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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 *** |