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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/29521-8.txt b/29521-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1371a71 --- /dev/null +++ b/29521-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3751 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Enamels and Cameos and other Poems, by Théophile Gautier + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Enamels and Cameos and other Poems + +Author: Théophile Gautier + +Translator: Agnes Lee + +Release Date: July 27, 2009 [EBook #29521] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENAMELS AND CAMEOS AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Ruth Hart + + + + +ENAMELS AND CAMEOS + +BY + +THÉOPHILE GAUTIER + +TRANSLATED BY AGNES LEE + + + +CONTENTS + + +The God and the Opal +Preface +Affinity -- A Pantheistic Madrigal +The Poem of Woman - Marble of Paros +A Study of Hands + I Imperia + II Lacenaire +Variations on the Carnival of Venice: + I On the Street + II On the Lagoons + III Carnival + IV Moonlight +Symphony in White Major +Coquetry in Death +Heart's Diamond +Spring's First Smile +Contralto +Eyes of Blue +The Toreador's Serenade +Nostalgia of the Obelisks: + I The Obelisk in Paris + II The Obelisk in Luxor +Veterans of the Old Guard, December 15 +Sea-Gloom +To a Rose-Coloured Gown +The World's Malicious +Ines de las Sierras -- To Petra Camara +Odelet, After Anacreon +Smoke +Apollonia +The Blind Man +Song +Winter Fantasies +The Brook +Tombs and Funeral Pyres +Bjorn's Banquet +The Watch +The Mermaids +Two Love-Locks +The Tea-Rose +Carmen +What the Swallows Say -- An Autumn Song +Christmas +The Dead Child's Playthings +After Writing My Dramatic Review +The Castle of Rembrance +Camellia and Meadow Daisy +The Fellah -- A Water-Colour by Princess Mathilde +The Garret +The Cloud +The Blackbird +The Flower that Makes the Springtime +A Last Wish +The Dove +A Pleasant Evening +Art + + + + +THE GOD AND THE OPAL +TO THÉOPHILE GAUTIER + +Gray caught he from the cloud, and green from earth, +And from a human breast the fire he drew, +And life and death were blended in one dew. +A sunbeam golden with the morning's mirth, +A wan, salt phantom from the sea, a girth +Of silver from the moon, shot colour through +The soul invisible, until it grew +To fulness, and the Opal Song had birth. + +And then the god became the artisan. +With rarest skill he made his gem to glow, +Carving and shaping it to beauty such +That down the cycles it shall gleam to man, +And evermore man's wonderment shall know +The perfect finish, the immortal touch. + +Agnes Lee. + + + +PREFACE + +When empires lay riven apart, +Fared Goethe at battle time's thunder +To fragrant oases of art, +To weave his _Divan_ into wonder. + +Leaving Shakespeare, he pondered the note +Of Nisami, and heard in his leisure +The hoopoe's weird monody float, +And set it to soft Orient measure. + +As Goethe at Weimar delayed +And dreamed in the fair garden closes, +And, questing in sun or in shade, +With Hafiz plucked redolent roses,-- + +I, closed from the tempest that shook +My window with fury impassioned, +Sat dreaming, and, safe in my nook, +Enamels and Cameos fashioned. + + + +AFFINITY +A PANTHEISTIC MADRIGAL + +On an ancient temple gleaming, +Two great blocks of marble high +Thrice a thousand years lay dreaming +Dreams against an Attic sky. + +Set within one silver whiteness, +Two wave-tears for Venus shed, +Two fair pearls of orient brightness, +Through the waste of water sped. + +In the Generalife's fresh closes, +By a Moorish light illumed, +Two delicious, tender roses +By a fountain met and bloomed. + +In the balm of May's bright weather, +Where the domes of Venice rise, +Lighted on Love's nest together +Two pale doves from azure skies. + +All things vanish into wonder, +Marble, pearl, dove, rose on tree, +Pearl shall melt and marble sunder, +Flower shall fade and bird shall flee! + +Not a smallest part but lowly +Through the crucible must pass, +Where all shapes are molten slowly +In the universal mass. + +Then as gradual Time discloses +Marbles melt to whitest skin, +Roses red to lips of roses, +And anew the lives begin. + +And again the doves are plighted +In the hearts of lovers, while +Ocean pearls are reunited, +Set within a coral smile. + +Thus affinity comes welling; +By its beauty everywhere +Soul a sister-soul foretelling, +All awakened and aware. + +Quickened by a zephyr sunny, +Or a perfume, subtlewise, +As the bee unto the honey, +Atom unto atom flies. + +And remembered are the hours +In the temple, down the blue, +And the talks amid the flowers, +Near the fount of crystal dew, + +Kisses warm, and on the royal +Golden domes the wings that beat; +For the atoms all are loyal, +And again must love and greet. + +Love forgotten wakes imperious, +For the past is never dead, +And the rose with joy delirious +Breathes again from lips of red. + +Marble on the flesh of maiden +Feels its own white bloom, and faint +Knows the dove a murmur laden +With the echo of its plaint, + +Till resistance giveth over, +And the barriers fall undone, +And the stranger is the lover, +And affinity hath won! + +You before whose face I tremble, +Say--what past we know not of +Called our fates to reassemble,-- +Pearl or marble, rose or dove? + + + +THE POEM OF WOMAN +MARBLE OF PAROS + +Unto the dreamer once whose heart she had, +As she was showing forth her treasures rare, +Minded she was to read a poem fair, +The poem of her form with beauty glad. + +First stately and superb she swept before +His gazing eyes, with high, Infanta mien, +Trailing behind her all the splendid sheen +Of nacarat floods of velvet that she wore. + +Thus at the opera had he watched her bend +From out her box, her body one bright flame, +When all the air was ringing with her name, +And every song made her fair praise ascend. + +Then had her art another way, for look! +The weighty velvet dropped, and in its place +A pale and cloudy fabric proved the grace +Of every line her glowing body took; + +Till softly from her shoulder marble-sweet +The veil diaphanous fell, the folds whereof +Came fluttering downward like a snowy dove, +To nestle in the wonder of her feet. + +She posed as for Apelles pridefully, +A lovely flesh and marble womanhood:-- +Anadyomene, she upright stood +Naked upon the margent of the sea. + +Fairer than any foam-drops crystalline, +Great pearls of Venice lay upon her breast, +Jewels of milky wonder lightly pressed +Upon the cool, fresh satin of her skin. + +Exhaustless as the waves that kiss the brim, +Under the gleaming moon of many moods, +Were all the strophes of her attitudes. +What fascination sang her beauty's hymn! + +But soon, grown weary of an art antique, +Of Phidias and of Venus, lo! again +Within another new and plastic strain +She grouped her charms unveiled and unique. + +Upon a cashmere opulently spread, +Sultana of Seraglio then she lay, +Laughing unto her little mirror gay, +That laughed again with lips of coral red; + +The indolent, soft Georgian, posturing +With her long, supple narghile at lip, +Showing the glorious fashion of her hip, +One foot upon the other languishing. + +And, like to Ingres' Odalisque, supine, +Defying prurient modesty turned she, +Displaying in her beauty candidly +Wonder of curve and purity of line. + +But hence, thou idle Odalisque! for life +Hath now its own fair picture to display-- +The diamond in its rare effulgent ray,-- +Beauty in Love hath reached its blossom rife. + +She sways her body, bendeth back her head. +Her breathing comes more subtle and more fast. +Rocked in her dream's alluring arms, at last +Down hath she fallen upon her costly bed. + +Her eyelids beat like fluttering pinions lit +Upon the darkened silver of her eyes. +Her bright, voluptuous glances upward rise +Into the vague and nacreous infinite. + +Deck her with sweet, lush violets, instead +Of death-flowers with their every pearl a tear; +Scatter their purple clusters on her bier, +Who of her being's ecstasy lies dead. + +And bear her very gently to her tomb-- +Her bed of white. There let the poet stay, +Long hours upon his bended knees to pray, +When night shall close around the funeral room. + + + +A STUDY OF HANDS + +I + +IMPERIA + +A sculptor showed to me one day +A hand, a Cleopatra's lure, +Or an Aspasia's, cast in clay, +Of masterwork a fragment pure. + +Seized in a snowy kiss, and fair +As lily in the argent rise +Of dawn, like whitest poem there +Its beauty lay before mine eyes, + +Bright in its pallor lustreless, +Reposing on a velvet bed, +Its fingers, weighted with their dress +Of jewels, delicately spread. + +A little parted lay the thumb, +Showing the undulating line, +Beautiful, graceful, subtlesome, +Of its proud contour Florentine. + +Strange hand! I wonder if it toyed +In silken locks of Don Juan, +Or on a gem-bright caftan joyed +To stroke the beard of some soldan; + +Whether, as courtesan or queen, +Within its fingers fair and slight +Was pleasure's gilded sceptre seen, +Or sceptre of a royal might! + +But sweet and firm it must have lain +Full oft its touch of power rare +Upon the curling lion-mane +Of some chimera caught in air. + +Imperial, idle fantasy, +And love of soft, luxurious things, +Frenzies of passion, wondrous, free, +Impossible dream-flutterings! + +Romances wild, and poesy +Of hasheech and of wine, vain speeds +Beneath Bohemia's brilliant sky +On unrestrained and maddened steeds! + +All these were in the lines of it, +Of that white book with magic scrolled, +Where ciphers stood, by Venus writ, +That Love had trembled to behold. + + + +II + +LACENAIRE + +Strange contrast was the severed hand +Of Lacenaire, the murderer dead, +Soaked in a powerful essence, and +Near by upon a cushion spread. + +Letting a morbid fancy win, +I touched, despite my loathing sane, +The cold, hair-covered, slimy skin, +Not yet washed clean of deathly stain. + +Yellow, uncanny, mummified, +Like to a Pharaoh's hand it lay, +And stretched its faun-shaped fingers wide, +Crisp with temptation's awful play; + +As though an itch for flesh and gold +Lured them to horrors yet to be, +Twisting them roughly as of old, +Teasing their immobility. + +There every vice and passion's whim +Had seamed the flesh abundantly +With hideous hieroglyphs and grim, +That headsmen read with fluency. + +There plainly writ in furrows fell, +I saw the deeds of sin and soil, +Scorchings from every fiery hell +Wherein corruptions seethe and boil. + +There was a track of Capri's vice, +Of lupanars and gaming-scores, +Fretted with wine and blood and dice, +Like ennui of old emperors. + +Supple and fierce, it had some dower +Of grace unto the searching eye, +Some brutal fascination's power, +A gladiator's mastery. + +Cold aristocracy of crime! +No plane inured, no hammer spent +The hand whose task for every time +Had but the knife for implement. + +The hand of Lacenaire! No clue +Therein to labour's honest pride! +False poet, and assassin true, +The Manfred of the gutter died! + + + +VARIATIONS ON THE CARNIVAL OF VENICE + +I + +ON THE STREET + +There is a popular old air +That every fiddler loves to scrape. +'T is wrung from organs everywhere, +To barking dog with wrath agape. + +The music-box has registered +Its phrases garbled and reviled. +'T is classic to the household bird; +Grandmother learned it as a child. + +The trumpet and the clarinet, +In dusty gardens of the dance, +Blow it to clerk and gay grisette, +In shrill, unlovely resonance. + +And of a Sunday swarm the folk +Under the honeysuckle vine, +Quaffing, the while they talk and smoke, +The sun, the melody, the wine. + +It lurks within the wry bassoon +The blind man plays, the porch beneath. +His poodle whimpers low the tune, +And holds the cup between its teeth. + +The players of the light guitar, +Decked with their flimsy tartans, pale, +With voices sad, where feasters are, +Through coffee-houses fling its wail. + +Great Paganini at a sign, +One night, as with a needle's gleam, +Picked up with end of bow divine +The little antiquated theme, + +And, threading it with fingers deft, +He broidered it with colours bright, +Till up and down the faded weft +Ran golden arabesques of light. + + + +II + +ON THE LAGOONS + +Tra la, tra la, la, la, la,--who +Knows not the theme's soft spell? +Or sad or light or mock or true, +Our mothers loved it well. + +The Carnival of Venice! Long +Adown canals it came, +Till, wafted on a zephyr's song, +The ballet kept its fame. + +I seem, whene'er its phrase I hear, +A gondola to view, +With prow voluted, black and clear, +Slip o'er the water blue; + +To see, her bosom covered o'er +With pearls, her body suave, +The Adriatic Venus soar +On sound's chromatic wave. + +The domes that on the water dwell +Pursue the melody +In clear-drawn cadences, and swell +Like breasts of love that sigh. + +My chains around a pillar cast, +I land before a fair +And rosy-pale facade at last, +Upon a marble stair. + +Oh! all dear Venice with her towers, +Her boats, her masquers boon, +Her sweet chagrins, her mad, gay hours, +Throbs in that ancient tune. + +The tenuous, vibrant chords that smite, +Rebuild in subtle way +The city joyous, free and light +Of Canaletto's day! + + + +III + +CARNIVAL + +Venice robes her for the ball; +Decked with spangles bright, +Multi-coloured Carnival +Teems with laughter light. + +Harlequin with negro mask, +Tights of serpent hue, +Beateth with a note fantasque +His Cassander true. + +Flapping loose his long, white sleeve, +Like a penguin spread, +Through a subtle semibreve +Pierrot thrusts his head. + +Sleek Bologna's doctor goes +Maundering on a bass. +Punchinello finds for nose +Quaver on his face. + +Hurtling Trivellino fine, +On a trill intent, +Scaramouch to Columbine +Gives the fan she lent. + +Gliding to the tune, I mark +One veiled figure rise, +While through satin lashes dark +Luring gleam her eyes. + +Tender little edge of lace, +Heaving with her breath! +"Under is her own dear face!" +An arpeggio saith. + +And beneath the mask I know +Bloom of rosy lips, +And the patch on chin of snow, +As she by me trips! + + + +IV + +MOONLIGHT + +Amid the chatter gay and mad +Saint Mark to Lido wafts, a tune +Like as a rocket riseth glad +As fountain riseth to the moon. + +But in that air with laughter stirred, +That shakes its bells far out to sea, +Regret, a little stifled bird, +Mingles its frail sob audibly. + +And in a mist of memory clad, +Like dream well-nigh effaced, I view +The sweet Beloved, fair and sad, +Of dear, long-vanished days I knew. + +Ah, pale she is! My soul in tears +An April day remembers yet:-- +We sought the violets by the meres, +And in the grass our fingers met. . . + +The vibrant note of violin +Is the child voice that struck my heart, +Exquisite, plaintive, argentine, +With all the anguish of its dart. + +So sweetly, falsely, doth it steal, +So cruel, yet so tender, too, +So cold, so burning, that I feel +A deadly pleasure pierce me through; + +Until my heart, an archway deep +Whose waters feed the fountain's lip, +Lets tears of blood in silence weep +Into my bosom drip by drip. + +O Carnival of Venice!--theme +So chilling sad, yet ever warm! +Where laughter toucheth tears supreme,-- +How hast thou hurt me with thy charm! + + + +SYMPHONY IN WHITE MAJOR + +In the Northern tales of eld, +From the Rhine's escarpments high +Swan-women radiant were beheld, +Singing and floating by, + +Or, leaving their plumage bright +On a bough that was bending low, +Displaying skin more gleaming white +Than the white of their down of snow. + +At times one comes our way,-- +Of all she is pallidest, +White as the moonbeam's shivering ray +On a glacier's icy crest. + +Her boreal bloom doth win +Our eyes to feasting rare +On rich delight of nacreous skin, +And a wealth of whiteness fair. + +Her rounded breasts, pale globes +Of snow, wage insolent war +With her camellias and her robes +Of whiteness nebular. + +In such white wars supreme +She wins, and weft and flower +Leave their revenge's right, and seem +Yellowed with envy's hour. + +On the white of her shoulder bare, +Whose marble Paros lends, +As through the Polar twilight fair, +Invisible frost descends. + +What beaming virgin snow, +What pith a reed within, +What Host, what taper, did bestow +The white of her matchless skin? + +Was she made of a milky drop +On the blue of a winter heaven? +The lily-blow on the stem's green top? +The foam of the sea at even? + +Of the marble still and cold, +Wherein the great gods dwell? +Of creamy opal gems that hold +Faint fires of mystic spell? + +Or the organ's ivory keys? +Her wingèd fingers oft +Like butterflies flit over these, +With kisses pending soft. + +Of the ermine's stainless fold, +Whose white, warm touches fall +On shivering shoulders and on bold, +Bright shields armorial? + +Of the phantom flowers of frost +Enscrolled on the window clear? +Of the fountain drop in the chill air lost, +An Undine's frozen tear? + +Of May bent low with the sweets +Of her bountiful white-thorn bloom? +Of alabaster that repeats +The pallor of grief and gloom? + +Of the feathers of doves that slip +And snow on the gable steep? +Of slow stalactite's tear-white drip +In cavernous places deep? + +Came she from Greenland floes +With Seraphita forth? +Is she Madonna of the Snows? +A sphinx of the icy North, + +Sphinx buried by avalanche, +The glacier's guardian ghost, +Whose frozen secrets hide and blanch +In her white heart innermost? + +What magic of what far name +Shall this pale soul ignite? +Ah! who shall flush with rose's flame +This cold, implacable white? + + + +COQUETRY IN DEATH + +I beg ye grant, when low I lie, +Before ye close my coffin-bed, +A little black beneath mine eye, +And on my cheek a touch of red! + +Ah, make me beautiful as now! +For I would be upon my bier, +As on the night of his avow +Charming and bloomful, gay and dear. + +For me no linen winding-sheet! +But gown me very grand and bright. +Bring forth my frock of muslin sweet, +With many ruffles soft and white. + +My favourite frock! I wore it well, +Who wore it at love's flowering. +And since his look upon it fell, +I've kept it as a sacred thing. + +For me no funeral coronet, +No tear-embroidered cushion place; +But o 'er my fair lace pillow let +My hair droop free about my face. + +Dear pillow! Often did it mark, +In mad, sweet nights our brows unlit, +And, all within the gondola dark, +Did count our kisses infinite. + +About my waxen hands supine, +Folded in prayer at life's deep gloam, +My rosary of opals twine, +Blessed by His Holiness at Rome. + +I'll finger it, when bedded cold +Where never one shall rise. How oft +His lips upon my lips have told +A _Pater_ and an _Ave_ soft! + + + +HEART'S DIAMOND + +Every lover deep hath set +In a sacred nook apart +Some dear token for the heart +In its hope or its regret. + +One hath nested safe away +Blackest ringlet ever seen, +Over which an azure sheen +Lieth, as on wing of jay. + +One from shoulder pale as milk +Took a tress more golden-fine +Than the threads that softly shine +In the silk-worm's wonder-silk. + +In its hiding mystical, +Memory's reliquary sweet, +Glances of another greet +Gloves with fingers white and small. + +And another yet may list +To inhale a faint perfume +Of the violets from her room, +Freshly given--faded, kissed. + +Here a slipper's curving grace +One with sighing treasureth. +There another guards a breath +In a mask's light edge of lace. + +I've no slipper to revere, +Neither glove nor tress nor flower; +But I cherish for love's dower +A divine, adorèd tear,-- + +Fallen from the blue above, +Clearest dew, heaven's drop for me, +Pearl dissolved secretly +In the chalice of my love. + +To mine eyes the dim-worn dew +Beams, a gem of Orient worth, +Standing from the parchment forth, +Diamond of a sapphire blue,-- + +Steadfast, lustreful and deep! +Tear that fell unhoped, unsought, +On a song my soul once wrought, +From an eye unused to weep. + + + +SPRING'S FIRST SMILE + +While up and down the earth men pant and plod, +March, laughing at the showers and days unsteady, +And whispering secret orders to the sod, +For Spring makes ready. + +And slyly when the world is sleeping yet, +He smooths out collars for the Easter daisies, +And fashions golden buttercups to set +In woodland mazes. + +Coif-maker fine, he worketh well his plan. +Orchard and vineyard for his touch are prouder. +From a white swan he hath a down to fan +The trees with powder. + +While Nature still upon her couch doth lean, +Stealthily hies he to the garden closes, +And laces in their bodices of green +Pale buds of roses. + +Composing his solfeggios in the shade, +He whistles them to blackbirds as he treadeth, +And violets in the wood, and in the glade +Snowdrops, he spreadeth. + +Where for the restless stag the fountain wells, +His hidden hand glides soft amid the cresses, +And scatters lily-of-the-valley bells, +In silver dresses. + +He sinks the sweet, vermilion strawberries +Deep in the grasses for thy roving fingers, +And garlands leaflets for thy forehead's ease, +When sunshine lingers. + +When, labour done, he must away, turns he +On April's threshold from his fair creating, +And calleth unto Spring: "Come, Spring--for see, +The woods are waiting!" + + + +CONTRALTO + +There lies within a great museum's hall, +Upon a snowy bed of carven stone, +A statue ever strange and mystical, +With some fair fascination all its own. + +And is it youth or is it maiden sweet, +A goddess or a god come down to sway? +Love fearful, hesitating, turns his feet, +Nor any word's avowal will betray. + +Sideways it lieth, with averted face, +Stretching its lovely limbs, half mischievous, +Unto the curious crowd, an idle grace +Lighting its marble form luxurious. + +For fashioning of its evil beauty brought +The sexes twain each one its magic dower. +Man whispers "Aphrodite!" in his thought, +And woman "Eros!" wondering at its power. + +Uncertain sex and certain grace, that seem +To melt forever in a fountain's kiss, +Waters that whelm the body as they gleam +And merge, and it is one with Salmacis. + +Ardent chimera, effort venturesome +Of Art and Pleasure--figure fanciful! +Into thy presence with delight I come, +Loving thy beauty strange and multiple. + +Though I may never close to thee draw nigh, +How often have my glances pierced the taut, +Straight fold of thine austerest drapery, +Fast at the end about thine ankle caught! + +O dream of poet passing every bound! +My thought hath built a fancy of thy form, +Till it is molten into silver sound, +And boy and girl are one in cadence warm. + +O tone divine, O richest tone of earth, +The beautiful, bright statue's counterpart! +Contralto, thou fantastical of birth, +The voice's own Hermaphrodite thou art! + +Thou art the plaintive dove, the linnet rare, +Perched on one rose tree, mellow in one note. +Thou art fair Juliet and Romeo fair, +Singing across the night with one warm throat. + +Thou art the young wife of the castellan, +Chaffing an amorous page below her bower,-- +Upon her balcony the lady wan, +The lover at the base of her high tower. + +Thou art the yellow butterfly that swings, +Pursuing soft a butterfly of snow, +In spiral flights and subtle traversings, +One winging high, the other winging low_;_ + +The angel flitting up and down the gold +Of the bright stair's aerial extent, +The bell in whose alloy of mighty mould +Arc voice of bronze and voice of silver blent + +Yea, melody and harmony art thou, +Song with its true accompaniment, and grace +Matched unto force,--the woman plighting vow +To her Belovèd with a close embrace; + +Or thou art Cinderella doomed to spend +Her night before the embers of the fire, +Deep in a conversation with her friend, +The cricket, as the latter hours expire; + +Or Arsaces, the great and valorous, +Waging his righteous battle for a realm, +Or Tancred with his breastplate luminous, +Cuirassed and splendid with his sword and helm; + +Or Desdemona with her willow song, +Zerlina laughing at Mazetto, or +Malcolm, his plaid upon his shoulder strong. +Thee, O thou dear Contralto, I adore! + +For these thou art, thou dearest charm of each, +O fair Contralto, double-throated dove! +The Kaled of a Lara, for thy speech, +Thou mightest, like the lost Gulnare, prove,-- + +In whose heart-stirring, passionate caress +In one wild, tremulous note there blend and mount +A woman's sigh of plaintive tenderness, +And virile accents from a firmer fount. + + + +EYES OF BLUE + +A woman, mystic, sweet, +Whose beauty draws my soul, +Stands silent where the fleet +And singing waters roll. + +Her eyes, the mirrored note +Of heaven, merge heaven's blue +Bestarred of lights remote, +With the sea's glaucous hue. + +Within their languor set, +Smiles sadness infinite. +Tears make the sparkles wet, +And tender grows the light. + +Like sea-gulls from aloft +That graze the ocean free, +Her lashes flutter soft +Upon an azure sea. + +As slumbering treasures drowned +Send shimmers lightly up, +Gleams through the tide profound +The King of Thule's cup. + +Athwart the weedy swirl +Brilliant, the waves upon, +Shine Cleopatra's pearl, +And ring of Solomon. + +The crown to ocean cast, +That Schiller showed to us, +Still under sea caught fast, +Beams clear and luminous. + +A magic in that gaze +Draws me, mad venturer! +Thus mermaid's magic ways +Drew Harold Haarfager. + +And all my soul unquelled +Adown the gulf betrayed +Dives, to the quest impelled +Of some elusive shade. + +The siren fitfully +Displays her body's gleam, +Her breast and arms that ply +Through waves of amorous dream. + +The water heaves and falls, +Like breasts with passion's breath. +The breeze insistent calls +To me, and murmureth: + +_"Come to my pearly bed! +My ocean arms shall slip +About thee: salt shall spread +To honey on thy lip!_ + +_Oh, let the billows link +Above us! Thou shalt, warm, +From cup of kisses drink +Oblivion of the storm!"_ + +Thus sighs the glance that sweeps +From out those sea-blue gates, +Till heart down treacherous deeps +The hymen consummates. + + + +THE TOREADOR'S SERENADE + +RONDALLA + +Child with airs imperial, +Dove with falcon's eyes for me +Whom thou hatest,--come I shall +Underneath thy balcony! + +There, my foot upon the stone, +I shall twang my chords with grace, +Till thy window-pane hath shone +With thy lamplight and thy face. + +Let no lad with his guitar +Strum adown the bordering ways. +Mine the road to watch and bar, +Mine alone to sing thy praise. + +Let the first my courage brave. +He shall lose his ears, egad! +Who shall howl his love and rave +In a couplet good or bad. + +Restless doth my dagger lie. +Come! who'll venture its rebuff? +Who would wear for every sigh +Blood's red flower upon his ruff? + +Blood grows weary of its veins; +For it yearns to be displayed. +Night is ominous with rains. +Haste, ye cowards, back to shade! + +On, thou braggart, else aroint! +Well thy forearm cover thou. +On! and with my dagger's point +Let me write upon thy brow. + +Let them come, alone, in mass: +Firm of foot I bide my place. +For thy glory, as they pass, +Would I slit each paltry face. + +O'er the gutter ere thy clear, +Snowy feet shall be defiled, +By the Rood! a bridge I'll rear +With the bones of gallants wild. + +I would slay, thy love to wear, +Any foe, yea, even proud +Satan's very self to dare, +So thy sheets became my shroud. + +Sightless window, deafened door! +Wilt thou never heed my sounds? +Like a wounded bull I roar, +Maddening the baying hounds. + +Drive at least a poor nail then, +Where my heart may hang inert. +For I want it not again, +With its madness and its hurt! + + + +NOSTALGIA OF THE OBELISKS + +THE OBELISK IN PARIS + +Distant from my native land, +Ever dull with ennui's pain, +Lonely monolith I stand, +In the snow and frost and rain. + +And my shaft, once burnt to red +In a flaming heaven's glare, +Taketh on a pallor dead +In this never azure air. + +Oh, to stand again before +Luxor's pylons, and the dear, +Grim Colossi!--be once more +My vermilion brother near! + +Oh, to pierce the changeless blue, +Where of old my peak upwon, +With my shadow sharp and true +Trace the footsteps of the sun! + +Once, O Rameses! my tall mass +Not the ages could destroy. +But it fell cut down like grass. +Paris took it for a toy. + +Now my granite form behold: +Sentinel the livelong day +Twixt a spurious temple old, +And the _Chambre des Députés!