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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/1031-0.txt b/1031-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..77239ae --- /dev/null +++ b/1031-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2466 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Charmides and Other Poems, by Oscar Wilde + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Charmides and Other Poems + + +Author: Oscar Wilde + + + +Release Date: September 19, 2014 [eBook #1031] +[This file was first posted on 17 July 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARMIDES AND OTHER POEMS*** + + +Transcribed from 1913 Methuen and Co. edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + CHARMIDES + AND OTHER POEMS + + + BY + OSCAR WILDE + + * * * * * + + METHUEN & CO. LTD. + 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. + LONDON + + * * * * * + + _This volume was first published in 1913_ + + * * * * * + +_Wilde’s Poems_, _a selection of which is given in this volume_, _were +first published in volume form in_ 1881, _and were reprinted four times +before the end of_ 1882. _A new Edition with additional poems_, +_including Ravenna_, _The Sphinx_, _and The Ballad of Reading Goal_, _was +first published_ (_limited issues on hand-made paper and Japanese +vellum_) _by Methuen & Co. in March_ 1908. _A further Edition_ (_making +the seventh_) _with some omissions from the issue of_ 1908, _but +including two new poems_, _was published in September_, 1909. _Eighth +Edition_, _November_ 1909. _Ninth Edition_, _December_ 1909. _Tenth +Edition_, _December_ 1910. _Eleventh Edition_, _December_, 1911. +_Twelfth Edition_, _May_, 1913. + +_A further selection of the poems_, _including The Ballad of Reading +Gaol_, _is published uniform with this volume_. + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +CHARMIDES 9 +REQUIESCAT 67 +SAN MINIATO 69 +ROME UNVISITED 71 +HUMANITAD 77 +LOUIS NAPOLEON 114 +ENDYMION 116 +LE JARDIN 119 +LA MER 120 +LE PANNEAU 121 +LES BALLONS 124 +CANZONET 126 +LE JARDIN DES TUILERIES 129 +PAN: DOUBLE VILLANELLE 131 +IN THE FOREST 135 +SYMPHONY IN YELLOW 136 + SONNETS +HÉLAS! 139 +TO MILTON 140 +ON THE MASSACRE OF THE CHRISTIANS IN BULGARIA 141 +HOLY WEEK AT GENOA 142 +URBS SACRA ÆTERNA 143 +E TENEBRIS 144 +AT VERONA 145 +ON THE SALE BY AUCTION OF KEATS’ LOVE LETTERS 146 +THE NEW REMORSE 147 + + + + +CHARMIDES + + + I. + + HE was a Grecian lad, who coming home + With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily + Stood at his galley’s prow, and let the foam + Blow through his crisp brown curls unconsciously, + And holding wave and wind in boy’s despite + Peered from his dripping seat across the wet and stormy night. + + Till with the dawn he saw a burnished spear + Like a thin thread of gold against the sky, + And hoisted sail, and strained the creaking gear, + And bade the pilot head her lustily + Against the nor’west gale, and all day long + Held on his way, and marked the rowers’ time with measured song. + + And when the faint Corinthian hills were red + Dropped anchor in a little sandy bay, + And with fresh boughs of olive crowned his head, + And brushed from cheek and throat the hoary spray, + And washed his limbs with oil, and from the hold + Brought out his linen tunic and his sandals brazen-soled, + + And a rich robe stained with the fishers’ juice + Which of some swarthy trader he had bought + Upon the sunny quay at Syracuse, + And was with Tyrian broideries inwrought, + And by the questioning merchants made his way + Up through the soft and silver woods, and when the labouring day + + Had spun its tangled web of crimson cloud, + Clomb the high hill, and with swift silent feet + Crept to the fane unnoticed by the crowd + Of busy priests, and from some dark retreat + Watched the young swains his frolic playmates bring + The firstling of their little flock, and the shy shepherd fling + + The crackling salt upon the flame, or hang + His studded crook against the temple wall + To Her who keeps away the ravenous fang + Of the base wolf from homestead and from stall; + And then the clear-voiced maidens ’gan to sing, + And to the altar each man brought some goodly offering, + + A beechen cup brimming with milky foam, + A fair cloth wrought with cunning imagery + Of hounds in chase, a waxen honey-comb + Dripping with oozy gold which scarce the bee + Had ceased from building, a black skin of oil + Meet for the wrestlers, a great boar the fierce and white-tusked spoil + + Stolen from Artemis that jealous maid + To please Athena, and the dappled hide + Of a tall stag who in some mountain glade + Had met the shaft; and then the herald cried, + And from the pillared precinct one by one + Went the glad Greeks well pleased that they their simple vows had + done. + + And the old priest put out the waning fires + Save that one lamp whose restless ruby glowed + For ever in the cell, and the shrill lyres + Came fainter on the wind, as down the road + In joyous dance these country folk did pass, + And with stout hands the warder closed the gates of polished brass. + + Long time he lay and hardly dared to breathe, + And heard the cadenced drip of spilt-out wine, + And the rose-petals falling from the wreath + As the night breezes wandered through the shrine, + And seemed to be in some entrancèd swoon + Till through the open roof above the full and brimming moon + + Flooded with sheeny waves the marble floor, + When from his nook up leapt the venturous lad, + And flinging wide the cedar-carven door + Beheld an awful image saffron-clad + And armed for battle! the gaunt Griffin glared + From the huge helm, and the long lance of wreck and ruin flared + + Like a red rod of flame, stony and steeled + The Gorgon’s head its leaden eyeballs rolled, + And writhed its snaky horrors through the shield, + And gaped aghast with bloodless lips and cold + In passion impotent, while with blind gaze + The blinking owl between the feet hooted in shrill amaze. + + The lonely fisher as he trimmed his lamp + Far out at sea off Sunium, or cast + The net for tunnies, heard a brazen tramp + Of horses smite the waves, and a wild blast + Divide the folded curtains of the night, + And knelt upon the little poop, and prayed in holy fright. + + And guilty lovers in their venery + Forgat a little while their stolen sweets, + Deeming they heard dread Dian’s bitter cry; + And the grim watchmen on their lofty seats + Ran to their shields in haste precipitate, + Or strained black-bearded throats across the dusky parapet. + + For round the temple rolled the clang of arms, + And the twelve Gods leapt up in marble fear, + And the air quaked with dissonant alarums + Till huge Poseidon shook his mighty spear, + And on the frieze the prancing horses neighed, + And the low tread of hurrying feet rang from the cavalcade. + + Ready for death with parted lips he stood, + And well content at such a price to see + That calm wide brow, that terrible maidenhood, + The marvel of that pitiless chastity, + Ah! well content indeed, for never wight + Since Troy’s young shepherd prince had seen so wonderful a sight. + + Ready for death he stood, but lo! the air + Grew silent, and the horses ceased to neigh, + And off his brow he tossed the clustering hair, + And from his limbs he throw the cloak away; + For whom would not such love make desperate? + And nigher came, and touched her throat, and with hands violate + + Undid the cuirass, and the crocus gown, + And bared the breasts of polished ivory, + Till from the waist the peplos falling down + Left visible the secret mystery + Which to no lover will Athena show, + The grand cool flanks, the crescent thighs, the bossy hills of snow. + + Those who have never known a lover’s sin + Let them not read my ditty, it will be + To their dull ears so musicless and thin + That they will have no joy of it, but ye + To whose wan cheeks now creeps the lingering smile, + Ye who have learned who Eros is,—O listen yet awhile. + + A little space he let his greedy eyes + Rest on the burnished image, till mere sight + Half swooned for surfeit of such luxuries, + And then his lips in hungering delight + Fed on her lips, and round the towered neck + He flung his arms, nor cared at all his passion’s will to check. + + Never I ween did lover hold such tryst, + For all night long he murmured honeyed word, + And saw her sweet unravished limbs, and kissed + Her pale and argent body undisturbed, + And paddled with the polished throat, and pressed + His hot and beating heart upon her chill and icy breast. + + It was as if Numidian javelins + Pierced through and through his wild and whirling brain, + And his nerves thrilled like throbbing violins + In exquisite pulsation, and the pain + Was such sweet anguish that he never drew + His lips from hers till overhead the lark of warning flew. + + They who have never seen the daylight peer + Into a darkened room, and drawn the curtain, + And with dull eyes and wearied from some dear + And worshipped body risen, they for certain + Will never know of what I try to sing, + How long the last kiss was, how fond and late his lingering. + + The moon was girdled with a crystal rim, + The sign which shipmen say is ominous + Of wrath in heaven, the wan stars were dim, + And the low lightening east was tremulous + With the faint fluttering wings of flying dawn, + Ere from the silent sombre shrine his lover had withdrawn. + + Down the steep rock with hurried feet and fast + Clomb the brave lad, and reached the cave of Pan, + And heard the goat-foot snoring as he passed, + And leapt upon a grassy knoll and ran + Like a young fawn unto an olive wood + Which in a shady valley by the well-built city stood; + + And sought a little stream, which well he knew, + For oftentimes with boyish careless shout + The green and crested grebe he would pursue, + Or snare in woven net the silver trout, + And down amid the startled reeds he lay + Panting in breathless sweet affright, and waited for the day. + + On the green bank he lay, and let one hand + Dip in the cool dark eddies listlessly, + And soon the breath of morning came and fanned + His hot flushed cheeks, or lifted wantonly + The tangled curls from off his forehead, while + He on the running water gazed with strange and secret smile. + + And soon the shepherd in rough woollen cloak + With his long crook undid the wattled cotes, + And from the stack a thin blue wreath of smoke + Curled through the air across the ripening oats, + And on the hill the yellow house-dog bayed + As through the crisp and rustling fern the heavy cattle strayed. + + And when the light-foot mower went afield + Across the meadows laced with threaded dew, + And the sheep bleated on the misty weald, + And from its nest the waking corncrake flew, + Some woodmen saw him lying by the stream + And marvelled much that any lad so beautiful could seem, + + Nor deemed him born of mortals, and one said, + ‘It is young Hylas, that false runaway + Who with a Naiad now would make his bed + Forgetting Herakles,’ but others, ‘Nay, + It is Narcissus, his own paramour, + Those are the fond and crimson lips no woman can allure.’ + + And when they nearer came a third one cried, + ‘It is young Dionysos who has hid + His spear and fawnskin by the river side + Weary of hunting with the Bassarid, + And wise indeed were we away to fly: + They live not long who on the gods immortal come to spy.’ + + So turned they back, and feared to look behind, + And told the timid swain how they had seen + Amid the reeds some woodland god reclined, + And no man dared to cross the open green, + And on that day no olive-tree was slain, + Nor rushes cut, but all deserted was the fair domain, + + Save when the neat-herd’s lad, his empty pail + Well slung upon his back, with leap and bound + Raced on the other side, and stopped to hail, + Hoping that he some comrade new had found, + And gat no answer, and then half afraid + Passed on his simple way, or down the still and silent glade + + A little girl ran laughing from the farm, + Not thinking of love’s secret mysteries, + And when she saw the white and gleaming arm + And all his manlihood, with longing eyes + Whose passion mocked her sweet virginity + Watched him awhile, and then stole back sadly and wearily. + + Far off he heard the city’s hum and noise, + And now and then the shriller laughter where + The passionate purity of brown-limbed boys + Wrestled or raced in the clear healthful air, + And now and then a little tinkling bell + As the shorn wether led the sheep down to the mossy well. + + Through the grey willows danced the fretful gnat, + The grasshopper chirped idly from the tree, + In sleek and oily coat the water-rat + Breasting the little ripples manfully + Made for the wild-duck’s nest, from bough to bough + Hopped the shy finch, and the huge tortoise crept across the slough. + + On the faint wind floated the silky seeds + As the bright scythe swept through the waving grass, + The ouzel-cock splashed circles in the reeds + And flecked with silver whorls the forest’s glass, + Which scarce had caught again its imagery + Ere from its bed the dusky tench leapt at the dragon-fly. + + But little care had he for any thing + Though up and down the beech the squirrel played, + And from the copse the linnet ’gan to sing + To its brown mate its sweetest serenade; + Ah! little care indeed, for he had seen + The breasts of Pallas and the naked wonder of the Queen. + + But when the herdsman called his straggling goats + With whistling pipe across the rocky road, + And the shard-beetle with its trumpet-notes + Boomed through the darkening woods, and seemed to bode + Of coming storm, and the belated crane + Passed homeward like a shadow, and the dull big drops of rain + + Fell on the pattering fig-leaves, up he rose, + And from the gloomy forest went his way + Past sombre homestead and wet orchard-close, + And came at last unto a little quay, + And called his mates aboard, and took his seat + On the high poop, and pushed from land, and loosed the dripping sheet, + + And steered across the bay, and when nine suns + Passed down the long and laddered way of gold, + And nine pale moons had breathed their orisons + To the chaste stars their confessors, or told + Their dearest secret to the downy moth + That will not fly at noonday, through the foam and surging froth + + Came a great owl with yellow sulphurous eyes + And lit upon the ship, whose timbers creaked + As though the lading of three argosies + Were in the hold, and flapped its wings and shrieked, + And darkness straightway stole across the deep, + Sheathed was Orion’s sword, dread Mars himself fled down the steep, + + And the moon hid behind a tawny mask + Of drifting cloud, and from the ocean’s marge + Rose the red plume, the huge and hornèd casque, + The seven-cubit spear, the brazen targe! + And clad in bright and burnished panoply + Athena strode across the stretch of sick and shivering sea! + + To the dull sailors’ sight her loosened looks + Seemed like the jagged storm-rack, and her feet + Only the spume that floats on hidden rocks, + And, marking how the rising waters beat + Against the rolling ship, the pilot cried + To the young helmsman at the stern to luff to windward side + + But he, the overbold adulterer, + A dear profaner of great mysteries, + An ardent amorous idolater, + When he beheld those grand relentless eyes + Laughed loud for joy, and crying out ‘I come’ + Leapt from the lofty poop into the chill and churning foam. + + Then fell from the high heaven one bright star, + One dancer left the circling galaxy, + And back to Athens on her clattering car + In all the pride of venged divinity + Pale Pallas swept with shrill and steely clank, + And a few gurgling bubbles rose where her boy lover sank. + + And the mast shuddered as the gaunt owl flew + With mocking hoots after the wrathful Queen, + And the old pilot bade the trembling crew + Hoist the big sail, and told how he had seen + Close to the stern a dim and giant form, + And like a dipping swallow the stout ship dashed through the storm. + + And no man dared to speak of Charmides + Deeming that he some evil thing had wrought, + And when they reached the strait Symplegades + They beached their galley on the shore, and sought + The toll-gate of the city hastily, + And in the market showed their brown and pictured pottery. + + II. + + BUT some good Triton-god had ruth, and bare + The boy’s drowned body back to Grecian land, + And mermaids combed his dank and dripping hair + And smoothed his brow, and loosed his clenching hand; + Some brought sweet spices from far Araby, + And others bade the halcyon sing her softest lullaby. + + And when he neared his old Athenian home, + A mighty billow rose up suddenly + Upon whose oily back the clotted foam + Lay diapered in some strange fantasy, + And clasping him unto its glassy breast + Swept landward, like a white-maned steed upon a venturous quest! + + Now where Colonos leans unto the sea + There lies a long and level stretch of lawn; + The rabbit knows it, and the mountain bee + For it deserts Hymettus, and the Faun + Is not afraid, for never through the day + Comes a cry ruder than the shout of shepherd lads at play. + + But often from the thorny labyrinth + And tangled branches of the circling wood + The stealthy hunter sees young Hyacinth + Hurling the polished disk, and draws his hood + Over his guilty gaze, and creeps away, + Nor dares to wind his horn, or—else at the first break of day + + The Dryads come and throw the leathern ball + Along the reedy shore, and circumvent + Some goat-eared Pan to be their seneschal + For fear of bold Poseidon’s ravishment, + And loose their girdles, with shy timorous eyes, + Lest from the surf his azure arms and purple beard should rise. + + On this side and on that a rocky cave, + Hung with the yellow-belled laburnum, stands + Smooth is the beach, save where some ebbing wave + Leaves its faint outline etched upon the sands, + As though it feared to be too soon forgot + By the green rush, its playfellow,—and yet, it is a spot + + So small, that the inconstant butterfly + Could steal the hoarded money from each flower + Ere it was noon, and still not satisfy + Its over-greedy love,—within an hour + A sailor boy, were he but rude enow + To land and pluck a garland for his galley’s painted prow, + + Would almost leave the little meadow bare, + For it knows nothing of great pageantry, + Only a few narcissi here and there + Stand separate in sweet austerity, + Dotting the unmown grass with silver stars, + And here and there a daffodil waves tiny scimitars. + + Hither the billow brought him, and was glad + Of such dear servitude, and where the land + Was virgin of all waters laid the lad + Upon the golden margent of the strand, + And like a lingering lover oft returned + To kiss those pallid limbs which once with intense fire burned, + + Ere the wet seas had quenched that holocaust, + That self-fed flame, that passionate lustihead, + Ere grisly death with chill and nipping frost + Had withered up those lilies white and red + Which, while the boy would through the forest range, + Answered each other in a sweet antiphonal counter-change. + + And when at dawn the wood-nymphs, hand-in-hand, + Threaded the bosky dell, their satyr spied + The boy’s pale body stretched upon the sand, + And feared Poseidon’s treachery, and cried, + And like bright sunbeams flitting through a glade + Each startled Dryad sought some safe and leafy ambuscade. + + Save one white girl, who deemed it would not be + So dread a thing to feel a sea-god’s arms + Crushing her breasts in amorous tyranny, + And longed to listen to those subtle charms + Insidious lovers weave when they would win + Some fencèd fortress, and stole back again, nor thought it sin + + To yield her treasure unto one so fair, + And lay beside him, thirsty with love’s drouth, + Called him soft names, played with his tangled hair, + And with hot lips made havoc of his mouth + Afraid he might not wake, and then afraid + Lest he might wake too soon, fled back, and then, fond renegade, + + Returned to fresh assault, and all day long + Sat at his side, and laughed at her new toy, + And held his hand, and sang her sweetest song, + Then frowned to see how froward was the boy + Who would not with her maidenhood entwine, + Nor knew that three days since his eyes had looked on Proserpine; + + Nor knew what sacrilege his lips had done, + But said, ‘He will awake, I know him well, + He will awake at evening when the sun + Hangs his red shield on Corinth’s citadel; + This sleep is but a cruel treachery + To make me love him more, and in some cavern of the sea + + Deeper than ever falls the fisher’s line + Already a huge Triton blows his horn, + And weaves a garland from the crystalline + And drifting ocean-tendrils to adorn + The emerald pillars of our bridal bed, + For sphered in foaming silver, and with coral crownèd head, + + We two will sit upon a throne of pearl, + And a blue wave will be our canopy, + And at our feet the water-snakes will curl + In all their amethystine panoply + Of diamonded mail, and we will mark + The mullets swimming by the mast of some storm-foundered bark, + + Vermilion-finned with eyes of bossy gold + Like flakes of crimson light, and the great deep + His glassy-portaled chamber will unfold, + And we will see the painted dolphins sleep + Cradled by murmuring halcyons on the rocks + Where Proteus in quaint suit of green pastures his monstrous flocks. + + And tremulous opal-hued anemones + Will wave their purple fringes where we tread + Upon the mirrored floor, and argosies + Of fishes flecked with tawny scales will thread + The drifting cordage of the shattered wreck, + And honey-coloured amber beads our twining limbs will deck.’ + + But when that baffled Lord of War the Sun + With gaudy pennon flying passed away + Into his brazen House, and one by one + The little yellow stars began to stray + Across the field of heaven, ah! then indeed + She feared his lips upon her lips would never care to feed, + + And cried, ‘Awake, already the pale moon + Washes the trees with silver, and the wave + Creeps grey and chilly up this sandy dune, + The croaking frogs are out, and from the cave + The nightjar shrieks, the fluttering bats repass, + And the brown stoat with hollow flanks creeps through the dusky grass. + + Nay, though thou art a god, be not so coy, + For in yon stream there is a little reed + That often whispers how a lovely boy + Lay with her once upon a grassy mead, + Who when his cruel pleasure he had done + Spread wings of rustling gold and soared aloft into the sun. + + Be not so coy, the laurel trembles still + With great Apollo’s kisses, and the fir + Whose clustering sisters fringe the seaward hill + Hath many a tale of that bold ravisher + Whom men call Boreas, and I have seen + The mocking eyes of Hermes through the poplar’s silvery sheen. + + Even the jealous Naiads call me fair, + And every morn a young and ruddy swain + Woos me with apples and with locks of hair, + And seeks to soothe my virginal disdain + By all the gifts the gentle wood-nymphs love; + But yesterday he brought to me an iris-plumaged dove + + With little crimson feet, which with its store + Of seven spotted eggs the cruel lad + Had stolen from the lofty sycamore + At daybreak, when her amorous comrade had + Flown off in search of berried juniper + Which most they love; the fretful wasp, that earliest vintager + + Of the blue grapes, hath not persistency + So constant as this simple shepherd-boy + For my poor lips, his joyous purity + And laughing sunny eyes might well decoy + A Dryad from her oath to Artemis; + For very beautiful is he, his mouth was made to kiss; + + His argent forehead, like a rising moon + Over the dusky hills of meeting brows, + Is crescent shaped, the hot and Tyrian noon + Leads from the myrtle-grove no goodlier spouse + For Cytheræa, the first silky down + Fringes his blushing cheeks, and his young limbs are strong and brown; + + And he is rich, and fat and fleecy herds + Of bleating sheep upon his meadows lie, + And many an earthen bowl of yellow curds + Is in his homestead for the thievish fly + To swim and drown in, the pink clover mead + Keeps its sweet store for him, and he can pipe on oaten reed. + + And yet I love him not; it was for thee + I kept my love; I knew that thou would’st come + To rid me of this pallid chastity, + Thou fairest flower of the flowerless foam + Of all the wide Ægean, brightest star + Of ocean’s azure heavens where the mirrored planets are! + + I knew that thou would’st come, for when at first + The dry wood burgeoned, and the sap of spring + Swelled in my green and tender bark or burst + To myriad multitudinous blossoming + Which mocked the midnight with its mimic moons + That did not dread the dawn, and first the thrushes’ rapturous tunes + + Startled the squirrel from its granary, + And cuckoo flowers fringed the narrow lane, + Through my young leaves a sensuous ecstasy + Crept like new wine, and every mossy vein + Throbbed with the fitful pulse of amorous blood, + And the wild winds of passion shook my slim stem’s maidenhood. + + The trooping fawns at evening came and laid + Their cool black noses on my lowest boughs, + And on my topmost branch the blackbird made + A little nest of grasses for his spouse, + And now and then a twittering wren would light + On a thin twig which hardly bare the weight of such delight. + + I was the Attic shepherd’s trysting place, + Beneath my shadow Amaryllis lay, + And round my trunk would laughing Daphnis chase + The timorous girl, till tired out with play + She felt his hot breath stir her tangled hair, + And turned, and looked, and fled no more from such delightful snare. + + Then come away unto my ambuscade + Where clustering woodbine weaves a canopy + For amorous pleasaunce, and the rustling shade + Of Paphian myrtles seems to sanctify + The dearest rites of love; there in the cool + And green recesses of its farthest depth there is pool, + + The ouzel’s haunt, the wild bee’s pasturage, + For round its rim great creamy lilies float + Through their flat leaves in verdant anchorage, + Each cup a white-sailed golden-laden boat + Steered by a dragon-fly,—be not afraid + To leave this wan and wave-kissed shore, surely the place was made + + For lovers such as we; the Cyprian Queen, + One arm around her boyish paramour, + Strays often there at eve, and I have seen + The moon strip off her misty vestiture + For young Endymion’s eyes; be not afraid, + The panther feet of Dian never tread that secret glade. + + Nay if thou will’st, back to the beating brine, + Back to the boisterous billow let us go, + And walk all day beneath the hyaline + Huge vault of Neptune’s watery portico, + And watch the purple monsters of the deep + Sport in ungainly play, and from his lair keen Xiphias leap. + + For if my mistress find me lying here + She will not ruth or gentle pity show, + But lay her boar-spear down, and with austere + Relentless fingers string the cornel bow, + And draw the feathered notch against her breast, + And loose the archèd cord; aye, even now upon the quest + + I hear her hurrying feet,—awake, awake, + Thou laggard in love’s battle! once at least + Let me drink deep of passion’s wine, and slake + My parchèd being with the nectarous feast + Which even gods affect! O come, Love, come, + Still we have time to reach the cavern of thine azure home.’ + + Scarce had she spoken when the shuddering trees + Shook, and the leaves divided, and the air + Grew conscious of a god, and the grey seas + Crawled backward, and a long and dismal blare + Blew from some tasselled horn, a sleuth-hound bayed, + And like a flame a barbèd reed flew whizzing down the glade. + + And where the little flowers of her breast + Just brake into their milky blossoming, + This murderous paramour, this unbidden guest, + Pierced and struck deep in horrid chambering, + And ploughed a bloody furrow with its dart, + And dug a long red road, and cleft with wingèd death her heart. + + Sobbing her life out with a bitter cry + On the boy’s body fell the Dryad maid, + Sobbing for incomplete virginity, + And raptures unenjoyed, and pleasures dead, + And all the pain of things unsatisfied, + And the bright drops of crimson youth crept down her throbbing side. + + Ah! pitiful it was to hear her moan, + And very pitiful to see her die + Ere she had yielded up her sweets, or known + The joy of passion, that dread mystery + Which not to know is not to live at all, + And yet to know is to be held in death’s most deadly thrall. + + But as it hapt the Queen of Cythere, + Who with Adonis all night long had lain + Within some shepherd’s hut in Arcady, + On team of silver doves and gilded wain + Was journeying Paphos-ward, high up afar + From mortal ken between the mountains and the morning star, + + And when low down she spied the hapless pair, + And heard the Oread’s faint despairing cry, + Whose cadence seemed to play upon the air + As though it were a viol, hastily + She bade her pigeons fold each straining plume, + And dropt to earth, and reached the strand, and saw their dolorous + doom. + + For as a gardener turning back his head + To catch the last notes of the linnet, mows + With careless scythe too near some flower bed, + And cuts the thorny pillar of the rose, + And with the flower’s loosened loneliness + Strews the brown mould; or as some shepherd lad in wantonness + + Driving his little flock along the mead + Treads down two daffodils, which side by aide + Have lured the lady-bird with yellow brede + And made the gaudy moth forget its pride, + Treads down their brimming golden chalices + Under light feet which were not made for such rude ravages; + + Or as a schoolboy tired of his book + Flings himself down upon the reedy grass + And plucks two water-lilies from the brook, + And for a time forgets the hour glass, + Then wearies of their sweets, and goes his way, + And lets the hot sun kill them, even go these lovers lay. + + And Venus cried, ‘It is dread Artemis + Whose bitter hand hath wrought this cruelty, + Or else that mightier maid whose care it is + To guard her strong and stainless majesty + Upon the hill Athenian,—alas! + That they who loved so well unloved into Death’s house should pass.’ + + So with soft hands she laid the boy and girl + In the great golden waggon tenderly + (Her white throat whiter than a moony pearl + Just threaded with a blue vein’s tapestry + Had not yet ceased to throb, and still her breast + Swayed like a wind-stirred lily in ambiguous unrest) + + And then each pigeon spread its milky van, + The bright car soared into the dawning sky, + And like a cloud the aerial caravan + Passed over the Ægean silently, + Till the faint air was troubled with the song + From the wan mouths that call on bleeding Thammuz all night long. + + But when the doves had reached their wonted goal + Where the wide stair of orbèd marble dips + Its snows into the sea, her fluttering soul + Just shook the trembling petals of her lips + And passed into the void, and Venus knew + That one fair maid the less would walk amid her retinue, + + And bade her servants carve a cedar chest + With all the wonder of this history, + Within whose scented womb their limbs should rest + Where olive-trees make tender the blue sky + On the low hills of Paphos, and the Faun + Pipes in the noonday, and the nightingale sings on till dawn. + + Nor failed they to obey her hest, and ere + The morning bee had stung the daffodil + With tiny fretful spear, or from its lair + The waking stag had leapt across the rill + And roused the ouzel, or the lizard crept + Athwart the sunny rock, beneath the grass their bodies slept. + + And when day brake, within that silver shrine + Fed by the flames of cressets tremulous, + Queen Venus knelt and prayed to Proserpine + That she whose beauty made Death amorous + Should beg a guerdon from her pallid Lord, + And let Desire pass across dread Charon’s icy ford. + + III + + IN melancholy moonless Acheron, + Farm for the goodly earth and joyous day + Where no spring ever buds, nor ripening sun + Weighs down the apple trees, nor flowery May + Chequers with chestnut blooms the grassy floor, + Where thrushes never sing, and piping linnets mate no more, + + There by a dim and dark Lethæan well + Young Charmides was lying; wearily + He plucked the blossoms from the asphodel, + And with its little rifled treasury + Strewed the dull waters of the dusky stream, + And watched the white stars founder, and the land was like a dream, + + When as he gazed into the watery glass + And through his brown hair’s curly tangles scanned + His own wan face, a shadow seemed to pass + Across the mirror, and a little hand + Stole into his, and warm lips timidly + Brushed his pale cheeks, and breathed their secret forth into a sigh. + + Then turned he round his weary eyes and saw, + And ever nigher still their faces came, + And nigher ever did their young mouths draw + Until they seemed one perfect rose of flame, + And longing arms around her neck he cast, + And felt her throbbing bosom, and his breath came hot and fast, + + And all his hoarded sweets were hers to kiss, + And all her maidenhood was his to slay, + And limb to limb in long and rapturous bliss + Their passion waxed and waned,—O why essay + To pipe again of love, too venturous reed! + Enough, enough that Eros laughed upon that flowerless mead. + + Too venturous poesy, O why essay + To pipe again of passion! fold thy wings + O’er daring Icarus and bid thy lay + Sleep hidden in the lyre’s silent strings + Till thou hast found the old Castalian rill, + Or from the Lesbian waters plucked drowned Sappho’s golden quid! + + Enough, enough that he whose life had been + A fiery pulse of sin, a splendid shame, + Could in the loveless land of Hades glean + One scorching harvest from those fields of flame + Where passion walks with naked unshod feet + And is not wounded,—ah! enough that once their lips could meet + + In that wild throb when all existences + Seemed narrowed to one single ecstasy + Which dies through its own sweetness and the stress + Of too much pleasure, ere Persephone + Had bade them serve her by the ebon throne + Of the pale God who in the fields of Enna loosed her zone. + + + + +POEMS + + +REQUIESCAT + + + TREAD lightly, she is near + Under the snow, + Speak gently, she can hear + The daisies grow. + + All her bright golden hair + Tarnished with rust, + She that was young and fair + Fallen to dust. + + Lily-like, white as snow, + She hardly knew + She was a woman, so + Sweetly she grew. + + Coffin-board, heavy stone, + Lie on her breast, + I vex my heart alone, + She is at rest. + + Peace, Peace, she cannot hear + Lyre or sonnet, + All my life’s buried here, + Heap earth upon it. + + AVIGNON + + + +SAN MINIATO + + + SEE, I have climbed the mountain side + Up to this holy house of God, + Where once that Angel-Painter trod + Who saw the heavens opened wide, + + And throned upon the crescent moon + The Virginal white Queen of Grace,— + Mary! could I but see thy face + Death could not come at all too soon. + + O crowned by God with thorns and pain! + Mother of Christ! O mystic wife! + My heart is weary of this life + And over-sad to sing again. + + O crowned by God with love and flame! + O crowned by Christ the Holy One! + O listen ere the searching sun + Show to the world my sin and shame. + + + +ROME UNVISITED + + + I. + + THE corn has turned from grey to red, + Since first my spirit wandered forth + From the drear cities of the north, + And to Italia’s mountains fled. + + And here I set my face towards home, + For all my pilgrimage is done, + Although, methinks, yon blood-red sun + Marshals the way to Holy Rome. + + O Blessed Lady, who dost hold + Upon the seven hills thy reign! + O Mother without blot or stain, + Crowned with bright crowns of triple gold! + + O Roma, Roma, at thy feet + I lay this barren gift of song! + For, ah! the way is steep and long + That leads unto thy sacred street. + + II. + + AND yet what joy it were for me + To turn my feet unto the south, + And journeying towards the Tiber mouth + To kneel again at Fiesole! + + And wandering through the tangled pines + That break the gold of Arno’s stream, + To see the purple mist and gleam + Of morning on the Apennines + + By many a vineyard-hidden home, + Orchard and olive-garden grey, + Till from the drear Campagna’s way + The seven hills bear up the dome! + + III. + + A PILGRIM from the northern seas— + What joy for me to seek alone + The wondrous temple and the throne + Of him who holds the awful keys! + + When, bright with purple and with gold + Come priest and holy cardinal, + And borne above the heads of all + The gentle Shepherd of the Fold. + + O joy to see before I die + The only God-anointed king, + And hear the silver trumpets ring + A triumph as he passes by! + + Or at the brazen-pillared shrine + Holds high the mystic sacrifice, + And shows his God to human eyes + Beneath the veil of bread and wine. + + IV. + + FOR lo, what changes time can bring! + The cycles of revolving years + May free my heart from all its fears, + And teach my lips a song to sing. + + Before yon field of trembling gold + Is garnered into dusty sheaves, + Or ere the autumn’s scarlet leaves + Flutter as birds adown the wold, + + I may have run the glorious race, + And caught the torch while yet aflame, + And called upon the holy name + Of Him who now doth hide His face. + + ARONA + + + +HUMANITAD + + + IT is full winter now: the trees are bare, + Save where the cattle huddle from the cold + Beneath the pine, for it doth never wear + The autumn’s gaudy livery whose gold + Her jealous brother pilfers, but is true + To the green doublet; bitter is the wind, as though it blew + + From Saturn’s cave; a few thin wisps of hay + Lie on the sharp black hedges, where the wain + Dragged the sweet pillage of a summer’s day + From the low meadows up the narrow lane; + Upon the half-thawed snow the bleating sheep + Press close against the hurdles, and the shivering house-dogs creep + + From the shut stable to the frozen stream + And back again disconsolate, and miss + The bawling shepherds and the noisy team; + And overhead in circling listlessness + The cawing rooks whirl round the frosted stack, + Or crowd the dripping boughs; and in the fen the ice-pools crack + + Where the gaunt bittern stalks among the reeds + And flaps his wings, and stretches back his neck, + And hoots to see the moon; across the meads + Limps the poor frightened hare, a little speck; + And a stray seamew with its fretful cry + Flits like a sudden drift of snow against the dull grey sky. + + Full winter: and the lusty goodman brings + His load of faggots from the chilly byre, + And stamps his feet upon the hearth, and flings + The sappy billets on the waning fire, + And laughs to see the sudden lightening scare + His children at their play, and yet,—the spring is in the air; + + Already the slim crocus stirs the snow, + And soon yon blanchèd fields will bloom again + With nodding cowslips for some lad to mow, + For with the first warm kisses of the rain + The winter’s icy sorrow breaks to tears, + And the brown thrushes mate, and with bright eyes the rabbit peers + + From the dark warren where the fir-cones lie, + And treads one snowdrop under foot, and runs + Over the mossy knoll, and blackbirds fly + Across our path at evening, and the suns + Stay longer with us; ah! how good to see + Grass-girdled spring in all her joy of laughing greenery + + Dance through the hedges till the early rose, + (That sweet repentance of the thorny briar!) + Burst from its sheathèd emerald and disclose + The little quivering disk of golden fire + Which the bees know so well, for with it come + Pale boy’s-love, sops-in-wine, and daffadillies all in bloom. + + Then up and down the field the sower goes, + While close behind the laughing younker scares + With shrilly whoop the black and thievish crows, + And then the chestnut-tree its glory wears, + And on the grass the creamy blossom falls + In odorous excess, and faint half-whispered madrigals + + Steal from the bluebells’ nodding carillons + Each breezy morn, and then white jessamine, + That star of its own heaven, snap-dragons + With lolling crimson tongues, and eglantine + In dusty velvets clad usurp the bed + And woodland empery, and when the lingering rose hath shed + + Red leaf by leaf its folded panoply, + And pansies closed their purple-lidded eyes, + Chrysanthemums from gilded argosy + Unload their gaudy scentless merchandise, + And violets getting overbold withdraw + From their shy nooks, and scarlet berries dot the leafless haw. + + O happy field! and O thrice happy tree! + Soon will your queen in daisy-flowered smock + And crown of flower-de-luce trip down the lea, + Soon will the lazy shepherds drive their flock + Back to the pasture by the pool, and soon + Through the green leaves will float the hum of murmuring bees at noon. + + Soon will the glade be bright with bellamour, + The flower which wantons love, and those sweet nuns + Vale-lilies in their snowy vestiture + Will tell their beaded pearls, and carnations + With mitred dusky leaves will scent the wind, + And straggling traveller’s-joy each hedge with yellow stars will bind. + + Dear bride of Nature and most bounteous spring, + That canst give increase to the sweet-breath’d kine, + And to the kid its little horns, and bring + The soft and silky blossoms to the vine, + Where is that old nepenthe which of yore + Man got from poppy root and glossy-berried mandragore! + + There was a time when any common bird + Could make me sing in unison, a time + When all the strings of boyish life were stirred + To quick response or more melodious rhyme + By every forest idyll;—do I change? + Or rather doth some evil thing through thy fair pleasaunce range? + + Nay, nay, thou art the same: ’tis I who seek + To vex with sighs thy simple solitude, + And because fruitless tears bedew my cheek + Would have thee weep with me in brotherhood; + Fool! shall each wronged and restless spirit dare + To taint such wine with the salt poison of own despair! + + Thou art the same: ’tis I whose wretched soul + Takes discontent to be its paramour, + And gives its kingdom to the rude control + Of what should be its servitor,—for sure + Wisdom is somewhere, though the stormy sea + Contain it not, and the huge deep answer ‘’Tis not in me.’ + + To burn with one clear flame, to stand erect + In natural honour, not to bend the knee + In profitless prostrations whose effect + Is by itself condemned, what alchemy + Can teach me this? what herb Medea brewed + Will bring the unexultant peace of essence not subdued? + + The minor chord which ends the harmony, + And for its answering brother waits in vain + Sobbing for incompleted melody, + Dies a swan’s death; but I the heir of pain, + A silent Memnon with blank lidless eyes, + Wait for the light and music of those suns which never rise. + + The quenched-out torch, the lonely cypress-gloom, + The little dust stored in the narrow urn, + The gentle ΧΑΙΡΕ of the Attic tomb,— + Were not these better far than to return + To my old fitful restless malady, + Or spend my days within the voiceless cave of misery? + + Nay! for perchance that poppy-crownèd god + Is like the watcher by a sick man’s bed + Who talks of sleep but gives it not; his rod + Hath lost its virtue, and, when all is said, + Death is too rude, too obvious a key + To solve one single secret in a life’s philosophy. + + And Love! that noble madness, whose august + And inextinguishable might can slay + The soul with honeyed drugs,—alas! I must + From such sweet ruin play the runaway, + Although too constant memory never can + Forget the archèd splendour of those brows Olympian + + Which for a little season made my youth + So soft a swoon of exquisite indolence + That all the chiding of more prudent Truth + Seemed the thin voice of jealousy,—O hence + Thou huntress deadlier than Artemis! + Go seek some other quarry! for of thy too perilous bliss. + + My lips have drunk enough,—no more, no more,— + Though Love himself should turn his gilded prow + Back to the troubled waters of this shore + Where I am wrecked and stranded, even now + The chariot wheels of passion sweep too near, + Hence! Hence! I pass unto a life more barren, more austere. + + More barren—ay, those arms will never lean + Down through the trellised vines and draw my soul + In sweet reluctance through the tangled green; + Some other head must wear that aureole, + For I am hers who loves not any man + Whose white and stainless bosom bears the sign Gorgonian. + + Let Venus go and chuck her dainty page, + And kiss his mouth, and toss his curly hair, + With net and spear and hunting equipage + Let young Adonis to his tryst repair, + But me her fond and subtle-fashioned spell + Delights no more, though I could win her dearest citadel. + + Ay, though I were that laughing shepherd boy + Who from Mount Ida saw the little cloud + Pass over Tenedos and lofty Troy + And knew the coming of the Queen, and bowed + In wonder at her feet, not for the sake + Of a new Helen would I bid her hand the apple take. + + Then rise supreme Athena argent-limbed! + And, if my lips be musicless, inspire + At least my life: was not thy glory hymned + By One who gave to thee his sword and lyre + Like Æschylos at well-fought Marathon, + And died to show that Milton’s England still could bear a son! + + And yet I cannot tread the Portico + And live without desire, fear and pain, + Or nurture that wise calm which long ago + The grave Athenian master taught to men, + Self-poised, self-centred, and self-comforted, + To watch the world’s vain phantasies go by with unbowed head. + + Alas! that serene brow, those eloquent lips, + Those eyes that mirrored all eternity, + Rest in their own Colonos, an eclipse + Hath come on Wisdom, and Mnemosyne + Is childless; in the night which she had made + For lofty secure flight Athena’s owl itself hath strayed. + + Nor much with Science do I care to climb, + Although by strange and subtle witchery + She drew the moon from heaven: the Muse Time + Unrolls her gorgeous-coloured tapestry + To no less eager eyes; often indeed + In the great epic of Polymnia’s scroll I love to read + + How Asia sent her myriad hosts to war + Against a little town, and panoplied + In gilded mail with jewelled scimitar, + White-shielded, purple-crested, rode the Mede + Between the waving poplars and the sea + Which men call Artemisium, till he saw Thermopylæ + + Its steep ravine spanned by a narrow wall, + And on the nearer side a little brood + Of careless lions holding festival! + And stood amazèd at such hardihood, + And pitched his tent upon the reedy shore, + And stayed two days to wonder, and then crept at midnight o’er + + Some unfrequented height, and coming down + The autumn forests treacherously slew + What Sparta held most dear and was the crown + Of far Eurotas, and passed on, nor knew + How God had staked an evil net for him + In the small bay at Salamis,—and yet, the page grows dim, + + Its cadenced Greek delights me not, I feel + With such a goodly time too out of tune + To love it much: for like the Dial’s wheel + That from its blinded darkness strikes the noon + Yet never sees the sun, so do my eyes + Restlessly follow that which from my cheated vision flies. + + O for one grand unselfish simple life + To teach us what is Wisdom! speak ye hills + Of lone Helvellyn, for this note of strife + Shunned your untroubled crags and crystal rills, + Where is that Spirit which living blamelessly + Yet dared to kiss the smitten mouth of his own century! + + Speak ye Rydalian laurels! where is he + Whose gentle head ye sheltered, that pure soul + Whose gracious days of uncrowned majesty + Through lowliest conduct touched the lofty goal + Where love and duty mingle! Him at least + The most high Laws were glad of, he had sat at Wisdom’s feast; + + But we are Learning’s changelings, know by rote + The clarion watchword of each Grecian school + And follow none, the flawless sword which smote + The pagan Hydra is an effete tool + Which we ourselves have blunted, what man now + Shall scale the august ancient heights and to old Reverence bow? + + One such indeed I saw, but, Ichabod! + Gone is that last dear son of Italy, + Who being man died for the sake of God, + And whose unrisen bones sleep peacefully, + O guard him, guard him well, my Giotto’s tower, + Thou marble lily of the lily town! let not the lour + + Of the rude tempest vex his slumber, or + The Arno with its tawny troubled gold + O’er-leap its marge, no mightier conqueror + Clomb the high Capitol in the days of old + When Rome was indeed Rome, for Liberty + Walked like a bride beside him, at which sight pale Mystery + + Fled shrieking to her farthest sombrest cell + With an old man who grabbled rusty keys, + Fled shuddering, for that immemorial knell + With which oblivion buries dynasties + Swept like a wounded eagle on the blast, + As to the holy heart of Rome the great triumvir passed. + + He knew the holiest heart and heights of Rome, + He drave the base wolf from the lion’s lair, + And now lies dead by that empyreal dome + Which overtops Valdarno hung in air + By Brunelleschi—O Melpomene + Breathe through thy melancholy pipe thy sweetest threnody! + + Breathe through the tragic stops such melodies + That Joy’s self may grow jealous, and the Nine + Forget awhile their discreet emperies, + Mourning for him who on Rome’s lordliest shrine + Lit for men’s lives the light of Marathon, + And bare to sun-forgotten fields the fire of the sun! + + O guard him, guard him well, my Giotto’s tower! + Let some young Florentine each eventide + Bring coronals of that enchanted flower + Which the dim woods of Vallombrosa hide, + And deck the marble tomb wherein he lies + Whose soul is as some mighty orb unseen of mortal eyes; + + Some mighty orb whose cycled wanderings, + Being tempest-driven to the farthest rim + Where Chaos meets Creation and the wings + Of the eternal chanting Cherubim + Are pavilioned on Nothing, passed away + Into a moonless void,—and yet, though he is dust and clay, + + He is not dead, the immemorial Fates + Forbid it, and the closing shears refrain. + Lift up your heads ye everlasting gates! + Ye argent clarions, sound a loftier strain + For the vile thing he hated lurks within + Its sombre house, alone with God and memories of sin. + + Still what avails it that she sought her cave + That murderous mother of red harlotries? + At Munich on the marble architrave + The Grecian boys die smiling, but the seas + Which wash Ægina fret in loneliness + Not mirroring their beauty; so our lives grow colourless + + For lack of our ideals, if one star + Flame torch-like in the heavens the unjust + Swift daylight kills it, and no trump of war + Can wake to passionate voice the silent dust + Which was Mazzini once! rich Niobe + For all her stony sorrows hath her sons; but Italy, + + What Easter Day shall make her children rise, + Who were not Gods yet suffered? what sure feet + Shall find their grave-clothes folded? what clear eyes + Shall see them bodily? O it were meet + To roll the stone from off the sepulchre + And kiss the bleeding roses of their wounds, in love of her, + + Our Italy! our mother visible! + Most blessed among nations and most sad, + For whose dear sake the young Calabrian fell + That day at Aspromonte and was glad + That in an age when God was bought and sold + One man could die for Liberty! but we, burnt out and cold, + + See Honour smitten on the cheek and gyves + Bind the sweet feet of Mercy: Poverty + Creeps through our sunless lanes and with sharp knives + Cuts the warm throats of children stealthily, + And no word said:—O we are wretched men + Unworthy of our great inheritance! where is the pen + + Of austere Milton? where the mighty sword + Which slew its master righteously? the years + Have lost their ancient leader, and no word + Breaks from the voiceless tripod on our ears: + While as a ruined mother in some spasm + Bears a base child and loathes it, so our best enthusiasm + + Genders unlawful children, Anarchy + Freedom’s own Judas, the vile prodigal + Licence who steals the gold of Liberty + And yet has nothing, Ignorance the real + One Fraticide since Cain, Envy the asp + That stings itself to anguish, Avarice whose palsied grasp + + Is in its extent stiffened, moneyed Greed + For whose dull appetite men waste away + Amid the whirr of wheels and are the seed + Of things which slay their sower, these each day + Sees rife in England, and the gentle feet + Of Beauty tread no more the stones of each unlovely street. + + What even Cromwell spared is desecrated + By weed and worm, left to the stormy play + Of wind and beating snow, or renovated + By more destructful hands: Time’s worst decay + Will wreathe its ruins with some loveliness, + But these new Vandals can but make a rain-proof barrenness. + + Where is that Art which bade the Angels sing + Through Lincoln’s lofty choir, till the air + Seems from such marble harmonies to ring + With sweeter song than common lips can dare + To draw from actual reed? ah! where is now + The cunning hand which made the flowering hawthorn branches bow + + For Southwell’s arch, and carved the House of One + Who loved the lilies of the field with all + Our dearest English flowers? the same sun + Rises for us: the seasons natural + Weave the same tapestry of green and grey: + The unchanged hills are with us: but that Spirit hath passed away. + + And yet perchance it may be better so, + For Tyranny is an incestuous Queen, + Murder her brother is her bedfellow, + And the Plague chambers with her: in obscene + And bloody paths her treacherous feet are set; + Better the empty desert and a soul inviolate! + + For gentle brotherhood, the harmony + Of living in the healthful air, the swift + Clean beauty of strong limbs when men are free + And women chaste, these are the things which lift + Our souls up more than even Agnolo’s + Gaunt blinded Sibyl poring o’er the scroll of human woes, + + Or Titian’s little maiden on the stair + White as her own sweet lily and as tall, + Or Mona Lisa smiling through her hair,— + Ah! somehow life is bigger after all + Than any painted angel, could we see + The God that is within us! The old Greek serenity + + Which curbs the passion of that level line + Of marble youths, who with untroubled eyes + And chastened limbs ride round Athena’s shrine + And mirror her divine economies, + And balanced symmetry of what in man + Would else wage ceaseless warfare,—this at least within the span + + Between our mother’s kisses and the grave + Might so inform our lives, that we could win + Such mighty empires that from her cave + Temptation would grow hoarse, and pallid Sin + Would walk ashamed of his adulteries, + And Passion creep from out the House of Lust with startled eyes. + + To make the body and the spirit one + With all right things, till no thing live in vain + From morn to noon, but in sweet unison + With every pulse of flesh and throb of brain + The soul in flawless essence high enthroned, + Against all outer vain attack invincibly bastioned, + + Mark with serene impartiality + The strife of things, and yet be comforted, + Knowing that by the chain causality + All separate existences are wed + Into one supreme whole, whose utterance + Is joy, or holier praise! ah! surely this were governance + + Of Life in most august omnipresence, + Through which the rational intellect would find + In passion its expression, and mere sense, + Ignoble else, lend fire to the mind, + And being joined with it in harmony + More mystical than that which binds the stars planetary, + + Strike from their several tones one octave chord + Whose cadence being measureless would fly + Through all the circling spheres, then to its Lord + Return refreshed with its new empery + And more exultant power,—this indeed + Could we but reach it were to find the last, the perfect creed. + + Ah! it was easy when the world was young + To keep one’s life free and inviolate, + From our sad lips another song is rung, + By our own hands our heads are desecrate, + Wanderers in drear exile, and dispossessed + Of what should be our own, we can but feed on wild unrest. + + Somehow the grace, the bloom of things has flown, + And of all men we are most wretched who + Must live each other’s lives and not our own + For very pity’s sake and then undo + All that we lived for—it was otherwise + When soul and body seemed to blend in mystic symphonies. + + But we have left those gentle haunts to pass + With weary feet to the new Calvary, + Where we behold, as one who in a glass + Sees his own face, self-slain Humanity, + And in the dumb reproach of that sad gaze + Learn what an awful phantom the red hand of man can raise. + + O smitten mouth! O forehead crowned with thorn! + O chalice of all common miseries! + Thou for our sakes that loved thee not hast borne + An agony of endless centuries, + And we were vain and ignorant nor knew + That when we stabbed thy heart it was our own real hearts we slew. + + Being ourselves the sowers and the seeds, + The night that covers and the lights that fade, + The spear that pierces and the side that bleeds, + The lips betraying and the life betrayed; + The deep hath calm: the moon hath rest: but we + Lords of the natural world are yet our own dread enemy. + + Is this the end of all that primal force + Which, in its changes being still the same, + From eyeless Chaos cleft its upward course, + Through ravenous seas and whirling rocks and flame, + Till the suns met in heaven and began + Their cycles, and the morning stars sang, and the Word was Man! + + Nay, nay, we are but crucified, and though + The bloody sweat falls from our brows like rain + Loosen the nails—we shall come down I know, + Staunch the red wounds—we shall be whole again, + No need have we of hyssop-laden rod, + That which is purely human, that is godlike, that is God. + + + +LOUIS NAPOLEON + + + EAGLE of Austerlitz! where were thy wings + When far away upon a barbarous strand, + In fight unequal, by an obscure hand, + Fell the last scion of thy brood of Kings! + + Poor boy! thou shalt not flaunt thy cloak of red, + Or ride in state through Paris in the van + Of thy returning legions, but instead + Thy mother France, free and republican, + + Shall on thy dead and crownless forehead place + The better laurels of a soldier’s crown, + That not dishonoured should thy soul go down + To tell the mighty Sire of thy race + + That France hath kissed the mouth of Liberty, + And found it sweeter than his honied bees, + And that the giant wave Democracy + Breaks on the shores where Kings lay couched at ease. + + + +ENDYMION +(FOR MUSIC) + + + THE apple trees are hung with gold, + And birds are loud in Arcady, + The sheep lie bleating in the fold, + The wild goat runs across the wold, + But yesterday his love he told, + I know he will come back to me. + O rising moon! O Lady moon! + Be you my lover’s sentinel, + You cannot choose but know him well, + For he is shod with purple shoon, + You cannot choose but know my love, + For he a shepherd’s crook doth bear, + And he is soft as any dove, + And brown and curly is his hair. + + The turtle now has ceased to call + Upon her crimson-footed groom, + The grey wolf prowls about the stall, + The lily’s singing seneschal + Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all + The violet hills are lost in gloom. + O risen moon! O holy moon! + Stand on the top of Helice, + And if my own true love you see, + Ah! if you see the purple shoon, + The hazel crook, the lad’s brown hair, + The goat-skin wrapped about his arm, + Tell him that I am waiting where + The rushlight glimmers in the