Bend in your singing, gracious potencies, + Bend low above your ivory bows and gold! + That which ye know but dimly hath been wrought + High in the luminous courts and azure ways: + Bend in your praise; + For though your subtle thought + Sees but in part the source of mysteries, + Yet are ye bidden in your songs, sing this: + + _"Gloria! gloria in excelsis_ + _Pax in terra nunc natast."_ + + _Angels continuing in song_: + + Shepherds and kings, with lambs and frankincense + Go and atone for mankind's ignorance: + Make ye soft savour from your ruddy myrrh. + Lo, how God's son is turned God's almoner. + Give ye this little + Ere he give ye all. + + + ON EARTH + + _One of the Magi_: + + How the deep-voicd night turns councillor! + And how, for end, our starry meditations + Admit us to his board! + + _A Shepherd_: + + Sir, we be humble and perceive ye are + Men of great power and authority, + And yet we too have heard. + + + + DIANA IN EPHESUS + + (_Lucina dolentibus_:) + + + "Behold the deed! Behold the act supreme! + With mine own hands have I prepared my doom, + Truth shall grow great eclipsing other truth, + And men forget me in the aging years." + + _Explicit._ + + + + MAESTRO DI TOCAR + + (W.R.) + + + You, who are touched not by our mortal ways + Nor girded with the stricture of our bands, + Have but to loose the magic from your hands + And all men's hearts that glimmer for a day, + And all our loves that are so swift to flame + Rise in that space of sound and melt away. + + + + ARIA + + + My love is a deep flame + that hides beneath the waters. + + --My love is gay and kind, + My love is hard to find + as the flame beneath the waters. + + The fingers of the wind + meet hers + With a frail + swift greeting. + My love is gay + and kind + and hard + of meeting, + As the flame beneath the waters + hard of meeting. + + + + L'ART + + + When brightest colours seem but dull in hue + And noblest arts are shown mechanical, + When study serves but to heap clue on clue + That no great line hath been or ever shall, + But hath a savour like some second stew + Of many pot-lots with a smack of all. + 'Twas one man's field, another's hops the brew, + Twas vagrant accident not fate's fore-call. + Horace, that thing of thine is overhauled, + And "Wood notes wild" weaves a concocted sonnet. + Here aery Shelley on the text hath called, + And here, Great Scott, the Murex, Keats comes on it. + And all the lot howl, "Sweet Simplicity!" + 'Tis Art to hide our theft exquisitely. + + + + SONG IN THE MANNER OF HOUSMAN + + + O Woe, woe, + People are born and die, + We also shall be dead pretty soon + Therefore let us act as if we were + dead already. + + The bird sits on the hawthorn tree + But he dies also, presently. + Some lads get hung, and some get shot. + Woeful is this human lot. + _Woe! woe, etcetera_.... + + London is a woeful place, + Shropshire is much pleasanter. + Then let us smile a little space + Upon fond nature's morbid grace. + _Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera_.... + + + + TRANSLATIONS FROM HEINE + + + VON "DIE HEIMKEHR" + + + I + + Is your hate, then, of such measure? + Do you, truly, so detest me? + Through all the world will I complain + Of _how_ you have addressed me. + + O ye lips that are ungrateful, + Hath it never once distressed you, + That you can say such _awful_ things + Of _any_ one who ever kissed you? + + + II + + So thou hast forgotten fully + That I so long held thy heart wholly, + Thy little heart, so sweet and false and small + That there's no thing more sweet or false at all. + + Love and lay thou hast forgotten fully, + And my heart worked at them unduly. + I know not if the love or if the lay were better stuff, + But I know now, they both were good enough. + + + III + + Tell me where thy lovely love is, + Whom thou once did sing so sweetly, + When the fairy flames enshrouded + Thee, and held thy heart completely. + + All the flames are dead and sped now + And my heart is cold and sere; + Behold this book, the urn of ashes, + 'Tis my true love's sepulchre. + + + IV + + I dreamt that I was God Himself + Whom heavenly joy immerses, + And all the angels sat about + And praised my verses. + + + V + + The mutilated choir boys + When I begin to sing + Complain about the awful noise + And call my voice too thick a thing. + + When light their voices lift them up, + Bright notes against the ear, + Through trills and runs like crystal, + Ring delicate and clear. + + They sing of Love that's grown desirous, + Of Love, and joy that is Love's inmost part, + And all the ladies swim through tears + Toward such a work of art. + + + VI + + This delightful young man + Should not lack for honourers, + He propitiates me with oysters, + With Rhine wine and liqueurs. + + How his coat and pants adorn him! + Yet his ties are more adorning, + In these he daily comes to ask me: + Are you feeling well this morning? + + He speaks of my extended fame, + My wit, charm, definitions, + And is diligent to serve me, + Is detailed in his provisions. + + In evening company he sets his face + In most spiritu_el_ positions, + And declaims before the ladies + My _god-like_ compositions. + + O what comfort is it for me + To find him such, when the days bring + No comfort, at my time of life when + All good things go vanishing. + + + _TRANSLATOR TO TRANSLATED_ + + _O Harry Heine, curses be,_ + _I live too late to sup with thee!_ + _Who can demolish at such polished ease_ + _Philistia's pomp and Art's pomposities!_ + + + VII + + SONG FROM DIE HARZREISE + + I am the Princess Ilza + In Ilsenstein I fare, + Come with me to that castle + And we'll be happy there. + + Thy head will I cover over + With my waves' clarity + Till thou forget thy sorrow, + O wounded sorrowfully. + + Thou wilt in my white arms there, + Nay, on my breast thou must + Forget and rest and dream there + For thine old legend-lust. + + My lips and my heart are thine there + As they were his and mine. + His? Why the good King Harry's, + And he is dead lang syne. + + Dead men stay alway dead men, + Life is the live man's part, + And I am fair and golden + With joy breathless at heart. + + If my heart stay below there, + My crystal halls ring clear + To the dance of lords and ladies + In all their splendid gear. + + The silken trains go rustling, + The spur-clinks sound between, + The dark dwarfs blow and bow there + Small horn and violin. + + Yet shall my white arms hold thee, + That bound King Harry about. + Ah, I covered his ears with them + When the trumpet rang out. + + + + UND DRANG + + Nay, dwells he in cloudy rumour alone? + + BINYON. + + + I + + I am worn faint, + The winds of good and evil + Blind me with dust + And burn me with the cold, + There is no comfort being over-man; + Yet are we come more near + The great oblivions and the labouring night, + Inchoate truth and the sepulchral forces. + + + II + + Confusion, clamour, 'mid the many voices + Is there a meaning, a significance? + + That life apart from all life gives and takes, + This life, apart from all life's bitter and life's sweet, + Is good. + + Ye see me and ye say: exceeding sweet + Life's gifts, his youth, his art, + And his too soon acclaim. + + I also knew exceeding bitterness, + Saw good things altered and old friends fare forth, + And what I loved in me hath died too soon, + Yea I have seen the "gray above the green"; + Gay have I lived in life; + Though life hath lain + Strange hands upon me and hath torn my sides, + Yet I believe. + * * * * * + Life is most cruel where she is most wise. + + + III + + The will to live goes from me. + I have lain + Dull and out-worn + with some strange, subtle sickness. + Who shall say + That love is not the very root of this, + O thou afar? + + Yet she was near me, + that eternal deep. + O it is passing strange that love + Can blow two ways across one soul. + * * * * * + And I was Aengus for a thousand years, + And she, the ever-living, moved with me + And strove amid the waves, and + would not go. + + + IV + + ELEGIA + + + "_Far buon tempo e trionfare_" + + + "I have put my days and dreams out of mind' + For all their hurry and their weary fret + Availed me little. But another kind + Of leaf that's fast in some more sombre wind, + Is man on life, and all our tenuous courses + Wind and unwind as vainly. + * * * * * + I have lived long, and died, + Yea I have been dead, right often, + And have seen one thing: + The sun, while he is high, doth light our wrong + And none can break the darkness with a song. + + To-day's the cup. To-morrow is not ours: + Nay, by our strongest bands we bind her not, + Nor all our fears and our anxieties + Turn her one leaf or hold her scimitar. + + The deed blots out the thought + And many thoughts, the vision; + And right's a compass with as many poles + As there are points in her circumference, + 'Tis vain to seek to steer all courses even, + And all things save sheer right are vain enough. + The blade were vain to grow save toward the sun, + And vain th' attempt to hold her green forever. + + All things in season and no thing o'er long! + Love and desire and gain and good forgetting, + Thou canst not stay the wheel, hold none too long! + + + V + + How our modernity, + Nerve-wracked and broken, turns + Against time's way and all the way of things, + Crying with weak and egoistic cries! + * * * * * + All things are given over, + Only the restless will + Surges amid the stars + Seeking new moods of life, + New permutations. + * * * * * + See, and the very sense of what we know + Dodges and hides as in a sombre curtain + Bright threads leap forth, and hide, and leave no pattern. + + + VI + + I thought I had put Love by for a time + And I was glad, for to me his fair face + Is like Pain's face. + A little light, + The lowered curtain and the theatre! + And o'er the frail talk of the inter-act + Something that broke the jest! A little light, + The gold, and half the profile! + The whole face + Was nothing like you, yet that image cut + Sheer through the moment. + + + VIb + + I have gone seeking for you in the twilight, + Here in the flurry of Fifth Avenue, + Here where they pass between their teas and teas. + Is it such madness? though you could not be + Ever in all that crowd, no gown + Of all their subtle sorts could be your gown. + + Yet I am fed with faces, is there one + That even in the half-light mindeth me. + + + VII + + THE HOUSE OF SPLENDOUR + + 'Tis Evanoe's, + A house not made with hands, + But out somewhere beyond the worldly ways + Her gold is spread, above, around, inwoven, + Strange ways and walls are fashioned out of it. + + And I have seen my Lady in the sun, + Her hair was spread about, a sheaf of wings, + And red the sunlight was, behind it all. + + And I have seen her there within her house, + With six great sapphires hung along the wall, + Low, panel-shaped, a-level with her knees, + And all her robe was woven of pale gold. + + There are there many rooms and all of gold, + Of woven walls deep patterned, of email, + Of beaten work; and through the claret stone, + Set to some weaving, comes the aureate light. + + Here am I come perforce my love of her, + Behold mine adoration + Maketh me clear, and there are powers in this + Which, played on by the virtues of her soul, + Break down the four-square walls of standing time. + + + VIII + + THE FLAME + + 'Tis not a game that plays at mates and mating, + Provene knew; + 'Tis not a game of barter, lands and houses, + Provene knew. + We who are wise beyond your dream of wisdom, + Drink our immortal moments; we "pass through." + We have gone forth beyond your bonds and borders, + Provene knew; + And all the tales they ever writ of Oisin + Say but this: + That man doth pass the net of days and hours. + Where time is shrivelled down to time's seed corn + We of the Ever-living, in that light + Meet through our veils and whisper, and of love. + + O smoke and shadow of a darkling world, + Barters of passion, and that tenderness + That's but a sort of cunning! O my Love, + These, and the rest, and all the rest we knew. + + 'Tis not a game that plays at mates and mating, + 'Tis not a game of barter, lands and houses, + 'Tis not "of days and nights" and troubling years, + Of cheeks grown sunken and glad hair gone gray; + There _is_ the subtler music, the clear light + + Where time burns back about th' eternal embers. + We are not shut from all the thousand heavens: + Lo, there are many gods whom we have seen, + Folk of unearthly fashion, places splendid, + Bulwarks of beryl and of chrysophrase. + + Sapphire Benacus, in thy mists and thee + Nature herself's turned metaphysical, + Who can look on that blue and not believe? + + Thou hooded opal, thou eternal pearl, + O thou dark secret with a shimmering floor, + Through all thy various mood I know thee mine; + + If I have merged my soul, or utterly + Am solved and bound in, through aught here on earth, + There canst thou find me, O thou anxious thou, + Who call'st about my gates for some lost me; + I say my soul flowed back, became translucent. + Search not my lips, O Love, let go my hands, + This thing that moves as man is no more mortal. + If thou hast seen my shade sans character, + If thou hast seen that mirror of all moments, + That glass to all things that o'ershadow it, + Call not that mirror me, for I have slipped + Your grasp, I have eluded. + + + IX + + (HORAE BEATAE INSCRIPTIO) + + How will this beauty, when I am far hence, + Sweep back upon me and engulf my mind! + + How will these hours, when we twain are gray, + Turned in their sapphire tide, come flooding o'er us! + + + X + + (THE ALTAR) + + Let us build here an exquisite friendship, + The flame, the autumn, and the green rose of love + Fought out their strife here, 'tis a place of wonder; + Where these have been, meet 'tis, the ground is holy. + + + IX + + (AU SALON) + + Her grave, sweet haughtiness + Pleaseth me, and in like wise + Her quiet ironies. + Others are beautiful, none more, some less. + + + I suppose, when poetry comes down to facts, + When our souls are returned to the gods + and the spheres they belong in, + Here in the every-day where our acts + Rise up and judge us; + + I suppose there are a few dozen verities + That no shift of mood can shake from us: + + One place where we'd rather have tea + (Thus far hath modernity brought us) + "Tea" (Damn you!) + Have tea, damn the Caesars, + Talk of the latest success, give wing to some scandal, + Garble a name we detest, and for prejudice? + Set loose the whole consummate pack + to bay like Sir Roger de Coverley's + + This our reward for our works, + sic crescit gloria mundi: + Some circle of not more than three + that we prefer to play up to, + + Some few whom we'd rather please + than hear the whole aegrum vulgrus + Splitting its beery jowl + a-meaowling our praises. + + Some certain peculiar things, + cari laresque, penates, + Some certain accustomed forms, + the absolute unimportant. + + + XII + + (AU JARDIN) + + O You away high there, + you that lean + From amber lattices upon the cobalt night, + I am below amid the pine trees, + Amid the little pine trees, hear me! + + "The jester walked in the garden." + Did he so? + Well, there's no use your loving me + That way, Lady; + For I've nothing but songs to give you. + + I am set wide upon the world's ways + To say that life is, some way, a gay thing, + But you never string two days upon one wire + But there'll come sorrow of it. + And I loved a love once, + Over beyond the moon there, + I loved a love once, + And, may be, more times, + + But she danced like a pink moth in the shrubbery. + + Oh, I know you women from the "other folk," + And it'll all come right, + O' Sundays. + + "The jester walked in the garden." + Did he so? + + + + + RIPOSTES OF EZRA POUND + + + Gird on thy star, We'll have this out with fate + + + + + TO + + WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS + + + + CONTENTS + + + SILET + IN EXITUM CUIUSDAM + APPARUIT + THE TOMB AT AKR AAR + PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME + N.Y. + A GIRL + "PHASELLUS ILLE" + AN OBJECT + QUIES + THE SEAFARER + ECHOES: I. + ECHOES: II. + AN IMMORALITY + DIEU! QU'IL LA FAIT + SALVE PONTIFEX + DORIA [Greek] + THE NEEDLE + SUB MARE + PLUNGE + A VIRGINAL + PAN IS DEAD + THE PICTURE + OF JACOPO DEL SELLAIO + THE RETURN + EFFECTS OF MUSIC UPON A COMPANY OF PEOPLE + I. DEUX MOVEMENTS + II. FROM A THING BY SCHUMANN + + + THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF T.E. HULME + + PREFATORY NOTE + AUTUMN + MANA ABODA + ABOVE THE DOCK + THE EMBANKMENT + CONVERSION + + + + RIPOSTES + + + + SILET + + + When I behold how black, immortal ink + Drips from my deathless pen--ah, well-away! + Why should we stop at all for what I think? + There is enough in what I chance to say. + + It is enough that we once came together; + What is the use of setting it to rime? + When it is autumn do we get spring weather, + Or gather may of harsh northwindish time? + + It is enough that we once came together; + What if the wind have turned against the rain? + It is enough that we once came together; + Time has seen this, and will not turn again; + + And who are we, who know that last intent, + To plague to-morrow with a testament! + + + + IN EXITUM CUIUSDAM + + _On a certain one's departure_ + + + "Time's bitter flood"! Oh, that's all very well, + But where's the old friend hasn't fallen off, + Or slacked his hand-grip when you first gripped fame? + + I know your circle and can fairly tell + What you have kept and what you've left behind: + I know my circle and know very well + How many faces I'd have out of mind. + + + + APPARUIT + + + Golden rose the house, in the portal I saw + thee, a marvel, carven in subtle stuff, a portent. + Life died down in the lamp and flickered, + caught at the wonder. + + Crimson, frosty with dew, the roses bend where + thou afar moving in the glamorous sun + drinkst in life of earth, of the air, the tissue + golden about thee. + + Green the ways, the breath of the fields is thine there, + open lies the land, yet the steely going + darkly hast thou dared and the dreaded ther + parted before thee. + + Swift at courage thou in the shell of gold, casting + a-loose the cloak of the body, camest + straight, then shone thine oriel and the stunned light + faded about thee. + + Half the graven shoulder, the throat aflash with + strands of light inwoven about it, loveliest + of all things, frail alabaster, ah me! + swift in departing, + + Clothed in goldish weft, delicately perfect, + gone as wind! The cloth of the magical hands! + Thou a slight thing, thou in access of cunning + dar'dst to assume this? + + + + THE TOMB AT AKR AAR + + + "I am thy soul, Nikoptis. I have watched + These five millennia, and thy dead eyes + Moved not, nor ever answer my desire, + And thy light limbs, wherethrough I leapt aflame, + Burn not with me nor any saffron thing. + + See, the light grass sprang up to pillow thee, + And kissed thee with a myriad grassy tongues; + But not thou me. + + I have read out the gold upon the wall, + And wearied out my thought upon the signs. + And there is no new thing in all this place. + + I have been kind. See, I have left the jars sealed, + Lest thou shouldst wake and whimper for thy wine. + And all thy robes I have kept smooth on thee. + + O thou unmindful! How should I forget! + --Even the river many days ago, + The river, thou wast over young. + And three souls came upon Thee-- + + And I came. + And I flowed in upon thee, beat them off; + I have been intimate with thee, known thy ways. + Have I not touched thy palms and finger-tips, + Flowed in, and through thee and about thy heels? + How 'came I in'? Was I not thee and Thee? + + And no sun comes to rest me in this place, + And I am torn against the jagged dark, + And no light beats upon me, and you say + No word, day after day. + + Oh! I could get me out, despite the marks + And all their crafty work upon the door, + Out through the glass-green fields.... + * * * * * + Yet it is quiet here: + I do not go." + + + + PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME + + + Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea, + London has swept about you this score years + And bright ships left you this or that in fee: + Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things, + Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price. + Great minds have sought you--lacking someone else. + You have been second always. Tragical? + No. You preferred it to the usual thing: + One dull man, dulling and uxorious, + One average mind--with one thought less, each year. + Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit + Hours, where something might have floated up. + And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay. + You are a person of some interest, one comes to you + And takes strange gain away: + Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion; + Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two, + Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else + That might prove useful and yet never proves, + That never fits a corner or shows use, + Or finds its hour upon the loom of days: + The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work; + Idols and ambergris and rare inlays, + These are your riches, your great store; and yet + For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things, + Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff: + In the slow float of differing light and deep, + No! there is nothing! In the whole and all, + Nothing that's quite your own. + Yet this is you. + + + + N.Y. + + + My City, my beloved, my white! + Ah, slender, + Listen! Listen to me, and I will breathe into thee a soul. + Delicately upon the reed, attend me! + + _Now do I know that I am mad,_ + _For here are a million people surly with traffic;_ + _This is no maid._ + _Neither could I play upon any reed if I had one._ + + My City, my beloved, + Thou art a maid with no breasts, + Thou art slender as a silver reed. + Listen to me, attend me! + And I will breathe into thee a soul, + And thou shalt live for ever. + + + + A GIRL + + + The tree has entered my hands, + The sap has ascended my arms, + The tree has grown in my breast-- + Downward, + The branches grow out of me, like arms. + + Tree you are, + Moss you are, + You are violets with wind above them. + A child--_so_ high--you are, + And all this is folly to the world. + + + + "PHASELLUS ILLE" + + + This _papier-mch_, which you see, my friends, + Saith 'twas the worthiest of editors. + Its mind was made up in "the seventies," + Nor hath it ever since changed that concoction. + It works to represent that school of thought + Which brought the hair-cloth chair to such perfection, + Nor will the horrid threats of Bernard Shaw + Shake up the stagnant pool of its convictions; + Nay, should the deathless voice of all the world + Speak once again for its sole stimulation, + 'Twould not move it one jot from left to right. + + Come Beauty barefoot from the Cyclades, + She'd find a model for St Anthony + In this thing's sure _decorum_ and behaviour. + + + + AN OBJECT + + + This thing, that hath a code and not a core, + Hath set acquaintance where might be affections, + And nothing now + Disturbeth his reflections. + + + + QUIES + + + This is another of our ancient loves. + Pass and be silent, Rullus, for the day + Hath lacked a something since this lady passed; + Hath lacked a something. 'Twas but marginal. + + + + THE SEAFARER + + (_From the early Anglo-Saxon text_) + + + May I for my own self song's truth reckon, + Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days + Hardship endured oft. + Bitter breast-cares have I abided, + Known on my keel many a care's hold, + And dire sea-surge, and there I oft spent + Narrow nightwatch nigh the ship's head + While she tossed close to cliffs. Coldly afflicted, + My feet were by frost benumbed. + Chill its chains are; chafing sighs + Hew my heart round and hunger begot + Mere-weary mood. Lest man know not + That he on dry land loveliest liveth, + List how I, care-wretched, on ice-cold sea, + Weathered the winter, wretched outcast + Deprived of my kinsmen; + Hung with hard ice-flakes, where hail-scur flew, + There I heard naught save the harsh sea + And ice-cold wave, at whiles the swan cries, + Did for my games the gannet's clamour, + Sea-fowls' loudness was for me laughter, + The mews' singing all my mead-drink. + Storms, on the stone-cliffs beaten, fell on the stern + In icy feathers; full oft the eagle screamed + With spray on his pinion. + Not any protector + May make merry man faring needy. + This he little believes, who aye in winsome life + Abides 'mid burghers some heavy business, + Wealthy and wine-flushed, how I weary oft + Must bide above brine. + Neareth nightshade, snoweth from north, + Frost froze the land, hail fell on earth then + Corn of the coldest. Nathless there knocketh now + The heart's thought that I on high streams + The salt-wavy tumult traverse alone. + Moaneth alway my mind's lust + That I fare forth, that I afar hence + Seek out a foreign fastness. + For this there's no mood-lofty man over earth's midst, + Not though he be given his good, but will have in his youth greed; + Nor his deed to the daring, nor his king to the faithful + But shall have his sorrow for sea-fare + Whatever his lord will. + He hath not heart for harping, nor in ring-having + Nor winsomeness to wife, nor world's delight + Nor any whit else save the wave's slash, + Yet longing comes upon him to fare forth on the water. + Bosque taketh blossom, cometh beauty of berries, + Fields to fairness, land fares brisker, + All this admonisheth man eager of mood, + The heart turns to travel so that he then thinks + On flood-ways to be far departing. + Cuckoo calleth with gloomy crying, + He singeth summerward, bodeth sorrow, + The bitter heart's blood. Burgher knows not-- + He the prosperous man--what some perform + Where wandering them widest draweth. + So that but now my heart burst from my breast-lock, + My mood 'mid the mere-flood, + Over the whale's acre, would wander wide. + On earth's shelter cometh oft to me, + Eager and ready, the crying lone-flyer, + Whets for the whale-path the heart irresistibly, + O'er tracks of ocean; seeing that anyhow + My lord deems to me this dead life + On loan and on land, I believe not + That any earth-weal eternal standeth + Save there be somewhat calamitous + That, ere a man's tide go, turn it to twain. + Disease or oldness or sword-hate + Beats out the breath from doom-gripped body. + And for this, every earl whatever, for those speaking after-- + Laud of the living, boasteth some last word, + That he will work ere he pass onward, + Frame on the fair earth 'gainst foes his malice, + Daring ado,... + So that all men shall honour him after + And his laud beyond them remain 'mid the English, + Aye, for ever, a lasting life's-blast, + Delight mid the doughty. + Days little durable, + And all arrogance of earthen riches, + There come now no kings nor Csars + Nor gold-giving lords like those gone. + Howe'er in mirth most magnified, + Whoe'er lived in life most lordliest, + Drear all this excellence, delights undurable! + Waneth the watch, but the world holdeth. + Tomb hideth trouble. The blade is layed low. + Earthly glory ageth and seareth. + No man at all going the earth's gait, + But age fares against him, his face paleth, + Grey-haired he groaneth, knows gone companions, + Lordly men are to earth o'ergiven, + Nor may he then the flesh-cover, whose life ceaseth, + Nor eat the sweet nor feel the sorry, + Nor stir hand nor think in mid heart, + And though he strew the grave with gold, + His born brothers, their buried bodies + Be an unlikely treasure hoard. + + + + ECHOES + + + I + + GUIDO ORLANDO, SINGING + + + Befits me praise thine empery, + Lady of Valour, + Past all disproving; + Thou art the flower to me-- + Nay, by Love's pallor-- + Of all good loving. + + Worthy to reap men's praises + Is he who'd gaze upon + Truth's mazes. + In like commend is he, + Who, loving fixedly, + Love so refineth, + + Till thou alone art she + In whom love's vested; + As branch hath fairest flower + Where fruit's suggested. + + This great joy comes to me, + To me observing + How swiftly thou hast power + To pay my serving. + + + + II[1] + + + Thou keep'st thy rose-leaf + Till the rose-time will be over, + Think'st thou that Death will kiss thee? + Think'st thou that the Dark House + Will find thee such a lover + As I? Will the new roses miss thee? + + Prefer my cloak unto the cloak of dust + 'Neath which the last year lies, + For thou shouldst more mistrust + Time than my eyes. + + [1] Asclepiades, Julianus gyptus. + + + + AN IMMORALITY + + + Sing we for love and idleness, + Naught else is worth the having. + + Though I have been in many a land, + There is naught else in living. + + And I would rather have my sweet, + Though rose-leaves die of grieving, + + Than do high deeds in Hungary + To pass all men's believing. + + + + DIEU! QU'IL LA FAIT + + _From Charles D'Orleans_ + _For music_ + + + God! that mad'st her well regard her, + How she is so fair and bonny; + For the great charms that are upon her + Ready are all folk to reward her. + + Who could part him from her borders + When spells are alway renewed on her? + God! that mad'st her well regard her, + How she is so fair and bonny. + + From here to there to the sea's border, + Dame nor damsel there's not any + Hath of perfect charms so many. + Thoughts of her are of dream's order: + God! that mad'st her well regard her. + + + + SALVE PONTIFEX + + (A.C.S.) + + + One after one they leave thee, + High Priest of Iacchus, + Intoning thy melodies as winds intone + The whisperings of leaves on sunlit days. + And the sands are many + And the seas beyond the sands are one + In ultimate, so we here being many + Are unity; nathless thy compeers, + Knowing thy melody, + Lulled with the wine of thy music + Go seaward silently, leaving thee sentinel + O'er all the mysteries, + High Priest of Iacchus. + For the lines of life lie under thy fingers, + And above the vari-coloured strands + Thine eyes look out unto the infinitude + Of