_ + +On the spot where _Louis Seize +_ Died, they set me, meaningless, +With my secret which outweighs +Cycles of forgetfulness. + +Sparrows lean defile my head, +Where the ibis used to light, +And the fierce gypaetus spread +Talons gold and plumage white. + +And the Seine, the drip of street, +Unclean river, crime's abyss, +Now befouls mine ancient feet, +Which the Nile was wont to kiss: + +Hoary Nile that, crowned and stern, +To its lotus-laden shores +From its ever bended urn +Crocodiles for gudgeon pours! + +Golden chariots gem-belit +Of the Pharaohs' pageanting +Grazed my side the cab-wheels hit, +Bearing out the last poor king. + +By my granite shape of yore +Passed the priests, with stately pschent, +And the mystic boat upbore, +Emblemed and magnificent. + +But to-day, profane and wan, +Camped between two fountains wide, +I behold the courtesan +In her carriage lounge with pride. + +From the first of year to last +I must see the vulgar show-- +Solons to the Council passed, +Lovers to the woods that go! + +Oh, what skeletons abhorred, +Hence, an hundred years, this race! +Couched, unbandaged, on a board, +In a nailed coffin's place. + +Never hypogeum kind, +Safe from foul corruption's fear; +Never hall where century-lined +Generations disappear! + +Sacred soil of hieroglyph, +And of sacerdotal laws, +Where the Sphinx is waiting stiff, +Sharpening on the stone its claws,-- + +Soil of crypt where echoes part, +Where the vulture swoopeth free, +All my being,--all my heart, +O mine Egypt, weeps for thee! + + + +THE OBELISK IN LUXOR + +Where the wasted columns brood, +Lonely sentinel stand I, +In eternal solitude +Facing all infinity. + +Dumb, with beauty unendowed, +To the horizon limitless +Spreads earth's desert like a shroud +Stained by yellow suns that press. + +While above it, blue and clean, +Is another desert cast-- +Sky where cloud is never seen, +Pure, implacable, and vast. + +And the Nile's great water-course +Glazed with leaden pellicle +Wrinkled by the river-horse +Gleameth dead, unlustreful. + +All about the flaming isles, +By a turbid water spanned, +Hot, rapacious crocodiles +Swoon and sob upon the sand. + +Perching motionless, alone, +Ibis, bird of classic fame, +From a carven slab of stone +Reads the moon-god's sacred name. + +Jackals howl, hyenas grin, +Famished hawks descend and cry. +Down the heavy air they spin, +Commas black against the sky. + +These the sounds of solitude, +Where the sphinxes yawn and doze, +Dull and passionless of mood, +Weary of their endless pose. + +Child of sand's reflected shine, +And of sun-rays fiercely bent, +Is there ennui like to thine, +Spleen of luminous Orient? + +Thou it was cried "Halt!" of yore +To satiety of kings. +Thou hast crushed me more and more +With thine awful weight of wings. + +Here no zephyr of the sea +Wipes the tears from skies that fill. +Time himself leans wearily +On the palaces long still. + +Naught shall touch the features terse +Of this dull, eternal spot. +In this changing universe, +Only Egypt changeth not! + +When the ennui never ends, +And I yearn a friend to hold, +I've the fellahs, mummies, friends, +Of the dynasties of old. + +I behold a pillar pale, +Or a chipped Colossus note, +Watch a distant, gleaming sail +Up and down the Nile afloat. + +Oh, to seek my brother's side, +In a Paris wondrous, grand, +With his stately form to bide, +In the public place to stand! + +For he looks on living men, +And they scan his pictures wrought +By an hieratic pen, +To be read by vision-thought. + +Fountains fair as amethyst +On his granite lightly pour +All their irisated mist. +He is growing young once more. + +Ah! yet he and I had birth +From Syene's veins of red. +But I keep my spot of earth. +He is living. I am dead. + + + +VETERANS OF THE OLD GUARD + +(December 15) + +Driven by ennui from my room, +I walked along the Boulevard. +'Twas in December's mist and gloom. +A bitter wind was blowing hard. + +And there I saw--strange thing to see!-- +In drizzle and in daylight drear, +From out their dark abodes let free, +Dim, spectral shadow-shapes appear. + +Yet 't is by night's uncanny hours, +By pallid German moonbeams cast +On old dilapidated towers, +That ghosts are wont to wander past. + +It is by night's effulgent star +In dripping robes that elves intrigue +To bear beneath the nenuphar +Their dancer dead of his fatigue. + +At night's mysterious tide hath been +The great review--of ballad writs-- +Wherein the Emperor, dimly seen, +Numbered the shades of Austerlitz. + +But phantoms near the _Gymnase?--_yea, +And wet and miry phantoms, too, +And close to the _Variétés, +_ And not a shroud to trick the view! + +With yellow teeth and stained dress, +And mossy skull and pierced shoon, +Paris--Montmartre--behold it press,-- +Death in the very light of noon! + +Ah, 't is a picture to be seen! +Three veteran ghosts in uniform +Of the Old Guard, and, spare and lean, +Two ghost-hussars in daylight's storm. + +The lithograph, you would surmise, +Wherein one ray shines down upon +The dead, that Raffet deifies, +That pass and shout "Napoleon!" + +No dead are these, whom nightly drum +May rouse to battle fires that burn, +But stragglers of the Old Guard, come +To celebrate the grand return! + +Since fighting in the fight supreme, +One has grown thin, another stout; +The coats that fitted once now seem +Too small, too loose, or draggled out. + +O epic rags! O tatters light, +Starred with a cross! Heroic things +Of ridicule, ye gleam more bright, +More beautiful than robes of kings! + +Limp feathers fluttering adorn +The tawny colbacks worn and grim. +The bullet and the moth have torn +And riddled well the dolmans dim. + +Their leathern breeches loosely hang +In furrows on their lank thigh-bones, +Their rusty sabres drag and clang, +As heavily they scrape the stones. + +Or some round belly firm and fat, +Squeezed tight in tether labour-donned, +Makes mirth and jest to chuckle at-- +Old hero quaint and cheveroned! + +But do not mock and jeer, my lad. +Salute him, rather, and, believe, +Achilles he, of Iliad +That Homer's self could not conceive. + +Respect these men with battle signs +That twenty skies have painted brown; +Their scars that lengthen out the lines +Of wrinkles age has written down; + +Their skin whose colour deep and dun, +Bared to the fronts of many foes, +Tells us of Egypt's burning sun; +Their locks that tell of Russia's snows. + +And if they shake, no longer strong? +Ah! Beresina's wind was cold. +And if they limp? The way was long, +From Cairo unto Vilna told. + +If they be stiff? They'd but a flag +For sheet to hold their bodies warm. +And if a sleeve be loose, poor rag? +'T is that a bullet tore an arm. + +Mock not these veteran shapes bizarre, +At whom the urchin laughs and gapes. +They were the day, of which we are +The evening, and the night, perhaps,-- + +Remembering if we forget-- +Red lancer, grenadier in blue, +With faces to the Column set, +As to their only altar true. + +There, proud of pain each scar denotes, +And of long miseries gone by, +They feel beneath their shabby coats +The heart of France beat mightily. + +And so our smiles are steeped in tears, +Seeing this holy carnival, +This picture wan that reappears, +Like morning after midnight's ball. + +And, cleaving heaven its own to claim, +Wide the Grand Army's eagle spreads +Its golden wings, like glory's flame, +Above their dear and hallowed heads. + + + +SEA-GLOOM + +The sea-gulls restless gleam and glance, +The mad white coursers cleave the length +Of ocean as they rear and prance +And toss their manes in stormy strength. + +The day is ending. Raindrops choke +The sunset furnaces. The gloom +Brings the great steamboat spitting smoke, +And beating down its long black plume. + +And I, more wan than heaven wide, +For land of soot and fog am bound, +For land of smoke and suicide-- +And right good weather have I found! + +How eagerly I now would pierce +The gulf that groweth wild and hoar! +The vessel rocks. The waves are fierce. +The salt wind freshens more and more. + +Ah! bitter is my soul's unrest. +The very ocean sighing heaves +In pity its unhopeful breast, +Like some good friend that knows and grieves. + +Let be--lost love's despair supreme! +Let be--illusions fair that rose +And fell from pedestals of dream! +One leap! The dark wet ridges close. + +Away! ye sufferings gone by, +That evermore returning brood, +And press the wounds that sleeping lie, +To make them weep afresh their blood. + +Away! regret, whose crimson heart +Hath seven swords. Yea, One, maybe, +Doth know the anguish and the smart-- +Mother of Seven Sorrows, She! + +Each ghostly grief sinks down the vast, +And struggles with the waves that throb +To close about it, and at last +Drown it forever with a sob. + +Soul's ballast, treasures of life's hand, +Sink! and we'll wreck together down. +Pale on the pillow of the sand +I'll rest me well at evening brown. + +But, now, a woman, as I gaze, +Sits in the bridge's darker nook, +A woman, who doth sweetly raise +Her eyes to mine in one long look. + +'T is Sympathy with outstretched arms, +Who smileth to me through the gray +Of dusk with all her thousand charms. +Hail, azure eyes! Green sea, away! + +The sea-gulls restless gleam and glance. +The mad white coursers cleave the length +Of Ocean as they rear and prance +And toss their manes in stormy strength. + + + +TO A ROSE-COLOURED GOWN + +How I love you in the robes +That disrobe so well your charms! +Your dear breasts, twin ivory globes, +And your bare sweet pagan arms. + +Frail as frailest wing of bee, +Fresher than the heart of rose, +All the fabric delicate, free, +Round your body gleams and glows, + +Till from skin to silken thread, +Silver shivers lightly win, +And the rosy gown have shed +Roses on the creamy skin. + +Whence have you the mystic thing, +Made of very flesh of you, +Living mesh to mix and cling +With your glorious body's hue? + +Did you take it from the rud +Of the dawn? From Venus' shell? +From a breast-flower nigh to bud? +From a rose about to swell? + +Doth the texture have its dye +From some blushing bashfulness? +No--your portraits do not lie-- +Beauty beauty's form shall guess! + +Down you cast your garment fair, +Art-dreamed, sweet Reality, +Like Borghese's princess, rare +For Canova's mastery! + +Ah! the folds are lips of fire +Sweeping round your lovely form +In a folly of desire, +With a weft of kisses warm! + + + +THE WORLD'S MALICIOUS + +Ah, little one, the world's malicious! +With mocking smiles thy beauty greeting. +It says that in thy breast capricious +A watch, and not a heart, is beating. + +Yet like the sea thy breast is swelling +With all the wild, tumultuous power +A tide of blood sends pulsing, welling, +Beneath thy flesh in life's young hour. + +Ah, little one, the world is spiteful! +It says thy vivid eyes are fooling, +And that they have their charm delightful +From faithful, diplomatic schooling. + +Yet on thy lashes' shifting curtain +An iridescent tear-drop trembles, +Like dew unbidden and uncertain, +That no well-water's gleam resembles. + +Ah, little one, the world reviles thee! +It says thou hast no spirit's favour, +That verse, which seemingly beguiles thee, +Hath unto thee a Sanskrit savour. + +Yet to thy crimson lips inviting, +Intelligence's bee of laughter, +At every flash of wit alighting, +Allures and gleams, and lingers after. + +Ah, little one, I know the trouble! +Thou lovest me. The world, it guesses. +Leave me, and hear its praises bubble:-- +"_What heart, what spirit, she possesses!"_ + + + +INES DE LAS SIERRAS + +TO PETRA CAMARA + +In Spain, as Nodier's pen has told, +Three officers in night's mid hours +Came on a castle dark and old, +With sunken eaves and mouldering towers, + +A true Anne Radcliffe type it was, +With ruined halls and crumbling rooms +And windows graven by the claws +Of Goya's bats that ranged the glooms. + +Now while they feasted, gazed upon +By ancient portraits standing guard +In their ancestral frames, anon +A sudden cry rang thitherward. + +Forth from a distant corridor +That many a moonbeam's pallid hue +Fretted fantastically o'er, +A wondrous phantom sped in view. + +With bodice high and hair comb-tipped, +A woman, running, dancing, hied. +Adown the dappled gloom she dipped,-- +An iridescent form descried. + +A languid, dead, voluptuous mood +Filled every act's abandon brief, +Till at the door she stopped, and stood +Sinister, lovely past belief. + +Her raiment crumpled in the tomb +Showed here and there a spangle's foil. +At every start a faded bloom +Dropped petals in her hair's black coil. + +A dull scar crossed her bloodless throat, +As of a knife. Like rattle chill +Of teeth, her castanets she smote +Full in their faces awed and still. + +Ah, poor bacchante, sad of grace! +So wild the sweetness of her spell, +The curvèd lips in her white face +Had lured a saint from heaven to hell! + +Like darkling birds her eyelashes +Upon her cheek lay fluttering light. +Her kirtle's swinging cadences +Displayed her limbs of lustrous white. + +She bowed amid a mist of gyres, +And with her hand, as dancers may, +Like flowers she gathered up desires, +And grouped them in a bright bouquet. + +Was it a wraith or woman seen, +A thing of dreams, or blood and flesh, +The flame that burst from out the sheen +Of beauty's undulating mesh? + +It was a phantom of the past, +It was the Spain of olden keep, +Who, at the sound of cheer at last, +Upbounded from her icy sleep, + +In one bolero mad, supreme, +Rough-resurrected, powerful, +Showing beneath her kirtle's gleam +The ribbon wrested from the bull. + +About her throat the scar of red +The deathblow was, dealt silently +Unto a generation dead +By every new-born century. + +I saw this self-same phantom fleet, +All Paris ringing with her praise, +When soft, diaphanous, mystic, sweet, +La Petra Camara held its gaze,-- + +Closing her eyes with languor rare, +Impassive, passionate of art, +And, like the murdered Ines fair, +Dancing, a dagger in her heart. + + + +ODELET + +AFTER ANACREON + +Poet of her face divine, +Curb this over-zeal of thine! +Doves wing frighted from the ground +At a step's too sudden sound, +And her passion is a dove, +Frighted by too bold a love. +Mute as marble Hermes wait +By the blooming hawthorn-gate. +Thou shalt see her wings expand, +She shall flutter to thy hand. +On thy forehead thou shalt know +Something like a breath of snow, +Or of pinions pure that beat +In a whirl of whiteness sweet. +And the dove, grown venturesome, +Shall upon thy shoulder come, +And its rosy beak shall sip +From the nectar of thy lip. + + + +SMOKE + +Beneath yon tree sits humble +A squalid, hunchbacked house, +With roof precipitous, +And mossy walls that crumble. + +Bolted and barred the shanty. +But from its must and mould, +Like breath of lips in cold, +Comes respiration scanty. + +A vapour upward welling, +A slender, silver streak, +To God bears tidings meek +Of the soul in the little dwelling. + + + +APOLLONIA + +Fair Apollonia, name august, +Greek echo of the sacred vale, +Great name whose harmonies robust +Thee as Apollo's sister hail! + +Struck with the plectrum on the lyre, +And in melodious beauty sung, +Brighter than love's and glory's fire, +It resonant rings upon the tongue. + +At such a classic sound as this, +The elves plunge down their German lake. +Alone the Delphian worthy is +So lustreful a name to take,-- + +Pythia! when in her flowing dress +She mounts her place with feet unshod, +And, priestess white and prophetess, +Wistful awaits the tardy god. + + + +THE BLIND MAN + +A blind man walks without the gate, +Wild-staring as an owl by day, +Fumbling his flute betimes and late, +Along the way. + +He pipeth, weary wretch and worn, +A roundel shrill and obsolete. +The spectre of a dog forlorn +Attends his feet. + +For him the days go lustreless. +Invisible life with beat and roar +He heareth like a torrent press +Around, before. + +What strange chimeras haunt his head_ +_And on his mind's bedarkened space, +What characters unheard, unread, +Doth fancy trace? + +Thus down Venetian leads of doom, +Wan prisoners ensepulchred +In palpable, undying gloom +Have graven their word. + +And yet perchance when life's last spark +Death speeds unto eternal night, +The tomb-bred soul, within the dark, +Shall see the light. + + + +SONG + +In April earth is white and rose +Like youth and love, now tendering +Her smiles, now fearful to disclose +Her virgin heart unto the Spring. + +In June, a little pale and worn, +And full at heart of vague desire, +She hideth in the yellow corn, +With sunburned Summer to respire. + +In August, wild Bacchante, she +Her bosom bares to Autumn shapes, +And on the tiger-skin flung free, +Draws forth the purple blood of grapes. + +And in December, shrivelled, old, +Bepowdered white from foot to head, +In dream she wakens Winter cold, +That sleeps beside her in her bed. + + + +WINTER FANTASIES + +I + +Red of nose and white of face, +Bent his desk of ice before, +Winter doth his theme retrace +In the season's quatuor,-- + +Beating measure and the ground +With a frozen foot for us, +Singing with uncertain sound +Olden tunes and tremulous. + +And as Haendel's wig sublime +Trembling shook its powder, oft +Flutter as he taps his time +Snow-flakes in a flurry soft. + +II + +In the Tuileries fount the swan +Meets the ice, and all the trees, +As in land of fairies wan, +Arc bedecked with filigrees. + +Flowers of frost in vases low +Stand unquickened and unstirred, +And we trace upon the snow +Starred footsteps of a bird. + +Where with lightest raiment spanned, +Venus was with Phocion met, +Now has Winter's hoary hand +Clodion's "Chilly Maiden" set. + +III + +Women pass in ermine dress, +Sable, too, and miniver, +And the shivering goddesses +Haste to don the fashion's fur. + +Venus of the Brine comes forth, +In her hooded mantle's fluff. +Flora, blown by breezes North, +Hides her fingers in her muff. + +And the shepherdesses round +Of Coustou and Coysevox, +Finding scarves too light have wound +Furs about their throats of snow. + +IV + +Heavy doth the North bedrape +Paris mode from foot to top, +As o'er fair Athenian shape +Scythian should a bearskin drop. + +Over winter's garments meet, +Everywhere we see the fur, +Flung with Russian pomp, and sweet +With the fragrant vetiver. + +Pleasure's laughing glances feast +Far amid the statues, where +From the bristles of a beast +Bursts a Venus torso fair! + +If you venture hitherward, +With a tender veil to cheat +Glances over-daring, guard +Well your Andalusian feet! + +Snow shall fashion like a frame +On your foot's impression rare, +Signing with each step your name +On the carpet soft and vair. + +Thus were surly master led +To the hidden trysting-place, +Where his Psyche, faintly red, +Were beheld in Love's embrace. + + + +THE BROOK + +Near a great water's waste +A brook mid rock and spar +Came bubbling up in haste, +As though to travel far. + +It sang: "What joy to rise! +'T was dismal under ground. +I mirror now the skies. +My banks with green abound. + +"Forget-me-nots--how fair! +Beseech me from the grass; +Wings frolic in the air, +And graze me as they pass. + +"I yet shall be--who knows?-- +A river winding down, +And greeting as it flows +Valley and cliff and town. + +"I'll broider with my spray +Stone bridge and granite quay, +And bear great ships away +Unto the long wide sea." + +So planned it, babbling by, +As water boiling fast +Within a basin high, +To top its brim at last. + +Cradle by tomb is crossed. +Giants are early dead. +Scarce born, the brook was lost +Within a lake's deep bed. + + + +TOMBS AND FUNERAL PYRES + +No grim cadaver set its flaw +In happy days of pagan art, +And man, content with what he saw, +Stripped not the veil from beauty's heart. + +No form once loved that buried lay, +A hideous spectre to appal, +Dropped bit by bit its flesh away, +As one by one our garments fall; + +Or, when the days had drifted by +And sundered shrank the vaulted stones, +Showed naked to the daring eye +A motley heap of rattling bones. + +But, rescued from the funeral pyre, +Life's ashen, light residuum +Lay soft, and, spent the cleansing fire, +The urn held sweet the body's sum,-- + +The sum of all that earth may claim +Of the soul's butterfly, soul passed,-- +All that is left of spended flame +Upon the tripod at the last. + +Between acanthus leaves and flowers +In the white marble gaily went +Loves and bacchantes all the hours, +Dancing about the monument. + +At most, a little Genius wild +Trampled a flame out in the gloom, +And art's harmonious flowering smiled +Upon the sadness of the tomb. + +The tomb was then a pleasant place. +As bed of child that slumbereth, +With many a fair and laughing grace +The joy of life surrounded death. + +Then death concealed its visage gaunt, +Whose sockets deep, and sunken nose, +And railing mouth our spirits haunt, +Past any dream that horror shows. + +The monster in flesh raiment clad +Hid deep its spectral form uncouth, +And virgin glances, beauty-glad, +Sped frankly to the naked youth. + +Twas only at Trimalchio's board +A little skeleton made sign, +An ivory plaything unabhorred, +To bid the feasters to the wine. + +Gods, whom Art ever must avow, +Ruled the marmoreal sky's demesne. +Olympus yields to Calvary, now; +Jupiter to the Nazarene! + +Voices are calling, "Pan is dead!" +Dusk deepeneth within, without. +On the black sheet of sorrow spread, +The whitened skeleton gleams out. + +It glideth to the headstone bare, +And signs it with a paraph wild, +And hangs a wreath of bones to glare +Upon the charnel death-defiled. + +It lifts the coffin-lid and quaffs +The musty air, and peers within, +Displays a ring of ribs, and laughs +Forever with its awful grin. + +It urges unto Death's fleet dance +The Emperor, the Pope, the King, +And makes the pallid steed to prance, +And low the doughty warrior fling;-- + +Behind the courtesan steals up, +And makes wry faces in her glass; +Drinks from the sick man's trembling cup; +Delves in the miser's golden mass. + +Above the team it whirls the thong, +With bone for goad to hurry it, +Follows the plowman's way along, +And guides the furrows to a pit. + +It comes, the uninvited guest, +And lurks beneath the banquet chair, +Unseen from the pale bride to wrest +Her little silken garter fair. + +The number swells: the young give hand +Unto the old, and none may flee. +The irresistible saraband +Compelleth all humanity. + +Forth speeds the tall, ungainly fright, +Playing the rebeck, dancing mad, +Against the dark a frame of white, +As Holbein drew it--horror-sad;-- + +Or if the times be frivolous, +Trusses the shroud about its hips: +Then like a Cupid mischievous, +Across the ballet-room it skips, + +And unto carven tombs it flies, +Where marchionesses rest demure, +Weary of love, in exquisite guise, +In chapels dim and pompadour. + +But hide thy hideous form at last, +Worm-eaten actor! Long enough +In death's wan melodrama cast, +Thou'st played thy part without rebuff. + +Come back, come back, O ancient Art! +And cover with thy marble's gleam +This Gothic skeleton! Each part +Consume, ye flames of fire supreme! + +If man be then a creature made +In God's own image, to aspire, +When shattered must the image fade, +Let the lone fragments feed the fire! + +Immortal form! Rise thou in flame +Again to beauty's fount of bloom +Let not thy clay endure the shame, +The degradation of the tomb! + + + +BJORN'S BANQUET + +Bjorn, odd and lonely cenobite, +High on a barren rock's plateau, +Far out of time's and the world's sight, +Dwells in a castle none may know. + +No modern thought may violate +His darkened and secluded hall. +Bjorn bolts with care his postern-gate, +And barricades his castle wall. + +When others wait the rising sun, +He from his mouldering parapet +Still contemplates the valley dun, +Where he beheld the red sun set. + +Securely doth the past enlock +His retrospective spirit lone. +The pendulum within his clock +Was broken centuries agone. + +Waking the echoes wanders he +Beneath his feudal arches drear, +His ringing footsteps seemingly +Followed by other footsteps clear. + +Nor priests nor friends with him make bold, +Nor burghers plain nor gentlemen; +But his ancestral portraits hold +A parley with him now and then. + +And of a midnight, sparing him +The ennui of a lonely cup, +Bjorn, harbouring a gloomy whim, +Invites his ancestors to sup. + +Forth stepping at the hour's grim stroke, +Come phantoms armed from foot to head. +Bjorn, quaking, to the solemn folk +Proffers with state the goblet red. + +To seat itself each panoply +With joints that grumble in revolt +Maketh an angle with its knee, +That creaketh like a rusty bolt; + +Till all at once the suit of mail, +Rude coffin of an absent bulk, +Cleaving the silence with a wail, +Falls in its chair, a clanking hulk. + +Landgraves and burgraves, spare and stout, +Come down from heaven or up from hell, +The iron guests of many a bout, +Arc bound within the midnight spell. + +Their blow-indented helmets bear +Heraldic beasts that bay and grin, +Athwart the shades the red lights glare +On crest and ancient lambrequin. + +Each empty, open casque now seems +Like to the helms of heraldries, +Save for two strange and livid gleams +That issue forth in threatening wise. + +Seated is each old combatant +In the vast hall, at Bjorn's behest, +And the uncertain shadows grant +A swarthy page to every guest. + +The liquors in the candle-shine +Take on suspicious purples. All +The viands in their gravy's wine +Grow lurid and fantastical. + +Sometimes a breastplate glitters bright, +A morion speeds its flashes wroth, +A rondelle from a hand of might +Drops heavily upon the cloth. + +Heard are the softly flapping wings +Of unseen bats. The shimmer flicks +Upon the carven panellings +The banners of the heretics. + +The stiffly bended gauntlets play +In the dull glow incarnadine, +And, creaking, to the helmets gray +Pour bumpers full of Rhenish wine; + +Or with their daggers keen of blade +Carve boars upon the plates of gold. +The corridor's uncanny shade +Hath clamours vague and manifold. + +The orgy waxes riotsome-- +One could not hear God's voice for it-- +For when a phantom sups from home, +What wrong if he carouse a bit? + +Now every ghostly care they drown +With jokes and jeers and loud guffaws. +A wine-cascade is running down +Each rusty helmet's iron jaws. + +The full and rounded hauberks bulge, +And to the neck the river mounts. +Their eyes with liquid fire effulge. +They're howling drunk, these valiant counts! + +One through the salad idly wields +A foot; another scolds the sick. +Some like the lions on their shields +With gaping mouths the fancy trick. + +In voice still hoarse from silence long +In the tomb's dampness and restraint, +Max playfully intones a song +Of thirteen hundred, crude and quaint. + +Albrecht, of quarrelsome repute, +Stirs right and left a war intense, +And drubs about with fist and foot, +As once he drubbed the Saracens. + +And heated Fritz his helmet doffs, +Not deeming he's a headless trunk. +Then down pell-mell mid roars and scoffs +Together roll the phantoms drunk. + +Ah! 'T is a hideous battle-ground, +Where pots and weapons bang and scud, +Where every dead man through some wound +Doth vomit victuals up for blood. + +And Bjorn observes them, sad of eye, +And haggard, while athwart the panes +The dawn comes creeping stealthily, +With blue, thin lights, and darkness wanes. + +The prostrate mass of rusty brown +Pales like a torch in daylight's room, +Until the drunkest pours him down +At last the stirrup-cup of doom. + +The cock crows loud. And with the day +Once more with haughty mien and bold, +Their revel-weary heads they lay +Upon their marble pillows cold. + + + +THE WATCH + +Now twice my watch have I taken, +And twice as I've gazing sat, +The hand has pointed unshaken +To one--and it's long past that! + +The clock's light cadences linger. +The sun-dial laughs from the lawn, +And points with a long, gaunt finger +The path that its shade has drawn. + +A steeple ironically +Calls the true time to me. +The belfry bell makes tally +And taunts me with accents free. + +Ah, dead is the wretch! I sought not, +Last night, to my reverie sold, +Its ruby circle! I thought not +Of glimmering key of gold! + +No longer I see with pleasure +The spring of the balance-wheel +Flit hither and there at measure, +Like a butterfly form of steel. + +When Hippogriff bears me, yearning, +Through skies of another sphere, +My soul-reft body goes turning +Wherever the steed may veer. + +Eternity still is giving +Its gaze to the lifeless face. +Time seeketh the heart once living, +His ear at the old watch-case,-- + +That heart whose regular motion +Was followed within my breast +By wave-beats of life's full ocean! +Ah well! the watch is at rest. + +But its brother is beating ever, +Steadfast and sturdy kept +By One Who forgetteth never,-- +Who wound it the while I slept. + + + +THE MERMAIDS + +There's a sketch you may discover +By an artist of degree +Rime and metre quarrel over-- +Théophile Kniatowski. + +On the snowy foam that fringes +All the mantle of the brine, +Radiant with the sunlight's tinges, +Three mermaidens softly shine. + +Like the drownèd lilies dancing +Turn they, as the spiral wave +Buoys their bodies hiding, glancing, +As they sink and rise and lave. + +In their golden hair for dowers +They have twined with beauteous hands +Shells for diadems, and flowers +From the deep wild under sands. + +Oysters pour a pearly hoarding +Their enrapturing throats to gem, +And the wave, its wealth according, +Tosses other pearls to them. + +Borne above the crest of ocean +By a Triton hand and strong, +Twine they, beautiful of motion, +Under gleaming tresses long. + +And the crystal water under, +Down the blue the glories pale +Of each lovely form of wonder, +Tapered to a shimmering tail. + +Ah! But who the scaly swimmers +Would behold in modern day-- +When a bust of ivory glimmers, +Cool from kisses of the spray? + +Look! Oh, mingled truth and fable! +O'er the horizon steady plied, +Comes a vessel proud and stable, +Toward the mermaids terrified! + +Tricoloured its flag is flaunted, +And it vomits vapour red, +And it beats the billows daunted, +Till the nymphs dive low for dread. + +Fearlessly they did beleaguer +Triremes immemorial, +And the dolphins arched and eager +Waited for Arion's call. + +This of old. But now the steamer-- +Vulcan hurtling Venus' charms,-- +Would destroy the siren gleamer, +With her fair, nude tail and arms. + +Farewell myth! The boat that passes +Thinks to see on silver bar, +Where the widening billow glasses, +Porpoises that plunge afar. + + + +TWO LOVE-LOCKS + +Reviving languorous dreaming +Of conquered, conquering eye, +Upon thy forehead gleaming, +Two fairest love-locks lie. + +I see them softly nesting, +Of wondrous, golden sheen, +Like little wheels come resting +From car of Mab the Queen; + +Or bows of Cupid ready +To let the arrows fly, +Bent circlewise and steady +For archer's mastery. + +One heart have I of passion. +Yet two love-locks are thine! +O brow of fickle fashion! +Whose heart is caught with mine? + + + +THE TEA-ROSE + +Most beautiful of all the roses +Is this half-open bud, whose bare, +Unpetalled heart a dream discloses +Of carmine very faint and fair. + +I wonder, was it once a white rose, +Till butterfly too ardent spoke +A language soft, and in the light rose +A shyer, warmer tint awoke? + +Its delicate fabric hath the colour +Of lovely and velutinous skin. +Its perfect freshness maketh duller +Environing hues incarnadine. + +For as some rare patrician features +Eclipse the brows of ruddier gleam, +So masquerade as rustic creatures +Gay sisters of this rose supreme. + +But, dear one, if your hand caress it, +And raise it for its sweet perfume, +Ere yet your velvet cheek shall press it, +'T will fade before a fairer bloom. + +No rose in all the world so tender, +That gloweth in the springtime fleet, +But shall its every charm surrender +Unto your seventeen years, my sweet. + +A face hath more than petal's power: +A pure heart's blood that blushing flows +O'er youth's nobility, is flower +High sovereign over every rose. + + + +CARMEN + +Slender is Carmen, of lissome guise, +Her hair is black as the midnight's heart; +Dark circles are under her gypsy eyes, +Her swarthy skin is the devil's art. + +The women will mock at her form and face; +But the men will follow her all the day. +Toledo's Archbishop (now save His Grace!) +Tones his mass at her knees, they say. + +Nestled in warmth of her amber neck +Lies a massive coil, till she fling it down +To be a raiment to frame and deck +Her delicate body from foot to crown. + +Then out from her pallid face with power +Her witching, terrible smiles compel. +Her mouth is a mystical poison-flower +That hath drawn its crimson from hearts in hell. + +The haughtiest beauty must yield her fame, +When this strange vision shall dusk her sky. +For Carmen rules, and her glance's flame +Shall set the torch to satiety. + +Wild, graceless Carmen!