Farm. + + The falling dew is cold and chill, + And no bird sings in Arcady, + The little fauns have left the hill, + Even the tired daffodil + Has closed its gilded doors, and still + My lover comes not back to me. + False moon! False moon! O waning moon! + Where is my own true lover gone, + Where are the lips vermilion, + The shepherd’s crook, the purple shoon? + Why spread that silver pavilion, + Why wear that veil of drifting mist? + Ah! thou hast young Endymion + Thou hast the lips that should be kissed! + + + +LE JARDIN + + + THE lily’s withered chalice falls + Around its rod of dusty gold, + And from the beech-trees on the wold + The last wood-pigeon coos and calls. + + The gaudy leonine sunflower + Hangs black and barren on its stalk, + And down the windy garden walk + The dead leaves scatter,—hour by hour. + + Pale privet-petals white as milk + Are blown into a snowy mass: + The roses lie upon the grass + Like little shreds of crimson silk. + + + +LA MER + + + A WHITE mist drifts across the shrouds, + A wild moon in this wintry sky + Gleams like an angry lion’s eye + Out of a mane of tawny clouds. + + The muffled steersman at the wheel + Is but a shadow in the gloom;— + And in the throbbing engine-room + Leap the long rods of polished steel. + + The shattered storm has left its trace + Upon this huge and heaving dome, + For the thin threads of yellow foam + Float on the waves like ravelled lace. + + + +LE PANNEAU + + + UNDER the rose-tree’s dancing shade + There stands a little ivory girl, + Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl + With pale green nails of polished jade. + + The red leaves fall upon the mould, + The white leaves flutter, one by one, + Down to a blue bowl where the sun, + Like a great dragon, writhes in gold. + + The white leaves float upon the air, + The red leaves flutter idly down, + Some fall upon her yellow gown, + And some upon her raven hair. + + She takes an amber lute and sings, + And as she sings a silver crane + Begins his scarlet neck to strain, + And flap his burnished metal wings. + + She takes a lute of amber bright, + And from the thicket where he lies + Her lover, with his almond eyes, + Watches her movements in delight. + + And now she gives a cry of fear, + And tiny tears begin to start: + A thorn has wounded with its dart + The pink-veined sea-shell of her ear. + + And now she laughs a merry note: + There has fallen a petal of the rose + Just where the yellow satin shows + The blue-veined flower of her throat. + + With pale green nails of polished jade, + Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl, + There stands a little ivory girl + Under the rose-tree’s dancing shade. + + + +LES BALLONS + + + AGAINST these turbid turquoise skies + The light and luminous balloons + Dip and drift like satin moons + Drift like silken butterflies; + + Reel with every windy gust, + Rise and reel like dancing girls, + Float like strange transparent pearls, + Fall and float like silver dust. + + Now to the low leaves they cling, + Each with coy fantastic pose, + Each a petal of a rose + Straining at a gossamer string. + + Then to the tall trees they climb, + Like thin globes of amethyst, + Wandering opals keeping tryst + With the rubies of the lime. + + + +CANZONET + + + I HAVE no store + Of gryphon-guarded gold; + Now, as before, + Bare is the shepherd’s fold. + Rubies nor pearls + Have I to gem thy throat; + Yet woodland girls + Have loved the shepherd’s note. + + Then pluck a reed + And bid me sing to thee, + For I would feed + Thine ears with melody, + Who art more fair + Than fairest fleur-de-lys, + More sweet and rare + Than sweetest ambergris. + + What dost thou fear? + Young Hyacinth is slain, + Pan is not here, + And will not come again. + No horned Faun + Treads down the yellow leas, + No God at dawn + Steals through the olive trees. + + Hylas is dead, + Nor will he e’er divine + Those little red + Rose-petalled lips of thine. + On the high hill + No ivory dryads play, + Silver and still + Sinks the sad autumn day. + + + +LE JARDIN DES TUILERIES + + + THIS winter air is keen and cold, + And keen and cold this winter sun, + But round my chair the children run + Like little things of dancing gold. + + Sometimes about the painted kiosk + The mimic soldiers strut and stride, + Sometimes the blue-eyed brigands hide + In the bleak tangles of the bosk. + + And sometimes, while the old nurse cons + Her book, they steal across the square, + And launch their paper navies where + Huge Triton writhes in greenish bronze. + + And now in mimic flight they flee, + And now they rush, a boisterous band— + And, tiny hand on tiny hand, + Climb up the black and leafless tree. + + Ah! cruel tree! if I were you, + And children climbed me, for their sake + Though it be winter I would break + Into spring blossoms white and blue! + + + +PAN +DOUBLE VILLANELLE + + + I. + + O GOAT-FOOT God of Arcady! + This modern world is grey and old, + And what remains to us of thee? + + No more the shepherd lads in glee + Throw apples at thy wattled fold, + O goat-foot God of Arcady! + + Nor through the laurels can one see + Thy soft brown limbs, thy beard of gold + And what remains to us of thee? + + And dull and dead our Thames would be, + For here the winds are chill and cold, + O goat-loot God of Arcady! + + Then keep the tomb of Helice, + Thine olive-woods, thy vine-clad wold, + And what remains to us of thee? + + Though many an unsung elegy + Sleeps in the reeds our rivers hold, + O goat-foot God of Arcady! + Ah, what remains to us of thee? + + II. + + AH, leave the hills of Arcady, + Thy satyrs and their wanton play, + This modern world hath need of thee. + + No nymph or Faun indeed have we, + For Faun and nymph are old and grey, + Ah, leave the hills of Arcady! + + This is the land where liberty + Lit grave-browed Milton on his way, + This modern world hath need of thee! + + A land of ancient chivalry + Where gentle Sidney saw the day, + Ah, leave the hills of Arcady! + + This fierce sea-lion of the sea, + This England lacks some stronger lay, + This modern world hath need of thee! + + Then blow some trumpet loud and free, + And give thine oaten pipe away, + Ah, leave the hills of Arcady! + This modern world hath need of thee! + + + +IN THE FOREST + + + OUT of the mid-wood’s twilight + Into the meadow’s dawn, + Ivory limbed and brown-eyed, + Flashes my Faun! + + He skips through the copses singing, + And his shadow dances along, + And I know not which I should follow, + Shadow or song! + + O Hunter, snare me his shadow! + O Nightingale, catch me his strain! + Else moonstruck with music and madness + I track him in vain! + + + +SYMPHONY IN YELLOW + + + AN omnibus across the bridge + Crawls like a yellow butterfly + And, here and there, a passer-by + Shows like a little restless midge. + + Big barges full of yellow hay + Are moored against the shadowy wharf, + And, like a yellow silken scarf, + The thick fog hangs along the quay. + + The yellow leaves begin to fade + And flutter from the Temple elms, + And at my feet the pale green Thames + Lies like a rod of rippled jade. + + + + +SONNETS + + +HÉLAS! + + + TO drift with every passion till my soul + Is a stringed lute on which can winds can play, + Is it for this that I have given away + Mine ancient wisdom and austere control? + Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll + Scrawled over on some boyish holiday + With idle songs for pipe and virelay, + Which do but mar the secret of the whole. + Surely there was a time I might have trod + The sunlit heights, and from life’s dissonance + Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God: + Is that time dead? lo! with a little rod + I did but touch the honey of romance— + And must I lose a soul’s inheritance? + + + +TO MILTON + + + MILTON! I think thy spirit hath passed away + From these white cliffs and high-embattled towers; + This gorgeous fiery-coloured world of ours + Seems fallen into ashes dull and grey, + And the age changed unto a mimic play + Wherein we waste our else too-crowded hours: + For all our pomp and pageantry and powers + We are but fit to delve the common clay, + Seeing this little isle on which we stand, + This England, this sea-lion of the sea, + By ignorant demagogues is held in fee, + Who love her not: Dear God! is this the land + Which bare a triple empire in her hand + When Cromwell spake the word Democracy! + + + +ON THE MASSACRE OF THE CHRISTIANS IN BULGARIA + + + CHRIST, dost Thou live indeed? or are Thy bones + Still straitened in their rock-hewn sepulchre? + And was Thy Rising only dreamed by her + Whose love of Thee for all her sin atones? + For here the air is horrid with men’s groans, + The priests who call upon Thy name are slain, + Dost Thou not hear the bitter wail of pain + From those whose children lie upon the stones? + Come down, O Son of God! incestuous gloom + Curtains the land, and through the starless night + Over Thy Cross a Crescent moon I see! + If Thou in very truth didst burst the tomb + Come down, O Son of Man! and show Thy might + Lest Mahomet be crowned instead of Thee! + + + +HOLY WEEK AT GENOA + + + I WANDERED through Scoglietto’s far retreat, + The oranges on each o’erhanging spray + Burned as bright lamps of gold to shame the day; + Some startled bird with fluttering wings and fleet + Made snow of all the blossoms; at my feet + Like silver moons the pale narcissi lay: + And the curved waves that streaked the great green bay + Laughed i’ the sun, and life seemed very sweet. + Outside the young boy-priest passed singing clear, + ‘Jesus the son of Mary has been slain, + O come and fill His sepulchre with flowers.’ + Ah, God! Ah, God! those dear Hellenic hours + Had drowned all memory of Thy bitter pain, + The Cross, the Crown, the Soldiers and the Spear. + + + +URBS SACRA ÆTERNA + + + ROME! what a scroll of History thine has been; + In the first days thy sword republican + Ruled the whole world for many an age’s span: + Then of the peoples wert thou royal Queen, + Till in thy streets the bearded Goth was seen; + And now upon thy walls the breezes fan + (Ah, city crowned by God, discrowned by man!) + The hated flag of red and white and green. + When was thy glory! when in search for power + Thine eagles flew to greet the double sun, + And the wild nations shuddered at thy rod? + Nay, but thy glory tarried for this hour, + When pilgrims kneel before the Holy One, + The prisoned shepherd of the Church of God. + MONTRE MARIO + + + +E TENEBRIS + + + COME down, O Christ, and help me! reach Thy hand, + For I am drowning in a stormier sea + Than Simon on Thy lake of Galilee: + The wine of life is spilt upon the sand, + My heart is as some famine-murdered land + Whence all good things have perished utterly, + And well I know my soul in Hell must lie + If I this night before God’s throne should stand. + ‘He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase, + Like Baal, when his prophets howled that name + From morn to noon on Carmel’s smitten height.’ + Nay, peace, I shall behold, before the night, + The feet of brass, the robe more white than flame, + The wounded hands, the weary human face. + + + +AT VERONA + + + HOW steep the stairs within King’s houses are + For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread, + And O how salt and bitter is the bread + Which falls from this Hound’s table,—better far + That I had died in the red ways of war, + Or that the gate of Florence bare my head, + Than to live thus, by all things comraded + Which seek the essence of my soul to mar. + + ‘Curse God and die: what better hope than this? + He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss + Of his gold city, and eternal day’— + Nay peace: behind my prison’s blinded bars + I do possess what none can take away, + My love and all the glory of the stars. + + + +ON THE SALE BY AUCTION OF KEATS’ LOVE LETTERS + + + THESE are the letters which Endymion wrote + To one he loved in secret, and apart. + And now the brawlers of the auction mart + Bargain and bid for each poor blotted note, + Ay! for each separate pulse of passion quote + The merchant’s price. I think they love not art + Who break the crystal of a poet’s heart + That small and sickly eyes may glare and gloat. + + Is it not said that many years ago, + In a far Eastern town, some soldiers ran + With torches through the midnight, and began + To wrangle for mean raiment, and to throw + Dice for the garments of a wretched man, + Not knowing the God’s wonder, or His woe? + + + +THE NEW REMORSE + + + THE sin was mine; I did not understand. + So now is music prisoned in her cave, + Save where some ebbing desultory wave + Frets with its restless whirls this meagre strand. + And in the withered hollow of this land + Hath Summer dug herself so deep a grave, + That hardly can the leaden willow crave + One silver blossom from keen Winter’s hand. + + But who is this who cometh by the shore? + (Nay, love, look up and wonder!) Who is this + Who cometh in dyed garments from the South? + It is thy new-found Lord, and he shall kiss + The yet unravished roses of thy mouth, + And I shall weep and worship, as before. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARMIDES AND OTHER POEMS*** + + +******* This file should be named 1031-0.txt or 1031-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/3/1031 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Charmides and Other Poems + + +Author: Oscar Wilde + + + +Release Date: September 19, 2014 [eBook #1031] +[This file was first posted on 17 July 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARMIDES AND OTHER POEMS*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from 1913 Methuen and Co. edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>CHARMIDES<br /> +AND OTHER POEMS</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +OSCAR WILDE</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">METHUEN +& CO. LTD.</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">36 ESSEX STREET W.C.</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LONDON</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>This volume was first published +in 1913</i></p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p><i>Wilde’s Poems</i>, <i>a selection of which is given +in this volume</i>, <i>were first published in volume form in</i> +1881, <i>and were reprinted four times before the end of</i> +1882. <i>A new Edition with additional poems</i>, +<i>including Ravenna</i>, <i>The Sphinx</i>, <i>and The Ballad of +Reading Goal</i>, <i>was first published</i> (<i>limited issues +on hand-made paper and Japanese vellum</i>) <i>by Methuen & +Co. in March</i> 1908. <i>A further Edition</i> (<i>making +the seventh</i>) <i>with some omissions from the issue of</i> +1908, <i>but including two new poems</i>, <i>was published in +September</i>, 1909. <i>Eighth Edition</i>, <i>November</i> +1909. <i>Ninth Edition</i>, <i>December</i> 1909. +<i>Tenth Edition</i>, <i>December</i> 1910. <i>Eleventh +Edition</i>, <i>December</i>, 1911. <i>Twelfth Edition</i>, +<i>May</i>, 1913.</p> +<p><i>A further selection of the poems</i>, <i>including The +Ballad of Reading Gaol</i>, <i>is published uniform with this +volume</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +v</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Charmides</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page9">9</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Requiescat</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">San Miniato</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Rome Unvisited</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page71">71</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Humanitad</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page77">77</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Louis Napoleon</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Endymion</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page116">116</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Le Jardin</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">La Mer</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page120">120</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Le Panneau</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Les Ballons</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Canzonet</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page126">126</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Le Jardin Des Tuileries</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page129">129</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Pan: Double Villanelle</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">In the Forest</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page135">135</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Symphony in Yellow</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><a +name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. vi</span><span +class="smcap">Sonnets</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Hélas</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page139">139</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">To Milton</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page140">140</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">On the Massacre of the Christians in +Bulgaria</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page141">141</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Holy Week at Genoa</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page142">142</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Urbs Sacra Æterna</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">E Tenebris</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page144">144</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">At Verona</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">On the Sale by Auction of Keats’ +Love Letters</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page146">146</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The New Remorse</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>CHARMIDES</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">I.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span> was a Grecian +lad, who coming home<br /> + With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily<br /> +Stood at his galley’s prow, and let the foam<br /> + Blow through his crisp brown curls unconsciously,<br +/> +And holding wave and wind in boy’s despite<br /> +Peered from his dripping seat across the wet and stormy +night.</p> +<p class="poetry">Till with the dawn he saw a burnished spear<br +/> + Like a thin thread of gold against the sky,<br /> +And hoisted sail, and strained the creaking gear,<br /> + And bade the pilot head her lustily<br /> +Against the nor’west gale, and all day long<br /> +Held on his way, and marked the rowers’ time with measured +song.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>And when the faint Corinthian hills were red<br /> + Dropped anchor in a little sandy bay,<br /> +And with fresh boughs of olive crowned his head,<br /> + And brushed from cheek and throat the hoary +spray,<br /> +And washed his limbs with oil, and from the hold<br /> +Brought out his linen tunic and his sandals brazen-soled,</p> +<p class="poetry">And a rich robe stained with the fishers’ +juice<br /> + Which of some swarthy trader he had bought<br /> +Upon the sunny quay at Syracuse,<br /> + And was with Tyrian broideries inwrought,<br /> +And by the questioning merchants made his way<br /> +Up through the soft and silver woods, and when the labouring +day</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span>Had spun its tangled web of crimson cloud,<br /> + Clomb the high hill, and with swift silent feet<br +/> +Crept to the fane unnoticed by the crowd<br /> + Of busy priests, and from some dark retreat<br /> +Watched the young swains his frolic playmates bring<br /> +The firstling of their little flock, and the shy shepherd +fling</p> +<p class="poetry">The crackling salt upon the flame, or hang<br +/> + His studded crook against the temple wall<br /> +To Her who keeps away the ravenous fang<br /> + Of the base wolf from homestead and from stall;<br +/> +And then the clear-voiced maidens ’gan to sing,<br /> +And to the altar each man brought some goodly offering,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>A beechen cup brimming with milky foam,<br /> + A fair cloth wrought with cunning imagery<br /> +Of hounds in chase, a waxen honey-comb<br /> + Dripping with oozy gold which scarce the bee<br /> +Had ceased from building, a black skin of oil<br /> +Meet for the wrestlers, a great boar the fierce and white-tusked +spoil</p> +<p class="poetry">Stolen from Artemis that jealous maid<br /> + To please Athena, and the dappled hide<br /> +Of a tall stag who in some mountain glade<br /> + Had met the shaft; and then the herald cried,<br /> +And from the pillared precinct one by one<br /> +Went the glad Greeks well pleased that they their simple vows had +done.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>And the old priest put out the waning fires<br /> + Save that one lamp whose restless ruby glowed<br /> +For ever in the cell, and the shrill lyres<br /> + Came fainter on the wind, as down the road<br /> +In joyous dance these country folk did pass,<br /> +And with stout hands the warder closed the gates of polished +brass.</p> +<p class="poetry">Long time he lay and hardly dared to +breathe,<br /> + And heard the cadenced drip of spilt-out wine,<br /> +And the rose-petals falling from the wreath<br /> + As the night breezes wandered through the shrine,<br +/> +And seemed to be in some entrancèd swoon<br /> +Till through the open roof above the full and brimming moon</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>Flooded with sheeny waves the marble floor,<br /> + When from his nook up leapt the venturous lad,<br /> +And flinging wide the cedar-carven door<br /> + Beheld an awful image saffron-clad<br /> +And armed for battle! the gaunt Griffin glared<br /> +From the huge helm, and the long lance of wreck and ruin +flared</p> +<p class="poetry">Like a red rod of flame, stony and steeled<br +/> + The Gorgon’s head its leaden eyeballs +rolled,<br /> +And writhed its snaky horrors through the shield,<br /> + And gaped aghast with bloodless lips and cold<br /> +In passion impotent, while with blind gaze<br /> +The blinking owl between the feet hooted in shrill amaze.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>The lonely fisher as he trimmed his lamp<br /> + Far out at sea off Sunium, or cast<br /> +The net for tunnies, heard a brazen tramp<br /> + Of horses smite the waves, and a wild blast<br /> +Divide the folded curtains of the night,<br /> +And knelt upon the little poop, and prayed in holy fright.</p> +<p class="poetry">And guilty lovers in their venery<br /> + Forgat a little while their stolen sweets,<br /> +Deeming they heard dread Dian’s bitter cry;<br /> + And the grim watchmen on their lofty seats<br /> +Ran to their shields in haste precipitate,<br /> +Or strained black-bearded throats across the dusky parapet.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>For round the temple rolled the clang of arms,<br /> + And the twelve Gods leapt up in marble fear,<br /> +And the air quaked with dissonant alarums<br /> + Till huge Poseidon shook his mighty spear,<br /> +And on the frieze the prancing horses neighed,<br /> +And the low tread of hurrying feet rang from the cavalcade.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ready for death with parted lips he stood,<br +/> + And well content at such a price to see<br /> +That calm wide brow, that terrible maidenhood,<br /> + The marvel of that pitiless chastity,<br /> +Ah! well content indeed, for never wight<br /> +Since Troy’s young shepherd prince had seen so wonderful a +sight.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>Ready for death he stood, but lo! the air<br /> + Grew silent, and the horses ceased to neigh,<br /> +And off his brow he tossed the clustering hair,<br /> + And from his limbs he throw the cloak away;<br /> +For whom would not such love make desperate?<br /> +And nigher came, and touched her throat, and with hands +violate</p> +<p class="poetry">Undid the cuirass, and the crocus gown,<br /> + And bared the breasts of polished ivory,<br /> +Till from the waist the peplos falling down<br /> + Left visible the secret mystery<br /> +Which to no lover will Athena show,<br /> +The grand cool flanks, the crescent thighs, the bossy hills of +snow.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>Those who have never known a lover’s sin<br /> + Let them not read my ditty, it will be<br /> +To their dull ears so musicless and thin<br /> + That they will have no joy of it, but ye<br /> +To whose wan cheeks now creeps the lingering smile,<br /> +Ye who have learned who Eros is,—O listen yet awhile.</p> +<p class="poetry">A little space he let his greedy eyes<br /> + Rest on the burnished image, till mere sight<br /> +Half swooned for surfeit of such luxuries,<br /> + And then his lips in hungering delight<br /> +Fed on her lips, and round the towered neck<br /> +He flung his arms, nor cared at all his passion’s will to +check.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>Never I ween did lover hold such tryst,<br /> + For all night long he murmured honeyed word,<br /> +And saw her sweet unravished limbs, and kissed<br /> + Her pale and argent body undisturbed,<br /> +And paddled with the polished throat, and pressed<br /> +His hot and beating heart upon her chill and icy breast.</p> +<p class="poetry">It was as if Numidian javelins<br /> + Pierced through and through his wild and whirling +brain,<br /> +And his nerves thrilled like throbbing violins<br /> + In exquisite pulsation, and the pain<br /> +Was such sweet anguish that he never drew<br /> +His lips from hers till overhead the lark of warning flew.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>They who have never seen the daylight peer<br /> + Into a darkened room, and drawn the curtain,<br /> +And with dull eyes and wearied from some dear<br /> + And worshipped body risen, they for certain<br /> +Will never know of what I try to sing,<br /> +How long the last kiss was, how fond and late his lingering.</p> +<p class="poetry">The moon was girdled with a crystal rim,<br /> + The sign which shipmen say is ominous<br /> +Of wrath in heaven, the wan stars were dim,<br /> + And the low lightening east was tremulous<br /> +With the faint fluttering wings of flying dawn,<br /> +Ere from the silent sombre shrine his lover had withdrawn.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>Down the steep rock with hurried feet and fast<br /> + Clomb the brave lad, and reached the cave of Pan,<br +/> +And heard the goat-foot snoring as he passed,<br /> + And leapt upon a grassy knoll and ran<br /> +Like a young fawn unto an olive wood<br /> +Which in a shady valley by the well-built city stood;</p> +<p class="poetry">And sought a little stream, which well he +knew,<br /> + For oftentimes with boyish careless shout<br /> +The green and crested grebe he would pursue,<br /> + Or snare in woven net the silver trout,<br /> +And down amid the startled reeds he lay<br /> +Panting in breathless sweet affright, and waited for the day.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>On the green bank he lay, and let one hand<br /> + Dip in the cool dark eddies listlessly,<br /> +And soon the breath of morning came and fanned<br /> + His hot flushed cheeks, or lifted wantonly<br /> +The tangled curls from off his forehead, while<br /> +He on the running water gazed with strange and secret smile.</p> +<p class="poetry">And soon the shepherd in rough woollen cloak<br +/> + With his long crook undid the wattled cotes,<br /> +And from the stack a thin blue wreath of smoke<br /> + Curled through the air across the ripening oats,<br +/> +And on the hill the yellow house-dog bayed<br /> +As through the crisp and rustling fern the heavy cattle +strayed.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>And when the light-foot mower went afield<br /> + Across the meadows laced with threaded dew,<br /> +And the sheep bleated on the misty weald,<br /> + And from its nest the waking corncrake flew,<br /> +Some woodmen saw him lying by the stream<br /> +And marvelled much that any lad so beautiful could seem,</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor deemed him born of mortals, and one +said,<br /> + ‘It is young Hylas, that false runaway<br /> +Who with a Naiad now would make his bed<br /> + Forgetting Herakles,’ but others, +‘Nay,<br /> +It is Narcissus, his own paramour,<br /> +Those are the fond and crimson lips no woman can +allure.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>And when they nearer came a third one cried,<br /> + ‘It is young Dionysos who has hid<br /> +His spear and fawnskin by the river side<br /> + Weary of hunting with the Bassarid,<br /> +And wise indeed were we away to fly:<br /> +They live not long who on the gods immortal come to +spy.’</p> +<p class="poetry">So turned they back, and feared to look +behind,<br /> + And told the timid swain how they had seen<br /> +Amid the reeds some woodland god reclined,<br /> + And no man dared to cross the open green,<br /> +And on that day no olive-tree was slain,<br /> +Nor rushes cut, but all deserted was the fair domain,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>Save when the neat-herd’s lad, his empty pail<br +/> + Well slung upon his back, with leap and bound<br /> +Raced on the other side, and stopped to hail,<br /> + Hoping that he some comrade new had found,<br /> +And gat no answer, and then half afraid<br /> +Passed on his simple way, or down the still and silent glade</p> +<p class="poetry">A little girl ran laughing from the farm,<br /> + Not thinking of love’s secret mysteries,<br /> +And when she saw the white and gleaming arm<br /> + And all his manlihood, with longing eyes<br /> +Whose passion mocked her sweet virginity<br /> +Watched him awhile, and then stole back sadly and wearily.