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diff --git a/23392-h/23392-h.htm b/23392-h/23392-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a79485f --- /dev/null +++ b/23392-h/23392-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2555 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=windows-1252"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Hours of Fiammetta, by Rachel Annand Taylor</title> +<style type="text/css"> + body {margin-top:100px; + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align:justify} + hr { width: 100%; + height: 5px; } + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red} + pre {font-size: 85%;} +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1 align="center">The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Hours of Fiammetta, by Rachel Annand +Taylor</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Hours of Fiammetta</p> +<p> A Sonnet Sequence</p> +<p>Author: Rachel Annand Taylor</p> +<p>Release Date: November 7, 2007 [eBook #23392]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOURS OF FIAMMETTA***</p> +<br><br><center><h3>E-text prepared by Ruth Hart</h3></center><br><br> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<center> + +<h2>THE HOURS OF FIAMMETTA</h2> +<h3>A SONNET SEQUENCE</h3> +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h3>RACHEL ANNAND TAYLOR</h3><br> + +<p>"Thou which lov'st to be<br> +Subtle to plague thyself"—<br> +<br> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p>LONDON: <br> +ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET<br> +MCMX<br> +<br> +<br><i>The "Epilogue of the Dreaming Women" is reprinted by<br> +permission of the "English Review."<br> +<br> + </i></p> +</center> + +<p>PREFACE</p> + +<p>There are two great traditions of womanhood. One presents the Madonna +brooding over the mystery of motherhood; the other, more confusedly, tells of +the acolyte, the priestess, the clairvoyante of the unknown gods. This latter +exists complete in herself, a personality as definite and as significant as a +symbol. She is behind all the processes of art, though she rarely becomes a +conscious artist, except in delicate and impassioned modes of living. Indeed, +matters are cruelly complicated for her if the entanglements of destiny drag her +forward into the deliberate aesthetic effort. Strange, wistful, bitter and +sweet, she troubles and quickens the soul of man, as earthly or as heavenly +lover redeeming him from the spiritual sloth which is more to be dreaded than +any kind of pain.</p> +<p>The second tradition of womanhood does not perish; but, in these present +confusions of change, women of the more emotional and imaginative type are less +potent than they have been and will be again. They appear equally inimical and +heretical to the opposing camps of hausfrau and of suffragist. Their +intellectual forces, liberated and intensified, prey upon the more instinctive +part of their natures, vexing them with unanswerable questions. So Fiammetta +mistakes herself to some degree, loses her keynote, becomes embittered and +perplexed. The equilibrium of soul and body is disturbed; and she fortifies +herself in an obstinate idealism that cannot come to terms with the assaults of +life. No single sonnet expresses absolute truth from even her own point of view. +The verses present the moods, misconceptions, extravagances, revulsions, +reveries—all the obscure crises whereby she reaches a state of illumination and +reconciliation regarding the enigma of love as it is, making her transition from +the purely romantic and ascetic ideal fostered by the exquisitely selective +conspiracies of the art of the great love-poets, through a great darkness of +disillusion, to a new vision infinitely stronger and sweeter, because unafraid +of the whole truth.</p> +<p>Fiammetta is frankly an enthusiast of the things of art; and her meditations +unfortunately betray the fact that Etruscan mirrors are as dear to her as the +daisies, and that she cannot find it more virtuous to contemplate a few cows in +a pasture than a group of Leonardo's people in their rock-bound cloisters. For +the long miracle of the human soul and its expression is for her not less +sacredly part of the universal process than the wheeling of suns and planets: a +Greek vase is to her as intimately concerned with Nature as the growing +corn—with that Nature who formed the swan and the peacock for decorative +delight, and who puts ivory and ebony cunningly together on the blackthorn every +patterned Spring.</p> +<p>The Shaksperean form of sonnet yields most readily the piercing quality of +sound that helps to describe a malady of the soul. But the system of completed +quatrains in that model suits more assured and dominating passion than the +present matter provides. A more agitated hurry of the syllables, a more involved +sentence-structure, sometimes a fainter rime-stress, seem necessary to the music +of bewilderment.<br> + </p> + +<center> +CONTENTS + +<br> +<br> + +<table id="table1"> + +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td>THE PROLOGUE OF THE DREAMING WOMEN</td> +</tr> + +<tr><td>I.</td><td><a href="#1">THE PRELUDE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>II.</td><td><a href="#2">PERILS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>III.</td><td><a href="#3">THE PEACE TO BE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>IV.</td><td><a href="#4">STATUES.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>V.</td><td><a href="#5">THE WEDDING-GARMENT.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>VI.</td><td><a href="#6">THE DEATH OF PROCRIS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>VII.</td><td><a href="#7">THE WARNING.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>VIII.</td><td><a href="#8">THE ACCUSATION.</a> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td>IX.</td> + <td><a href="#9">THE MEDIAEVAL MIRROR-CASES (1).</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>X.</td> + <td><a href="#10">THE MIRROR-CASES (2).</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td>XI.</td><td><a href="#11">THE PASSION-FLOWER.</a></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td>XII.</td> + <td><a href="#12">THE VOICE OF LOVE (1).</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XIII.</td> + <td><a href="#13">THE VOICE OF LOVE (2).</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XIV.</td> + <td><a href="#14">DREAM-GHOSTS.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XV.</td> + <td><a href="#15">MEMORIA SUBSERMA.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XVI.</td> + <td><a href="#16">A PORTRAIT BY VENEZIANO.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XVII.</td> + <td><a href="#17">THE ENIGMA.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XVIII.</td> + <td><a href="#18">THE DOUBT.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XIX.</td> + <td><a href="#19">THE SEEKER.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td>XX.</td> + <td><a href="#20">THE HIDDEN REVERIE.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXI.</td> + <td><a href="#21">SOUL AND BODY (1).</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXII.</td> + <td><a href="#22">SOUL AND BODY (2).</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXIII.</td> + <td><a href="#23">THE JUSTIFICATION.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXIV.</td> + <td><a href="#24">ASPIRATIONS.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXV.</td> + <td><a href="#25">THE ANAESTHETIC.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXVI.</td> + <td><a href="#26">DIVINATION.