--Though yet this be, +Savour she hath of a world undreamt, +Of a world of wonder, whose salt young sea +Provoked a Venus to rise and tempt. + + + +WHAT THE SWALLOWS SAY + +AN AUTUMN SONG + +The dry, brown leaves have dropped forlorn, +And lie amid the golden grass. +The wind is fresh both eve and morn. +But where are summer days, alas! + +The tardy flowers the autumn stayed +For latter treasures now unfold. +The dahlia dons its gay cockade, +Its flaming cap the marigold. + +Rain stirs the pool with pelt and shock. +The swallows to the roof repair, +Confabulating as they flock +And feel the winter in the air. + +By hundreds gather they to vow +Their little yearnings and intents. +Saith one: "'T is fair in Athens now, +Upon the sun-warm battlements! + +"Thither I go to take my nap +Upon the Parthenon high and free. +My cornice nest is in the gap +A cannon-ball made there for me." + +And one: "A ceiling meets my needs +Within a Smyrna coffee-house, +Where Hadjis tell their amber beads +Upon the threshold luminous. + +"I go and come above the folk, +While their chibouques their clouds upfling. +I skim along through silver smoke, +And graze the turbans with my wing." + +Another: "There's a triglyph gray +On one of Baalbec's temples high. +'T is there I go to brood all day +Above my little family." + +Another calleth, "My address +Is settled: 'At the Knights of Rhodes.' +In a dark colonnade's recess +I'll make the snuggest of abodes." + +"Old age hath made me slow for flight," +Declares a fifth; "I'll rest at even +On Malta's terraces of white, +Where blue sea melts to blue of heaven." + +A sixth: "In Cairo is my home, +Up in a minaret's retreat: +A twig or two, a bit of loam-- +My winter lodgings are complete." + +A last: "The Second Cataract +Shall mark my place--the nest of brown +A granite king doth hold intact +Within the circle of his crown." + +And all together sing: "What miles +To-morrow shall have stretched beneath +Our fleeing swarm:--remembered isles, +Snow peaks, vast waters, lands of heath!" + +With calls and cries and beat of wings, +Grown eager now and venturesome, +The swallows hold their twitterings, +To see the blight of winter come. + +And I--I understand them all, +Because the poet is a bird,-- +Oh! but a sorry bird, and thrall +To a great lack, pressed heavenward. + +It's Oh for wings! to seek the star, +To count the seas when day is done, +To breast the air with swallows far, +To verdant spring, to golden sun! + + + +CHRISTMAS + +Black is the sky and white the ground. +O ring, ye bells, your carol's grace! +The Child is born! A love profound +Beams o'er Him from His Mother's face. + +No silken woof of costly show +Keeps off the bitter cold from Him. +But spider-webs have drooped them low, +To be His curtain soft and dim. + +Now trembles on the straw downspread +The Little Child, the Star beneath. +To warm Him in His holy bed, +Upon Him ox and ass do breathe. + +Snow hangs its fringes on the byre. +The roof stands open to the tryst +Of aureoled saints, that sweetly choir +To shepherds, "Come, behold the Christ!" + + + +THE DEAD CHILD'S PLAYTHINGS + +Marie comes no more at call. +She has wandered from her play. +Ah, how pitifully small +Was the coffin borne away! + +See--about the nursery floor +All her little heritage: +Rubber ball and battledore, +Tattered book and coloured page. + +Poor forsaken doll! in vain +Stretch your arms. She will not come. +Stopped forever is the train, +And the music-box is dumb. + +Some one touched it soft, apart, +Where the silence is her name. +And what sinking of the heart +At the plaintive note that came! + +Ah, the anguish! when the tomb +Robs the cradle; when bereft +We discover in the gloom +Child toys that an angel left. + + + +AFTER WRITING MY DRAMATIC REVIEW + +My columns are ranged and steady, +Upbearing, though sad forespent, +The newspaper pediment, +And my review is ready. + +Now for a week, poetaster, +My door is bolted. Away, +Thou still-born masterpiece,--aye, +Till Monday I am my master. + +No melodrama shall whiten +My labour with threadbare leaves. +The warp that my fancy weaves +With silken flowers shall brighten. + +Brief moment my spirit's warder, +Ye voices of soul that float, +I'll hearken your sorrow's note, +Nor verses evoke to order. + +Then deep in my glass regaining +The health of a day gone by,-- +Old visions for company-- +The bloom of my vintage draining, + +The wine of my thought I'll measure, +Wine virgin of alien glow, +Grapes trodden by life, that flow +From my heart at my heart's own pleasure! + + + +THE CASTLE OF REMEMBRANCE + +Before my hearth with head low-bowed +I dream, and strive to reach again, +Across the misty past's gray cloud, +Unto Remembrance's domain, + +Where tree and house and upland way +Are blurred and blue like passing ghosts, +And the eye, ponder though it may, +Consults in vain the guiding-posts. + +Now gropingly to gain a sight +Of all the buried world, I press +Through mystic marge of shade and light +And limbo of forgetfulness. + +But white, diaphanous Memory stands, +Where many roadways meet and spread, +Like Ariadne, in my hands +Thrusting her little ball of thread. + +Henceforth the way is all secure. +The shrouded sun hath reappeared, +And o'er the trees with vision sure +I see the castle tower upreared. + +Beneath the boughs where day grows dark +With shower on shower of leaves down-poured +The dear old path through moss and bark +Still lengthens far its narrow cord. + +But creeping-plant and bramble-spray +Have wrought a net to daunt me now. +The stubborn branch I force away +Swings fiercely back to lash my brow. + +I come upon the house at last. +No window lit with lamp or face, +No breath of smoke from gables vast, +To touch with life the mouldering place! + +Bridges are crumbling. Moats are still, +And slimed with rank, green refuse-flowers, +And tortuous waves of ivy fill +The crevices and choke the towers. + +The portico in moonlight wanes. +Time sculptures it to suit his whim. +And with the wash of many rains +My coloured coat of arms is dim. + +The door I open eagerly. +The ancient hinges creak and halt. +A breath of dampness wafts to me +The musty odour of the vault. + +The hairy nettle sharp of sting, +The coarse and broad-leafed burdock weed +In court-yard nooks are prospering, +By spreading hemlocks canopied. + +Upon two marble monsters near, +That guard the mossy steps of stone, +The shadow of a tree falls clear, +That in my absence has upgrown. + +Sudden the lion sentinels raise +Their paws, aggressive and malign, +And challenge me with their white gaze; +But soft I breathe the countersign. + +I pass. The old dog menaceth, +But falls back hushed, the shades amid. +My resonant footstep wakeneth +Crouched echoes in their corners hid. + +Through yellow panes of glass a ray +Of dubious light creeps down the hall +Where ancient tapestries display +Apollo's fortunes from the wall. + +Fair tree-bound Daphne still with grace +Stretches her tufted fingers green. +But in the amorous god's embrace +She fades, a formless phantom seen. + +I watch divine Apollo stand, +Herdsman to acarus-riddled sheep, +The Muses Nine, a haggard band, +Upon a faded Pindus weep; + +While Solitude in scanty gown +Traces "Desertion" in the dust +That through the air she sifteth down +Upon a marble stand august. + +And now, among forgotten things, +I find, like sleepers manifold, +Pastels bedimmed, dark picturings, +Young beauties, and the friends of old. + +My faltering fingers lift a crape,-- +And lo, my love with look and lure! +With puffing skirts and prisoned shape! +Cidalise _à la_ Pompadour! + +A tender, blossoming rose she feels +Against her ribboned bodice pressed, +Whose lace half hides and half reveals +A snowy, azure-veinèd breast. + +Within her eyes gleam sparkles lush, +As on the rime-kissed, deadened leaves. +Upon her cheek a purple flush-- +Death's own cosmetic hue!--deceives. + +She startles as I come before, +And fixeth soft on me her eyes, +Reproachfully forevermore, +Yet with a charm and witching wise. + +Life bore me from thee at its will, +Yet on my heart thy name is laid, +Thou dead delight, that lingereth still, +Bedizened for the masquerade! + +Envious of Art, fair Nature wrought +To overpass Murillo's fame,-- +From Andalusia here she brought +The face that lights the second frame. + +By some poetical caprice, +Our atmosphere of mist and cloud, +With rare exotic charm's increase +This other Petra Camara dowed. + +Warm orange tones are gilding yet +Her lovely skin of roseate hue. +Her eyelids fair have lashes jet +That beams of sunshine filter through. + +There shimmers fine a pearly gleam +Between her scarlet lips elate; +Her beauty flashes forth supreme-- +A bright south summer pomegranate. + +Long to the sound of Spain's guitar, +I told her praise 'mid song and glass. +She came alone one evenstar, +And all my room Alhambra was. + +Farther I see a robust Fair, +With strong and gem-beladen arms. +In pearls of price and velvet rare +Are set her ivory bosom's charms. + +Her ennui is a weary queen's, +An adulating court amid. +Superb, aloof, her hand she leans +Upon a casket's jewelled lid. + +Her sensuous lips their crimes confess, +As crimson with the blood of hearts. +With brutal, mad voluptuousness +Her conquering eye a challenge darts. + +Here dwells, in lieu of tender grace, +Vertiginous allure, whereof +A cruel Venus ruled a race, +Presiding o'er malignant love. + +Unnatural mother to her child, +This Venus all imperative! +O thou, my bitter joy and wild,-- +Farewell forever! I forgive! + +Within its frame in shadow fine, +The misty glass that still endures +Reveals another face than mine,-- +The earliest of my portraitures. + +A retrospective ghost, with face +Of vanished type, steps from the vast +Dim mirror of his biding-place +In tenebrous, forgotten past. + +Gay in his doublet satin-rose, +Coloured in bold and vivid way, +He seems as if about to pose +For Deveria or Boulanger. + +Terror of glabrous commoner, +His flowing locks in royal guise, +Like mane of lion, or sinister +King's hair, fall heavy to his thighs. + +Romanticist of bold conceit, +Knight of an art which strives anew, +He hurled himself at Drama's feet, +When erst Hernani's trumpet blew. + +Night falls. The corners are astir +With many shapes and shadows tall. +The Unknown--grim stage-carpenter-- +Sets up its darksome frights o'er all. + +A sudden burst of candles, weird +With aureoles, like lamps of death! +The room is populous, and bleared +With folk brought hither by a breath! + +Down step the portraits from the wall,-- +A ruddy-litten company! +Circling the fireplace in the hall, +Where the wood blazes suddenly. + +The figures wrested from the tombs +Have lost their rigid, frozen mien, +The gradual glow of life illumes +The Past with flush incarnadine. + +A colour lights the faces pale, +As in the days of old delight. +Friends whom my thought shall never fail, +I thank ye, that ye came to-night! + +Now eighteen-thirty shows to me +Its great and valiant-hearted men. +(Ah, like Otranto's pirates, we +Who were an hundred, are but ten!) + +And one his reddish beard spreads out, +Like Barbarossa in his cave. +Another his mustachio stout +Curls at the ends in fashion suave. + +Under the ample fold that cloaks +An ever unrevealèd ill, +Petrus a cigarette now smokes, +Naming it "papelito" still. + +Another cometh, fain to tell +His visions and his hopes supreme. +Like Icarus on the sands he fell, +Where lie all broken shafts of dream. + +And one a drama hath begot, +Planned after some new model's freak, +Which, merging all things in its plot, +Makes Calderon with Molière speak. + +Tom, late forsaken by his Dear, +Love's Labour's Lost must low recite; +And Fritz to Cidalise makes clear +Faust's vision of Walpurgis Night. + +But dawn comes through the window free. +Diaphanous the phantoms grow. +The objects of reality +Strike through their shapes that merge and go. + +The candles are consumed away. +The ember-lights no longer gleam +Upon the hearth. No thing shall stay. +Farewell, O castle of my dream! + +December gray shall turn once more +The glass of Time, for all we fret! +The present enters at my door, +And vainly bids me to forget. + + + +CAMELLIA AND MEADOW-DAISY + +We praise the hot-house flowers that loom +Far from their native sun and shade, +The flaring forms that flaunt their bloom, +Like jewels under glass displayed. + +With never breeze to kiss their heads, +They have their birth and live and die +On costly, artificial beds, +Beneath an ever-crystal sky. + +For whomsoever idly scans, +Baring their treasures to entice, +Like fair and sumptuous courtesans, +They stand for sale at golden price. + +Fine porcelain holds their gathered groups, +Or glove-clad fingers fondle them +Between the dances, till each droops +Upon a limp or broken stem. + +But down amid the grass unreaped, +Shunning the curious, in repose +And silence all the long day steeped, +A little woodland daisy blows. + +A butterfly upon the wing +To point the place, a casual look, +And you surprise the sweet, shy thing, +Within its calm, sequestered nook. + +Beneath the blue it openeth, +Rising on slender, vernal rod, +Spreading its soul in fragrant breath +For solitude and for its God. + +And proud camellias tall and white, +Red tulips in a flaming mass, +Are all at once forgotten quite, +For the small flower amid the grass. + + + +THE FELLAH + +_On seeing a Water-Colour by Princess Mathilde_ + +Caprice of brush fantastical, +And of imperial idleness, +Your fellah-sphinx presents us all +With an enigma worth the guess. + +A rigid fashion, verily, +This mask, this garment, seem to us, +Intriguing with its mystery +The ball-room's every Oedipus. + +Isis bequeathed her veil of old +To modern daughters of the Nile. +But through this band austere, behold, +Two stars of radiance beam and smile,-- + +Two stars, two eyes, two poems that spring, +The soft, voluptuous fires whereof +Resolve the riddle, murmuring: +"Lo, I am Beauty! Be thou Love!" + + + +THE GARRET + +From balcony tiles where casual cats +Sit low in wait for birds unwise, +I see the worn and riven slats +Of a poor, humble garret rise. + +Now could I as an author lie, +To give you comfort as you think, +Its window I would falsify, +And frame with flowers refined and pink, + +And place within it Rigolette +With her cheap looking-glass, somehow, +Whose broken glazing mirrors yet +A portion of her pretty brow; + +Or Margery, her dress undone, +Her hair blown free, her tie forgot, +Watering in the pleasant sun +Her pail-encompassed garden-plot; + +Or poet-youth whom fame awaits, +Who scans his verse and eyes the hills, +Or in a reverie contemplates +Montmartre with its distant mills. + +Alas! my garret is no feint. +There climbeth no convolvulus. +The window with its nibbled paint +Leers filmy and unluminous. + +Alike for artist and grisette, +Alike for widower and lad, +A garret--save to music set-- +Is never otherwise than sad. + +Of old, beneath an angle pent, +That forced the forehead to a kiss, +Love, with a folding-couch content, +To chat with Susan deemed it bliss. + +But we must wad our bliss about +With cushioned walls and laces wide, +And silks that flutter in and out, +O'er beds by Monbro canopied. + +This evening, to Mount Breda fled +Is Rigolette, to linger there, +And Margery, well clothed and fed, +No longer tends her garden fair. + +The poet, tired of catching rimes +Upon the wing, has turned to cull +Reporter's bays, and left betimes +A heaven for an entresol. + +And in the window this is all: +An ancient goody chattering, +And railing at a kitten small +That toys forever with a string. + + + +THE CLOUD + +Lightly in the azure air +Soars a cloud, emerging free +Like a virgin from the fair +Blue sea; + +Or an Aphrodite sweet, +Floating upright and empearled +In the shell, about its feet +Foam-curled. + +Undulating overhead, +How its changing body glows! +On its shoulder dawn hath spread +A rose. + +Marble, snow, blend amorously +In that form by sunlight kissed-- +Slumbering Antiope +Of mist! + +Sailing unto distant goal, +Over Alps and Apennines, +Sister of the woman-soul, +It shines; + +Till my heart flies forth at last +On the wings of passion warm, +And I yearn to gather fast +Its form. + +Reason saith: "Mere vapour thing! +Bursting bubble! Yet, we deem, +Holds this wind-distorted ring +Our dream." + +Faith declareth: "Beauty seen, +Like a cloud, is but a thought, +Or a breath, that, having been, +Is naught. + +"Have thy vision. Build it proud. +Let thy soul be full thereof. +Love a woman--love a cloud-- +But love!" + + + +THE BLACKBIRD + +A bird from yonder branch at dawn +Is trilling forth a joyful note, +Or hopping o'er the frozen lawn, +In yellow boots and ebon coat. + +It is the blackbird credulous. +Little of calendar knows he, +Whose soul, with sunbeams luminous, +Sings April to the snows that be. + +Rain sweeps in torrents unrepressed. +The Arve makes dull the Rhone with mire. +The pleasant hall retains its guest +In goodly cheer before the fire. + +The mountains have their ermine on, +Each one a mighty magistrate, +And hold grave conference upon +A case of Winter lasting late. + +The bird dries well his wing, and long, +Despite the rains, the mists that roll, +Insists upon his little song, +Believes in Spring with all his soul. + +He softly chides the slumberous morn +For dallying so long abed, +And bids the shivering flower forlorn +Be bold, and raise aloft its head; + +Behind the dark sees day that smiles, +Even as behind the Holy Rod, +When bare the altar, dim the aisles, +The child of faith beholds his God. + +He trusts to Nature's purpose high, +Sure of her laws for here and now. +Who laughs at thy philosophy, +Dear blackbird, is less wise than thou! + + + +THE FLOWER THAT MAKES THE SPRINGTIME + +The chestnut trees are soon to flower +At fair _Saint Jean,_ the villa dipped +In sun, before whose viny tower +Stretch purple mountains silver-tipped. + +The little leaves that yesterday +Pressed in their bodices were seen +Have put their sober garb away, +And touched the tender twigs with green. + +But vainly do the sunbeams fill +The branches with a flood of light. +The shy bud hesitateth still +To show the secret thyrse of white. + +And yet the rosy peach-tree blooms, +Like some faint blush of first desire. +The apple waves a wealth of plumes, +And laughs in all its fresh attire. + +To bask amid the buttercups +The timid speedwell ventures out. +Nature calls every earthling up, +And reassures each tiny sprout. + +Yet I must off to other sphere! +Then please your poet, chestnuts tall, +Yea, spread ye forth without a fear +Your firework bloom fantastical! + +I know your summer splendour's pride. +I've seen you standing sumptuous +In autumn's tunics purple-dyed, +With golden circlets luminous. + +In winter white and crystal-crossed +Your delicate boughs I saw again,-- +Like lovely traceries the frost +Limns lightly on the window-pane. + +Your every garment I have known, +Ye chestnuts grand that loom aloft,-- +Save one to me you've never shown, +Of young green fabric first and soft. + +Ah, well, good-bye, for I must go! +Keep, then, your flowers, where'er they be. +There is another flower I know, +That makes the springtime fair for me. + +Let May with all her blooms arise, +Let May with all her blooms depart! +That flower sufficeth for mine eyes, +And hath pure honey in its heart. + +Let be the season where it waits, +And blue or dull be heaven's dome-- +It smiles and charms and captivates,-- +The precious violet of my home! + + + +A LAST WISH + +How long my soul has loved thee, love! +It is full many a year agone. +Thy spring--what charm of flowers thereof, +My winter--what wild snows thereon! + +White lilacs from the land of graves +Blow near my temples. Soon enow +Thou'lt mark the pallid mass that waves +Enshadowing my withered brow. + +My westering sun must speedy drop, +And disappear behind the road. +Already on the dim hill-top, +There gleams and waits my last abode. + +Then from thy rosy lips let fall +Upon my lips a tardy kiss, +That in my tomb, when comes the call, +My heart may rest, remembering this. + + + +THE DOVE + +O tender, beauteous dove, +Calling such plaintive things! +Wilt serve unto my love, +And be my love's own wings? + +O, but we 're like, poor heart! +Thy dear one, too, is far. +Remembering, apart, +Each weeps beneath the star. + +Let not thy rosy feet +Stay once on any tower,-- +I am so fain, my sweet,-- +So weary turns the hour! + +Forswear the palm's repose +That spreadeth over all, +And gables where the snows +Of other pinions fall. + +Now fail me not, nor fear! +He dwelleth near the king. +Give him this letter, dear, +These kisses on thy wing. + +Then seek again my breast, +This flaming, throbbing goal, +Then come, my dove, and rest-- +But bring me back his soul! + + + +A PLEASANT EVENING + +What flurrying of rains and snows! +Now every coachman, blue of nose, + In fur and ire +Sits petrified. Oh, it were right +To spend this wild December night + Before one's fire! + +The cosy chimney-corner chair +Assumes its most persuasive air. + I seem to see +Its arms held out, its voice to hear, +Beseeching like a mistress dear: + "Ah, stay with me!" + +A gauze reveals the orbèd lamp, +Like a fair breast beneath a guimpe, + And drowsily +The shimmer of its light ascends, +Flushing with gold and crimson blends + The ceiling high. + +The silence frames no sound of things, +Save for the pendulum that swings + Its golden disk, +And many winds that roam and weep, +Or stealthy to the hall-way sweep, + To dance and frisk. + +It's ball-night at the Embassy. +My coat's limp sleeves are signalling me + To dress anon. +My waistcoat yawns. My shirt obtuse +Seems raising high its wristbands loose, + To be put on. + +A narrow boot's abundant glaze +Reflects the ruddy firelight's blaze. + Have I forgot? +A glove's flat fingers span the shelf. +A thin cravat protrudes itself, + And begs a knot. + +Then must I forth? But what a bore-- +To seek the over-crowded door! + To fall in line +Of coaches bearing coats of arms +And haughty beauties with their charms, + Superb and fine! + +To stand against a portal wide +And see the surging mass inside + Bear form on form: +Old faces, faces fresh and young, +Black coats low bodices among,-- + A motley swarm! + +And puffy backs that hide their red +With laces fine of costly thread + Aerial, +Dandies, diplomatists, that press, +With features dull, expressionless, + At fashion's call. + +What! Brave, to win a glance of hers, +The rows of lynx-eyed dowagers! + Try undeterred +To speak the dear name of my dear, +And whisper softly in her ear + Love's little word! + +Nay, but I'll not! Her eye shall heed +A letter in the flowers I'll speed. + No ball-room now! +Let Parma violets make good +Whatever be her passing mood. + They hold my vow. + +Ensconced with Heine or with Taine, +Or, if I like, the Goncourts twain, + The time will go. +I'll dream, until the hour shall stir +Reality, and wait for her. + She'll come, I know. + + + +ART + +More fair the work, more strong, +Stamped in resistance long,-- +Enamel, marble, song. + +Poet, no shackles bear, +Yet bid thy Muse to wear +The buskin bound with care. + +A fashion loose forsake,-- +A shoe of sloven make, +That any foot may take. + +Sculptor, the clay withstand, +That yieldeth to the hand, +Though listless heart command. + +Contend till thou have wrought, +Till the hard stone have caught +The beauty of thy thought. + +With Paros match thy might, +And with Carrara bright, +That guard the line of light. + +Borrow from Syracuse +The bronze's stubborn use, +Wherein thy form to choose. + +And with a delicate grace +In the veined onyx trace +Apollo's perfect face. + +Painter, put thou aside +The transient. Be thy pride +The colour furnace-tried. + +Limn thou, fantastic, free +Blue sirens of the sea, +And beasts of heraldry. + +Before a nimbus gold +Transcendently uphold +The Child, the Cross foretold. + +Things perish. Gods have passed. +But song sublimely cast +Shall citadels outlast. + +And the forgotten seal +Turned by the plowman's steel +An emperor may reveal. + +For Art alone is great: +The bust survives the state, +The crown the potentate. + +Carve, burnish, build thy theme,-- +But fix thy wavering dream +In the stern rock supreme. + +--- + +[Transcribers notes: I have created this online text from two +sources: _E?maux et came?es_ by The?ophile Gautier (Paris: +Charpentier, 1872), and Agnes Lee's English translation entitled +_Enamels and Cameos_, published in Volume XXIV of _The +Complete Works of The?ophile Gautier_ (Cambridge, MA: +University Press, John Wilson and Son, 1903). Lee added line +indentations for most of the poems which were not present in +Gautier's original text, so I have not included them here. Apart from +this, the online text follows Lee's translation, including her +dedicatory sonnet.] + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Enamels and Cameos and other Poems, by +Théophile Gautier + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENAMELS AND CAMEOS AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 29521-8.txt or 29521-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/5/2/29521/ + +Produced by Ruth Hart + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +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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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Enamels and Cameos and other Poems + +Author: Théophile Gautier + +Translator: Agnes Lee + +Release Date: July 27, 2009 [EBook #29521] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENAMELS AND CAMEOS AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Ruth Hart + + + + + +</pre> + +<center> +<h1>ENAMELS AND CAMEOS</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h3>TH<font face="Times New Roman">É</font>OPHILE GAUTIER</h3> + +<h3>TRANSLATED BY AGNES LEE</h3><br> +<br> + +<p>CONTENTS</p><br> + +<table> +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#1">The God and the Opal</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#2">Preface</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#3">Affinity — A Pantheistic Madrigal</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#4">The Poem of Woman - Marble of Paros</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#5">A Study of Hands</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td> <a href="#6">I Imperia</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td> <a href="#7">II Lacenaire</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#8">Variations on the Carnival of Venice:</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td> <a href="#9">I On the Street</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td> <a href="#10">II On the Lagoons</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td> <a href="#11">III Carnival</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td> <a href="#12">IV Moonlight</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#13">Symphony in White Major</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#14">Coquetry in Death</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#15">Heart's Diamond</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#16">Spring's First Smile</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#17">Contralto</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#18">Eyes of Blue</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#19">The Toreador's Serenade</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#20">Nostalgia of the Obelisks:</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td> <a href="#21">I The Obelisk in Paris</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td> <a href="#22">II The Obelisk in Luxor</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#23">Veterans of the Old Guard, December 15</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#24">Sea-Gloom</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#25">To a Rose-Coloured Gown</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#26">The World's Malicious</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#27">Ines de las Sierras — To Petra Camara</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#28">Odelet, After Anacreon</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#29">Smoke</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#30">Apollonia</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#31">The Blind Man</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#32">Song</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#33">Winter Fantasies</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#34">The Brook</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#35">Tombs and Funeral Pyres</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#36">Bjorn's Banquet</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#37">The Watch</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#38">The Mermaids</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#39">Two Love-Locks</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#40">The Tea-Rose</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#41">Carmen</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#42">What the Swallows Say — An Autumn Song</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#43">Christmas</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#44">The Dead Child's Playthings</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#45">After Writing My Dramatic Review</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#46">The Castle of Rembrance</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#47">Camellia and Meadow Daisy</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#48">The Fellah — A Water-Colour by Princess Mathilde</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#49">The Garret</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#50">The Cloud</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#51">The Blackbird</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#52">The Flower that Makes the Springtime</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#53">A Last Wish</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#54">The Dove</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#55">A Pleasant Evening</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right"></td> + +<td><a href="#56">Art</a></td> + +<td align="right"></td> +</tr> +</table> +</center><br> +<br> +<a name="1"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE GOD AND THE OPAL<br> +TO TH<font face="Times New Roman">É</font>OPHILE GAUTIER</p> + +<p>Gray caught he from the cloud, and green from earth,<br> +And from a human breast the fire he drew,<br> +And life and death were blended in one dew.