the blue waves of heaven, + And even as Triplex Sisterhood + Thou fingerest the threads knowing neither + Cause nor the ending, + High Priest of Iacchus, + Draw'st forth a multiplicity + Of strands, and, beholding + The colour thereof, raisest thy voice + Towards the sunset, + O High Priest of Iacchus! + And out of the secrets of the inmost mysteries + Thou chantest strange far-sourced canticles: + O High Priest of Iacchus! + Life and the ways of Death her + Twin-born sister, that is life's counterpart, + And of night and the winds of night; + Silent voices ministering to the souls + Of hamadryads that hold council conceald + In streams and tree-shadowing + Forests on hill slopes, + O High Priest of Iacchus, + All the manifold mystery + Thou makest a wine of song, + And maddest thy following even + With visions of great deeds + And their futility, + O High Priest of Iacchus! + Though thy co-novices are bent to the scythe + Of the magian wind that is voice of Persephone, + Leaving thee solitary, master of initiating + Mnads that come through the + Vine-entangled ways of the forest + Seeking, out of all the world, + Madness of Iacchus, + That being skilled in the secrets of the double cup + They might turn the dead of the world + Into pans, + O High Priest of Iacchus, + Wreathed with the glory of thy years of creating + Entangled music, + Breathe! + Now that the evening cometh upon thee, + Breathe upon us, that low-bowed and exultant + Drink wine of Iacchus, that since the conquering + Hath been chiefly containd in the numbers + Of them that, even as thou, have woven + Wicker baskets for grape clusters + Wherein is conceald the source of the vintage, + O High Priest of Iacchus, + Breathe thou upon us + Thy magic in parting! + Even as they thy co-novices, + At being mingled with the sea, + While yet thou madest thy canticles + Serving upright before the altar + That is bound about with shadows + Of dead years wherein thy Iacchus + Looked not upon the hills, that being + Uncared for, praised not him in entirety. + O High Priest of Iacchus, + Being now near to the border of the sands + Where the sapphire girdle of the sea + Encinctureth the maiden + Persephone, released for the spring, + Look! Breathe upon us + The wonder of the thrice encinctured mystery + Whereby thou being full of years art young, + Loving even this lithe Persephone + That is free for the seasons of plenty; + Whereby thou being young art old + And shalt stand before this Persephone + Whom thou lovest, + In darkness, even at that time + That she being returned to her husband + Shall be queen and a maiden no longer, + Wherein thou being neither old nor young + Standing on the verge of the sea + Shalt pass from being sand, + O High Priest of Iacchus, + And becoming wave + Shalt encircle all sands, + Being transmuted through all + The girdling of the sea. + + O High Priest of Iacchus, + Breathe thou upon us! + + + _Note._--This apostrophe was written three years + before Swinburne's death. + + + + DORIA [Greek] + + + Be in me as the eternal moods of the bleak wind, and not + As transient things are--gaiety of flowers. + Have me in the strong loneliness of sunless cliffs + And of grey waters. + Let the gods speak softly of us + In days hereafter, + The shadowy flowers of Orcus + Remember Thee. + + + + THE NEEDLE + + + Come, or the stellar tide will slip away, + Eastward avoid the hour of its decline, + Now! for the needle trembles in my soul! + + Here have we had our vantage, the good hour. + Here we have had our day, your day and mine. + Come now, before this power + That bears us up, shall turn against the pole. + + Mock not the flood of stars, the thing's to be. + O Love, come now, this land turns evil slowly. + The waves bore in, soon will they bear away. + + The treasure is ours, make we fast land with it. + Move we and take the tide, with its next favour, + Abide + Under some neutral force + Until this course turneth aside. + + + + SUB MARE + + + It is, and is not, I am sane enough, + Since you have come this place has hovered round me, + This fabrication built of autumn roses, + Then there's a goldish colour, different. + + And one gropes in these things as delicate + Algae reach up and out beneath + Pale slow green surgings of the under-wave, + 'Mid these things older than the names they have, + These things that are familiars of the god. + + + + PLUNGE + + + I would bathe myself in strangeness: + These comforts heaped upon me, + smother me! + I burn, I scald so for the new, + New friends, new faces, + Places! + Oh to be out of this, + This that is all I wanted + --save the new. + And you, + Love, you the much, the more desired! + Do I not loathe all walls, streets, stones, + All mire, mist, all fog, + All ways of traffic? + You, I would have flow over me like water, + Oh, but far out of this! + Grass, and low fields, and hills, + And sun, + Oh, sun enough! + Out and alone, among some + Alien people! + + + + A VIRGINAL + + + No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately, + I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness, + For my surrounding air has a new lightness; + Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly + And left me cloaked as with a gauze of ther; + As with sweet leaves; as with a subtle clearness. + Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness + To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her. + + No, no! Go from me. I have still the flavour, + Soft as spring wind that's come from birchen bowers. + Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches, + As winter's wound with her sleight hand she staunches, + Hath of the tress a likeness of the savour: + As white their bark, so white this lady's hours. + + + + PAN IS DEAD + + + Pan is dead. Great Pan is dead. + Ah! bow your heads, ye maidens all, + And weave ye him his coronal. + + There is no summer in the leaves, + And withered are the sedges; + How shall we weave a coronal, + Or gather floral pledges? + + That I may not say, Ladies. + Death was ever a churl. + That I may not say, Ladies. + How should he show a reason, + That he has taken our Lord away + Upon such hollow season? + + + + THE PICTURE[1] + + + The eyes of this dead lady speak to me, + For here was love, was not to be drowned out, + And here desire, not to be kissed away. + + The eyes of this dead lady speak to me. + + + [1] "Venus Reclining," by Jacopo del Sellaio (1442-93). + + + + OF JACOPO DEL SELLAIO + + + This man knew out the secret ways of love, + No man could paint such things who did not know. + + And now she's gone, who was his Cyprian, + And you are here, who are "The Isles" to me. + + And here's the thing that lasts the whole thing out: + The eyes of this dead lady speak to me. + + + + THE RETURN + + + See, they return; ah, see the tentative + Movements, and the slow feet, + The trouble in the pace and the uncertain + Wavering! + + See, they return, one, and by one, + With fear, as half-awakened; + As if the snow should hesitate + And murmur in the wind, + and half turn back; + These were the "Wing'd-with-Awe," + Inviolable. + + Gods of the wingd shoe! + With them the silver hounds, + sniffing the trace of air! + + Haie! Haie! + These were the swift to harry; + These the keen-scented; + These were the souls of blood. + + Slow on the leash, + pallid the leash-men. + + + + EFFECTS OF MUSIC UPON A COMPANY OF PEOPLE + + + I + + DEUX MOVEMENTS + + 1. Temple qui fut. + 2. Poissons d'or. + + + 1 + + A soul curls back, + Their souls like petals, + Thin, long, spiral, + Like those of a chrysanthemum curl + Smoke-like up and back from the + Vavicel, the calyx, + Pale green, pale gold, transparent, + Green of plasma, rose-white, + Spirate like smoke, + Curled, + Vibrating, + Slowly, waving slowly. + O Flower animate! + O calyx! + O crowd of foolish people! + + 2 + + The petals! + On the tip of each the figure + Delicate. + See, they dance, step to step. + Flora to festival, + Twine, bend, bow, + Frolic involve ye. + Woven the step, + Woven the tread, the moving. + Ribands they move, + Wave, bow to the centre. + Pause, rise, deepen in colour, + And fold in drowsily. + + + II + + FROM A THING BY SCHUMANN + + + Breast high, floating and welling + Their soul, moving beneath the satin, + Plied the gold threads, + Pushed at the gauze above it. + The notes beat upon this, + Beat and indented it; + Rain dropped and came and fell upon this, + Hail and snow, + My sight gone in the flurry! + + And then across the white silken, + Bellied up, as a sail bellies to the wind, + Over the fluid tenuous, diaphanous, + Over this curled a wave, greenish, + Mounted and overwhelmed it. + This membrane floating above, + And bellied out by the up-pressing soul. + + Then came a mer-host, + And after them legion of Romans, + The usual, dull, theatrical! + + + + + + THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF T.E. HULME + + + + PREFATORY NOTE + + + In publishing his _Complete Poetical Works_ + at thirty,[1] Mr Hulme has set an enviable + example to many of his contemporaries + who have had less to say. + + They are reprinted here for good + fellowship; for good custom, a custom + out of Tuscany and of Provence; and + thirdly, for convenience, seeing their smallness + of bulk; and for good memory, + seeing that they recall certain evenings + and meetings of two years gone, dull + enough at the time, but rather pleasant + to look back upon. + + As for the "School of Images," which + may or may not have existed, its principles + were not so interesting as those of the + "inherent dynamists" or of _Les Unanimistes_, + yet they were probably sounder + than those of a certain French school + which attempted to dispense with verbs + altogether; or of the Impressionists who + brought forth: + + "Pink pigs blossoming upon the hillside"; + + or of the Post-Impressionists who beseech + their ladies to let down slate-blue hair + over their raspberry-coloured flanks. + + _Ardoise_ rimed richly--ah, richly and rarely + rimed!--with _framboise_. + + As for the future, _Les Imagistes_, the + descendants of the forgotten school of + 1909, have that in their keeping. + + I refrain from publishing my proposed + _Historical Memoir_ of their forerunners, + because Mr Hulme has threatened to + print the original propaganda. + + E.P. + + + [1] Mr Pound has grossly exaggerated my age.--T.E.H. + + + + AUTUMN + + + A touch of cold in the Autumn night-- + I walked abroad, + And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge + Like a red-faced farmer. + I did not stop to speak, but nodded, + And round about were the wistful stars + With white faces like town children. + + + + MANA ABODA + + Beauty is the marking-time, the stationary vibration, + the feigned ecstasy of an arrested impulse unable to + reach its natural end. + + + Mana Aboda, whose bent form + The sky in archd circle is, + Seems ever for an unknown grief to mourn. + Yet on a day I heard her cry: + "I weary of the roses and the singing poets-- + Josephs all, not tall enough to try." + + + + ABOVE THE DOCK + + + Above the quiet dock in mid night, + Tangled in the tall mast's corded height, + Hangs the moon. What seemed so far away + Is but a child's balloon, forgotten after play. + + + + THE EMBANKMENT + + (The fantasia of a fallen gentleman on a + cold, bitter night.) + + + Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy, + In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement. + Now see I + That warmth's the very stuff of poesy. + Oh, God, make small + The old star-eaten blanket of the sky, + That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie. + + + + CONVERSION + + + Lighthearted I walked into the valley wood + In the time of hyacinths, + Till beauty like a scented cloth + Cast over, stifled me. I was bound + Motionless and faint of breath + By loveliness that is her own eunuch. + + Now pass I to the final river + Ignominiously, in a sack, without sound, + As any peeping Turk to the Bosphorus. + + + FINIS + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Canzoni & Ripostes, by Ezra Pound and T.E. 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Hulme + +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/license + + +Title: Canzoni & Ripostes + Whereto are appended the Complete Poetical Works of T.E. Hulme + +Author: Ezra Pound + T.E. Hulme + +Release Date: May 24, 2012 [EBook #39783] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANZONI & RIPOSTES *** + + + + +Produced by Andrea Ball & Marc D'Hooghe at +http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made +available by the Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1 style="color: #000099;">CANZONI & RIPOSTES</h1> + +<h4>OF</h4> + +<h3 style="color: #000099;">EZRA POUND</h3> + + +<h4>WHERETO ARE APPENDED THE</h4> + +<h4>COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF</h4> + +<h4>T.E. HULME</h4> + + +<h5>LONDON</h5> + +<h5>ELKIN MATHEWS, CORK STREET</h5> + +<h5>M CM XIII</h5> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CANZONI" id="CANZONI"></a>CANZONI</h3> + +<h5>TO</h5> + +<h5>OLIVIA AND DOROTHY SHAKESPEAR</h5> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p style="margin-left: 25%; font-size: 0.8em;"> +<br /><br /> +<span class="caption">CONTENTS</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a href="#CANZON_THE_YEARLY_SLAIN">CANZON: THE YEARLY SLAIN</a><br /> +<a href="#CANZON_THE_SPEAR">CANZON: THE SPEAR</a><br /> +<a href="#CANZON">CANZON: TO BE SUNG BENEATH A WINDOW</a><br /> +<a href="#CANZON_OF_INCENSE">CANZON: OF INCENSE</a><br /> +<a href="#CANZONE_OF_ANGELS">CANZONE: OF ANGELS</a><br /> +<a href="#TO_OUR_LADY_OF_VICARIOUS_ATONEMENT">TO OUR LADY OF VICARIOUS ATONEMENT</a><br /> +<a href="#TO_GUIDO_CAVALCANTI">TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI</a><br /> +<a href="#SONNET_IN_TENZONE">SONNET IN TENZONE</a><br /> +<a href="#SONNET_CHI_E_QUESTA">SONNET: CHI È QUESTA?</a><br /> +<a href="#BALLATA_FRAGMENT">BALLATA, FRAGMENT</a><br /> +<a href="#CANZON_THE_VISION">CANZON: THE VISION</a><br /> +<a href="#OCTAVE">OCTAVE</a><br /> +<a href="#SONNET">SONNET: THE TALLY-BOARD</a><br /> +<a href="#BALLATETTA">BALLATETTA</a><br /> +<a href="#MADRIGALE">MADRIGALE</a><br /> +<a href="#ERA_MEA">ERA MEA</a><br /> +<a href="#THRENOS">THRENOS</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_TREE">THE TREE</a><br /> +<a href="#PARACELSUS_IN_EXCELSIS">PARACELSUS IN EXCELSIS</a><br /> +<a href="#DE_AEGYPTO">DE AEGYPTO</a><br /> +<a href="#LI_BEL_CHASTEUS">LI BEL CHASTEUS</a><br /> +<a href="#PRAYER_FOR_HIS_LADYS_LIFE">PRAYER FOR HIS LADY'S LIFE (FROM PROPERTIUS)</a><br /> +<a href="#SPEECH_FOR_PSYCHE_IN_THE_GOLDEN_BOOK_OF_APULEIUS">PSYCHE OF EROS</a><br /> +<a href="#BLANDULA_TENULLA_VAGULA">"BLANDULA, TENULLA, VAGULA"</a><br /> +<a href="#ERAT_HORA">ERAT HORA</a><br /> +<a href="#EPIGRAMS">EPIGRAMS. I.</a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.25em;"><a href="#E_II">II. (THE SEA OF GLASS)</a></span><br /> +<a href="#LA_NUVOLETTA">LA NUVOLETTA</a><br /> +<a href="#ROSA_SEMPITERNA">ROSA SEMPITERNA</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_GOLDEN_SESTINA">THE GOLDEN SESTINA</a><br /> +<a href="#ROME">ROME (FROM DU BELLAY)</a><br /> +<a href="#HER_MONUMENT_THE_IMAGE_CUT_THEREON">HER IMAGE (FROM LEOPARDI)</a><br /> +<a href="#I_E">VICTORIAN ECLOGUES. I.</a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11.25em;"><a href="#II_E">II. SATIEMUS</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;"><a href="#ABELARD">III. ABELARD</a></span><br /> +<a href="#A_PROLOGUE">A PROLOGUE</a><br /> +<a href="#MAESTRO_DI_TOCAR">MAESTRO DI TOCAR</a><br /> +<a href="#ARIA">ARIA</a><br /> +<a href="#LART">L'ART</a><br /> +<a href="#SONG_IN_THE_MANNER_OF_HOUSMAN">SONG IN THE MANNER OF HOUSMAN</a><br /> +<a href="#TRANSLATIONS_FROM_HEINE">HEINE, TRANSLATIONS FROM</a><br /> +<a href="#UND_DRANG">UND DRANG</a><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p style="margin-left: 25%;"> +<a name="CANZON_THE_YEARLY_SLAIN" id="CANZON_THE_YEARLY_SLAIN"></a>CANZON: THE YEARLY SLAIN<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(WRITTEN IN REPLY TO MANNING'S "KORÈ.")</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 25%;">"Et huiusmodi stantiae usus est fere in omnibus cantionibus suis<br /> +Arnaldus Danielis et nos eum secuti sumus."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 45%; font-size: 0.8em;"> +DANTE, <i>De Vulgari Eloquio</i>, II. 10.</span> +<br /><br /></p> + + +<p style="margin-left: 25%;"> +I<br /> +<br /> +Ah! red-leafed time hath driven out the rose<br /> +And crimson dew is fallen on the leaf<br /> +Ere ever yet the cold white wheat be sown<br /> +That hideth all earth's green and sere and red;<br /> +The Moon-flower's fallen and the branch is bare,<br /> +Holding no honey for the starry bees;<br /> +The Maiden turns to her dark lord's demesne.<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +Fairer than Enna's field when Ceres sows<br /> +The stars of hyacinth and puts off grief,<br /> +Fairer than petals on May morning blown<br /> +Through apple-orchards where the sun hath shed<br /> +His brighter petals down to make them fair;<br /> +Fairer than these the Poppy-crowned One flees,<br /> +And Joy goes weeping in her scarlet train.<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +The faint damp wind that, ere the even, blows<br /> +Piling the west with many a tawny sheaf,<br /> +Then when the last glad wavering hours are mown<br /> +Sigheth and dies because the day is sped;<br /> +This wind is like her and the listless air<br /> +Wherewith she goeth by beneath the trees,<br /> +The trees that mock her with their scarlet stain.<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +Love that is born of Time and comes and goes!<br /> +Love that doth hold all noble hearts in fief!<br /> +As red leaves follow where the wind hath flown,<br /> +So all men follow Love when Love is dead.<br /> +O Fate of Wind! O Wind that cannot spare,<br /> +But drivest out the Maid, and pourest lees<br /> +Of all thy crimson on the wold again,<br /> +<br /> +V<br /> +<br /> +Korè my heart is, let it stand sans gloze!<br /> +Love's pain is long, and lo, love's joy is brief!<br /> +My heart erst alway sweet is bitter grown;<br /> +As crimson ruleth in the good green's stead,<br /> +So grief hath taken all mine old joy's share<br /> +And driven forth my solace and all ease<br /> +Where pleasure bows to all-usurping pain.<br /> +<br /> +VI<br /> +<br /> +Crimson the hearth where one last ember glows!<br /> +My heart's new winter hath no such relief,<br /> +Nor thought of Spring whose blossom he hath known<br /> +Hath turned him back where Spring is banished.<br /> +Barren the heart and dead the fires there,<br /> +Blow! O ye ashes, where the winds shall please,<br /> +But cry, "Love also is the Yearly Slain."<br /> +<br /> +VII<br /> +<br /> +Be sped, my Canzon, through the bitter air!<br /> +To him who speaketh words as fair as these,<br /> +Say that I also know the "Yearly Slain."<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CANZON_THE_SPEAR" id="CANZON_THE_SPEAR"></a>CANZON: THE SPEAR<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +'Tis the clear light of love I praise<br /> +That steadfast gloweth o'er deep waters,<br /> +A clarity that gleams always.<br /> +Though man's soul pass through troubled waters,<br /> +Strange ways to him are openèd.<br /> +To shore the beaten ship is sped<br /> +If only love of light give aid.<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +That fair far spear of light now lays<br /> +Its long gold shaft upon the waters.<br /> +Ah! might I pass upon its rays<br /> +To where it gleams beyond the waters,<br /> +Or might my troubled heart be fed<br /> +Upon the frail clear light there shed,<br /> +Then were my pain at last allay'd.<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +Although the clouded storm dismays<br /> +Many a heart upon these waters,<br /> +The thought of that far golden blaze<br /> +Giveth me heart upon the waters,<br /> +Thinking thereof my bark is led<br /> +To port wherein no storm I dread;<br /> +No tempest maketh me afraid.<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +Yet when within my heart I gaze<br /> +Upon my fair beyond the waters,<br /> +Meseems my soul within me prays<br /> +To pass straightway beyond the waters.<br /> +Though I be alway banished<br /> +From ways and woods that she doth tread,<br /> +One thing there is that doth not fade,<br /> +<br /> +V<br /> +<br /> +Deep in my heart that spear-print stays,<br /> +That wound I gat beyond the waters,<br /> +Deeper with passage of the days<br /> +That pass as swift and bitter waters,<br /> +While a dull fire within my head<br /> +Moveth itself if word be said<br /> +Which hath concern with that far maid.<br /> +<br /> +VI<br /> +<br /> +My love is lovelier than the sprays<br /> +Of eglantine above clear waters,<br /> +Or whitest lilies that upraise<br /> +Their heads in midst of moated waters.<br /> +No poppy in the May-glad mead<br /> +Would match her quivering lips' red<br /> +If 'gainst her lips it should be laid.<br /> +<br /> +VII<br /> +<br /> +The light within her eyes, which slays<br /> +Base thoughts and stilleth troubled waters,<br /> +Is like the gold where sunlight plays<br /> +Upon the still o'ershadowed waters.<br /> +When anger is there mingled<br /> +There comes a keener gleam instead,<br /> +Like flame that burns beneath thin jade.<br /> +<br /> +VIII<br /> +<br /> +Know by the words here mingled<br /> +What love hath made my heart his stead,<br /> +Glowing like flame beneath thin jade.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CANZON" id="CANZON"></a>CANZON<br /> +<br /> +TO BE SUNG BENEATH A WINDOW<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +Heart mine, art mine, whose embraces<br /> +Clasp but wind that past thee bloweth<br /> +E'en this air so subtly gloweth,<br /> +Guerdoned by thy sun-gold traces,<br /> +That my heart is half afraid<br /> +For the fragrance on him laid;<br /> +Even so love's might amazes!<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +Man's love follows many faces,<br /> +My love only one face knoweth;<br /> +Towards thee only my love floweth,<br /> +And outstrips the swift stream's paces.<br /> +Were this love well here displayed,<br /> +As flame flameth 'neath thin jade<br /> +Love should glow through these my phrases.<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +Though I've roamed through many places,<br /> +None there is that my heart troweth<br /> +Fair as that wherein fair groweth<br /> +One whose laud here interlaces<br /> +Tuneful words, that I've essayed.<br /> +Let this tune be gently played<br /> +Which my voice herward upraises.<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +If my praise her grace effaces,<br /> +Then 'tis not my heart that showeth,<br /> +But the skilless tongue that soweth<br /> +Words unworthy of her graces.<br /> +Tongue, that hath me so betrayed,<br /> +Were my heart but here displayed,<br /> +Then were sung her fitting praises.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CANZON_OF_INCENSE" id="CANZON_OF_INCENSE"></a>CANZON: OF INCENSE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +Thy gracious ways,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">O Lady of my heart, have</span><br /> +O'er all my thought their golden glamour cast;<br /> +As amber torch-flames, where strange men-at-arms<br /> +Tread softly 'neath the damask shield of night,<br /> +Rise from the flowing steel in part reflected,<br /> +So on my mailed thought that with thee goeth,<br /> +Though dark the way, a golden glamour falleth.<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +The censer sways<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And glowing coals some art have</span><br /> +To free what frankincense before held fast<br /> +Till all the summer of the eastern farms<br /> +Doth dim the sense, and dream up through the light,<br /> +As memory, by new-born love corrected—<br /> +With savour such as only new love knoweth—<br /> +Through swift dim ways the hidden pasts recalleth.<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +On barren days,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">At hours when I, apart, have</span><br /> +Bent low in thought of the great charm thou hast,<br /> +Behold with music's many-stringed charms<br /> +The silence groweth thou. O rare delight!<br /> +The melody upon clear strings inflected<br /> +Were dull when o'er taut sense thy presence floweth,<br /> +With quivering notes' accord that never palleth.<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +The glowing rays<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">That from the low sun dart, have</span><br /> +Turned gold each tower and every towering mast;<br /> +The saffron flame, that flaming nothing harms<br /> +Hides Khadeeth's pearl and all the sapphire might<br /> +Of burnished waves, before her gates collected:<br /> +The cloak of graciousness, that round thee gloweth,<br /> +Doth hide the thing thou art, as here befalleth.<br /> +<br /> +V<br /> +<br /> +All things worth praise<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">That unto Khadeeth's mart have</span><br /> +From far been brought through perils over-passed,<br /> +All santal, myrrh, and spikenard that disarms<br /> +The pard's swift anger; these would weigh but light<br /> +'Gainst thy delights, my Khadeeth! Whence protected<br /> +By naught save her great grace that in him showeth,<br /> +My song goes forth and on her mercy calleth.<br /> +<br /> +VI<br /> +<br /> +O censer of the thought that golden gloweth,<br /> +Be bright before her when the evening falleth.<br /> +<br /> +VII<br /> +<br /> +Fragrant be thou as a new field one moweth,<br /> +O song of mine that "Hers" her mercy calleth.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CANZONE_OF_ANGELS" id="CANZONE_OF_ANGELS"></a>CANZONE: OF ANGELS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +He that is Lord of all the realms of light<br /> +Hath unto me from His magnificence<br /> +Granted such vision as hath wrought my joy.<br /> +Moving my spirit past the last defence<br /> +That shieldeth mortal things from mightier sight,<br /> +Where freedom of the soul knows no alloy,<br /> +I saw what forms the lordly powers employ;<br /> +Three splendours, saw I, of high holiness,<br /> +From clarity to clarity ascending<br /> +Through all the roofless, tacit courts extending<br /> +In aether which such subtle light doth bless<br /> +As ne'er the candles of the stars hath wooed;<br /> +Know ye herefrom of their similitude.<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +Withdrawn within the cavern of his wings,<br /> +Grave with the joy of thoughts beneficent,<br /> +And finely wrought and durable and clear,<br /> +If so his eyes showed forth the mind's content,<br /> +So sate the first to whom remembrance clings,<br /> +Tissued like bat's wings did his wings appear,<br /> +Not of that shadowy colouring and drear,<br /> +But as thin shells, pale saffron, luminous;<br /> +Alone, unlonely, whose calm glances shed<br /> +Friend's love to strangers though no word were said,<br /> +Pensive his godly state he keepeth thus.<br /> +Not with his surfaces his power endeth,<br /> +But is as flame that from the gem extendeth.<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +My second marvel stood not in such ease,<br /> +But he, the cloudy pinioned, winged him on<br /> +Then from my sight as now from memory,<br /> +The courier aquiline, so swiftly gone!<br /> +The third most glorious of these majesties<br /> +Give aid, O sapphires of th' eternal see,<br /> +And by your light illume pure verity.<br /> +That azure feldspar hight the microcline,<br /> +Or, on its wing, the Menelaus weareth<br /> +Such subtlety of shimmering as beareth<br /> +This marvel onward through the crystalline,<br /> +A splendid calyx that about her gloweth,<br /> +Smiting the sunlight on whose ray she goeth.<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +The diver at Sorrento from beneath<br /> +The vitreous indigo, who swiftly riseth,<br /> +By will and not by action as it seemeth,<br /> +Moves not more smoothly, and no thought surmiseth<br /> +How she takes motion from the lustrous sheath<br /> +Which, as the trace behind the swimmer, gleameth<br /> +Yet presseth back the aether where it streameth.<br /> +To her whom it adorns this sheath imparteth<br /> +The living motion from the light surrounding;<br /> +And thus my nobler parts, to grief's confounding,<br /> +Impart into my heart a peace which starteth<br /> +From one round whom a graciousness is cast<br /> +Which clingeth in the air where she hath past.<br /> +<br /> +V—TORNATA<br /> +<br /> +Canzon, to her whose spirit seems in sooth<br /> +Akin unto the feldspar, since it is<br /> +So clear and subtle and azure, I send thee, saying:<br /> +That since I looked upon such potencies<br /> +And glories as are here inscribed in truth,<br /> +New boldness hath o'erthrown my long delaying,<br /> +And that thy words my new-born powers obeying—<br /> +Voices at last to voice my heart's long mood—<br /> +Are come to greet her in their amplitude.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="TO_OUR_LADY_OF_VICARIOUS_ATONEMENT" id="TO_OUR_LADY_OF_VICARIOUS_ATONEMENT"></a>TO OUR LADY OF VICARIOUS ATONEMENT<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 27.5%; font-size: 0.8em;">(BALLATA)</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +Who are you that the whole world's song<br /> +Is shaken out beneath your feet<br /> +Leaving you comfortless,<br /> +Who, that, as wheat<br /> +Is garnered, gather in<br /> +The blades of man's sin<br /> +And bear that sheaf?<br /> +Lady of wrong and grief,<br /> +Blameless!<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +All souls beneath the gloom<br /> +That pass with little flames,<br /> +All these till time be run<br /> +Pass one by one<br /> +As Christs to save, and die;<br /> +What wrong one sowed,<br /> +Behold, another reaps!