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXVII.</td> + <td><a href="#27">SUB-CONSCIOUSNESS.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXVIII.</td> + <td><a href="#28">SATIETY.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXIX.</td> + <td><a href="#29">THE CONFESSION (1).</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXX.</td> + <td><a href="#30">THE CONFESSION (2).</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXXI.</td> + <td><a href="#31">COMRADES.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXXII.</td> + <td><a href="#32">THE SUM OF THINGS.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXXIII.</td> + <td><a href="#33">REACTION.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXXIV.</td> + <td><a href="#34">THE IDEALIST.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXXV.</td> + <td><a href="#35">WOMAN AND VISION.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXXVI.</td> + <td><a href="#36">ART AND WOMEN.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXXVII.</td> + <td><a href="#37">DESTINY.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXXVIII.</td> + <td><a href="#38">CONFLICT.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XXXIX.</td> + <td><a href="#39">PREDECESSORS.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XL.</td> + <td><a href="#40">TRANSITION.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td>XLI.</td> + <td><a href="#41">THE VIRTUE OF PRIDE.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XLII.</td> + <td><a href="#42">SPELL-BOUND.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XLIII.</td> + <td><a href="#43">THE NIGHT OBSCURE OF THE SOUL.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XLIV.</td> + <td><a href="#44">THE CONQUEST OF IMMORTALITY.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XLV.</td> + <td><a href="#45">WOMEN OF TANAGRA.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XLVI.</td> + <td><a href="#46">THE INVENTORY.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XLVII.</td> + <td><a href="#47">COMFORT (1).</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XLVIII.</td> + <td><a href="#48">COMFORT (2).</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>XLIX.</td> + <td><a href="#49">THE CHANGE.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>L.</td> + <td><a href="#50">AT THE END.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>LI.</td> + <td><a href="#51">THE SOUL OF AGE.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>LII.</td> + <td><a href="#52">HYPNEROTOMACHIA.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>LIII.</td> + <td><a href="#53">THE REVOLT.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>LIV.</td> + <td><a href="#54">AFTER MANY YEARS.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>LV.</td> + <td><a href="#55">TREASURE.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>LVI.</td> + <td><a href="#56">THE SOUL TO THE BODY.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>LVII.</td> + <td><a href="#57">THE IRONIST.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>LVIII.</td> + <td><a href="#58">IN VAIN.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td>LIX.</td> + <td><a href="#59">RESERVATIONS.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>LX.</td> + <td><a href="#60">THE NEW LOVE.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>LXI.</td> + <td><a href="#61">THE WAYS OF LOVE.</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td>THE EPILOGUE OF THE DREAMING WOMEN</td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</center> + +<br> +<br> +<a name="0"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>THE PROLOGUE OF THE DREAMING WOMEN</p> +<p>We carry spices to the gods.<br> + +For this are we wrought curiously,<br> + +All vain-desire and reverie,<br> +To carry spices to the gods.</p> +<p>We carry spices to the gods.<br> + +Sacred and soft as lotos-flowers<br> + +Are those long languorous hands of ours<br> +That carry spices to the gods.</p> +<p>We know their roses and their rods,<br> + +Having in pale spring-orchards seen<br> + +Their cruel eyes, and in the green<br> +Strange twilights having met the gods.</p> +<p>Sometimes we tire. Upon the sods<br> + +We set the great enamels by,<br> + +Wherein the occult odours lie,<br> +And play with children on the sods.</p> +<p>Yet soon we take, O jealous gods,<br> + +Those gracious caskets once again,<br> + +Storied with oracles of pain,<br> +That keep the spices for the gods.</p> +<p>We carry spices to the gods.<br> + +Like sumptuous cold chalcedony<br> + +Our weary breasts and hands must be<br> +To carry spices to the gods.</p> + +<br> +<a name="1"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>I</p> +<p>THE PRELUDE</p> +<p>Thou sayest, "<i>O pure Palace of my Pleasures,<br> +</i> <i>O Doors of Ivory, let the King come in.<br> +With silver lamps before him, and with measures<br> +</i> <i>Of low lute-music let him come. Begin,<br> +Ye suppliant lilies and ye frail white roses,<br> +</i> <i>Imploring sweetnesses of hands and eyes,<br> +To let Love through to the most secret closes<br> +</i> <i>Of all his flowery Court of Paradise</i>." . . .<br> +Sunder the jealous gates. Thine ivory Castle<br> + +Is hung with scarlet, is the Convent of Pain.<br> +With purple and with spice indeed the Vassal<br> + +Receives her King whom dark desires constrain.<br> +Rejoice, rejoice!—But far from flutes and dances<br> +The cloistered Soul lies frozen in her trances.</p> + +<br> +<a name="2"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>II</p> +<p>PERILS</p> +<p>Ah! Since from subtle silk of agony<br> + +Our veils of lamentable flesh are spun,<br> +Since Time in spoiling violates, and we<br> + +In that strait Pass of Pangs may be undone,<br> +Since the mere natural flower and withering<br> + +Of these our bodies terribly distil<br> +Strange poisons, since an alien Lust may fling<br> + +On any autumn day some torch to fill<br> +Our pale Pavilion of dreaming lavenders<br> + +With frenzy, till it is a Tower of Flame<br> +Wherein the soul shrieks burning, since the myrrhs<br> + +And music of our beauty are mixed with shame<br> +Inextricable,—some drug of poppies give<br> +This bitter ecstasy whereby we live!</p> + +<br> +<a name="3"></a> +<br> +<br> + + +<p>III</p> +<p>THE PEACE TO BE</p> +<p>Quell this consuming fever, quickly give<br> + +Some drug of poppies white!—But Peace will come?<br> +O ashen savourless alternative,<br> + +Quietude of the blind and deaf and dumb<br> +That all swift motions must alike assuage,—<br> + +When we are exiled from youth's golden hosts<br> +To pace the calm cold terraces of age,<br> + +With unvexed senses, being but houseled ghosts,<br> +Wise, with the uncoloured wisdom of the souls<br> + +With whom great passions have no more to do,<br> +Serene, since ours the dusty arles Death doles,<br> + +Oblivions dim of all there is to rue!—<br> +Peace comes to hearts of whom proud Love has tired;<br> +Beyond all danger dwell the undesired.</p> + +<br> +<a name="4"></a> +<br> +<br> + + +<p>IV</p> +<p>STATUES</p> +<p>The great Greek lovers of gold and ivory things,<br> + +Austere and perfect things, albeit they wrought<br> +Girl-shapes with driven raiment, conquering wings,<br> + +And smiling queens of Cnidos, turned and sought<br> +A more inviolate beauty that should keep<br> + +Their secret dream. Their grave sweet geniuses<br> +Of love and death, of rapture or of sleep,<br> + +Are delicately severed from all excess.—<br> +Ah! suppliant, honey-white, the languor cleaves<br> + +About the dolorous weak body He,<br> +The Dark Eros, with staunchless spear-thrust grieves;<br> + +Heavy the seal of that mortality.