<br> +A sunbeam golden with the morning's mirth,<br> +A wan, salt phantom from the sea, a girth<br> +Of silver from the moon, shot colour through<br> +The soul invisible, until it grew<br> +To fulness, and the Opal Song had birth.</p> + +<p>And then the god became the artisan.<br> +With rarest skill he made his gem to glow,<br> +Carving and shaping it to beauty such<br> +That down the cycles it shall gleam to man,<br> +And evermore man's wonderment shall know<br> +The perfect finish, the immortal touch.</p> + +<p>Agnes Lee.</p><a name="2"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>PREFACE</p> + +<p>When empires lay riven apart,<br> +Fared Goethe at battle time's thunder<br> +To fragrant oases of art,<br> +To weave his <i>Divan</i> into wonder.</p> + +<p>Leaving Shakespeare, he pondered the note<br> +Of Nisami, and heard in his leisure<br> +The hoopoe's weird monody float,<br> +And set it to soft Orient measure.</p> + +<p>As Goethe at Weimar delayed<br> +And dreamed in the fair garden closes,<br> +And, questing in sun or in shade,<br> +With Hafiz plucked redolent roses,—</p> + +<p>I, closed from the tempest that shook<br> +My window with fury impassioned,<br> +Sat dreaming, and, safe in my nook,<br> +Enamels and Cameos fashioned.<br></p><a name="3"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>AFFINITY<br> +A PANTHEISTIC MADRIGAL</p> + +<p>On an ancient temple gleaming,<br> +Two great blocks of marble high<br> +Thrice a thousand years lay dreaming<br> +Dreams against an Attic sky.</p> + +<p>Set within one silver whiteness,<br> +Two wave-tears for Venus shed,<br> +Two fair pearls of orient brightness,<br> +Through the waste of water sped.</p> + +<p>In the Generalife's fresh closes,<br> +By a Moorish light illumed,<br> +Two delicious, tender roses<br> +By a fountain met and bloomed.</p> + +<p>In the balm of May's bright weather,<br> +Where the domes of Venice rise,<br> +Lighted on Love's nest together<br> +Two pale doves from azure skies.</p> + +<p>All things vanish into wonder,<br> +Marble, pearl, dove, rose on tree,<br> +Pearl shall melt and marble sunder,<br> +Flower shall fade and bird shall flee!</p> + +<p>Not a smallest part but lowly<br> +Through the crucible must pass,<br> +Where all shapes are molten slowly<br> +In the universal mass.</p> + +<p>Then as gradual Time discloses<br> +Marbles melt to whitest skin,<br> +Roses red to lips of roses,<br> +And anew the lives begin.</p> + +<p>And again the doves are plighted<br> +In the hearts of lovers, while<br> +Ocean pearls are reunited,<br> +Set within a coral smile.</p> + +<p>Thus affinity comes welling;<br> +By its beauty everywhere<br> +Soul a sister-soul foretelling,<br> +All awakened and aware.</p> + +<p>Quickened by a zephyr sunny,<br> +Or a perfume, subtlewise,<br> +As the bee unto the honey,<br> +Atom unto atom flies.</p> + +<p>And remembered are the hours<br> +In the temple, down the blue,<br> +And the talks amid the flowers,<br> +Near the fount of crystal dew,</p> + +<p>Kisses warm, and on the royal<br> +Golden domes the wings that beat;<br> +For the atoms all are loyal,<br> +And again must love and greet.</p> + +<p>Love forgotten wakes imperious,<br> +For the past is never dead,<br> +And the rose with joy delirious<br> +Breathes again from lips of red.</p> + +<p>Marble on the flesh of maiden<br> +Feels its own white bloom, and faint<br> +Knows the dove a murmur laden<br> +With the echo of its plaint,</p> + +<p>Till resistance giveth over,<br> +And the barriers fall undone,<br> +And the stranger is the lover,<br> +And affinity hath won!</p> + +<p>You before whose face I tremble,<br> +Say—what past we know not of<br> +Called our fates to reassemble,—<br> +Pearl or marble, rose or dove?</p><a name="4"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE POEM OF WOMAN<br> +MARBLE OF PAROS</p> + +<p>Unto the dreamer once whose heart she had,<br> +As she was showing forth her treasures rare,<br> +Minded she was to read a poem fair,<br> +The poem of her form with beauty glad.</p> + +<p>First stately and superb she swept before<br> +His gazing eyes, with high, Infanta mien,<br> +Trailing behind her all the splendid sheen<br> +Of nacarat floods of velvet that she wore.</p> + +<p>Thus at the opera had he watched her bend<br> +From out her box, her body one bright flame,<br> +When all the air was ringing with her name,<br> +And every song made her fair praise ascend.</p> + +<p>Then had her art another way, for look!<br> +The weighty velvet dropped, and in its place<br> +A pale and cloudy fabric proved the grace<br> +Of every line her glowing body took;</p> + +<p>Till softly from her shoulder marble-sweet<br> +The veil diaphanous fell, the folds whereof<br> +Came fluttering downward like a snowy dove,<br> +To nestle in the wonder of her feet.</p> + +<p>She posed as for Apelles pridefully,<br> +A lovely flesh and marble womanhood:—<br> +Anadyomene, she upright stood<br> +Naked upon the margent of the sea.</p> + +<p>Fairer than any foam-drops crystalline,<br> +Great pearls of Venice lay upon her breast,<br> +Jewels of milky wonder lightly pressed<br> +Upon the cool, fresh satin of her skin.</p> + +<p>Exhaustless as the waves that kiss the brim,<br> +Under the gleaming moon of many moods,<br> +Were all the strophes of her attitudes.<br> +What fascination sang her beauty's hymn!</p> + +<p>But soon, grown weary of an art antique,<br> +Of Phidias and of Venus, lo! again<br> +Within another new and plastic strain<br> +She grouped her charms unveiled and unique.</p> + +<p>Upon a cashmere opulently spread,<br> +Sultana of Seraglio then she lay,<br> +Laughing unto her little mirror gay,<br> +That laughed again with lips of coral red;</p> + +<p>The indolent, soft Georgian, posturing<br> +With her long, supple narghile at lip,<br> +Showing the glorious fashion of her hip,<br> +One foot upon the other languishing.</p> + +<p>And, like to Ingres' Odalisque, supine,<br> +Defying prurient modesty turned she,<br> +Displaying in her beauty candidly<br> +Wonder of curve and purity of line.</p> + +<p>But hence, thou idle Odalisque! for life<br> +Hath now its own fair picture to display—<br> +The diamond in its rare effulgent ray,—<br> +Beauty in Love hath reached its blossom rife.</p> + +<p>She sways her body, bendeth back her head.<br> +Her breathing comes more subtle and more fast.<br> +Rocked in her dream's alluring arms, at last<br> +Down hath she fallen upon her costly bed.</p> + +<p>Her eyelids beat like fluttering pinions lit<br> +Upon the darkened silver of her eyes.<br> +Her bright, voluptuous glances upward rise<br> +Into the vague and nacreous infinite.</p> + +<p>Deck her with sweet, lush violets, instead<br> +Of death-flowers with their every pearl a tear;<br> +Scatter their purple clusters on her bier,<br> +Who of her being's ecstasy lies dead.</p> + +<p>And bear her very gently to her tomb—<br> +Her bed of white. There let the poet stay,<br> +Long hours upon his bended knees to pray,<br> +When night shall close around the funeral room.</p><a name="5"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>A STUDY OF HANDS</p><a name="6"></a> + + +<p>I</p> + +<p>IMPERIA</p> + +<p>A sculptor showed to me one day<br> +A hand, a Cleopatra's lure,<br> +Or an Aspasia's, cast in clay,<br> +Of masterwork a fragment pure.</p> + +<p>Seized in a snowy kiss, and fair<br> +As lily in the argent rise<br> +Of dawn, like whitest poem there<br> +Its beauty lay before mine eyes,</p> + +<p>Bright in its pallor lustreless,<br> +Reposing on a velvet bed,<br> +Its fingers, weighted with their dress<br> +Of jewels, delicately spread.</p> + +<p>A little parted lay the thumb,<br> +Showing the undulating line,<br> +Beautiful, graceful, subtlesome,<br> +Of its proud contour Florentine.</p> + +<p>Strange hand! I wonder if it toyed<br> +In silken locks of Don Juan,<br> +Or on a gem-bright caftan joyed<br> +To stroke the beard of some soldan;</p> + +<p>Whether, as courtesan or queen,<br> +Within its fingers fair and slight<br> +Was pleasure's gilded sceptre seen,<br> +Or sceptre of a royal might!</p> + +<p>But sweet and firm it must have lain<br> +Full oft its touch of power rare<br> +Upon the curling lion-mane<br> +Of some chimera caught in air.</p> + +<p>Imperial, idle fantasy,<br> +And love of soft, luxurious things,<br> +Frenzies of passion, wondrous, free,<br> +Impossible dream-flutterings!</p> + +<p>Romances wild, and poesy<br> +Of hasheech and of wine, vain speeds<br> +Beneath Bohemia's brilliant sky<br> +On unrestrained and maddened steeds!</p> + +<p>All these were in the lines of it,<br> +Of that white book with magic scrolled,<br> +Where ciphers stood, by Venus writ,<br> +That Love had trembled to behold.</p><a name="7"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>II</p> + +<p>LACENAIRE</p> + +<p>Strange contrast was the severed hand<br> +Of Lacenaire, the murderer dead,<br> +Soaked in a powerful essence, and<br> +Near by upon a cushion spread.</p> + +<p>Letting a morbid fancy win,<br> +I touched, despite my loathing sane,<br> +The cold, hair-covered, slimy skin,<br> +Not yet washed clean of deathly stain.</p> + +<p>Yellow, uncanny, mummified,<br> +Like to a Pharaoh's hand it lay,<br> +And stretched its faun-shaped fingers wide,<br> +Crisp with temptation's awful play;</p> + +<p>As though an itch for flesh and gold<br> +Lured them to horrors yet to be,<br> +Twisting them roughly as of old,<br> +Teasing their immobility.</p> + +<p>There every vice and passion's whim<br> +Had seamed the flesh abundantly<br> +With hideous hieroglyphs and grim,<br> +That headsmen read with fluency.</p> + +<p>There plainly writ in furrows fell,<br> +I saw the deeds of sin and soil,<br> +Scorchings from every fiery hell<br> +Wherein corruptions seethe and boil.</p> + +<p>There was a track of Capri's vice,<br> +Of lupanars and gaming-scores,<br> +Fretted with wine and blood and dice,<br> +Like ennui of old emperors.</p> + +<p>Supple and fierce, it had some dower<br> +Of grace unto the searching eye,<br> +Some brutal fascination's power,<br> +A gladiator's mastery.</p> + +<p>Cold aristocracy of crime!<br> +No plane inured, no hammer spent<br> +The hand whose task for every time<br> +Had but the knife for implement.</p> + +<p>The hand of Lacenaire! No clue<br> +Therein to labour's honest pride!<br> +False poet, and assassin true,<br> +The Manfred of the gutter died!</p><a name="8"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>VARIATIONS ON THE CARNIVAL OF VENICE</p><a name="9"></a> + +<p>I</p> + +<p>ON THE STREET</p> + +<p>There is a popular old air<br> +That every fiddler loves to scrape.<br> +'T is wrung from organs everywhere,<br> +To barking dog with wrath agape.</p> + +<p>The music-box has registered<br> +Its phrases garbled and reviled.<br> +'T is classic to the household bird;<br> +Grandmother learned it as a child.</p> + +<p>The trumpet and the clarinet,<br> +In dusty gardens of the dance,<br> +Blow it to clerk and gay grisette,<br> +In shrill, unlovely resonance.</p> + +<p>And of a Sunday swarm the folk<br> +Under the honeysuckle vine,<br> +Quaffing, the while they talk and smoke,<br> +The sun, the melody, the wine.</p> + +<p>It lurks within the wry bassoon<br> +The blind man plays, the porch beneath.<br> +His poodle whimpers low the tune,<br> +And holds the cup between its teeth.</p> + +<p>The players of the light guitar,<br> +Decked with their flimsy tartans, pale,<br> +With voices sad, where feasters are,<br> +Through coffee-houses fling its wail.</p> + +<p>Great Paganini at a sign,<br> +One night, as with a needle's gleam,<br> +Picked up with end of bow divine<br> +The little antiquated theme,</p> + +<p>And, threading it with fingers deft,<br> +He broidered it with colours bright,<br> +Till up and down the faded weft<br> +Ran golden arabesques of light.</p><a name="10"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>II</p> + +<p>ON THE LAGOONS</p> + +<p>Tra la, tra la, la, la, la,—who<br> +Knows not the theme's soft spell?<br> +Or sad or light or mock or true,<br> +Our mothers loved it well.</p> + +<p>The Carnival of Venice! Long<br> +Adown canals it came,<br> +Till, wafted on a zephyr's song,<br> +The ballet kept its fame.</p> + +<p>I seem, whene'er its phrase I hear,<br> +A gondola to view,<br> +With prow voluted, black and clear,<br> +Slip o'er the water blue;</p> + +<p>To see, her bosom covered o'er<br> +With pearls, her body suave,<br> +The Adriatic Venus soar<br> +On sound's chromatic wave.</p> + +<p>The domes that on the water dwell<br> +Pursue the melody<br> +In clear-drawn cadences, and swell<br> +Like breasts of love that sigh.</p> + +<p>My chains around a pillar cast,<br> +I land before a fair<br> +And rosy-pale facade at last,<br> +Upon a marble stair.</p> + +<p>Oh! all dear Venice with her towers,<br> +Her boats, her masquers boon,<br> +Her sweet chagrins, her mad, gay hours,<br> +Throbs in that ancient tune.</p> + +<p>The tenuous, vibrant chords that smite,<br> +Rebuild in subtle way<br> +The city joyous, free and light<br> +Of Canaletto's day!</p><a name="11"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>III</p> + +<p>CARNIVAL</p> + +<p>Venice robes her for the ball;<br> +Decked with spangles bright,<br> +Multi-coloured Carnival<br> +Teems with laughter light.</p> + +<p>Harlequin with negro mask,<br> +Tights of serpent hue,<br> +Beateth with a note fantasque<br> +His Cassander true.</p> + +<p>Flapping loose his long, white sleeve,<br> +Like a penguin spread,<br> +Through a subtle semibreve<br> +Pierrot thrusts his head.</p> + +<p>Sleek Bologna's doctor goes<br> +Maundering on a bass.<br> +Punchinello finds for nose<br> +Quaver on his face.</p> + +<p>Hurtling Trivellino fine,<br> +On a trill intent,<br> +Scaramouch to Columbine<br> +Gives the fan she lent.</p> + +<p>Gliding to the tune, I mark<br> +One veiled figure rise,<br> +While through satin lashes dark<br> +Luring gleam her eyes.</p> + +<p>Tender little edge of lace,<br> +Heaving with her breath!<br> +"Under is her own dear face!"<br> +An arpeggio saith.</p> + +<p>And beneath the mask I know<br> +Bloom of rosy lips,<br> +And the patch on chin of snow,<br> +As she by me trips!</p><a name="12"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>IV</p> + +<p>MOONLIGHT</p> + +<p>Amid the chatter gay and mad<br> +Saint Mark to Lido wafts, a tune<br> +Like as a rocket riseth glad<br> +As fountain riseth to the moon.</p> + +<p>But in that air with laughter stirred,<br> +That shakes its bells far out to sea,<br> +Regret, a little stifled bird,<br> +Mingles its frail sob audibly.</p> + +<p>And in a mist of memory clad,<br> +Like dream well-nigh effaced, I view<br> +The sweet Beloved, fair and sad,<br> +Of dear, long-vanished days I knew.</p> + +<p>Ah, pale she is! My soul in tears<br> +An April day remembers yet:—<br> +We sought the violets by the meres,<br> +And in the grass our fingers met. . .</p> + +<p>The vibrant note of violin<br> +Is the child voice that struck my heart,<br> +Exquisite, plaintive, argentine,<br> +With all the anguish of its dart.</p> + +<p>So sweetly, falsely, doth it steal,<br> +So cruel, yet so tender, too,<br> +So cold, so burning, that I feel<br> +A deadly pleasure pierce me through;</p> + +<p>Until my heart, an archway deep<br> +Whose waters feed the fountain's lip,<br> +Lets tears of blood in silence weep<br> +Into my bosom drip by drip.</p> + +<p>O Carnival of Venice!—theme<br> +So chilling sad, yet ever warm!<br> +Where laughter toucheth tears supreme,—<br> +How hast thou hurt me with thy charm!</p><a name="13"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>SYMPHONY IN WHITE MAJOR</p> + +<p>In the Northern tales of eld,<br> +From the Rhine's escarpments high<br> +Swan-women radiant were beheld,<br> +Singing and floating by,</p> + +<p>Or, leaving their plumage bright<br> +On a bough that was bending low,<br> +Displaying skin more gleaming white<br> +Than the white of their down of snow.</p> + +<p>At times one comes our way,—<br> +Of all she is pallidest,<br> +White as the moonbeam's shivering ray<br> +On a glacier's icy crest.</p> + +<p>Her boreal bloom doth win<br> +Our eyes to feasting rare<br> +On rich delight of nacreous skin,<br> +And a wealth of whiteness fair.</p> + +<p>Her rounded breasts, pale globes<br> +Of snow, wage insolent war<br> +With her camellias and her robes<br> +Of whiteness nebular.</p> + +<p>In such white wars supreme<br> +She wins, and weft and flower<br> +Leave their revenge's right, and seem<br> +Yellowed with envy's hour.</p> + +<p>On the white of her shoulder bare,<br> +Whose marble Paros lends,<br> +As through the Polar twilight fair,<br> +Invisible frost descends.</p> + +<p>What beaming virgin snow,<br> +What pith a reed within,<br> +What Host, what taper, did bestow<br> +The white of her matchless skin?</p> + +<p>Was she made of a milky drop<br> +On the blue of a winter heaven?<br> +The lily-blow on the stem's green top?<br> +The foam of the sea at even?</p> + +<p>Of the marble still and cold,<br> +Wherein the great gods dwell?<br> +Of creamy opal gems that hold<br> +Faint fires of mystic spell?</p> + +<p>Or the organ's ivory keys?<br> +Her wing<font face="Times New Roman">è</font>d fingers oft<br> +Like butterflies flit over these,<br> +With kisses pending soft.</p> + +<p>Of the ermine's stainless fold,<br> +Whose white, warm touches fall<br> +On shivering shoulders and on bold,<br> +Bright shields armorial?</p> + +<p>Of the phantom flowers of frost<br> +Enscrolled on the window clear?<br> +Of the fountain drop in the chill air lost,<br> +An Undine's frozen tear?</p> + +<p>Of May bent low with the sweets<br> +Of her bountiful white-thorn bloom?<br> +Of alabaster that repeats<br> +The pallor of grief and gloom?</p> + +<p>Of the feathers of doves that slip<br> +And snow on the gable steep?<br> +Of slow stalactite's tear-white drip<br> +In cavernous places deep?</p> + +<p>Came she from Greenland floes<br> +With Seraphita forth?<br> +Is she Madonna of the Snows?<br> +A sphinx of the icy North,</p> + +<p>Sphinx buried by avalanche,<br> +The glacier's guardian ghost,<br> +Whose frozen secrets hide and blanch<br> +In her white heart innermost?</p> + +<p>What magic of what far name<br> +Shall this pale soul ignite?<br> +Ah! who shall flush with rose's flame<br> +This cold, implacable white?</p><a name="14"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>COQUETRY IN DEATH</p> + +<p>I beg ye grant, when low I lie,<br> +Before ye close my coffin-bed,<br> +A little black beneath mine eye,<br> +And on my cheek a touch of red!</p> + +<p>Ah, make me beautiful as now!<br> +For I would be upon my bier,<br> +As on the night of his avow<br> +Charming and bloomful, gay and dear.</p> + +<p>For me no linen winding-sheet!<br> +But gown me very grand and bright.<br> +Bring forth my frock of muslin sweet,<br> +With many ruffles soft and white.</p> + +<p>My favourite frock! I wore it well,<br> +Who wore it at love's flowering.<br> +And since his look upon it fell,<br> +I've kept it as a sacred thing.</p> + +<p>For me no funeral coronet,<br> +No tear-embroidered cushion place;<br> +But o 'er my fair lace pillow let<br> +My hair droop free about my face.</p> + +<p>Dear pillow! Often did it mark,<br> +In mad, sweet nights our brows unlit,<br> +And, all within the gondola dark,<br> +Did count our kisses infinite.</p> + +<p>About my waxen hands supine,<br> +Folded in prayer at life's deep gloam,<br> +My rosary of opals twine,<br> +Blessed by His Holiness at Rome.</p> + +<p>I'll finger it, when bedded cold<br> +Where never one shall rise. How oft<br> +His lips upon my lips have told<br> +A <i>Pater</i> and an <i>Ave</i> soft!</p><a name="15"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>HEART'S DIAMOND</p> + +<p>Every lover deep hath set<br> +In a sacred nook apart<br> +Some dear token for the heart<br> +In its hope or its regret.</p> + +<p>One hath nested safe away<br> +Blackest ringlet ever seen,<br> +Over which an azure sheen<br> +Lieth, as on wing of jay.</p> + +<p>One from shoulder pale as milk<br> +Took a tress more golden-fine<br> +Than the threads that softly shine<br> +In the silk-worm's wonder-silk.</p> + +<p>In its hiding mystical,<br> +Memory's reliquary sweet,<br> +Glances of another greet<br> +Gloves with fingers white and small.</p> + +<p>And another yet may list<br> +To inhale a faint perfume<br> +Of the violets from her room,<br> +Freshly given—faded, kissed.</p> + +<p>Here a slipper's curving grace<br> +One with sighing treasureth.<br> +There another guards a breath<br> +In a mask's light edge of lace.</p> + +<p>I've no slipper to revere,<br> +Neither glove nor tress nor flower;<br> +But I cherish for love's dower<br> +A divine, ador<font face="Times New Roman">è</font>d tear,—</p> + +<p>Fallen from the blue above,<br> +Clearest dew, heaven's drop for me,<br> +Pearl dissolved secretly<br> +In the chalice of my love.</p> + +<p>To mine eyes the dim-worn dew<br> +Beams, a gem of Orient worth,<br> +Standing from the parchment forth,<br> +Diamond of a sapphire blue,—</p> + +<p>Steadfast, lustreful and deep!<br> +Tear that fell unhoped, unsought,<br> +On a song my soul once wrought,<br> +From an eye unused to weep.</p><a name="16"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>SPRING'S FIRST SMILE</p> + +<p>While up and down the earth men pant and plod,<br> +March, laughing at the showers and days unsteady,<br> +And whispering secret orders to the sod,<br> +For Spring makes ready.</p> + +<p>And slyly when the world is sleeping yet,<br> +He smooths out collars for the Easter daisies,<br> +And fashions golden buttercups to set<br> +In woodland mazes.</p> + +<p>Coif-maker fine, he worketh well his plan.<br> +Orchard and vineyard for his touch are prouder.<br> +From a white swan he hath a down to fan<br> +The trees with powder.</p> + +<p>While Nature still upon her couch doth lean,<br> +Stealthily hies he to the garden closes,<br> +And laces in their bodices of green<br> +Pale buds of roses.</p> + +<p>Composing his solfeggios in the shade,<br> +He whistles them to blackbirds as he treadeth,<br> +And violets in the wood, and in the glade<br> +Snowdrops, he spreadeth.</p> + +<p>Where for the restless stag the fountain wells,<br> +His hidden hand glides soft amid the cresses,<br> +And scatters lily-of-the-valley bells,<br> +In silver dresses.</p> + +<p>He sinks the sweet, vermilion strawberries<br> +Deep in the grasses for thy roving fingers,<br> +And garlands leaflets for thy forehead's ease,<br> +When sunshine lingers.</p> + +<p>When, labour done, he must away, turns he<br> +On April's threshold from his fair creating,<br> +And calleth unto Spring: "Come, Spring—for see,<br> +The woods are waiting!"</p><a name="17"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>CONTRALTO</p> + +<p>There lies within a great museum's hall,<br> +Upon a snowy bed of carven stone,<br> +A statue ever strange and mystical,<br> +With some fair fascination all its own.</p> + +<p>And is it youth or is it maiden sweet,<br> +A goddess or a god come down to sway?<br> +Love fearful, hesitating, turns his feet,<br> +Nor any word's avowal will betray.</p> + +<p>Sideways it lieth, with averted face,<br> +Stretching its lovely limbs, half mischievous,<br> +Unto the curious crowd, an idle grace<br> +Lighting its marble form luxurious.</p> + +<p>For fashioning of its evil beauty brought<br> +The sexes twain each one its magic dower.<br> +Man whispers "Aphrodite!" in his thought,<br> +And woman "Eros!" wondering at its power.</p> + +<p>Uncertain sex and certain grace, that seem<br> +To melt forever in a fountain's kiss,<br> +Waters that whelm the body as they gleam<br> +And merge, and it is one with Salmacis.</p> + +<p>Ardent chimera, effort venturesome<br> +Of Art and Pleasure—figure fanciful!<br> +Into thy presence with delight I come,<br> +Loving thy beauty strange and multiple.</p> + +<p>Though I may never close to thee draw nigh,<br> +How often have my glances pierced the taut,<br> +Straight fold of thine austerest drapery,<br> +Fast at the end about thine ankle caught!</p> + +<p>O dream of poet passing every bound!<br> +My thought hath built a fancy of thy form,<br> +Till it is molten into silver sound,<br> +And boy and girl are one in cadence warm.</p> + +<p>O tone divine, O richest tone of earth,<br> +The beautiful, bright statue's counterpart!<br> +Contralto, thou fantastical of birth,<br> +The voice's own Hermaphrodite thou art!</p> + +<p>Thou art the plaintive dove, the linnet rare,<br> +Perched on one rose tree, mellow in one note.<br> +Thou art fair Juliet and Romeo fair,<br> +Singing across the night with one warm throat.</p> + +<p>Thou art the young wife of the castellan,<br> +Chaffing an amorous page below her bower,—<br> +Upon her balcony the lady wan,<br> +The lover at the base of her high tower.</p> + +<p>Thou art the yellow butterfly that swings,<br> +Pursuing soft a butterfly of snow,<br> +In spiral flights and subtle traversings,<br> +One winging high, the other winging low<i>;</i></p> + +<p>The angel flitting up and down the gold<br> +Of the bright stair's aerial extent,<br> +The bell in whose alloy of mighty mould<br> +Arc voice of bronze and voice of silver blent</p> + +<p>Yea, melody and harmony art thou,<br> +Song with its true accompaniment, and grace<br> +Matched unto force,—the woman plighting vow<br> +To her Belov<font face="Times New Roman">è</font>d with a close embrace;</p> + +<p>Or thou art Cinderella doomed to spend<br> +Her night before the embers of the fire,<br> +Deep in a conversation with her friend,<br> +The cricket, as the latter hours expire;</p> + +<p>Or Arsaces, the great and valorous,<br> +Waging his righteous battle for a realm,<br> +Or Tancred with his breastplate luminous,<br> +Cuirassed and splendid with his sword and helm;</p> + +<p>Or Desdemona with her willow song,<br> +Zerlina laughing at Mazetto, or<br> +Malcolm, his plaid upon his shoulder strong.<br> +Thee, O thou dear Contralto, I adore!</p> + +<p>For these thou art, thou dearest charm of each,<br> +O fair Contralto, double-throated dove!<br> +The Kaled of a Lara, for thy speech,<br> +Thou mightest, like the lost Gulnare, prove,—</p> + +<p>In whose heart-stirring, passionate caress<br> +In one wild, tremulous note there blend and mount<br> +A woman's sigh of plaintive tenderness,<br> +And virile accents from a firmer fount.</p><a name="18"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>EYES OF BLUE</p> + +<p>A woman, mystic, sweet,<br> +Whose beauty draws my soul,<br> +Stands silent where the fleet<br> +And singing waters roll.</p> + +<p>Her eyes, the mirrored note<br> +Of heaven, merge heaven's blue<br> +Bestarred of lights remote,<br> +With the sea's glaucous hue.</p> + +<p>Within their languor set,<br> +Smiles sadness infinite.<br> +Tears make the sparkles wet,<br> +And tender grows the light.</p> + +<p>Like sea-gulls from aloft<br> +That graze the ocean free,<br> +Her lashes flutter soft<br> +Upon an azure sea.</p> + +<p>As slumbering treasures drowned<br> +Send shimmers lightly up,<br> +Gleams through the tide profound<br> +The King of Thule's cup.</p> + +<p>Athwart the weedy swirl<br> +Brilliant, the waves upon,<br> +Shine Cleopatra's pearl,<br> +And ring of Solomon.</p> + +<p>The crown to ocean cast,<br> +That Schiller showed to us,<br> +Still under sea caught fast,<br> +Beams clear and luminous.</p> + +<p>A magic in that gaze<br> +Draws me, mad venturer!<br> +Thus mermaid's magic ways<br> +Drew Harold Haarfager.</p> + +<p>And all my soul unquelled<br> +Adown the gulf betrayed<br> +Dives, to the quest impelled<br> +Of some elusive shade.</p> + +<p>The siren fitfully<br> +Displays her body's gleam,<br> +Her breast and arms that ply<br> +Through waves of amorous dream.</p> + +<p>The water heaves and falls,<br> +Like breasts with passion's breath.<br> +The breeze insistent calls<br> +To me, and murmureth:</p> + +<p><i>"Come to my pearly bed!<br> +My ocean arms shall slip<br> +About thee: salt shall spread<br> +To honey on thy lip!</i></p> + +<p><i>Oh, let the billows link<br> +Above us! Thou shalt, warm,<br> +From cup of kisses drink<br> +Oblivion of the storm!"</i></p> + +<p>Thus sighs the glance that sweeps<br> +From out those sea-blue gates,<br> +Till heart down treacherous deeps<br> +The hymen consummates.