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span>Far off he heard the city’s hum and noise,<br /> + And now and then the shriller laughter where<br /> +The passionate purity of brown-limbed boys<br /> + Wrestled or raced in the clear healthful air,<br /> +And now and then a little tinkling bell<br /> +As the shorn wether led the sheep down to the mossy well.</p> +<p class="poetry">Through the grey willows danced the fretful +gnat,<br /> + The grasshopper chirped idly from the tree,<br /> +In sleek and oily coat the water-rat<br /> + Breasting the little ripples manfully<br /> +Made for the wild-duck’s nest, from bough to bough<br /> +Hopped the shy finch, and the huge tortoise crept across the +slough.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>On the faint wind floated the silky seeds<br /> + As the bright scythe swept through the waving +grass,<br /> +The ouzel-cock splashed circles in the reeds<br /> + And flecked with silver whorls the forest’s +glass,<br /> +Which scarce had caught again its imagery<br /> +Ere from its bed the dusky tench leapt at the dragon-fly.</p> +<p class="poetry">But little care had he for any thing<br /> + Though up and down the beech the squirrel played,<br +/> +And from the copse the linnet ’gan to sing<br /> + To its brown mate its sweetest serenade;<br /> +Ah! little care indeed, for he had seen<br /> +The breasts of Pallas and the naked wonder of the Queen.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +28</span>But when the herdsman called his straggling goats<br /> + With whistling pipe across the rocky road,<br /> +And the shard-beetle with its trumpet-notes<br /> + Boomed through the darkening woods, and seemed to +bode<br /> +Of coming storm, and the belated crane<br /> +Passed homeward like a shadow, and the dull big drops of rain</p> +<p class="poetry">Fell on the pattering fig-leaves, up he +rose,<br /> + And from the gloomy forest went his way<br /> +Past sombre homestead and wet orchard-close,<br /> + And came at last unto a little quay,<br /> +And called his mates aboard, and took his seat<br /> +On the high poop, and pushed from land, and loosed the dripping +sheet,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>And steered across the bay, and when nine suns<br /> + Passed down the long and laddered way of gold,<br /> +And nine pale moons had breathed their orisons<br /> + To the chaste stars their confessors, or told<br /> +Their dearest secret to the downy moth<br /> +That will not fly at noonday, through the foam and surging +froth</p> +<p class="poetry">Came a great owl with yellow sulphurous eyes<br +/> + And lit upon the ship, whose timbers creaked<br /> +As though the lading of three argosies<br /> + Were in the hold, and flapped its wings and +shrieked,<br /> +And darkness straightway stole across the deep,<br /> +Sheathed was Orion’s sword, dread Mars himself fled down +the steep,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +30</span>And the moon hid behind a tawny mask<br /> + Of drifting cloud, and from the ocean’s +marge<br /> +Rose the red plume, the huge and hornèd casque,<br /> + The seven-cubit spear, the brazen targe!<br /> +And clad in bright and burnished panoply<br /> +Athena strode across the stretch of sick and shivering sea!</p> +<p class="poetry">To the dull sailors’ sight her loosened +looks<br /> + Seemed like the jagged storm-rack, and her feet<br +/> +Only the spume that floats on hidden rocks,<br /> + And, marking how the rising waters beat<br /> +Against the rolling ship, the pilot cried<br /> +To the young helmsman at the stern to luff to windward side</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>But he, the overbold adulterer,<br /> + A dear profaner of great mysteries,<br /> +An ardent amorous idolater,<br /> + When he beheld those grand relentless eyes<br /> +Laughed loud for joy, and crying out ‘I come’<br /> +Leapt from the lofty poop into the chill and churning foam.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then fell from the high heaven one bright +star,<br /> + One dancer left the circling galaxy,<br /> +And back to Athens on her clattering car<br /> + In all the pride of venged divinity<br /> +Pale Pallas swept with shrill and steely clank,<br /> +And a few gurgling bubbles rose where her boy lover sank.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +32</span>And the mast shuddered as the gaunt owl flew<br /> + With mocking hoots after the wrathful Queen,<br /> +And the old pilot bade the trembling crew<br /> + Hoist the big sail, and told how he had seen<br /> +Close to the stern a dim and giant form,<br /> +And like a dipping swallow the stout ship dashed through the +storm.</p> +<p class="poetry">And no man dared to speak of Charmides<br /> + Deeming that he some evil thing had wrought,<br /> +And when they reached the strait Symplegades<br /> + They beached their galley on the shore, and +sought<br /> +The toll-gate of the city hastily,<br /> +And in the market showed their brown and pictured pottery.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page33"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 33</span>II.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">But</span> some good +Triton-god had ruth, and bare<br /> + The boy’s drowned body back to Grecian +land,<br /> +And mermaids combed his dank and dripping hair<br /> + And smoothed his brow, and loosed his clenching +hand;<br /> +Some brought sweet spices from far Araby,<br /> +And others bade the halcyon sing her softest lullaby.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when he neared his old Athenian home,<br /> + A mighty billow rose up suddenly<br /> +Upon whose oily back the clotted foam<br /> + Lay diapered in some strange fantasy,<br /> +And clasping him unto its glassy breast<br /> +Swept landward, like a white-maned steed upon a venturous +quest!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>Now where Colonos leans unto the sea<br /> + There lies a long and level stretch of lawn;<br /> +The rabbit knows it, and the mountain bee<br /> + For it deserts Hymettus, and the Faun<br /> +Is not afraid, for never through the day<br /> +Comes a cry ruder than the shout of shepherd lads at play.</p> +<p class="poetry">But often from the thorny labyrinth<br /> + And tangled branches of the circling wood<br /> +The stealthy hunter sees young Hyacinth<br /> + Hurling the polished disk, and draws his hood<br /> +Over his guilty gaze, and creeps away,<br /> +Nor dares to wind his horn, or—else at the first break of +day</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>The Dryads come and throw the leathern ball<br /> + Along the reedy shore, and circumvent<br /> +Some goat-eared Pan to be their seneschal<br /> + For fear of bold Poseidon’s ravishment,<br /> +And loose their girdles, with shy timorous eyes,<br /> +Lest from the surf his azure arms and purple beard should +rise.</p> +<p class="poetry">On this side and on that a rocky cave,<br /> + Hung with the yellow-belled laburnum, stands<br /> +Smooth is the beach, save where some ebbing wave<br /> + Leaves its faint outline etched upon the sands,<br +/> +As though it feared to be too soon forgot<br /> +By the green rush, its playfellow,—and yet, it is a +spot</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>So small, that the inconstant butterfly<br /> + Could steal the hoarded money from each flower<br /> +Ere it was noon, and still not satisfy<br /> + Its over-greedy love,—within an hour<br /> +A sailor boy, were he but rude enow<br /> +To land and pluck a garland for his galley’s painted +prow,</p> +<p class="poetry">Would almost leave the little meadow bare,<br +/> + For it knows nothing of great pageantry,<br /> +Only a few narcissi here and there<br /> + Stand separate in sweet austerity,<br /> +Dotting the unmown grass with silver stars,<br /> +And here and there a daffodil waves tiny scimitars.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +37</span>Hither the billow brought him, and was glad<br /> + Of such dear servitude, and where the land<br /> +Was virgin of all waters laid the lad<br /> + Upon the golden margent of the strand,<br /> +And like a lingering lover oft returned<br /> +To kiss those pallid limbs which once with intense fire +burned,</p> +<p class="poetry">Ere the wet seas had quenched that +holocaust,<br /> + That self-fed flame, that passionate lustihead,<br +/> +Ere grisly death with chill and nipping frost<br /> + Had withered up those lilies white and red<br /> +Which, while the boy would through the forest range,<br /> +Answered each other in a sweet antiphonal counter-change.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>And when at dawn the wood-nymphs, hand-in-hand,<br /> + Threaded the bosky dell, their satyr spied<br /> +The boy’s pale body stretched upon the sand,<br /> + And feared Poseidon’s treachery, and cried,<br +/> +And like bright sunbeams flitting through a glade<br /> +Each startled Dryad sought some safe and leafy ambuscade.</p> +<p class="poetry">Save one white girl, who deemed it would not +be<br /> + So dread a thing to feel a sea-god’s arms<br +/> +Crushing her breasts in amorous tyranny,<br /> + And longed to listen to those subtle charms<br /> +Insidious lovers weave when they would win<br /> +Some fencèd fortress, and stole back again, nor thought it +sin</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +39</span>To yield her treasure unto one so fair,<br /> + And lay beside him, thirsty with love’s +drouth,<br /> +Called him soft names, played with his tangled hair,<br /> + And with hot lips made havoc of his mouth<br /> +Afraid he might not wake, and then afraid<br /> +Lest he might wake too soon, fled back, and then, fond +renegade,</p> +<p class="poetry">Returned to fresh assault, and all day long<br +/> + Sat at his side, and laughed at her new toy,<br /> +And held his hand, and sang her sweetest song,<br /> + Then frowned to see how froward was the boy<br /> +Who would not with her maidenhood entwine,<br /> +Nor knew that three days since his eyes had looked on +Proserpine;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>Nor knew what sacrilege his lips had done,<br /> + But said, ‘He will awake, I know him well,<br +/> +He will awake at evening when the sun<br /> + Hangs his red shield on Corinth’s citadel;<br +/> +This sleep is but a cruel treachery<br /> +To make me love him more, and in some cavern of the sea</p> +<p class="poetry">Deeper than ever falls the fisher’s +line<br /> + Already a huge Triton blows his horn,<br /> +And weaves a garland from the crystalline<br /> + And drifting ocean-tendrils to adorn<br /> +The emerald pillars of our bridal bed,<br /> +For sphered in foaming silver, and with coral crownèd +head,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>We two will sit upon a throne of pearl,<br /> + And a blue wave will be our canopy,<br /> +And at our feet the water-snakes will curl<br /> + In all their amethystine panoply<br /> +Of diamonded mail, and we will mark<br /> +The mullets swimming by the mast of some storm-foundered +bark,</p> +<p class="poetry">Vermilion-finned with eyes of bossy gold<br /> + Like flakes of crimson light, and the great deep<br +/> +His glassy-portaled chamber will unfold,<br /> + And we will see the painted dolphins sleep<br /> +Cradled by murmuring halcyons on the rocks<br /> +Where Proteus in quaint suit of green pastures his monstrous +flocks.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>And tremulous opal-hued anemones<br /> + Will wave their purple fringes where we tread<br /> +Upon the mirrored floor, and argosies<br /> + Of fishes flecked with tawny scales will thread<br +/> +The drifting cordage of the shattered wreck,<br /> +And honey-coloured amber beads our twining limbs will +deck.’</p> +<p class="poetry">But when that baffled Lord of War the Sun<br /> + With gaudy pennon flying passed away<br /> +Into his brazen House, and one by one<br /> + The little yellow stars began to stray<br /> +Across the field of heaven, ah! then indeed<br /> +She feared his lips upon her lips would never care to feed,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>And cried, ‘Awake, already the pale moon<br /> + Washes the trees with silver, and the wave<br /> +Creeps grey and chilly up this sandy dune,<br /> + The croaking frogs are out, and from the cave<br /> +The nightjar shrieks, the fluttering bats repass,<br /> +And the brown stoat with hollow flanks creeps through the dusky +grass.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, though thou art a god, be not so coy,<br +/> + For in yon stream there is a little reed<br /> +That often whispers how a lovely boy<br /> + Lay with her once upon a grassy mead,<br /> +Who when his cruel pleasure he had done<br /> +Spread wings of rustling gold and soared aloft into the sun.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>Be not so coy, the laurel trembles still<br /> + With great Apollo’s kisses, and the fir<br /> +Whose clustering sisters fringe the seaward hill<br /> + Hath many a tale of that bold ravisher<br /> +Whom men call Boreas, and I have seen<br /> +The mocking eyes of Hermes through the poplar’s silvery +sheen.</p> +<p class="poetry">Even the jealous Naiads call me fair,<br /> + And every morn a young and ruddy swain<br /> +Woos me with apples and with locks of hair,<br /> + And seeks to soothe my virginal disdain<br /> +By all the gifts the gentle wood-nymphs love;<br /> +But yesterday he brought to me an iris-plumaged dove</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>With little crimson feet, which with its store<br /> + Of seven spotted eggs the cruel lad<br /> +Had stolen from the lofty sycamore<br /> + At daybreak, when her amorous comrade had<br /> +Flown off in search of berried juniper<br /> +Which most they love; the fretful wasp, that earliest +vintager</p> +<p class="poetry">Of the blue grapes, hath not persistency<br /> + So constant as this simple shepherd-boy<br /> +For my poor lips, his joyous purity<br /> + And laughing sunny eyes might well decoy<br /> +A Dryad from her oath to Artemis;<br /> +For very beautiful is he, his mouth was made to kiss;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span>His argent forehead, like a rising moon<br /> + Over the dusky hills of meeting brows,<br /> +Is crescent shaped, the hot and Tyrian noon<br /> + Leads from the myrtle-grove no goodlier spouse<br /> +For Cytheræa, the first silky down<br /> +Fringes his blushing cheeks, and his young limbs are strong and +brown;</p> +<p class="poetry">And he is rich, and fat and fleecy herds<br /> + Of bleating sheep upon his meadows lie,<br /> +And many an earthen bowl of yellow curds<br /> + Is in his homestead for the thievish fly<br /> +To swim and drown in, the pink clover mead<br /> +Keeps its sweet store for him, and he can pipe on oaten reed.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>And yet I love him not; it was for thee<br /> + I kept my love; I knew that thou would’st +come<br /> +To rid me of this pallid chastity,<br /> + Thou fairest flower of the flowerless foam<br /> +Of all the wide Ægean, brightest star<br /> +Of ocean’s azure heavens where the mirrored planets +are!</p> +<p class="poetry">I knew that thou would’st come, for when +at first<br /> + The dry wood burgeoned, and the sap of spring<br /> +Swelled in my green and tender bark or burst<br /> + To myriad multitudinous blossoming<br /> +Which mocked the midnight with its mimic moons<br /> +That did not dread the dawn, and first the thrushes’ +rapturous tunes</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +48</span>Startled the squirrel from its granary,<br /> + And cuckoo flowers fringed the narrow lane,<br /> +Through my young leaves a sensuous ecstasy<br /> + Crept like new wine, and every mossy vein<br /> +Throbbed with the fitful pulse of amorous blood,<br /> +And the wild winds of passion shook my slim stem’s +maidenhood.</p> +<p class="poetry">The trooping fawns at evening came and laid<br +/> + Their cool black noses on my lowest boughs,<br /> +And on my topmost branch the blackbird made<br /> + A little nest of grasses for his spouse,<br /> +And now and then a twittering wren would light<br /> +On a thin twig which hardly bare the weight of such delight.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>I was the Attic shepherd’s trysting place,<br /> + Beneath my shadow Amaryllis lay,<br /> +And round my trunk would laughing Daphnis chase<br /> + The timorous girl, till tired out with play<br /> +She felt his hot breath stir her tangled hair,<br /> +And turned, and looked, and fled no more from such delightful +snare.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then come away unto my ambuscade<br /> + Where clustering woodbine weaves a canopy<br /> +For amorous pleasaunce, and the rustling shade<br /> + Of Paphian myrtles seems to sanctify<br /> +The dearest rites of love; there in the cool<br /> +And green recesses of its farthest depth there is pool,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>The ouzel’s haunt, the wild bee’s +pasturage,<br /> + For round its rim great creamy lilies float<br /> +Through their flat leaves in verdant anchorage,<br /> + Each cup a white-sailed golden-laden boat<br /> +Steered by a dragon-fly,—be not afraid<br /> +To leave this wan and wave-kissed shore, surely the place was +made</p> +<p class="poetry">For lovers such as we; the Cyprian Queen,<br /> + One arm around her boyish paramour,<br /> +Strays often there at eve, and I have seen<br /> + The moon strip off her misty vestiture<br /> +For young Endymion’s eyes; be not afraid,<br /> +The panther feet of Dian never tread that secret glade.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>Nay if thou will’st, back to the beating brine,<br +/> + Back to the boisterous billow let us go,<br /> +And walk all day beneath the hyaline<br /> + Huge vault of Neptune’s watery portico,<br /> +And watch the purple monsters of the deep<br /> +Sport in ungainly play, and from his lair keen Xiphias leap.</p> +<p class="poetry">For if my mistress find me lying here<br /> + She will not ruth or gentle pity show,<br /> +But lay her boar-spear down, and with austere<br /> + Relentless fingers string the cornel bow,<br /> +And draw the feathered notch against her breast,<br /> +And loose the archèd cord; aye, even now upon the +quest</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>I hear her hurrying feet,—awake, awake,<br /> + Thou laggard in love’s battle! once at +least<br /> +Let me drink deep of passion’s wine, and slake<br /> + My parchèd being with the nectarous feast<br +/> +Which even gods affect! O come, Love, come,<br /> +Still we have time to reach the cavern of thine azure +home.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Scarce had she spoken when the shuddering +trees<br /> + Shook, and the leaves divided, and the air<br /> +Grew conscious of a god, and the grey seas<br /> + Crawled backward, and a long and dismal blare<br /> +Blew from some tasselled horn, a sleuth-hound bayed,<br /> +And like a flame a barbèd reed flew whizzing down the +glade.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>And where the little flowers of her breast<br /> + Just brake into their milky blossoming,<br /> +This murderous paramour, this unbidden guest,<br /> + Pierced and struck deep in horrid chambering,<br /> +And ploughed a bloody furrow with its dart,<br /> +And dug a long red road, and cleft with wingèd death her +heart.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sobbing her life out with a bitter cry<br /> + On the boy’s body fell the Dryad maid,<br /> +Sobbing for incomplete virginity,<br /> + And raptures unenjoyed, and pleasures dead,<br /> +And all the pain of things unsatisfied,<br /> +And the bright drops of crimson youth crept down her throbbing +side.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>Ah! pitiful it was to hear her moan,<br /> + And very pitiful to see her die<br /> +Ere she had yielded up her sweets, or known<br /> + The joy of passion, that dread mystery<br /> +Which not to know is not to live at all,<br /> +And yet to know is to be held in death’s most deadly +thrall.</p> +<p class="poetry">But as it hapt the Queen of Cythere,<br /> + Who with Adonis all night long had lain<br /> +Within some shepherd’s hut in Arcady,<br /> + On team of silver doves and gilded wain<br /> +Was journeying Paphos-ward, high up afar<br /> +From mortal ken between the mountains and the morning star,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>And when low down she spied the hapless pair,<br /> + And heard the Oread’s faint despairing cry,<br +/> +Whose cadence seemed to play upon the air<br /> + As though it were a viol, hastily<br /> +She bade her pigeons fold each straining plume,<br /> +And dropt to earth, and reached the strand, and saw their +dolorous doom.</p> +<p class="poetry">For as a gardener turning back his head<br /> + To catch the last notes of the linnet, mows<br /> +With careless scythe too near some flower bed,<br /> + And cuts the thorny pillar of the rose,<br /> +And with the flower’s loosened loneliness<br /> +Strews the brown mould; or as some shepherd lad in wantonness</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>Driving his little flock along the mead<br /> + Treads down two daffodils, which side by aide<br /> +Have lured the lady-bird with yellow brede<br /> + And made the gaudy moth forget its pride,<br /> +Treads down their brimming golden chalices<br /> +Under light feet which were not made for such rude ravages;</p> +<p class="poetry">Or as a schoolboy tired of his book<br /> + Flings himself down upon the reedy grass<br /> +And plucks two water-lilies from the brook,<br /> + And for a time forgets the hour glass,<br /> +Then wearies of their sweets, and goes his way,<br /> +And lets the hot sun kill them, even go these lovers lay.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span>And Venus cried, ‘It is dread Artemis<br /> + Whose bitter hand hath wrought this cruelty,<br /> +Or else that mightier maid whose care it is<br /> + To guard her strong and stainless majesty<br /> +Upon the hill Athenian,—alas!<br /> +That they who loved so well unloved into Death’s house +should pass.’</p> +<p class="poetry">So with soft hands she laid the boy and girl<br +/> + In the great golden waggon tenderly<br /> +(Her white throat whiter than a moony pearl<br /> + Just threaded with a blue vein’s tapestry<br +/> +Had not yet ceased to throb, and still her breast<br /> +Swayed like a wind-stirred lily in ambiguous unrest)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>And then each pigeon spread its milky van,<br /> + The bright car soared into the dawning sky,<br /> +And like a cloud the aerial caravan<br /> + Passed over the Ægean silently,<br /> +Till the faint air was troubled with the song<br /> +From the wan mouths that call on bleeding Thammuz all night +long.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when the doves had reached their wonted +goal<br /> + Where the wide stair of orbèd marble dips<br +/> +Its snows into the sea, her fluttering soul<br /> + Just shook the trembling petals of her lips<br /> +And passed into the void, and Venus knew<br /> +That one fair maid the less would walk amid her retinue,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>And bade her servants carve a cedar chest<br /> + With all the wonder of this history,<br /> +Within whose scented womb their limbs should rest<br /> + Where olive-trees make tender the blue sky<br /> +On the low hills of Paphos, and the Faun<br /> +Pipes in the noonday, and the nightingale sings on till dawn.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor failed they to obey her hest, and ere<br /> + The morning bee had stung the daffodil<br /> +With tiny fretful spear, or from its lair<br /> + The waking stag had leapt across the rill<br /> +And roused the ouzel, or the lizard crept<br /> +Athwart the sunny rock, beneath the grass their bodies slept.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +60</span>And when day brake, within that silver shrine<br /> + Fed by the flames of cressets tremulous,<br /> +Queen Venus knelt and prayed to Proserpine<br /> + That she whose beauty made Death amorous<br /> +Should beg a guerdon from her pallid Lord,<br /> +And let Desire pass across dread Charon’s icy ford.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page61"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 61</span>III</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> melancholy +moonless Acheron,<br /> + Farm for the goodly earth and joyous day<br /> +Where no spring ever buds, nor ripening sun<br /> + Weighs down the apple trees, nor flowery May<br /> +Chequers with chestnut blooms the grassy floor,<br /> +Where thrushes never sing, and piping linnets mate no more,</p> +<p class="poetry">There by a dim and dark Lethæan well<br +/> + Young Charmides was lying; wearily<br /> +He plucked the blossoms from the asphodel,<br /> + And with its little rifled treasury<br /> +Strewed the dull waters of the dusky stream,<br /> +And watched the white stars founder, and the land was like a +dream,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>When as he gazed into the watery glass<br /> + And through his brown hair’s curly tangles +scanned<br /> +His own wan face, a shadow seemed to pass<br /> + Across the mirror, and a little hand<br /> +Stole into his, and warm lips timidly<br /> +Brushed his pale cheeks, and breathed their secret forth into a +sigh.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then turned he round his weary eyes and saw,<br +/> + And ever nigher still their faces came,<br /> +And nigher ever did their young mouths draw<br /> + Until they seemed one perfect rose of flame,<br /> +And longing arms around her neck he cast,<br /> +And felt her throbbing bosom, and his breath came hot and +fast,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>And all his hoarded sweets were hers to kiss,<br /> + And all her maidenhood was his to slay,<br /> +And limb to limb in long and rapturous bliss<br /> + Their passion waxed and waned,—O why essay<br +/> +To pipe again of love, too venturous reed!<br /> +Enough, enough that Eros laughed upon that flowerless mead.</p> +<p class="poetry">Too venturous poesy, O why essay<br /> + To pipe again of passion! fold thy wings<br /> +O’er daring Icarus and bid thy lay<br /> + Sleep hidden in the lyre’s silent strings<br +/> +Till thou hast found the old Castalian rill,<br /> +Or from the Lesbian waters plucked drowned Sappho’s golden +quid!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>Enough, enough that he whose life had been<br /> + A fiery pulse of sin, a splendid shame,<br /> +Could in the loveless land of Hades glean<br /> + One scorching harvest from those fields of flame<br +/> +Where passion walks with naked unshod feet<br /> +And is not wounded,—ah! enough that once their lips could +meet</p> +<p class="poetry">In that wild throb when all existences<br /> + Seemed narrowed to one single ecstasy<br /> +Which dies through its own sweetness and the stress<br /> + Of too much pleasure, ere Persephone<br /> +Had bade them serve her by the ebon throne<br /> +Of the pale God who in the fields of Enna loosed her zone.</p> +<h2><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>POEMS</h2> +<h3><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>REQUIESCAT</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Tread</span> lightly, she +is near<br /> + Under the snow,<br /> +Speak gently, she can hear<br /> + The daisies grow.</p> +<p class="poetry">All her bright golden hair<br /> + Tarnished with rust,<br /> +She that was young and fair<br /> + Fallen to dust.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lily-like, white as snow,<br /> + She hardly knew<br /> +She was a woman, so<br /> + Sweetly she grew.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>Coffin-board, heavy stone,<br /> + Lie on her breast,<br /> +I vex my heart alone,<br /> + She is at rest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Peace, Peace, she cannot hear<br /> + Lyre or sonnet,<br /> +All my life’s buried here,<br /> + Heap earth upon it.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Avignon</span></p> +<h3><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>SAN +MINIATO</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">See</span>, I have climbed +the mountain side<br /> + Up to this holy house of God,<br /> + Where once that Angel-Painter trod<br /> +Who saw the heavens opened wide,</p> +<p class="poetry">And throned upon the crescent moon<br /> + The Virginal white Queen of Grace,—<br /> + Mary! could I but see thy face<br /> +Death could not come at all too soon.</p> +<p class="poetry">O crowned by God with thorns and pain!<br /> + Mother of Christ! O mystic wife!<br /> + My heart is weary of this life<br /> +And over-sad to sing again.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>O crowned by God with love and flame!<br /> + O crowned by Christ the Holy One!<br /> + O listen ere the searching sun<br /> +Show to the world my sin and shame.</p> +<h3><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>ROME +UNVISITED</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">I.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> corn has turned +from grey to red,<br /> + Since first my spirit wandered forth<br /> + From the drear cities of the north,<br /> +And to Italia’s mountains fled.