<br /> +Where lips awake our joy<br /> +The sad heart sleeps<br /> +Within.<br /> +<br /> +No man doth bear his sin,<br /> +But many sins<br /> +Are gathered as a cloud about man's way.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="TO_GUIDO_CAVALCANTI" id="TO_GUIDO_CAVALCANTI"></a>TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Dante and I are come to learn of thee,<br /> +Ser Guido of Florence, master of us all,<br /> +Love, who hath set his hand upon us three,<br /> +Bidding us twain upon thy glory call.<br /> +Harsh light hath rent from us the golden pall<br /> +Of that frail sleep, <i>His</i> first light seigniory,<br /> +And we are come through all the modes that fall<br /> +Unto their lot who meet him constantly.<br /> +Wherefore, by right, in this Lord's name we greet thee,<br /> +Seeing we labour at his labour daily.<br /> +Thou, who dost know what way swift words are crossed<br /> +O thou, who hast sung till none at song defeat thee,<br /> +Grant! by thy might and hers of San Michele,<br /> +Thy risen voice send flames this pentecost.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SONNET_IN_TENZONE" id="SONNET_IN_TENZONE"></a>SONNET IN TENZONE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">LA MENTE</span><br /> +<br /> +"O Thou mocked heart that cowerest by the door<br /> +And durst not honour hope with welcoming,<br /> +How shall one bid thee for her honour sing,<br /> +When song would but show forth thy sorrow's store?<br /> +What things are gold and ivory unto thee?<br /> +Go forth, thou pauper fool! Are these for naught?<br /> +Is heaven in lotus leaves? What hast thou wrought,<br /> +Or brought, or sought, wherewith to pay the fee?"<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">IL CUORE</span><br /> +<br /> +"If naught I give, naught do I take return.<br /> +'<i>Ronsard me celebroit!</i>' behold I give<br /> +The age-old, age-old fare to fairer fair<br /> +And I fare forth into more bitter air;<br /> +Though mocked I go, yet shall her beauty live<br /> +Till rimes unrime and Truth shall truth unlearn."<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SONNET_CHI_E_QUESTA" id="SONNET_CHI_E_QUESTA"></a>SONNET: CHI È QUESTA?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Who is she coming, that the roses bend<br /> +Their shameless heads to do her passing honour?<br /> +Who is she coming with a light upon her<br /> +Not born of suns that with the day's end end?<br /> +Say is it Love who hath chosen the nobler part?<br /> +Say is it Love, that was divinity,<br /> +Who hath left his godhead that his home might be<br /> +The shameless rose of her unclouded heart?<br /> +If this be Love, where hath he won such grace?<br /> +If this be Love, how is the evil wrought,<br /> +That all men write against his darkened name?<br /> +If this be Love, if this ...<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">O mind give place!</span><br /> +What holy mystery e'er was noosed in thought?<br /> +Own that thou scan'st her not, nor count it shame!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="BALLATA_FRAGMENT" id="BALLATA_FRAGMENT"></a>BALLATA, FRAGMENT<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +Full well thou knowest, song, what grace I mean,<br /> +E'en as thou know'st the sunlight I have lost.<br /> +Thou knowest the way of it and know'st the sheen<br /> +About her brows where the rays are bound and crossed,<br /> +E'en as thou knowest joy and know'st joy's bitter cost.<br /> +Thou know'st her grace in moving,<br /> +Thou dost her skill in loving,<br /> +Thou know'st what truth she proveth,<br /> +Thou knowest the heart she moveth,<br /> +O song where grief assoneth!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CANZON_THE_VISION" id="CANZON_THE_VISION"></a>CANZON: THE VISION<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +When first I saw thee 'neath the silver mist,<br /> +Ruling thy bark of painted sandal-wood,<br /> +Did any know thee? By the golden sails<br /> +That clasped the ribbands of that azure sea,<br /> +Did any know thee save my heart alone?<br /> +O ivory woman with thy bands of gold,<br /> +Answer the song my luth and I have brought thee!<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +Dream over golden dream that secret cist,<br /> +Thy heart, O heart of me, doth hold, and mood<br /> +On mood of silver, when the day's light fails,<br /> +Say who hath touched the secret heart of thee,<br /> +Or who hath known what my heart hath not known<br /> +O slender pilot whom the mists enfold,<br /> +Answer the song my luth and I have wrought thee!<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +When new love plucks the falcon from his wrist,<br /> +And cuts the gyve and casts the scarlet hood,<br /> +Where is the heron heart whom flight avails?<br /> +O quick to prize me Love, how suddenly<br /> +From out the tumult truth has ta'en his own,<br /> +And in this vision is our past unrolled.<br /> +Lo! With a hawk of light thy love hath caught me.<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +And I shall get no peace from eucharist,<br /> +Nor doling out strange prayers before the rood,<br /> +To match the peace that thine hands' touch entails;<br /> +Nor doth God's light match light shed over me<br /> +When thy caught sunlight is about me thrown,<br /> +Oh, for the very ruth thine eyes have told,<br /> +Answer the rune this love of thee hath taught me.<br /> +<br /> +V<br /> +<br /> +After an age of longing had we missed<br /> +Our meeting and the dream, what were the good<br /> +Of weaving cloth of words? Were jewelled tales<br /> +An opiate meet to quell the malady<br /> +Of life unlived? In untried monotone<br /> +Were not the earth as vain, and dry, and old,<br /> +For thee, O Perfect Light, had I not sought thee?<br /> +<br /> +VI<br /> +<br /> +Calais, in song where word and tone keep tryst<br /> +Behold my heart, and hear mine hardihood!<br /> +Calais, the wind is come and heaven pales<br /> +And trembles for the love of day to be.<br /> +Calais, the words break and the dawn is shown.<br /> +Ah, but the stars set when thou wast first bold,<br /> +Turn! lest they say a lesser light distraught thee.<br /> +<br /> +VII<br /> +<br /> +O ivory thou, the golden scythe hath mown<br /> +Night's stubble and my joy. Thou royal souled,<br /> +Favour the quest! Lo, Truth and I have sought thee<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="OCTAVE" id="OCTAVE"></a>OCTAVE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Fine songs, fair songs, these golden usuries<br /> +A Her beauty earns as but just increment,<br /> +And they do speak with a most ill intent<br /> +Who say they give when they pay debtor's fees.<br /> +<br /> +I call him bankrupt in the courts of song<br /> +Who hath her gold to eye and pays her not,<br /> +Defaulter do I call the knave who hath got<br /> +Her silver in his heart, and doth her wrong.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SONNET" id="SONNET"></a>SONNET<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +If on the tally-board of wasted days<br /> +They daily write me for proud idleness,<br /> +Let high Hell summons me, and I confess,<br /> +No overt act the preferred charge allays.<br /> +<br /> +To-day I thought—what boots it what I thought?<br /> +Poppies and gold! Why should I blurt it out?<br /> +Or hawk the magic of her name about<br /> +Deaf doors and dungeons where no truth is bought?<br /> +<br /> +Who calls me idle? I have thought of her.<br /> +Who calls me idle? By God's truth I've seen<br /> +The arrowy sunlight in her golden snares.<br /> +<br /> +Let him among you all stand summonser<br /> +Who hath done better things! Let whoso hath been<br /> +With worthier works concerned, display his wares!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="BALLATETTA" id="BALLATETTA"></a>BALLATETTA<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +The light became her grace and dwelt among<br /> +Blind eyes and shadows that are formed as men<br /> +Lo, how the light doth melt us into song:<br /> +<br /> +The broken sunlight for a healm she beareth<br /> +Who hath my heart in jurisdiction.<br /> +In wild-wood never fawn nor fallow fareth<br /> +So silent light; no gossamer is spun<br /> +So delicate as she is, when the sun<br /> +Drives the clear emeralds from the bended grasses<br /> +Lest they should parch too swiftly, where she passes.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="MADRIGALE" id="MADRIGALE"></a>MADRIGALE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Clear is my love but shadowed<br /> +By the spun gold above her,<br /> +Ah, what a petal those bent sheaths discover!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The olive wood hath hidden her completely.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>She was gowned that discreetly</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The leaves and shadows concealed her completely.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +Fair is my love but followed<br /> +In all her goings surely<br /> +By gracious thoughts, she goeth so demurely.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ERA_MEA" id="ERA_MEA"></a>ERA MEA<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Era mea<br /> +In qua terra<br /> +Dulce myrti floribus,<br /> +Rosa amoris<br /> +Via erroris<br /> +Ad te coram<br /> +Veniam?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">ANGLICÈ REDDITA</span><br /> +<br /> +Mistress mine, in what far land,<br /> +Where the myrtle bloweth sweet<br /> +Shall I weary with my way-fare,<br /> +Win to thee that art as day fair,<br /> +Lay my roses at thy feet?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THRENOS" id="THRENOS"></a>THRENOS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +No more for us the little sighing,<br /> +No more the winds at twilight trouble us.<br /> +<br /> +Lo the fair dead!<br /> +<br /> +No more do I burn.<br /> +No more for us the fluttering of wings<br /> +That whirred in the air above us.<br /> +<br /> +Lo the fair dead!<br /> +<br /> +No more desire flayeth me,<br /> +No more for us the trembling<br /> +At the meeting of hands.<br /> +<br /> +Lo the fair dead!<br /> +<br /> +No more for us the wine of the lips,<br /> +No more for us the knowledge.<br /> +<br /> +Lo the fair dead!<br /> +<br /> +No more the torrent,<br /> +No more for us the meeting-place<br /> +(Lo the fair dead!)<br /> +Tintagoel.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_TREE" id="THE_TREE"></a>THE TREE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I stood still and was a tree amid the wood,<br /> +Knowing the truth of things unseen before;<br /> +Of Daphne and the laurel bow<br /> +And that god-feasting couple old<br /> +That grew elm-oak amid the wold.<br /> +'Twas not until the gods had been<br /> +Kindly entreated, and been brought within<br /> +Unto the hearth of their heart's home<br /> +That they might do this wonder thing;<br /> +Nathless I have been a tree amid the wood<br /> +And many a new thing understood<br /> +That was rank folly to my head before.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PARACELSUS_IN_EXCELSIS" id="PARACELSUS_IN_EXCELSIS"></a>PARACELSUS IN EXCELSIS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"Being no longer human why should I<br /> +Pretend humanity or don the frail attire?<br /> +Men have I known, and men, but never one<br /> +Was grown so free an essence, or become<br /> +So simply element as what I am.<br /> +The mist goes from the mirror and I see!<br /> +Behold! the world of forms is swept beneath—<br /> +Turmoil grown visible beneath our peace,<br /> +And we, that are grown formless, rise above—<br /> +Fluids intangible that have been men,<br /> +We seem as statues round whose high-risen base<br /> +Some overflowing river is run mad,<br /> +In us alone the element of calm!"<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="DE_AEGYPTO" id="DE_AEGYPTO"></a>DE AEGYPTO<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I even I, am he who knoweth the roads<br /> +Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.<br /> +<br /> +I have beheld the Lady of Life,<br /> +I, even I, who fly with the swallows.<br /> +<br /> +Green and gray is her raiment,<br /> +Trailing along the wind.<br /> +<br /> +I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads<br /> +Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.<br /> +<br /> +Manus animam pinxit,<br /> +My pen is in my hand<br /> +<br /> +To write the acceptable word....<br /> +My mouth to chant the pure singing!<br /> +<br /> +Who hath the mouth to receive it,<br /> +The song of the Lotus of Kumi?<br /> +<br /> +I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads<br /> +Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.<br /> +<br /> +I am flame that riseth in the sun,<br /> +I, even I, who fly with the swallows.<br /> +<br /> +The moon is upon my forehead,<br /> +The winds are under my lips.<br /> +<br /> +The moon is a great pearl in the waters of sapphire,<br /> +Cool to my fingers the flowing waters.<br /> +<br /> +I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads<br /> +Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.<br /> +<br /> +I will return to the halls of the flowing,<br /> +Of the truth of the children of Ashu.<br /> +<br /> +I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads<br /> +Of the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="LI_BEL_CHASTEUS" id="LI_BEL_CHASTEUS"></a>LI BEL CHASTEUS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +That castle stands the highest in the land<br /> +Far seen and mighty. Of the great hewn stones<br /> +What shall I say? And deep foss way<br /> +That far beneath us bore of old<br /> +A swelling turbid sea<br /> +Hill-born and tumultuous<br /> +Unto the fields below, where<br /> +Staunch villein and<br /> +Burgher held the land and tilled<br /> +Long labouring for gold of wheat grain<br /> +And to see the beards come forth<br /> +For barley's even time.<br /> +<br /> +But archèd high above the curl of life<br /> +We dwelt amid the ancient boulders,<br /> +Gods had hewn and druids turned<br /> +Unto that birth most wondrous, that had grown<br /> +A mighty fortress while the world had slept,<br /> +And we awaited in the shadows there<br /> +When mighty hands had laboured sightlessly<br /> +And shaped this wonder 'bove the ways of men.<br /> +Me seems we could not see the great green waves<br /> +Nor rocky shore by Tintagoel<br /> +From this our hold,<br /> +But came faint murmuring as undersong,<br /> +E'en as the burghers' hum arose<br /> +And died as faint wind melody<br /> +Beneath our gates.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PRAYER_FOR_HIS_LADYS_LIFE" id="PRAYER_FOR_HIS_LADYS_LIFE"></a>PRAYER FOR HIS LADY'S LIFE<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">FROM PROPERTIUS, ELEGIAE, LIB. III, 26</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm,<br /> +Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness.<br /> +So many thousand beauties are gone down to Avernus<br /> +Ye might let one remain above with us.<br /> +<br /> +With you is Iope, with you the white-gleaming Tyro,<br /> +With you is Europa and the shameless Pasiphae,<br /> +And all the fair from Troy and all from Achaia,<br /> +From the sundered realms, of Thebes and of aged Priamus;<br /> +And all the maidens of Rome, as many as they were,<br /> +They died and the greed of your flame consumes them.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>So many thousand fair are gone down to Avernus,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Ye might let one remain above with us.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SPEECH_FOR_PSYCHE_IN_THE_GOLDEN_BOOK_OF_APULEIUS" id="SPEECH_FOR_PSYCHE_IN_THE_GOLDEN_BOOK_OF_APULEIUS"></a>SPEECH FOR PSYCHE IN THE GOLDEN BOOK OF APULEIUS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +All night, and as the wind lieth among<br /> +The cypress trees, he lay,<br /> +Nor held me save as air that brusheth by one<br /> +Close, and as the petals of flowers in falling<br /> +Waver and seem not drawn to earth, so he<br /> +Seemed over me to hover light as leaves<br /> +And closer me than air,<br /> +And music flowing through me seemed to open<br /> +Mine eyes upon new colours.<br /> +O winds, what wind can match the weight of him!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="BLANDULA_TENULLA_VAGULA" id="BLANDULA_TENULLA_VAGULA"></a>"BLANDULA, TENULLA, VAGULA."<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +What hast thou, O my soul, with paradise?<br /> +Will we not rather, when our freedom's won,<br /> +Get us to some clear place wherein the sun<br /> +Lets drift in on us through the olive leaves<br /> +A liquid glory? If at Sirmio<br /> +My soul, I meet thee, when this life's outrun,<br /> +Will we not find some headland consecrated<br /> +By aery apostles of terrene delight,<br /> +Will not our cult be founded on the waves,<br /> +Clear sapphire, cobalt, cyanine,<br /> +On triune azures, the impalpable<br /> +Mirrors unstill of the eternal change?<br /> +<br /> +Soul, if She meet us there, will any rumour<br /> +Of havens more high and courts desirable<br /> +Lure us beyond the cloudy peak of Riva?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ERAT_HORA" id="ERAT_HORA"></a>ERAT HORA<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"Thank you, whatever comes." And then she turned<br /> +And, as the ray of sun on hanging flowers<br /> +Fades when the wind hath lifted them aside,<br /> +Went swiftly from me. Nay, whatever comes<br /> +One hour was sunlit and the most high gods<br /> +May not make boast of any better thing<br /> +Than to have watched that hour as it passed.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="EPIGRAMS" id="EPIGRAMS"></a>EPIGRAMS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +O ivory, delicate hands!<br /> +O face that hovers<br /> +Between "To-come" and "Was,"<br /> +Ivory thou wast,<br /> +A rose thou wilt be.<br /> +<br /> +<a name="E_II" id="E_II"></a>II<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(THE SEA OF GLASS)</span><br /> +<br /> +I looked and saw a sea<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">roofed over with rainbows,</span><br /> +In the midst of each<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">two lovers met and departed;</span><br /> +Then the sky was full of faces<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">with gold glories behind them.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="LA_NUVOLETTA" id="LA_NUVOLETTA"></a>LA NUVOLETTA<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">"Dante to an unknown lady, beseeching her not to interrupt his</span><br /> +<span class="small">cult of the dead Beatrice. From "Il Canzoniere," Ballata II</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Ah little cloud that in Love's shadow lief<br /> +Upon mine eyes so suddenly alightest,<br /> +Take some faint pity on the heart thou smitest<br /> +That hopes in thee, desires, dies, in brief.<br /> +<br /> +Ah little cloud of more than human fashion<br /> +Thou settest a flame within my mind's mid space<br /> +With thy deathly speech that grieveth;<br /> +<br /> +Then as a fiery spirit in thy ways<br /> +Createst hope, in part a rightful passion,<br /> +Yet where thy sweet smile giveth<br /> +His grace, look not! For in Her my faith liveth.<br /> +<br /> +Think on my high desire whose flame's so great<br /> +That nigh a thousand who were come too late,<br /> +Have felt the torment of another's grief.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ROSA_SEMPITERNA" id="ROSA_SEMPITERNA"></a>ROSA SEMPITERNA<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +A rose I set within my "Paradise"<br /> +Lo how his red is turned to yellowness,<br /> +Not withered but grown old in subtler wise<br /> +Between the empaged rime's high holiness<br /> +Where Dante sings of that rose's device<br /> +Which yellow is, with souls in blissfulness.<br /> +Rose whom I set within my paradise,<br /> +Donor of roses and of parching sighs,<br /> +Of golden lights and dark unhappiness,<br /> +Of hidden chains and silvery joyousness,<br /> +Hear how thy rose within my Dante lies,<br /> +O rose I set within my paradise.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_GOLDEN_SESTINA" id="THE_GOLDEN_SESTINA"></a>THE GOLDEN SESTINA<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">FROM THE ITALIAN OF PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +In the bright season when He, most high Jove,<br /> +From welkin reaching down his glorying hand,<br /> +Decks the Great Mother and her changing face,<br /> +Clothing her not with scarlet skeins and gold<br /> +But with th' empurpling flowers and gay grass,<br /> +When the young year renewed, renews the sun,<br /> +<br /> +When, then, I see a lady like the sun,<br /> +One fashioned by th' high hand of utmost Jove,<br /> +So fair beneath the myrtles on gay grass<br /> +Who holdeth Love and Truth, one by each hand,<br /> +It seems, if I look straight, two bands of gold<br /> +Do make more fair her delicate fair face.<br /> +<br /> +Though eyes are dazzled, looking on her face<br /> +As all sight faileth that looks toward the sun,<br /> +New metamorphoses, to rained gold,<br /> +Or bulls or whitest swans, might fall on Jove<br /> +Through her, or Phoebus, his bag-pipes in hand,<br /> +Might, mid the droves, come barefoot o'er our grass,<br /> +<br /> +Alas, that there was hidden in the grass<br /> +A cruel shaft, the which, to wound my face,<br /> +My Lady took in her own proper hand.<br /> +If I could not defend me 'gainst that sun<br /> +I take no shame, for even utmost Jove<br /> +Is in high heaven pierced with darts of gold.<br /> +<br /> +Behold the green shall find itself turned gold<br /> +And spring shall be without her flowers and grass,<br /> +And hell's deep be the dwelling place of Jove<br /> +Ere I shall have uncarved her holy face<br /> +From my heart's midst, where 'tis both Sun and sun<br /> +And yet she beareth me such hostile hand!<br /> +<br /> +O sweet and holy and O most light hand,<br /> +O intermingled ivory and gold,<br /> +O mortal goddess and terrestrial sun<br /> +Who comest not to foster meadow grass,<br /> +But to show heaven by a likened face<br /> +Wert sent amongst us by th' exalted Jove,<br /> +<br /> +I still pray Jove that he permit no grass<br /> +To cover o'er thy hands, thy face, thy gold<br /> +For heaven's sufficed with a single sun.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ROME" id="ROME"></a>ROME<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">FROM THE FRENCH OF JOACHIM DU BELLAY</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em; font-size: 0.8em;">"Troica Roma resurges."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em; font-size: 0.8em;">PROPERTIUS.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +O thou new comer who seek'st Rome in Rome<br /> +And find'st in Rome no thing thou canst call Roman;<br /> +Arches worn old and palaces made common,<br /> +Rome's name alone within these walls keeps home.<br /> +<br /> +Behold how pride and ruin can befall<br /> +One who hath set the whole world 'neath her laws,<br /> +All-conquering, now conquered, because<br /> +She is Time's prey and Time consumeth all.<br /> +<br /> +Rome that art Rome's one sole last monument,<br /> +Rome that alone hast conquered Rome the town,<br /> +Tiber alone, transient and seaward bent,<br /> +Remains of Rome. O world, thou unconstant mime!<br /> +That which stands firm in thee Time batters down,<br /> +And that which fleeteth doth outrun swift time.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="HER_MONUMENT_THE_IMAGE_CUT_THEREON" id="HER_MONUMENT_THE_IMAGE_CUT_THEREON"></a>HER MONUMENT, THE IMAGE CUT THEREON<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">FROM THE ITALIAN OF LEOPARDI</span><br /> +<span class="small">(Written 1831-3 circa)</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Such wast thou,<br /> +Who art now<br /> +But buried dust and rusted skeleton.<br /> +Above the bones and mire,<br /> +Motionless, placed in vain,<br /> +Mute mirror of the flight of speeding years,<br /> +Sole guard of grief<br /> +Sole guard of memory<br /> +Standeth this image of the beauty sped.<br /> +<br /> +O glance, when thou wast still as thou art now,<br /> +How hast thou set the fire<br /> +A-tremble in men's veins; O lip curved high<br /> +To mind me of some urn of full delight,<br /> +O throat girt round of old with swift desire,<br /> +O palms of Love, that in your wonted ways<br /> +Not once but many a day<br /> +Felt hands turn ice a-sudden, touching ye,<br /> +That ye were once! of all the grace ye had<br /> +That which remaineth now<br /> +Shameful, most sad<br /> +Finds 'neath this rock fit mould, fit resting place!<br /> +<br /> +And still when fate recalleth,<br /> +Even that semblance that appears amongst us<br /> +Is like to heaven's most 'live imagining.<br /> +All, all our life's eternal mystery!<br /> +To-day, on high<br /> +Mounts, from our mighty thoughts and from the fount<br /> +Of sense untellable, Beauty<br /> +That seems to be some quivering splendour cast<br /> +By the immortal nature on this quicksand,<br /> +And by surhuman fates<br /> +Given to mortal state<br /> +To be a sign and an hope made secure<br /> +Of blissful kingdoms and the aureate spheres;<br /> +And on the morrow, by some lightsome twist,<br /> +Shameful in sight, abject, abominable<br /> +All this angelic aspect can return<br /> +And be but what it was<br /> +With all the admirable concepts that moved from it<br /> +Swept from the mind with it in its departure.<br /> +<br /> +Infinite things desired, lofty visions<br /> +'Got on desirous thought by natural virtue,<br /> +And the wise concord, whence through delicious seas<br /> +The arcane spirit of the whole Mankind<br /> +Turns hardy pilot ... and if one wrong note<br /> +Strike the tympanum,<br /> +Instantly<br /> +That paradise is hurled to nothingness.<br /> +<br /> +O mortal nature,<br /> +If thou art<br /> +Frail and so vile in all,<br /> +How canst thou reach so high with thy poor sense;<br /> +Yet if thou art<br /> +Noble in any part<br /> +How is the noblest of thy speech and thought<br /> +So lightly wrought<br /> +Or to such base occasion lit and quenched?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="VICTORIAN_ECLOGUES" id="VICTORIAN_ECLOGUES"></a>VICTORIAN ECLOGUES<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +<a name="EXCUSES" id="EXCUSES"></a>EXCUSES<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Ah would you turn me back now from the flowers,<br /> +You who are different as the air from sea is,<br /> +Ah for the pollen from our wreath of hours,<br /> +You who are magical, not mine as she is,<br /> +Say will you call us from our time of flowers?<br /> +<br /> +You whom I loved and love, not understanding,<br /> +Yea we were ever torn with constant striving,<br /> +Seeing our gods are different, and commanding<br /> +One good from them, and in my heart reviving<br /> +Old discords and bent thought, not understanding.<br /> +<br /> +We who have wept, we who have lain together<br /> +Upon the green and sere and white of every season,<br /> +We who have loved the sun but for the weather<br /> +Of our own hearts have found no constant reason,<br /> +What is your part, now we have come together?<br /> +<br /> +What is your pain, Dear, what is your heart now<br /> +A little sad, a little.... Nay, I know not<br /> +Seeing I never had and have no part now<br /> +In your own secret councils wherein blow not<br /> +My roses. My vineyard being another heart now?<br /> +<br /> +You who were ever dear and dearer being strange,<br /> +How shall I "go" who never came anear you?<br /> +How could I stay, who never came in range<br /> +Of anything that halved; could never hear you<br /> +Rightly in your silence; nay, your very speech was strange.<br /> +<br /> +You, who have loved not what I was or will be,<br /> +You who but loved me for a thing I could be,<br /> +You who love not a song whate'er its skill be<br /> +But only love the cause or what cause should be,<br /> +How could I give you what I am or will be?<br /> +<br /> +Nay, though your eyes are sad, you will not hinder,<br /> +You, who would have had me only near not nearer,<br /> +Nay though my heart had burned to a bright cinder<br /> +Love would have said to me: "Still fear her,<br /> +Pain is thy lot and naught she hath can hinder,"<br /> +<br /> +So I, for this sad gladness that is mine now,<br /> +Who never spoke aright in speaking to you,<br /> +Uncomprehending anything that's thine now,<br /> +E'en in my spoken words more wrong may do you<br /> +In looking back from this new grace that's mine now.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Sic semper finis deest.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SATIEMUS" id="SATIEMUS"></a>SATIEMUS<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +What if I know thy speeches word by word?<br /> +And if thou knew'st I knew them wouldst thou speak?<br /> +What if I know thy speeches word by word,<br /> +And all the time thou sayest them o'er I said,<br /> +"Lo, one there was who bent her fair bright head,<br /> +Sighing as thou dost through the golden speech."<br /> +Or, as our laughters mingle each with each,<br /> +As crushed lips take their respite fitfully,<br /> +What if my thoughts were turned in their mid reach<br /> +Whispering among them, "The fair dead<br /> +Must know such moments, thinking on the grass;<br /> +On how white dogwoods murmured overhead<br /> +In the bright glad days!"<br /> +How if the low dear sound within thy throat<br /> +Hath as faint lute-strings in its dim accord<br /> +Dim tales that blind me, running one by one<br /> +With times told over as we tell by rote;<br /> +What if I know thy laughter word by word<br /> +Nor find aught novel in thy merriment?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ABELARD" id="ABELARD"></a>ABELARD<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em; font-size: 0.8em;">"<i>Pere Esbaillart a Sanct Denis.