</p><a name="19"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE TOREADOR'S SERENADE</p> + +<p>RONDALLA</p> + +<p>Child with airs imperial,<br> +Dove with falcon's eyes for me<br> +Whom thou hatest,—come I shall<br> +Underneath thy balcony!</p> + +<p>There, my foot upon the stone,<br> +I shall twang my chords with grace,<br> +Till thy window-pane hath shone<br> +With thy lamplight and thy face.</p> + +<p>Let no lad with his guitar<br> +Strum adown the bordering ways.<br> +Mine the road to watch and bar,<br> +Mine alone to sing thy praise.</p> + +<p>Let the first my courage brave.<br> +He shall lose his ears, egad!<br> +Who shall howl his love and rave<br> +In a couplet good or bad.</p> + +<p>Restless doth my dagger lie.<br> +Come! who'll venture its rebuff?<br> +Who would wear for every sigh<br> +Blood's red flower upon his ruff?</p> + +<p>Blood grows weary of its veins;<br> +For it yearns to be displayed.<br> +Night is ominous with rains.<br> +Haste, ye cowards, back to shade!</p> + +<p>On, thou braggart, else aroint!<br> +Well thy forearm cover thou.<br> +On! and with my dagger's point<br> +Let me write upon thy brow.</p> + +<p>Let them come, alone, in mass:<br> +Firm of foot I bide my place.<br> +For thy glory, as they pass,<br> +Would I slit each paltry face.<br> +<br> +O'er the gutter ere thy clear,<br> +Snowy feet shall be defiled,<br> +By the Rood! a bridge I'll rear<br> +With the bones of gallants wild.</p> + +<p>I would slay, thy love to wear,<br> +Any foe, yea, even proud<br> +Satan's very self to dare,<br> +So thy sheets became my shroud.</p> + +<p>Sightless window, deafened door!<br> +Wilt thou never heed my sounds?<br> +Like a wounded bull I roar,<br> +Maddening the baying hounds.</p> + +<p>Drive at least a poor nail then,<br> +Where my heart may hang inert.<br> +For I want it not again,<br> +With its madness and its hurt!</p><a name="20"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>NOSTALGIA OF THE OBELISKS</p><a name="21"></a> + +<p>THE OBELISK IN PARIS</p> + +<p>Distant from my native land,<br> +Ever dull with ennui's pain,<br> +Lonely monolith I stand,<br> +In the snow and frost and rain.</p> + +<p>And my shaft, once burnt to red<br> +In a flaming heaven's glare,<br> +Taketh on a pallor dead<br> +In this never azure air.</p> + +<p>Oh, to stand again before<br> +Luxor's pylons, and the dear,<br> +Grim Colossi!—be once more<br> +My vermilion brother near!</p> + +<p>Oh, to pierce the changeless blue,<br> +Where of old my peak upwon,<br> +With my shadow sharp and true<br> +Trace the footsteps of the sun!</p> + +<p>Once, O Rameses! my tall mass<br> +Not the ages could destroy.<br> +But it fell cut down like grass.<br> +Paris took it for a toy.</p> + +<p>Now my granite form behold:<br> +Sentinel the livelong day<br> +Twixt a spurious temple old,<br> +And the <i>Chambre des D<font face="Times New Roman">é</font>put<font face= +"Times New Roman">é</font>s!</i></p> + +<p>On the spot where <i>Louis Seize<br></i> Died, they set me, meaningless,<br> +With my secret which outweighs<br> +Cycles of forgetfulness.</p> + +<p>Sparrows lean defile my head,<br> +Where the ibis used to light,<br> +And the fierce gypaetus spread<br> +Talons gold and plumage white.</p> + +<p>And the Seine, the drip of street,<br> +Unclean river, crime's abyss,<br> +Now befouls mine ancient feet,<br> +Which the Nile was wont to kiss:</p> + +<p>Hoary Nile that, crowned and stern,<br> +To its lotus-laden shores<br> +From its ever bended urn<br> +Crocodiles for gudgeon pours!</p> + +<p>Golden chariots gem-belit<br> +Of the Pharaohs' pageanting<br> +Grazed my side the cab-wheels hit,<br> +Bearing out the last poor king.</p> + +<p>By my granite shape of yore<br> +Passed the priests, with stately pschent,<br> +And the mystic boat upbore,<br> +Emblemed and magnificent.</p> + +<p>But to-day, profane and wan,<br> +Camped between two fountains wide,<br> +I behold the courtesan<br> +In her carriage lounge with pride.</p> + +<p>From the first of year to last<br> +I must see the vulgar show—<br> +Solons to the Council passed,<br> +Lovers to the woods that go!<br> +<br> +Oh, what skeletons abhorred,<br> +Hence, an hundred years, this race!<br> +Couched, unbandaged, on a board,<br> +In a nailed coffin's place.</p> + +<p>Never hypogeum kind,<br> +Safe from foul corruption's fear;<br> +Never hall where century-lined<br> +Generations disappear!</p> + +<p>Sacred soil of hieroglyph,<br> +And of sacerdotal laws,<br> +Where the Sphinx is waiting stiff,<br> +Sharpening on the stone its claws,—</p> + +<p>Soil of crypt where echoes part,<br> +Where the vulture swoopeth free,<br> +All my being,—all my heart,<br> +O mine Egypt, weeps for thee!</p><a name="22"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE OBELISK IN LUXOR</p> + +<p>Where the wasted columns brood,<br> +Lonely sentinel stand I,<br> +In eternal solitude<br> +Facing all infinity.</p> + +<p>Dumb, with beauty unendowed,<br> +To the horizon limitless<br> +Spreads earth's desert like a shroud<br> +Stained by yellow suns that press.</p> + +<p>While above it, blue and clean,<br> +Is another desert cast—<br> +Sky where cloud is never seen,<br> +Pure, implacable, and vast.</p> + +<p>And the Nile's great water-course<br> +Glazed with leaden pellicle<br> +Wrinkled by the river-horse<br> +Gleameth dead, unlustreful.</p> + +<p>All about the flaming isles,<br> +By a turbid water spanned,<br> +Hot, rapacious crocodiles<br> +Swoon and sob upon the sand.</p> + +<p>Perching motionless, alone,<br> +Ibis, bird of classic fame,<br> +From a carven slab of stone<br> +Reads the moon-god's sacred name.</p> + +<p>Jackals howl, hyenas grin,<br> +Famished hawks descend and cry.<br> +Down the heavy air they spin,<br> +Commas black against the sky.</p> + +<p>These the sounds of solitude,<br> +Where the sphinxes yawn and doze,<br> +Dull and passionless of mood,<br> +Weary of their endless pose.</p> + +<p>Child of sand's reflected shine,<br> +And of sun-rays fiercely bent,<br> +Is there ennui like to thine,<br> +Spleen of luminous Orient?</p> + +<p>Thou it was cried "Halt!" of yore<br> +To satiety of kings.<br> +Thou hast crushed me more and more<br> +With thine awful weight of wings.</p> + +<p>Here no zephyr of the sea<br> +Wipes the tears from skies that fill.<br> +Time himself leans wearily<br> +On the palaces long still.</p> + +<p>Naught shall touch the features terse<br> +Of this dull, eternal spot.<br> +In this changing universe,<br> +Only Egypt changeth not!</p> + +<p>When the ennui never ends,<br> +And I yearn a friend to hold,<br> +I've the fellahs, mummies, friends,<br> +Of the dynasties of old.</p> + +<p>I behold a pillar pale,<br> +Or a chipped Colossus note,<br> +Watch a distant, gleaming sail<br> +Up and down the Nile afloat.</p> + +<p>Oh, to seek my brother's side,<br> +In a Paris wondrous, grand,<br> +With his stately form to bide,<br> +In the public place to stand!</p> + +<p>For he looks on living men,<br> +And they scan his pictures wrought<br> +By an hieratic pen,<br> +To be read by vision-thought.</p> + +<p>Fountains fair as amethyst<br> +On his granite lightly pour<br> +All their irisated mist.<br> +He is growing young once more.</p> + +<p>Ah! yet he and I had birth<br> +From Syene's veins of red.<br> +But I keep my spot of earth.<br> +He is living. I am dead.</p><a name="23"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>VETERANS OF THE OLD GUARD</p> + +<p>(December 15)</p> + +<p>Driven by ennui from my room,<br> +I walked along the Boulevard.<br> +'Twas in December's mist and gloom.<br> +A bitter wind was blowing hard.</p> + +<p>And there I saw—strange thing to see!—<br> +In drizzle and in daylight drear,<br> +From out their dark abodes let free,<br> +Dim, spectral shadow-shapes appear.</p> + +<p>Yet 't is by night's uncanny hours,<br> +By pallid German moonbeams cast<br> +On old dilapidated towers,<br> +That ghosts are wont to wander past.</p> + +<p>It is by night's effulgent star<br> +In dripping robes that elves intrigue<br> +To bear beneath the nenuphar<br> +Their dancer dead of his fatigue.</p> + +<p>At night's mysterious tide hath been<br> +The great review—of ballad writs—<br> +Wherein the Emperor, dimly seen,<br> +Numbered the shades of Austerlitz.</p> + +<p>But phantoms near the <i>Gymnase?—</i>yea,<br> +And wet and miry phantoms, too,<br> +And close to the <i>Vari<font face="Times New Roman">é</font>t<font face= +"Times New Roman">é</font>s,<br></i> And not a shroud to trick the view!</p> + +<p>With yellow teeth and stained dress,<br> +And mossy skull and pierced shoon,<br> +Paris—Montmartre—behold it press,—<br> +Death in the very light of noon!</p> + +<p>Ah, 't is a picture to be seen!<br> +Three veteran ghosts in uniform<br> +Of the Old Guard, and, spare and lean,<br> +Two ghost-hussars in daylight's storm.</p> + +<p>The lithograph, you would surmise,<br> +Wherein one ray shines down upon<br> +The dead, that Raffet deifies,<br> +That pass and shout "Napoleon!"</p> + +<p>No dead are these, whom nightly drum<br> +May rouse to battle fires that burn,<br> +But stragglers of the Old Guard, come<br> +To celebrate the grand return!</p> + +<p>Since fighting in the fight supreme,<br> +One has grown thin, another stout;<br> +The coats that fitted once now seem<br> +Too small, too loose, or draggled out.</p> + +<p>O epic rags! O tatters light,<br> +Starred with a cross! Heroic things<br> +Of ridicule, ye gleam more bright,<br> +More beautiful than robes of kings!</p> + +<p>Limp feathers fluttering adorn<br> +The tawny colbacks worn and grim.<br> +The bullet and the moth have torn<br> +And riddled well the dolmans dim.</p> + +<p>Their leathern breeches loosely hang<br> +In furrows on their lank thigh-bones,<br> +Their rusty sabres drag and clang,<br> +As heavily they scrape the stones.</p> + +<p>Or some round belly firm and fat,<br> +Squeezed tight in tether labour-donned,<br> +Makes mirth and jest to chuckle at—<br> +Old hero quaint and cheveroned!</p> + +<p>But do not mock and jeer, my lad.<br> +Salute him, rather, and, believe,<br> +Achilles he, of Iliad<br> +That Homer's self could not conceive.</p> + +<p>Respect these men with battle signs<br> +That twenty skies have painted brown;<br> +Their scars that lengthen out the lines<br> +Of wrinkles age has written down;</p> + +<p>Their skin whose colour deep and dun,<br> +Bared to the fronts of many foes,<br> +Tells us of Egypt's burning sun;<br> +Their locks that tell of Russia's snows.</p> + +<p>And if they shake, no longer strong?<br> +Ah! Beresina's wind was cold.<br> +And if they limp? The way was long,<br> +From Cairo unto Vilna told.</p> + +<p>If they be stiff? They'd but a flag<br> +For sheet to hold their bodies warm.<br> +And if a sleeve be loose, poor rag?<br> +'T is that a bullet tore an arm.</p> + +<p>Mock not these veteran shapes bizarre,<br> +At whom the urchin laughs and gapes.<br> +They were the day, of which we are<br> +The evening, and the night, perhaps,—</p> + +<p>Remembering if we forget—<br> +Red lancer, grenadier in blue,<br> +With faces to the Column set,<br> +As to their only altar true.</p> + +<p>There, proud of pain each scar denotes,<br> +And of long miseries gone by,<br> +They feel beneath their shabby coats<br> +The heart of France beat mightily.</p> + +<p>And so our smiles are steeped in tears,<br> +Seeing this holy carnival,<br> +This picture wan that reappears,<br> +Like morning after midnight's ball.</p> + +<p>And, cleaving heaven its own to claim,<br> +Wide the Grand Army's eagle spreads<br> +Its golden wings, like glory's flame,<br> +Above their dear and hallowed heads.</p><a name="24"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>SEA-GLOOM</p> + +<p>The sea-gulls restless gleam and glance,<br> +The mad white coursers cleave the length<br> +Of ocean as they rear and prance<br> +And toss their manes in stormy strength.</p> + +<p>The day is ending. Raindrops choke<br> +The sunset furnaces. The gloom<br> +Brings the great steamboat spitting smoke,<br> +And beating down its long black plume.</p> + +<p>And I, more wan than heaven wide,<br> +For land of soot and fog am bound,<br> +For land of smoke and suicide—<br> +And right good weather have I found!</p> + +<p>How eagerly I now would pierce<br> +The gulf that groweth wild and hoar!<br> +The vessel rocks. The waves are fierce.<br> +The salt wind freshens more and more.</p> + +<p>Ah! bitter is my soul's unrest.<br> +The very ocean sighing heaves<br> +In pity its unhopeful breast,<br> +Like some good friend that knows and grieves.</p> + +<p>Let be—lost love's despair supreme!<br> +Let be—illusions fair that rose<br> +And fell from pedestals of dream!<br> +One leap! The dark wet ridges close.</p> + +<p>Away! ye sufferings gone by,<br> +That evermore returning brood,<br> +And press the wounds that sleeping lie,<br> +To make them weep afresh their blood.</p> + +<p>Away! regret, whose crimson heart<br> +Hath seven swords. Yea, One, maybe,<br> +Doth know the anguish and the smart—<br> +Mother of Seven Sorrows, She!</p> + +<p>Each ghostly grief sinks down the vast,<br> +And struggles with the waves that throb<br> +To close about it, and at last<br> +Drown it forever with a sob.</p> + +<p>Soul's ballast, treasures of life's hand,<br> +Sink! and we'll wreck together down.<br> +Pale on the pillow of the sand<br> +I'll rest me well at evening brown.</p> + +<p>But, now, a woman, as I gaze,<br> +Sits in the bridge's darker nook,<br> +A woman, who doth sweetly raise<br> +Her eyes to mine in one long look.</p> + +<p>'T is Sympathy with outstretched arms,<br> +Who smileth to me through the gray<br> +Of dusk with all her thousand charms.<br> +Hail, azure eyes! Green sea, away!</p> + +<p>The sea-gulls restless gleam and glance.<br> +The mad white coursers cleave the length<br> +Of Ocean as they rear and prance<br> +And toss their manes in stormy strength.</p><a name="25"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>TO A ROSE-COLOURED GOWN</p> + +<p>How I love you in the robes<br> +That disrobe so well your charms!<br> +Your dear breasts, twin ivory globes,<br> +And your bare sweet pagan arms.</p> + +<p>Frail as frailest wing of bee,<br> +Fresher than the heart of rose,<br> +All the fabric delicate, free,<br> +Round your body gleams and glows,</p> + +<p>Till from skin to silken thread,<br> +Silver shivers lightly win,<br> +And the rosy gown have shed<br> +Roses on the creamy skin.</p> + +<p>Whence have you the mystic thing,<br> +Made of very flesh of you,<br> +Living mesh to mix and cling<br> +With your glorious body's hue?</p> + +<p>Did you take it from the rud<br> +Of the dawn? From Venus' shell?<br> +From a breast-flower nigh to bud?<br> +From a rose about to swell?</p> + +<p>Doth the texture have its dye<br> +From some blushing bashfulness?<br> +No—your portraits do not lie—<br> +Beauty beauty's form shall guess!</p> + +<p>Down you cast your garment fair,<br> +Art-dreamed, sweet Reality,<br> +Like Borghese's princess, rare<br> +For Canova's mastery!</p> + +<p>Ah! the folds are lips of fire<br> +Sweeping round your lovely form<br> +In a folly of desire,<br> +With a weft of kisses warm!</p><a name="26"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE WORLD'S MALICIOUS</p> + +<p>Ah, little one, the world's malicious!<br> +With mocking smiles thy beauty greeting.<br> +It says that in thy breast capricious<br> +A watch, and not a heart, is beating.</p> + +<p>Yet like the sea thy breast is swelling<br> +With all the wild, tumultuous power<br> +A tide of blood sends pulsing, welling,<br> +Beneath thy flesh in life's young hour.</p> + +<p>Ah, little one, the world is spiteful!<br> +It says thy vivid eyes are fooling,<br> +And that they have their charm delightful<br> +From faithful, diplomatic schooling.</p> + +<p>Yet on thy lashes' shifting curtain<br> +An iridescent tear-drop trembles,<br> +Like dew unbidden and uncertain,<br> +That no well-water's gleam resembles.</p> + +<p>Ah, little one, the world reviles thee!<br> +It says thou hast no spirit's favour,<br> +That verse, which seemingly beguiles thee,<br> +Hath unto thee a Sanskrit savour.</p> + +<p>Yet to thy crimson lips inviting,<br> +Intelligence's bee of laughter,<br> +At every flash of wit alighting,<br> +Allures and gleams, and lingers after.</p> + +<p>Ah, little one, I know the trouble!<br> +Thou lovest me. The world, it guesses.<br> +Leave me, and hear its praises bubble:—<br> +"<i>What heart, what spirit, she possesses!"</i></p><a name="27"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>INES DE LAS SIERRAS</p> + +<p>TO PETRA CAMARA</p> + +<p>In Spain, as Nodier's pen has told,<br> +Three officers in night's mid hours<br> +Came on a castle dark and old,<br> +With sunken eaves and mouldering towers,</p> + +<p>A true Anne Radcliffe type it was,<br> +With ruined halls and crumbling rooms<br> +And windows graven by the claws<br> +Of Goya's bats that ranged the glooms.</p> + +<p>Now while they feasted, gazed upon<br> +By ancient portraits standing guard<br> +In their ancestral frames, anon<br> +A sudden cry rang thitherward.</p> + +<p>Forth from a distant corridor<br> +That many a moonbeam's pallid hue<br> +Fretted fantastically o'er,<br> +A wondrous phantom sped in view.</p> + +<p>With bodice high and hair comb-tipped,<br> +A woman, running, dancing, hied.<br> +Adown the dappled gloom she dipped,—<br> +An iridescent form descried.</p> + +<p>A languid, dead, voluptuous mood<br> +Filled every act's abandon brief,<br> +Till at the door she stopped, and stood<br> +Sinister, lovely past belief.</p> + +<p>Her raiment crumpled in the tomb<br> +Showed here and there a spangle's foil.<br> +At every start a faded bloom<br> +Dropped petals in her hair's black coil.</p> + +<p>A dull scar crossed her bloodless throat,<br> +As of a knife. Like rattle chill<br> +Of teeth, her castanets she smote<br> +Full in their faces awed and still.</p> + +<p>Ah, poor bacchante, sad of grace!<br> +So wild the sweetness of her spell,<br> +The curv<font face="Times New Roman">è</font>d lips in her white face<br> +Had lured a saint from heaven to hell!</p> + +<p>Like darkling birds her eyelashes<br> +Upon her cheek lay fluttering light.<br> +Her kirtle's swinging cadences<br> +Displayed her limbs of lustrous white.</p> + +<p>She bowed amid a mist of gyres,<br> +And with her hand, as dancers may,<br> +Like flowers she gathered up desires,<br> +And grouped them in a bright bouquet.</p> + +<p>Was it a wraith or woman seen,<br> +A thing of dreams, or blood and flesh,<br> +The flame that burst from out the sheen<br> +Of beauty's undulating mesh?</p> + +<p>It was a phantom of the past,<br> +It was the Spain of olden keep,<br> +Who, at the sound of cheer at last,<br> +Upbounded from her icy sleep,</p> + +<p>In one bolero mad, supreme,<br> +Rough-resurrected, powerful,<br> +Showing beneath her kirtle's gleam<br> +The ribbon wrested from the bull.</p> + +<p>About her throat the scar of red<br> +The deathblow was, dealt silently<br> +Unto a generation dead<br> +By every new-born century.</p> + +<p>I saw this self-same phantom fleet,<br> +All Paris ringing with her praise,<br> +When soft, diaphanous, mystic, sweet,<br> +La Petra Camara held its gaze,—</p> + +<p>Closing her eyes with languor rare,<br> +Impassive, passionate of art,<br> +And, like the murdered Ines fair,<br> +Dancing, a dagger in her heart.</p><a name="28"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>ODELET</p> + +<p>AFTER ANACREON</p> + +<p>Poet of her face divine,<br> +Curb this over-zeal of thine!<br> +Doves wing frighted from the ground<br> +At a step's too sudden sound,<br> +And her passion is a dove,<br> +Frighted by too bold a love.<br> +Mute as marble Hermes wait<br> +By the blooming hawthorn-gate.<br> +Thou shalt see her wings expand,<br> +She shall flutter to thy hand.<br> +On thy forehead thou shalt know<br> +Something like a breath of snow,<br> +Or of pinions pure that beat<br> +In a whirl of whiteness sweet.<br> +And the dove, grown venturesome,<br> +Shall upon thy shoulder come,<br> +And its rosy beak shall sip<br> +From the nectar of thy lip.</p><a name="29"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>SMOKE</p> + +<p>Beneath yon tree sits humble<br> +A squalid, hunchbacked house,<br> +With roof precipitous,<br> +And mossy walls that crumble.</p> + +<p>Bolted and barred the shanty.<br> +But from its must and mould,<br> +Like breath of lips in cold,<br> +Comes respiration scanty.</p> + +<p>A vapour upward welling,<br> +A slender, silver streak,<br> +To God bears tidings meek<br> +Of the soul in the little dwelling.</p><a name="30"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>APOLLONIA</p> + +<p>Fair Apollonia, name august,<br> +Greek echo of the sacred vale,<br> +Great name whose harmonies robust<br> +Thee as Apollo's sister hail!</p> + +<p>Struck with the plectrum on the lyre,<br> +And in melodious beauty sung,<br> +Brighter than love's and glory's fire,<br> +It resonant rings upon the tongue.</p> + +<p>At such a classic sound as this,<br> +The elves plunge down their German lake.<br> +Alone the Delphian worthy is<br> +So lustreful a name to take,—</p> + +<p>Pythia! when in her flowing dress<br> +She mounts her place with feet unshod,<br> +And, priestess white and prophetess,<br> +Wistful awaits the tardy god.</p><a name="31"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE BLIND MAN</p> + +<p>A blind man walks without the gate,<br> +Wild-staring as an owl by day,<br> +Fumbling his flute betimes and late,<br> +Along the way.</p> + +<p>He pipeth, weary wretch and worn,<br> +A roundel shrill and obsolete.<br> +The spectre of a dog forlorn<br> +Attends his feet.</p> + +<p>For him the days go lustreless.<br> +Invisible life with beat and roar<br> +He heareth like a torrent press<br> +Around, before.</p> + +<p>What strange chimeras haunt his head<i><br></i>And on his mind's bedarkened +space,<br> +What characters unheard, unread,<br> +Doth fancy trace?</p> + +<p>Thus down Venetian leads of doom,<br> +Wan prisoners ensepulchred<br> +In palpable, undying gloom<br> +Have graven their word.</p> + +<p>And yet perchance when life's last spark<br> +Death speeds unto eternal night,<br> +The tomb-bred soul, within the dark,<br> +Shall see the light.</p><a name="32"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>SONG</p> + +<p>In April earth is white and rose<br> +Like youth and love, now tendering<br> +Her smiles, now fearful to disclose<br> +Her virgin heart unto the Spring.</p> + +<p>In June, a little pale and worn,<br> +And full at heart of vague desire,<br> +She hideth in the yellow corn,<br> +With sunburned Summer to respire.</p> + +<p>In August, wild Bacchante, she<br> +Her bosom bares to Autumn shapes,<br> +And on the tiger-skin flung free,<br> +Draws forth the purple blood of grapes.</p> + +<p>And in December, shrivelled, old,<br> +Bepowdered white from foot to head,<br> +In dream she wakens Winter cold,<br> +That sleeps beside her in her bed.</p><a name="33"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>WINTER FANTASIES</p> + +<p>I</p> + +<p>Red of nose and white of face,<br> +Bent his desk of ice before,<br> +Winter doth his theme retrace<br> +In the season's quatuor,—</p> + +<p>Beating measure and the ground<br> +With a frozen foot for us,<br> +Singing with uncertain sound<br> +Olden tunes and tremulous.</p> + +<p>And as Haendel's wig sublime<br> +Trembling shook its powder, oft<br> +Flutter as he taps his time<br> +Snow-flakes in a flurry soft.</p> + +<p>II</p> + +<p>In the Tuileries fount the swan<br> +Meets the ice, and all the trees,<br> +As in land of fairies wan,<br> +Arc bedecked with filigrees.</p> + +<p>Flowers of frost in vases low<br> +Stand unquickened and unstirred,<br> +And we trace upon the snow<br> +Starred footsteps of a bird.</p> + +<p>Where with lightest raiment spanned,<br> +Venus was with Phocion met,<br> +Now has Winter's hoary hand<br> +Clodion's "Chilly Maiden" set.</p> + +<p>III</p> + +<p>Women pass in ermine dress,<br> +Sable, too, and miniver,<br> +And the shivering goddesses<br> +Haste to don the fashion's fur.</p> + +<p>Venus of the Brine comes forth,<br> +In her hooded mantle's fluff.<br> +Flora, blown by breezes North,<br> +Hides her fingers in her muff.</p> + +<p>And the shepherdesses round<br> +Of Coustou and Coysevox,<br> +Finding scarves too light have wound<br> +Furs about their throats of snow.</p> + +<p>IV</p> + +<p>Heavy doth the North bedrape<br> +Paris mode from foot to top,<br> +As o'er fair Athenian shape<br> +Scythian should a bearskin drop.</p> + +<p>Over winter's garments meet,<br> +Everywhere we see the fur,<br> +Flung with Russian pomp, and sweet<br> +With the fragrant vetiver.</p> + +<p>Pleasure's laughing glances feast<br> +Far amid the statues, where<br> +From the bristles of a beast<br> +Bursts a Venus torso fair!</p> + +<p>If you venture hitherward,<br> +With a tender veil to cheat<br> +Glances over-daring, guard<br> +Well your Andalusian feet!</p> + +<p>Snow shall fashion like a frame<br> +On your foot's impression rare,<br> +Signing with each step your name<br> +On the carpet soft and vair.</p> + +<p>Thus were surly master led<br> +To the hidden trysting-place,<br> +Where his Psyche, faintly red,<br> +Were beheld in Love's embrace.</p><a name="34"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE BROOK</p> + +<p>Near a great water's waste<br> +A brook mid rock and spar<br> +Came bubbling up in haste,<br> +As though to travel far.</p> + +<p>It sang: "What joy to rise!<br> +'T was dismal under ground.<br> +I mirror now the skies.<br> +My banks with green abound.</p> + +<p>"Forget-me-nots—how fair!<br> +Beseech me from the grass;<br> +Wings frolic in the air,<br> +And graze me as they pass.</p> + +<p>"I yet shall be—who knows?—<br> +A river winding down,<br> +And greeting as it flows<br> +Valley and cliff and town.</p> + +<p>"I'll broider with my spray<br> +Stone bridge and granite quay,<br> +And bear great ships away<br> +Unto the long wide sea."</p> + +<p>So planned it, babbling by,<br> +As water boiling fast<br> +Within a basin high,<br> +To top its brim at last.</p> + +<p>Cradle by tomb is crossed.<br> +Giants are early dead.<br> +Scarce born, the brook was lost<br> +Within a lake's deep bed.</p><a name="35"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>TOMBS AND FUNERAL PYRES</p> + +<p>No grim cadaver set its flaw<br> +In happy days of pagan art,<br> +And man, content with what he saw,<br> +Stripped not the veil from beauty's heart.</p> + +<p>No form once loved that buried lay,<br> +A hideous spectre to appal,<br> +Dropped bit by bit its flesh away,<br> +As one by one our garments fall;</p> + +<p>Or, when the days had drifted by<br> +And sundered shrank the vaulted stones,<br> +Showed naked to the daring eye<br> +A motley heap of rattling bones.</p> + +<p>But, rescued from the funeral pyre,<br> +Life's ashen, light residuum<br> +Lay soft, and, spent the cleansing fire,<br> +The urn held sweet the body's sum,—</p> + +<p>The sum of all that earth may claim<br> +Of the soul's butterfly, soul passed,—<br> +All that is left of spended flame<br> +Upon the tripod at the last.</p> + +<p>Between acanthus leaves and flowers<br> +In the white marble gaily went<br> +Loves and bacchantes all the hours,<br> +Dancing about the monument.</p> + +<p>At most, a little Genius wild<br> +Trampled a flame out in the gloom,<br> +And art's harmonious flowering smiled<br> +Upon the sadness of the tomb.</p> + +<p>The tomb was then a pleasant place.<br> +As bed of child that slumbereth,<br> +With many a fair and laughing grace<br> +The joy of life surrounded death.</p> + +<p>Then death concealed its visage gaunt,<br> +Whose sockets deep, and sunken nose,<br> +And railing mouth our spirits haunt,<br> +Past any dream that horror shows.</p> + +<p>The monster in flesh raiment clad<br> +Hid deep its spectral form uncouth,<br> +And virgin glances, beauty-glad,<br> +Sped frankly to the naked youth.</p> + +<p>Twas only at Trimalchio's board<br> +A little skeleton made sign,<br> +An ivory plaything unabhorred,<br> +To bid the feasters to the wine.</p> + +<p>Gods, whom Art ever must avow,<br> +Ruled the marmoreal sky's demesne.<br> +Olympus yields to Calvary, now;<br> +Jupiter to the Nazarene!</p> + +<p>Voices are calling, "Pan is dead!"<br> +Dusk deepeneth within, without.<br> +On the black sheet of sorrow spread,<br> +The whitened skeleton gleams out.</p> + +<p>It glideth to the headstone bare,<br> +And signs it with a paraph wild,<br> +And hangs a wreath of bones to glare<br> +Upon the charnel death-defiled.</p> + +<p>It lifts the coffin-lid and quaffs<br> +The musty air, and peers within,<br> +Displays a ring of ribs, and laughs<br> +Forever with its awful grin.</p> + +<p>It urges unto Death's fleet dance<br> +The Emperor, the Pope, the King,<br> +And makes the pallid steed to prance,<br> +And low the doughty warrior fling;—</p> + +<p>Behind the courtesan steals up,<br> +And makes wry faces in her glass;<br> +Drinks from the sick man's trembling cup;<br> +Delves in the miser's golden mass.</p> + +<p>Above the team it whirls the thong,<br> +With bone for goad to hurry it,<br> +Follows the plowman's way along,<br> +And guides the furrows to a pit.</p> + +<p>It comes, the uninvited guest,<br> +And lurks beneath the banquet chair,<br> +Unseen from the pale bride to wrest<br> +Her little silken garter fair.</p> + +<p>The number swells: the young give hand<br> +Unto the old, and none may flee.<br> +The irresistible saraband<br> +Compelleth all humanity.</p> + +<p>Forth speeds the tall, ungainly fright,<br> +Playing the rebeck, dancing mad,<br> +Against the dark a frame of white,<br> +As Holbein drew it—horror-sad;—</p> + +<p>Or if the times be frivolous,<br> +Trusses the shroud about its hips:<br> +Then like a Cupid mischievous,<br> +Across the ballet-room it skips,</p> + +<p>And unto carven tombs it flies,<br> +Where marchionesses rest demure,<br> +Weary of love, in exquisite guise,<br> +In chapels dim and pompadour.</p> + +<p>But hide thy hideous form at last,<br> +Worm-eaten actor! Long enough<br> +In death's wan melodrama cast,<br> +Thou'st played thy part without rebuff.</p> + +<p>Come back, come back, O ancient Art!<br> +And cover with thy marble's gleam<br> +This Gothic skeleton! Each part<br> +Consume, ye flames of fire supreme!