</p> +<p class="poetry">And here I set my face towards home,<br /> + For all my pilgrimage is done,<br /> + Although, methinks, yon blood-red sun<br /> +Marshals the way to Holy Rome.</p> +<p class="poetry">O Blessed Lady, who dost hold<br /> + Upon the seven hills thy reign!<br /> + O Mother without blot or stain,<br /> +Crowned with bright crowns of triple gold!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>O Roma, Roma, at thy feet<br /> + I lay this barren gift of song!<br /> + For, ah! the way is steep and long<br /> +That leads unto thy sacred street.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page73"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 73</span>II.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">And</span> yet what joy it +were for me<br /> + To turn my feet unto the south,<br /> + And journeying towards the Tiber mouth<br /> +To kneel again at Fiesole!</p> +<p class="poetry">And wandering through the tangled pines<br /> + That break the gold of Arno’s stream,<br /> + To see the purple mist and gleam<br /> +Of morning on the Apennines</p> +<p class="poetry">By many a vineyard-hidden home,<br /> + Orchard and olive-garden grey,<br /> + Till from the drear Campagna’s way<br /> +The seven hills bear up the dome!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page74"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 74</span>III.</p> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">pilgrim</span> from the +northern seas—<br /> + What joy for me to seek alone<br /> + The wondrous temple and the throne<br /> +Of him who holds the awful keys!</p> +<p class="poetry">When, bright with purple and with gold<br /> + Come priest and holy cardinal,<br /> + And borne above the heads of all<br /> +The gentle Shepherd of the Fold.</p> +<p class="poetry">O joy to see before I die<br /> + The only God-anointed king,<br /> + And hear the silver trumpets ring<br /> +A triumph as he passes by!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>Or at the brazen-pillared shrine<br /> + Holds high the mystic sacrifice,<br /> + And shows his God to human eyes<br /> +Beneath the veil of bread and wine.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page76"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 76</span>IV.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">For</span> lo, what changes +time can bring!<br /> + The cycles of revolving years<br /> + May free my heart from all its fears,<br /> +And teach my lips a song to sing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Before yon field of trembling gold<br /> + Is garnered into dusty sheaves,<br /> + Or ere the autumn’s scarlet leaves<br /> +Flutter as birds adown the wold,</p> +<p class="poetry">I may have run the glorious race,<br /> + And caught the torch while yet aflame,<br /> + And called upon the holy name<br /> +Of Him who now doth hide His face.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Arona</span></p> +<h3><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +77</span>HUMANITAD</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> is full winter +now: the trees are bare,<br /> + Save where the cattle huddle from the cold<br /> +Beneath the pine, for it doth never wear<br /> + The autumn’s gaudy livery whose gold<br /> +Her jealous brother pilfers, but is true<br /> +To the green doublet; bitter is the wind, as though it blew</p> +<p class="poetry">From Saturn’s cave; a few thin wisps of +hay<br /> + Lie on the sharp black hedges, where the wain<br /> +Dragged the sweet pillage of a summer’s day<br /> + From the low meadows up the narrow lane;<br /> +Upon the half-thawed snow the bleating sheep<br /> +Press close against the hurdles, and the shivering house-dogs +creep</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>From the shut stable to the frozen stream<br /> + And back again disconsolate, and miss<br /> +The bawling shepherds and the noisy team;<br /> + And overhead in circling listlessness<br /> +The cawing rooks whirl round the frosted stack,<br /> +Or crowd the dripping boughs; and in the fen the ice-pools +crack</p> +<p class="poetry">Where the gaunt bittern stalks among the +reeds<br /> + And flaps his wings, and stretches back his neck,<br +/> +And hoots to see the moon; across the meads<br /> + Limps the poor frightened hare, a little speck;<br +/> +And a stray seamew with its fretful cry<br /> +Flits like a sudden drift of snow against the dull grey sky.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>Full winter: and the lusty goodman brings<br /> + His load of faggots from the chilly byre,<br /> +And stamps his feet upon the hearth, and flings<br /> + The sappy billets on the waning fire,<br /> +And laughs to see the sudden lightening scare<br /> +His children at their play, and yet,—the spring is in the +air;</p> +<p class="poetry">Already the slim crocus stirs the snow,<br /> + And soon yon blanchèd fields will bloom +again<br /> +With nodding cowslips for some lad to mow,<br /> + For with the first warm kisses of the rain<br /> +The winter’s icy sorrow breaks to tears,<br /> +And the brown thrushes mate, and with bright eyes the rabbit +peers</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>From the dark warren where the fir-cones lie,<br /> + And treads one snowdrop under foot, and runs<br /> +Over the mossy knoll, and blackbirds fly<br /> + Across our path at evening, and the suns<br /> +Stay longer with us; ah! how good to see<br /> +Grass-girdled spring in all her joy of laughing greenery</p> +<p class="poetry">Dance through the hedges till the early +rose,<br /> + (That sweet repentance of the thorny briar!)<br /> +Burst from its sheathèd emerald and disclose<br /> + The little quivering disk of golden fire<br /> +Which the bees know so well, for with it come<br /> +Pale boy’s-love, sops-in-wine, and daffadillies all in +bloom.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>Then up and down the field the sower goes,<br /> + While close behind the laughing younker scares<br /> +With shrilly whoop the black and thievish crows,<br /> + And then the chestnut-tree its glory wears,<br /> +And on the grass the creamy blossom falls<br /> +In odorous excess, and faint half-whispered madrigals</p> +<p class="poetry">Steal from the bluebells’ nodding +carillons<br /> + Each breezy morn, and then white jessamine,<br /> +That star of its own heaven, snap-dragons<br /> + With lolling crimson tongues, and eglantine<br /> +In dusty velvets clad usurp the bed<br /> +And woodland empery, and when the lingering rose hath shed</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>Red leaf by leaf its folded panoply,<br /> + And pansies closed their purple-lidded eyes,<br /> +Chrysanthemums from gilded argosy<br /> + Unload their gaudy scentless merchandise,<br /> +And violets getting overbold withdraw<br /> +From their shy nooks, and scarlet berries dot the leafless +haw.</p> +<p class="poetry">O happy field! and O thrice happy tree!<br /> + Soon will your queen in daisy-flowered smock<br /> +And crown of flower-de-luce trip down the lea,<br /> + Soon will the lazy shepherds drive their flock<br /> +Back to the pasture by the pool, and soon<br /> +Through the green leaves will float the hum of murmuring bees at +noon.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>Soon will the glade be bright with bellamour,<br /> + The flower which wantons love, and those sweet +nuns<br /> +Vale-lilies in their snowy vestiture<br /> + Will tell their beaded pearls, and carnations<br /> +With mitred dusky leaves will scent the wind,<br /> +And straggling traveller’s-joy each hedge with yellow stars +will bind.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dear bride of Nature and most bounteous +spring,<br /> + That canst give increase to the sweet-breath’d +kine,<br /> +And to the kid its little horns, and bring<br /> + The soft and silky blossoms to the vine,<br /> +Where is that old nepenthe which of yore<br /> +Man got from poppy root and glossy-berried mandragore!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>There was a time when any common bird<br /> + Could make me sing in unison, a time<br /> +When all the strings of boyish life were stirred<br /> + To quick response or more melodious rhyme<br /> +By every forest idyll;—do I change?<br /> +Or rather doth some evil thing through thy fair pleasaunce +range?</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, nay, thou art the same: ’tis I who +seek<br /> + To vex with sighs thy simple solitude,<br /> +And because fruitless tears bedew my cheek<br /> + Would have thee weep with me in brotherhood;<br /> +Fool! shall each wronged and restless spirit dare<br /> +To taint such wine with the salt poison of own despair!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>Thou art the same: ’tis I whose wretched soul<br +/> + Takes discontent to be its paramour,<br /> +And gives its kingdom to the rude control<br /> + Of what should be its servitor,—for sure<br /> +Wisdom is somewhere, though the stormy sea<br /> +Contain it not, and the huge deep answer ‘’Tis not in +me.’</p> +<p class="poetry">To burn with one clear flame, to stand erect<br +/> + In natural honour, not to bend the knee<br /> +In profitless prostrations whose effect<br /> + Is by itself condemned, what alchemy<br /> +Can teach me this? what herb Medea brewed<br /> +Will bring the unexultant peace of essence not subdued?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>The minor chord which ends the harmony,<br /> + And for its answering brother waits in vain<br /> +Sobbing for incompleted melody,<br /> + Dies a swan’s death; but I the heir of +pain,<br /> +A silent Memnon with blank lidless eyes,<br /> +Wait for the light and music of those suns which never rise.</p> +<p class="poetry">The quenched-out torch, the lonely +cypress-gloom,<br /> + The little dust stored in the narrow urn,<br /> +The gentle ΧΑΙΡΕ of the Attic +tomb,—<br /> + Were not these better far than to return<br /> +To my old fitful restless malady,<br /> +Or spend my days within the voiceless cave of misery?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>Nay! for perchance that poppy-crownèd god<br /> + Is like the watcher by a sick man’s bed<br /> +Who talks of sleep but gives it not; his rod<br /> + Hath lost its virtue, and, when all is said,<br /> +Death is too rude, too obvious a key<br /> +To solve one single secret in a life’s philosophy.</p> +<p class="poetry">And Love! that noble madness, whose august<br +/> + And inextinguishable might can slay<br /> +The soul with honeyed drugs,—alas! I must<br /> + From such sweet ruin play the runaway,<br /> +Although too constant memory never can<br /> +Forget the archèd splendour of those brows Olympian</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>Which for a little season made my youth<br /> + So soft a swoon of exquisite indolence<br /> +That all the chiding of more prudent Truth<br /> + Seemed the thin voice of jealousy,—O hence<br +/> +Thou huntress deadlier than Artemis!<br /> +Go seek some other quarry! for of thy too perilous bliss.</p> +<p class="poetry">My lips have drunk enough,—no more, no +more,—<br /> + Though Love himself should turn his gilded prow<br +/> +Back to the troubled waters of this shore<br /> + Where I am wrecked and stranded, even now<br /> +The chariot wheels of passion sweep too near,<br /> +Hence! Hence! I pass unto a life more barren, more +austere.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>More barren—ay, those arms will never lean<br /> + Down through the trellised vines and draw my soul<br +/> +In sweet reluctance through the tangled green;<br /> + Some other head must wear that aureole,<br /> +For I am hers who loves not any man<br /> +Whose white and stainless bosom bears the sign Gorgonian.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let Venus go and chuck her dainty page,<br /> + And kiss his mouth, and toss his curly hair,<br /> +With net and spear and hunting equipage<br /> + Let young Adonis to his tryst repair,<br /> +But me her fond and subtle-fashioned spell<br /> +Delights no more, though I could win her dearest citadel.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +90</span>Ay, though I were that laughing shepherd boy<br /> + Who from Mount Ida saw the little cloud<br /> +Pass over Tenedos and lofty Troy<br /> + And knew the coming of the Queen, and bowed<br /> +In wonder at her feet, not for the sake<br /> +Of a new Helen would I bid her hand the apple take.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then rise supreme Athena argent-limbed!<br /> + And, if my lips be musicless, inspire<br /> +At least my life: was not thy glory hymned<br /> + By One who gave to thee his sword and lyre<br /> +Like Æschylos at well-fought Marathon,<br /> +And died to show that Milton’s England still could bear a +son!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +91</span>And yet I cannot tread the Portico<br /> + And live without desire, fear and pain,<br /> +Or nurture that wise calm which long ago<br /> + The grave Athenian master taught to men,<br /> +Self-poised, self-centred, and self-comforted,<br /> +To watch the world’s vain phantasies go by with unbowed +head.</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! that serene brow, those eloquent lips,<br +/> + Those eyes that mirrored all eternity,<br /> +Rest in their own Colonos, an eclipse<br /> + Hath come on Wisdom, and Mnemosyne<br /> +Is childless; in the night which she had made<br /> +For lofty secure flight Athena’s owl itself hath +strayed.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +92</span>Nor much with Science do I care to climb,<br /> + Although by strange and subtle witchery<br /> +She drew the moon from heaven: the Muse Time<br /> + Unrolls her gorgeous-coloured tapestry<br /> +To no less eager eyes; often indeed<br /> +In the great epic of Polymnia’s scroll I love to read</p> +<p class="poetry">How Asia sent her myriad hosts to war<br /> + Against a little town, and panoplied<br /> +In gilded mail with jewelled scimitar,<br /> + White-shielded, purple-crested, rode the Mede<br /> +Between the waving poplars and the sea<br /> +Which men call Artemisium, till he saw Thermopylæ</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>Its steep ravine spanned by a narrow wall,<br /> + And on the nearer side a little brood<br /> +Of careless lions holding festival!<br /> + And stood amazèd at such hardihood,<br /> +And pitched his tent upon the reedy shore,<br /> +And stayed two days to wonder, and then crept at midnight +o’er</p> +<p class="poetry">Some unfrequented height, and coming down<br /> + The autumn forests treacherously slew<br /> +What Sparta held most dear and was the crown<br /> + Of far Eurotas, and passed on, nor knew<br /> +How God had staked an evil net for him<br /> +In the small bay at Salamis,—and yet, the page grows +dim,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>Its cadenced Greek delights me not, I feel<br /> + With such a goodly time too out of tune<br /> +To love it much: for like the Dial’s wheel<br /> + That from its blinded darkness strikes the noon<br +/> +Yet never sees the sun, so do my eyes<br /> +Restlessly follow that which from my cheated vision flies.</p> +<p class="poetry">O for one grand unselfish simple life<br /> + To teach us what is Wisdom! speak ye hills<br /> +Of lone Helvellyn, for this note of strife<br /> + Shunned your untroubled crags and crystal rills,<br +/> +Where is that Spirit which living blamelessly<br /> +Yet dared to kiss the smitten mouth of his own century!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +95</span>Speak ye Rydalian laurels! where is he<br /> + Whose gentle head ye sheltered, that pure soul<br /> +Whose gracious days of uncrowned majesty<br /> + Through lowliest conduct touched the lofty goal<br +/> +Where love and duty mingle! Him at least<br /> +The most high Laws were glad of, he had sat at Wisdom’s +feast;</p> +<p class="poetry">But we are Learning’s changelings, know +by rote<br /> + The clarion watchword of each Grecian school<br /> +And follow none, the flawless sword which smote<br /> + The pagan Hydra is an effete tool<br /> +Which we ourselves have blunted, what man now<br /> +Shall scale the august ancient heights and to old Reverence +bow?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +96</span>One such indeed I saw, but, Ichabod!<br /> + Gone is that last dear son of Italy,<br /> +Who being man died for the sake of God,<br /> + And whose unrisen bones sleep peacefully,<br /> +O guard him, guard him well, my Giotto’s tower,<br /> +Thou marble lily of the lily town! let not the lour</p> +<p class="poetry">Of the rude tempest vex his slumber, or<br /> + The Arno with its tawny troubled gold<br /> +O’er-leap its marge, no mightier conqueror<br /> + Clomb the high Capitol in the days of old<br /> +When Rome was indeed Rome, for Liberty<br /> +Walked like a bride beside him, at which sight pale Mystery</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +97</span>Fled shrieking to her farthest sombrest cell<br /> + With an old man who grabbled rusty keys,<br /> +Fled shuddering, for that immemorial knell<br /> + With which oblivion buries dynasties<br /> +Swept like a wounded eagle on the blast,<br /> +As to the holy heart of Rome the great triumvir passed.</p> +<p class="poetry">He knew the holiest heart and heights of +Rome,<br /> + He drave the base wolf from the lion’s +lair,<br /> +And now lies dead by that empyreal dome<br /> + Which overtops Valdarno hung in air<br /> +By Brunelleschi—O Melpomene<br /> +Breathe through thy melancholy pipe thy sweetest threnody!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +98</span>Breathe through the tragic stops such melodies<br /> + That Joy’s self may grow jealous, and the +Nine<br /> +Forget awhile their discreet emperies,<br /> + Mourning for him who on Rome’s lordliest +shrine<br /> +Lit for men’s lives the light of Marathon,<br /> +And bare to sun-forgotten fields the fire of the sun!</p> +<p class="poetry">O guard him, guard him well, my Giotto’s +tower!<br /> + Let some young Florentine each eventide<br /> +Bring coronals of that enchanted flower<br /> + Which the dim woods of Vallombrosa hide,<br /> +And deck the marble tomb wherein he lies<br /> +Whose soul is as some mighty orb unseen of mortal eyes;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>Some mighty orb whose cycled wanderings,<br /> + Being tempest-driven to the farthest rim<br /> +Where Chaos meets Creation and the wings<br /> + Of the eternal chanting Cherubim<br /> +Are pavilioned on Nothing, passed away<br /> +Into a moonless void,—and yet, though he is dust and +clay,</p> +<p class="poetry">He is not dead, the immemorial Fates<br /> + Forbid it, and the closing shears refrain.<br /> +Lift up your heads ye everlasting gates!<br /> + Ye argent clarions, sound a loftier strain<br /> +For the vile thing he hated lurks within<br /> +Its sombre house, alone with God and memories of sin.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>Still what avails it that she sought her cave<br /> + That murderous mother of red harlotries?<br /> +At Munich on the marble architrave<br /> + The Grecian boys die smiling, but the seas<br /> +Which wash Ægina fret in loneliness<br /> +Not mirroring their beauty; so our lives grow colourless</p> +<p class="poetry">For lack of our ideals, if one star<br /> + Flame torch-like in the heavens the unjust<br /> +Swift daylight kills it, and no trump of war<br /> + Can wake to passionate voice the silent dust<br /> +Which was Mazzini once! rich Niobe<br /> +For all her stony sorrows hath her sons; but Italy,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +101</span>What Easter Day shall make her children rise,<br /> + Who were not Gods yet suffered? what sure feet<br /> +Shall find their grave-clothes folded? what clear eyes<br /> + Shall see them bodily? O it were meet<br /> +To roll the stone from off the sepulchre<br /> +And kiss the bleeding roses of their wounds, in love of her,</p> +<p class="poetry">Our Italy! our mother visible!<br /> + Most blessed among nations and most sad,<br /> +For whose dear sake the young Calabrian fell<br /> + That day at Aspromonte and was glad<br /> +That in an age when God was bought and sold<br /> +One man could die for Liberty! but we, burnt out and cold,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +102</span>See Honour smitten on the cheek and gyves<br /> + Bind the sweet feet of Mercy: Poverty<br /> +Creeps through our sunless lanes and with sharp knives<br /> + Cuts the warm throats of children stealthily,<br /> +And no word said:—O we are wretched men<br /> +Unworthy of our great inheritance! where is the pen</p> +<p class="poetry">Of austere Milton? where the mighty sword<br /> + Which slew its master righteously? the years<br /> +Have lost their ancient leader, and no word<br /> + Breaks from the voiceless tripod on our ears:<br /> +While as a ruined mother in some spasm<br /> +Bears a base child and loathes it, so our best enthusiasm</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>Genders unlawful children, Anarchy<br /> + Freedom’s own Judas, the vile prodigal<br /> +Licence who steals the gold of Liberty<br /> + And yet has nothing, Ignorance the real<br /> +One Fraticide since Cain, Envy the asp<br /> +That stings itself to anguish, Avarice whose palsied grasp</p> +<p class="poetry">Is in its extent stiffened, moneyed Greed<br /> + For whose dull appetite men waste away<br /> +Amid the whirr of wheels and are the seed<br /> + Of things which slay their sower, these each day<br +/> +Sees rife in England, and the gentle feet<br /> +Of Beauty tread no more the stones of each unlovely street.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +104</span>What even Cromwell spared is desecrated<br /> + By weed and worm, left to the stormy play<br /> +Of wind and beating snow, or renovated<br /> + By more destructful hands: Time’s worst +decay<br /> +Will wreathe its ruins with some loveliness,<br /> +But these new Vandals can but make a rain-proof barrenness.</p> +<p class="poetry">Where is that Art which bade the Angels sing<br +/> + Through Lincoln’s lofty choir, till the air<br +/> +Seems from such marble harmonies to ring<br /> + With sweeter song than common lips can dare<br /> +To draw from actual reed? ah! where is now<br /> +The cunning hand which made the flowering hawthorn branches +bow</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>For Southwell’s arch, and carved the House of +One<br /> + Who loved the lilies of the field with all<br /> +Our dearest English flowers? the same sun<br /> + Rises for us: the seasons natural<br /> +Weave the same tapestry of green and grey:<br /> +The unchanged hills are with us: but that Spirit hath passed +away.</p> +<p class="poetry">And yet perchance it may be better so,<br /> + For Tyranny is an incestuous Queen,<br /> +Murder her brother is her bedfellow,<br /> + And the Plague chambers with her: in obscene<br /> +And bloody paths her treacherous feet are set;<br /> +Better the empty desert and a soul inviolate!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>For gentle brotherhood, the harmony<br /> + Of living in the healthful air, the swift<br /> +Clean beauty of strong limbs when men are free<br /> + And women chaste, these are the things which lift<br +/> +Our souls up more than even Agnolo’s<br /> +Gaunt blinded Sibyl poring o’er the scroll of human +woes,</p> +<p class="poetry">Or Titian’s little maiden on the stair<br +/> + White as her own sweet lily and as tall,<br /> +Or Mona Lisa smiling through her hair,—<br /> + Ah! somehow life is bigger after all<br /> +Than any painted angel, could we see<br /> +The God that is within us! The old Greek serenity</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>Which curbs the passion of that level line<br /> + Of marble youths, who with untroubled eyes<br /> +And chastened limbs ride round Athena’s shrine<br /> + And mirror her divine economies,<br /> +And balanced symmetry of what in man<br /> +Would else wage ceaseless warfare,—this at least within the +span</p> +<p class="poetry">Between our mother’s kisses and the +grave<br /> + Might so inform our lives, that we could win<br /> +Such mighty empires that from her cave<br /> + Temptation would grow hoarse, and pallid Sin<br /> +Would walk ashamed of his adulteries,<br /> +And Passion creep from out the House of Lust with startled +eyes.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>To make the body and the spirit one<br /> + With all right things, till no thing live in vain<br +/> +From morn to noon, but in sweet unison<br /> + With every pulse of flesh and throb of brain<br /> +The soul in flawless essence high enthroned,<br /> +Against all outer vain attack invincibly bastioned,</p> +<p class="poetry">Mark with serene impartiality<br /> + The strife of things, and yet be comforted,<br /> +Knowing that by the chain causality<br /> + All separate existences are wed<br /> +Into one supreme whole, whose utterance<br /> +Is joy, or holier praise! ah! surely this were governance</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>Of Life in most august omnipresence,<br /> + Through which the rational intellect would find<br +/> +In passion its expression, and mere sense,<br /> + Ignoble else, lend fire to the mind,<br /> +And being joined with it in harmony<br /> +More mystical than that which binds the stars planetary,</p> +<p class="poetry">Strike from their several tones one octave +chord<br /> + Whose cadence being measureless would fly<br /> +Through all the circling spheres, then to its Lord<br /> + Return refreshed with its new empery<br /> +And more exultant power,—this indeed<br /> +Could we but reach it were to find the last, the perfect +creed.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +110</span>Ah! it was easy when the world was young<br /> + To keep one’s life free and inviolate,<br /> +From our sad lips another song is rung,<br /> + By our own hands our heads are desecrate,<br /> +Wanderers in drear exile, and dispossessed<br /> +Of what should be our own, we can but feed on wild unrest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Somehow the grace, the bloom of things has +flown,<br /> + And of all men we are most wretched who<br /> +Must live each other’s lives and not our own<br /> + For very pity’s sake and then undo<br /> +All that we lived for—it was otherwise<br /> +When soul and body seemed to blend in mystic symphonies.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +111</span>But we have left those gentle haunts to pass<br /> + With weary feet to the new Calvary,<br /> +Where we behold, as one who in a glass<br /> + Sees his own face, self-slain Humanity,<br /> +And in the dumb reproach of that sad gaze<br /> +Learn what an awful phantom the red hand of man can raise.</p> +<p class="poetry">O smitten mouth! O forehead crowned with +thorn!<br /> + O chalice of all common miseries!<br /> +Thou for our sakes that loved thee not hast borne<br /> + An agony of endless centuries,<br /> +And we were vain and ignorant nor knew<br /> +That when we stabbed thy heart it was our own real hearts we +slew.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +112</span>Being ourselves the sowers and the seeds,<br /> + The night that covers and the lights that fade,<br +/> +The spear that pierces and the side that bleeds,<br /> + The lips betraying and the life betrayed;<br /> +The deep hath calm: the moon hath rest: but we<br /> +Lords of the natural world are yet our own dread enemy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Is this the end of all that primal force<br /> + Which, in its changes being still the same,<br /> +From eyeless Chaos cleft its upward course,<br /> + Through ravenous seas and whirling rocks and +flame,<br /> +Till the suns met in heaven and began<br /> +Their cycles, and the morning stars sang, and the Word was +Man!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>Nay, nay, we are but crucified, and though<br /> + The bloody sweat falls from our brows like rain<br +/> +Loosen the nails—we shall come down I know,<br /> + Staunch the red wounds—we shall be whole +again,<br /> +No need have we of hyssop-laden rod,<br /> +That which is purely human, that is godlike, that is God.</p> +<h3><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +114</span>LOUIS NAPOLEON</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Eagle</span> of Austerlitz! +where were thy wings<br /> + When far away upon a barbarous strand,<br /> + In fight unequal, by an obscure hand,<br /> +Fell the last scion of thy brood of Kings!</p> +<p class="poetry">Poor boy! thou shalt not flaunt thy cloak of +red,<br /> + Or ride in state through Paris in the van<br /> + Of thy returning legions, but instead<br /> +Thy mother France, free and republican,</p> +<p class="poetry">Shall on thy dead and crownless forehead +place<br /> + The better laurels of a soldier’s crown,<br /> + That not dishonoured should thy soul go down<br /> +To tell the mighty Sire of thy race</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>That France hath kissed the mouth of Liberty,<br /> + And found it sweeter than his honied bees,<br /> + And that the giant wave Democracy<br /> +Breaks on the shores where Kings lay couched at ease.</p> +<h3><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +116</span>ENDYMION<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">(FOR MUSIC)</span></h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> apple trees are +hung with gold,<br /> + And birds are loud in Arcady,<br /> +The sheep lie bleating in the fold,<br /> +The wild goat runs across the wold,<br /> +But yesterday his love he told,<br /> + I know he will come back to me.