</i>"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15.5em; font-size: 0.8em;">VILLON.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"Because my soul cried out, and only the long ways<br /> +Grown weary, gave me answer and<br /> +Because she answered when the very ways were dumb<br /> +With all their hoarse, dry speech grown faint and chill.<br /> +Because her answer was a call to me,<br /> +Though I have sinned, my God, and though thy angels<br /> +Bear no more now my thought to whom I love;<br /> +Now though I crouch afraid in all thy dark<br /> +Will I once cry to thee:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Once more! Once more my strength!</span><br /> +Yea though I sin to call him forth once more,<br /> +Thy messengers for mine, Their wings my power!<br /> +And let once more my wings fold down above her,<br /> +Let their cool length be spread<br /> +Over her feet and head<br /> +And let thy calm come down<br /> +To dwell within her, and thy gown of peace<br /> +Clothe all her body in its samite.<br /> +O Father of all the blind and all the strong,<br /> +Though I have left thy courts, though all the throng<br /> +Of thy gold-shimmering choir know me not,<br /> +Though I have dared the body and have donned<br /> +Its frail strong-seeming, and although<br /> +Its lightening joy is made my swifter song,<br /> +Though I have known thy stars, yea all, and chosen one.<br /> +Yea though I make no barter, and repent no jot,<br /> +Yet for the sunlight of that former time<br /> +Grant me the boon, O God,<br /> +Once more, once more, or I or some white thought<br /> +Shall rise beside her and, enveloping<br /> +All her strange glory in its wings of light,<br /> +Bring down thy peace upon her way-worn soul.<br /> +Oh sheathe that sword of her in some strong case,<br /> +The doe-skin scabbard of thy clear Rafael!<br /> +Yea let thy angels walk, as I have seen<br /> +Them passing, or have seen their wings<br /> +Spread their pavilions o'er our twin delight.<br /> +Yea I have seen them when the purple light<br /> +Hid all her garden from my drowsy eyes.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="A_PROLOGUE" id="A_PROLOGUE"></a>A PROLOGUE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">SCENE—IN THE AIR</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>The Lords of the Air</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">What light hath passed us in the silent ways?</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>The Spirits of Fire</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">We are sustainèd, strengthened suddenly.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>The Spirits of Water</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Lo, how the utmost deeps are clarified!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>The Spirits Terrene</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">What might is this more potent than the spring?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Lo, how the night</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Which wrapped us round with its most heavy cloths</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Opens and breathes with some strange-fashioned brighness!</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">IN HEAVEN</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Christ, the eternal Spirit in Heaven speaketh thus,<br /> +over the child of Mary</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">O star, move forth and write upon the skies,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"This child is born in ways miraculous."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">O windy spirits, that are born in Heaven,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Go down and bid the powers of Earth and Air</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Protect his ways until the Time shall come.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">O Mother, if the dark of things to be</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Wrap round thy heart with cloudy apprehensions,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Eat of thy present corn, the aftermath</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Hath its appointed end in whirling light.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Eat of thy present corn, thou so hast share</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">In mightier portents than Augustus hath.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">In every moment all to be is born,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thou art the moment and need'st fear no scorn.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Echo of the Angels singing "Exultasti"</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Silence is born of many peaceful things,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thus is the starlight woven into strings</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Whereon the Powers of peace make sweet accord.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Rejoice, O Earth, thy Lord</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Hath chosen Him his holy resting-place.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Lo, how the winged sign</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Flutters above that hallowed chrysalis.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">IN THE AIR</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>The invisible Spirit of the Star answers them</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Bend in your singing, gracious potencies,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Bend low above your ivory bows and gold!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">That which ye know but dimly hath been wrought</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">High in the luminous courts and azure ways:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Bend in your praise;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">For though your subtle thought</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Sees but in part the source of mysteries,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Yet are ye bidden in your songs, sing this:</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"><i>"Gloria! gloria in excelsis</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"><i>Pax in terra nunc natast."</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Angels continuing in song</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Shepherds and kings, with lambs and frankincense</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Go and atone for mankind's ignorance:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Make ye soft savour from your ruddy myrrh.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Lo, how God's son is turned God's almoner.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Give ye this little</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Ere he give ye all.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">ON EARTH</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>One of the Magi</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">How the deep-voicèd night turns councillor!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And how, for end, our starry meditations</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Admit us to his board!</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>A Shepherd</i>:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Sir, we be humble and perceive ye are</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Men of great power and authority,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And yet we too have heard.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">DIANA IN EPHESUS</span><br /> +<br /> +(<i>Lucina dolentibus</i>:)<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"Behold the deed! Behold the act supreme!<br /> +With mine own hands have I prepared my doom,<br /> +Truth shall grow great eclipsing other truth,<br /> +And men forget me in the aging years."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Explicit.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="MAESTRO_DI_TOCAR" id="MAESTRO_DI_TOCAR"></a>MAESTRO DI TOCAR<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(W.R.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +You, who are touched not by our mortal ways<br /> +Nor girded with the stricture of our bands,<br /> +Have but to loose the magic from your hands<br /> +And all men's hearts that glimmer for a day,<br /> +And all our loves that are so swift to flame<br /> +Rise in that space of sound and melt away.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ARIA" id="ARIA"></a>ARIA<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +My love is a deep flame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">that hides beneath the waters.</span><br /> +<br /> +—My love is gay and kind,<br /> +My love is hard to find<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">as the flame beneath the waters.</span><br /> +<br /> +The fingers of the wind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">meet hers</span><br /> +With a frail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">swift greeting.</span><br /> +My love is gay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">and kind</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">and hard</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">of meeting,</span><br /> +As the flame beneath the waters<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">hard of meeting.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="LART" id="LART"></a>L'ART<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +When brightest colours seem but dull in hue<br /> +And noblest arts are shown mechanical,<br /> +When study serves but to heap clue on clue<br /> +That no great line hath been or ever shall,<br /> +But hath a savour like some second stew<br /> +Of many pot-lots with a smack of all.<br /> +'Twas one man's field, another's hops the brew,<br /> +Twas vagrant accident not fate's fore-call.<br /> +Horace, that thing of thine is overhauled,<br /> +And "Wood notes wild" weaves a concocted sonnet.<br /> +Here aery Shelley on the text hath called,<br /> +And here, Great Scott, the Murex, Keats comes on it.<br /> +And all the lot howl, "Sweet Simplicity!"<br /> +'Tis Art to hide our theft exquisitely.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SONG_IN_THE_MANNER_OF_HOUSMAN" id="SONG_IN_THE_MANNER_OF_HOUSMAN"></a>SONG IN THE MANNER OF HOUSMAN<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +O Woe, woe,<br /> +People are born and die,<br /> +We also shall be dead pretty soon<br /> +Therefore let us act as if we were<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">dead already.</span><br /> +<br /> +The bird sits on the hawthorn tree<br /> +But he dies also, presently.<br /> +Some lads get hung, and some get shot.<br /> +Woeful is this human lot.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Woe! woe, etcetera</i>....</span><br /> +<br /> +London is a woeful place,<br /> +Shropshire is much pleasanter.<br /> +Then let us smile a little space<br /> +Upon fond nature's morbid grace.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera</i>....</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="TRANSLATIONS_FROM_HEINE" id="TRANSLATIONS_FROM_HEINE"></a>TRANSLATIONS FROM HEINE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">VON "DIE HEIMKEHR"</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +Is your hate, then, of such measure?<br /> +Do you, truly, so detest me?<br /> +Through all the world will I complain<br /> +Of <i>how</i> you have addressed me.<br /> +<br /> +O ye lips that are ungrateful,<br /> +Hath it never once distressed you,<br /> +That you can say such <i>awful</i> things<br /> +Of <i>any</i> one who ever kissed you?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +So thou hast forgotten fully<br /> +That I so long held thy heart wholly,<br /> +Thy little heart, so sweet and false and small<br /> +That there's no thing more sweet or false at all.<br /> +<br /> +Love and lay thou hast forgotten fully,<br /> +And my heart worked at them unduly.<br /> +I know not if the love or if the lay were better stuff,<br /> +But I know now, they both were good enough.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +Tell me where thy lovely love is,<br /> +Whom thou once did sing so sweetly,<br /> +When the fairy flames enshrouded<br /> +Thee, and held thy heart completely.<br /> +<br /> +All the flames are dead and sped now<br /> +And my heart is cold and sere;<br /> +Behold this book, the urn of ashes,<br /> +'Tis my true love's sepulchre.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +I dreamt that I was God Himself<br /> +Whom heavenly joy immerses,<br /> +And all the angels sat about<br /> +And praised my verses.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +V<br /> +<br /> +The mutilated choir boys<br /> +When I begin to sing<br /> +Complain about the awful noise<br /> +And call my voice too thick a thing.<br /> +<br /> +When light their voices lift them up,<br /> +Bright notes against the ear,<br /> +Through trills and runs like crystal,<br /> +Ring delicate and clear.<br /> +<br /> +They sing of Love that's grown desirous,<br /> +Of Love, and joy that is Love's inmost part,<br /> +And all the ladies swim through tears<br /> +Toward such a work of art.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +VI<br /> +<br /> +This delightful young man<br /> +Should not lack for honourers,<br /> +He propitiates me with oysters,<br /> +With Rhine wine and liqueurs.<br /> +<br /> +How his coat and pants adorn him!<br /> +Yet his ties are more adorning,<br /> +In these he daily comes to ask me:<br /> +Are you feeling well this morning?<br /> +<br /> +He speaks of my extended fame,<br /> +My wit, charm, definitions,<br /> +And is diligent to serve me,<br /> +Is detailed in his provisions.<br /> +<br /> +In evening company he sets his face<br /> +In most spiritu<i>el</i> positions,<br /> +And declaims before the ladies<br /> +My <i>god-like</i> compositions.<br /> +<br /> +O what comfort is it for me<br /> +To find him such, when the days bring<br /> +No comfort, at my time of life when<br /> +All good things go vanishing.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em;"><i>TRANSLATOR TO TRANSLATED</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>O Harry Heine, curses be,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>I live too late to sup with thee!</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Who can demolish at such polished ease</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Philistia's pomp and Art's pomposities!</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +VII<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">SONG FROM DIE HARZREISE</span><br /> +<br /> +I am the Princess Ilza<br /> +In Ilsenstein I fare,<br /> +Come with me to that castle<br /> +And we'll be happy there.<br /> +<br /> +Thy head will I cover over<br /> +With my waves' clarity<br /> +Till thou forget thy sorrow,<br /> +O wounded sorrowfully.<br /> +<br /> +Thou wilt in my white arms there,<br /> +Nay, on my breast thou must<br /> +Forget and rest and dream there<br /> +For thine old legend-lust.<br /> +<br /> +My lips and my heart are thine there<br /> +As they were his and mine.<br /> +His? Why the good King Harry's,<br /> +And he is dead lang syne.<br /> +<br /> +Dead men stay alway dead men,<br /> +Life is the live man's part,<br /> +And I am fair and golden<br /> +With joy breathless at heart.<br /> +<br /> +If my heart stay below there,<br /> +My crystal halls ring clear<br /> +To the dance of lords and ladies<br /> +In all their splendid gear.<br /> +<br /> +The silken trains go rustling,<br /> +The spur-clinks sound between,<br /> +The dark dwarfs blow and bow there<br /> +Small horn and violin.<br /> +<br /> +Yet shall my white arms hold thee,<br /> +That bound King Harry about.<br /> +Ah, I covered his ears with them<br /> +When the trumpet rang out.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small"><a name="UND_DRANG" id="UND_DRANG"></a>UND DRANG</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em; font-size: 0.8em;">Nay, dwells he in cloudy rumour alone?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em; font-size: 0.8em;">BINYON.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +I am worn faint,<br /> +The winds of good and evil<br /> +Blind me with dust<br /> +And burn me with the cold,<br /> +There is no comfort being over-man;<br /> +Yet are we come more near<br /> +The great oblivions and the labouring night,<br /> +Inchoate truth and the sepulchral forces.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +Confusion, clamour, 'mid the many voices<br /> +Is there a meaning, a significance?<br /> +<br /> +That life apart from all life gives and takes,<br /> +This life, apart from all life's bitter and life's sweet,<br /> +Is good.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ye see me and ye say: exceeding sweet</span><br /> +Life's gifts, his youth, his art,<br /> +And his too soon acclaim.<br /> +<br /> +I also knew exceeding bitterness,<br /> +Saw good things altered and old friends fare forth,<br /> +And what I loved in me hath died too soon,<br /> +Yea I have seen the "gray above the green";<br /> +Gay have I lived in life;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Though life hath lain</span><br /> +Strange hands upon me and hath torn my sides,<br /> +Yet I believe.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +Life is most cruel where she is most wise.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +III<br /> +<br /> +The will to live goes from me.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">I have lain</span><br /> +Dull and out-worn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">with some strange, subtle sickness.</span><br /> +Who shall say<br /> +That love is not the very root of this,<br /> +O thou afar?<br /> +<br /> +Yet she was near me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">that eternal deep.</span><br /> +O it is passing strange that love<br /> +Can blow two ways across one soul.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +And I was Aengus for a thousand years,<br /> +And she, the ever-living, moved with me<br /> +And strove amid the waves, and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">would not go.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +IV<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">ELEGIA</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em; font-size: 0.8em;">"<i>Far buon tempo e trionfare</i>"</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"I have put my days and dreams out of mind'<br /> +For all their hurry and their weary fret<br /> +Availed me little. But another kind<br /> +Of leaf that's fast in some more sombre wind,<br /> +Is man on life, and all our tenuous courses<br /> +Wind and unwind as vainly.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +I have lived long, and died,<br /> +Yea I have been dead, right often,<br /> +And have seen one thing:<br /> +The sun, while he is high, doth light our wrong<br /> +And none can break the darkness with a song.<br /> +<br /> +To-day's the cup. To-morrow is not ours:<br /> +Nay, by our strongest bands we bind her not,<br /> +Nor all our fears and our anxieties<br /> +Turn her one leaf or hold her scimitar.<br /> +<br /> +The deed blots out the thought<br /> +And many thoughts, the vision;<br /> +And right's a compass with as many poles<br /> +As there are points in her circumference,<br /> +'Tis vain to seek to steer all courses even,<br /> +And all things save sheer right are vain enough.<br /> +The blade were vain to grow save toward the sun,<br /> +And vain th' attempt to hold her green forever.<br /> +<br /> +All things in season and no thing o'er long!<br /> +Love and desire and gain and good forgetting,<br /> +Thou canst not stay the wheel, hold none too long!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +V<br /> +<br /> +How our modernity,<br /> +Nerve-wracked and broken, turns<br /> +Against time's way and all the way of things,<br /> +Crying with weak and egoistic cries!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +All things are given over,<br /> +Only the restless will<br /> +Surges amid the stars<br /> +Seeking new moods of life,<br /> +New permutations.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +See, and the very sense of what we know<br /> +Dodges and hides as in a sombre curtain<br /> +Bright threads leap forth, and hide, and leave no pattern.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +VI<br /> +<br /> +I thought I had put Love by for a time<br /> +And I was glad, for to me his fair face<br /> +Is like Pain's face.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">A little light,</span><br /> +The lowered curtain and the theatre!<br /> +And o'er the frail talk of the inter-act<br /> +Something that broke the jest! A little light,<br /> +The gold, and half the profile!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">The whole face</span><br /> +Was nothing like you, yet that image cut<br /> +Sheer through the moment.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +VIb<br /> +<br /> +I have gone seeking for you in the twilight,<br /> +Here in the flurry of Fifth Avenue,<br /> +Here where they pass between their teas and teas.<br /> +Is it such madness? though you could not be<br /> +Ever in all that crowd, no gown<br /> +Of all their subtle sorts could be your gown.<br /> +<br /> +Yet I am fed with faces, is there one<br /> +That even in the half-light mindeth me.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +VII<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">THE HOUSE OF SPLENDOUR</span><br /> +<br /> +'Tis Evanoe's,<br /> +A house not made with hands,<br /> +But out somewhere beyond the worldly ways<br /> +Her gold is spread, above, around, inwoven,<br /> +Strange ways and walls are fashioned out of it.<br /> +<br /> +And I have seen my Lady in the sun,<br /> +Her hair was spread about, a sheaf of wings,<br /> +And red the sunlight was, behind it all.<br /> +<br /> +And I have seen her there within her house,<br /> +With six great sapphires hung along the wall,<br /> +Low, panel-shaped, a-level with her knees,<br /> +And all her robe was woven of pale gold.<br /> +<br /> +There are there many rooms and all of gold,<br /> +Of woven walls deep patterned, of email,<br /> +Of beaten work; and through the claret stone,<br /> +Set to some weaving, comes the aureate light.<br /> +<br /> +Here am I come perforce my love of her,<br /> +Behold mine adoration<br /> +Maketh me clear, and there are powers in this<br /> +Which, played on by the virtues of her soul,<br /> +Break down the four-square walls of standing time.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +VIII<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">THE FLAME</span><br /> +<br /> +'Tis not a game that plays at mates and mating,<br /> +Provençe knew;<br /> +'Tis not a game of barter, lands and houses,<br /> +Provençe knew.<br /> +We who are wise beyond your dream of wisdom,<br /> +Drink our immortal moments; we "pass through."<br /> +We have gone forth beyond your bonds and borders,<br /> +Provençe knew;<br /> +And all the tales they ever writ of Oisin<br /> +Say but this:<br /> +That man doth pass the net of days and hours.<br /> +Where time is shrivelled down to time's seed corn<br /> +We of the Ever-living, in that light<br /> +Meet through our veils and whisper, and of love.<br /> +<br /> +O smoke and shadow of a darkling world,<br /> +Barters of passion, and that tenderness<br /> +That's but a sort of cunning! O my Love,<br /> +These, and the rest, and all the rest we knew.<br /> +<br /> +'Tis not a game that plays at mates and mating,<br /> +'Tis not a game of barter, lands and houses,<br /> +'Tis not "of days and nights" and troubling years,<br /> +Of cheeks grown sunken and glad hair gone gray;<br /> +There <i>is</i> the subtler music, the clear light<br /> +<br /> +Where time burns back about th' eternal embers.<br /> +We are not shut from all the thousand heavens:<br /> +Lo, there are many gods whom we have seen,<br /> +Folk of unearthly fashion, places splendid,<br /> +Bulwarks of beryl and of chrysophrase.<br /> +<br /> +Sapphire Benacus, in thy mists and thee<br /> +Nature herself's turned metaphysical,<br /> +Who can look on that blue and not believe?<br /> +<br /> +Thou hooded opal, thou eternal pearl,<br /> +O thou dark secret with a shimmering floor,<br /> +Through all thy various mood I know thee mine;<br /> +<br /> +If I have merged my soul, or utterly<br /> +Am solved and bound in, through aught here on earth,<br /> +There canst thou find me, O thou anxious thou,<br /> +Who call'st about my gates for some lost me;<br /> +I say my soul flowed back, became translucent.<br /> +Search not my lips, O Love, let go my hands,<br /> +This thing that moves as man is no more mortal.<br /> +If thou hast seen my shade sans character,<br /> +If thou hast seen that mirror of all moments,<br /> +That glass to all things that o'ershadow it,<br /> +Call not that mirror me, for I have slipped<br /> +Your grasp, I have eluded.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +IX<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(HORAE BEATAE INSCRIPTIO)</span><br /> +<br /> +How will this beauty, when I am far hence,<br /> +Sweep back upon me and engulf my mind!<br /> +<br /> +How will these hours, when we twain are gray,<br /> +Turned in their sapphire tide, come flooding o'er us!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +X<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(THE ALTAR)</span><br /> +<br /> +Let us build here an exquisite friendship,<br /> +The flame, the autumn, and the green rose of love<br /> +Fought out their strife here, 'tis a place of wonder;<br /> +Where these have been, meet 'tis, the ground is holy.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +IX<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(AU SALON)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em; font-size: 0.8em;">Her grave, sweet haughtiness</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em; font-size: 0.8em;">Pleaseth me, and in like wise</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em; font-size: 0.8em;">Her quiet ironies.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em; font-size: 0.8em;">Others are beautiful, none more, some less.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I suppose, when poetry comes down to facts,<br /> +When our souls are returned to the gods<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">and the spheres they belong in,</span><br /> +Here in the every-day where our acts<br /> +Rise up and judge us;<br /> +<br /> +I suppose there are a few dozen verities<br /> +That no shift of mood can shake from us:<br /> +<br /> +One place where we'd rather have tea<br /> +(Thus far hath modernity brought us)<br /> +"Tea" (Damn you!)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Have tea, damn the Caesars,</span><br /> +Talk of the latest success, give wing to some scandal,<br /> +Garble a name we detest, and for prejudice?<br /> +Set loose the whole consummate pack<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">to bay like Sir Roger de Coverley's</span><br /> +<br /> +This our reward for our works,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">sic crescit gloria mundi:</span><br /> +Some circle of not more than three<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">that we prefer to play up to,</span><br /> +<br /> +Some few whom we'd rather please<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">than hear the whole aegrum vulgrus</span><br /> +Splitting its beery jowl<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">a-meaowling our praises.</span><br /> +<br /> +Some certain peculiar things,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">cari laresque, penates,</span><br /> +Some certain accustomed forms,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">the absolute unimportant.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +XII<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(AU JARDIN)</span><br /> +<br /> +O You away high there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">you that lean</span><br /> +From amber lattices upon the cobalt night,<br /> +I am below amid the pine trees,<br /> +Amid the little pine trees, hear me!<br /> +<br /> +"The jester walked in the garden."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Did he so?</span><br /> +Well, there's no use your loving me<br /> +That way, Lady;<br /> +For I've nothing but songs to give you.<br /> +<br /> +I am set wide upon the world's ways<br /> +To say that life is, some way, a gay thing,<br /> +But you never string two days upon one wire<br /> +But there'll come sorrow of it.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">And I loved a love once,</span><br /> +Over beyond the moon there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">I loved a love once,</span><br /> +And, may be, more times,<br /> +<br /> +But she danced like a pink moth in the shrubbery.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, I know you women from the "other folk,"<br /> +And it'll all come right,<br /> +O' Sundays.<br /> +<br /> +"The jester walked in the garden."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Did he so?