</p> + +<p>If man be then a creature made<br> +In God's own image, to aspire,<br> +When shattered must the image fade,<br> +Let the lone fragments feed the fire!</p> + +<p>Immortal form! Rise thou in flame<br> +Again to beauty's fount of bloom<br> +Let not thy clay endure the shame,<br> +The degradation of the tomb!</p><a name="36"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>BJORN'S BANQUET</p> + +<p>Bjorn, odd and lonely cenobite,<br> +High on a barren rock's plateau,<br> +Far out of time's and the world's sight,<br> +Dwells in a castle none may know.</p> + +<p>No modern thought may violate<br> +His darkened and secluded hall.<br> +Bjorn bolts with care his postern-gate,<br> +And barricades his castle wall.</p> + +<p>When others wait the rising sun,<br> +He from his mouldering parapet<br> +Still contemplates the valley dun,<br> +Where he beheld the red sun set.</p> + +<p>Securely doth the past enlock<br> +His retrospective spirit lone.<br> +The pendulum within his clock<br> +Was broken centuries agone.</p> + +<p>Waking the echoes wanders he<br> +Beneath his feudal arches drear,<br> +His ringing footsteps seemingly<br> +Followed by other footsteps clear.</p> + +<p>Nor priests nor friends with him make bold,<br> +Nor burghers plain nor gentlemen;<br> +But his ancestral portraits hold<br> +A parley with him now and then.</p> + +<p>And of a midnight, sparing him<br> +The ennui of a lonely cup,<br> +Bjorn, harbouring a gloomy whim,<br> +Invites his ancestors to sup.</p> + +<p>Forth stepping at the hour's grim stroke,<br> +Come phantoms armed from foot to head.<br> +Bjorn, quaking, to the solemn folk<br> +Proffers with state the goblet red.</p> + +<p>To seat itself each panoply<br> +With joints that grumble in revolt<br> +Maketh an angle with its knee,<br> +That creaketh like a rusty bolt;</p> + +<p>Till all at once the suit of mail,<br> +Rude coffin of an absent bulk,<br> +Cleaving the silence with a wail,<br> +Falls in its chair, a clanking hulk.</p> + +<p>Landgraves and burgraves, spare and stout,<br> +Come down from heaven or up from hell,<br> +The iron guests of many a bout,<br> +Arc bound within the midnight spell.</p> + +<p>Their blow-indented helmets bear<br> +Heraldic beasts that bay and grin,<br> +Athwart the shades the red lights glare<br> +On crest and ancient lambrequin.</p> + +<p>Each empty, open casque now seems<br> +Like to the helms of heraldries,<br> +Save for two strange and livid gleams<br> +That issue forth in threatening wise.</p> + +<p>Seated is each old combatant<br> +In the vast hall, at Bjorn's behest,<br> +And the uncertain shadows grant<br> +A swarthy page to every guest.</p> + +<p>The liquors in the candle-shine<br> +Take on suspicious purples. All<br> +The viands in their gravy's wine<br> +Grow lurid and fantastical.</p> + +<p>Sometimes a breastplate glitters bright,<br> +A morion speeds its flashes wroth,<br> +A rondelle from a hand of might<br> +Drops heavily upon the cloth.</p> + +<p>Heard are the softly flapping wings<br> +Of unseen bats. The shimmer flicks<br> +Upon the carven panellings<br> +The banners of the heretics.</p> + +<p>The stiffly bended gauntlets play<br> +In the dull glow incarnadine,<br> +And, creaking, to the helmets gray<br> +Pour bumpers full of Rhenish wine;</p> + +<p>Or with their daggers keen of blade<br> +Carve boars upon the plates of gold.<br> +The corridor's uncanny shade<br> +Hath clamours vague and manifold.</p> + +<p>The orgy waxes riotsome—<br> +One could not hear God's voice for it—<br> +For when a phantom sups from home,<br> +What wrong if he carouse a bit?</p> + +<p>Now every ghostly care they drown<br> +With jokes and jeers and loud guffaws.<br> +A wine-cascade is running down<br> +Each rusty helmet's iron jaws.</p> + +<p>The full and rounded hauberks bulge,<br> +And to the neck the river mounts.<br> +Their eyes with liquid fire effulge.<br> +They're howling drunk, these valiant counts!</p> + +<p>One through the salad idly wields<br> +A foot; another scolds the sick.<br> +Some like the lions on their shields<br> +With gaping mouths the fancy trick.</p> + +<p>In voice still hoarse from silence long<br> +In the tomb's dampness and restraint,<br> +Max playfully intones a song<br> +Of thirteen hundred, crude and quaint.</p> + +<p>Albrecht, of quarrelsome repute,<br> +Stirs right and left a war intense,<br> +And drubs about with fist and foot,<br> +As once he drubbed the Saracens.</p> + +<p>And heated Fritz his helmet doffs,<br> +Not deeming he's a headless trunk.<br> +Then down pell-mell mid roars and scoffs<br> +Together roll the phantoms drunk.</p> + +<p>Ah! 'T is a hideous battle-ground,<br> +Where pots and weapons bang and scud,<br> +Where every dead man through some wound<br> +Doth vomit victuals up for blood.</p> + +<p>And Bjorn observes them, sad of eye,<br> +And haggard, while athwart the panes<br> +The dawn comes creeping stealthily,<br> +With blue, thin lights, and darkness wanes.</p> + +<p>The prostrate mass of rusty brown<br> +Pales like a torch in daylight's room,<br> +Until the drunkest pours him down<br> +At last the stirrup-cup of doom.</p> + +<p>The cock crows loud. And with the day<br> +Once more with haughty mien and bold,<br> +Their revel-weary heads they lay<br> +Upon their marble pillows cold.</p><a name="37"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE WATCH</p> + +<p>Now twice my watch have I taken,<br> +And twice as I've gazing sat,<br> +The hand has pointed unshaken<br> +To one—and it's long past that!</p> + +<p>The clock's light cadences linger.<br> +The sun-dial laughs from the lawn,<br> +And points with a long, gaunt finger<br> +The path that its shade has drawn.</p> + +<p>A steeple ironically<br> +Calls the true time to me.<br> +The belfry bell makes tally<br> +And taunts me with accents free.</p> + +<p>Ah, dead is the wretch! I sought not,<br> +Last night, to my reverie sold,<br> +Its ruby circle! I thought not<br> +Of glimmering key of gold!</p> + +<p>No longer I see with pleasure<br> +The spring of the balance-wheel<br> +Flit hither and there at measure,<br> +Like a butterfly form of steel.</p> + +<p>When Hippogriff bears me, yearning,<br> +Through skies of another sphere,<br> +My soul-reft body goes turning<br> +Wherever the steed may veer.</p> + +<p>Eternity still is giving<br> +Its gaze to the lifeless face.<br> +Time seeketh the heart once living,<br> +His ear at the old watch-case,—</p> + +<p>That heart whose regular motion<br> +Was followed within my breast<br> +By wave-beats of life's full ocean!<br> +Ah well! the watch is at rest.</p> + +<p>But its brother is beating ever,<br> +Steadfast and sturdy kept<br> +By One Who forgetteth never,—<br> +Who wound it the while I slept.</p><a name="38"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE MERMAIDS</p> + +<p>There's a sketch you may discover<br> +By an artist of degree<br> +Rime and metre quarrel over—<br> +Th<font face="Times New Roman">é</font>ophile Kniatowski.</p> + +<p>On the snowy foam that fringes<br> +All the mantle of the brine,<br> +Radiant with the sunlight's tinges,<br> +Three mermaidens softly shine.</p> + +<p>Like the drown<font face="Times New Roman">è</font>d lilies dancing<br> +Turn they, as the spiral wave<br> +Buoys their bodies hiding, glancing,<br> +As they sink and rise and lave.</p> + +<p>In their golden hair for dowers<br> +They have twined with beauteous hands<br> +Shells for diadems, and flowers<br> +From the deep wild under sands.</p> + +<p>Oysters pour a pearly hoarding<br> +Their enrapturing throats to gem,<br> +And the wave, its wealth according,<br> +Tosses other pearls to them.</p> + +<p>Borne above the crest of ocean<br> +By a Triton hand and strong,<br> +Twine they, beautiful of motion,<br> +Under gleaming tresses long.</p> + +<p>And the crystal water under,<br> +Down the blue the glories pale<br> +Of each lovely form of wonder,<br> +Tapered to a shimmering tail.</p> + +<p>Ah! But who the scaly swimmers<br> +Would behold in modern day—<br> +When a bust of ivory glimmers,<br> +Cool from kisses of the spray?</p> + +<p>Look! Oh, mingled truth and fable!<br> +O'er the horizon steady plied,<br> +Comes a vessel proud and stable,<br> +Toward the mermaids terrified!</p> + +<p>Tricoloured its flag is flaunted,<br> +And it vomits vapour red,<br> +And it beats the billows daunted,<br> +Till the nymphs dive low for dread.</p> + +<p>Fearlessly they did beleaguer<br> +Triremes immemorial,<br> +And the dolphins arched and eager<br> +Waited for Arion's call.</p> + +<p>This of old. But now the steamer—<br> +Vulcan hurtling Venus' charms,—<br> +Would destroy the siren gleamer,<br> +With her fair, nude tail and arms.</p> + +<p>Farewell myth! The boat that passes<br> +Thinks to see on silver bar,<br> +Where the widening billow glasses,<br> +Porpoises that plunge afar.</p><a name="39"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>TWO LOVE-LOCKS</p> + +<p>Reviving languorous dreaming<br> +Of conquered, conquering eye,<br> +Upon thy forehead gleaming,<br> +Two fairest love-locks lie.</p> + +<p>I see them softly nesting,<br> +Of wondrous, golden sheen,<br> +Like little wheels come resting<br> +From car of Mab the Queen;</p> + +<p>Or bows of Cupid ready<br> +To let the arrows fly,<br> +Bent circlewise and steady<br> +For archer's mastery.</p> + +<p>One heart have I of passion.<br> +Yet two love-locks are thine!<br> +O brow of fickle fashion!<br> +Whose heart is caught with mine?</p><a name="40"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE TEA-ROSE</p> + +<p>Most beautiful of all the roses<br> +Is this half-open bud, whose bare,<br> +Unpetalled heart a dream discloses<br> +Of carmine very faint and fair.</p> + +<p>I wonder, was it once a white rose,<br> +Till butterfly too ardent spoke<br> +A language soft, and in the light rose<br> +A shyer, warmer tint awoke?</p> + +<p>Its delicate fabric hath the colour<br> +Of lovely and velutinous skin.<br> +Its perfect freshness maketh duller<br> +Environing hues incarnadine.</p> + +<p>For as some rare patrician features<br> +Eclipse the brows of ruddier gleam,<br> +So masquerade as rustic creatures<br> +Gay sisters of this rose supreme.</p> + +<p>But, dear one, if your hand caress it,<br> +And raise it for its sweet perfume,<br> +Ere yet your velvet cheek shall press it,<br> +'T will fade before a fairer bloom.</p> + +<p>No rose in all the world so tender,<br> +That gloweth in the springtime fleet,<br> +But shall its every charm surrender<br> +Unto your seventeen years, my sweet.</p> + +<p>A face hath more than petal's power:<br> +A pure heart's blood that blushing flows<br> +O'er youth's nobility, is flower<br> +High sovereign over every rose.</p><a name="41"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>CARMEN</p> + +<p>Slender is Carmen, of lissome guise,<br> +Her hair is black as the midnight's heart;<br> +Dark circles are under her gypsy eyes,<br> +Her swarthy skin is the devil's art.</p> + +<p>The women will mock at her form and face;<br> +But the men will follow her all the day.<br> +Toledo's Archbishop (now save His Grace!)<br> +Tones his mass at her knees, they say.</p> + +<p>Nestled in warmth of her amber neck<br> +Lies a massive coil, till she fling it down<br> +To be a raiment to frame and deck<br> +Her delicate body from foot to crown.</p> + +<p>Then out from her pallid face with power<br> +Her witching, terrible smiles compel.<br> +Her mouth is a mystical poison-flower<br> +That hath drawn its crimson from hearts in hell.</p> + +<p>The haughtiest beauty must yield her fame,<br> +When this strange vision shall dusk her sky.<br> +For Carmen rules, and her glance's flame<br> +Shall set the torch to satiety.</p> + +<p>Wild, graceless Carmen!—Though yet this be,<br> +Savour she hath of a world undreamt,<br> +Of a world of wonder, whose salt young sea<br> +Provoked a Venus to rise and tempt.</p><a name="42"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>WHAT THE SWALLOWS SAY</p> + +<p>AN AUTUMN SONG</p> + +<p>The dry, brown leaves have dropped forlorn,<br> +And lie amid the golden grass.<br> +The wind is fresh both eve and morn.<br> +But where are summer days, alas!</p> + +<p>The tardy flowers the autumn stayed<br> +For latter treasures now unfold.<br> +The dahlia dons its gay cockade,<br> +Its flaming cap the marigold.</p> + +<p>Rain stirs the pool with pelt and shock.<br> +The swallows to the roof repair,<br> +Confabulating as they flock<br> +And feel the winter in the air.</p> + +<p>By hundreds gather they to vow<br> +Their little yearnings and intents.<br> +Saith one: "'T is fair in Athens now,<br> +Upon the sun-warm battlements!</p> + +<p>"Thither I go to take my nap<br> +Upon the Parthenon high and free.<br> +My cornice nest is in the gap<br> +A cannon-ball made there for me."</p> + +<p>And one: "A ceiling meets my needs<br> +Within a Smyrna coffee-house,<br> +Where Hadjis tell their amber beads<br> +Upon the threshold luminous.</p> + +<p>"I go and come above the folk,<br> +While their chibouques their clouds upfling.<br> +I skim along through silver smoke,<br> +And graze the turbans with my wing."</p> + +<p>Another: "There's a triglyph gray<br> +On one of Baalbec's temples high.<br> +'T is there I go to brood all day<br> +Above my little family."</p> + +<p>Another calleth, "My address<br> +Is settled: 'At the Knights of Rhodes.'<br> +In a dark colonnade's recess<br> +I'll make the snuggest of abodes."</p> + +<p>"Old age hath made me slow for flight,"<br> +Declares a fifth; "I'll rest at even<br> +On Malta's terraces of white,<br> +Where blue sea melts to blue of heaven."</p> + +<p>A sixth: "In Cairo is my home,<br> +Up in a minaret's retreat:<br> +A twig or two, a bit of loam—<br> +My winter lodgings are complete."</p> + +<p>A last: "The Second Cataract<br> +Shall mark my place—the nest of brown<br> +A granite king doth hold intact<br> +Within the circle of his crown."</p> + +<p>And all together sing: "What miles<br> +To-morrow shall have stretched beneath<br> +Our fleeing swarm:—remembered isles,<br> +Snow peaks, vast waters, lands of heath!"</p> + +<p>With calls and cries and beat of wings,<br> +Grown eager now and venturesome,<br> +The swallows hold their twitterings,<br> +To see the blight of winter come.</p> + +<p>And I—I understand them all,<br> +Because the poet is a bird,—<br> +Oh! but a sorry bird, and thrall<br> +To a great lack, pressed heavenward.</p> + +<p>It's Oh for wings! to seek the star,<br> +To count the seas when day is done,<br> +To breast the air with swallows far,<br> +To verdant spring, to golden sun!</p><a name="43"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>CHRISTMAS</p> + +<p>Black is the sky and white the ground.<br> +O ring, ye bells, your carol's grace!<br> +The Child is born! A love profound<br> +Beams o'er Him from His Mother's face.</p> + +<p>No silken woof of costly show<br> +Keeps off the bitter cold from Him.<br> +But spider-webs have drooped them low,<br> +To be His curtain soft and dim.</p> + +<p>Now trembles on the straw downspread<br> +The Little Child, the Star beneath.<br> +To warm Him in His holy bed,<br> +Upon Him ox and ass do breathe.</p> + +<p>Snow hangs its fringes on the byre.<br> +The roof stands open to the tryst<br> +Of aureoled saints, that sweetly choir<br> +To shepherds, "Come, behold the Christ!"</p><a name="44"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE DEAD CHILD'S PLAYTHINGS</p> + +<p>Marie comes no more at call.<br> +She has wandered from her play.<br> +Ah, how pitifully small<br> +Was the coffin borne away!</p> + +<p>See—about the nursery floor<br> +All her little heritage:<br> +Rubber ball and battledore,<br> +Tattered book and coloured page.</p> + +<p>Poor forsaken doll! in vain<br> +Stretch your arms. She will not come.<br> +Stopped forever is the train,<br> +And the music-box is dumb.</p> + +<p>Some one touched it soft, apart,<br> +Where the silence is her name.<br> +And what sinking of the heart<br> +At the plaintive note that came!</p> + +<p>Ah, the anguish! when the tomb<br> +Robs the cradle; when bereft<br> +We discover in the gloom<br> +Child toys that an angel left.</p><a name="45"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>AFTER WRITING MY DRAMATIC REVIEW</p> + +<p>My columns are ranged and steady,<br> +Upbearing, though sad forespent,<br> +The newspaper pediment,<br> +And my review is ready.</p> + +<p>Now for a week, poetaster,<br> +My door is bolted. Away,<br> +Thou still-born masterpiece,—aye,<br> +Till Monday I am my master.</p> + +<p>No melodrama shall whiten<br> +My labour with threadbare leaves.<br> +The warp that my fancy weaves<br> +With silken flowers shall brighten.</p> + +<p>Brief moment my spirit's warder,<br> +Ye voices of soul that float,<br> +I'll hearken your sorrow's note,<br> +Nor verses evoke to order.</p> + +<p>Then deep in my glass regaining<br> +The health of a day gone by,—<br> +Old visions for company—<br> +The bloom of my vintage draining,</p> + +<p>The wine of my thought I'll measure,<br> +Wine virgin of alien glow,<br> +Grapes trodden by life, that flow<br> +From my heart at my heart's own pleasure!</p><a name="46"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE CASTLE OF REMEMBRANCE</p> + +<p>Before my hearth with head low-bowed<br> +I dream, and strive to reach again,<br> +Across the misty past's gray cloud,<br> +Unto Remembrance's domain,</p> + +<p>Where tree and house and upland way<br> +Are blurred and blue like passing ghosts,<br> +And the eye, ponder though it may,<br> +Consults in vain the guiding-posts.</p> + +<p>Now gropingly to gain a sight<br> +Of all the buried world, I press<br> +Through mystic marge of shade and light<br> +And limbo of forgetfulness.</p> + +<p>But white, diaphanous Memory stands,<br> +Where many roadways meet and spread,<br> +Like Ariadne, in my hands<br> +Thrusting her little ball of thread.</p> + +<p>Henceforth the way is all secure.<br> +The shrouded sun hath reappeared,<br> +And o'er the trees with vision sure<br> +I see the castle tower upreared.</p> + +<p>Beneath the boughs where day grows dark<br> +With shower on shower of leaves down-poured<br> +The dear old path through moss and bark<br> +Still lengthens far its narrow cord.</p> + +<p>But creeping-plant and bramble-spray<br> +Have wrought a net to daunt me now.<br> +The stubborn branch I force away<br> +Swings fiercely back to lash my brow.</p> + +<p>I come upon the house at last.<br> +No window lit with lamp or face,<br> +No breath of smoke from gables vast,<br> +To touch with life the mouldering place!</p> + +<p>Bridges are crumbling. Moats are still,<br> +And slimed with rank, green refuse-flowers,<br> +And tortuous waves of ivy fill<br> +The crevices and choke the towers.</p> + +<p>The portico in moonlight wanes.<br> +Time sculptures it to suit his whim.<br> +And with the wash of many rains<br> +My coloured coat of arms is dim.</p> + +<p>The door I open eagerly.<br> +The ancient hinges creak and halt.<br> +A breath of dampness wafts to me<br> +The musty odour of the vault.</p> + +<p>The hairy nettle sharp of sting,<br> +The coarse and broad-leafed burdock weed<br> +In court-yard nooks are prospering,<br> +By spreading hemlocks canopied.</p> + +<p>Upon two marble monsters near,<br> +That guard the mossy steps of stone,<br> +The shadow of a tree falls clear,<br> +That in my absence has upgrown.</p> + +<p>Sudden the lion sentinels raise<br> +Their paws, aggressive and malign,<br> +And challenge me with their white gaze;<br> +But soft I breathe the countersign.</p> + +<p>I pass. The old dog menaceth,<br> +But falls back hushed, the shades amid.<br> +My resonant footstep wakeneth<br> +Crouched echoes in their corners hid.</p> + +<p>Through yellow panes of glass a ray<br> +Of dubious light creeps down the hall<br> +Where ancient tapestries display<br> +Apollo's fortunes from the wall.</p> + +<p>Fair tree-bound Daphne still with grace<br> +Stretches her tufted fingers green.<br> +But in the amorous god's embrace<br> +She fades, a formless phantom seen.</p> + +<p>I watch divine Apollo stand,<br> +Herdsman to acarus-riddled sheep,<br> +The Muses Nine, a haggard band,<br> +Upon a faded Pindus weep;</p> + +<p>While Solitude in scanty gown<br> +Traces "Desertion" in the dust<br> +That through the air she sifteth down<br> +Upon a marble stand august.</p> + +<p>And now, among forgotten things,<br> +I find, like sleepers manifold,<br> +Pastels bedimmed, dark picturings,<br> +Young beauties, and the friends of old.</p> + +<p>My faltering fingers lift a crape,—<br> +And lo, my love with look and lure!<br> +With puffing skirts and prisoned shape!<br> +Cidalise <i><font face="Times New Roman">à</font> la</i> Pompadour!</p> + +<p>A tender, blossoming rose she feels<br> +Against her ribboned bodice pressed,<br> +Whose lace half hides and half reveals<br> +A snowy, azure-vein<font face="Times New Roman">è</font>d breast.</p> + +<p>Within her eyes gleam sparkles lush,<br> +As on the rime-kissed, deadened leaves.<br> +Upon her cheek a purple flush—<br> +Death's own cosmetic hue!—deceives.</p> + +<p>She startles as I come before,<br> +And fixeth soft on me her eyes,<br> +Reproachfully forevermore,<br> +Yet with a charm and witching wise.</p> + +<p>Life bore me from thee at its will,<br> +Yet on my heart thy name is laid,<br> +Thou dead delight, that lingereth still,<br> +Bedizened for the masquerade!</p> + +<p>Envious of Art, fair Nature wrought<br> +To overpass Murillo's fame,—<br> +From Andalusia here she brought<br> +The face that lights the second frame.</p> + +<p>By some poetical caprice,<br> +Our atmosphere of mist and cloud,<br> +With rare exotic charm's increase<br> +This other Petra Camara dowed.</p> + +<p>Warm orange tones are gilding yet<br> +Her lovely skin of roseate hue.<br> +Her eyelids fair have lashes jet<br> +That beams of sunshine filter through.</p> + +<p>There shimmers fine a pearly gleam<br> +Between her scarlet lips elate;<br> +Her beauty flashes forth supreme—<br> +A bright south summer pomegranate.</p> + +<p>Long to the sound of Spain's guitar,<br> +I told her praise 'mid song and glass.<br> +She came alone one evenstar,<br> +And all my room Alhambra was.</p> + +<p>Farther I see a robust Fair,<br> +With strong and gem-beladen arms.<br> +In pearls of price and velvet rare<br> +Are set her ivory bosom's charms.</p> + +<p>Her ennui is a weary queen's,<br> +An adulating court amid.<br> +Superb, aloof, her hand she leans<br> +Upon a casket's jewelled lid.</p> + +<p>Her sensuous lips their crimes confess,<br> +As crimson with the blood of hearts.<br> +With brutal, mad voluptuousness<br> +Her conquering eye a challenge darts.</p> + +<p>Here dwells, in lieu of tender grace,<br> +Vertiginous allure, whereof<br> +A cruel Venus ruled a race,<br> +Presiding o'er malignant love.</p> + +<p>Unnatural mother to her child,<br> +This Venus all imperative!<br> +O thou, my bitter joy and wild,—<br> +Farewell forever! I forgive!</p> + +<p>Within its frame in shadow fine,<br> +The misty glass that still endures<br> +Reveals another face than mine,—<br> +The earliest of my portraitures.</p> + +<p>A retrospective ghost, with face<br> +Of vanished type, steps from the vast<br> +Dim mirror of his biding-place<br> +In tenebrous, forgotten past.</p> + +<p>Gay in his doublet satin-rose,<br> +Coloured in bold and vivid way,<br> +He seems as if about to pose<br> +For Deveria or Boulanger.</p> + +<p>Terror of glabrous commoner,<br> +His flowing locks in royal guise,<br> +Like mane of lion, or sinister<br> +King's hair, fall heavy to his thighs.</p> + +<p>Romanticist of bold conceit,<br> +Knight of an art which strives anew,<br> +He hurled himself at Drama's feet,<br> +When erst Hernani's trumpet blew.</p> + +<p>Night falls. The corners are astir<br> +With many shapes and shadows tall.<br> +The Unknown—grim stage-carpenter—<br> +Sets up its darksome frights o'er all.</p> + +<p>A sudden burst of candles, weird<br> +With aureoles, like lamps of death!<br> +The room is populous, and bleared<br> +With folk brought hither by a breath!</p> + +<p>Down step the portraits from the wall,—<br> +A ruddy-litten company!<br> +Circling the fireplace in the hall,<br> +Where the wood blazes suddenly.</p> + +<p>The figures wrested from the tombs<br> +Have lost their rigid, frozen mien,<br> +The gradual glow of life illumes<br> +The Past with flush incarnadine.</p> + +<p>A colour lights the faces pale,<br> +As in the days of old delight.<br> +Friends whom my thought shall never fail,<br> +I thank ye, that ye came to-night!</p> + +<p>Now eighteen-thirty shows to me<br> +Its great and valiant-hearted men.<br> +(Ah, like Otranto's pirates, we<br> +Who were an hundred, are but ten!)</p> + +<p>And one his reddish beard spreads out,<br> +Like Barbarossa in his cave.<br> +Another his mustachio stout<br> +Curls at the ends in fashion suave.</p> + +<p>Under the ample fold that cloaks<br> +An ever unreveal<font face="Times New Roman">è</font>d ill,<br> +Petrus a cigarette now smokes,<br> +Naming it "papelito" still.</p> + +<p>Another cometh, fain to tell<br> +His visions and his hopes supreme.<br> +Like Icarus on the sands he fell,<br> +Where lie all broken shafts of dream.</p> + +<p>And one a drama hath begot,<br> +Planned after some new model's freak,<br> +Which, merging all things in its plot,<br> +Makes Calderon with Moli<font face="Times New Roman">è</font>re speak.</p> + +<p>Tom, late forsaken by his Dear,<br> +Love's Labour's Lost must low recite;<br> +And Fritz to Cidalise makes clear<br> +Faust's vision of Walpurgis Night.</p> + +<p>But dawn comes through the window free.<br> +Diaphanous the phantoms grow.<br> +The objects of reality<br> +Strike through their shapes that merge and go.</p> + +<p>The candles are consumed away.<br> +The ember-lights no longer gleam<br> +Upon the hearth. No thing shall stay.<br> +Farewell, O castle of my dream!</p> + +<p>December gray shall turn once more<br> +The glass of Time, for all we fret!<br> +The present enters at my door,<br> +And vainly bids me to forget.</p><a name="47"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>CAMELLIA AND MEADOW-DAISY</p> + +<p>We praise the hot-house flowers that loom<br> +Far from their native sun and shade,<br> +The flaring forms that flaunt their bloom,<br> +Like jewels under glass displayed.</p> + +<p>With never breeze to kiss their heads,<br> +They have their birth and live and die<br> +On costly, artificial beds,<br> +Beneath an ever-crystal sky.</p> + +<p>For whomsoever idly scans,<br> +Baring their treasures to entice,<br> +Like fair and sumptuous courtesans,<br> +They stand for sale at golden price.</p> + +<p>Fine porcelain holds their gathered groups,<br> +Or glove-clad fingers fondle them<br> +Between the dances, till each droops<br> +Upon a limp or broken stem.</p> + +<p>But down amid the grass unreaped,<br> +Shunning the curious, in repose<br> +And silence all the long day steeped,<br> +A little woodland daisy blows.</p> + +<p>A butterfly upon the wing<br> +To point the place, a casual look,<br> +And you surprise the sweet, shy thing,<br> +Within its calm, sequestered nook.</p> + +<p>Beneath the blue it openeth,<br> +Rising on slender, vernal rod,<br> +Spreading its soul in fragrant breath<br> +For solitude and for its God.</p> + +<p>And proud camellias tall and white,<br> +Red tulips in a flaming mass,<br> +Are all at once forgotten quite,<br> +For the small flower amid the grass.</p><a name="48"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE FELLAH</p> + +<p><i>On seeing a Water-Colour by Princess Mathilde</i></p> + +<p>Caprice of brush fantastical,<br> +And of imperial idleness,<br> +Your fellah-sphinx presents us all<br> +With an enigma worth the guess.</p> + +<p>A rigid fashion, verily,<br> +This mask, this garment, seem to us,<br> +Intriguing with its mystery<br> +The ball-room's every Oedipus.</p> + +<p>Isis bequeathed her veil of old<br> +To modern daughters of the Nile.<br> +But through this band austere, behold,<br> +Two stars of radiance beam and smile,—</p> + +<p>Two stars, two eyes, two poems that spring,<br> +The soft, voluptuous fires whereof<br> +Resolve the riddle, murmuring:<br> +"Lo, I am Beauty! Be thou Love!"</p><a name="49"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE GARRET</p> + +<p>From balcony tiles where casual cats<br> +Sit low in wait for birds unwise,<br> +I see the worn and riven slats<br> +Of a poor, humble garret rise.</p> + +<p>Now could I as an author lie,<br> +To give you comfort as you think,<br> +Its window I would falsify,<br> +And frame with flowers refined and pink,</p> + +<p>And place within it Rigolette<br> +With her cheap looking-glass, somehow,<br> +Whose broken glazing mirrors yet<br> +A portion of her pretty brow;</p> + +<p>Or Margery, her dress undone,<br> +Her hair blown free, her tie forgot,<br> +Watering in the pleasant sun<br> +Her pail-encompassed garden-plot;</p> + +<p>Or poet-youth whom fame awaits,<br> +Who scans his verse and eyes the hills,<br> +Or in a reverie contemplates<br> +Montmartre with its distant mills.</p> + +<p>Alas! my garret is no feint.<br> +There climbeth no convolvulus.<br> +The window with its nibbled paint<br> +Leers filmy and unluminous.</p> + +<p>Alike for artist and grisette,<br> +Alike for widower and lad,<br> +A garret—save to music set—<br> +Is never otherwise than sad.</p> + +<p>Of old, beneath an angle pent,<br> +That forced the forehead to a kiss,<br> +Love, with a folding-couch content,<br> +To chat with Susan deemed it bliss.</p> + +<p>But we must wad our bliss about<br> +With cushioned walls and laces wide,<br> +And silks that flutter in and out,<br> +O'er beds by Monbro canopied.</p> + +<p>This evening, to Mount Breda fled<br> +Is Rigolette, to linger there,<br> +And Margery, well clothed and fed,<br> +No longer tends her garden fair.</p> + +<p>The poet, tired of catching rimes<br> +Upon the wing, has turned to cull<br> +Reporter's bays, and left betimes<br> +A heaven for an entresol.</p> + +<p>And in the window this is all:<br> +An ancient goody chattering,<br> +And railing at a kitten small<br> +That toys forever with a string.