<br> +No wounds disgrace the haughty acolytes<br> +Of heavenly sorrows, of divine delights.</p> + +<br> +<a name="5"></a> +<br> +<br> + + +<p>V</p> +<p>THE WEDDING-GARMENT</p> +<p>Thought it be blither than roses in thine eyes,<br> + +Shall I not rend this raiment of pangs and fears,<br> +This Colchian cloth white flames ensorcelise,<br> + +This gaudy-veil distained with blood and tears?—<br> +What praise? "<i>O marriage-beauty garlanded<br> +</i> <i>For festival, O sumptuous flowery stole<br> +For rites of adoration!</i>"—See instead<br> + +A cilice drenched with torment of my soul!<br> +Nevertheless the fibres implicate<br> + +Proud exultations; burning, have revealed<br> +Rich throes of triumph, sweetness passionate<br> + +As painèd lilies reared in thorn-plots yield.<br> +Ah! silver wedding-garment of the bride,<br> +Ah! fiery cilice, I am satisfied!</p> + +<br> +<a name="6"></a> +<br> +<br> + + +<p>VI</p> +<p>THE DEATH OF PROCRIS</p> +<p>Come gaze on Procris, poor soon-perished child!<br> + +Why did her innocent virginity<br> +Follow Desire within his arrowy wild?<br> + +She dies pursuing the cruel ecstasy<br> +That keeps as mortal wounds for them that find.<br> + +Serene her pensive body lies at last<br> +Like a mown poppy-flower to sleep resigned,<br> + +Softly resigned. The wildwood things aghast,<br> +With pitiful hearts instinctive, sweet as hers,<br> + +Approach her now: love, death, and virgin grace,<br> +Blue distance, and the stricken foresters,<br> + +And all the dreaming, healing, woodland place<br> +Are patterned into tender melodies<br> +Of lovely line and hue—a music of peace!</p> + +<br> +<a name="7"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>VII</p> +<p>THE WARNING</p> +<p>As delicate gorgeous rains of dusky gold<br> + +Heavy white lilies, Love importunate<br> +Besets the soul,—as that wild Splendour told<br> + +Pale Danaë her haughty heavenly fate.<br> +Not speared in burning points but spun in strands<br> + +My senses: drowsily burning webs are they<br> +That veil me head to foot. While on mine hands<br> + +And hair and lids thy kisses die away<br> +Through all my being their strange echoes thrill<br> + +And from the body's flowery mysticism<br> +I draw the last white honey. What is thine ill?<br> + +What wouldst thou more of that great symbolism?<br> +Beyond this ultimate moment nothing lies<br> +But moonless cold and darkness. Ah! be wise!</p> + +<br> +<a name="8"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>VIII</p> +<p>THE ACCUSATION</p> +<p>Mere night! The unconsenting Soul stands by,<br> + +A moaning protestant. "Ah, not for this,<br> +And not for this, through rose and thorn was I<br> + +Drawn to surrender and the bridal-kiss.<br> +Annunciations lit with jewelled wings<br> + +Of sudden angels mid the lilies tall,<br> +Proud prothalamia chaunting enraptured things,—<br> + +O sumptuous fables, why so prodigal<br> +Of masque and music, of dreams like foam-white swans<br> + +On lakes of hyacinthus? Must Love seek<br> +Great allies, Beauty sound her arrière-bans<br> + +That all her splendours betray us to this bleak<br> +Simplicity whereto blind satyrs run?"—<br> +The irony seems old, old as the sun.</p> + +<br> +<a name="9"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>IX</p> +<p>THE MEDIEVAL MIRROR-CASES</p> +<p>I</p> +<p>Rondels of old French ivory to-day<br> + +(Poor perished beauty's deathless mirror-cases!)<br> +Reveal to me the delicate amorous play<br> + +Of reed-like flowering folk with pointed faces.<br> +Lovers ride hawking; over chess delight;<br> + +The Castle of Ladies renders up its keys,<br> +Its roses all being flung; a gracious knight<br> + +Kneels to his garlander mid orchard-trees.<br> +Passionate pilgrims, do ye keep so fast<br> + +Your dream of miracles and heights? Ah, shent<br> +And sore-bewildered shall ye couch at last<br> + +In bitter beds of disillusionment.<br> +In the Black Orchard the foul raven grieves<br> +White Love, on some Montfauçon of the thieves.</p> + +<br> +<a name="10"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>X</p> +<p>THE MIRROR-CASES</p> +<p>II</p> +<p>O treasonable heart and perverse words,<br> + +Ye darken beauty with your plots of pain!<br> +What languors beat through me like muted chords?<br> + +I know indeed that suffering shall profane<br> +These lovers, sweet as viols or violet-spices.<br> + +Strangely must end their dreamy chess-playing,<br> +Strange wounds amaze their broidered Paradises,<br> + +And stain the falconry and garlanding.<br> +Their bodies must be broken as on wheels,<br> + +Their souls be carded with implacable shame,—<br> +Molten like wax, be crushed beneath the seals<br> + +Of sin and penance. Yet, with wings aflame,<br> +Love, Love more lovely, like a triumpher,<br> +Shall break his malefactor's sepulchre.</p> + +<br> +<a name="11"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XI</p> +<p>THE PASSION-FLOWER</p> +<p>The passion-flower bears in her violet Cup<br> + +The senses of her bridal, and they seem<br> +Symbols of sacred pangs,—Love lifted up<br> + +To expiate the beauty of his dream.<br> +Come and adore, ye crafty imagers,<br> + +This piece of ivory and amethyst.<br> +Let Music, Colour, decorated Verse,<br> + +Meditate, each like some sad lutanist,<br> +This Paten, and the marvels it uncovers,<br> + +Identities of joy and anguish. Rod,<br> +Nails, bitter garlands, all ecstatic lovers<br> + +Blindly repeat the dolours of a God.<br> +Subdue this mournful matter unto Art,<br> +Ivory, amethyst, serene of heart.</p> + +<br> +<a name="12"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XII</p> +<p>THE VOICE OF LOVE</p> +<p>I</p> +<p>"Mine, mine!" saith Love, "Deny me many times.<br> + +Yet mine that body wherein mine arrow thrills,<br> +And mine the fugitive soul that bleeding climbs<br> + +Hunting a vision on the frozen hills.<br> +Mine are her stigmata, sad rhapsodist.—<br> + +And when to the delighted bridal-bowers<br> +They bring thee starlike through the silver mist<br> + +Of music and canticles and myrtle-flowers,<br> +And the dark hour bids the consentless heart<br> + +Surrender to disillusion, since in all<br> +The labyrinth of deed no counterpart<br> + +Can pattern Passion's archetype, nor shall<br> +The chalice of sense endure her flaming wine,<br> +Superb and bitter dreamer, thou most art mine."</p> + +<br> +<a name="13"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XIII</p> +<p>THE VOICE OF LOVE</p> +<p>II</p> +<p>"Mine, mine!" saith Love, "Although ye serve no more<br> + +Mine images of ivory and bronze<br> +With flute-led dances of the days of yore,<br> + +But leave them to barbarian orisons<br> +Of dull hearth-loving hearts, mistaking me:<br> + +Yet from mine incense ye shall not divorce<br> +Remembrance. Fools, these recantations be<br> + +Ardours that prove you still idolators;<br> +And, though ye hurry through the circling hells<br> + +Of bright ambition like hopes and energies,<br> +That haste bewrays you. My great doctrine dwells<br> + +Immortal in those fevered heresies,<br> +And all the inversions of my rites proclaim<br> +The mournful memory of mine altar-flame."</p> + +<br> +<a name="14"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XIV</p> +<p>DREAM-GHOSTS</p> +<p>White house of night, too much the ghosts come through<br> + +Your crazy doors, to vex and startle me,<br> +Touching with curious fingers cold as dew<br> + +Kissing with unloved kisses fierily<br> +That dwell, slow fever, through my veins all day,<br> + +And fill my senses as the dead their graves.<br> +They are builded in my castles and bridges? Yea,<br> + +Not therefore must my dreams become their slaves.