<br /> +O rising moon! O Lady moon!<br /> + Be you my lover’s sentinel,<br /> + You cannot choose but know him well,<br /> +For he is shod with purple shoon,<br /> +You cannot choose but know my love,<br /> + For he a shepherd’s crook doth bear,<br /> +And he is soft as any dove,<br /> + And brown and curly is his hair.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>The turtle now has ceased to call<br /> + Upon her crimson-footed groom,<br /> +The grey wolf prowls about the stall,<br /> +The lily’s singing seneschal<br /> +Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all<br /> + The violet hills are lost in gloom.<br /> +O risen moon! O holy moon!<br /> + Stand on the top of Helice,<br /> + And if my own true love you see,<br /> +Ah! if you see the purple shoon,<br /> +The hazel crook, the lad’s brown hair,<br /> + The goat-skin wrapped about his arm,<br /> +Tell him that I am waiting where<br /> + The rushlight glimmers in the Farm.</p> +<p class="poetry">The falling dew is cold and chill,<br /> + And no bird sings in Arcady,<br /> +<a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>The +little fauns have left the hill,<br /> +Even the tired daffodil<br /> +Has closed its gilded doors, and still<br /> + My lover comes not back to me.<br /> +False moon! False moon! O waning moon!<br /> + Where is my own true lover gone,<br /> + Where are the lips vermilion,<br /> +The shepherd’s crook, the purple shoon?<br /> +Why spread that silver pavilion,<br /> + Why wear that veil of drifting mist?<br /> +Ah! thou hast young Endymion<br /> + Thou hast the lips that should be kissed!</p> +<h3><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>LE +JARDIN</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> lily’s +withered chalice falls<br /> + Around its rod of dusty gold,<br /> + And from the beech-trees on the wold<br /> +The last wood-pigeon coos and calls.</p> +<p class="poetry">The gaudy leonine sunflower<br /> + Hangs black and barren on its stalk,<br /> + And down the windy garden walk<br /> +The dead leaves scatter,—hour by hour.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pale privet-petals white as milk<br /> + Are blown into a snowy mass:<br /> + The roses lie upon the grass<br /> +Like little shreds of crimson silk.</p> +<h3><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>LA +MER</h3> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">white</span> mist drifts +across the shrouds,<br /> + A wild moon in this wintry sky<br /> + Gleams like an angry lion’s eye<br /> +Out of a mane of tawny clouds.</p> +<p class="poetry">The muffled steersman at the wheel<br /> + Is but a shadow in the gloom;—<br /> + And in the throbbing engine-room<br /> +Leap the long rods of polished steel.</p> +<p class="poetry">The shattered storm has left its trace<br /> + Upon this huge and heaving dome,<br /> + For the thin threads of yellow foam<br /> +Float on the waves like ravelled lace.</p> +<h3><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>LE +PANNEAU</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Under</span> the +rose-tree’s dancing shade<br /> + There stands a little ivory girl,<br /> + Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl<br /> +With pale green nails of polished jade.</p> +<p class="poetry">The red leaves fall upon the mould,<br /> + The white leaves flutter, one by one,<br /> + Down to a blue bowl where the sun,<br /> +Like a great dragon, writhes in gold.</p> +<p class="poetry">The white leaves float upon the air,<br /> + The red leaves flutter idly down,<br /> + Some fall upon her yellow gown,<br /> +And some upon her raven hair.</p> +<p class="poetry">She takes an amber lute and sings,<br /> + And as she sings a silver crane<br /> + Begins his scarlet neck to strain,<br /> +And flap his burnished metal wings.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>She takes a lute of amber bright,<br /> + And from the thicket where he lies<br /> + Her lover, with his almond eyes,<br /> +Watches her movements in delight.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now she gives a cry of fear,<br /> + And tiny tears begin to start:<br /> + A thorn has wounded with its dart<br /> +The pink-veined sea-shell of her ear.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now she laughs a merry note:<br /> + There has fallen a petal of the rose<br /> + Just where the yellow satin shows<br /> +The blue-veined flower of her throat.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>With pale green nails of polished jade,<br /> + Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl,<br /> + There stands a little ivory girl<br /> +Under the rose-tree’s dancing shade.</p> +<h3><a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>LES +BALLONS</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Against</span> these turbid +turquoise skies<br /> + The light and luminous balloons<br /> + Dip and drift like satin moons<br /> +Drift like silken butterflies;</p> +<p class="poetry">Reel with every windy gust,<br /> + Rise and reel like dancing girls,<br /> + Float like strange transparent pearls,<br /> +Fall and float like silver dust.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now to the low leaves they cling,<br /> + Each with coy fantastic pose,<br /> + Each a petal of a rose<br /> +Straining at a gossamer string.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +125</span>Then to the tall trees they climb,<br /> + Like thin globes of amethyst,<br /> + Wandering opals keeping tryst<br /> +With the rubies of the lime.</p> +<h3><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +126</span>CANZONET</h3> +<p class="poetry"> I <span +class="smcap">have</span> no store<br /> +Of gryphon-guarded gold;<br /> + Now, as before,<br /> +Bare is the shepherd’s fold.<br /> + Rubies nor pearls<br /> +Have I to gem thy throat;<br /> + Yet woodland girls<br /> +Have loved the shepherd’s note.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then pluck a reed<br /> +And bid me sing to thee,<br /> + For I would feed<br /> +Thine ears with melody,<br /> + Who art more fair<br /> +<a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>Than +fairest fleur-de-lys,<br /> + More sweet and rare<br /> +Than sweetest ambergris.</p> +<p class="poetry"> What dost thou fear?<br /> +Young Hyacinth is slain,<br /> + Pan is not here,<br /> +And will not come again.<br /> + No horned Faun<br /> +Treads down the yellow leas,<br /> + No God at dawn<br /> +Steals through the olive trees.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Hylas is dead,<br /> +Nor will he e’er divine<br /> + Those little red<br /> +Rose-petalled lips of thine.<br /> + <a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +128</span>On the high hill<br /> +No ivory dryads play,<br /> + Silver and still<br /> +Sinks the sad autumn day.</p> +<h3><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>LE +JARDIN DES TUILERIES</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">This</span> winter air is +keen and cold,<br /> + And keen and cold this winter sun,<br /> + But round my chair the children run<br /> +Like little things of dancing gold.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sometimes about the painted kiosk<br /> + The mimic soldiers strut and stride,<br /> + Sometimes the blue-eyed brigands hide<br /> +In the bleak tangles of the bosk.</p> +<p class="poetry">And sometimes, while the old nurse cons<br /> + Her book, they steal across the square,<br /> + And launch their paper navies where<br /> +Huge Triton writhes in greenish bronze.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>And now in mimic flight they flee,<br /> + And now they rush, a boisterous band—<br /> + And, tiny hand on tiny hand,<br /> +Climb up the black and leafless tree.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah! cruel tree! if I were you,<br /> + And children climbed me, for their sake<br /> + Though it be winter I would break<br /> +Into spring blossoms white and blue!</p> +<h3><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +131</span>PAN<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">DOUBLE VILLANELLE</span></h3> +<p style="text-align: center">I.</p> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">goat-foot</span> God of +Arcady!<br /> +This modern world is grey and old,<br /> +And what remains to us of thee?</p> +<p class="poetry">No more the shepherd lads in glee<br /> +Throw apples at thy wattled fold,<br /> +O goat-foot God of Arcady!</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor through the laurels can one see<br /> +Thy soft brown limbs, thy beard of gold<br /> +And what remains to us of thee?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>And dull and dead our Thames would be,<br /> +For here the winds are chill and cold,<br /> +O goat-loot God of Arcady!</p> +<p class="poetry">Then keep the tomb of Helice,<br /> +Thine olive-woods, thy vine-clad wold,<br /> +And what remains to us of thee?</p> +<p class="poetry">Though many an unsung elegy<br /> +Sleeps in the reeds our rivers hold,<br /> +O goat-foot God of Arcady!<br /> +Ah, what remains to us of thee?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page133"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 133</span>II.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ah</span>, leave the hills +of Arcady,<br /> +Thy satyrs and their wanton play,<br /> +This modern world hath need of thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">No nymph or Faun indeed have we,<br /> +For Faun and nymph are old and grey,<br /> +Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!</p> +<p class="poetry">This is the land where liberty<br /> +Lit grave-browed Milton on his way,<br /> +This modern world hath need of thee!</p> +<p class="poetry">A land of ancient chivalry<br /> +Where gentle Sidney saw the day,<br /> +Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>This fierce sea-lion of the sea,<br /> +This England lacks some stronger lay,<br /> +This modern world hath need of thee!</p> +<p class="poetry">Then blow some trumpet loud and free,<br /> +And give thine oaten pipe away,<br /> +Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!<br /> +This modern world hath need of thee!</p> +<h3><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>IN +THE FOREST</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Out</span> of the +mid-wood’s twilight<br /> + Into the meadow’s dawn,<br /> +Ivory limbed and brown-eyed,<br /> + Flashes my Faun!</p> +<p class="poetry">He skips through the copses singing,<br /> + And his shadow dances along,<br /> +And I know not which I should follow,<br /> + Shadow or song!</p> +<p class="poetry">O Hunter, snare me his shadow!<br /> + O Nightingale, catch me his strain!<br /> +Else moonstruck with music and madness<br /> + I track him in vain!</p> +<h3><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>SYMPHONY IN YELLOW</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">An</span> omnibus across +the bridge<br /> + Crawls like a yellow butterfly<br /> + And, here and there, a passer-by<br /> +Shows like a little restless midge.</p> +<p class="poetry">Big barges full of yellow hay<br /> + Are moored against the shadowy wharf,<br /> + And, like a yellow silken scarf,<br /> +The thick fog hangs along the quay.</p> +<p class="poetry">The yellow leaves begin to fade<br /> + And flutter from the Temple elms,<br /> + And at my feet the pale green Thames<br /> +Lies like a rod of rippled jade.</p> +<h2><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +137</span>SONNETS</h2> +<h3><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>HÉLAS!</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To</span> drift with every +passion till my soul<br /> +Is a stringed lute on which can winds can play,<br /> +Is it for this that I have given away<br /> +Mine ancient wisdom and austere control?<br /> +Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll<br /> +Scrawled over on some boyish holiday<br /> +With idle songs for pipe and virelay,<br /> +Which do but mar the secret of the whole.<br /> +Surely there was a time I might have trod<br /> +The sunlit heights, and from life’s dissonance<br /> +Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God:<br /> +Is that time dead? lo! with a little rod<br /> +I did but touch the honey of romance—<br /> +And must I lose a soul’s inheritance?</p> +<h3><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>TO +MILTON</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Milton</span>! I think thy +spirit hath passed away<br /> +From these white cliffs and high-embattled towers;<br /> +This gorgeous fiery-coloured world of ours<br /> +Seems fallen into ashes dull and grey,<br /> +And the age changed unto a mimic play<br /> +Wherein we waste our else too-crowded hours:<br /> +For all our pomp and pageantry and powers<br /> +We are but fit to delve the common clay,<br /> +Seeing this little isle on which we stand,<br /> +This England, this sea-lion of the sea,<br /> +By ignorant demagogues is held in fee,<br /> +Who love her not: Dear God! is this the land<br /> +Which bare a triple empire in her hand<br /> +When Cromwell spake the word Democracy!</p> +<h3><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>ON +THE MASSACRE OF THE CHRISTIANS IN BULGARIA</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Christ</span>, dost Thou +live indeed? or are Thy bones<br /> +Still straitened in their rock-hewn sepulchre?<br /> +And was Thy Rising only dreamed by her<br /> +Whose love of Thee for all her sin atones?<br /> +For here the air is horrid with men’s groans,<br /> +The priests who call upon Thy name are slain,<br /> +Dost Thou not hear the bitter wail of pain<br /> +From those whose children lie upon the stones?<br /> +Come down, O Son of God! incestuous gloom<br /> +Curtains the land, and through the starless night<br /> +Over Thy Cross a Crescent moon I see!<br /> +If Thou in very truth didst burst the tomb<br /> +Come down, O Son of Man! and show Thy might<br /> +Lest Mahomet be crowned instead of Thee!</p> +<h3><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>HOLY +WEEK AT GENOA</h3> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">wandered</span> through +Scoglietto’s far retreat,<br /> + The oranges on each o’erhanging spray<br /> + Burned as bright lamps of gold to shame the day;<br +/> +Some startled bird with fluttering wings and fleet<br /> +Made snow of all the blossoms; at my feet<br /> + Like silver moons the pale narcissi lay:<br /> + And the curved waves that streaked the great green +bay<br /> +Laughed i’ the sun, and life seemed very sweet.<br /> +Outside the young boy-priest passed singing clear,<br /> + ‘Jesus the son of Mary has been slain,<br /> + O come and fill His sepulchre with +flowers.’<br /> +Ah, God! Ah, God! those dear Hellenic hours<br /> + Had drowned all memory of Thy bitter pain,<br /> + The Cross, the Crown, the Soldiers and the +Spear.</p> +<h3><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>URBS +SACRA ÆTERNA</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Rome</span>! what a scroll +of History thine has been;<br /> + In the first days thy sword republican<br /> + Ruled the whole world for many an age’s +span:<br /> +Then of the peoples wert thou royal Queen,<br /> +Till in thy streets the bearded Goth was seen;<br /> + And now upon thy walls the breezes fan<br /> + (Ah, city crowned by God, discrowned by man!)<br /> +The hated flag of red and white and green.<br /> +When was thy glory! when in search for power<br /> + Thine eagles flew to greet the double sun,<br /> + And the wild nations shuddered at thy rod?<br /> +Nay, but thy glory tarried for this hour,<br /> + When pilgrims kneel before the Holy One,<br /> + The prisoned shepherd of the Church of God.<br /> + <span class="smcap">Montre Mario</span></p> +<h3><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>E +TENEBRIS</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span> down, O Christ, +and help me! reach Thy hand,<br /> + For I am drowning in a stormier sea<br /> + Than Simon on Thy lake of Galilee:<br /> +The wine of life is spilt upon the sand,<br /> +My heart is as some famine-murdered land<br /> + Whence all good things have perished utterly,<br /> + And well I know my soul in Hell must lie<br /> +If I this night before God’s throne should stand.<br /> +‘He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase,<br /> + Like Baal, when his prophets howled that name<br /> + From morn to noon on Carmel’s smitten +height.’<br /> +Nay, peace, I shall behold, before the night,<br /> + The feet of brass, the robe more white than +flame,<br /> + The wounded hands, the weary human face.</p> +<h3><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>AT +VERONA</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">How</span> steep the stairs +within King’s houses are<br /> + For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,<br /> + And O how salt and bitter is the bread<br /> +Which falls from this Hound’s table,—better far<br /> +That I had died in the red ways of war,<br /> + Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,<br /> + Than to live thus, by all things comraded<br /> +Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Curse God and die: what better hope than +this?<br /> + He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss<br /> + Of his gold city, and eternal day’—<br +/> +Nay peace: behind my prison’s blinded bars<br /> + I do possess what none can take away,<br /> + My love and all the glory of the stars.</p> +<h3><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>ON +THE SALE BY AUCTION OF KEATS’ LOVE LETTERS</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">These</span> are the +letters which Endymion wrote<br /> + To one he loved in secret, and apart.<br /> + And now the brawlers of the auction mart<br /> +Bargain and bid for each poor blotted note,<br /> +Ay! for each separate pulse of passion quote<br /> + The merchant’s price. I think they love +not art<br /> + Who break the crystal of a poet’s heart<br /> +That small and sickly eyes may glare and gloat.</p> +<p class="poetry">Is it not said that many years ago,<br /> + In a far Eastern town, some soldiers ran<br /> + With torches through the midnight, and began<br /> +To wrangle for mean raiment, and to throw<br /> + Dice for the garments of a wretched man,<br /> +Not knowing the God’s wonder, or His woe?</p> +<h3><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>THE +NEW REMORSE</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> sin was mine; I +did not understand.<br /> + So now is music prisoned in her cave,<br /> + Save where some ebbing desultory wave<br /> +Frets with its restless whirls this meagre strand.<br /> +And in the withered hollow of this land<br /> + Hath Summer dug herself so deep a grave,<br /> + That hardly can the leaden willow crave<br /> +One silver blossom from keen Winter’s hand.</p> +<p class="poetry">But who is this who cometh by the shore?<br /> +(Nay, love, look up and wonder!) Who is this<br /> + Who cometh in dyed garments from the South?<br /> +It is thy new-found Lord, and he shall kiss<br /> + The yet unravished roses of thy mouth,<br /> +And I shall weep and worship, as before.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARMIDES AND OTHER POEMS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1031-h.htm or 1031-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/3/1031 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Charmides and Other Poems by Oscar Wilde +Scanned and proofed by David Price +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +Charmides and Other Poems + + + + +Contents: + +Charmides +Requiescat +San Miniato +Rome Unvisited +Humanitad +Louis Napoleon +Endymion +Le Jardin +La Mer +Le Panneau +Les Ballons +Canzonet +Le Jardin Des Tuileries +Pan: Double Villanelle +In The Forest +Symphony In Yellow + +Sonnets: + +Helas! +To Milton +On The Massacre Of The Christians In Bulgaria +Holy Week At Genoa +Urbs Sacra Aeterna +E Tenebris +At Verona +On The Sale By Auction Of Keats' Love Letters +The New Remorse + + + + +CHARMIDES + + + +I. + + +He was a Grecian lad, who coming home +With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily +Stood at his galley's prow, and let the foam +Blow through his crisp brown curls unconsciously, +And holding wave and wind in boy's despite +Peered from his dripping seat across the wet and stormy night. + +Till with the dawn he saw a burnished spear +Like a thin thread of gold against the sky, +And hoisted sail, and strained the creaking gear, +And bade the pilot head her lustily +Against the nor'west gale, and all day long +Held on his way, and marked the rowers' time with measured song. + +And when the faint Corinthian hills were red +Dropped anchor in a little sandy bay, +And with fresh boughs of olive crowned his head, +And brushed from cheek and throat the hoary spray, +And washed his limbs with oil, and from the hold +Brought out his linen tunic and his sandals brazen-soled, + +And a rich robe stained with the fishers' juice +Which of some swarthy trader he had bought +Upon the sunny quay at Syracuse, +And was with Tyrian broideries inwrought, +And by the questioning merchants made his way +Up through the soft and silver woods, and when the labouring day + +Had spun its tangled web of crimson cloud, +Clomb the high hill, and with swift silent feet +Crept to the fane unnoticed by the crowd +Of busy priests, and from some dark retreat +Watched the young swains his frolic playmates bring +The firstling of their little flock, and the shy shepherd fling + +The crackling salt upon the flame, or hang +His studded crook against the temple wall +To Her who keeps away the ravenous fang +Of the base wolf from homestead and from stall; +And then the clear-voiced maidens 'gan to sing, +And to the altar each man brought some goodly offering, + +A beechen cup brimming with milky foam, +A fair cloth wrought with cunning imagery +Of hounds in chase, a waxen honey-comb +Dripping with oozy gold which scarce the bee +Had ceased from building, a black skin of oil +Meet for the wrestlers, a great boar the fierce and white-tusked +spoil + +Stolen from Artemis that jealous maid +To please Athena, and the dappled hide +Of a tall stag who in some mountain glade +Had met the shaft; and then the herald cried, +And from the pillared precinct one by one +Went the glad Greeks well pleased that they their simple vows had +done. + +And the old priest put out the waning fires +Save that one lamp whose restless ruby glowed +For ever in the cell, and the shrill lyres +Came fainter on the wind, as down the road +In joyous dance these country folk did pass, +And with stout hands the warder closed the gates of polished brass. + +Long time he lay and hardly dared to breathe, +And heard the cadenced drip of spilt-out wine, +And the rose-petals falling from the wreath +As the night breezes wandered through the shrine, +And seemed to be in some entranced swoon +Till through the open roof above the full and brimming moon + +Flooded with sheeny waves the marble floor, +When from his nook up leapt the venturous lad, +And flinging wide the cedar-carven door +Beheld an awful image saffron-clad +And armed for battle! the gaunt Griffin glared +From the huge helm, and the long lance of wreck and ruin flared + +Like a red rod of flame, stony and steeled +The Gorgon's head its leaden eyeballs rolled, +And writhed its snaky horrors through the shield, +And gaped aghast with bloodless lips and cold +In passion impotent, while with blind gaze +The blinking owl between the feet hooted in shrill amaze. + +The lonely fisher as he trimmed his lamp +Far out at sea off Sunium, or cast +The net for tunnies, heard a brazen tramp +Of horses smite the waves, and a wild blast +Divide the folded curtains of the night, +And knelt upon the little poop, and prayed in holy fright. + +And guilty lovers in their venery +Forgat a little while their stolen sweets, +Deeming they heard dread Dian's bitter cry; +And the grim watchmen on their lofty seats +Ran to their shields in haste precipitate, +Or strained black-bearded throats across the dusky parapet. + +For round the temple rolled the clang of arms, +And the twelve Gods leapt up in marble fear, +And the air quaked with dissonant alarums +Till huge Poseidon shook his mighty spear, +And on the frieze the prancing horses neighed, +And the low tread of hurrying feet rang from the cavalcade. + +Ready for death with parted lips he stood, +And well content at such a price to see +That calm wide brow, that terrible maidenhood, +The marvel of that pitiless chastity, +Ah! well content indeed, for never wight +Since Troy's young shepherd prince had seen so wonderful a sight. + +Ready for death he stood, but lo! the air +Grew silent, and the horses ceased to neigh, +And off his brow he tossed the clustering hair, +And from his limbs he throw the cloak away; +For whom would not such love make desperate? +And nigher came, and touched her throat, and with hands violate + +Undid the cuirass, and the crocus gown, +And bared the breasts of polished ivory, +Till from the waist the peplos falling down +Left visible the secret mystery +Which to no lover will Athena show, +The grand cool flanks, the crescent thighs, the bossy hills of +snow. + +Those who have never known a lover's sin +Let them not read my ditty, it will be +To their dull ears so musicless and thin +That they will have no joy of it, but ye +To whose wan cheeks now creeps the lingering smile, +Ye who have learned who Eros is, - O listen yet awhile. + +A little space he let his greedy eyes +Rest on the burnished image, till mere sight +Half swooned for surfeit of such luxuries, +And then his lips in hungering delight +Fed on her lips, and round the towered neck +He flung his arms, nor cared at all his passion's will to check. + +Never I ween did lover hold such tryst, +For all night long he murmured honeyed word, +And saw her sweet unravished limbs, and kissed +Her pale and argent body undisturbed, +And paddled with the polished throat, and pressed +His hot and beating heart upon her chill and icy breast. + +It was as if Numidian javelins +Pierced through and through his wild and whirling brain, +And his nerves thrilled like throbbing violins +In exquisite pulsation, and the pain +Was such sweet anguish that he never drew +His lips from hers till overhead the lark of warning flew. + +They who have never seen the daylight peer +Into a darkened room, and drawn the curtain, +And with dull eyes and wearied from some dear +And worshipped body risen, they for certain +Will never know of what I try to sing, +How long the last kiss was, how fond and late his lingering. + +The moon was girdled with a crystal rim, +The sign which shipmen say is ominous +Of wrath in heaven, the wan stars were dim, +And the low lightening east was tremulous +With the faint fluttering wings of flying dawn, +Ere from the silent sombre shrine his lover had withdrawn. + +Down the steep rock with hurried feet and fast +Clomb the brave lad, and reached the cave of Pan, +And heard the goat-foot snoring as he passed, +And leapt upon a grassy knoll and ran +Like a young fawn unto an olive wood +Which in a shady valley by the well-built city stood; + +And sought a little stream, which well he knew, +For oftentimes with boyish careless shout +The green and crested grebe he would pursue, +Or snare in woven net the silver trout, +And down amid the startled reeds he lay +Panting in breathless sweet affright, and waited for the day. + +On the green bank he lay, and let one hand +Dip in the cool dark eddies listlessly, +And soon the breath of morning came and fanned +His hot flushed cheeks, or lifted wantonly +The tangled curls from off his forehead, while +He on the running water gazed with strange and secret smile. + +And soon the shepherd in rough woollen cloak +With his long crook undid the wattled cotes, +And from the stack a thin blue wreath of smoke +Curled through the air across the ripening oats, +And on the hill the yellow house-dog bayed +As through the crisp and rustling fern the heavy cattle strayed. + +And when the light-foot mower went afield +Across the meadows laced with threaded dew, +And the sheep bleated on the misty weald, +And from its nest the waking corncrake flew, +Some woodmen saw him lying by the stream +And marvelled much that any lad so beautiful could seem, + +Nor deemed him born of mortals, and one said, +'It is young Hylas, that false runaway +Who with a Naiad now would make his bed +Forgetting Herakles,' but others, 'Nay, +It is Narcissus, his own paramour, +Those are the fond and crimson lips no woman can allure.' + +And when they nearer came a third one cried, +'It is young Dionysos who has hid +His spear and fawnskin by the river side +Weary of hunting with the Bassarid, +And wise indeed were we away to fly: +They live not long who on the gods immortal come to spy.' + +So turned they back, and feared to look behind, +And told the timid swain how they had seen +Amid the reeds some woodland god reclined, +And no man dared to cross the open green, +And on that day no olive-tree was slain, +Nor rushes cut, but all deserted was the fair domain, + +Save when the neat-herd's lad, his empty pail +Well slung upon his back, with leap and bound +Raced on the other side, and stopped to hail, +Hoping that he some comrade new had found, +And gat no answer, and then half afraid +Passed on his simple way, or down the still and silent glade + +A little girl ran laughing from the farm, +Not thinking of love's secret mysteries, +And when she saw the white and gleaming arm +And all his manlihood, with longing eyes +Whose passion mocked her sweet virginity +Watched