</p><a name="50"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE CLOUD</p> + +<p>Lightly in the azure air<br> +Soars a cloud, emerging free<br> +Like a virgin from the fair<br> +Blue sea;</p> + +<p>Or an Aphrodite sweet,<br> +Floating upright and empearled<br> +In the shell, about its feet<br> +Foam-curled.</p> + +<p>Undulating overhead,<br> +How its changing body glows!<br> +On its shoulder dawn hath spread<br> +A rose.</p> + +<p>Marble, snow, blend amorously<br> +In that form by sunlight kissed—<br> +Slumbering Antiope<br> +Of mist!</p> + +<p>Sailing unto distant goal,<br> +Over Alps and Apennines,<br> +Sister of the woman-soul,<br> +It shines;</p> + +<p>Till my heart flies forth at last<br> +On the wings of passion warm,<br> +And I yearn to gather fast<br> +Its form.</p> + +<p>Reason saith: "Mere vapour thing!<br> +Bursting bubble! Yet, we deem,<br> +Holds this wind-distorted ring<br> +Our dream."</p> + +<p>Faith declareth: "Beauty seen,<br> +Like a cloud, is but a thought,<br> +Or a breath, that, having been,<br> +Is naught.</p> + +<p>"Have thy vision. Build it proud.<br> +Let thy soul be full thereof.<br> +Love a woman—love a cloud—<br> +But love!"</p><a name="51"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE BLACKBIRD</p> + +<p>A bird from yonder branch at dawn<br> +Is trilling forth a joyful note,<br> +Or hopping o'er the frozen lawn,<br> +In yellow boots and ebon coat.</p> + +<p>It is the blackbird credulous.<br> +Little of calendar knows he,<br> +Whose soul, with sunbeams luminous,<br> +Sings April to the snows that be.</p> + +<p>Rain sweeps in torrents unrepressed.<br> +The Arve makes dull the Rhone with mire.<br> +The pleasant hall retains its guest<br> +In goodly cheer before the fire.</p> + +<p>The mountains have their ermine on,<br> +Each one a mighty magistrate,<br> +And hold grave conference upon<br> +A case of Winter lasting late.</p> + +<p>The bird dries well his wing, and long,<br> +Despite the rains, the mists that roll,<br> +Insists upon his little song,<br> +Believes in Spring with all his soul.</p> + +<p>He softly chides the slumberous morn<br> +For dallying so long abed,<br> +And bids the shivering flower forlorn<br> +Be bold, and raise aloft its head;</p> + +<p>Behind the dark sees day that smiles,<br> +Even as behind the Holy Rod,<br> +When bare the altar, dim the aisles,<br> +The child of faith beholds his God.</p> + +<p>He trusts to Nature's purpose high,<br> +Sure of her laws for here and now.<br> +Who laughs at thy philosophy,<br> +Dear blackbird, is less wise than thou!</p><a name="52"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE FLOWER THAT MAKES THE SPRINGTIME</p> + +<p>The chestnut trees are soon to flower<br> +At fair <i>Saint Jean,</i> the villa dipped<br> +In sun, before whose viny tower<br> +Stretch purple mountains silver-tipped.</p> + +<p>The little leaves that yesterday<br> +Pressed in their bodices were seen<br> +Have put their sober garb away,<br> +And touched the tender twigs with green.</p> + +<p>But vainly do the sunbeams fill<br> +The branches with a flood of light.<br> +The shy bud hesitateth still<br> +To show the secret thyrse of white.</p> + +<p>And yet the rosy peach-tree blooms,<br> +Like some faint blush of first desire.<br> +The apple waves a wealth of plumes,<br> +And laughs in all its fresh attire.</p> + +<p>To bask amid the buttercups<br> +The timid speedwell ventures out.<br> +Nature calls every earthling up,<br> +And reassures each tiny sprout.</p> + +<p>Yet I must off to other sphere!<br> +Then please your poet, chestnuts tall,<br> +Yea, spread ye forth without a fear<br> +Your firework bloom fantastical!</p> + +<p>I know your summer splendour's pride.<br> +I've seen you standing sumptuous<br> +In autumn's tunics purple-dyed,<br> +With golden circlets luminous.</p> + +<p>In winter white and crystal-crossed<br> +Your delicate boughs I saw again,—<br> +Like lovely traceries the frost<br> +Limns lightly on the window-pane.</p> + +<p>Your every garment I have known,<br> +Ye chestnuts grand that loom aloft,—<br> +Save one to me you've never shown,<br> +Of young green fabric first and soft.</p> + +<p>Ah, well, good-bye, for I must go!<br> +Keep, then, your flowers, where'er they be.<br> +There is another flower I know,<br> +That makes the springtime fair for me.</p> + +<p>Let May with all her blooms arise,<br> +Let May with all her blooms depart!<br> +That flower sufficeth for mine eyes,<br> +And hath pure honey in its heart.</p> + +<p>Let be the season where it waits,<br> +And blue or dull be heaven's dome—<br> +It smiles and charms and captivates,—<br> +The precious violet of my home!</p><a name="53"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>A LAST WISH</p> + +<p>How long my soul has loved thee, love!<br> +It is full many a year agone.<br> +Thy spring—what charm of flowers thereof,<br> +My winter—what wild snows thereon!</p> + +<p>White lilacs from the land of graves<br> +Blow near my temples. Soon enow<br> +Thou'lt mark the pallid mass that waves<br> +Enshadowing my withered brow.</p> + +<p>My westering sun must speedy drop,<br> +And disappear behind the road.<br> +Already on the dim hill-top,<br> +There gleams and waits my last abode.</p> + +<p>Then from thy rosy lips let fall<br> +Upon my lips a tardy kiss,<br> +That in my tomb, when comes the call,<br> +My heart may rest, remembering this.</p><a name="54"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>THE DOVE</p> + +<p>O tender, beauteous dove,<br> +Calling such plaintive things!<br> +Wilt serve unto my love,<br> +And be my love's own wings?</p> + +<p>O, but we 're like, poor heart!<br> +Thy dear one, too, is far.<br> +Remembering, apart,<br> +Each weeps beneath the star.</p> + +<p>Let not thy rosy feet<br> +Stay once on any tower,—<br> +I am so fain, my sweet,—<br> +So weary turns the hour!</p> + +<p>Forswear the palm's repose<br> +That spreadeth over all,<br> +And gables where the snows<br> +Of other pinions fall.</p> + +<p>Now fail me not, nor fear!<br> +He dwelleth near the king.<br> +Give him this letter, dear,<br> +These kisses on thy wing.</p> + +<p>Then seek again my breast,<br> +This flaming, throbbing goal,<br> +Then come, my dove, and rest—<br> +But bring me back his soul!</p><a name="55"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>A PLEASANT EVENING</p> + +<p>What flurrying of rains and snows!<br> +Now every coachman, blue of nose,<br> + In fur and ire<br> +Sits petrified. Oh, it were right<br> +To spend this wild December night<br> + Before one's fire!</p> + +<p>The cosy chimney-corner chair<br> +Assumes its most persuasive air.<br> + I seem to see<br> +Its arms held out, its voice to hear,<br> +Beseeching like a mistress dear:<br> + "Ah, stay with me!"</p> + +<p>A gauze reveals the orb<font face="Times New Roman">è</font>d lamp,<br> +Like a fair breast beneath a guimpe,<br> + And drowsily<br> +The shimmer of its light ascends,<br> +Flushing with gold and crimson blends<br> + The ceiling high.</p> + +<p>The silence frames no sound of things,<br> +Save for the pendulum that swings<br> + Its golden disk,<br> +And many winds that roam and weep,<br> +Or stealthy to the hall-way sweep,<br> + To dance and frisk.</p> + +<p>It's ball-night at the Embassy.<br> +My coat's limp sleeves are signalling me<br> + To dress anon.<br> +My waistcoat yawns. My shirt obtuse<br> +Seems raising high its wristbands loose,<br> + To be put on.</p> + +<p>A narrow boot's abundant glaze<br> +Reflects the ruddy firelight's blaze.<br> + Have I forgot?<br> +A glove's flat fingers span the shelf.<br> +A thin cravat protrudes itself,<br> + And begs a knot.</p> + +<p>Then must I forth? But what a bore—<br> +To seek the over-crowded door!<br> + To fall in line<br> +Of coaches bearing coats of arms<br> +And haughty beauties with their charms,<br> + Superb and fine!</p> + +<p>To stand against a portal wide<br> +And see the surging mass inside<br> + Bear form on form:<br> +Old faces, faces fresh and young,<br> +Black coats low bodices among,—<br> + A motley swarm!</p> + +<p>And puffy backs that hide their red<br> +With laces fine of costly thread<br> + Aerial,<br> +Dandies, diplomatists, that press,<br> +With features dull, expressionless,<br> + At fashion's call.</p> + +<p>What! Brave, to win a glance of hers,<br> +The rows of lynx-eyed dowagers!<br> + Try undeterred<br> +To speak the dear name of my dear,<br> +And whisper softly in her ear<br> + Love's little word!</p> + +<p>Nay, but I'll not! Her eye shall heed<br> +A letter in the flowers I'll speed.<br> + No ball-room now!<br> +Let Parma violets make good<br> +Whatever be her passing mood.<br> + They hold my vow.</p> + +<p>Ensconced with Heine or with Taine,<br> +Or, if I like, the Goncourts twain,<br> + The time will go.<br> +I'll dream, until the hour shall stir<br> +Reality, and wait for her.<br> + She'll come, I know.</p><a name="56"></a><br> +<br> + +<p>ART</p> + +<p>More fair the work, more strong,<br> +Stamped in resistance long,—<br> +Enamel, marble, song.</p> + +<p>Poet, no shackles bear,<br> +Yet bid thy Muse to wear<br> +The buskin bound with care.</p> + +<p>A fashion loose forsake,—<br> +A shoe of sloven make,<br> +That any foot may take.</p> + +<p>Sculptor, the clay withstand,<br> +That yieldeth to the hand,<br> +Though listless heart command.</p> + +<p>Contend till thou have wrought,<br> +Till the hard stone have caught<br> +The beauty of thy thought.</p> + +<p>With Paros match thy might,<br> +And with Carrara bright,<br> +That guard the line of light.</p> + +<p>Borrow from Syracuse<br> +The bronze's stubborn use,<br> +Wherein thy form to choose.</p> + +<p>And with a delicate grace<br> +In the veined onyx trace<br> +Apollo's perfect face.</p> + +<p>Painter, put thou aside<br> +The transient. Be thy pride<br> +The colour furnace-tried.</p> + +<p>Limn thou, fantastic, free<br> +Blue sirens of the sea,<br> +And beasts of heraldry.</p> + +<p>Before a nimbus gold<br> +Transcendently uphold<br> +The Child, the Cross foretold.</p> + +<p>Things perish. Gods have passed.<br> +But song sublimely cast<br> +Shall citadels outlast.</p> + +<p>And the forgotten seal<br> +Turned by the plowman's steel<br> +An emperor may reveal.</p> + +<p>For Art alone is great:<br> +The bust survives the state,<br> +The crown the potentate.</p> + +<p>Carve, burnish, build thy theme,—<br> +But fix thy wavering dream<br> +In the stern rock supreme.</p>--- + +<p>[Transcribers notes: I have created this online text from two sources: +<i>Émaux et camées</i> by Théophile Gautier (Paris: Charpentier, +1872), and Agnes Lee's English translation entitled <i>Enamels and Cameos</i>, +published in Volume XXIV of <i>The Complete Works of Théophile Gautier</i> +(Cambridge, MA: University Press, John Wilson and Son, 1903). Lee +added line indentations for most of the poems which were not present in +Gautier's original text, so I have not included them here. Apart from this, the +online text follows Lee's translation, including her dedicatory sonnet.]</p><br> +<br> +<br> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Enamels and Cameos and other Poems, by +Théophile Gautier + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENAMELS AND CAMEOS AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 29521-h.htm or 29521-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/5/2/29521/ + +Produced by Ruth Hart + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +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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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Enamels and Cameos and other Poems + +Author: Theophile Gautier + +Translator: Agnes Lee + +Release Date: July 27, 2009 [EBook #29521] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENAMELS AND CAMEOS AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Ruth Hart + + + + +ENAMELS AND CAMEOS + +BY + +THEOPHILE GAUTIER + +TRANSLATED BY AGNES LEE + + + +CONTENTS + + +The God and the Opal +Preface +Affinity -- A Pantheistic Madrigal +The Poem of Woman - Marble of Paros +A Study of Hands + I Imperia + II Lacenaire +Variations on the Carnival of Venice: + I On the Street + II On the Lagoons + III Carnival + IV Moonlight +Symphony in White Major +Coquetry in Death +Heart's Diamond +Spring's First Smile +Contralto +Eyes of Blue +The Toreador's Serenade +Nostalgia of the Obelisks: + I The Obelisk in Paris + II The Obelisk in Luxor +Veterans of the Old Guard, December 15 +Sea-Gloom +To a Rose-Coloured Gown +The World's Malicious +Ines de las Sierras -- To Petra Camara +Odelet, After Anacreon +Smoke +Apollonia +The Blind Man +Song +Winter Fantasies +The Brook +Tombs and Funeral Pyres +Bjorn's Banquet +The Watch +The Mermaids +Two Love-Locks +The Tea-Rose +Carmen +What the Swallows Say -- An Autumn Song +Christmas +The Dead Child's Playthings +After Writing My Dramatic Review +The Castle of Rembrance +Camellia and Meadow Daisy +The Fellah -- A Water-Colour by Princess Mathilde +The Garret +The Cloud +The Blackbird +The Flower that Makes the Springtime +A Last Wish +The Dove +A Pleasant Evening +Art + + + + +THE GOD AND THE OPAL +TO THEOPHILE GAUTIER + +Gray caught he from the cloud, and green from earth, +And from a human breast the fire he drew, +And life and death were blended in one dew. +A sunbeam golden with the morning's mirth, +A wan, salt phantom from the sea, a girth +Of silver from the moon, shot colour through +The soul invisible, until it grew +To fulness, and the Opal Song had birth. + +And then the god became the artisan. +With rarest skill he made his gem to glow, +Carving and shaping it to beauty such +That down the cycles it shall gleam to man, +And evermore man's wonderment shall know +The perfect finish, the immortal touch. + +Agnes Lee. + + + +PREFACE + +When empires lay riven apart, +Fared Goethe at battle time's thunder +To fragrant oases of art, +To weave his _Divan_ into wonder. + +Leaving Shakespeare, he pondered the note +Of Nisami, and heard in his leisure +The hoopoe's weird monody float, +And set it to soft Orient measure. + +As Goethe at Weimar delayed +And dreamed in the fair garden closes, +And, questing in sun or in shade, +With Hafiz plucked redolent roses,-- + +I, closed from the tempest that shook +My window with fury impassioned, +Sat dreaming, and, safe in my nook, +Enamels and Cameos fashioned. + + + +AFFINITY +A PANTHEISTIC MADRIGAL + +On an ancient temple gleaming, +Two great blocks of marble high +Thrice a thousand years lay dreaming +Dreams against an Attic sky. + +Set within one silver whiteness, +Two wave-tears for Venus shed, +Two fair pearls of orient brightness, +Through the waste of water sped. + +In the Generalife's fresh closes, +By a Moorish light illumed, +Two delicious, tender roses +By a fountain met and bloomed. + +In the balm of May's bright weather, +Where the domes of Venice rise, +Lighted on Love's nest together +Two pale doves from azure skies. + +All things vanish into wonder, +Marble, pearl, dove, rose on tree, +Pearl shall melt and marble sunder, +Flower shall fade and bird shall flee! + +Not a smallest part but lowly +Through the crucible must pass, +Where all shapes are molten slowly +In the universal mass. + +Then as gradual Time discloses +Marbles melt to whitest skin, +Roses red to lips of roses, +And anew the lives begin. + +And again the doves are plighted +In the hearts of lovers, while +Ocean pearls are reunited, +Set within a coral smile. + +Thus affinity comes welling; +By its beauty everywhere +Soul a sister-soul foretelling, +All awakened and aware. + +Quickened by a zephyr sunny, +Or a perfume, subtlewise, +As the bee unto the honey, +Atom unto atom flies. + +And remembered are the hours +In the temple, down the blue, +And the talks amid the flowers, +Near the fount of crystal dew, + +Kisses warm, and on the royal +Golden domes the wings that beat; +For the atoms all are loyal, +And again must love and greet. + +Love forgotten wakes imperious, +For the past is never dead, +And the rose with joy delirious +Breathes again from lips of red. + +Marble on the flesh of maiden +Feels its own white bloom, and faint +Knows the dove a murmur laden +With the echo of its plaint, + +Till resistance giveth over, +And the barriers fall undone, +And the stranger is the lover, +And affinity hath won! + +You before whose face I tremble, +Say--what past we know not of +Called our fates to reassemble,-- +Pearl or marble, rose or dove? + + + +THE POEM OF WOMAN +MARBLE OF PAROS + +Unto the dreamer once whose heart she had, +As she was showing forth her treasures rare, +Minded she was to read a poem fair, +The poem of her form with beauty glad. + +First stately and superb she swept before +His gazing eyes, with high, Infanta mien, +Trailing behind her all the splendid sheen +Of nacarat floods of velvet that she wore. + +Thus at the opera had he watched her bend +From out her box, her body one bright flame, +When all the air was ringing with her name, +And every song made her fair praise ascend. + +Then had her art another way, for look! +The weighty velvet dropped, and in its place +A pale and cloudy fabric proved the grace +Of every line her glowing body took; + +Till softly from her shoulder marble-sweet +The veil diaphanous fell, the folds whereof +Came fluttering downward like a snowy dove, +To nestle in the wonder of her feet. + +She posed as for Apelles pridefully, +A lovely flesh and marble womanhood:-- +Anadyomene, she upright stood +Naked upon the margent of the sea. + +Fairer than any foam-drops crystalline, +Great pearls of Venice lay upon her breast, +Jewels of milky wonder lightly pressed +Upon the cool, fresh satin of her skin. + +Exhaustless as the waves that kiss the brim, +Under the gleaming moon of many moods, +Were all the strophes of her attitudes. +What fascination sang her beauty's hymn! + +But soon, grown weary of an art antique, +Of Phidias and of Venus, lo! again +Within another new and plastic strain +She grouped her charms unveiled and unique. + +Upon a cashmere opulently spread, +Sultana of Seraglio then she lay, +Laughing unto her little mirror gay, +That laughed again with lips of coral red; + +The indolent, soft Georgian, posturing +With her long, supple narghile at lip, +Showing the glorious fashion of her hip, +One foot upon the other languishing. + +And, like to Ingres' Odalisque, supine, +Defying prurient modesty turned she, +Displaying in her beauty candidly +Wonder of curve and purity of line. + +But hence, thou idle Odalisque! for life +Hath now its own fair picture to display-- +The diamond in its rare effulgent ray,-- +Beauty in Love hath reached its blossom rife. + +She sways her body, bendeth back her head. +Her breathing comes more subtle and more fast. +Rocked in her dream's alluring arms, at last +Down hath she fallen upon her costly bed. + +Her eyelids beat like fluttering pinions lit +Upon the darkened silver of her eyes. +Her bright, voluptuous glances upward rise +Into the vague and nacreous infinite. + +Deck her with sweet, lush violets, instead +Of death-flowers with their every pearl a tear; +Scatter their purple clusters on her bier, +Who of her being's ecstasy lies dead. + +And bear her very gently to her tomb-- +Her bed of white. There let the poet stay, +Long hours upon his bended knees to pray, +When night shall close around the funeral room. + + + +A STUDY OF HANDS + +I + +IMPERIA + +A sculptor showed to me one day +A hand, a Cleopatra's lure, +Or an Aspasia's, cast in clay, +Of masterwork a fragment pure. + +Seized in a snowy kiss, and fair +As lily in the argent rise +Of dawn, like whitest poem there +Its beauty lay before mine eyes, + +Bright in its pallor lustreless, +Reposing on a velvet bed, +Its fingers, weighted with their dress +Of jewels, delicately spread. + +A little parted lay the thumb, +Showing the undulating line, +Beautiful, graceful, subtlesome, +Of its proud contour Florentine. + +Strange hand! I wonder if it toyed +In silken locks of Don Juan, +Or on a gem-bright caftan joyed +To stroke the beard of some soldan; + +Whether, as courtesan or queen, +Within its fingers fair and slight +Was pleasure's gilded sceptre seen, +Or sceptre of a royal might! + +But sweet and firm it must have lain +Full oft its touch of power rare +Upon the curling lion-mane +Of some chimera caught in air. + +Imperial, idle fantasy, +And love of soft, luxurious things, +Frenzies of passion, wondrous, free, +Impossible dream-flutterings! + +Romances wild, and poesy +Of hasheech and of wine, vain speeds +Beneath Bohemia's brilliant sky +On unrestrained and maddened steeds! + +All these were in the lines of it, +Of that white book with magic scrolled, +Where ciphers stood, by Venus writ, +That Love had trembled to behold. + + + +II + +LACENAIRE + +Strange contrast was the severed hand +Of Lacenaire, the murderer dead, +Soaked in a powerful essence, and +Near by upon a cushion spread. + +Letting a morbid fancy win, +I touched, despite my loathing sane, +The cold, hair-covered, slimy skin, +Not yet washed clean of deathly stain. + +Yellow, uncanny, mummified, +Like to a Pharaoh's hand it lay, +And stretched its faun-shaped fingers wide, +Crisp with temptation's awful play; + +As though an itch for flesh and gold +Lured them to horrors yet to be, +Twisting them roughly as of old, +Teasing their immobility. + +There every vice and passion's whim +Had seamed the flesh abundantly +With hideous hieroglyphs and grim, +That headsmen read with fluency. + +There plainly writ in furrows fell, +I saw the deeds of sin and soil, +Scorchings from every fiery hell +Wherein corruptions seethe and boil. + +There was a track of Capri's vice, +Of lupanars and gaming-scores, +Fretted with wine and blood and dice, +Like ennui of old emperors. + +Supple and fierce, it had some dower +Of grace unto the searching eye, +Some brutal fascination's power, +A gladiator's mastery. + +Cold aristocracy of crime! +No plane inured, no hammer spent +The hand whose task for every time +Had but the knife for implement. + +The hand of Lacenaire! No clue +Therein to labour's honest pride! +False poet, and assassin true, +The Manfred of the gutter died! + + + +VARIATIONS ON THE CARNIVAL OF VENICE + +I + +ON THE STREET + +There is a popular old air +That every fiddler loves to scrape. +'T is wrung from organs everywhere, +To barking dog with wrath agape. + +The music-box has registered +Its phrases garbled and reviled. +'T is classic to the household bird; +Grandmother learned it as a child. + +The trumpet and the clarinet, +In dusty gardens of the dance, +Blow it to clerk and gay grisette, +In shrill, unlovely resonance. + +And of a Sunday swarm the folk +Under the honeysuckle vine, +Quaffing, the while they talk and smoke, +The sun, the melody, the wine. + +It lurks within the wry bassoon +The blind man plays, the porch beneath. +His poodle whimpers low the tune, +And holds the cup between its teeth. + +The players of the light guitar, +Decked with their flimsy tartans, pale, +With voices sad, where feasters are, +Through coffee-houses fling its wail. + +Great Paganini at a sign, +One night, as with a needle's gleam, +Picked up with end of bow divine +The little antiquated theme, + +And, threading it with fingers deft, +He broidered it with colours bright, +Till up and down the faded weft +Ran golden arabesques of light. + + + +II + +ON THE LAGOONS + +Tra la, tra la, la, la, la,--who +Knows not the theme's soft spell? +Or sad or light or mock or true, +Our mothers loved it well. + +The Carnival of Venice! Long +Adown canals it came, +Till, wafted on a zephyr's song, +The ballet kept its fame. + +I seem, whene'er its phrase I hear, +A gondola to view, +With prow voluted, black and clear, +Slip o'er the water blue; + +To see, her bosom covered o'er +With pearls, her body suave, +The Adriatic Venus soar +On sound's chromatic wave. + +The domes that on the water dwell +Pursue the melody +In clear-drawn cadences, and swell +Like breasts of love that sigh. + +My chains around a pillar cast, +I land before a fair +And rosy-pale facade at last, +Upon a marble stair. + +Oh! all dear Venice with her towers, +Her boats, her masquers boon, +Her sweet chagrins, her mad, gay hours, +Throbs in that ancient tune. + +The tenuous, vibrant chords that smite, +Rebuild in subtle way +The city joyous, free and light +Of Canaletto's day! + + + +III + +CARNIVAL + +Venice robes her for the ball; +Decked with spangles bright, +Multi-coloured Carnival +Teems with laughter light. + +Harlequin with negro mask, +Tights of serpent hue, +Beateth with a note fantasque +His Cassander true. + +Flapping loose his long, white sleeve, +Like a penguin spread, +Through a subtle semibreve +Pierrot thrusts his head. + +Sleek Bologna's doctor goes +Maundering on a bass. +Punchinello finds for nose +Quaver on his face. + +Hurtling Trivellino fine, +On a trill intent, +Scaramouch to Columbine +Gives the fan she lent. + +Gliding to the tune, I mark +One veiled figure rise, +While through satin lashes dark +Luring gleam her eyes. + +Tender little edge of lace, +Heaving with her breath! +"Under is her own dear face!" +An arpeggio saith. + +And beneath the mask I know +Bloom of rosy lips, +And the patch on chin of snow, +As she by me trips! + + + +IV + +MOONLIGHT + +Amid the chatter gay and mad +Saint Mark to Lido wafts, a tune +Like as a rocket riseth glad +As fountain riseth to the moon. + +But in that air with laughter stirred, +That shakes its bells far out to sea, +Regret, a little stifled bird, +Mingles its frail sob audibly. + +And in a mist of memory clad, +Like dream well-nigh effaced, I view +The sweet Beloved, fair and sad, +Of dear, long-vanished days I knew. + +Ah, pale she is! My soul in tears +An April day remembers yet:-- +We sought the violets by the meres, +And in the grass our fingers met. . . + +The vibrant note of violin +Is the child voice that struck my heart, +Exquisite, plaintive, argentine, +With all the anguish of its dart. + +So sweetly, falsely, doth it steal, +So cruel, yet so tender, too, +So cold, so burning, that I feel +A deadly pleasure pierce me through; + +Until my heart, an archway deep +Whose waters feed the fountain's lip, +Lets tears of blood in silence weep +Into my bosom drip by drip. + +O Carnival of Venice!