<br> +If once we passed some kindness, must they still<br> + +Sway me with weird returns and dim disgust?—<br> +Though even in sleep the absolute bright Will<br> + +Would exorcise them, saying, "These are but dust,"<br> +They show sad symbols, that, when I awaken,<br> +I never can deny I have partaken.</p> + +<br> +<a name="15"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XV</p> +<p>MEMORIA SUBMERSA</p> +<p>Can souls forget what bodies keep the while?<br> + +Is this among their dark antinomies?<br> +The spiritual joy is volatile:<br> + +The flesh is faithful to her memories.<br> +This living silk, this inarticulate<br> + +Remembrance of the nerves enwinds us fast:<br> +Delicate cells, obscure and obstinate,<br> + +Secrete the bitter essence of the Past.<br> +Ah! Was the fading web of rose and white<br> + +All macerated by the kisses of old<br> +As rare French queens with perfume? (So, by night,<br> + +They lived like lilies mid their cloth-of-gold.)<br> +Within the sense, howe'er the soul abjure,<br> +Like flavours and fumes these ancient things endure.</p> + +<br> +<a name="16"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XVI</p> +<p>A PORTRAIT BY VENEZIANO</p> +<p>Strange dancing-girl with curls of golden wire,<br> + +With strait white veil, and sinister jewel strung<br> +Upon your brows, your sombre eyes desire<br> + +Some secret thing. Garlanded leaves are young<br> +Around your head, and, in your beauty's hours,<br> + +Venice yet loved that joy's enthusiast<br> +Be frail, fantastic as gilt iris-flowers.<br> + +O startling reveller from out the Past,<br> +Long, long ago through lanes of chrysophrase<br> + +The Dark Eros compelled his exquisite<br> +Evil apostle. This painter made your praise,<br> + +A piece of art, a curious delight.<br> +But your ghost wanders. Yesterday your sweet<br> +Accusing eyes challenged me in the street.</p> + +<br> +<a name="17"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XVII</p> +<p>THE ENIGMA</p> +<p>Eternally grieving and arraigning eyes,<br> + +Why vex my heart? What is it I can do?<br> +Can I call back the hounds of Time with sighs,<br> + +Or find inviolate peace to bring you to,<br> +Pluck frenzy from the amazed soul of man,<br> + +Or curb the horses of raging poverty<br> +That trample you until—escape who can,—<br> + +Or spill the honey from rich revelry<br> +And strip the silken days?—Alas! alas!<br> + +I am so dream-locked that I cannot know<br> +Why it is not much easier to pass<br> + +To death than let love's haughty cloister show<br> +A common hostel for such taverners.—<br> +Ye know, who are perhaps my ransomers.</p> + +<br> +<a name="18"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XVIII</p> +<p>THE DOUBT</p> +<p>I am pure, because of great illuminations<br> + +Of dreamy doctrine caught from poets of old,<br> +Because of delicate imaginations,<br> + +Because I am proud, or subtle, or merely cold.<br> +Natheless my soul's bright passions interchange<br> + +As the red flames in opal drowse and speak:<br> +In beautiful twilight paths the elusive strange<br> + +Phantoms of personality I seek.<br> +If better than the last embraces I<br> + +Love the lit riddles of the eyes, the faint<br> +Appeal of merely courteous fingers,—why,<br> + +Though 'tis a quest of souls, and I acquaint<br> +My heart with spiritual vanities,—<br> +Is there indeed no bridge twixt me and these?</p> + +<br> +<a name="19"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XIX</p> +<p>THE SEEKER</p> +<p>Curious and wistful through your soul I go.<br> + +With silver-tinkling feet I penetrate<br> +Sealed chambers, and a puissant incense throw<br> + +Upon the smouldering braziers, love and hate:<br> +And chaunt the grievèd verses of a dirge<br> + +For dying gods, remembering flutes and shawms:<br> +With perverse moods I trouble you, and urge<br> + +The sense to beauty. Give me some sweet alms,<br> +Some reverie, some pang of a damasked sword,<br> + +Some poignant moment yet unparalleled<br> +In my dream-broidered chronicles, some chord<br> + +Of mystery Love's music never knelled<br> +Before;—but nought of the rough alchemy<br> +That disillusions all felicity.</p> + +<br> +<a name="20"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XX</p> +<p>THE HIDDEN REVERIE</p> +<p>The life of plants, rising through dim sweet states,<br> + +Cloisters the rich love-secret more and more,<br> +Gathers it jealously within the gates<br> + +Of the hushed heart; but, mightier than before,<br> +The mystery prevails and overpowers<br> + +Stem, leaf, and petal. So the passion lies<br> +In this tranced flowery being which is ours<br> + +Like to a hidden wound; yet softly dyes<br> +With dolorous beauty all the stuff of life,<br> + +Each dream and vision and desire subduing<br> +With muted pulses, that great counter-strife<br> + +Of soul with its own rhythmic pangs imbuing.<br> +Deny it and disdain it. Lo! there beat<br> +Red stigmata in heart and hands and feet.</p> + +<br> +<a name="21"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXI</p> +<p>SOUL AND BODY</p> +<p>It may be all my pain is woven wrong,<br> + +And this wild "I" is nothing but a dream<br> +The body exhales, as roses at evensong<br> + +Their passionate odour. Verily it may seem<br> +That this most fevered and fantastic wear<br> + +Of nerves and senses is myself indeed,<br> +The rest, illusion taken in that snare.—<br> + +But still the fiery splendour and the need<br> +Can bite like actual flame and hunger. Ah!<br> + +If Sense, bewildered in the spiral towers<br> +Of Matter, dreamed this great Superbia<br> + +I call the Soul, not less the Dream hath powers;<br> +Not less these Twain, being one, are separate,<br> +Like lovers whose love is tangled hard with hate.</p> + +<br> +<a name="22"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXII</p> +<p>SOUL AND BODY</p> +<p>II</p> +<p>Sometimes the Soul in pure hieratic rule<br> + +Is throned (as on some high Abbatial chair<br> +Of moon-pearl and rose-rubies beautiful)<br> + +Within the body grown serene and fair:<br> +Sometimes it weds her like a lifted rood;<br> + +But she endures, and wills no anodyne,<br> +For then she flowers within the mystic Wood,<br> + +And hath her lot with gods—and seems divine:<br> +Sometimes it is her lonely oubliet,<br> + +Sometimes a marriage-chamber sweet with spice:<br> +It is her triumph-car with flutes beset,<br> + +The altar where she lies a sacrifice.—<br> +Cold images! The truth is not in these.<br> +Both are alive, both quick with rhapsodies.</p> + +<br> +<a name="23"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXIII</p> +<p>THE JUSTIFICATION</p> +<p>Life I adore, and not Life's accidents.<br> + +A garlanded and dream-fast thurifer<br> +My Soul comes out from beauty's purple tents<br> + +That incense-troubled Love may grieve and stir,<br> +Be ransomed from satiety's sad graves,<br> + +And go to God up the bright stair of Wonder.<br> +Since passion makes immortal Time's tired slaves<br> + +I am of those that delicately sunder<br> +Corruptions of contentment from the breast<br> + +As with rare steel. Like music I unveil<br> +Last things, till, weary of earthen cups and rest,<br> + +You seek Montsalvat and the burning Grail.<br> +Ah! blindly, blindly, wounded with the roses,<br> +I bear my spice where Ecstasy reposes.</p> + +<br> +<a name="24"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXIV</p> +<p>ASPIRATIONS</p> +<p>Light of great swords, banners all blazoned gold,<br> + +Bright lists of danger where with trumpets pass<br> +Riders like those for whom bride-bells are bold<br> + +To beautiful desperate conflict, Michaelmas<br> +Of golden heroes, how my sad soul saith<br> + +Your praise! Nor does to you her love deny,<br> +Solemn strange Cups that carry dreamy death<br> + +To quench those fevers when they flame too high.