him awhile, and then stole back sadly and wearily. + +Far off he heard the city's hum and noise, +And now and then the shriller laughter where +The passionate purity of brown-limbed boys +Wrestled or raced in the clear healthful air, +And now and then a little tinkling bell +As the shorn wether led the sheep down to the mossy well. + +Through the grey willows danced the fretful gnat, +The grasshopper chirped idly from the tree, +In sleek and oily coat the water-rat +Breasting the little ripples manfully +Made for the wild-duck's nest, from bough to bough +Hopped the shy finch, and the huge tortoise crept across the +slough. + +On the faint wind floated the silky seeds +As the bright scythe swept through the waving grass, +The ouzel-cock splashed circles in the reeds +And flecked with silver whorls the forest's glass, +Which scarce had caught again its imagery +Ere from its bed the dusky tench leapt at the dragon-fly. + +But little care had he for any thing +Though up and down the beech the squirrel played, +And from the copse the linnet 'gan to sing +To its brown mate its sweetest serenade; +Ah! little care indeed, for he had seen +The breasts of Pallas and the naked wonder of the Queen. + +But when the herdsman called his straggling goats +With whistling pipe across the rocky road, +And the shard-beetle with its trumpet-notes +Boomed through the darkening woods, and seemed to bode +Of coming storm, and the belated crane +Passed homeward like a shadow, and the dull big drops of rain + +Fell on the pattering fig-leaves, up he rose, +And from the gloomy forest went his way +Past sombre homestead and wet orchard-close, +And came at last unto a little quay, +And called his mates aboard, and took his seat +On the high poop, and pushed from land, and loosed the dripping +sheet, + +And steered across the bay, and when nine suns +Passed down the long and laddered way of gold, +And nine pale moons had breathed their orisons +To the chaste stars their confessors, or told +Their dearest secret to the downy moth +That will not fly at noonday, through the foam and surging froth + +Came a great owl with yellow sulphurous eyes +And lit upon the ship, whose timbers creaked +As though the lading of three argosies +Were in the hold, and flapped its wings and shrieked, +And darkness straightway stole across the deep, +Sheathed was Orion's sword, dread Mars himself fled down the steep, + +And the moon hid behind a tawny mask +Of drifting cloud, and from the ocean's marge +Rose the red plume, the huge and horned casque, +The seven-cubit spear, the brazen targe! +And clad in bright and burnished panoply +Athena strode across the stretch of sick and shivering sea! + +To the dull sailors' sight her loosened looks +Seemed like the jagged storm-rack, and her feet +Only the spume that floats on hidden rocks, +And, marking how the rising waters beat +Against the rolling ship, the pilot cried +To the young helmsman at the stern to luff to windward side + +But he, the overbold adulterer, +A dear profaner of great mysteries, +An ardent amorous idolater, +When he beheld those grand relentless eyes +Laughed loud for joy, and crying out 'I come' +Leapt from the lofty poop into the chill and churning foam. + +Then fell from the high heaven one bright star, +One dancer left the circling galaxy, +And back to Athens on her clattering car +In all the pride of venged divinity +Pale Pallas swept with shrill and steely clank, +And a few gurgling bubbles rose where her boy lover sank. + +And the mast shuddered as the gaunt owl flew +With mocking hoots after the wrathful Queen, +And the old pilot bade the trembling crew +Hoist the big sail, and told how he had seen +Close to the stern a dim and giant form, +And like a dipping swallow the stout ship dashed through the storm. + +And no man dared to speak of Charmides +Deeming that he some evil thing had wrought, +And when they reached the strait Symplegades +They beached their galley on the shore, and sought +The toll-gate of the city hastily, +And in the market showed their brown and pictured pottery. + + +II. + + +But some good Triton-god had ruth, and bare +The boy's drowned body back to Grecian land, +And mermaids combed his dank and dripping hair +And smoothed his brow, and loosed his clenching hand; +Some brought sweet spices from far Araby, +And others bade the halcyon sing her softest lullaby. + +And when he neared his old Athenian home, +A mighty billow rose up suddenly +Upon whose oily back the clotted foam +Lay diapered in some strange fantasy, +And clasping him unto its glassy breast +Swept landward, like a white-maned steed upon a venturous quest! + +Now where Colonos leans unto the sea +There lies a long and level stretch of lawn; +The rabbit knows it, and the mountain bee +For it deserts Hymettus, and the Faun +Is not afraid, for never through the day +Comes a cry ruder than the shout of shepherd lads at play. + +But often from the thorny labyrinth +And tangled branches of the circling wood +The stealthy hunter sees young Hyacinth +Hurling the polished disk, and draws his hood +Over his guilty gaze, and creeps away, +Nor dares to wind his horn, or - else at the first break of day + +The Dryads come and throw the leathern ball +Along the reedy shore, and circumvent +Some goat-eared Pan to be their seneschal +For fear of bold Poseidon's ravishment, +And loose their girdles, with shy timorous eyes, +Lest from the surf his azure arms and purple beard should rise. + +On this side and on that a rocky cave, +Hung with the yellow-belled laburnum, stands +Smooth is the beach, save where some ebbing wave +Leaves its faint outline etched upon the sands, +As though it feared to be too soon forgot +By the green rush, its playfellow, - and yet, it is a spot + +So small, that the inconstant butterfly +Could steal the hoarded money from each flower +Ere it was noon, and still not satisfy +Its over-greedy love, - within an hour +A sailor boy, were he but rude enow +To land and pluck a garland for his galley's painted prow, + +Would almost leave the little meadow bare, +For it knows nothing of great pageantry, +Only a few narcissi here and there +Stand separate in sweet austerity, +Dotting the unmown grass with silver stars, +And here and there a daffodil waves tiny scimitars. + +Hither the billow brought him, and was glad +Of such dear servitude, and where the land +Was virgin of all waters laid the lad +Upon the golden margent of the strand, +And like a lingering lover oft returned +To kiss those pallid limbs which once with intense fire burned, + +Ere the wet seas had quenched that holocaust, +That self-fed flame, that passionate lustihead, +Ere grisly death with chill and nipping frost +Had withered up those lilies white and red +Which, while the boy would through the forest range, +Answered each other in a sweet antiphonal counter-change. + +And when at dawn the wood-nymphs, hand-in-hand, +Threaded the bosky dell, their satyr spied +The boy's pale body stretched upon the sand, +And feared Poseidon's treachery, and cried, +And like bright sunbeams flitting through a glade +Each startled Dryad sought some safe and leafy ambuscade. + +Save one white girl, who deemed it would not be +So dread a thing to feel a sea-god's arms +Crushing her breasts in amorous tyranny, +And longed to listen to those subtle charms +Insidious lovers weave when they would win +Some fenced fortress, and stole back again, nor thought it sin + +To yield her treasure unto one so fair, +And lay beside him, thirsty with love's drouth, +Called him soft names, played with his tangled hair, +And with hot lips made havoc of his mouth +Afraid he might not wake, and then afraid +Lest he might wake too soon, fled back, and then, fond renegade, + +Returned to fresh assault, and all day long +Sat at his side, and laughed at her new toy, +And held his hand, and sang her sweetest song, +Then frowned to see how froward was the boy +Who would not with her maidenhood entwine, +Nor knew that three days since his eyes had looked on Proserpine; + +Nor knew what sacrilege his lips had done, +But said, 'He will awake, I know him well, +He will awake at evening when the sun +Hangs his red shield on Corinth's citadel; +This sleep is but a cruel treachery +To make me love him more, and in some cavern of the sea + +Deeper than ever falls the fisher's line +Already a huge Triton blows his horn, +And weaves a garland from the crystalline +And drifting ocean-tendrils to adorn +The emerald pillars of our bridal bed, +For sphered in foaming silver, and with coral crowned head, + +We two will sit upon a throne of pearl, +And a blue wave will be our canopy, +And at our feet the water-snakes will curl +In all their amethystine panoply +Of diamonded mail, and we will mark +The mullets swimming by the mast of some storm-foundered bark, + +Vermilion-finned with eyes of bossy gold +Like flakes of crimson light, and the great deep +His glassy-portaled chamber will unfold, +And we will see the painted dolphins sleep +Cradled by murmuring halcyons on the rocks +Where Proteus in quaint suit of green pastures his monstrous +flocks. + +And tremulous opal-hued anemones +Will wave their purple fringes where we tread +Upon the mirrored floor, and argosies +Of fishes flecked with tawny scales will thread +The drifting cordage of the shattered wreck, +And honey-coloured amber beads our twining limbs will deck.' + +But when that baffled Lord of War the Sun +With gaudy pennon flying passed away +Into his brazen House, and one by one +The little yellow stars began to stray +Across the field of heaven, ah! then indeed +She feared his lips upon her lips would never care to feed, + +And cried, 'Awake, already the pale moon +Washes the trees with silver, and the wave +Creeps grey and chilly up this sandy dune, +The croaking frogs are out, and from the cave +The nightjar shrieks, the fluttering bats repass, +And the brown stoat with hollow flanks creeps through the dusky +grass. + +Nay, though thou art a god, be not so coy, +For in yon stream there is a little reed +That often whispers how a lovely boy +Lay with her once upon a grassy mead, +Who when his cruel pleasure he had done +Spread wings of rustling gold and soared aloft into the sun. + +Be not so coy, the laurel trembles still +With great Apollo's kisses, and the fir +Whose clustering sisters fringe the seaward hill +Hath many a tale of that bold ravisher +Whom men call Boreas, and I have seen +The mocking eyes of Hermes through the poplar's silvery sheen. + +Even the jealous Naiads call me fair, +And every morn a young and ruddy swain +Woos me with apples and with locks of hair, +And seeks to soothe my virginal disdain +By all the gifts the gentle wood-nymphs love; +But yesterday he brought to me an iris-plumaged dove + +With little crimson feet, which with its store +Of seven spotted eggs the cruel lad +Had stolen from the lofty sycamore +At daybreak, when her amorous comrade had +Flown off in search of berried juniper +Which most they love; the fretful wasp, that earliest vintager + +Of the blue grapes, hath not persistency +So constant as this simple shepherd-boy +For my poor lips, his joyous purity +And laughing sunny eyes might well decoy +A Dryad from her oath to Artemis; +For very beautiful is he, his mouth was made to kiss; + +His argent forehead, like a rising moon +Over the dusky hills of meeting brows, +Is crescent shaped, the hot and Tyrian noon +Leads from the myrtle-grove no goodlier spouse +For Cytheraea, the first silky down +Fringes his blushing cheeks, and his young limbs are strong and +brown; + +And he is rich, and fat and fleecy herds +Of bleating sheep upon his meadows lie, +And many an earthen bowl of yellow curds +Is in his homestead for the thievish fly +To swim and drown in, the pink clover mead +Keeps its sweet store for him, and he can pipe on oaten reed. + +And yet I love him not; it was for thee +I kept my love; I knew that thou would'st come +To rid me of this pallid chastity, +Thou fairest flower of the flowerless foam +Of all the wide AEgean, brightest star +Of ocean's azure heavens where the mirrored planets are! + +I knew that thou would'st come, for when at first +The dry wood burgeoned, and the sap of spring +Swelled in my green and tender bark or burst +To myriad multitudinous blossoming +Which mocked the midnight with its mimic moons +That did not dread the dawn, and first the thrushes' rapturous +tunes + +Startled the squirrel from its granary, +And cuckoo flowers fringed the narrow lane, +Through my young leaves a sensuous ecstasy +Crept like new wine, and every mossy vein +Throbbed with the fitful pulse of amorous blood, +And the wild winds of passion shook my slim stem's maidenhood. + +The trooping fawns at evening came and laid +Their cool black noses on my lowest boughs, +And on my topmost branch the blackbird made +A little nest of grasses for his spouse, +And now and then a twittering wren would light +On a thin twig which hardly bare the weight of such delight. + +I was the Attic shepherd's trysting place, +Beneath my shadow Amaryllis lay, +And round my trunk would laughing Daphnis chase +The timorous girl, till tired out with play +She felt his hot breath stir her tangled hair, +And turned, and looked, and fled no more from such delightful +snare. + +Then come away unto my ambuscade +Where clustering woodbine weaves a canopy +For amorous pleasaunce, and the rustling shade +Of Paphian myrtles seems to sanctify +The dearest rites of love; there in the cool +And green recesses of its farthest depth there is pool, + +The ouzel's haunt, the wild bee's pasturage, +For round its rim great creamy lilies float +Through their flat leaves in verdant anchorage, +Each cup a white-sailed golden-laden boat +Steered by a dragon-fly, - be not afraid +To leave this wan and wave-kissed shore, surely the place was made + +For lovers such as we; the Cyprian Queen, +One arm around her boyish paramour, +Strays often there at eve, and I have seen +The moon strip off her misty vestiture +For young Endymion's eyes; be not afraid, +The panther feet of Dian never tread that secret glade. + +Nay if thou will'st, back to the beating brine, +Back to the boisterous billow let us go, +And walk all day beneath the hyaline +Huge vault of Neptune's watery portico, +And watch the purple monsters of the deep +Sport in ungainly play, and from his lair keen Xiphias leap. + +For if my mistress find me lying here +She will not ruth or gentle pity show, +But lay her boar-spear down, and with austere +Relentless fingers string the cornel bow, +And draw the feathered notch against her breast, +And loose the arched cord; aye, even now upon the quest + +I hear her hurrying feet, - awake, awake, +Thou laggard in love's battle! once at least +Let me drink deep of passion's wine, and slake +My parched being with the nectarous feast +Which even gods affect! O come, Love, come, +Still we have time to reach the cavern of thine azure home.' + +Scarce had she spoken when the shuddering trees +Shook, and the leaves divided, and the air +Grew conscious of a god, and the grey seas +Crawled backward, and a long and dismal blare +Blew from some tasselled horn, a sleuth-hound bayed, +And like a flame a barbed reed flew whizzing down the glade. + +And where the little flowers of her breast +Just brake into their milky blossoming, +This murderous paramour, this unbidden guest, +Pierced and struck deep in horrid chambering, +And ploughed a bloody furrow with its dart, +And dug a long red road, and cleft with winged death her heart. + +Sobbing her life out with a bitter cry +On the boy's body fell the Dryad maid, +Sobbing for incomplete virginity, +And raptures unenjoyed, and pleasures dead, +And all the pain of things unsatisfied, +And the bright drops of crimson youth crept down her throbbing +side. + +Ah! pitiful it was to hear her moan, +And very pitiful to see her die +Ere she had yielded up her sweets, or known +The joy of passion, that dread mystery +Which not to know is not to live at all, +And yet to know is to be held in death's most deadly thrall. + +But as it hapt the Queen of Cythere, +Who with Adonis all night long had lain +Within some shepherd's hut in Arcady, +On team of silver doves and gilded wain +Was journeying Paphos-ward, high up afar +From mortal ken between the mountains and the morning star, + +And when low down she spied the hapless pair, +And heard the Oread's faint despairing cry, +Whose cadence seemed to play upon the air +As though it were a viol, hastily +She bade her pigeons fold each straining plume, +And dropt to earth, and reached the strand, and saw their dolorous +doom. + +For as a gardener turning back his head +To catch the last notes of the linnet, mows +With careless scythe too near some flower bed, +And cuts the thorny pillar of the rose, +And with the flower's loosened loneliness +Strews the brown mould; or as some shepherd lad in wantonness + +Driving his little flock along the mead +Treads down two daffodils, which side by aide +Have lured the lady-bird with yellow brede +And made the gaudy moth forget its pride, +Treads down their brimming golden chalices +Under light feet which were not made for such rude ravages; + +Or as a schoolboy tired of his book +Flings himself down upon the reedy grass +And plucks two water-lilies from the brook, +And for a time forgets the hour glass, +Then wearies of their sweets, and goes his way, +And lets the hot sun kill them, even go these lovers lay. + +And Venus cried, 'It is dread Artemis +Whose bitter hand hath wrought this cruelty, +Or else that mightier maid whose care it is +To guard her strong and stainless majesty +Upon the hill Athenian, - alas! +That they who loved so well unloved into Death's house should +pass.' + +So with soft hands she laid the boy and girl +In the great golden waggon tenderly +(Her white throat whiter than a moony pearl +Just threaded with a blue vein's tapestry +Had not yet ceased to throb, and still her breast +Swayed like a wind-stirred lily in ambiguous unrest) + +And then each pigeon spread its milky van, +The bright car soared into the dawning sky, +And like a cloud the aerial caravan +Passed over the AEgean silently, +Till the faint air was troubled with the song +From the wan mouths that call on bleeding Thammuz all night long. + +But when the doves had reached their wonted goal +Where the wide stair of orbed marble dips +Its snows into the sea, her fluttering soul +Just shook the trembling petals of her lips +And passed into the void, and Venus knew +That one fair maid the less would walk amid her retinue, + +And bade her servants carve a cedar chest +With all the wonder of this history, +Within whose scented womb their limbs should rest +Where olive-trees make tender the blue sky +On the low hills of Paphos, and the Faun +Pipes in the noonday, and the nightingale sings on till dawn. + +Nor failed they to obey her hest, and ere +The morning bee had stung the daffodil +With tiny fretful spear, or from its lair +The waking stag had leapt across the rill +And roused the ouzel, or the lizard crept +Athwart the sunny rock, beneath the grass their bodies slept. + +And when day brake, within that silver shrine +Fed by the flames of cressets tremulous, +Queen Venus knelt and prayed to Proserpine +That she whose beauty made Death amorous +Should beg a guerdon from her pallid Lord, +And let Desire pass across dread Charon's icy ford. + + +III + + +In melancholy moonless Acheron, +Farm for the goodly earth and joyous day +Where no spring ever buds, nor ripening sun +Weighs down the apple trees, nor flowery May +Chequers with chestnut blooms the grassy floor, +Where thrushes never sing, and piping linnets mate no more, + +There by a dim and dark Lethaean well +Young Charmides was lying; wearily +He plucked the blossoms from the asphodel, +And with its little rifled treasury +Strewed the dull waters of the dusky stream, +And watched the white stars founder, and the land was like a dream, + +When as he gazed into the watery glass +And through his brown hair's curly tangles scanned +His own wan face, a shadow seemed to pass +Across the mirror, and a little hand +Stole into his, and warm lips timidly +Brushed his pale cheeks, and breathed their secret forth into a +sigh. + +Then turned he round his weary eyes and saw, +And ever nigher still their faces came, +And nigher ever did their young mouths draw +Until they seemed one perfect rose of flame, +And longing arms around her neck he cast, +And felt her throbbing bosom, and his breath came hot and fast, + +And all his hoarded sweets were hers to kiss, +And all her maidenhood was his to slay, +And limb to limb in long and rapturous bliss +Their passion waxed and waned, - O why essay +To pipe again of love, too venturous reed! +Enough, enough that Eros laughed upon that flowerless mead. + +Too venturous poesy, O why essay +To pipe again of passion! fold thy wings +O'er daring Icarus and bid thy lay +Sleep hidden in the lyre's silent strings +Till thou hast found the old Castalian rill, +Or from the Lesbian waters plucked drowned Sappho's golden quid! + +Enough, enough that he whose life had been +A fiery pulse of sin, a splendid shame, +Could in the loveless land of Hades glean +One scorching harvest from those fields of flame +Where passion walks with naked unshod feet +And is not wounded, - ah! enough that once their lips could meet + +In that wild throb when all existences +Seemed narrowed to one single ecstasy +Which dies through its own sweetness and the stress +Of too much pleasure, ere Persephone +Had bade them serve her by the ebon throne +Of the pale God who in the fields of Enna loosed her zone. + + + + +POEMS + + + + +REQUIESCAT + + + +Tread lightly, she is near +Under the snow, +Speak gently, she can hear +The daisies grow. + +All her bright golden hair +Tarnished with rust, +She that was young and fair +Fallen to dust. + +Lily-like, white as snow, +She hardly knew +She was a woman, so +Sweetly she grew. + +Coffin-board, heavy stone, +Lie on her breast, +I vex my heart alone, +She is at rest. + +Peace, Peace, she cannot hear +Lyre or sonnet, +All my life's buried here, +Heap earth upon it. + +AVIGNON + + + +SAN MINIATO + + + +See, I have climbed the mountain side +Up to this holy house of God, +Where once that Angel-Painter trod +Who saw the heavens opened wide, + +And throned upon the crescent moon +The Virginal white Queen of Grace, - +Mary! could I but see thy face +Death could not come at all too soon. + +O crowned by God with thorns and pain! +Mother of Christ! O mystic wife! +My heart is weary of this life +And over-sad to sing again. + +O crowned by God with love and flame! +O crowned by Christ the Holy One! +O listen ere the searching sun +Show to the world my sin and shame. + + + +ROME UNVISITED + + + +I. + + +The corn has turned from grey to red, +Since first my spirit wandered forth +From the drear cities of the north, +And to Italia's mountains fled. + +And here I set my face towards home, +For all my pilgrimage is done, +Although, methinks, yon blood-red sun +Marshals the way to Holy Rome. + +O Blessed Lady, who dost hold +Upon the seven hills thy reign! +O Mother without blot or stain, +Crowned with bright crowns of triple gold! + +O Roma, Roma, at thy feet +I lay this barren gift of song! +For, ah! the way is steep and long +That leads unto thy sacred street. + + +II. + + +And yet what joy it were for me +To turn my feet unto the south, +And journeying towards the Tiber mouth +To kneel again at Fiesole! + +And wandering through the tangled pines +That break the gold of Arno's stream, +To see the purple mist and gleam +Of morning on the Apennines + +By many a vineyard-hidden home, +Orchard and olive-garden grey, +Till from the drear Campagna's way +The seven hills bear up the dome! + + +III. + + +A pilgrim from the northern seas - +What joy for me to seek alone +The wondrous temple and the throne +Of him who holds the awful keys! + +When, bright with purple and with gold +Come priest and holy cardinal, +And borne above the heads of all +The gentle Shepherd of the Fold. + +O joy to see before I die +The only God-anointed king, +And hear the silver trumpets ring +A triumph as he passes by! + +Or at the brazen-pillared shrine +Holds high the mystic sacrifice, +And shows his God to human eyes +Beneath the veil of bread and wine. + + +IV. + + +For lo, what changes time can bring! +The cycles of revolving years +May free my heart from all its fears, +And teach my lips a song to sing. + +Before yon field of trembling gold +Is garnered into dusty sheaves, +Or ere the autumn's scarlet leaves +Flutter as birds adown the wold, + +I may have run the glorious race, +And caught the torch while yet aflame, +And called upon the holy name +Of Him who now doth hide His face. + +ARONA + + + +HUMANITAD + + + +It is full winter now: the trees are bare, +Save where the cattle huddle from the cold +Beneath the pine, for it doth never wear +The autumn's gaudy livery whose gold +Her jealous brother pilfers, but is true +To the green doublet; bitter is the wind, as though it blew + +From Saturn's cave; a few thin wisps of hay +Lie on the sharp black hedges, where the wain +Dragged the sweet pillage of a summer's day +From the low meadows up the narrow lane; +Upon the half-thawed snow the bleating sheep +Press close against the hurdles, and the shivering house-dogs creep + +From the shut stable to the frozen stream +And back again disconsolate, and miss +The bawling shepherds and the noisy team; +And overhead in circling listlessness +The cawing rooks whirl round the frosted stack, +Or crowd the dripping boughs; and in the fen the ice-pools crack + +Where the gaunt bittern stalks among the reeds +And flaps his wings, and stretches back his neck, +And hoots to see the moon; across the meads +Limps the poor frightened hare, a little speck; +And a stray seamew with its fretful cry +Flits like a sudden drift of snow against the dull grey sky. + +Full winter: and the lusty goodman brings +His load of faggots from the chilly byre, +And stamps his feet upon the hearth, and flings +The sappy billets on the waning fire, +And laughs to see the sudden lightening scare +His children at their play, and yet, - the spring is in the air; + +Already the slim crocus stirs the snow, +And soon yon blanched fields will bloom again +With nodding cowslips for some lad to mow, +For with the first warm kisses of the rain +The winter's icy sorrow breaks to tears, +And the brown thrushes mate, and with bright eyes the rabbit peers + +From the dark warren where the fir-cones lie, +And treads one snowdrop under foot, and runs +Over the mossy knoll, and blackbirds fly +Across our path at evening, and the suns +Stay longer with us; ah! how good to see +Grass-girdled spring in all her joy of laughing greenery + +Dance through the hedges till the early rose, +(That sweet repentance of the thorny briar!) +Burst from its sheathed emerald and disclose +The little quivering disk of golden fire +Which the bees know so well, for with it come +Pale boy's-love, sops-in-wine, and daffadillies all in bloom. + +Then up and down the field the sower goes, +While close behind the laughing younker scares +With shrilly whoop the black and thievish crows, +And then the chestnut-tree its glory wears, +And on the grass the creamy blossom falls +In odorous excess, and faint half-whispered madrigals + +Steal from the bluebells' nodding carillons +Each breezy morn, and then white jessamine, +That star of its own heaven, snap-dragons +With lolling crimson tongues, and eglantine +In dusty velvets clad usurp the bed +And woodland empery, and when the lingering rose hath shed + +Red leaf by leaf its folded panoply, +And pansies closed their purple-lidded eyes, +Chrysanthemums from gilded argosy +Unload their gaudy scentless merchandise, +And violets getting overbold withdraw +From their shy nooks, and scarlet berries dot the leafless haw. + +O happy field! and O thrice happy tree! +Soon will your queen in daisy-flowered smock +And crown of flower-de-luce trip down the lea, +Soon will the lazy shepherds drive their flock +Back to the pasture by the pool, and soon +Through the green leaves will float the hum of murmuring bees at +noon. + +Soon will the glade be bright with bellamour, +The flower which wantons love, and those sweet nuns +Vale-lilies in their snowy vestiture +Will tell their beaded pearls, and carnations +With mitred dusky leaves will scent the wind, +And straggling traveller's-joy each hedge with yellow stars will +bind. + +Dear bride of Nature and most bounteous spring, +That canst give increase to the sweet-breath'd kine, +And to the kid its little horns, and bring +The soft and silky blossoms to the vine, +Where is that old nepenthe which of yore +Man got from poppy root and glossy-berried mandragore! + +There was a time when any common bird +Could make me sing in unison, a time +When all the strings of boyish life were stirred +To quick response or more melodious rhyme +By every forest idyll; - do I change? +Or rather doth some evil thing through thy fair pleasaunce range? + +Nay, nay, thou art the same: 'tis I who seek +To vex with sighs thy simple solitude, +And because fruitless tears bedew my cheek +Would have thee weep with me in brotherhood; +Fool! shall each wronged and restless spirit dare +To taint such wine with the salt poison of own despair! + +Thou art the same: 'tis I whose wretched soul +Takes discontent to be its paramour, +And gives its kingdom to the rude control +Of what should be its servitor, - for sure +Wisdom is somewhere, though the stormy sea +Contain it not, and the huge deep answer ''Tis not in me.' + +To burn with one clear flame, to stand erect +In natural honour, not to bend the knee +In profitless prostrations whose effect +Is by itself condemned, what alchemy +Can teach me this? what herb Medea brewed +Will bring the unexultant peace of essence not