</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 75%;" /> + +<h3><a name="RIPOSTES_OF_EZRA_POUND" id="RIPOSTES_OF_EZRA_POUND"></a>RIPOSTES OF EZRA POUND</h3> + + +<p class="center">Gird on thy star, We'll have this out with fate</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h5>TO</h5> + +<h5>WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS</h5> + + +<p style="margin-left: 25%; font-size: 0.8em;"> +<br /><br /> +<span class="caption">CONTENTS</span><br /> +<br /> +<a href="#SILET">SILET</a><br /> +<a href="#IN_EXITUM_CUIUSDAM">IN EXITUM CUIUSDAM</a><br /> +<a href="#APPARUIT">APPARUIT</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_TOMB_AT_AKR_CAAR">THE TOMB AT AKR ÇAAR</a><br /> +<a href="#PORTRAIT_DUNE_FEMME">PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME</a><br /> +<a href="#NY">N.Y.</a><br /> +<a href="#A_GIRL">A GIRL</a><br /> +<a href="#PHASELLUS_ILLE">"PHASELLUS ILLE"</a><br /> +<a href="#AN_OBJECT">AN OBJECT</a><br /> +<a href="#QUIES">QUIES</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_SEAFARER">THE SEAFARER</a><br /> +<a href="#I_E">ECHOES: I.</a><br /> +<a href="#E_II">ECHOES: II.</a><br /> +<a href="#AN_IMMORALITY">AN IMMORALITY</a><br /> +<a href="#DIEU_QUIL_LA_FAIT">DIEU! QU'IL LA FAIT</a><br /> +<a href="#SALVE_PONTIFEX">SALVE PONTIFEX</a><br /> +<a href="#DELTA-omega-rho-iota-alpha">Δώρια</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_NEEDLE">THE NEEDLE</a><br /> +<a href="#SUB_MARE">SUB MARE</a><br /> +<a href="#PLUNGE">PLUNGE</a><br /> +<a href="#A_VIRGINAL">A VIRGINAL</a><br /> +<a href="#PAN_IS_DEAD">PAN IS DEAD</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_PICTURE">THE PICTURE</a><br /> +<a href="#OF_JACOPO_DEL_SELLAIO">OF JACOPO DEL SELLAIO</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_RETURN">THE RETURN</a><br /> +<a href="#EFFECTS_OF_MUSIC_UPON_A_COMPANY_OF_PEOPLE">EFFECTS OF MUSIC UPON A COMPANY OF PEOPLE</a>——<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"><a href="#DEUX_MOVEMENTS">I. DEUX MOVEMENTS</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><a href="#FROM_A_THING_BY_SCHUMANN">II. FROM A THING BY SCHUMANN</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF T.E. HULME<br /> +<br /> +<a href="#PREFATORY_NOTE">PREFATORY NOTE</a><br /> +<a href="#AUTUMN">AUTUMN</a><br /> +<a href="#MANA_ABODA">MANA ABODA</a><br /> +<a href="#ABOVE_THE_DOCK">ABOVE THE DOCK</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_EMBANKMENT">THE EMBANKMENT</a><br /> +<a href="#CONVERSION">CONVERSION</a><br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<h4>RIPOSTES</h4> +<p style="margin-left: 25%;"> +<br /> +<a name="SILET" id="SILET"></a>SILET<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +When I behold how black, immortal ink<br /> +Drips from my deathless pen—ah, well-away!<br /> +Why should we stop at all for what I think?<br /> +There is enough in what I chance to say.<br /> +<br /> +It is enough that we once came together;<br /> +What is the use of setting it to rime?<br /> +When it is autumn do we get spring weather,<br /> +Or gather may of harsh northwindish time?<br /> +<br /> +It is enough that we once came together;<br /> +What if the wind have turned against the rain?<br /> +It is enough that we once came together;<br /> +Time has seen this, and will not turn again;<br /> +<br /> +And who are we, who know that last intent,<br /> +To plague to-morrow with a testament!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="IN_EXITUM_CUIUSDAM" id="IN_EXITUM_CUIUSDAM"></a>IN EXITUM CUIUSDAM<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em; font-size: 0.8em;"><i>On a certain one's departure</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"Time's bitter flood"! Oh, that's all very well,<br /> +But where's the old friend hasn't fallen off,<br /> +Or slacked his hand-grip when you first gripped fame?<br /> +<br /> +I know your circle and can fairly tell<br /> +What you have kept and what you've left behind:<br /> +I know my circle and know very well<br /> +How many faces I'd have out of mind.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="APPARUIT" id="APPARUIT"></a>APPARUIT<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Golden rose the house, in the portal I saw<br /> +thee, a marvel, carven in subtle stuff, a portent.<br /> +Life died down in the lamp and flickered,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">caught at the wonder.</span><br /> +<br /> +Crimson, frosty with dew, the roses bend where<br /> +thou afar moving in the glamorous sun<br /> +drinkst in life of earth, of the air, the tissue<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">golden about thee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Green the ways, the breath of the fields is thine there,<br /> +open lies the land, yet the steely going<br /> +darkly hast thou dared and the dreaded æther<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">parted before thee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Swift at courage thou in the shell of gold, casting<br /> +a-loose the cloak of the body, camest<br /> +straight, then shone thine oriel and the stunned light<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">faded about thee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Half the graven shoulder, the throat aflash with<br /> +strands of light inwoven about it, loveliest<br /> +of all things, frail alabaster, ah me!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">swift in departing,</span><br /> +<br /> +Clothed in goldish weft, delicately perfect,<br /> +gone as wind! The cloth of the magical hands!<br /> +Thou a slight thing, thou in access of cunning<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">dar'dst to assume this?</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_TOMB_AT_AKR_CAAR" id="THE_TOMB_AT_AKR_CAAR"></a>THE TOMB AT AKR ÇAAR<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +"I am thy soul, Nikoptis. I have watched<br /> +These five millennia, and thy dead eyes<br /> +Moved not, nor ever answer my desire,<br /> +And thy light limbs, wherethrough I leapt aflame,<br /> +Burn not with me nor any saffron thing.<br /> +<br /> +See, the light grass sprang up to pillow thee,<br /> +And kissed thee with a myriad grassy tongues;<br /> +But not thou me.<br /> +<br /> +I have read out the gold upon the wall,<br /> +And wearied out my thought upon the signs.<br /> +And there is no new thing in all this place.<br /> +<br /> +I have been kind. See, I have left the jars sealed,<br /> +Lest thou shouldst wake and whimper for thy wine.<br /> +And all thy robes I have kept smooth on thee.<br /> +<br /> +O thou unmindful! How should I forget!<br /> +—Even the river many days ago,<br /> +The river, thou wast over young.<br /> +And three souls came upon Thee—<br /> +<br /> +And I came.<br /> +And I flowed in upon thee, beat them off;<br /> +I have been intimate with thee, known thy ways.<br /> +Have I not touched thy palms and finger-tips,<br /> +Flowed in, and through thee and about thy heels?<br /> +How 'came I in'? Was I not thee and Thee?<br /> +<br /> +And no sun comes to rest me in this place,<br /> +And I am torn against the jagged dark,<br /> +And no light beats upon me, and you say<br /> +No word, day after day.<br /> +<br /> +Oh! I could get me out, despite the marks<br /> +And all their crafty work upon the door,<br /> +Out through the glass-green fields....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">* * * * *</span><br /> +Yet it is quiet here:<br /> +I do not go."<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PORTRAIT_DUNE_FEMME" id="PORTRAIT_DUNE_FEMME"></a>PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,<br /> +London has swept about you this score years<br /> +And bright ships left you this or that in fee:<br /> +Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things,<br /> +Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price.<br /> +Great minds have sought you—lacking someone else.<br /> +You have been second always. Tragical?<br /> +No. You preferred it to the usual thing:<br /> +One dull man, dulling and uxorious,<br /> +One average mind—with one thought less, each year.<br /> +Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit<br /> +Hours, where something might have floated up.<br /> +And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay.<br /> +You are a person of some interest, one comes to you<br /> +And takes strange gain away:<br /> +Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion;<br /> +Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two,<br /> +Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else<br /> +That might prove useful and yet never proves,<br /> +That never fits a corner or shows use,<br /> +Or finds its hour upon the loom of days:<br /> +The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work;<br /> +Idols and ambergris and rare inlays,<br /> +These are your riches, your great store; and yet<br /> +For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things,<br /> +Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff:<br /> +In the slow float of differing light and deep,<br /> +No! there is nothing! In the whole and all,<br /> +Nothing that's quite your own.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Yet this is you.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="NY" id="NY"></a>N.Y.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +My City, my beloved, my white!<br /> +Ah, slender,<br /> +Listen! Listen to me, and I will breathe into thee a soul.<br /> +Delicately upon the reed, attend me!<br /> +<br /> +<i>Now do I know that I am mad,</i><br /> +<i>For here are a million people surly with traffic;</i><br /> +<i>This is no maid.</i><br /> +<i>Neither could I play upon any reed if I had one.</i><br /> +<br /> +My City, my beloved,<br /> +Thou art a maid with no breasts,<br /> +Thou art slender as a silver reed.<br /> +Listen to me, attend me!<br /> +And I will breathe into thee a soul,<br /> +And thou shalt live for ever.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="A_GIRL" id="A_GIRL"></a>A GIRL<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +The tree has entered my hands,<br /> +The sap has ascended my arms,<br /> +The tree has grown in my breast—<br /> +Downward,<br /> +The branches grow out of me, like arms.<br /> +<br /> +Tree you are,<br /> +Moss you are,<br /> +You are violets with wind above them.<br /> +A child—<i>so</i> high—you are,<br /> +And all this is folly to the world.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PHASELLUS_ILLE" id="PHASELLUS_ILLE"></a>"PHASELLUS ILLE"<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +This <i>papier-mâché</i>, which you see, my friends,<br /> +Saith 'twas the worthiest of editors.<br /> +Its mind was made up in "the seventies,"<br /> +Nor hath it ever since changed that concoction.<br /> +It works to represent that school of thought<br /> +Which brought the hair-cloth chair to such perfection,<br /> +Nor will the horrid threats of Bernard Shaw<br /> +Shake up the stagnant pool of its convictions;<br /> +Nay, should the deathless voice of all the world<br /> +Speak once again for its sole stimulation,<br /> +'Twould not move it one jot from left to right.<br /> +<br /> +Come Beauty barefoot from the Cyclades,<br /> +She'd find a model for St Anthony<br /> +In this thing's sure <i>decorum</i> and behaviour.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="AN_OBJECT" id="AN_OBJECT"></a>AN OBJECT<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +This thing, that hath a code and not a core,<br /> +Hath set acquaintance where might be affections,<br /> +And nothing now<br /> +Disturbeth his reflections.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="QUIES" id="QUIES"></a>QUIES<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +This is another of our ancient loves.<br /> +Pass and be silent, Rullus, for the day<br /> +Hath lacked a something since this lady passed;<br /> +Hath lacked a something. 'Twas but marginal.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_SEAFARER" id="THE_SEAFARER"></a>THE SEAFARER<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(<i>From the early Anglo-Saxon text</i>)</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +May I for my own self song's truth reckon,<br /> +Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days<br /> +Hardship endured oft.<br /> +Bitter breast-cares have I abided,<br /> +Known on my keel many a care's hold,<br /> +And dire sea-surge, and there I oft spent<br /> +Narrow nightwatch nigh the ship's head<br /> +While she tossed close to cliffs. Coldly afflicted,<br /> +My feet were by frost benumbed.<br /> +Chill its chains are; chafing sighs<br /> +Hew my heart round and hunger begot<br /> +Mere-weary mood. Lest man know not<br /> +That he on dry land loveliest liveth,<br /> +List how I, care-wretched, on ice-cold sea,<br /> +Weathered the winter, wretched outcast<br /> +Deprived of my kinsmen;<br /> +Hung with hard ice-flakes, where hail-scur flew,<br /> +There I heard naught save the harsh sea<br /> +And ice-cold wave, at whiles the swan cries,<br /> +Did for my games the gannet's clamour,<br /> +Sea-fowls' loudness was for me laughter,<br /> +The mews' singing all my mead-drink.<br /> +Storms, on the stone-cliffs beaten, fell on the stern<br /> +In icy feathers; full oft the eagle screamed<br /> +With spray on his pinion.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Not any protector</span><br /> +May make merry man faring needy.<br /> +This he little believes, who aye in winsome life<br /> +Abides 'mid burghers some heavy business,<br /> +Wealthy and wine-flushed, how I weary oft<br /> +Must bide above brine.<br /> +Neareth nightshade, snoweth from north,<br /> +Frost froze the land, hail fell on earth then<br /> +Corn of the coldest. Nathless there knocketh now<br /> +The heart's thought that I on high streams<br /> +The salt-wavy tumult traverse alone.<br /> +Moaneth alway my mind's lust<br /> +That I fare forth, that I afar hence<br /> +Seek out a foreign fastness.<br /> +For this there's no mood-lofty man over earth's midst,<br /> +Not though he be given his good, but will have in his youth greed;<br /> +Nor his deed to the daring, nor his king to the faithful<br /> +But shall have his sorrow for sea-fare<br /> +Whatever his lord will.<br /> +He hath not heart for harping, nor in ring-having<br /> +Nor winsomeness to wife, nor world's delight<br /> +Nor any whit else save the wave's slash,<br /> +Yet longing comes upon him to fare forth on the water.<br /> +Bosque taketh blossom, cometh beauty of berries,<br /> +Fields to fairness, land fares brisker,<br /> +All this admonisheth man eager of mood,<br /> +The heart turns to travel so that he then thinks<br /> +On flood-ways to be far departing.<br /> +Cuckoo calleth with gloomy crying,<br /> +He singeth summerward, bodeth sorrow,<br /> +The bitter heart's blood. Burgher knows not—<br /> +He the prosperous man—what some perform<br /> +Where wandering them widest draweth.<br /> +So that but now my heart burst from my breast-lock,<br /> +My mood 'mid the mere-flood,<br /> +Over the whale's acre, would wander wide.<br /> +On earth's shelter cometh oft to me,<br /> +Eager and ready, the crying lone-flyer,<br /> +Whets for the whale-path the heart irresistibly,<br /> +O'er tracks of ocean; seeing that anyhow<br /> +My lord deems to me this dead life<br /> +On loan and on land, I believe not<br /> +That any earth-weal eternal standeth<br /> +Save there be somewhat calamitous<br /> +That, ere a man's tide go, turn it to twain.<br /> +Disease or oldness or sword-hate<br /> +Beats out the breath from doom-gripped body.<br /> +And for this, every earl whatever, for those speaking after—<br /> +Laud of the living, boasteth some last word,<br /> +That he will work ere he pass onward,<br /> +Frame on the fair earth 'gainst foes his malice,<br /> +Daring ado,...<br /> +So that all men shall honour him after<br /> +And his laud beyond them remain 'mid the English,<br /> +Aye, for ever, a lasting life's-blast,<br /> +Delight mid the doughty.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Days little durable,</span><br /> +And all arrogance of earthen riches,<br /> +There come now no kings nor Cæsars<br /> +Nor gold-giving lords like those gone.<br /> +Howe'er in mirth most magnified,<br /> +Whoe'er lived in life most lordliest,<br /> +Drear all this excellence, delights undurable!<br /> +Waneth the watch, but the world holdeth.<br /> +Tomb hideth trouble. The blade is layed low.<br /> +Earthly glory ageth and seareth.<br /> +No man at all going the earth's gait,<br /> +But age fares against him, his face paleth,<br /> +Grey-haired he groaneth, knows gone companions,<br /> +Lordly men are to earth o'ergiven,<br /> +Nor may he then the flesh-cover, whose life ceaseth,<br /> +Nor eat the sweet nor feel the sorry,<br /> +Nor stir hand nor think in mid heart,<br /> +And though he strew the grave with gold,<br /> +His born brothers, their buried bodies<br /> +Be an unlikely treasure hoard.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +ECHOES<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="I_E" id="I_E"></a>I<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">GUIDO ORLANDO, SINGING</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Befits me praise thine empery,<br /> +Lady of Valour,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Past all disproving;</span><br /> +Thou art the flower to me—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nay, by Love's pallor—</span><br /> +Of all good loving.<br /> +<br /> +Worthy to reap men's praises<br /> +Is he who'd gaze upon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Truth's mazes.</span><br /> +In like commend is he,<br /> +Who, loving fixedly,<br /> +Love so refineth,<br /> +<br /> +Till thou alone art she<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In whom love's vested;</span><br /> +As branch hath fairest flower<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where fruit's suggested.</span><br /> +<br /> +This great joy comes to me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me observing</span><br /> +How swiftly thou hast power<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To pay my serving.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="II_E" id="II_E"></a>II<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Thou keep'st thy rose-leaf<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the rose-time will be over,</span><br /> +Think'st thou that Death will kiss thee?<br /> +Think'st thou that the Dark House<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will find thee such a lover</span><br /> +As I? Will the new roses miss thee?<br /> +<br /> +Prefer my cloak unto the cloak of dust<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Neath which the last year lies,</span><br /> +For thou shouldst more mistrust<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Time than my eyes.</span><br /> +</p> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Asclepiades, Julianus Ægyptus.</p></div> + +<p style="margin-left: 25%;"> +<br /> +<a name="AN_IMMORALITY" id="AN_IMMORALITY"></a>AN IMMORALITY<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Sing we for love and idleness,<br /> +Naught else is worth the having.<br /> +<br /> +Though I have been in many a land,<br /> +There is naught else in living.<br /> +<br /> +And I would rather have my sweet,<br /> +Though rose-leaves die of grieving,<br /> +<br /> +Than do high deeds in Hungary<br /> +To pass all men's believing.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="DIEU_QUIL_LA_FAIT" id="DIEU_QUIL_LA_FAIT"></a>DIEU! QU'IL LA FAIT<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em; font-size: 0.8em;"><i>From Charles D'Orleans</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em; font-size: 0.8em;"><i>For music</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +God! that mad'st her well regard her,<br /> +How she is so fair and bonny;<br /> +For the great charms that are upon her<br /> +Ready are all folk to reward her.<br /> +<br /> +Who could part him from her borders<br /> +When spells are alway renewed on her?<br /> +God! that mad'st her well regard her,<br /> +How she is so fair and bonny.<br /> +<br /> +From here to there to the sea's border,<br /> +Dame nor damsel there's not any<br /> +Hath of perfect charms so many.<br /> +Thoughts of her are of dream's order:<br /> +God! that mad'st her well regard her.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SALVE_PONTIFEX" id="SALVE_PONTIFEX"></a>SALVE PONTIFEX<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em; font-size: 0.8em;">(A.C.S.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +One after one they leave thee,<br /> +High Priest of Iacchus,<br /> +Intoning thy melodies as winds intone<br /> +The whisperings of leaves on sunlit days.<br /> +And the sands are many<br /> +And the seas beyond the sands are one<br /> +In ultimate, so we here being many<br /> +Are unity; nathless thy compeers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Knowing thy melody,</span><br /> +Lulled with the wine of thy music<br /> +Go seaward silently, leaving thee sentinel<br /> +O'er all the mysteries,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">High Priest of Iacchus.</span><br /> +For the lines of life lie under thy fingers,<br /> +And above the vari-coloured strands<br /> +Thine eyes look out unto the infinitude<br /> +Of the blue waves of heaven,<br /> +And even as Triplex Sisterhood<br /> +Thou fingerest the threads knowing neither<br /> +Cause nor the ending,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +Draw'st forth a multiplicity<br /> +Of strands, and, beholding<br /> +The colour thereof, raisest thy voice<br /> +Towards the sunset,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus!</span><br /> +And out of the secrets of the inmost mysteries<br /> +Thou chantest strange far-sourced canticles:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus!</span><br /> +Life and the ways of Death her<br /> +Twin-born sister, that is life's counterpart,<br /> +And of night and the winds of night;<br /> +Silent voices ministering to the souls<br /> +Of hamadryads that hold council concealèd<br /> +In streams and tree-shadowing<br /> +Forests on hill slopes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +All the manifold mystery<br /> +Thou makest a wine of song,<br /> +And maddest thy following even<br /> +With visions of great deeds<br /> +And their futility,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus!</span><br /> +Though thy co-novices are bent to the scythe<br /> +Of the magian wind that is voice of Persephone,<br /> +Leaving thee solitary, master of initiating<br /> +Mænads that come through the<br /> +Vine-entangled ways of the forest<br /> +Seeking, out of all the world,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Madness of Iacchus,</span><br /> +That being skilled in the secrets of the double cup<br /> +They might turn the dead of the world<br /> +Into pæans,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +Wreathed with the glory of thy years of creating<br /> +Entangled music,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Breathe!</span><br /> +Now that the evening cometh upon thee,<br /> +Breathe upon us, that low-bowed and exultant<br /> +Drink wine of Iacchus, that since the conquering<br /> +Hath been chiefly containèd in the numbers<br /> +Of them that, even as thou, have woven<br /> +Wicker baskets for grape clusters<br /> +Wherein is concealèd the source of the vintage,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +Breathe thou upon us<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Thy magic in parting!</span><br /> +Even as they thy co-novices,<br /> +At being mingled with the sea,<br /> +While yet thou madest thy canticles<br /> +Serving upright before the altar<br /> +That is bound about with shadows<br /> +Of dead years wherein thy Iacchus<br /> +Looked not upon the hills, that being<br /> +Uncared for, praised not him in entirety.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +Being now near to the border of the sands<br /> +Where the sapphire girdle of the sea<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Encinctureth the maiden</span><br /> +Persephone, released for the spring,<br /> +Look! Breathe upon us<br /> +The wonder of the thrice encinctured mystery<br /> +Whereby thou being full of years art young,<br /> +Loving even this lithe Persephone<br /> +That is free for the seasons of plenty;<br /> +Whereby thou being young art old<br /> +And shalt stand before this Persephone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whom thou lovest,</span><br /> +In darkness, even at that time<br /> +That she being returned to her husband<br /> +Shall be queen and a maiden no longer,<br /> +Wherein thou being neither old nor young<br /> +Standing on the verge of the sea<br /> +Shalt pass from being sand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +And becoming wave<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shalt encircle all sands,</span><br /> +Being transmuted through all<br /> +The girdling of the sea.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O High Priest of Iacchus,</span><br /> +Breathe thou upon us!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Note.</i>—This apostrophe was written three years<br /> +before Swinburne's death.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="DELTA-omega-rho-iota-alpha" id="DELTA-omega-rho-iota-alpha"></a>Δώρια<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Be in me as the eternal moods of the bleak wind, and not<br /> +As transient things are—gaiety of flowers.<br /> +Have me in the strong loneliness of sunless cliffs<br /> +And of grey waters.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Let the gods speak softly of us</span><br /> +In days hereafter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The shadowy flowers of Orcus</span><br /> +Remember Thee.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_NEEDLE" id="THE_NEEDLE"></a>THE NEEDLE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Come, or the stellar tide will slip away,<br /> +Eastward avoid the hour of its decline,<br /> +Now! for the needle trembles in my soul!<br /> +<br /> +Here have we had our vantage, the good hour.<br /> +Here we have had our day, your day and mine.<br /> +Come now, before this power<br /> +That bears us up, shall turn against the pole.<br /> +<br /> +Mock not the flood of stars, the thing's to be.<br /> +O Love, come now, this land turns evil slowly.<br /> +The waves bore in, soon will they bear away.<br /> +<br /> +The treasure is ours, make we fast land with it.<br /> +Move we and take the tide, with its next favour,<br /> +Abide<br /> +Under some neutral force<br /> +Until this course turneth aside.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="SUB_MARE" id="SUB_MARE"></a>SUB MARE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +It is, and is not, I am sane enough,<br /> +Since you have come this place has hovered round me,<br /> +This fabrication built of autumn roses,<br /> +Then there's a goldish colour, different.<br /> +<br /> +And one gropes in these things as delicate<br /> +Algae reach up and out beneath<br /> +Pale slow green surgings of the under-wave,<br /> +'Mid these things older than the names they have,<br /> +These things that are familiars of the god.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PLUNGE" id="PLUNGE"></a>PLUNGE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I would bathe myself in strangeness:<br /> +These comforts heaped upon me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">smother me!</span><br /> +I burn, I scald so for the new,<br /> +New friends, new faces,<br /> +Places!<br /> +Oh to be out of this,<br /> +This that is all I wanted<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">—save the new.</span><br /> +And you,<br /> +Love, you the much, the more desired!<br /> +Do I not loathe all walls, streets, stones,<br /> +All mire, mist, all fog,<br /> +All ways of traffic?<br /> +You, I would have flow over me like water,<br /> +Oh, but far out of this!<br /> +Grass, and low fields, and hills,<br /> +And sun,<br /> +Oh, sun enough!<br /> +Out and alone, among some<br /> +Alien people!<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="A_VIRGINAL" id="A_VIRGINAL"></a>A VIRGINAL<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately,<br /> +I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness,<br /> +For my surrounding air has a new lightness;<br /> +Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly<br /> +And left me cloaked as with a gauze of æther;<br /> +As with sweet leaves; as with a subtle clearness.<br /> +Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness<br /> +To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her.<br /> +<br /> +No, no! Go from me. I have still the flavour,<br /> +Soft as spring wind that's come from birchen bowers.<br /> +Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches,<br /> +As winter's wound with her sleight hand she staunches,<br /> +Hath of the tress a likeness of the savour:<br /> +As white their bark, so white this lady's hours.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PAN_IS_DEAD" id="PAN_IS_DEAD"></a>PAN IS DEAD<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Pan is dead. Great Pan is dead.<br /> +Ah! bow your heads, ye maidens all,<br /> +And weave ye him his coronal.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is no summer in the leaves,</span><br /> +And withered are the sedges;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How shall we weave a coronal,</span><br /> +Or gather floral pledges?<br /> +<br /> +That I may not say, Ladies.<br /> +Death was ever a churl.<br /> +That I may not say, Ladies.<br /> +How should he show a reason,<br /> +That he has taken our Lord away<br /> +Upon such hollow season?<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_PICTURE" id="THE_PICTURE"></a>THE PICTURE<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +The eyes of this dead lady speak to me,<br /> +For here was love, was not to be drowned out,<br /> +And here desire, not to be kissed away.