<br> +But now the Victories have broken wings;<br> + +The spirit of Rapture from the day of deeds<br> +Is banished, and must spend on sorcerous strings<br> + +Her heart that perishes of splendid needs.—<br> +Saints, lovers, high crusaders, give me too<br> +Some simple and impassioned thing to do.</p> + +<br> +<a name="25"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXV</p> +<p>THE ANAESTHETIC</p> +<p>Like a white moth caught heavily, heavily,<br> + +In the honeyed heart of some white drowsy flower,<br> +I lay behind the leaves of apathy,<br> + +Where not the reddest pang has any power.<br> +Then, like one drowning, I rose and lapsed again<br> + +On dim sweet tides of the great anodyne.<br> +Why must they hale me back to drink the pain<br> + +That seethes in consciousness, an evil wine?<br> +I love the closing trances, howsoever<br> + +Their seals be broken: they are wise and kind.<br> +If death can give such fumes of poppy, never<br> + +Shall I revile him. Oh! uncertain mind!<br> +Hast thou an equal pleasure in the proud<br> +Flame-builded pillar, and the pillar of cloud?</p> + +<br> +<a name="26"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXVI</p> +<p>DIVINATION</p> +<p>I weary of your hesitating will;<br> + +This flicker of "should" and "should not" crazes me.<br> +Rest from these vain debates of good and ill:<br> + +Let me your secret swift diviner be.<br> +In the memorial blue dusk of sense,<br> + +Where, spirals of doves or wreaths of ravens, rise<br> +Auguries sweet or dread, the blue dusk whence<br> + +The cresseted houses of the stars surprise<br> +The heart with their mysterious horoscopes,<br> + +I know the issues ere great battles begin,<br> +The ashen values of bright-burning hopes,<br> + +The ultimate hours of sacrifice or sin.<br> +Do I obey the Wisdom? If I list,<br> +I too, beloved, can play the casuist.</p> + +<br> +<a name="27"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXVII</p> +<p>SUB-CONSCIOUSNESS</p> +<p>Sometimes as Martha suddenly stood amazed<br> + +By Mary's mystic eyes, and sometimes as<br> +That very dreamer Mary might have gazed<br> + +Upon the Daughter of Herodias,<br> +The conscious Soul that other Soul discovers,<br> + +The strange idolator who still regrets<br> +Golden Osiris, Tammuz lord of lovers,<br> + +Attis the sad white god of violets.<br> +In jasper caves she lies behind her veils;<br> + +And jars of spice, and gilded ears of corn,<br> +And wine-red roses and rose-red wine-grails<br> + +Feed her long trances while the far flutes mourn.<br> +She lies and dreams daemonic passionate things:<br> +Cherubim guard her gates with monstrous wings.</p> + +<br> +<a name="28"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXVIII</p> +<p>SATIETY</p> +<p>Ah! love me not with honey-sweet excesses,<br> + +With passionate prodigalities of praise,<br> +With wreaths of daisied words and quaint caresses,<br> + +Adore me not in charming childish ways.<br> +This pastoral is beautiful enough:<br> + +But never shall it antidote my drouth:<br> +I want a reticent ironic Love<br> + +With smiling eyes and faintly mocking mouth.<br> +Sweetness is best when bitterly 'tis bought:<br> + +So in Love's deadly duel I would not be<br> +Victorious, and the peace I long have sought,<br> + +Sure knowledge of his great supremacy,<br> +Would buy with pangs, like that bright cuirassier,<br> +The queen-at-arms that knew the Peliad's spear.</p> + +<br> +<a name="29"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXIX</p> +<p>THE CONFESSION</p> +<p>I</p> +<p>I am initiate,—long disciplined<br> + +In delicate austerities of art:<br> +The clear compulsions of the sovran mind<br> + +Constrain the dreamy panics of my heart.<br> +Plato and Dante, Petrarch, Lancelot,<br> + +Revealed me very Love, flame-clad, august.<br> +Also I strove to be as we are not,<br> + +Loyal, and honourable, and even just.<br> +My webs of life in reveries were dyed<br> + +As veils in vats of purple: so there stole<br> +Serene and sumptuous and mysterious pride<br> + +Through the imperial vesture of my soul.—<br> +And lo! like any servile fool I crave<br> +The dark strange rapture of the stricken slave.</p> + +<br> +<a name="30"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXX</p> +<p>THE CONFESSION</p> +<p>II</p> +<p>I have a banner and a great duke's way,<br> + +I have an High Adventure of my own.<br> +Yet would I rather squire a knightlier,—Nay!<br> + +Be the least harper by his red-hung throne.<br> +I am not satisfied with any love<br> + +Till I can say, "O stronger far than I!"<br> +Is it a shame to hide the aching of,<br> + +A sacred mystery to justify?<br> +Through all our spiritual discontents<br> + +Thrills the strange leaven of renunciation.—<br> +Ah! god unknown behind the Sacraments<br> + +Unfailing of the earthly expiation,<br> +Lift up this amethyst-encumbered Vine,<br> +Crush from her pain some ransom-cup of Wine.</p> + +<br> +<a name="31"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXXI</p> +<p>COMRADES</p> +<p>Yet for the honourable felicity<br> + +Of comradeship I can be chivalrous,<br> +And through love's transmutations fierily<br> + +Constant as the gemmed paladin Sirius<br> +To that fair pact. We go, gay challengers,<br> + +Beneath dark rampires of forbidden thought,<br> +Thread life's dim gardens masked like revellers<br> + +Where dreams of roses red are dearly bought.<br> +We shall ride haughtily as bright Crusaders,<br> + +As hooded palmers fare with humbled hearts,<br> +And we shall find, adoring blithe invaders,<br> + +The City of Seven Towers, of Seven Arts.—<br> +Then the Last Quest, (lead you the dreadful way!)<br> +Among the unimagined Nebulae!</p> + +<br> +<a name="32"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXXII</p> +<p>THE SUM OF THINGS</p> +<p>TO ANOTHER WOMAN</p> +<p>Well, I am tired, who fared to divers ends,<br> + +And you are not, who kept the beaten path;<br> +But mystic Vintagers have been my friends,<br> + +Even Love and Death and Sin and Pride and Wrath.<br> +Wounded am I, you are immaculate;<br> + +But great Adventurers were my starry guides:<br> +From God's Pavilion to the Flaming Gate<br> + +Have I not ridden as an immortal rides?<br> +And your dry soul crumbles by dim degrees<br> + +To final dust quite happily, it appears,<br> +While all the sweetness of her nectaries<br> + +Can only stand within my heart like tears.<br> +O throbbing wounds, rich tears, and splendour spent,—<br> +Ye are all my spoil, and I am well content.</p> + +<br> +<a name="33"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXXIII</p> +<p>REACTION</p> +<p>Give me a chamber paved with emerald<br> + +And hung with arras green as evening skies,<br> +Broidered with halcyons, moons, and heavily thralled<br> + +White lilies, cold rare comfort for the eyes.<br> +Of triumph built was radiant yesterday:<br> + +Like an imperial eagle to the sun<br> +My soul bare up her dreams the glorious way<br> + +Through flagrant ordeals august, and won<br> +To burning eyries, till beneath her wing<br> + +Rankled the shaft. Her Archer was abroad;<br> +And hooded with strange darkness, shuddering<br> + +Down pain's dull spiral, sank she on the sod.<br> +Close round, green dusk of dews! No more we dare<br> +The blue inviolate castles of the air.</p> + +<br> +<a name="34"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXXIV</p> +<p>THE IDEALIST</p> +<p>For such an one let lovers cry, Alas!<br> + +Since passion's leaguer shall break through in vain<br> +To that cold centre of bright adamas.