subdued? + +The minor chord which ends the harmony, +And for its answering brother waits in vain +Sobbing for incompleted melody, +Dies a swan's death; but I the heir of pain, +A silent Memnon with blank lidless eyes, +Wait for the light and music of those suns which never rise. + +The quenched-out torch, the lonely cypress-gloom, +The little dust stored in the narrow urn, +The gentle XAIPE of the Attic tomb, - +Were not these better far than to return +To my old fitful restless malady, +Or spend my days within the voiceless cave of misery? + +Nay! for perchance that poppy-crowned god +Is like the watcher by a sick man's bed +Who talks of sleep but gives it not; his rod +Hath lost its virtue, and, when all is said, +Death is too rude, too obvious a key +To solve one single secret in a life's philosophy. + +And Love! that noble madness, whose august +And inextinguishable might can slay +The soul with honeyed drugs, - alas! I must +From such sweet ruin play the runaway, +Although too constant memory never can +Forget the arched splendour of those brows Olympian + +Which for a little season made my youth +So soft a swoon of exquisite indolence +That all the chiding of more prudent Truth +Seemed the thin voice of jealousy, - O hence +Thou huntress deadlier than Artemis! +Go seek some other quarry! for of thy too perilous bliss. + +My lips have drunk enough, - no more, no more, - +Though Love himself should turn his gilded prow +Back to the troubled waters of this shore +Where I am wrecked and stranded, even now +The chariot wheels of passion sweep too near, +Hence! Hence! I pass unto a life more barren, more austere. + +More barren - ay, those arms will never lean +Down through the trellised vines and draw my soul +In sweet reluctance through the tangled green; +Some other head must wear that aureole, +For I am hers who loves not any man +Whose white and stainless bosom bears the sign Gorgonian. + +Let Venus go and chuck her dainty page, +And kiss his mouth, and toss his curly hair, +With net and spear and hunting equipage +Let young Adonis to his tryst repair, +But me her fond and subtle-fashioned spell +Delights no more, though I could win her dearest citadel. + +Ay, though I were that laughing shepherd boy +Who from Mount Ida saw the little cloud +Pass over Tenedos and lofty Troy +And knew the coming of the Queen, and bowed +In wonder at her feet, not for the sake +Of a new Helen would I bid her hand the apple take. + +Then rise supreme Athena argent-limbed! +And, if my lips be musicless, inspire +At least my life: was not thy glory hymned +By One who gave to thee his sword and lyre +Like AEschylos at well-fought Marathon, +And died to show that Milton's England still could bear a son! + +And yet I cannot tread the Portico +And live without desire, fear and pain, +Or nurture that wise calm which long ago +The grave Athenian master taught to men, +Self-poised, self-centred, and self-comforted, +To watch the world's vain phantasies go by with unbowed head. + +Alas! that serene brow, those eloquent lips, +Those eyes that mirrored all eternity, +Rest in their own Colonos, an eclipse +Hath come on Wisdom, and Mnemosyne +Is childless; in the night which she had made +For lofty secure flight Athena's owl itself hath strayed. + +Nor much with Science do I care to climb, +Although by strange and subtle witchery +She drew the moon from heaven: the Muse Time +Unrolls her gorgeous-coloured tapestry +To no less eager eyes; often indeed +In the great epic of Polymnia's scroll I love to read + +How Asia sent her myriad hosts to war +Against a little town, and panoplied +In gilded mail with jewelled scimitar, +White-shielded, purple-crested, rode the Mede +Between the waving poplars and the sea +Which men call Artemisium, till he saw Thermopylae + +Its steep ravine spanned by a narrow wall, +And on the nearer side a little brood +Of careless lions holding festival! +And stood amazed at such hardihood, +And pitched his tent upon the reedy shore, +And stayed two days to wonder, and then crept at midnight o'er + +Some unfrequented height, and coming down +The autumn forests treacherously slew +What Sparta held most dear and was the crown +Of far Eurotas, and passed on, nor knew +How God had staked an evil net for him +In the small bay at Salamis, - and yet, the page grows dim, + +Its cadenced Greek delights me not, I feel +With such a goodly time too out of tune +To love it much: for like the Dial's wheel +That from its blinded darkness strikes the noon +Yet never sees the sun, so do my eyes +Restlessly follow that which from my cheated vision flies. + +O for one grand unselfish simple life +To teach us what is Wisdom! speak ye hills +Of lone Helvellyn, for this note of strife +Shunned your untroubled crags and crystal rills, +Where is that Spirit which living blamelessly +Yet dared to kiss the smitten mouth of his own century! + +Speak ye Rydalian laurels! where is he +Whose gentle head ye sheltered, that pure soul +Whose gracious days of uncrowned majesty +Through lowliest conduct touched the lofty goal +Where love and duty mingle! Him at least +The most high Laws were glad of, he had sat at Wisdom's feast; + +But we are Learning's changelings, know by rote +The clarion watchword of each Grecian school +And follow none, the flawless sword which smote +The pagan Hydra is an effete tool +Which we ourselves have blunted, what man now +Shall scale the august ancient heights and to old Reverence bow? + +One such indeed I saw, but, Ichabod! +Gone is that last dear son of Italy, +Who being man died for the sake of God, +And whose unrisen bones sleep peacefully, +O guard him, guard him well, my Giotto's tower, +Thou marble lily of the lily town! let not the lour + +Of the rude tempest vex his slumber, or +The Arno with its tawny troubled gold +O'er-leap its marge, no mightier conqueror +Clomb the high Capitol in the days of old +When Rome was indeed Rome, for Liberty +Walked like a bride beside him, at which sight pale Mystery + +Fled shrieking to her farthest sombrest cell +With an old man who grabbled rusty keys, +Fled shuddering, for that immemorial knell +With which oblivion buries dynasties +Swept like a wounded eagle on the blast, +As to the holy heart of Rome the great triumvir passed. + +He knew the holiest heart and heights of Rome, +He drave the base wolf from the lion's lair, +And now lies dead by that empyreal dome +Which overtops Valdarno hung in air +By Brunelleschi - O Melpomene +Breathe through thy melancholy pipe thy sweetest threnody! + +Breathe through the tragic stops such melodies +That Joy's self may grow jealous, and the Nine +Forget awhile their discreet emperies, +Mourning for him who on Rome's lordliest shrine +Lit for men's lives the light of Marathon, +And bare to sun-forgotten fields the fire of the sun! + +O guard him, guard him well, my Giotto's tower! +Let some young Florentine each eventide +Bring coronals of that enchanted flower +Which the dim woods of Vallombrosa hide, +And deck the marble tomb wherein he lies +Whose soul is as some mighty orb unseen of mortal eyes; + +Some mighty orb whose cycled wanderings, +Being tempest-driven to the farthest rim +Where Chaos meets Creation and the wings +Of the eternal chanting Cherubim +Are pavilioned on Nothing, passed away +Into a moonless void, - and yet, though he is dust and clay, + +He is not dead, the immemorial Fates +Forbid it, and the closing shears refrain. +Lift up your heads ye everlasting gates! +Ye argent clarions, sound a loftier strain +For the vile thing he hated lurks within +Its sombre house, alone with God and memories of sin. + +Still what avails it that she sought her cave +That murderous mother of red harlotries? +At Munich on the marble architrave +The Grecian boys die smiling, but the seas +Which wash AEgina fret in loneliness +Not mirroring their beauty; so our lives grow colourless + +For lack of our ideals, if one star +Flame torch-like in the heavens the unjust +Swift daylight kills it, and no trump of war +Can wake to passionate voice the silent dust +Which was Mazzini once! rich Niobe +For all her stony sorrows hath her sons; but Italy, + +What Easter Day shall make her children rise, +Who were not Gods yet suffered? what sure feet +Shall find their grave-clothes folded? what clear eyes +Shall see them bodily? O it were meet +To roll the stone from off the sepulchre +And kiss the bleeding roses of their wounds, in love of her, + +Our Italy! our mother visible! +Most blessed among nations and most sad, +For whose dear sake the young Calabrian fell +That day at Aspromonte and was glad +That in an age when God was bought and sold +One man could die for Liberty! but we, burnt out and cold, + +See Honour smitten on the cheek and gyves +Bind the sweet feet of Mercy: Poverty +Creeps through our sunless lanes and with sharp knives +Cuts the warm throats of children stealthily, +And no word said:- O we are wretched men +Unworthy of our great inheritance! where is the pen + +Of austere Milton? where the mighty sword +Which slew its master righteously? the years +Have lost their ancient leader, and no word +Breaks from the voiceless tripod on our ears: +While as a ruined mother in some spasm +Bears a base child and loathes it, so our best enthusiasm + +Genders unlawful children, Anarchy +Freedom's own Judas, the vile prodigal +Licence who steals the gold of Liberty +And yet has nothing, Ignorance the real +One Fraticide since Cain, Envy the asp +That stings itself to anguish, Avarice whose palsied grasp + +Is in its extent stiffened, moneyed Greed +For whose dull appetite men waste away +Amid the whirr of wheels and are the seed +Of things which slay their sower, these each day +Sees rife in England, and the gentle feet +Of Beauty tread no more the stones of each unlovely street. + +What even Cromwell spared is desecrated +By weed and worm, left to the stormy play +Of wind and beating snow, or renovated +By more destructful hands: Time's worst decay +Will wreathe its ruins with some loveliness, +But these new Vandals can but make a rain-proof barrenness. + +Where is that Art which bade the Angels sing +Through Lincoln's lofty choir, till the air +Seems from such marble harmonies to ring +With sweeter song than common lips can dare +To draw from actual reed? ah! where is now +The cunning hand which made the flowering hawthorn branches bow + +For Southwell's arch, and carved the House of One +Who loved the lilies of the field with all +Our dearest English flowers? the same sun +Rises for us: the seasons natural +Weave the same tapestry of green and grey: +The unchanged hills are with us: but that Spirit hath passed away. + +And yet perchance it may be better so, +For Tyranny is an incestuous Queen, +Murder her brother is her bedfellow, +And the Plague chambers with her: in obscene +And bloody paths her treacherous feet are set; +Better the empty desert and a soul inviolate! + +For gentle brotherhood, the harmony +Of living in the healthful air, the swift +Clean beauty of strong limbs when men are free +And women chaste, these are the things which lift +Our souls up more than even Agnolo's +Gaunt blinded Sibyl poring o'er the scroll of human woes, + +Or Titian's little maiden on the stair +White as her own sweet lily and as tall, +Or Mona Lisa smiling through her hair, - +Ah! somehow life is bigger after all +Than any painted angel, could we see +The God that is within us! The old Greek serenity + +Which curbs the passion of that level line +Of marble youths, who with untroubled eyes +And chastened limbs ride round Athena's shrine +And mirror her divine economies, +And balanced symmetry of what in man +Would else wage ceaseless warfare, - this at least within the span + +Between our mother's kisses and the grave +Might so inform our lives, that we could win +Such mighty empires that from her cave +Temptation would grow hoarse, and pallid Sin +Would walk ashamed of his adulteries, +And Passion creep from out the House of Lust with startled eyes. + +To make the body and the spirit one +With all right things, till no thing live in vain +From morn to noon, but in sweet unison +With every pulse of flesh and throb of brain +The soul in flawless essence high enthroned, +Against all outer vain attack invincibly bastioned, + +Mark with serene impartiality +The strife of things, and yet be comforted, +Knowing that by the chain causality +All separate existences are wed +Into one supreme whole, whose utterance +Is joy, or holier praise! ah! surely this were governance + +Of Life in most august omnipresence, +Through which the rational intellect would find +In passion its expression, and mere sense, +Ignoble else, lend fire to the mind, +And being joined with it in harmony +More mystical than that which binds the stars planetary, + +Strike from their several tones one octave chord +Whose cadence being measureless would fly +Through all the circling spheres, then to its Lord +Return refreshed with its new empery +And more exultant power, - this indeed +Could we but reach it were to find the last, the perfect creed. + +Ah! it was easy when the world was young +To keep one's life free and inviolate, +From our sad lips another song is rung, +By our own hands our heads are desecrate, +Wanderers in drear exile, and dispossessed +Of what should be our own, we can but feed on wild unrest. + +Somehow the grace, the bloom of things has flown, +And of all men we are most wretched who +Must live each other's lives and not our own +For very pity's sake and then undo +All that we lived for - it was otherwise +When soul and body seemed to blend in mystic symphonies. + +But we have left those gentle haunts to pass +With weary feet to the new Calvary, +Where we behold, as one who in a glass +Sees his own face, self-slain Humanity, +And in the dumb reproach of that sad gaze +Learn what an awful phantom the red hand of man can raise. + +O smitten mouth! O forehead crowned with thorn! +O chalice of all common miseries! +Thou for our sakes that loved thee not hast borne +An agony of endless centuries, +And we were vain and ignorant nor knew +That when we stabbed thy heart it was our own real hearts we slew. + +Being ourselves the sowers and the seeds, +The night that covers and the lights that fade, +The spear that pierces and the side that bleeds, +The lips betraying and the life betrayed; +The deep hath calm: the moon hath rest: but we +Lords of the natural world are yet our own dread enemy. + +Is this the end of all that primal force +Which, in its changes being still the same, +From eyeless Chaos cleft its upward course, +Through ravenous seas and whirling rocks and flame, +Till the suns met in heaven and began +Their cycles, and the morning stars sang, and the Word was Man! + +Nay, nay, we are but crucified, and though +The bloody sweat falls from our brows like rain +Loosen the nails - we shall come down I know, +Staunch the red wounds - we shall be whole again, +No need have we of hyssop-laden rod, +That which is purely human, that is godlike, that is God. + + + +LOUIS NAPOLEON + + + +Eagle of Austerlitz! where were thy wings +When far away upon a barbarous strand, +In fight unequal, by an obscure hand, +Fell the last scion of thy brood of Kings! + +Poor boy! thou shalt not flaunt thy cloak of red, +Or ride in state through Paris in the van +Of thy returning legions, but instead +Thy mother France, free and republican, + +Shall on thy dead and crownless forehead place +The better laurels of a soldier's crown, +That not dishonoured should thy soul go down +To tell the mighty Sire of thy race + +That France hath kissed the mouth of Liberty, +And found it sweeter than his honied bees, +And that the giant wave Democracy +Breaks on the shores where Kings lay couched at ease. + + + +ENDYMION (For music) + + + +The apple trees are hung with gold, +And birds are loud in Arcady, +The sheep lie bleating in the fold, +The wild goat runs across the wold, +But yesterday his love he told, +I know he will come back to me. +O rising moon! O Lady moon! +Be you my lover's sentinel, +You cannot choose but know him well, +For he is shod with purple shoon, +You cannot choose but know my love, +For he a shepherd's crook doth bear, +And he is soft as any dove, +And brown and curly is his hair. + +The turtle now has ceased to call +Upon her crimson-footed groom, +The grey wolf prowls about the stall, +The lily's singing seneschal +Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all +The violet hills are lost in gloom. +O risen moon! O holy moon! +Stand on the top of Helice, +And if my own true love you see, +Ah! if you see the purple shoon, +The hazel crook, the lad's brown hair, +The goat-skin wrapped about his arm, +Tell him that I am waiting where +The rushlight glimmers in the Farm. + +The falling dew is cold and chill, +And no bird sings in Arcady, +The little fauns have left the hill, +Even the tired daffodil +Has closed its gilded doors, and still +My lover comes not back to me. +False moon! False moon! O waning moon! +Where is my own true lover gone, +Where are the lips vermilion, +The shepherd's crook, the purple shoon? +Why spread that silver pavilion, +Why wear that veil of drifting mist? +Ah! thou hast young Endymion +Thou hast the lips that should be kissed! + + + +LE JARDIN + + + +The lily's withered chalice falls +Around its rod of dusty gold, +And from the beech-trees on the wold +The last wood-pigeon coos and calls. + +The gaudy leonine sunflower +Hangs black and barren on its stalk, +And down the windy garden walk +The dead leaves scatter, - hour by hour. + +Pale privet-petals white as milk +Are blown into a snowy mass: +The roses lie upon the grass +Like little shreds of crimson silk. + + + +LA MER + + + +A white mist drifts across the shrouds, +A wild moon in this wintry sky +Gleams like an angry lion's eye +Out of a mane of tawny clouds. + +The muffled steersman at the wheel +Is but a shadow in the gloom; - +And in the throbbing engine-room +Leap the long rods of polished steel. + +The shattered storm has left its trace +Upon this huge and heaving dome, +For the thin threads of yellow foam +Float on the waves like ravelled lace. + + + +LE PANNEAU + + + +Under the rose-tree's dancing shade +There stands a little ivory girl, +Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl +With pale green nails of polished jade. + +The red leaves fall upon the mould, +The white leaves flutter, one by one, +Down to a blue bowl where the sun, +Like a great dragon, writhes in gold. + +The white leaves float upon the air, +The red leaves flutter idly down, +Some fall upon her yellow gown, +And some upon her raven hair. + +She takes an amber lute and sings, +And as she sings a silver crane +Begins his scarlet neck to strain, +And flap his burnished metal wings. + +She takes a lute of amber bright, +And from the thicket where he lies +Her lover, with his almond eyes, +Watches her movements in delight. + +And now she gives a cry of fear, +And tiny tears begin to start: +A thorn has wounded with its dart +The pink-veined sea-shell of her ear. + +And now she laughs a merry note: +There has fallen a petal of the rose +Just where the yellow satin shows +The blue-veined flower of her throat. + +With pale green nails of polished jade, +Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl, +There stands a little ivory girl +Under the rose-tree's dancing shade. + + + +LES BALLONS + + + +Against these turbid turquoise skies +The light and luminous balloons +Dip and drift like satin moons +Drift like silken butterflies; + +Reel with every windy gust, +Rise and reel like dancing girls, +Float like strange transparent pearls, +Fall and float like silver dust. + +Now to the low leaves they cling, +Each with coy fantastic pose, +Each a petal of a rose +Straining at a gossamer string. + +Then to the tall trees they climb, +Like thin globes of amethyst, +Wandering opals keeping tryst +With the rubies of the lime. + + + +CANZONET + + + +I have no store +Of gryphon-guarded gold; +Now, as before, +Bare is the shepherd's fold. +Rubies nor pearls +Have I to gem thy throat; +Yet woodland girls +Have loved the shepherd's note. + +Then pluck a reed +And bid me sing to thee, +For I would feed +Thine ears with melody, +Who art more fair +Than fairest fleur-de-lys, +More sweet and rare +Than sweetest ambergris. + +What dost thou fear? +Young Hyacinth is slain, +Pan is not here, +And will not come again. +No horned Faun +Treads down the yellow leas, +No God at dawn +Steals through the olive trees. + +Hylas is dead, +Nor will he e'er divine +Those little red +Rose-petalled lips of thine. +On the high hill +No ivory dryads play, +Silver and still +Sinks the sad autumn day. + + + +LE JARDIN DES TUILERIES + + + +This winter air is keen and cold, +And keen and cold this winter sun, +But round my chair the children run +Like little things of dancing gold. + +Sometimes about the painted kiosk +The mimic soldiers strut and stride, +Sometimes the blue-eyed brigands hide +In the bleak tangles of the bosk. + +And sometimes, while the old nurse cons +Her book, they steal across the square, +And launch their paper navies where +Huge Triton writhes in greenish bronze. + +And now in mimic flight they flee, +And now they rush, a boisterous band - +And, tiny hand on tiny hand, +Climb up the black and leafless tree. + +Ah! cruel tree! if I were you, +And children climbed me, for their sake +Though it be winter I would break +Into spring blossoms white and blue! + + + +PAN - DOUBLE VILLANELLE + + + +I. + + +O goat-foot God of Arcady! +This modern world is grey and old, +And what remains to us of thee? + +No more the shepherd lads in glee +Throw apples at thy wattled fold, +O goat-foot God of Arcady! + +Nor through the laurels can one see +Thy soft brown limbs, thy beard of gold +And what remains to us of thee? + +And dull and dead our Thames would be, +For here the winds are chill and cold, +O goat-loot God of Arcady! + +Then keep the tomb of Helice, +Thine olive-woods, thy vine-clad wold, +And what remains to us of thee? + +Though many an unsung elegy +Sleeps in the reeds our rivers hold, +O goat-foot God of Arcady! +Ah, what remains to us of thee? + + +II. + + +Ah, leave the hills of Arcady, +Thy satyrs and their wanton play, +This modern world hath need of thee. + +No nymph or Faun indeed have we, +For Faun and nymph are old and grey, +Ah, leave the hills of Arcady! + +This is the land where liberty +Lit grave-browed Milton on his way, +This modern world hath need of thee! + +A land of ancient chivalry +Where gentle Sidney saw the day, +Ah, leave the hills of Arcady! + +This fierce sea-lion of the sea, +This England lacks some stronger lay, +This modern world hath need of thee! + +Then blow some trumpet loud and free, +And give thine oaten pipe away, +Ah, leave the hills of Arcady! +This modern world hath need of thee! + + + +IN THE FOREST + + + +Out of the mid-wood's twilight +Into the meadow's dawn, +Ivory limbed and brown-eyed, +Flashes my Faun! + +He skips through the copses singing, +And his shadow dances along, +And I know not which I should follow, +Shadow or song! + +O Hunter, snare me his shadow! +O Nightingale, catch me his strain! +Else moonstruck with music and madness +I track him in vain! + + + +SYMPHONY IN YELLOW + + + +An omnibus across the bridge +Crawls like a yellow butterfly +And, here and there, a passer-by +Shows like a little restless midge. + +Big barges full of yellow hay +Are moored against the shadowy wharf, +And, like a yellow silken scarf, +The thick fog hangs along the quay. + +The yellow leaves begin to fade +And flutter from the Temple elms, +And at my feet the pale green Thames +Lies like a rod of rippled jade. + + + + +SONNETS + + + + +HELAS! + + + +To drift with every passion till my soul +Is a stringed lute on which can winds can play, +Is it for this that I have given away +Mine ancient wisdom and austere control? +Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll +Scrawled over on some boyish holiday +With idle songs for pipe and virelay, +Which do but mar the secret of the whole. +Surely there was a time I might have trod +The sunlit heights, and from life's dissonance +Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God: +Is that time dead? lo! with a little rod +I did but touch the honey of romance - +And must I lose a soul's inheritance? + + + +TO MILTON + + + +Milton! I think thy spirit hath passed away +From these white cliffs and high-embattled towers; +This gorgeous fiery-coloured world of ours +Seems fallen into ashes dull and grey, +And the age changed unto a mimic play +Wherein we waste our else too-crowded hours: +For all our pomp and pageantry and powers +We are but fit to delve the common clay, +Seeing this little isle on which we stand, +This England, this sea-lion of the sea, +By ignorant demagogues is held in fee, +Who love her not: Dear God! is this the land +Which bare a triple empire in her hand +When Cromwell spake the word Democracy! + + + +ON THE MASSACRE OF THE CHRISTIANS IN BULGARIA + + + +Christ, dost Thou live indeed? or are Thy bones +Still straitened in their rock-hewn sepulchre? +And was Thy Rising only dreamed by her +Whose love of Thee for all her sin atones? +For here the air is horrid with men's groans, +The priests who call upon Thy name are slain, +Dost Thou not hear the bitter wail of pain +From those whose children lie upon the stones? +Come down, O Son of God! incestuous gloom +Curtains the land, and through the starless night +Over Thy Cross a Crescent moon I see! +If Thou in very truth didst burst the tomb +Come down, O Son of Man! and show Thy might +Lest Mahomet be crowned instead of Thee! + + + +HOLY WEEK AT GENOA + + + +I wandered through Scoglietto's far retreat, +The oranges on each o'erhanging spray +Burned as bright lamps of gold to shame the day; +Some startled bird with fluttering wings and fleet +Made snow of all the blossoms; at my feet +Like silver moons the pale narcissi lay: +And the curved waves that streaked the great green bay +Laughed i' the sun, and life seemed very sweet. +Outside the young boy-priest passed singing clear, +'Jesus the son of Mary has been slain, +O come and fill His sepulchre with flowers.' +Ah, God! Ah, God! those dear Hellenic hours +Had drowned all memory of Thy bitter pain, +The Cross, the Crown, the Soldiers and the Spear. + + + +URBS SACRA AETERNA + + + +Rome! what a scroll of History thine has been; +In the first days thy sword republican +Ruled the whole world for many an age's span: +Then of the peoples wert thou royal Queen, +Till in thy streets the bearded Goth was seen; +And now upon thy walls the breezes fan +(Ah, city crowned by God, discrowned by man!) +The hated flag of red and white and green. +When was thy glory! when in search for power +Thine eagles flew to greet the double sun, +And the wild nations shuddered at thy rod? +Nay, but thy glory tarried for this hour, +When pilgrims kneel before the Holy One, +The prisoned shepherd of the Church of God. + +MONTRE MARIO + + + +E TENEBRIS + + + +Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach Thy hand, +For I am drowning in a stormier sea +Than Simon on Thy lake of Galilee: +The wine of life is spilt upon the sand, +My heart is as some famine-murdered land +Whence all good things have perished utterly, +And well I know my soul in Hell must lie +If I this night before God's throne should stand. +'He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase, +Like Baal, when his prophets howled that name +From morn to noon on Carmel's smitten height.' +Nay, peace, I shall behold, before the night, +The feet of brass, the robe more white than flame, +The wounded hands, the weary human face. + + + +AT VERONA + + + +How steep the stairs within King's houses are +For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread, +And O how salt and bitter is the bread +Which falls from this Hound's table, - better far +That I had died in the red ways of war, +Or that the gate of Florence bare my head, +Than to live thus, by all things comraded +Which seek the essence of my soul to mar. + +'Curse God and die: what better hope than this? +He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss +Of his gold city, and eternal day' - +Nay peace: behind my prison's blinded bars +I do possess what none can take away, +My love and all the glory of the stars. + + + +ON THE SALE BY AUCTION OF KEATS' LOVE LETTERS + + + +These are the letters which Endymion wrote +To one he loved in secret, and apart. +And now the brawlers of the auction mart +Bargain and bid for each poor blotted note, +Ay! for each separate pulse of passion quote +The merchant's price. I think they love not art +Who break the crystal of a poet's heart +That small and sickly eyes may glare and gloat. + +Is it not said that many years ago, +In a far Eastern town, some soldiers ran +With torches through the midnight, and began +To wrangle for mean raiment, and to throw +Dice for the garments of a wretched man, +Not knowing the God's wonder, or His woe? + + + +THE NEW REMORSE + + + +The sin was mine; I did not understand. +So now is music prisoned in her cave, +Save where some ebbing desultory wave +Frets with its restless whirls this meagre strand. +And in the withered hollow of this land +Hath Summer dug herself so deep a grave, +That hardly can the leaden willow crave +One silver blossom from keen Winter's hand. + +But who is this who cometh by the shore? +(Nay, love, look up and wonder!) Who is this +Who cometh in dyed garments from the South? +It is thy new-found Lord, and he shall kiss +The yet unravished roses of thy mouth, +And I shall weep and worship, as before. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Etext of Charmides and Other Poems by Wilde + diff --git a/old/crmds10.zip b/old/crmds10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..329ac72 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/crmds10.zip |