<br /> +<br /> +The eyes of this dead lady speak to me.<br /> +<br /> +</p> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_2"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> "Venus Reclining," by Jacopo del Sellaio<br /> +(1442-93).</p></div> +<p style="margin-left: 25%;"> +<a name="OF_JACOPO_DEL_SELLAIO" id="OF_JACOPO_DEL_SELLAIO"></a>OF JACOPO DEL SELLAIO<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +This man knew out the secret ways of love,<br /> +No man could paint such things who did not know.<br /> +<br /> +And now she's gone, who was his Cyprian,<br /> +And you are here, who are "The Isles" to me.<br /> +<br /> +And here's the thing that lasts the whole thing out:<br /> +The eyes of this dead lady speak to me.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_RETURN" id="THE_RETURN"></a>THE RETURN<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +See, they return; ah, see the tentative<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Movements, and the slow feet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The trouble in the pace and the uncertain</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wavering!</span><br /> +<br /> +See, they return, one, and by one,<br /> +With fear, as half-awakened;<br /> +As if the snow should hesitate<br /> +And murmur in the wind,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">and half turn back;</span><br /> +These were the "Wing'd-with-Awe,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Inviolable.</span><br /> +<br /> +Gods of the wingèd shoe!<br /> +With them the silver hounds,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">sniffing the trace of air!</span><br /> +<br /> +Haie! Haie!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These were the swift to harry;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These the keen-scented;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These were the souls of blood.</span><br /> +<br /> +Slow on the leash,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">pallid the leash-men.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="EFFECTS_OF_MUSIC_UPON_A_COMPANY_OF_PEOPLE" id="EFFECTS_OF_MUSIC_UPON_A_COMPANY_OF_PEOPLE"></a>EFFECTS OF MUSIC UPON A COMPANY OF PEOPLE<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small"><a name="DEUX_MOVEMENTS" id="DEUX_MOVEMENTS"></a>DEUX MOVEMENTS</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">1. Temple qui fut</span>.<br /> +<span class="small">2. Poissons d'or.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +1<br /> +<br /> +A soul curls back,<br /> +Their souls like petals,<br /> +Thin, long, spiral,<br /> +Like those of a chrysanthemum curl<br /> +Smoke-like up and back from the<br /> +Vavicel, the calyx,<br /> +Pale green, pale gold, transparent,<br /> +Green of plasma, rose-white,<br /> +Spirate like smoke,<br /> +Curled,<br /> +Vibrating,<br /> +Slowly, waving slowly.<br /> +O Flower animate!<br /> +O calyx!<br /> +O crowd of foolish people!<br /> +<br /> +2<br /> +<br /> +The petals!<br /> +On the tip of each the figure<br /> +Delicate.<br /> +See, they dance, step to step.<br /> +Flora to festival,<br /> +Twine, bend, bow,<br /> +Frolic involve ye.<br /> +Woven the step,<br /> +Woven the tread, the moving.<br /> +Ribands they move,<br /> +Wave, bow to the centre.<br /> +Pause, rise, deepen in colour,<br /> +And fold in drowsily.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +II<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small"><a name="FROM_A_THING_BY_SCHUMANN" id="FROM_A_THING_BY_SCHUMANN"></a>FROM A THING BY SCHUMANN</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Breast high, floating and welling<br /> +Their soul, moving beneath the satin,<br /> +Plied the gold threads,<br /> +Pushed at the gauze above it.<br /> +The notes beat upon this,<br /> +Beat and indented it;<br /> +Rain dropped and came and fell upon this,<br /> +Hail and snow,<br /> +My sight gone in the flurry!<br /> +<br /> +And then across the white silken,<br /> +Bellied up, as a sail bellies to the wind,<br /> +Over the fluid tenuous, diaphanous,<br /> +Over this curled a wave, greenish,<br /> +Mounted and overwhelmed it.<br /> +This membrane floating above,<br /> +And bellied out by the up-pressing soul.<br /> +<br /> +Then came a mer-host,<br /> +And after them legion of Romans,<br /> +The usual, dull, theatrical!<br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 75%;" /> + +<h3>THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF T.E. HULME</h3> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h4><a name="PREFATORY_NOTE" id="PREFATORY_NOTE"></a>PREFATORY NOTE</h4> + + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;"> +In publishing his <i>Complete Poetical Works</i> +at thirty,<a name="FNanchor_1_3" id="FNanchor_1_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_3" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Mr Hulme has set an enviable +example to many of his contemporarieswho have had less to say.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;">They are reprinted here for good +fellowship; for good custom, a custom +out of Tuscany and of Provence; and +thirdly, for convenience, seeing their smallness +of bulk; and for good memory, +seeing that they recall certain evenings +and meetings of two years gone, dull +enough at the time, but rather pleasant +to look back upon.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;">As for the "School of Images," which +may or may not have existed, its principles +were not so interesting as those of the +"inherent dynamists" or of <i>Les Unanimistes</i>, +yet they were probably sounder +than those of a certain French school +which attempted to dispense with verbs +altogether; or of the Impressionists who +brought forth:</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;"> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Pink pigs blossoming upon the hillside";</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;">or of the Post-Impressionists who beseech +their ladies to let down slate-blue hair +over their raspberry-coloured flanks.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;"><i>Ardoise</i> rimed richly—ah, richly and rarely +rimed!—with <i>framboise</i>.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;">As for the future, <i>Les Imagistes</i>, the +descendants of the forgotten school of +1909, have that in their keeping.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;">I refrain from publishing my proposed +<i>Historical Memoir</i> of their forerunners, +because Mr Hulme has threatened to +print the original propaganda.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;">E.P.</p> + + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_3" id="Footnote_1_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_3"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Mr Pound has grossly exaggerated my age.—T.E.H.</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p style="margin-left: 25%;"><a name="AUTUMN" id="AUTUMN"></a>AUTUMN<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +A touch of cold in the Autumn night—<br /> +I walked abroad,<br /> +And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge<br /> +Like a red-faced farmer.<br /> +I did not stop to speak, but nodded,<br /> +And round about were the wistful stars<br /> +With white faces like town children.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="MANA_ABODA" id="MANA_ABODA"></a>MANA ABODA<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">Beauty is the marking-time, the stationary vibration,</span><br /> +<span class="small">the feigned ecstasy of an arrested impulse unable to</span><br /> +<span class="small">reach its natural end.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Mana Aboda, whose bent form<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sky in archèd circle is,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seems ever for an unknown grief to mourn.</span><br /> +Yet on a day I heard her cry:<br /> +"I weary of the roses and the singing poets—<br /> +Josephs all, not tall enough to try."<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ABOVE_THE_DOCK" id="ABOVE_THE_DOCK"></a>ABOVE THE DOCK<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Above the quiet dock in mid night,<br /> +Tangled in the tall mast's corded height,<br /> +Hangs the moon. What seemed so far away<br /> +Is but a child's balloon, forgotten after play.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="THE_EMBANKMENT" id="THE_EMBANKMENT"></a>THE EMBANKMENT<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">(The fantasia of a fallen gentleman</span><br /> +<span class="small">on a cold, bitter night.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy,<br /> +In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.<br /> +Now see I<br /> +That warmth's the very stuff of poesy.<br /> +Oh, God, make small<br /> +The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,<br /> +That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CONVERSION" id="CONVERSION"></a>CONVERSION +<br /> +<br /> +Lighthearted I walked into the valley wood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the time of hyacinths,</span><br /> +Till beauty like a scented cloth<br /> +Cast over, stifled me. I was bound<br /> +Motionless and faint of breath<br /> +By loveliness that is her own eunuch.<br /> +<br /> +Now pass I to the final river<br /> +Ignominiously, in a sack, without sound,<br /> +As any peeping Turk to the Bosphorus.<br /> +</p> +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h5>FINIS</h5> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Canzoni & Ripostes, by Ezra Pound and T.E. 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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/license + + +Title: Canzoni & Ripostes + Whereto are appended the Complete Poetical Works of T.E. Hulme + +Author: Ezra Pound + T.E. Hulme + +Release Date: May 24, 2012 [EBook #39783] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANZONI & RIPOSTES *** + + + + +Produced by Andrea Ball & Marc D'Hooghe at +http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made +available by the Internet Archive) + + + + + +CANZONI & RIPOSTES + +OF + +EZRA POUND + + +WHERETO ARE APPENDED THE + +COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF + +T.E. HULME + + +LONDON + +ELKIN MATHEWS, CORK STREET + +M CM XIII + + + + +CANZONI + +TO + +OLIVIA AND DOROTHY SHAKESPEAR + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CANZON: THE YEARLY SLAIN + CANZON: THE SPEAR + CANZON: TO BE SUNG BENEATH A WINDOW + CANZON: OF INCENSE + CANZONE: OF ANGELS + TO OUR LADY OF VICARIOUS ATONEMENT + TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI + SONNET IN TENZONE + SONNET: CHI E QUESTA? + BALLATA, FRAGMENT + CANZON: THE VISION + OCTAVE + SONNET: THE TALLY-BOARD + BALLATETTA + MADRIGALE + ERA MEA + THRENOS + THE TREE + PARACELSUS IN EXCELSIS + DE AEGYPTO + LI BEL CHASTEUS + PRAYER FOR HIS LADY'S LIFE (FROM PROPERTIUS) + PSYCHE OF EROS + "BLANDULA, TENULLA, VAGULA" + ERAT HORA + EPIGRAMS. I. + II. (THE SEA OF GLASS) + LA NUVOLETTA + ROSA SEMPITERNA + THE GOLDEN SESTINA + ROME (FROM DU BELLAY) + HER IMAGE (FROM LEOPARDI) + VICTORIAN ECLOGUES. I. + II. SATIEMUS + III. ABELARD + A PROLOGUE + MAESTRO DI TOCAR + ARIA + L'ART + SONG IN THE MANNER OF HOUSMAN + HEINE, TRANSLATIONS FROM + UND DRANG + + + + +CANZONI + + + + CANZON: THE YEARLY SLAIN + + (WRITTEN IN REPLY TO MANNING'S "KORE.") + + + + "Et huiusmodi stantiae usus est fere in omnibus + cantionibus suis Arnaldus Danielis et nos eum secuti + sumus." + DANTE, _De Vulgari Eloquio_, II. 10. + + + + + + I + + Ah! red-leafed time hath driven out the rose + And crimson dew is fallen on the leaf + Ere ever yet the cold white wheat be sown + That hideth all earth's green and sere and red; + The Moon-flower's fallen and the branch is bare, + Holding no honey for the starry bees; + The Maiden turns to her dark lord's demesne. + + II + + Fairer than Enna's field when Ceres sows + The stars of hyacinth and puts off grief, + Fairer than petals on May morning blown + Through apple-orchards where the sun hath shed + His brighter petals down to make them fair; + Fairer than these the Poppy-crowned One flees, + And Joy goes weeping in her scarlet train. + + III + + The faint damp wind that, ere the even, blows + Piling the west with many a tawny sheaf, + Then when the last glad wavering hours are mown + Sigheth and dies because the day is sped; + This wind is like her and the listless air + Wherewith she goeth by beneath the trees, + The trees that mock her with their scarlet stain. + + IV + + Love that is born of Time and comes and goes! + Love that doth hold all noble hearts in fief! + As red leaves follow where the wind hath flown, + So all men follow Love when Love is dead. + O Fate of Wind! O Wind that cannot spare, + But drivest out the Maid, and pourest lees + Of all thy crimson on the wold again, + + V + + Kore my heart is, let it stand sans gloze! + Love's pain is long, and lo, love's joy is brief! + My heart erst alway sweet is bitter grown; + As crimson ruleth in the good green's stead, + So grief hath taken all mine old joy's share + And driven forth my solace and all ease + Where pleasure bows to all-usurping pain. + + VI + + Crimson the hearth where one last ember glows! + My heart's new winter hath no such relief, + Nor thought of Spring whose blossom he hath known + Hath turned him back where Spring is banished. + Barren the heart and dead the fires there, + Blow! O ye ashes, where the winds shall please, + But cry, "Love also is the Yearly Slain." + + VII + + Be sped, my Canzon, through the bitter air! + To him who speaketh words as fair as these, + Say that I also know the "Yearly Slain." + + + + CANZON: THE SPEAR + + + I + + 'Tis the clear light of love I praise + That steadfast gloweth o'er deep waters, + A clarity that gleams always. + Though man's soul pass through troubled waters, + Strange ways to him are opened. + To shore the beaten ship is sped + If only love of light give aid. + + II + + That fair far spear of light now lays + Its long gold shaft upon the waters. + Ah! might I pass upon its rays + To where it gleams beyond the waters, + Or might my troubled heart be fed + Upon the frail clear light there shed, + Then were my pain at last allay'd. + + III + + Although the clouded storm dismays + Many a heart upon these waters, + The thought of that far golden blaze + Giveth me heart upon the waters, + Thinking thereof my bark is led + To port wherein no storm I dread; + No tempest maketh me afraid. + + IV + + Yet when within my heart I gaze + Upon my fair beyond the waters, + Meseems my soul within me prays + To pass straightway beyond the waters. + Though I be alway banished + From ways and woods that she doth tread, + One thing there is that doth not fade, + + V + + Deep in my heart that spear-print stays, + That wound I gat beyond the waters, + Deeper with passage of the days + That pass as swift and bitter waters, + While a dull fire within my head + Moveth itself if word be said + Which hath concern with that far maid. + + VI + + My love is lovelier than the sprays + Of eglantine above clear waters, + Or whitest lilies that upraise + Their heads in midst of moated waters. + No poppy in the May-glad mead + Would match her quivering lips' red + If 'gainst her lips it should be laid. + + VII + + The light within her eyes, which slays + Base thoughts and stilleth troubled waters, + Is like the gold where sunlight plays + Upon the still o'ershadowed waters. + When anger is there mingled + There comes a keener gleam instead, + Like flame that burns beneath thin jade. + + VIII + + Know by the words here mingled + What love hath made my heart his stead, + Glowing like flame beneath thin jade. + + + + CANZON + + TO BE SUNG BENEATH A WINDOW + + + I + + Heart mine, art mine, whose embraces + Clasp but wind that past thee bloweth + E'en this air so subtly gloweth, + Guerdoned by thy sun-gold traces, + That my heart is half afraid + For the fragrance on him laid; + Even so love's might amazes! + + II + + Man's love follows many faces, + My love only one face knoweth; + Towards thee only my love floweth, + And outstrips the swift stream's paces. + Were this love well here displayed, + As flame flameth 'neath thin jade + Love should glow through these my phrases. + + III + + Though I've roamed through many places, + None there is that my heart troweth + Fair as that wherein fair groweth + One whose laud here interlaces + Tuneful words, that I've essayed. + Let this tune be gently played + Which my voice herward upraises. + + IV + + If my praise her grace effaces, + Then 'tis not my heart that showeth, + But the skilless tongue that soweth + Words unworthy of her graces. + Tongue, that hath me so betrayed, + Were my heart but here displayed, + Then were sung her fitting praises. + + + + CANZON: OF INCENSE + + + I + + Thy gracious ways, + O Lady of my heart, have + O'er all my thought their golden glamour cast; + As amber torch-flames, where strange men-at-arms + Tread softly 'neath the damask shield of night, + Rise from the flowing steel in part reflected, + So on my mailed thought that with thee goeth, + Though dark the way, a golden glamour falleth. + + II + + The censer sways + And glowing coals some art have + To free what frankincense before held fast + Till all the summer of the eastern farms + Doth dim the sense, and dream up through the light, + As memory, by new-born love corrected-- + With savour such as only new love knoweth-- + Through swift dim ways the hidden pasts recalleth. + + III + + On barren days, + At hours when I, apart, have + Bent low in thought of the great charm thou hast, + Behold with music's many-stringed charms + The silence groweth thou. O rare delight! + The melody upon clear strings inflected + Were dull when o'er taut sense thy presence floweth, + With quivering notes' accord that never palleth. + + IV + + The glowing rays + That from the low sun dart, have + Turned gold each tower and every towering mast; + The saffron flame, that flaming nothing harms + Hides Khadeeth's pearl and all the sapphire might + Of burnished waves, before her gates collected: + The cloak of graciousness, that round thee gloweth, + Doth hide the thing thou art, as here befalleth. + + V + + All things worth praise + That unto Khadeeth's mart have + From far been brought through perils over-passed, + All santal, myrrh, and spikenard that disarms + The pard's swift anger; these would weigh but light + 'Gainst thy delights, my Khadeeth! Whence protected + By naught save her great grace that in him showeth, + My song goes forth and on her mercy calleth. + + VI + + O censer of the thought that golden gloweth, + Be bright before her when the evening falleth. + + VII + + Fragrant be thou as a new field one moweth, + O song of mine that "Hers" her mercy calleth. + + + + CANZONE: OF ANGELS + + + I + + He that is Lord of all the realms of light + Hath unto me from His magnificence + Granted such vision as hath wrought my joy. + Moving my spirit past the last defence + That shieldeth mortal things from mightier sight, + Where freedom of the soul knows no alloy, + I saw what forms the lordly powers employ; + Three splendours, saw I, of high holiness, + From clarity to clarity ascending + Through all the roofless, tacit courts extending + In aether which such subtle light doth bless + As ne'er the candles of the stars hath wooed; + Know ye herefrom of their similitude. + + II + + Withdrawn within the cavern of his wings, + Grave with the joy of thoughts beneficent, + And finely wrought and durable and clear, + If so his eyes showed forth the mind's content, + So sate the first to whom remembrance clings, + Tissued like bat's wings did his wings appear, + Not of that shadowy colouring and drear, + But as thin shells, pale saffron, luminous; + Alone, unlonely, whose calm glances shed + Friend's love to strangers though no word were said, + Pensive his godly state he keepeth thus. + Not with his surfaces his power endeth, + But is as flame that from the gem extendeth. + + III + + My second marvel stood not in such ease, + But he, the cloudy pinioned, winged him on + Then from my sight as now from memory, + The courier aquiline, so swiftly gone! + The third most glorious of these majesties + Give aid, O sapphires of th' eternal see, + And by your light illume pure verity. + That azure feldspar hight the microcline, + Or, on its wing, the Menelaus weareth + Such subtlety of shimmering as beareth + This marvel onward through the crystalline, + A splendid calyx that about her gloweth, + Smiting the sunlight on whose ray she goeth. + + IV + + The diver at Sorrento from beneath + The vitreous indigo, who swiftly riseth, + By will and not by action as it seemeth, + Moves not more smoothly, and no thought surmiseth + How she takes motion from the lustrous sheath + Which, as the trace behind the swimmer, gleameth + Yet presseth back the aether where it streameth. + To her whom it adorns this sheath imparteth + The living motion from the light surrounding; + And thus my nobler parts, to grief's confounding, + Impart into my heart a peace which starteth + From one round whom a graciousness is cast + Which clingeth in the air where she hath past. + + V--TORNATA + + Canzon, to her whose spirit seems in sooth + Akin unto the feldspar, since it is + So clear and subtle and azure, I send thee, saying: + That since I looked upon such potencies + And glories as are here inscribed in truth, + New boldness hath o'erthrown my long delaying, + And that thy words my new-born powers obeying-- + Voices at last to voice my heart's long mood-- + Are come to greet her in their amplitude. + + + + TO OUR LADY OF VICARIOUS ATONEMENT + + (BALLATA) + + + I + + Who are you that the whole world's song + Is shaken out beneath your feet + Leaving you comfortless, + Who, that, as wheat + Is garnered, gather in + The blades of man's sin + And bear that sheaf? + Lady of wrong and grief, + Blameless! + + II + + All souls beneath the gloom + That pass with little flames, + All these till time be run + Pass one by one + As Christs to save, and die; + What wrong one sowed, + Behold, another reaps! + Where lips awake our joy + The sad heart sleeps + Within. + + No man doth bear his sin, + But many sins + Are gathered as a cloud about man's way. + + + + TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI + + + Dante and I are come to learn of thee, + Ser Guido of Florence, master of us all, + Love, who hath set his hand upon us three, + Bidding us twain upon thy glory call. + Harsh light hath rent from us the golden pall + Of that frail sleep, _His_ first light seigniory, + And we are come through all the modes that fall + Unto their lot who meet him constantly. + Wherefore, by right, in this Lord's name we greet thee, + Seeing we labour at his labour daily. + Thou, who dost know what way swift words are crossed + O thou, who hast sung till none at song defeat thee, + Grant! by thy might and hers of San Michele, + Thy risen voice send flames this pentecost. + + + + SONNET IN TENZONE + + + LA MENTE + + "O Thou mocked heart that cowerest by the door + And durst not honour hope with welcoming, + How shall one bid thee for her honour sing, + When song would but show forth thy sorrow's store? + What things are gold and ivory unto thee? + Go forth, thou pauper fool! Are these for naught? + Is heaven in lotus leaves? What hast thou wrought, + Or brought, or sought, wherewith to pay the fee?" + + + IL CUORE + + "If naught I give, naught do I take return. + '_Ronsard me celebroit!_' behold I give + The age-old, age-old fare to fairer fair + And I fare forth into more bitter air; + Though mocked I go, yet shall her beauty live + Till rimes unrime and Truth shall truth unlearn." + + + + SONNET: CHI E QUESTA? + + + Who is she coming, that the roses bend + Their shameless heads to do her passing honour? + Who is she coming with a light upon her + Not born of suns that with the day's end end? + Say is it Love who hath chosen the nobler part? + Say is it Love, that was divinity, + Who hath left his godhead that his home might be + The shameless rose of her unclouded heart? + If this be Love, where hath he won such grace? + If this be Love, how is the evil wrought, + That all men write against his darkened name? + If this be Love, if this ... + O mind give place! + What holy mystery e'er was noosed in thought? + Own that thou scan'st her not, nor count it shame! + + + + BALLATA, FRAGMENT + + + II + + Full well thou knowest, song, what grace I mean, + E'en as thou know'st the sunlight I have lost. + Thou knowest the way of it and know'st the sheen + About her brows where the rays are bound and crossed, + E'en as thou knowest joy and know'st joy's bitter cost. + Thou know'st her grace in moving, + Thou dost her skill in loving, + Thou know'st what truth she proveth, + Thou knowest the heart she moveth, + O song where grief assoneth! + + + + CANZON: THE VISION + + + I + + When first I saw thee 'neath the silver mist, + Ruling thy bark of painted sandal-wood, + Did any know thee? By the golden sails + That clasped the ribbands of that azure sea, + Did any know thee save my heart alone? + O ivory woman with thy bands of gold, + Answer the song my luth and I have brought thee! + + II + + Dream over golden dream that secret cist, + Thy heart, O heart of me, doth hold, and mood + On mood of silver, when the day's light fails, + Say who hath touched the secret heart of thee, + Or who hath known what my heart hath not known + O slender pilot whom the mists enfold, + Answer the song my luth and I have wrought thee! + + III + + When new love plucks the falcon from his wrist, + And cuts the gyve and casts the scarlet hood, + Where is the heron heart whom flight avails? + O quick to prize me Love, how suddenly + From out the tumult truth has ta'en his own, + And in this vision is our past unrolled. + Lo! With a hawk of light thy love hath caught me. + + IV + + And I shall get no peace from eucharist, + Nor doling out strange prayers before the rood, + To match the peace that thine hands' touch entails; + Nor doth God's light match light shed over me + When thy caught sunlight is about me thrown, + Oh, for the very ruth thine eyes have told, + Answer the rune this love of thee hath taught me. + + V + + After an age of longing had we missed + Our meeting and the dream, what were the good + Of weaving cloth of words? Were jewelled tales + An opiate meet to quell the malady + Of life unlived? In untried monotone + Were not the earth as vain, and dry, and old, + For thee, O Perfect Light, had I not sought thee? + + VI + + Calais, in song where word and tone keep tryst + Behold my heart, and hear mine hardihood! + Calais, the wind is come and heaven pales + And trembles for the love of day to be. + Calais, the words break and the dawn is shown. + Ah, but the stars set when thou wast first bold, + Turn! lest they say a lesser light distraught thee. + + VII + + O ivory thou, the golden scythe hath mown + Night's stubble and my joy. Thou royal souled, + Favour the quest! Lo, Truth and I have sought thee + + + + OCTAVE + + + Fine songs, fair songs, these golden usuries + A Her beauty earns as but just increment, + And they do speak with a most ill intent + Who say they give when they pay debtor's fees. + + I call him bankrupt in the courts of song + Who hath her gold to eye and pays her not, + Defaulter do I call the knave who hath got + Her silver in his heart, and doth her wrong. + + + + SONNET + + + If on the tally-board of wasted days + They daily write me for proud idleness, + Let high Hell summons me, and I confess, + No overt act the preferred charge allays. + + To-day I thought--what boots it what I thought? + Poppies and gold! Why should I blurt it out? + Or hawk the magic of her name about + Deaf doors and dungeons where no truth is bought? + + Who calls me idle? I have thought of her. + Who calls me idle? By God's truth I've seen + The arrowy sunlight in her golden snares. + + Let him among you all stand summonser + Who hath done better things! Let whoso hath been + With worthier works concerned, display his wares! + + + + BALLATETTA + + + The light became her grace and dwelt among + Blind eyes and shadows that are formed as men + Lo, how the light doth melt us into song: + + The broken sunlight for a healm she beareth + Who hath my heart in jurisdiction. + In wild-wood never fawn nor fallow fareth + So silent light; no gossamer is spun + So delicate as she is, when the sun + Drives the clear emeralds from the bended grasses + Lest they should parch too swiftly, where she passes. + + + + MADRIGALE + + + Clear is my love but shadowed + By the spun gold above her, + Ah, what a petal those bent sheaths discover! + + _The olive wood hath hidden her completely._ + _She was gowned that discreetly_ + _The leaves and shadows concealed her completely._ + + Fair is my love but followed + In all her goings surely + By gracious thoughts, she goeth so demurely. + + + + ERA MEA + + + Era mea + In qua terra + Dulce myrti floribus, + Rosa amoris + Via erroris + Ad te coram + Veniam? + + + ANGLICE REDDITA + + Mistress mine, in what far land, + Where the myrtle bloweth sweet + Shall I weary with my way-fare, + Win to thee that art as day fair, + Lay my roses at thy feet? + + + + THRENOS + + + No more for us the little sighing, + No more the winds at twilight trouble us. + + Lo the fair dead! + + No more do I burn. + No more for us the fluttering of wings + That whirred in the air above us. + + Lo the fair dead! + + No more desire flayeth me, + No more for us the trembling + At the meeting of hands. + + Lo the fair dead! + + No more for us the wine of the lips, + No more for us the knowledge. + + Lo the fair dead! + + No more the torrent, + No more for us the meeting-place + (Lo the fair dead!) + Tintagoel. + + + + THE TREE + + + I stood still and was a tree amid the wood, + Knowing the truth of things unseen before; + Of Daphne and the laurel