—<br> + +Storm through her being, rapturous spears of pain!<br> +Ye shall not wound that queen of gracious guile,<br> + +The soul that with immortal trance keeps troth:<br> +For Helen is in Egypt all the while,<br> + +Learning great magic from the Wife of Thoth.<br> +Throned white and high on red-rose porphyry,<br> + +And coifed with golden wings, she lifts her eyes<br> +O'er Nile's green lavers where most sacredly<br> + +The Pattern of the myriad Lotos lies,<br> +Unto those clear horizons jasper-pale<br> +Her heavenly Brethren ride in silver mail.</p> + +<br> +<a name="35"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXXV</p> +<p>WOMAN AND VISION</p> +<p>Vainly the Vision of Life entreats those eyes<br> + +Where stars of glamour mock at revelations.<br> +But singular fiery moments do surprise<br> + +With dreadful or delicious divinations<br> +The whorls of our blue Labyrinth: the sweet<br> + +Blind sense of touch tells like an undersong<br> +Marvellous matters. What though snared feet,<br> + +And wounded hands, and ravelled coils of wrong,<br> +Plead that the solemn Vision might make whole<br> + +Our imperfection?—Fevered second-sight,<br> +Audacious wisdom of the blinded soul,<br> + +Dim delicate auroras of delight<br> +That thrill the Dark from startled finger-tips,<br> +Are ye less precious an Apocalypse?</p> + +<br> +<a name="36"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXXVI</p> +<p>ART AND WOMEN</p> +<p>The Triumph of Art compels few womenkind;<br> + +And these are yoked like slaves to Eros' car,—<br> +No victors they! Yet ours the Dream behind,<br> + +Who are nearer to the gods than poets are.<br> +For with the silver moons we wax and wane,<br> + +And with the roses love most woundingly,<br> +And, wrought from flower to fruit with dim rich pain,<br> + +The Orchard of the Pomegranates are we.<br> +For with Demeter still we seek the Spring,<br> + +With Dionysos tread the sacred Vine,<br> +Our broken bodies still imagining<br> + +The mournful Mystery of the Bread and Wine.—<br> +And Art, that fierce confessor of the flowers,<br> +Desires the secret spice of those veiled hours.</p> + +<br> +<a name="37"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXXVII</p> +<p>DESTINY</p> +<p>The great religions of the Rose and Grape<br> + +Have bound us in to their sad Paradise:<br> +We dream in crucial symbols, nor escape<br> + +The cypress-garden where the slain god lies.<br> +Daughters of lamentation round the Cross<br> + +Where Beauty suffers garlanded with thorn,<br> +Remembrancers through all the Night of Loss,<br> + +We bear the spikenard of the Easter Morn.<br> +The yearning Springs, the brooding Autumns seethe<br> + +Like philtres in our veins. O dark Election,<br> +Are then the sacrificial doors we wreathe<br> + +With lilies fiery gates of Resurrexion?<br> +And does the passion of our spices feed<br> +Love's bright Arabian miracle indeed?</p> + +<br> +<a name="38"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXXVIII</p> +<p>CONFLICT</p> +<p>Why should a woman find her dream of love<br> + +Irised by the strange ecstasy of Art?<br> +Is not Eros a terrible lord enough<br> + +That she must bear both Hunters of the heart,<br> +The Golden Archer and the Scarlet too?<br> + +Then bitter anomalies annul her choir<br> +Of puissant and subtle instincts, rended through<br> + +By gorgeous dualisms of vain-desire.<br> +For Love outrages Art's clear disciplines,<br> + +And Art lures Love to guilt of cryptic treason:<br> +The spirit of imagination pines,<br> + +Captive in webs of exquisite unreason.<br> +Alas for this translated soul of hers,<br> +The rose's, that must be the garlander's!</p> + +<br> +<a name="39"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XXXIX</p> +<p>PREDECESSORS</p> +<p>Faëry of Sheba, idol moulded in<br> + +Onyx milk-white, moon-mailed and casqued with gems;<br> +Ye gold-swathed queens of Egypt, Isis' kin,<br> + +With bright god-hawks and snakes for diadems;<br> +Serene masque-music of Greek girls that bear<br> + +The sacred Veil to that Athenian feast;<br> +Hypatia, casting from thine ivory chair<br> + +The gods' last challenge to the godless priest;<br> +Fantastic fine Provençals wistfully<br> + +Hearkening Love, the mournful lute player;<br> +Diamond ladies of that Italy<br> + +When Art and Wisdom Passion's angels were—<br> +Ye give this grail (touch with no mad misprision!)<br> +Of Beauty's rose-red miracled tradition.</p> + +<br> +<a name="40"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XL</p> +<p>TRANSITION</p> +<p>But these recoil in riddles and reserves.—<br> + +The dream's untuned. Ah! vanished chords thereof!<br> +Ah! keen divisions of the jangled nerves<br> + +That strung so long the gracious lutes of love!—<br> +Hurry to sell old magian Lamps for new,<br> + +Though beauty's moonlike domes dissolve and +pass: <br> +If all things change, ye would be changing too,<br> + +Crazed hearts that know not your desire, alas!<br> +Still, through these wintry treasons that forswear<br> + +The lovely bitter bondage of our god,<br> +Rare perennations of the soul prepare—<br> + +And Music yet shall seal the period<br> +With some new star,—with sad pure hands unveil<br> +For ransomed eyes again the gilded Grail.</p> + +<br> +<a name="41"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XLI</p> +<p>THE VIRTUE OF PRIDE</p> +<p>My troubled bosom shall be cinct with pride,<br> + +Girdled with red asterias. Is it sin<br> +If I have cast lover and friend aside,<br> + +Scorning them as myself who cannot win<br> +The strengths of beauty, the heavenly altitudes?—<br> + +O sad and sacred Spirit of Disdain,<br> +What penances upon thine ivory roods<br> + +Within the burning Castles of thy pain!—<br> +Thy mystic will no motion ever knew<br> + +Outwith the splendid danger of extremes;<br> +Thy sorrowful refusals pass thee through<br> + +The great concentrics of star-builded dreams,<br> +Unto the crypt of absolute ecstasy,<br> +To God or Nothing—where thine heart would be.</p> + +<br> +<a name="42"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XLII</p> +<p>SPELL-BOUND</p> +<p>I have been frozen. Once I was not cold.<br> + +But I have strayed within some glittering<br> +Night Of Lapland miracle, have leagued of old<br> + +With glaives and banners of wild Polar light.<br> +Yet if I could dissolve in tears this core<br> + +Of ice, my heart, undo these crystal spells,<br> +We should be sisters of incense evermore<br> + +Like the crowned Lover of the Canticles.<br> +Through the great honeycomb of my soul should steep<br> + +The secrets of the lilies, and her fire<br> +Be ambergris, her agate flagons keep<br> + +The sorcelled hydromel which brings Desire<br> +To that mysterious Dark where still prevails<br> +The dream of roses and of nightingales.</p> + +<br> +<a name="43"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XLIII</p> +<p>THE NIGHT OBSCURE OF THE SOUL</p> +<p>When the Soul travails in her Night Obscure,<br> + +The nadir of her desperate defeat,<br> +What heavenly dream shall help her to endure,<br> + +What flaming Wisdom be her Paraclete?<br> +No curious Metaphysic can withhold<br> + +The heart from that mandragora she craves:—<br> +Unreasonable, old as Earth is old,<br> + +The blind ecstatic miracle that saves.<br> +Far off the pagan trumpeters of Pride<br> + +Call to the blood.—Love moans.—Some fiery fashion<br> +Of rapture like the anguish of the bride<br> + +Leaps from the dark perfection of the Passion,<br> +Crying: "O beautiful God, still torture me,<br> +For if thou slay me, I will trust in Thee."</p> + +<br> +<a name="44"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XLIV</p> +<p>THE CONQUEST OF IMMORTALITY</p> +<p>Ah! not in earthy dull durations I<br> + +Mine heirdom of Eternity implore.<br> +Give one star-drunken moment ere I die,<br> + +Then doom me dreadless to the implacable Door.<br> +That mystical Assumption shall disown<br> + +Time's haughtiest lieges. Grey mortality<br> +Will disenchant the jewel-breded throne<br> + +Of Cassiopeia when more burningly<br> +My deed exults with angels. I will borrow<br> + +From continuity no larva-lease:<br> +Through sworded crises and great compts of sorrow<br> + +I seek the splendour that shall never cease<br> +Though Death coin from my soul through endless years<br> +Dim drachmas of his infinite arrears.</p> + +<br> +<a name="45"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XLV</p> +<p>WOMEN OF TANAGRA</p> +<p>Have these forgotten they are toys of Death<br> + +That in his sad aphelions of desire<br> +They still regret the joy that perisheth,<br> + +And Spring's great reveries that exceed and tire,—<br> +Faintly accusing Love's unmercied yokes<br> + +With almost wanton grace, the craft and art<br> +Of precious frailty that with subtle strokes<br> + +Of sweetness finds the core of Passion's heart?<br> +They carry fans and mirrors, or make fast<br> + +The mournful flute-like cadence of a veil.<br> +Slight fans that winnowed souls, mirrors that glassed<br> + +The burning brooding wings which never fail!<br> +Still in such lovely vanities to-day<br> +The gods their secret wisdom hide away.</p> + +<br> +<a name="46"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XLVI</p> +<p>THE INVENTORY</p> +<p>TO HER FRIEND</p> +<p>I love all sumptuous things and delicate,<br> + +Ethereal matters richly paradised<br> +In Art's proud certitudes. I love the great<br> + +Greek vases, carven ivory, subtilised<br> +Arras of roses, Magians dyed on glass,<br> + +Graven chalcedony and sardonyx,<br> +Nocturnes that through the nerves like fever pass,<br> + +Arthurian kings, Love on the crucifix,<br> +All sweet mysterious verse, the Byzantine<br> + +Gold chambers of Crivelli, marble that flowers<br> +In shy adoring angels, patterned vine<br> + +And lotos, and emblazoned Books of Hours,—<br> +<i>And you, whose smiling eyes to ironies<br> +Reduce both me and mine idolatries</i>.</p> + +<br> +<a name="47"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XLVII</p> +<p>COMFORT</p> +<p>I</p> +<p>I sang the Dolorous Stroke of Disillusion,<br> + +Yet never have I broken faith with Joy:<br> +Flame-broidered trance and starless cold confusion<br> + +Of slain and flying dreams shall not destroy<br> +The radiant oath to that bright Suzerain<br> + +Whose lightning-lovely succour ambushed lies<br> +Even in the most impossible strait of pain.<br> + +Mystical paradox, divine surprise<br> +Of rapture! By intensities alone<br> + +Their spirits enter in to exultation<br> +For whom the burning winds of their sad zone<br> + +Bear down the Dove of the Imagination,<br> +Who suffer superbly, <i>in scarlet violetted,<br> +As the Sacred Kings of the Lillie</i> mourned their dead.*</p> +<p>* See Favine's "Book of Chivalry."</p> + +<br> +<a name="48"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XLVIII</p> +<p>COMFORT</p> +<p>II</p> +<p>And that is marvellous comfort;—and yet poor<br> + +To what mere woman-mystery can give,<br> +The strange simplicity that will endure<br> + +The pangs of death, most resolute to live.<br> +This God of riddles that shaped a thing so frail<br> + +For his worst torment hid mysterious powers<br> +Within her breast who can like lilies prevail<br> + +Through rains of doom that conquer brassy towers.<br> +Her heart lies broken; when some trivial chord<br> + +Of sweetness chimes reveille through the sense,—<br> +A rose, a song, a smile, a courtly word.<br> + +She wakes, and sighs, and softly passes thence<br> +Back to the masquers, though her soul's veiled Pyx<br> +Enclose the solemn fruits of the Crucifix.</p> + +<br> +<a name="49"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>XLIX</p> +<p>THE CHANGE</p> +<p>I spun my soul about with soft cocoons<br> + +Of pleasure golden-pale. For me, for me<br> +Were precious things put forth by crescent moons,<br> + +Of pearl and milky jade and ivory.<br> +Grave players on ethereal harpsichords,<br> + +My senses wrought a music exquisite<br> +As patterned roses, all my life's accords<br> + +Were richer, ghostlier than peacocks white.<br> +So in my paradise reserved and fair<br> + +I grew as dreamlike as the Elysian dead;<br> +Until a passing Wizard smote me there,<br> + +And suddenly my soul inherited<br> +Some gorgeous terrible dukedom of desire<br> +Like those in bright Andromeda's realms of fire.</p> + +<br> +<a name="50"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>L</p> +<p>AT THE END</p> +<p>The fiery permutations of the soul<br> + +Are infinite, but how to be revealed?<br> +On what impassive matter must the whole<br> + +Inveterate coil of good and ill be sealed!<br> +How much too simple all the tale of deeds<br> + +To pattern out these labyrinthine things,<br> +These knots of bright unreason, ghostly bredes<br> + +Veiled weavers weave, moving with silver wings<br> +Within the duskling sense. Most diverse visions<br> + +Their visionaries darkly reconcile<br> +At one sad end. Fate's delicate derisions<br> + +Through the same hell of penance may beguile<br> +Two women, who meet with alien eyes downcast;<br> +Yet one stand first with Love, and one the last.</p> + +<br> +<a name="51"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>LI</p> +<p>THE SOUL OF AGE</p> +<p>I have seen delicate aged women wrought<br> + +Most tenderly by Time, their passionate past<br> +By the wise vigils of forgiving thought<br> + +Amerced of pain, mere beauty at the last.<br> +So may my soul be chaste, serene, enriched<br> + +Like an Etruscan mirror one has found<br> +In kind oblivions, graciously bewitched<br> + +With precious patinas, a various round<br> +Of milky opal, or turkis, or emerald,<br> + +Glistered with rubies faint and smoky pearls,<br> +Where swirls of incised pattern have enthralled<br> + +Figures of sweet archaic gods and girls,<br> +And I shall say: "Thou art a curious toy,<br> +O soul that mirrored Love and Wrath and Joy!"</p> + +<br> +<a name="52"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>LI I</p> +<p>HYPNEROTOMACHIA</p> +<p>Ah! Pride and Wrath and Mirth and Pain and Pity,<br> + +Some amethystine day at last will be,<br> +When your bright guard and Phantasy's hill-city<br> + +Shall be like wonders on a tapestry;<br> +And we shall touch between tired orisons<br> + +The symbolism of those freaked crowns and wings,—<br> +Then gaze across the falling Avalons,<br> + +The resignations of autumnal things,<br> +And see among the pointed cypresses<br> + +The one god left, the smiling perverse god,<br> +The Love that will not leave the loverless,<br> + +Contending with the Stranger of the Rod,—<br> +Until these twain become as one, and all<br> +The Soul and Sense be starrily vesperal.</p> + +<br> +<a name="53"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>LIII</p> +<p>THE REVOLT</p> +<p>Not so, my Soul? Rather for thee the fate<br> + +Of those hieratic Carthaginian queens<br> +Who needs must vanish through the gods' own gate,<br> + +Even holy Flame, with music and great threnes<br> +Idolatrous, as on soft gorgeous wings,<br> + +If Time's least kiss had subtly disallowed<br> +Their beauty's sacred unisons?—Fair things<br> + +Desire their revel-raiment be their shroud.<br> +Yet, fierce insurgent, cease vain wars to wage!<br> + +Art thou so pure as to decline, forsooth,<br> +These penitential usages of age<br> + +That expiate proud cruelties of youth,<br> +And bring thee to the last and perfect art,<br> +To love the lovely with a selfless heart?