bow + And that god-feasting couple old + That grew elm-oak amid the wold. + 'Twas not until the gods had been + Kindly entreated, and been brought within + Unto the hearth of their heart's home + That they might do this wonder thing; + Nathless I have been a tree amid the wood + And many a new thing understood + That was rank folly to my head before. + + + + PARACELSUS IN EXCELSIS + + + "Being no longer human why should I + Pretend humanity or don the frail attire? + Men have I known, and men, but never one + Was grown so free an essence, or become + So simply element as what I am. + The mist goes from the mirror and I see! + Behold! the world of forms is swept beneath-- + Turmoil grown visible beneath our peace, + And we, that are grown formless, rise above-- + Fluids intangible that have been men, + We seem as statues round whose high-risen base + Some overflowing river is run mad, + In us alone the element of calm!" + + + + DE AEGYPTO + + + I even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + I have beheld the Lady of Life, + I, even I, who fly with the swallows. + + Green and gray is her raiment, + Trailing along the wind. + + I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + Manus animam pinxit, + My pen is in my hand + + To write the acceptable word.... + My mouth to chant the pure singing! + + Who hath the mouth to receive it, + The song of the Lotus of Kumi? + + I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + I am flame that riseth in the sun, + I, even I, who fly with the swallows. + + The moon is upon my forehead, + The winds are under my lips. + + The moon is a great pearl in the waters of sapphire, + Cool to my fingers the flowing waters. + + I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + I will return to the halls of the flowing, + Of the truth of the children of Ashu. + + I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads + Of the sky, and the wind thereof is my body. + + + + LI BEL CHASTEUS + + + That castle stands the highest in the land + Far seen and mighty. Of the great hewn stones + What shall I say? And deep foss way + That far beneath us bore of old + A swelling turbid sea + Hill-born and tumultuous + Unto the fields below, where + Staunch villein and + Burgher held the land and tilled + Long labouring for gold of wheat grain + And to see the beards come forth + For barley's even time. + + But arched high above the curl of life + We dwelt amid the ancient boulders, + Gods had hewn and druids turned + Unto that birth most wondrous, that had grown + A mighty fortress while the world had slept, + And we awaited in the shadows there + When mighty hands had laboured sightlessly + And shaped this wonder 'bove the ways of men. + Me seems we could not see the great green waves + Nor rocky shore by Tintagoel + From this our hold, + But came faint murmuring as undersong, + E'en as the burghers' hum arose + And died as faint wind melody + Beneath our gates. + + + + PRAYER FOR HIS LADY'S LIFE + + FROM PROPERTIUS, ELEGIAE, LIB. III, 26 + + + Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm, + Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness. + So many thousand beauties are gone down to Avernus + Ye might let one remain above with us. + + With you is Iope, with you the white-gleaming Tyro, + With you is Europa and the shameless Pasiphae, + And all the fair from Troy and all from Achaia, + From the sundered realms, of Thebes and of aged Priamus; + And all the maidens of Rome, as many as they were, + They died and the greed of your flame consumes them. + + _Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm,_ + _Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness._ + _So many thousand fair are gone down to Avernus,_ + _Ye might let one remain above with us._ + + + + SPEECH FOR PSYCHE IN THE GOLDEN BOOK OF APULEIUS + + + All night, and as the wind lieth among + The cypress trees, he lay, + Nor held me save as air that brusheth by one + Close, and as the petals of flowers in falling + Waver and seem not drawn to earth, so he + Seemed over me to hover light as leaves + And closer me than air, + And music flowing through me seemed to open + Mine eyes upon new colours. + O winds, what wind can match the weight of him! + + + + "BLANDULA, TENULLA, VAGULA." + + + What hast thou, O my soul, with paradise? + Will we not rather, when our freedom's won, + Get us to some clear place wherein the sun + Lets drift in on us through the olive leaves + A liquid glory? If at Sirmio + My soul, I meet thee, when this life's outrun, + Will we not find some headland consecrated + By aery apostles of terrene delight, + Will not our cult be founded on the waves, + Clear sapphire, cobalt, cyanine, + On triune azures, the impalpable + Mirrors unstill of the eternal change? + + Soul, if She meet us there, will any rumour + Of havens more high and courts desirable + Lure us beyond the cloudy peak of Riva? + + + + ERAT HORA + + + "Thank you, whatever comes." And then she turned + And, as the ray of sun on hanging flowers + Fades when the wind hath lifted them aside, + Went swiftly from me. Nay, whatever comes + One hour was sunlit and the most high gods + May not make boast of any better thing + Than to have watched that hour as it passed. + + + + EPIGRAMS + + + I + + O ivory, delicate hands! + O face that hovers + Between "To-come" and "Was," + Ivory thou wast, + A rose thou wilt be. + + II + + (THE SEA OF GLASS) + + I looked and saw a sea + roofed over with rainbows, + In the midst of each + two lovers met and departed; + Then the sky was full of faces + with gold glories behind them. + + + + + LA NUVOLETTA + + Dante to an unknown lady, beseeching her not to + interrupt his cult of the dead Beatrice. From "Il + Canzoniere," Ballata II. + + + Ah little cloud that in Love's shadow lief + Upon mine eyes so suddenly alightest, + Take some faint pity on the heart thou smitest + That hopes in thee, desires, dies, in brief. + + Ah little cloud of more than human fashion + Thou settest a flame within my mind's mid space + With thy deathly speech that grieveth; + + Then as a fiery spirit in thy ways + Createst hope, in part a rightful passion, + Yet where thy sweet smile giveth + His grace, look not! For in Her my faith liveth. + + Think on my high desire whose flame's so great + That nigh a thousand who were come too late, + Have felt the torment of another's grief. + + + + ROSA SEMPITERNA + + + A rose I set within my "Paradise" + Lo how his red is turned to yellowness, + Not withered but grown old in subtler wise + Between the empaged rime's high holiness + Where Dante sings of that rose's device + Which yellow is, with souls in blissfulness. + Rose whom I set within my paradise, + Donor of roses and of parching sighs, + Of golden lights and dark unhappiness, + Of hidden chains and silvery joyousness, + Hear how thy rose within my Dante lies, + O rose I set within my paradise. + + + + THE GOLDEN SESTINA + + FROM THE ITALIAN OF PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA + + + In the bright season when He, most high Jove, + From welkin reaching down his glorying hand, + Decks the Great Mother and her changing face, + Clothing her not with scarlet skeins and gold + But with th' empurpling flowers and gay grass, + When the young year renewed, renews the sun, + + When, then, I see a lady like the sun, + One fashioned by th' high hand of utmost Jove, + So fair beneath the myrtles on gay grass + Who holdeth Love and Truth, one by each hand, + It seems, if I look straight, two bands of gold + Do make more fair her delicate fair face. + + Though eyes are dazzled, looking on her face + As all sight faileth that looks toward the sun, + New metamorphoses, to rained gold, + Or bulls or whitest swans, might fall on Jove + Through her, or Phoebus, his bag-pipes in hand, + Might, mid the droves, come barefoot o'er our grass, + + Alas, that there was hidden in the grass + A cruel shaft, the which, to wound my face, + My Lady took in her own proper hand. + If I could not defend me 'gainst that sun + I take no shame, for even utmost Jove + Is in high heaven pierced with darts of gold. + + Behold the green shall find itself turned gold + And spring shall be without her flowers and grass, + And hell's deep be the dwelling place of Jove + Ere I shall have uncarved her holy face + From my heart's midst, where 'tis both Sun and sun + And yet she beareth me such hostile hand! + + O sweet and holy and O most light hand, + O intermingled ivory and gold, + O mortal goddess and terrestrial sun + Who comest not to foster meadow grass, + But to show heaven by a likened face + Wert sent amongst us by th' exalted Jove, + + I still pray Jove that he permit no grass + To cover o'er thy hands, thy face, thy gold + For heaven's sufficed with a single sun. + + + + ROME + + FROM THE FRENCH OF JOACHIM DU BELLAY + + "Troica Roma resurges." + PROPERTIUS. + + + O thou new comer who seek'st Rome in Rome + And find'st in Rome no thing thou canst call Roman; + Arches worn old and palaces made common, + Rome's name alone within these walls keeps home. + + Behold how pride and ruin can befall + One who hath set the whole world 'neath her laws, + All-conquering, now conquered, because + She is Time's prey and Time consumeth all. + + Rome that art Rome's one sole last monument, + Rome that alone hast conquered Rome the town, + Tiber alone, transient and seaward bent, + Remains of Rome. O world, thou unconstant mime! + That which stands firm in thee Time batters down, + And that which fleeteth doth outrun swift time. + + + + HER MONUMENT, THE IMAGE CUT THEREON + + FROM THE ITALIAN OF LEOPARDI + + (Written 1831-3 circa) + + + Such wast thou, + Who art now + But buried dust and rusted skeleton. + Above the bones and mire, + Motionless, placed in vain, + Mute mirror of the flight of speeding years, + Sole guard of grief + Sole guard of memory + Standeth this image of the beauty sped. + + O glance, when thou wast still as thou art now, + How hast thou set the fire + A-tremble in men's veins; O lip curved high + To mind me of some urn of full delight, + O throat girt round of old with swift desire, + O palms of Love, that in your wonted ways + Not once but many a day + Felt hands turn ice a-sudden, touching ye, + That ye were once! of all the grace ye had + That which remaineth now + Shameful, most sad + Finds 'neath this rock fit mould, fit resting place! + + And still when fate recalleth, + Even that semblance that appears amongst us + Is like to heaven's most 'live imagining. + All, all our life's eternal mystery! + To-day, on high + Mounts, from our mighty thoughts and from the fount + Of sense untellable, Beauty + That seems to be some quivering splendour cast + By the immortal nature on this quicksand, + And by surhuman fates + Given to mortal state + To be a sign and an hope made secure + Of blissful kingdoms and the aureate spheres; + And on the morrow, by some lightsome twist, + Shameful in sight, abject, abominable + All this angelic aspect can return + And be but what it was + With all the admirable concepts that moved from it + Swept from the mind with it in its departure. + + Infinite things desired, lofty visions + 'Got on desirous thought by natural virtue, + And the wise concord, whence through delicious seas + The arcane spirit of the whole Mankind + Turns hardy pilot ... and if one wrong note + Strike the tympanum, + Instantly + That paradise is hurled to nothingness. + + O mortal nature, + If thou art + Frail and so vile in all, + How canst thou reach so high with thy poor sense; + Yet if thou art + Noble in any part + How is the noblest of thy speech and thought + So lightly wrought + Or to such base occasion lit and quenched? + + + + + VICTORIAN ECLOGUES + + + + I + + EXCUSES + + + Ah would you turn me back now from the flowers, + You who are different as the air from sea is, + Ah for the pollen from our wreath of hours, + You who are magical, not mine as she is, + Say will you call us from our time of flowers? + + You whom I loved and love, not understanding, + Yea we were ever torn with constant striving, + Seeing our gods are different, and commanding + One good from them, and in my heart reviving + Old discords and bent thought, not understanding. + + We who have wept, we who have lain together + Upon the green and sere and white of every season, + We who have loved the sun but for the weather + Of our own hearts have found no constant reason, + What is your part, now we have come together? + + What is your pain, Dear, what is your heart now + A little sad, a little.... Nay, I know not + Seeing I never had and have no part now + In your own secret councils wherein blow not + My roses. My vineyard being another heart now? + + You who were ever dear and dearer being strange, + How shall I "go" who never came anear you? + How could I stay, who never came in range + Of anything that halved; could never hear you + Rightly in your silence; nay, your very speech was strange. + + You, who have loved not what I was or will be, + You who but loved me for a thing I could be, + You who love not a song whate'er its skill be + But only love the cause or what cause should be, + How could I give you what I am or will be? + + Nay, though your eyes are sad, you will not hinder, + You, who would have had me only near not nearer, + Nay though my heart had burned to a bright cinder + Love would have said to me: "Still fear her, + Pain is thy lot and naught she hath can hinder," + + So I, for this sad gladness that is mine now, + Who never spoke aright in speaking to you, + Uncomprehending anything that's thine now, + E'en in my spoken words more wrong may do you + In looking back from this new grace that's mine now. + + _Sic semper finis deest._ + + + + II + + SATIEMUS + + + What if I know thy speeches word by word? + And if thou knew'st I knew them wouldst thou speak? + What if I know thy speeches word by word, + And all the time thou sayest them o'er I said, + "Lo, one there was who bent her fair bright head, + Sighing as thou dost through the golden speech." + Or, as our laughters mingle each with each, + As crushed lips take their respite fitfully, + What if my thoughts were turned in their mid reach + Whispering among them, "The fair dead + Must know such moments, thinking on the grass; + On how white dogwoods murmured overhead + In the bright glad days!" + How if the low dear sound within thy throat + Hath as faint lute-strings in its dim accord + Dim tales that blind me, running one by one + With times told over as we tell by rote; + What if I know thy laughter word by word + Nor find aught novel in thy merriment? + + + + III + + ABELARD + + "_Pere Esbaillart a Sanct Denis._" + VILLON. + + + "Because my soul cried out, and only the long ways + Grown weary, gave me answer and + Because she answered when the very ways were dumb + With all their hoarse, dry speech grown faint and chill. + Because her answer was a call to me, + Though I have sinned, my God, and though thy angels + Bear no more now my thought to whom I love; + Now though I crouch afraid in all thy dark + Will I once cry to thee: + Once more! Once more my strength! + Yea though I sin to call him forth once more, + Thy messengers for mine, Their wings my power! + And let once more my wings fold down above her, + Let their cool length be spread + Over her feet and head + And let thy calm come down + To dwell within her, and thy gown of peace + Clothe all her body in its samite. + O Father of all the blind and all the strong, + Though I have left thy courts, though all the throng + Of thy gold-shimmering choir know me not, + Though I have dared the body and have donned + Its frail strong-seeming, and although + Its lightening joy is made my swifter song, + Though I have known thy stars, yea all, and chosen one. + Yea though I make no barter, and repent no jot, + Yet for the sunlight of that former time + Grant me the boon, O God, + Once more, once more, or I or some white thought + Shall rise beside her and, enveloping + All her strange glory in its wings of light, + Bring down thy peace upon her way-worn soul. + Oh sheathe that sword of her in some strong case, + The doe-skin scabbard of thy clear Rafael! + Yea let thy angels walk, as I have seen + Them passing, or have seen their wings + Spread their pavilions o'er our twin delight. + Yea I have seen them when the purple light + Hid all her garden from my drowsy eyes. + + + + A PROLOGUE + + + SCENE--IN THE AIR + + _The Lords of the Air_: + + What light hath passed us in the silent ways? + + _The Spirits of Fire_: + + We are sustained, strengthened suddenly. + + _The Spirits of Water_: + + Lo, how the utmost deeps are clarified! + + _The Spirits Terrene_: + + What might is this more potent than the spring? + Lo, how the night + Which wrapped us round with its most heavy cloths + Opens and breathes with some strange-fashioned brighness! + + + IN HEAVEN + + _Christ, the eternal Spirit in Heaven speaketh thus, + over the child of Mary_: + + O star, move forth and write upon the skies, + "This child is born in ways miraculous." + * * * * * + O windy spirits, that are born in Heaven, + Go down and bid the powers of Earth and Air + Protect his ways until the Time shall come. + * * * * * + O Mother, if the dark of things to be + Wrap round thy heart with cloudy apprehensions, + Eat of thy present corn, the aftermath + Hath its appointed end in whirling light. + Eat of thy present corn, thou so hast share + In mightier portents than Augustus hath. + * * * * * + In every moment all to be is born, + Thou art the moment and need'st fear no scorn. + + _Echo of the Angels singing "Exultasti"_: + + Silence is born of many peaceful things, + Thus is the starlight woven into strings + Whereon the Powers of peace make sweet accord. + Rejoice, O Earth, thy Lord + Hath chosen Him his holy resting-place. + + Lo, how the winged sign + Flutters above that hallowed chrysalis. + + + IN THE AIR + + _The invisible Spirit of the Star answers them_: + + Bend in your singing, gracious potencies, + Bend low above your ivory bows and gold! + That which ye know but dimly hath been wrought + High in the luminous courts and azure ways: + Bend in your praise; + For though your subtle thought + Sees but in part the source of mysteries, + Yet are ye bidden in your songs, sing this: + + _"Gloria! gloria in excelsis_ + _Pax in terra nunc natast."_ + + _Angels continuing in song_: + + Shepherds and kings, with lambs and frankincense + Go and atone for mankind's ignorance: + Make ye soft savour from your ruddy myrrh. + Lo, how God's son is turned God's almoner. + Give ye this little + Ere he give ye all. + + + ON EARTH + + _One of the Magi_: + + How the deep-voiced night turns councillor! + And how, for end, our starry meditations + Admit us to his board! + + _A Shepherd_: + + Sir, we be humble and perceive ye are + Men of great power and authority, + And yet we too have heard. + + + + DIANA IN EPHESUS + + (_Lucina dolentibus_:) + + + "Behold the deed! Behold the act supreme! + With mine own hands have I prepared my doom, + Truth shall grow great eclipsing other truth, + And men forget me in the aging years." + + _Explicit._ + + + + MAESTRO DI TOCAR + + (W.R.) + + + You, who are touched not by our mortal ways + Nor girded with the stricture of our bands, + Have but to loose the magic from your hands + And all men's hearts that glimmer for a day, + And all our loves that are so swift to flame + Rise in that space of sound and melt away. + + + + ARIA + + + My love is a deep flame + that hides beneath the waters. + + --My love is gay and kind, + My love is hard to find + as the flame beneath the waters. + + The fingers of the wind + meet hers + With a frail + swift greeting. + My love is gay + and kind + and hard + of meeting, + As the flame beneath the waters + hard of meeting. + + + + L'ART + + + When brightest colours seem but dull in hue + And noblest arts are shown mechanical, + When study serves but to heap clue on clue + That no great line hath been or ever shall, + But hath a savour like some second stew + Of many pot-lots with a smack of all. + 'Twas one man's field, another's hops the brew, + Twas vagrant accident not fate's fore-call. + Horace, that thing of thine is overhauled, + And "Wood notes wild" weaves a concocted sonnet. + Here aery Shelley on the text hath called, + And here, Great Scott, the Murex, Keats comes on it. + And all the lot howl, "Sweet Simplicity!" + 'Tis Art to hide our theft exquisitely. + + + + SONG IN THE MANNER OF HOUSMAN + + + O Woe, woe, + People are born and die, + We also shall be dead pretty soon + Therefore let us act as if we were + dead already. + + The bird sits on the hawthorn tree + But he dies also, presently. + Some lads get hung, and some get shot. + Woeful is this human lot. + _Woe! woe, etcetera_.... + + London is a woeful place, + Shropshire is much pleasanter. + Then let us smile a little space + Upon fond nature's morbid grace. + _Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera_.... + + + + TRANSLATIONS FROM HEINE + + + VON "DIE HEIMKEHR" + + + I + + Is your hate, then, of such measure? + Do you, truly, so detest me? + Through all the world will I complain + Of _how_ you have addressed me. + + O ye lips that are ungrateful, + Hath it never once distressed you, + That you can say such _awful_ things + Of _any_ one who ever kissed you? + + + II + + So thou hast forgotten fully + That I so long held thy heart wholly, + Thy little heart, so sweet and false and small + That there's no thing more sweet or false at all. + + Love and lay thou hast forgotten fully, + And my heart worked at them unduly. + I know not if the love or if the lay were better stuff, + But I know now, they both were good enough. + + + III + + Tell me where thy lovely love is, + Whom thou once did sing so sweetly, + When the fairy flames enshrouded + Thee, and held thy heart completely. + + All the flames are dead and sped now + And my heart is cold and sere; + Behold this book, the urn of ashes, + 'Tis my true love's sepulchre. + + + IV + + I dreamt that I was God Himself + Whom heavenly joy immerses, + And all the angels sat about + And praised my verses. + + + V + + The mutilated choir boys + When I begin to sing + Complain about the awful noise + And call my voice too thick a thing. + + When light their voices lift them up, + Bright notes against the ear, + Through trills and runs like crystal, + Ring delicate and clear. + + They sing of Love that's grown desirous, + Of Love, and joy that is Love's inmost part, + And all the ladies swim through tears + Toward such a work of art. + + + VI + + This delightful young man + Should not lack for honourers, + He propitiates me with oysters, + With Rhine wine and liqueurs. + + How his coat and pants adorn him! + Yet his ties are more adorning, + In these he daily comes to ask me: + Are you feeling well this morning? + + He speaks of my extended fame, + My wit, charm, definitions, + And is diligent to serve me, + Is detailed in his provisions. + + In evening company he sets his face + In most spiritu_el_ positions, + And declaims before the ladies + My _god-like_ compositions. + + O what comfort is it for me + To find him such, when the days bring + No comfort, at my time of life when + All good things go vanishing. + + + _TRANSLATOR TO TRANSLATED_ + + _O Harry Heine, curses be,_ + _I live too late to sup with thee!_ + _Who can demolish at such polished ease_ + _Philistia's pomp and Art's pomposities!_ + + + VII + + SONG FROM DIE HARZREISE + + I am the Princess Ilza + In Ilsenstein I fare, + Come with me to that castle + And we'll be happy there. + + Thy head will I cover over + With my waves' clarity + Till thou forget thy sorrow, + O wounded sorrowfully. + + Thou wilt in my white arms there, + Nay, on my breast thou must + Forget and rest and dream there + For thine old legend-lust. + + My lips and my heart are thine there + As they were his and mine. + His? Why the good King Harry's, + And he is dead lang syne. + + Dead men stay alway dead men, + Life is the live man's part, + And I am fair and golden + With joy breathless at heart. + + If my heart stay below there, + My crystal halls ring clear + To the dance of lords and ladies + In all their splendid gear. + + The silken trains go rustling, + The spur-clinks sound between, + The dark dwarfs blow and bow there + Small horn and violin. + + Yet shall my white arms hold thee, + That bound King Harry about. + Ah, I covered his ears with them + When the trumpet rang out. + + + + UND DRANG + + Nay, dwells he in cloudy rumour alone? + + BINYON. + + + I + + I am worn faint, + The winds of good and evil + Blind me with dust + And burn me with the cold, + There is no comfort being over-man; + Yet are we come more near + The great oblivions and the labouring night, + Inchoate truth and the sepulchral forces. + + + II + + Confusion, clamour, 'mid the many voices + Is there a meaning, a significance? + + That life apart from all life gives and takes, + This life, apart from all life's bitter and life's sweet, + Is good. + + Ye see me and ye say: exceeding sweet + Life's gifts, his youth, his art, + And his too soon acclaim. + + I also knew exceeding bitterness, + Saw good things altered and old friends fare forth, + And what I loved in me hath died too soon, + Yea I have seen the "gray above the green"; + Gay have I lived in life; + Though life hath lain + Strange hands upon me and hath torn my sides, + Yet I believe. + * * * * * + Life is most cruel where she is most wise. + + + III + + The will to live goes from me. + I have lain + Dull and out-worn + with some strange, subtle sickness. + Who shall say + That love is not the very root of this, + O thou afar? + + Yet she was near me, + that eternal deep. + O it is passing strange that love + Can blow two ways across one soul. + * * * * * + And I was Aengus for a thousand years, + And she, the ever-living, moved with me + And strove amid the waves, and + would not go. + + + IV + + ELEGIA + + + "_Far buon tempo e trionfare_" + + + "I have put my days and dreams out of mind' + For all their hurry and their weary fret + Availed me little. But another kind + Of leaf that's fast in some more sombre wind, + Is man on life, and all our tenuous courses + Wind and unwind as vainly. + * * * * * + I have lived long, and died, + Yea I have been dead, right often, + And have seen one thing: + The sun, while he is high, doth light our wrong + And none can break the darkness with a song. + + To-day's the cup. To-morrow is not ours: + Nay, by our strongest bands we bind her not, + Nor all our fears and our anxieties + Turn her one leaf or hold her scimitar. + + The deed blots out the thought + And many thoughts, the vision; + And right's a compass with as many poles + As there are points in her circumference, + 'Tis vain to seek to steer all courses even, + And all things save sheer right are vain enough. + The blade were vain to grow save toward the sun, + And vain th' attempt to hold her green forever. + + All things in season and no thing o'er long! + Love and desire and gain and good forgetting, + Thou canst not stay the wheel, hold none too long! + + + V + + How our modernity, + Nerve-wracked and broken, turns + Against time's way and all the way of things, + Crying with weak and egoistic cries! + * * * * * + All things are given over, + Only the restless will + Surges amid the stars + Seeking new moods of life, + New permutations. + * * * * * + See, and the very sense of what we know + Dodges and hides as in a sombre curtain + Bright threads leap forth, and hide, and leave no pattern. + + + VI + + I thought I had put Love by for a time + And I was glad, for to me his fair face + Is like Pain's face. + A little light, + The lowered curtain and the theatre! + And o'er the frail talk of the inter-act + Something that broke the jest! A little light, + The gold, and half the profile! + The whole face + Was nothing like you, yet that image cut + Sheer through the moment. + + + VIb + + I have gone seeking for you in the twilight, + Here in the flurry of Fifth Avenue, + Here where they pass between their teas and teas. + Is it such madness? though you could not be + Ever in all that crowd, no gown + Of all their subtle sorts could be your gown. + + Yet I am fed with faces, is there one + That even in the half-light mindeth me. + + + VII + + THE HOUSE OF SPLENDOUR + + 'Tis Evanoe's, + A house not made with hands, + But out somewhere beyond the worldly ways + Her gold is spread, above, around, inwoven, + Strange ways and walls are fashioned out of it. + + And I have seen my Lady in the sun, + Her hair was spread about, a sheaf of wings, + And red the sunlight was, behind it all. + + And I have seen her there within her house, + With six great sapphires hung along the wall, + Low, panel-shaped, a-level with her knees, + And all her robe was woven of pale gold. + + There are there many rooms and all of gold, + Of woven walls deep patterned, of email, + Of beaten work; and through the claret stone, + Set to some weaving, comes the aureate light. + + Here am I come perforce my love of her, + Behold mine adoration + Maketh me clear, and there are powers in this + Which, played on by the virtues of her soul, + Break down the four-square walls of standing time. + + + VIII + + THE FLAME + + 'Tis not a game that plays at mates and mating, + Provence knew; + 'Tis not a game of barter, lands and houses, + Provence knew. + We who are wise beyond your dream of wisdom, + Drink our immortal moments; we "pass through." + We have gone forth beyond your bonds and borders, + Provence knew; + And all the tales they ever writ of Oisin + Say but this: + That man doth pass the net of days and hours. + Where time is shrivelled down to time's seed corn + We of the Ever-living, in that light + Meet through our veils and whisper, and of love. + + O smoke and shadow of a darkling world, + Barters of passion, and that tenderness + That's but a sort of cunning! O my Love, + These, and the rest, and all the rest we knew. + + 'Tis not a game that plays at mates and mating, + 'Tis not a game of barter, lands and houses, + 'Tis not "of days