</p> + +<br> +<a name="54"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>LIV</p> +<p>AFTER MANY YEARS</p> +<p>By mute communions and by salt sad kisses,<br> + +By Pity's webs that still with fiery strands<br> +Wove us together, by the unplumbed abysses<br> + +Where we have gazed and never loosened hands,<br> +By holy water we have given each other<br> + +At Beauty's blessed doors, and by the hearts<br> +Of sweet Delight and Agony her brother,<br> + +By bright new marriages in all great arts,<br> +By the rare wisdom like miraculous amber<br> + +Won by the desolate grey sound of tears,<br> +By wedding-music of the flute and tambour<br> + +Prevailing o'er Time's cruel plot of years,<br> +By all the proud prayers granted and denied us,<br> +Fate has no sword at all that can divide us.</p> + +<br> +<a name="55"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>LV</p> +<p>TREASURE</p> +<p>Not mine the silver ride of the redeemer,<br> + +Not mine the secret vision of the saint,<br> +Not mine the martyrdoms of Truth's dark dreamer<br> + +Nor bitter beatitudes of Art. O quaint<br> +Undoing of youth's horoscope! No splendours<br> + +Nor laurels, nor wisdom in a myrrhine bowl!<br> +Here is the treasure that the past surrenders,<br> + +A spoil of roses coffered in the soul,—<br> +Much like another woman's! Rare perfumes<br> + +And cleaving thorns, faded pathetic store<br> +Of kisses and sighs, would those heroic dooms<br> + +I craved of old have yet enriched me more?<br> +I have not dwelt in Galilee nor Tyre <br> +Nor Athens. +But I have my heart's desire.</p> + +<br> +<a name="56"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>LVI</p> +<p>THE SOUL TO THE BODY</p> +<p>I know thou hast a secret of thine own<br> + +Which I desire. But once I broke with thee<br> +And walked among the asphodel alone:<br> + +Therefore thou wilt reserve this reverie,<br> +Like sumptuous flame closed up in alabaster.<br> + +They half betray, these curious magian hands:<br> +Faint music of thy breast has throbbed the faster,<br> + +If I have touched it with my charming-wands.<br> +And yet,—the wonder any woman knows<br> + +Thou dost deny the proud Soul that has fed<br> +Among the lilies of the White Eros.—<br> + +Ere I go down among the witless Dead<br> +Give, give the secret, for my bliss or rue,<br> +Lest lack of that should craze my wisdom through.</p> + +<br> +<a name="57"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>LVII</p> +<p>THE IRONIST</p> +<p>Among high gods the absolute ironist<br> + +Is Love. Therefore, when some cleft lightning mocks<br> +Thine arrogant rapture, sad idealist,<br> + +Admire the wild play of his paradox.<br> +Great satires of reversal have astounded<br> + +His bigots: proud fine dreamers confident<br> +Before an idol in their image are hounded<br> + +Through comedies of disillusionment.<br> +Not heavenly Plato, not the Florentine,<br> + +Not any mage of Epipsychidion<br> +Can the true nature of the god divine.<br> + +Heresiarchs like Heine and like Donne,<br> +Bitter and sweet, and hot and cold, know best<br> +The incomparable anguish of his jest.</p> + +<br> +<a name="58"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>LVIII</p> +<p>IN VAIN</p> +<p>I said: "Confession's bitter cautery<br> + +Shall fierily search my soul, destroy her ill."<br> +Natheless, the wounded wasting malady<br> + +Is her unexorcised sad sovran still.<br> +Oh! that alembic fever of interwed<br> + +Desire and dream and sense, rapture and rue!<br> +As soon as my sincerest words are said<br> + +And heard they seem apostate and untrue.<br> +For only speech more richly dubious<br> + +Than shoaling water, or a ringdove's breast,<br> +Than lighted incense more miraculous<br> + +With fumes of strange remembrance, could attest<br> +The morbid beauty of that wasting ill<br> +Whereof I am the cureless lover still.</p> + +<br> +<a name="59"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>LIX</p> +<p>RESERVATIONS</p> +<p>Though cold clear cruelties like diamond<br> + +Burthen this silken text of dim surmise,<br> +Surely thou knowest I am pity's bond<br> + +If one but look at me with stricken eyes.<br> +If like a herald I have blazoned Pride,<br> + +I am Humility's own renegade.<br> +For fruits of good and evil have I sighed?<br> + +If Love forbid them, Love shall be obeyed.<br> +Though the wroth soul may excommunicate<br> + +Her body, yet I see the flagrant strife<br> +Of earthy and heavenly elements create<br> + +Colour, change, music. For the Tree of Life<br> +Burns with this precious mystery of sorrows<br> +That Love the Phoenix find immortal morrows.</p> + +<br> +<a name="60"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>LX</p> +<p>THE NEW LOVE</p> +<p>Ah! what if thy last canticle be said,<br> + +Bright Archer of illusion adored of old,<br> +Thou dream-fast Love in raiment burning-red,<br> + +Wreathed with white doves, quivered with burning gold?<br> +Pass with thy Triumph of Lovers, Aucassin,<br> + +Tristram, and Pharamond, and Lancelot,<br> +Dante, and Rudel, all thy haughty kin,<br> + +Princes in that high heaven, as we are not.—<br> +With some gilt couchant sphinx both casqued and crowned,<br> + +All mailed in amethyst the new god comes,<br> +Whose brooding beautiful eyes at last have found<br> + +Our uncanonical dark martyrdoms,<br> +Who from the sombre catacombs of these<br> +Brings his great miracles and mysteries.</p> + +<br> +<a name="61"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>LXI</p> +<p>THE WAYS OF LOVE</p> +<p>Hail the implacable Iconoclast<br> + +Whose images of ivory and gold<br> +Make proud the dust that his enthusiast<br> + +In her dark trance may very God behold.<br> +From the clear music of his delicate<br> + +Peripheries and porches of delight<br> +He draws her down through cruel gate on gate,<br> + +Through immemorial, blind, implacable rite<br> +That strips her of her dream-branched veils of youth,<br> + +And naked, agonised like trodden grapes,<br> +Drags her before the imperishable Truth,<br> + +The flaming Ecstacy wherefrom he shapes<br> +Real myth and doctrine. Therefore I lift up<br> +My heart like some great jubilant scarlet Cup.</p> + +<br> +<a name="62"></a> +<br> +<br> + +<p>THE EPILOGUE OF THE DREAMING WOMEN</p> +<p>Take back this armour. Give us broideries.<br> + +Against the Five sad Wounds inveterate<br> +In our dim sense, can that defend, or these?<br> + +In veils mysterious and delicate<br> +Clothe us again, in beautiful broideries.</p> +<p>Take back this justice. Give us thuribles.<br> + +While ye do loudly in the battle-dust,<br> +We feed the gods with spice and canticles.<br> + +To our strange hearts, as theirs, just and unjust<br> +Are idle words. Give graven thuribles.</p> +<p>Keep orb and sceptre. Give us up your souls<br> + +That our long fingers wake them verily<br> +Like dulcimers and citherns and violes;<br> + +Or at the burning disk of ecstasy<br> +Impose rare sigils on your gem-like souls.</p> +<p>Give mercies, cruelties, and exultations,<br> + +Give the long trances of the breaking heart;<br> +And we shall bring you great imaginations<br> + +To urge you through the agony of Art.<br> +Give cloud and flame, give trances, exultations.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOURS OF FIAMMETTA***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 23392-h.txt or 23392-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/3/9/23392">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/3/9/23392</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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