and nights" and troubling years, + Of cheeks grown sunken and glad hair gone gray; + There _is_ the subtler music, the clear light + + Where time burns back about th' eternal embers. + We are not shut from all the thousand heavens: + Lo, there are many gods whom we have seen, + Folk of unearthly fashion, places splendid, + Bulwarks of beryl and of chrysophrase. + + Sapphire Benacus, in thy mists and thee + Nature herself's turned metaphysical, + Who can look on that blue and not believe? + + Thou hooded opal, thou eternal pearl, + O thou dark secret with a shimmering floor, + Through all thy various mood I know thee mine; + + If I have merged my soul, or utterly + Am solved and bound in, through aught here on earth, + There canst thou find me, O thou anxious thou, + Who call'st about my gates for some lost me; + I say my soul flowed back, became translucent. + Search not my lips, O Love, let go my hands, + This thing that moves as man is no more mortal. + If thou hast seen my shade sans character, + If thou hast seen that mirror of all moments, + That glass to all things that o'ershadow it, + Call not that mirror me, for I have slipped + Your grasp, I have eluded. + + + IX + + (HORAE BEATAE INSCRIPTIO) + + How will this beauty, when I am far hence, + Sweep back upon me and engulf my mind! + + How will these hours, when we twain are gray, + Turned in their sapphire tide, come flooding o'er us! + + + X + + (THE ALTAR) + + Let us build here an exquisite friendship, + The flame, the autumn, and the green rose of love + Fought out their strife here, 'tis a place of wonder; + Where these have been, meet 'tis, the ground is holy. + + + IX + + (AU SALON) + + Her grave, sweet haughtiness + Pleaseth me, and in like wise + Her quiet ironies. + Others are beautiful, none more, some less. + + + I suppose, when poetry comes down to facts, + When our souls are returned to the gods + and the spheres they belong in, + Here in the every-day where our acts + Rise up and judge us; + + I suppose there are a few dozen verities + That no shift of mood can shake from us: + + One place where we'd rather have tea + (Thus far hath modernity brought us) + "Tea" (Damn you!) + Have tea, damn the Caesars, + Talk of the latest success, give wing to some scandal, + Garble a name we detest, and for prejudice? + Set loose the whole consummate pack + to bay like Sir Roger de Coverley's + + This our reward for our works, + sic crescit gloria mundi: + Some circle of not more than three + that we prefer to play up to, + + Some few whom we'd rather please + than hear the whole aegrum vulgrus + Splitting its beery jowl + a-meaowling our praises. + + Some certain peculiar things, + cari laresque, penates, + Some certain accustomed forms, + the absolute unimportant. + + + XII + + (AU JARDIN) + + O You away high there, + you that lean + From amber lattices upon the cobalt night, + I am below amid the pine trees, + Amid the little pine trees, hear me! + + "The jester walked in the garden." + Did he so? + Well, there's no use your loving me + That way, Lady; + For I've nothing but songs to give you. + + I am set wide upon the world's ways + To say that life is, some way, a gay thing, + But you never string two days upon one wire + But there'll come sorrow of it. + And I loved a love once, + Over beyond the moon there, + I loved a love once, + And, may be, more times, + + But she danced like a pink moth in the shrubbery. + + Oh, I know you women from the "other folk," + And it'll all come right, + O' Sundays. + + "The jester walked in the garden." + Did he so? + + + + + RIPOSTES OF EZRA POUND + + + Gird on thy star, We'll have this out with fate + + + + + TO + + WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS + + + + CONTENTS + + + SILET + IN EXITUM CUIUSDAM + APPARUIT + THE TOMB AT AKR CAAR + PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME + N.Y. + A GIRL + "PHASELLUS ILLE" + AN OBJECT + QUIES + THE SEAFARER + ECHOES: I. + ECHOES: II. + AN IMMORALITY + DIEU! QU'IL LA FAIT + SALVE PONTIFEX + DORIA [Greek] + THE NEEDLE + SUB MARE + PLUNGE + A VIRGINAL + PAN IS DEAD + THE PICTURE + OF JACOPO DEL SELLAIO + THE RETURN + EFFECTS OF MUSIC UPON A COMPANY OF PEOPLE + I. DEUX MOVEMENTS + II. FROM A THING BY SCHUMANN + + + THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF T.E. HULME + + PREFATORY NOTE + AUTUMN + MANA ABODA + ABOVE THE DOCK + THE EMBANKMENT + CONVERSION + + + + RIPOSTES + + + + SILET + + + When I behold how black, immortal ink + Drips from my deathless pen--ah, well-away! + Why should we stop at all for what I think? + There is enough in what I chance to say. + + It is enough that we once came together; + What is the use of setting it to rime? + When it is autumn do we get spring weather, + Or gather may of harsh northwindish time? + + It is enough that we once came together; + What if the wind have turned against the rain? + It is enough that we once came together; + Time has seen this, and will not turn again; + + And who are we, who know that last intent, + To plague to-morrow with a testament! + + + + IN EXITUM CUIUSDAM + + _On a certain one's departure_ + + + "Time's bitter flood"! Oh, that's all very well, + But where's the old friend hasn't fallen off, + Or slacked his hand-grip when you first gripped fame? + + I know your circle and can fairly tell + What you have kept and what you've left behind: + I know my circle and know very well + How many faces I'd have out of mind. + + + + APPARUIT + + + Golden rose the house, in the portal I saw + thee, a marvel, carven in subtle stuff, a portent. + Life died down in the lamp and flickered, + caught at the wonder. + + Crimson, frosty with dew, the roses bend where + thou afar moving in the glamorous sun + drinkst in life of earth, of the air, the tissue + golden about thee. + + Green the ways, the breath of the fields is thine there, + open lies the land, yet the steely going + darkly hast thou dared and the dreaded aether + parted before thee. + + Swift at courage thou in the shell of gold, casting + a-loose the cloak of the body, camest + straight, then shone thine oriel and the stunned light + faded about thee. + + Half the graven shoulder, the throat aflash with + strands of light inwoven about it, loveliest + of all things, frail alabaster, ah me! + swift in departing, + + Clothed in goldish weft, delicately perfect, + gone as wind! The cloth of the magical hands! + Thou a slight thing, thou in access of cunning + dar'dst to assume this? + + + + THE TOMB AT AKR CAAR + + + "I am thy soul, Nikoptis. I have watched + These five millennia, and thy dead eyes + Moved not, nor ever answer my desire, + And thy light limbs, wherethrough I leapt aflame, + Burn not with me nor any saffron thing. + + See, the light grass sprang up to pillow thee, + And kissed thee with a myriad grassy tongues; + But not thou me. + + I have read out the gold upon the wall, + And wearied out my thought upon the signs. + And there is no new thing in all this place. + + I have been kind. See, I have left the jars sealed, + Lest thou shouldst wake and whimper for thy wine. + And all thy robes I have kept smooth on thee. + + O thou unmindful! How should I forget! + --Even the river many days ago, + The river, thou wast over young. + And three souls came upon Thee-- + + And I came. + And I flowed in upon thee, beat them off; + I have been intimate with thee, known thy ways. + Have I not touched thy palms and finger-tips, + Flowed in, and through thee and about thy heels? + How 'came I in'? Was I not thee and Thee? + + And no sun comes to rest me in this place, + And I am torn against the jagged dark, + And no light beats upon me, and you say + No word, day after day. + + Oh! I could get me out, despite the marks + And all their crafty work upon the door, + Out through the glass-green fields.... + * * * * * + Yet it is quiet here: + I do not go." + + + + PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME + + + Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea, + London has swept about you this score years + And bright ships left you this or that in fee: + Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things, + Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price. + Great minds have sought you--lacking someone else. + You have been second always. Tragical? + No. You preferred it to the usual thing: + One dull man, dulling and uxorious, + One average mind--with one thought less, each year. + Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit + Hours, where something might have floated up. + And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay. + You are a person of some interest, one comes to you + And takes strange gain away: + Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion; + Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two, + Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else + That might prove useful and yet never proves, + That never fits a corner or shows use, + Or finds its hour upon the loom of days: + The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work; + Idols and ambergris and rare inlays, + These are your riches, your great store; and yet + For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things, + Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff: + In the slow float of differing light and deep, + No! there is nothing! In the whole and all, + Nothing that's quite your own. + Yet this is you. + + + + N.Y. + + + My City, my beloved, my white! + Ah, slender, + Listen! Listen to me, and I will breathe into thee a soul. + Delicately upon the reed, attend me! + + _Now do I know that I am mad,_ + _For here are a million people surly with traffic;_ + _This is no maid._ + _Neither could I play upon any reed if I had one._ + + My City, my beloved, + Thou art a maid with no breasts, + Thou art slender as a silver reed. + Listen to me, attend me! + And I will breathe into thee a soul, + And thou shalt live for ever. + + + + A GIRL + + + The tree has entered my hands, + The sap has ascended my arms, + The tree has grown in my breast-- + Downward, + The branches grow out of me, like arms. + + Tree you are, + Moss you are, + You are violets with wind above them. + A child--_so_ high--you are, + And all this is folly to the world. + + + + "PHASELLUS ILLE" + + + This _papier-mache_, which you see, my friends, + Saith 'twas the worthiest of editors. + Its mind was made up in "the seventies," + Nor hath it ever since changed that concoction. + It works to represent that school of thought + Which brought the hair-cloth chair to such perfection, + Nor will the horrid threats of Bernard Shaw + Shake up the stagnant pool of its convictions; + Nay, should the deathless voice of all the world + Speak once again for its sole stimulation, + 'Twould not move it one jot from left to right. + + Come Beauty barefoot from the Cyclades, + She'd find a model for St Anthony + In this thing's sure _decorum_ and behaviour. + + + + AN OBJECT + + + This thing, that hath a code and not a core, + Hath set acquaintance where might be affections, + And nothing now + Disturbeth his reflections. + + + + QUIES + + + This is another of our ancient loves. + Pass and be silent, Rullus, for the day + Hath lacked a something since this lady passed; + Hath lacked a something. 'Twas but marginal. + + + + THE SEAFARER + + (_From the early Anglo-Saxon text_) + + + May I for my own self song's truth reckon, + Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days + Hardship endured oft. + Bitter breast-cares have I abided, + Known on my keel many a care's hold, + And dire sea-surge, and there I oft spent + Narrow nightwatch nigh the ship's head + While she tossed close to cliffs. Coldly afflicted, + My feet were by frost benumbed. + Chill its chains are; chafing sighs + Hew my heart round and hunger begot + Mere-weary mood. Lest man know not + That he on dry land loveliest liveth, + List how I, care-wretched, on ice-cold sea, + Weathered the winter, wretched outcast + Deprived of my kinsmen; + Hung with hard ice-flakes, where hail-scur flew, + There I heard naught save the harsh sea + And ice-cold wave, at whiles the swan cries, + Did for my games the gannet's clamour, + Sea-fowls' loudness was for me laughter, + The mews' singing all my mead-drink. + Storms, on the stone-cliffs beaten, fell on the stern + In icy feathers; full oft the eagle screamed + With spray on his pinion. + Not any protector + May make merry man faring needy. + This he little believes, who aye in winsome life + Abides 'mid burghers some heavy business, + Wealthy and wine-flushed, how I weary oft + Must bide above brine. + Neareth nightshade, snoweth from north, + Frost froze the land, hail fell on earth then + Corn of the coldest. Nathless there knocketh now + The heart's thought that I on high streams + The salt-wavy tumult traverse alone. + Moaneth alway my mind's lust + That I fare forth, that I afar hence + Seek out a foreign fastness. + For this there's no mood-lofty man over earth's midst, + Not though he be given his good, but will have in his youth greed; + Nor his deed to the daring, nor his king to the faithful + But shall have his sorrow for sea-fare + Whatever his lord will. + He hath not heart for harping, nor in ring-having + Nor winsomeness to wife, nor world's delight + Nor any whit else save the wave's slash, + Yet longing comes upon him to fare forth on the water. + Bosque taketh blossom, cometh beauty of berries, + Fields to fairness, land fares brisker, + All this admonisheth man eager of mood, + The heart turns to travel so that he then thinks + On flood-ways to be far departing. + Cuckoo calleth with gloomy crying, + He singeth summerward, bodeth sorrow, + The bitter heart's blood. Burgher knows not-- + He the prosperous man--what some perform + Where wandering them widest draweth. + So that but now my heart burst from my breast-lock, + My mood 'mid the mere-flood, + Over the whale's acre, would wander wide. + On earth's shelter cometh oft to me, + Eager and ready, the crying lone-flyer, + Whets for the whale-path the heart irresistibly, + O'er tracks of ocean; seeing that anyhow + My lord deems to me this dead life + On loan and on land, I believe not + That any earth-weal eternal standeth + Save there be somewhat calamitous + That, ere a man's tide go, turn it to twain. + Disease or oldness or sword-hate + Beats out the breath from doom-gripped body. + And for this, every earl whatever, for those speaking after-- + Laud of the living, boasteth some last word, + That he will work ere he pass onward, + Frame on the fair earth 'gainst foes his malice, + Daring ado,... + So that all men shall honour him after + And his laud beyond them remain 'mid the English, + Aye, for ever, a lasting life's-blast, + Delight mid the doughty. + Days little durable, + And all arrogance of earthen riches, + There come now no kings nor Caesars + Nor gold-giving lords like those gone. + Howe'er in mirth most magnified, + Whoe'er lived in life most lordliest, + Drear all this excellence, delights undurable! + Waneth the watch, but the world holdeth. + Tomb hideth trouble. The blade is layed low. + Earthly glory ageth and seareth. + No man at all going the earth's gait, + But age fares against him, his face paleth, + Grey-haired he groaneth, knows gone companions, + Lordly men are to earth o'ergiven, + Nor may he then the flesh-cover, whose life ceaseth, + Nor eat the sweet nor feel the sorry, + Nor stir hand nor think in mid heart, + And though he strew the grave with gold, + His born brothers, their buried bodies + Be an unlikely treasure hoard. + + + + ECHOES + + + I + + GUIDO ORLANDO, SINGING + + + Befits me praise thine empery, + Lady of Valour, + Past all disproving; + Thou art the flower to me-- + Nay, by Love's pallor-- + Of all good loving. + + Worthy to reap men's praises + Is he who'd gaze upon + Truth's mazes. + In like commend is he, + Who, loving fixedly, + Love so refineth, + + Till thou alone art she + In whom love's vested; + As branch hath fairest flower + Where fruit's suggested. + + This great joy comes to me, + To me observing + How swiftly thou hast power + To pay my serving. + + + + II[1] + + + Thou keep'st thy rose-leaf + Till the rose-time will be over, + Think'st thou that Death will kiss thee? + Think'st thou that the Dark House + Will find thee such a lover + As I? Will the new roses miss thee? + + Prefer my cloak unto the cloak of dust + 'Neath which the last year lies, + For thou shouldst more mistrust + Time than my eyes. + + [1] Asclepiades, Julianus AEgyptus. + + + + AN IMMORALITY + + + Sing we for love and idleness, + Naught else is worth the having. + + Though I have been in many a land, + There is naught else in living. + + And I would rather have my sweet, + Though rose-leaves die of grieving, + + Than do high deeds in Hungary + To pass all men's believing. + + + + DIEU! QU'IL LA FAIT + + _From Charles D'Orleans_ + _For music_ + + + God! that mad'st her well regard her, + How she is so fair and bonny; + For the great charms that are upon her + Ready are all folk to reward her. + + Who could part him from her borders + When spells are alway renewed on her? + God! that mad'st her well regard her, + How she is so fair and bonny. + + From here to there to the sea's border, + Dame nor damsel there's not any + Hath of perfect charms so many. + Thoughts of her are of dream's order: + God! that mad'st her well regard her. + + + + SALVE PONTIFEX + + (A.C.S.) + + + One after one they leave thee, + High Priest of Iacchus, + Intoning thy melodies as winds intone + The whisperings of leaves on sunlit days. + And the sands are many + And the seas beyond the sands are one + In ultimate, so we here being many + Are unity; nathless thy compeers, + Knowing thy melody, + Lulled with the wine of thy music + Go seaward silently, leaving thee sentinel + O'er all the mysteries, + High Priest of Iacchus. + For the lines of life lie under thy fingers, + And above the vari-coloured strands + Thine eyes look out unto the infinitude + Of the blue waves of heaven, + And even as Triplex Sisterhood + Thou fingerest the threads knowing neither + Cause nor the ending, + High Priest of Iacchus, + Draw'st forth a multiplicity + Of strands, and, beholding + The colour thereof, raisest thy voice + Towards the sunset, + O High Priest of Iacchus! + And out of the secrets of the inmost mysteries + Thou chantest strange far-sourced canticles: + O High Priest of Iacchus! + Life and the ways of Death her + Twin-born sister, that is life's counterpart, + And of night and the winds of night; + Silent voices ministering to the souls + Of hamadryads that hold council concealed + In streams and tree-shadowing + Forests on hill slopes, + O High Priest of Iacchus, + All the manifold mystery + Thou makest a wine of song, + And maddest thy following even + With visions of great deeds + And their futility, + O High Priest of Iacchus! + Though thy co-novices are bent to the scythe + Of the magian wind that is voice of Persephone, + Leaving thee solitary, master of initiating + Maenads that come through the + Vine-entangled ways of the forest + Seeking, out of all the world, + Madness of Iacchus, + That being skilled in the secrets of the double cup + They might turn the dead of the world + Into paeans, + O High Priest of Iacchus, + Wreathed with the glory of thy years of creating + Entangled music, + Breathe! + Now that the evening cometh upon thee, + Breathe upon us, that low-bowed and exultant + Drink wine of Iacchus, that since the conquering + Hath been chiefly contained in the numbers + Of them that, even as thou, have woven + Wicker baskets for grape clusters + Wherein is concealed the source of the vintage, + O High Priest of Iacchus, + Breathe thou upon us + Thy magic in parting! + Even as they thy co-novices, + At being mingled with the sea, + While yet thou madest thy canticles + Serving upright before the altar + That is bound about with shadows + Of dead years wherein thy Iacchus + Looked not upon the hills, that being + Uncared for, praised not him in entirety. + O High Priest of Iacchus, + Being now near to the border of the sands + Where the sapphire girdle of the sea + Encinctureth the maiden + Persephone, released for the spring, + Look! Breathe upon us + The wonder of the thrice encinctured mystery + Whereby thou being full of years art young, + Loving even this lithe Persephone + That is free for the seasons of plenty; + Whereby thou being young art old + And shalt stand before this Persephone + Whom thou lovest, + In darkness, even at that time + That she being returned to her husband + Shall be queen and a maiden no longer, + Wherein thou being neither old nor young + Standing on the verge of the sea + Shalt pass from being sand, + O High Priest of Iacchus, + And becoming wave + Shalt encircle all sands, + Being transmuted through all + The girdling of the sea. + + O High Priest of Iacchus, + Breathe thou upon us! + + + _Note._--This apostrophe was written three years + before Swinburne's death. + + + + DORIA [Greek] + + + Be in me as the eternal moods of the bleak wind, and not + As transient things are--gaiety of flowers. + Have me in the strong loneliness of sunless cliffs + And of grey waters. + Let the gods speak softly of us + In days hereafter, + The shadowy flowers of Orcus + Remember Thee. + + + + THE NEEDLE + + + Come, or the stellar tide will slip away, + Eastward avoid the hour of its decline, + Now! for the needle trembles in my soul! + + Here have we had our vantage, the good hour. + Here we have had our day, your day and mine. + Come now, before this power + That bears us up, shall turn against the pole. + + Mock not the flood of stars, the thing's to be. + O Love, come now, this land turns evil slowly. + The waves bore in, soon will they bear away. + + The treasure is ours, make we fast land with it. + Move we and take the tide, with its next favour, + Abide + Under some neutral force + Until this course turneth aside. + + + + SUB MARE + + + It is, and is not, I am sane enough, + Since you have come this place has hovered round me, + This fabrication built of autumn roses, + Then there's a goldish colour, different. + + And one gropes in these things as delicate + Algae reach up and out beneath + Pale slow green surgings of the under-wave, + 'Mid these things older than the names they have, + These things that are familiars of the god. + + + + PLUNGE + + + I would bathe myself in strangeness: + These comforts heaped upon me, + smother me! + I burn, I scald so for the new, + New friends, new faces, + Places! + Oh to be out of this, + This that is all I wanted + --save the new. + And you, + Love, you the much, the more desired! + Do I not loathe all walls, streets, stones, + All mire, mist, all fog, + All ways of traffic? + You, I would have flow over me like water, + Oh, but far out of this! + Grass, and low fields, and hills, + And sun, + Oh, sun enough! + Out and alone, among some + Alien people! + + + + A VIRGINAL + + + No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately, + I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness, + For my surrounding air has a new lightness; + Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly + And left me cloaked as with a gauze of aether; + As with sweet leaves; as with a subtle clearness. + Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness + To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her. + + No, no! Go from me. I have still the flavour, + Soft as spring wind that's come from birchen bowers. + Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches, + As winter's wound with her sleight hand she staunches, + Hath of the tress a likeness of the savour: + As white their bark, so white this lady's hours. + + + + PAN IS DEAD + + + Pan is dead. Great Pan is dead. + Ah! bow your heads, ye maidens all, + And weave ye him his coronal. + + There is no summer in the leaves, + And withered are the sedges; + How shall we weave a coronal, + Or gather floral pledges? + + That I may not say, Ladies. + Death was ever a churl. + That I may not say, Ladies. + How should he show a reason, + That he has taken our Lord away + Upon such hollow season? + + + + THE PICTURE[1] + + + The eyes of this dead lady speak to me, + For here was love, was not to be drowned out, + And here desire, not to be kissed away. + + The eyes of this dead lady speak to me. + + + [1] "Venus Reclining," by Jacopo del Sellaio (1442-93). + + + + OF JACOPO DEL SELLAIO + + + This man knew out the secret ways of love, + No man could paint such things who did not know. + + And now she's gone, who was his Cyprian, + And you are here, who are "The Isles" to me. + + And here's the thing that lasts the whole thing out: + The eyes of this dead lady speak to me. + + + + THE RETURN + + + See, they return; ah, see the tentative + Movements, and the slow feet, + The trouble in the pace and the uncertain + Wavering! + + See, they return, one, and by one, + With fear, as half-awakened; + As if the snow should hesitate + And murmur in the wind, + and half turn back; + These were the "Wing'd-with-Awe," + Inviolable. + + Gods of the winged shoe! + With them the silver hounds, + sniffing the trace of air! + + Haie! Haie! + These were the swift to harry; + These the keen-scented; + These were the souls of blood. + + Slow on the leash, + pallid the leash-men. + + + + EFFECTS OF MUSIC UPON A COMPANY OF PEOPLE + + + I + + DEUX MOVEMENTS + + 1. Temple qui fut. + 2. Poissons d'or. + + + 1 + + A soul curls back, + Their souls like petals, + Thin, long, spiral, + Like those of a chrysanthemum curl + Smoke-like up and back from the + Vavicel, the calyx, + Pale green, pale gold, transparent, + Green of plasma, rose-white, + Spirate like smoke, + Curled, + Vibrating, + Slowly, waving slowly. + O Flower animate! + O calyx! + O crowd of foolish people! + + 2 + + The petals! + On the tip of each the figure + Delicate. + See, they dance, step to step. + Flora to festival, + Twine, bend, bow, + Frolic involve ye. + Woven the step, + Woven the tread, the moving. + Ribands they move, + Wave, bow to the centre. + Pause, rise, deepen in colour, + And fold in drowsily. + + + II + + FROM A THING BY SCHUMANN + + + Breast high, floating and welling + Their soul, moving beneath the satin, + Plied the gold threads, + Pushed at the gauze above it. + The notes beat upon this, + Beat and indented it; + Rain dropped and came and fell upon this, + Hail and snow, + My sight gone in the flurry! + + And then across the white silken, + Bellied up, as a sail bellies to the wind, + Over the fluid tenuous, diaphanous, + Over this curled a wave, greenish, + Mounted and overwhelmed it. + This membrane floating above, + And bellied out by the up-pressing soul. + + Then came a mer-host, + And after them legion of Romans, + The usual, dull, theatrical! + + + + + + THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF T.E. HULME + + + + PREFATORY NOTE + + + In publishing his _Complete Poetical Works_ + at thirty,[1] Mr Hulme has set an enviable + example to many of his contemporaries + who have had less to say. + + They are reprinted here for good + fellowship; for good custom, a custom + out of Tuscany and of Provence; and + thirdly, for convenience, seeing their smallness + of bulk; and for good memory, + seeing that they recall certain evenings + and meetings of two years gone, dull + enough at the time, but rather pleasant + to look back upon. + + As for the "School of Images," which + may or may not have existed, its principles + were not so interesting as those of the + "inherent dynamists" or of _Les Unanimistes_, + yet they were probably sounder + than those of a certain French school + which attempted to dispense with verbs + altogether; or of the Impressionists who + brought forth: + + "Pink pigs blossoming upon the hillside"; + + or of the Post-Impressionists who beseech + their ladies to let down slate-blue hair + over their raspberry-coloured flanks. + + _Ardoise_ rimed richly--ah, richly and rarely + rimed!--with _framboise_. + + As for the future, _Les Imagistes_, the + descendants of the forgotten school of + 1909, have that in their keeping. + + I refrain from publishing my proposed + _Historical Memoir_ of their forerunners, + because Mr Hulme has threatened to + print the original propaganda. + + E.P. + + + [1] Mr Pound has grossly exaggerated my age.--T.E.H. + + + + AUTUMN + + + A touch of cold in the Autumn night-- + I walked abroad, + And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge + Like a red-faced farmer. + I did not stop to speak, but nodded, + And round about were the wistful stars + With white faces like town children. + + + + MANA ABODA + + Beauty is the marking-time, the stationary vibration, + the feigned ecstasy of an arrested impulse unable to + reach its natural end. + + + Mana Aboda, whose bent form + The sky in arched circle is, + Seems ever for an unknown grief to mourn. + Yet on a day I heard her cry: + "I weary of the roses and the singing poets-- + Josephs all, not tall enough to try." + + + + ABOVE THE DOCK + + + Above the quiet dock in mid night, + Tangled in the tall mast's corded height, + Hangs the moon. What seemed so far away + Is but a child's balloon, forgotten after play. + + + + THE EMBANKMENT + + (The fantasia of a fallen gentleman on a + cold, bitter night.) + + + Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy, + In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement. + Now see I + That warmth's the very stuff of poesy. + Oh, God, make small + The old star-eaten blanket of the sky, + That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie. + + + + CONVERSION + + + Lighthearted I walked into the valley wood + In the time of hyacinths, + Till beauty like a scented cloth + Cast over, stifled me. I was bound + Motionless and faint of breath + By loveliness that is her own eunuch. + + Now pass I to the final river + Ignominiously, in a sack, without sound, + As any peeping Turk to the Bosphorus. + + + FINIS + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Canzoni & Ripostes, by Ezra Pound and T.E. 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