--theme +So chilling sad, yet ever warm! +Where laughter toucheth tears supreme,-- +How hast thou hurt me with thy charm! + + + +SYMPHONY IN WHITE MAJOR + +In the Northern tales of eld, +From the Rhine's escarpments high +Swan-women radiant were beheld, +Singing and floating by, + +Or, leaving their plumage bright +On a bough that was bending low, +Displaying skin more gleaming white +Than the white of their down of snow. + +At times one comes our way,-- +Of all she is pallidest, +White as the moonbeam's shivering ray +On a glacier's icy crest. + +Her boreal bloom doth win +Our eyes to feasting rare +On rich delight of nacreous skin, +And a wealth of whiteness fair. + +Her rounded breasts, pale globes +Of snow, wage insolent war +With her camellias and her robes +Of whiteness nebular. + +In such white wars supreme +She wins, and weft and flower +Leave their revenge's right, and seem +Yellowed with envy's hour. + +On the white of her shoulder bare, +Whose marble Paros lends, +As through the Polar twilight fair, +Invisible frost descends. + +What beaming virgin snow, +What pith a reed within, +What Host, what taper, did bestow +The white of her matchless skin? + +Was she made of a milky drop +On the blue of a winter heaven? +The lily-blow on the stem's green top? +The foam of the sea at even? + +Of the marble still and cold, +Wherein the great gods dwell? +Of creamy opal gems that hold +Faint fires of mystic spell? + +Or the organ's ivory keys? +Her winged fingers oft +Like butterflies flit over these, +With kisses pending soft. + +Of the ermine's stainless fold, +Whose white, warm touches fall +On shivering shoulders and on bold, +Bright shields armorial? + +Of the phantom flowers of frost +Enscrolled on the window clear? +Of the fountain drop in the chill air lost, +An Undine's frozen tear? + +Of May bent low with the sweets +Of her bountiful white-thorn bloom? +Of alabaster that repeats +The pallor of grief and gloom? + +Of the feathers of doves that slip +And snow on the gable steep? +Of slow stalactite's tear-white drip +In cavernous places deep? + +Came she from Greenland floes +With Seraphita forth? +Is she Madonna of the Snows? +A sphinx of the icy North, + +Sphinx buried by avalanche, +The glacier's guardian ghost, +Whose frozen secrets hide and blanch +In her white heart innermost? + +What magic of what far name +Shall this pale soul ignite? +Ah! who shall flush with rose's flame +This cold, implacable white? + + + +COQUETRY IN DEATH + +I beg ye grant, when low I lie, +Before ye close my coffin-bed, +A little black beneath mine eye, +And on my cheek a touch of red! + +Ah, make me beautiful as now! +For I would be upon my bier, +As on the night of his avow +Charming and bloomful, gay and dear. + +For me no linen winding-sheet! +But gown me very grand and bright. +Bring forth my frock of muslin sweet, +With many ruffles soft and white. + +My favourite frock! I wore it well, +Who wore it at love's flowering. +And since his look upon it fell, +I've kept it as a sacred thing. + +For me no funeral coronet, +No tear-embroidered cushion place; +But o 'er my fair lace pillow let +My hair droop free about my face. + +Dear pillow! Often did it mark, +In mad, sweet nights our brows unlit, +And, all within the gondola dark, +Did count our kisses infinite. + +About my waxen hands supine, +Folded in prayer at life's deep gloam, +My rosary of opals twine, +Blessed by His Holiness at Rome. + +I'll finger it, when bedded cold +Where never one shall rise. How oft +His lips upon my lips have told +A _Pater_ and an _Ave_ soft! + + + +HEART'S DIAMOND + +Every lover deep hath set +In a sacred nook apart +Some dear token for the heart +In its hope or its regret. + +One hath nested safe away +Blackest ringlet ever seen, +Over which an azure sheen +Lieth, as on wing of jay. + +One from shoulder pale as milk +Took a tress more golden-fine +Than the threads that softly shine +In the silk-worm's wonder-silk. + +In its hiding mystical, +Memory's reliquary sweet, +Glances of another greet +Gloves with fingers white and small. + +And another yet may list +To inhale a faint perfume +Of the violets from her room, +Freshly given--faded, kissed. + +Here a slipper's curving grace +One with sighing treasureth. +There another guards a breath +In a mask's light edge of lace. + +I've no slipper to revere, +Neither glove nor tress nor flower; +But I cherish for love's dower +A divine, adored tear,-- + +Fallen from the blue above, +Clearest dew, heaven's drop for me, +Pearl dissolved secretly +In the chalice of my love. + +To mine eyes the dim-worn dew +Beams, a gem of Orient worth, +Standing from the parchment forth, +Diamond of a sapphire blue,-- + +Steadfast, lustreful and deep! +Tear that fell unhoped, unsought, +On a song my soul once wrought, +From an eye unused to weep. + + + +SPRING'S FIRST SMILE + +While up and down the earth men pant and plod, +March, laughing at the showers and days unsteady, +And whispering secret orders to the sod, +For Spring makes ready. + +And slyly when the world is sleeping yet, +He smooths out collars for the Easter daisies, +And fashions golden buttercups to set +In woodland mazes. + +Coif-maker fine, he worketh well his plan. +Orchard and vineyard for his touch are prouder. +From a white swan he hath a down to fan +The trees with powder. + +While Nature still upon her couch doth lean, +Stealthily hies he to the garden closes, +And laces in their bodices of green +Pale buds of roses. + +Composing his solfeggios in the shade, +He whistles them to blackbirds as he treadeth, +And violets in the wood, and in the glade +Snowdrops, he spreadeth. + +Where for the restless stag the fountain wells, +His hidden hand glides soft amid the cresses, +And scatters lily-of-the-valley bells, +In silver dresses. + +He sinks the sweet, vermilion strawberries +Deep in the grasses for thy roving fingers, +And garlands leaflets for thy forehead's ease, +When sunshine lingers. + +When, labour done, he must away, turns he +On April's threshold from his fair creating, +And calleth unto Spring: "Come, Spring--for see, +The woods are waiting!" + + + +CONTRALTO + +There lies within a great museum's hall, +Upon a snowy bed of carven stone, +A statue ever strange and mystical, +With some fair fascination all its own. + +And is it youth or is it maiden sweet, +A goddess or a god come down to sway? +Love fearful, hesitating, turns his feet, +Nor any word's avowal will betray. + +Sideways it lieth, with averted face, +Stretching its lovely limbs, half mischievous, +Unto the curious crowd, an idle grace +Lighting its marble form luxurious. + +For fashioning of its evil beauty brought +The sexes twain each one its magic dower. +Man whispers "Aphrodite!" in his thought, +And woman "Eros!" wondering at its power. + +Uncertain sex and certain grace, that seem +To melt forever in a fountain's kiss, +Waters that whelm the body as they gleam +And merge, and it is one with Salmacis. + +Ardent chimera, effort venturesome +Of Art and Pleasure--figure fanciful! +Into thy presence with delight I come, +Loving thy beauty strange and multiple. + +Though I may never close to thee draw nigh, +How often have my glances pierced the taut, +Straight fold of thine austerest drapery, +Fast at the end about thine ankle caught! + +O dream of poet passing every bound! +My thought hath built a fancy of thy form, +Till it is molten into silver sound, +And boy and girl are one in cadence warm. + +O tone divine, O richest tone of earth, +The beautiful, bright statue's counterpart! +Contralto, thou fantastical of birth, +The voice's own Hermaphrodite thou art! + +Thou art the plaintive dove, the linnet rare, +Perched on one rose tree, mellow in one note. +Thou art fair Juliet and Romeo fair, +Singing across the night with one warm throat. + +Thou art the young wife of the castellan, +Chaffing an amorous page below her bower,-- +Upon her balcony the lady wan, +The lover at the base of her high tower. + +Thou art the yellow butterfly that swings, +Pursuing soft a butterfly of snow, +In spiral flights and subtle traversings, +One winging high, the other winging low_;_ + +The angel flitting up and down the gold +Of the bright stair's aerial extent, +The bell in whose alloy of mighty mould +Arc voice of bronze and voice of silver blent + +Yea, melody and harmony art thou, +Song with its true accompaniment, and grace +Matched unto force,--the woman plighting vow +To her Beloved with a close embrace; + +Or thou art Cinderella doomed to spend +Her night before the embers of the fire, +Deep in a conversation with her friend, +The cricket, as the latter hours expire; + +Or Arsaces, the great and valorous, +Waging his righteous battle for a realm, +Or Tancred with his breastplate luminous, +Cuirassed and splendid with his sword and helm; + +Or Desdemona with her willow song, +Zerlina laughing at Mazetto, or +Malcolm, his plaid upon his shoulder strong. +Thee, O thou dear Contralto, I adore! + +For these thou art, thou dearest charm of each, +O fair Contralto, double-throated dove! +The Kaled of a Lara, for thy speech, +Thou mightest, like the lost Gulnare, prove,-- + +In whose heart-stirring, passionate caress +In one wild, tremulous note there blend and mount +A woman's sigh of plaintive tenderness, +And virile accents from a firmer fount. + + + +EYES OF BLUE + +A woman, mystic, sweet, +Whose beauty draws my soul, +Stands silent where the fleet +And singing waters roll. + +Her eyes, the mirrored note +Of heaven, merge heaven's blue +Bestarred of lights remote, +With the sea's glaucous hue. + +Within their languor set, +Smiles sadness infinite. +Tears make the sparkles wet, +And tender grows the light. + +Like sea-gulls from aloft +That graze the ocean free, +Her lashes flutter soft +Upon an azure sea. + +As slumbering treasures drowned +Send shimmers lightly up, +Gleams through the tide profound +The King of Thule's cup. + +Athwart the weedy swirl +Brilliant, the waves upon, +Shine Cleopatra's pearl, +And ring of Solomon. + +The crown to ocean cast, +That Schiller showed to us, +Still under sea caught fast, +Beams clear and luminous. + +A magic in that gaze +Draws me, mad venturer! +Thus mermaid's magic ways +Drew Harold Haarfager. + +And all my soul unquelled +Adown the gulf betrayed +Dives, to the quest impelled +Of some elusive shade. + +The siren fitfully +Displays her body's gleam, +Her breast and arms that ply +Through waves of amorous dream. + +The water heaves and falls, +Like breasts with passion's breath. +The breeze insistent calls +To me, and murmureth: + +_"Come to my pearly bed! +My ocean arms shall slip +About thee: salt shall spread +To honey on thy lip!_ + +_Oh, let the billows link +Above us! Thou shalt, warm, +From cup of kisses drink +Oblivion of the storm!"_ + +Thus sighs the glance that sweeps +From out those sea-blue gates, +Till heart down treacherous deeps +The hymen consummates. + + + +THE TOREADOR'S SERENADE + +RONDALLA + +Child with airs imperial, +Dove with falcon's eyes for me +Whom thou hatest,--come I shall +Underneath thy balcony! + +There, my foot upon the stone, +I shall twang my chords with grace, +Till thy window-pane hath shone +With thy lamplight and thy face. + +Let no lad with his guitar +Strum adown the bordering ways. +Mine the road to watch and bar, +Mine alone to sing thy praise. + +Let the first my courage brave. +He shall lose his ears, egad! +Who shall howl his love and rave +In a couplet good or bad. + +Restless doth my dagger lie. +Come! who'll venture its rebuff? +Who would wear for every sigh +Blood's red flower upon his ruff? + +Blood grows weary of its veins; +For it yearns to be displayed. +Night is ominous with rains. +Haste, ye cowards, back to shade! + +On, thou braggart, else aroint! +Well thy forearm cover thou. +On! and with my dagger's point +Let me write upon thy brow. + +Let them come, alone, in mass: +Firm of foot I bide my place. +For thy glory, as they pass, +Would I slit each paltry face. + +O'er the gutter ere thy clear, +Snowy feet shall be defiled, +By the Rood! a bridge I'll rear +With the bones of gallants wild. + +I would slay, thy love to wear, +Any foe, yea, even proud +Satan's very self to dare, +So thy sheets became my shroud. + +Sightless window, deafened door! +Wilt thou never heed my sounds? +Like a wounded bull I roar, +Maddening the baying hounds. + +Drive at least a poor nail then, +Where my heart may hang inert. +For I want it not again, +With its madness and its hurt! + + + +NOSTALGIA OF THE OBELISKS + +THE OBELISK IN PARIS + +Distant from my native land, +Ever dull with ennui's pain, +Lonely monolith I stand, +In the snow and frost and rain. + +And my shaft, once burnt to red +In a flaming heaven's glare, +Taketh on a pallor dead +In this never azure air. + +Oh, to stand again before +Luxor's pylons, and the dear, +Grim Colossi!--be once more +My vermilion brother near! + +Oh, to pierce the changeless blue, +Where of old my peak upwon, +With my shadow sharp and true +Trace the footsteps of the sun! + +Once, O Rameses! my tall mass +Not the ages could destroy. +But it fell cut down like grass. +Paris took it for a toy. + +Now my granite form behold: +Sentinel the livelong day +Twixt a spurious temple old, +And the _Chambre des Deputes!_ + +On the spot where _Louis Seize +_ Died, they set me, meaningless, +With my secret which outweighs +Cycles of forgetfulness. + +Sparrows lean defile my head, +Where the ibis used to light, +And the fierce gypaetus spread +Talons gold and plumage white. + +And the Seine, the drip of street, +Unclean river, crime's abyss, +Now befouls mine ancient feet, +Which the Nile was wont to kiss: + +Hoary Nile that, crowned and stern, +To its lotus-laden shores +From its ever bended urn +Crocodiles for gudgeon pours! + +Golden chariots gem-belit +Of the Pharaohs' pageanting +Grazed my side the cab-wheels hit, +Bearing out the last poor king. + +By my granite shape of yore +Passed the priests, with stately pschent, +And the mystic boat upbore, +Emblemed and magnificent. + +But to-day, profane and wan, +Camped between two fountains wide, +I behold the courtesan +In her carriage lounge with pride. + +From the first of year to last +I must see the vulgar show-- +Solons to the Council passed, +Lovers to the woods that go! + +Oh, what skeletons abhorred, +Hence, an hundred years, this race! +Couched, unbandaged, on a board, +In a nailed coffin's place. + +Never hypogeum kind, +Safe from foul corruption's fear; +Never hall where century-lined +Generations disappear! + +Sacred soil of hieroglyph, +And of sacerdotal laws, +Where the Sphinx is waiting stiff, +Sharpening on the stone its claws,-- + +Soil of crypt where echoes part, +Where the vulture swoopeth free, +All my being,--all my heart, +O mine Egypt, weeps for thee! + + + +THE OBELISK IN LUXOR + +Where the wasted columns brood, +Lonely sentinel stand I, +In eternal solitude +Facing all infinity. + +Dumb, with beauty unendowed, +To the horizon limitless +Spreads earth's desert like a shroud +Stained by yellow suns that press. + +While above it, blue and clean, +Is another desert cast-- +Sky where cloud is never seen, +Pure, implacable, and vast. + +And the Nile's great water-course +Glazed with leaden pellicle +Wrinkled by the river-horse +Gleameth dead, unlustreful. + +All about the flaming isles, +By a turbid water spanned, +Hot, rapacious crocodiles +Swoon and sob upon the sand. + +Perching motionless, alone, +Ibis, bird of classic fame, +From a carven slab of stone +Reads the moon-god's sacred name. + +Jackals howl, hyenas grin, +Famished hawks descend and cry. +Down the heavy air they spin, +Commas black against the sky. + +These the sounds of solitude, +Where the sphinxes yawn and doze, +Dull and passionless of mood, +Weary of their endless pose. + +Child of sand's reflected shine, +And of sun-rays fiercely bent, +Is there ennui like to thine, +Spleen of luminous Orient? + +Thou it was cried "Halt!" of yore +To satiety of kings. +Thou hast crushed me more and more +With thine awful weight of wings. + +Here no zephyr of the sea +Wipes the tears from skies that fill. +Time himself leans wearily +On the palaces long still. + +Naught shall touch the features terse +Of this dull, eternal spot. +In this changing universe, +Only Egypt changeth not! + +When the ennui never ends, +And I yearn a friend to hold, +I've the fellahs, mummies, friends, +Of the dynasties of old. + +I behold a pillar pale, +Or a chipped Colossus note, +Watch a distant, gleaming sail +Up and down the Nile afloat. + +Oh, to seek my brother's side, +In a Paris wondrous, grand, +With his stately form to bide, +In the public place to stand! + +For he looks on living men, +And they scan his pictures wrought +By an hieratic pen, +To be read by vision-thought. + +Fountains fair as amethyst +On his granite lightly pour +All their irisated mist. +He is growing young once more. + +Ah! yet he and I had birth +From Syene's veins of red. +But I keep my spot of earth. +He is living. I am dead. + + + +VETERANS OF THE OLD GUARD + +(December 15) + +Driven by ennui from my room, +I walked along the Boulevard. +'Twas in December's mist and gloom. +A bitter wind was blowing hard. + +And there I saw--strange thing to see!-- +In drizzle and in daylight drear, +From out their dark abodes let free, +Dim, spectral shadow-shapes appear. + +Yet 't is by night's uncanny hours, +By pallid German moonbeams cast +On old dilapidated towers, +That ghosts are wont to wander past. + +It is by night's effulgent star +In dripping robes that elves intrigue +To bear beneath the nenuphar +Their dancer dead of his fatigue. + +At night's mysterious tide hath been +The great review--of ballad writs-- +Wherein the Emperor, dimly seen, +Numbered the shades of Austerlitz. + +But phantoms near the _Gymnase?--_yea, +And wet and miry phantoms, too, +And close to the _Varietes, +_ And not a shroud to trick the view! + +With yellow teeth and stained dress, +And mossy skull and pierced shoon, +Paris--Montmartre--behold it press,-- +Death in the very light of noon! + +Ah, 't is a picture to be seen! +Three veteran ghosts in uniform +Of the Old Guard, and, spare and lean, +Two ghost-hussars in daylight's storm. + +The lithograph, you would surmise, +Wherein one ray shines down upon +The dead, that Raffet deifies, +That pass and shout "Napoleon!" + +No dead are these, whom nightly drum +May rouse to battle fires that burn, +But stragglers of the Old Guard, come +To celebrate the grand return! + +Since fighting in the fight supreme, +One has grown thin, another stout; +The coats that fitted once now seem +Too small, too loose, or draggled out. + +O epic rags! O tatters light, +Starred with a cross! Heroic things +Of ridicule, ye gleam more bright, +More beautiful than robes of kings! + +Limp feathers fluttering adorn +The tawny colbacks worn and grim. +The bullet and the moth have torn +And riddled well the dolmans dim. + +Their leathern breeches loosely hang +In furrows on their lank thigh-bones, +Their rusty sabres drag and clang, +As heavily they scrape the stones. + +Or some round belly firm and fat, +Squeezed tight in tether labour-donned, +Makes mirth and jest to chuckle at-- +Old hero quaint and cheveroned! + +But do not mock and jeer, my lad. +Salute him, rather, and, believe, +Achilles he, of Iliad +That Homer's self could not conceive. + +Respect these men with battle signs +That twenty skies have painted brown; +Their scars that lengthen out the lines +Of wrinkles age has written down; + +Their skin whose colour deep and dun, +Bared to the fronts of many foes, +Tells us of Egypt's burning sun; +Their locks that tell of Russia's snows. + +And if they shake, no longer strong? +Ah! Beresina's wind was cold. +And if they limp? The way was long, +From Cairo unto Vilna told. + +If they be stiff? They'd but a flag +For sheet to hold their bodies warm. +And if a sleeve be loose, poor rag? +'T is that a bullet tore an arm. + +Mock not these veteran shapes bizarre, +At whom the urchin laughs and gapes. +They were the day, of which we are +The evening, and the night, perhaps,-- + +Remembering if we forget-- +Red lancer, grenadier in blue, +With faces to the Column set, +As to their only altar true. + +There, proud of pain each scar denotes, +And of long miseries gone by, +They feel beneath their shabby coats +The heart of France beat mightily. + +And so our smiles are steeped in tears, +Seeing this holy carnival, +This picture wan that reappears, +Like morning after midnight's ball. + +And, cleaving heaven its own to claim, +Wide the Grand Army's eagle spreads +Its golden wings, like glory's flame, +Above their dear and hallowed heads. + + + +SEA-GLOOM + +The sea-gulls restless gleam and glance, +The mad white coursers cleave the length +Of ocean as they rear and prance +And toss their manes in stormy strength. + +The day is ending. Raindrops choke +The sunset furnaces. The gloom +Brings the great steamboat spitting smoke, +And beating down its long black plume. + +And I, more wan than heaven wide, +For land of soot and fog am bound, +For land of smoke and suicide-- +And right good weather have I found! + +How eagerly I now would pierce +The gulf that groweth wild and hoar! +The vessel rocks. The waves are fierce. +The salt wind freshens more and more. + +Ah! bitter is my soul's unrest. +The very ocean sighing heaves +In pity its unhopeful breast, +Like some good friend that knows and grieves. + +Let be--lost love's despair supreme! +Let be--illusions fair that rose +And fell from pedestals of dream! +One leap! The dark wet ridges close. + +Away! ye sufferings gone by, +That evermore returning brood, +And press the wounds that sleeping lie, +To make them weep afresh their blood. + +Away! regret, whose crimson heart +Hath seven swords. Yea, One, maybe, +Doth know the anguish and the smart-- +Mother of Seven Sorrows, She! + +Each ghostly grief sinks down the vast, +And struggles with the waves that throb +To close about it, and at last +Drown it forever with a sob. + +Soul's ballast, treasures of life's hand, +Sink! and we'll wreck together down. +Pale on the pillow of the sand +I'll rest me well at evening brown. + +But, now, a woman, as I gaze, +Sits in the bridge's darker nook, +A woman, who doth sweetly raise +Her eyes to mine in one long look. + +'T is Sympathy with outstretched arms, +Who smileth to me through the gray +Of dusk with all her thousand charms. +Hail, azure eyes! Green sea, away! + +The sea-gulls restless gleam and glance. +The mad white coursers cleave the length +Of Ocean as they rear and prance +And toss their manes in stormy strength. + + + +TO A ROSE-COLOURED GOWN + +How I love you in the robes +That disrobe so well your charms! +Your dear breasts, twin ivory globes, +And your bare sweet pagan arms. + +Frail as frailest wing of bee, +Fresher than the heart of rose, +All the fabric delicate, free, +Round your body gleams and glows, + +Till from skin to silken thread, +Silver shivers lightly win, +And the rosy gown have shed +Roses on the creamy skin. + +Whence have you the mystic thing, +Made of very flesh of you, +Living mesh to mix and cling +With your glorious body's hue? + +Did you take it from the rud +Of the dawn? From Venus' shell? +From a breast-flower nigh to bud? +From a rose about to swell? + +Doth the texture have its dye +From some blushing bashfulness? +No--your portraits do not lie-- +Beauty beauty's form shall guess! + +Down you cast your garment fair, +Art-dreamed, sweet Reality, +Like Borghese's princess, rare +For Canova's mastery! + +Ah! the folds are lips of fire +Sweeping round your lovely form +In a folly of desire, +With a weft of kisses warm! + + + +THE WORLD'S MALICIOUS + +Ah, little one, the world's malicious! +With mocking smiles thy beauty greeting. +It says that in thy breast capricious +A watch, and not a heart, is beating. + +Yet like the sea thy breast is swelling +With all the wild, tumultuous power +A tide of blood sends pulsing, welling, +Beneath thy flesh in life's young hour. + +Ah, little one, the world is spiteful! +It says thy vivid eyes are fooling, +And that they have their charm delightful +From faithful, diplomatic schooling. + +Yet on thy lashes' shifting curtain +An iridescent tear-drop trembles, +Like dew unbidden and uncertain, +That no well-water's gleam resembles. + +Ah, little one, the world reviles thee! +It says thou hast no spirit's favour, +That verse, which seemingly beguiles thee, +Hath unto thee a Sanskrit savour. + +Yet to thy crimson lips inviting, +Intelligence's bee of laughter, +At every flash of wit alighting, +Allures and gleams, and lingers after. + +Ah, little one, I know the trouble! +Thou lovest me. The world, it guesses. +Leave me, and hear its praises bubble:-- +"_What heart, what spirit, she possesses!"_ + + + +INES DE LAS SIERRAS + +TO PETRA CAMARA + +In Spain, as Nodier's pen has told, +Three officers in night's mid hours +Came on a castle dark and old, +With sunken eaves and mouldering towers, + +A true Anne Radcliffe type it was, +With ruined halls and crumbling rooms +And windows graven by the claws +Of Goya's bats that ranged the glooms. + +Now while they feasted, gazed upon +By ancient portraits standing guard +In their ancestral frames, anon +A sudden cry rang thitherward. + +Forth from a distant corridor +That many a moonbeam's pallid hue +Fretted fantastically o'er, +A wondrous phantom sped in view. + +With bodice high and hair comb-tipped, +A woman, running, dancing, hied. +Adown the dappled gloom she dipped,-- +An iridescent form descried. + +A languid, dead, voluptuous mood +Filled every act's abandon brief, +Till at the door she stopped, and stood +Sinister, lovely past belief. + +Her raiment crumpled in the tomb +Showed here and there a spangle's foil. +At every start a faded bloom +Dropped petals in her hair's black coil. + +A dull scar crossed her bloodless throat, +As of a knife. Like rattle chill +Of teeth, her castanets she smote +Full in their faces awed and still. + +Ah, poor bacchante, sad of grace! +So wild the sweetness of her spell, +The curved lips in her white face +Had lured a saint from heaven to hell! + +Like darkling birds her eyelashes +Upon her cheek lay fluttering light. +Her kirtle's swinging cadences +Displayed her limbs of lustrous white. + +She bowed amid a mist of gyres, +And with her hand, as dancers may, +Like flowers she gathered up desires, +And grouped them in a bright bouquet. + +Was it a wraith or woman seen, +A thing of dreams, or blood and flesh, +The flame that burst from out the sheen +Of beauty's undulating mesh? + +It was a phantom of the past, +It was the Spain of olden keep, +Who, at the sound of cheer at last, +Upbounded from her icy sleep, + +In one bolero mad, supreme, +Rough-resurrected, powerful, +Showing beneath her kirtle's gleam +The ribbon wrested from the bull. + +About her throat the scar of red +The deathblow was, dealt silently +Unto a generation dead +By every new-born century. + +I saw this self-same phantom fleet, +All Paris ringing with her praise, +When soft, diaphanous, mystic, sweet, +La Petra Camara held its gaze,-- + +Closing her eyes with languor rare, +Impassive, passionate of art, +And, like the murdered Ines fair, +Dancing, a dagger in her heart. + + + +ODELET + +AFTER ANACREON + +Poet of her face divine, +Curb this over-zeal of thine! +Doves wing frighted from the ground +At a step's too sudden sound, +And her passion is a dove, +Frighted by too bold a love. +Mute as marble Hermes wait +By the blooming hawthorn-gate. +Thou shalt see her wings expand, +She shall flutter to thy hand. +On thy forehead thou shalt know +Something like a breath of snow, +Or of pinions pure that beat +In a whirl of whiteness sweet. +And the dove, grown venturesome, +Shall upon thy shoulder come, +And its rosy beak shall sip +From the nectar of thy lip. + + + +SMOKE + +Beneath yon tree sits humble +A squalid, hunchbacked house, +With roof precipitous, +And mossy walls that crumble. + +Bolted and barred the shanty. +But from its must and mould, +Like breath of lips in cold, +Comes respiration scanty. + +A vapour upward welling, +A slender, silver streak, +To God bears tidings meek +Of the soul in the little dwelling. + + + +APOLLONIA + +Fair Apollonia, name august, +Greek echo of the sacred vale, +Great name whose harmonies robust +Thee as Apollo's sister hail! + +Struck with the plectrum on the lyre, +And in melodious beauty sung, +Brighter than love's and glory's fire, +It resonant rings upon the tongue. + +At such a classic sound as this, +The elves plunge down their German lake. +Alone the Delphian worthy is +So lustreful a name to take,-- + +Pythia! when in her flowing dress +She mounts her place with feet unshod, +And, priestess white and prophetess, +Wistful awaits the tardy god. + + + +THE BLIND MAN + +A blind man walks without the gate, +Wild-staring as an owl by day, +Fumbling his flute betimes and late, +Along the way. + +He pipeth, weary wretch and worn, +A roundel shrill and obsolete. +The spectre of a dog forlorn +Attends his feet. + +For him the days go lustreless. +Invisible life with beat and roar +He heareth like a torrent press +Around, before. + +What strange chimeras haunt his head_ +_And on his mind's bedarkened space, +What characters unheard, unread, +Doth fancy trace? + +Thus down Venetian leads of doom, +Wan prisoners ensepulchred +In palpable, undying gloom +Have graven their word. + +And yet perchance when life's last spark +Death speeds unto eternal night, +The tomb-bred soul, within the dark, +Shall see the light. + + + +SONG + +In April earth is white and rose +Like youth and love, now tendering +Her smiles, now fearful to disclose +Her virgin heart unto the Spring. + +In June, a little pale and worn, +And full at heart of vague desire, +She hideth in the yellow corn, +With sunburned Summer to respire. + +In August, wild Bacchante, she +Her bosom bares to Autumn shapes, +And on the tiger-skin flung free, +Draws forth the purple blood of grapes. + +And in December, shrivelled, old, +Bepowdered white from foot to head, +In dream she wakens Winter cold, +That sleeps beside her in her bed. + + + +WINTER FANTASIES + +I + +Red of nose and white of face, +Bent his desk of ice before, +Winter doth his theme retrace +In the season's quatuor,-- + +Beating measure and the ground +With a frozen foot for us, +Singing with uncertain sound +Olden tunes and tremulous. + +And as Haendel's wig sublime +Trembling shook its powder, oft +Flutter as he taps his time +Snow-flakes in a flurry soft. + +II + +In the Tuileries fount the swan +Meets the ice, and all the trees, +As in land of fairies wan, +Arc bedecked with filigrees. + +Flowers of frost in vases low +Stand unquickened and unstirred, +And we trace upon the snow +Starred footsteps of a bird. + +Where with lightest raiment spanned, +Venus was with Phocion met, +Now has Winter's hoary hand +Clodion's "Chilly Maiden" set. + +III + +Women pass in ermine dress, +Sable, too, and miniver, +And the shivering goddesses +Haste to don the fashion's fur. + +Venus of the Brine comes forth, +In her hooded mantle's fluff. +Flora, blown by breezes North, +Hides her fingers in her muff. + +And the shepherdesses round +Of Coustou and Coysevox, +Finding scarves too light have wound +Furs about their throats of snow. + +IV + +Heavy doth the North bedrape +Paris mode from foot to top, +As o'er fair Athenian shape +Scythian should a bearskin drop. + +Over winter's garments meet, +Everywhere we see the fur, +Flung with Russian pomp, and sweet +With the fragrant vetiver. + +Pleasure's laughing glances feast +Far amid the statues, where +From the bristles of a beast +Bursts a Venus torso fair! + +If you venture hitherward, +With a tender veil to cheat +Glances over-daring, guard +Well your Andalusian feet! + +Snow shall fashion like a frame +On your foot's impression rare, +Signing with each step your name +On the carpet soft and vair. + +Thus were surly master led +To the hidden trysting-place, +Where his Psyche, faintly red, +Were beheld in Love's embrace. + + + +THE BROOK + +Near a great water's waste +A brook mid rock and spar +Came bubbling up in haste, +As though to travel far. + +It sang: "What joy to rise! +'T was dismal under ground. +I mirror now the skies. +My banks with green abound. + +"Forget-me-nots--how fair! +Beseech me from the grass; +Wings frolic in the air, +And graze me as they pass. + +"I yet shall be--who knows?-- +A river winding down, +And greeting as it flows +Valley and cliff and town. + +"I'll broider with my spray +Stone bridge and granite quay, +And bear great ships away +Unto the long wide sea." + +So planned it, babbling by, +As water boiling fast +Within a basin high, +To top its brim at last. + +Cradle by tomb is crossed. +Giants are early dead. +Scarce born, the brook was lost +Within a lake's deep bed. + + + +TOMBS AND FUNERAL PYRES + +No grim cadaver set its flaw +In happy days of pagan art, +And man, content with what he saw, +Stripped not the veil from beauty's heart. + +No form once loved that buried lay, +A hideous spectre to appal, +Dropped bit by bit its flesh away, +As one by one our garments fall; + +Or, when the days had drifted by +And sundered shrank the vaulted stones, +Showed naked to the daring eye +A motley heap of rattling bones. + +But, rescued from the funeral pyre, +Life's ashen, light residuum +Lay soft, and, spent the cleansing fire, +The urn held sweet the body's sum,-- + +The sum of all that earth may claim +Of the soul's butterfly, soul passed,-- +All that is left of spended flame +Upon the tripod at the last. + +Between acanthus leaves and flowers +In the white marble gaily went +Loves and bacchantes all the hours, +Dancing about the monument. + +At most, a little Genius wild +Trampled a flame out in the gloom, +And art's harmonious flowering smiled +Upon the sadness of the tomb. + +The tomb was then a pleasant place. +As bed of child that slumbereth, +With many a fair and laughing grace +The joy of life surrounded death. + +Then death concealed its visage gaunt, +Whose sockets deep, and sunken nose, +And railing mouth our spirits haunt, +Past any dream that horror shows. + +The monster in flesh raiment clad +Hid deep its spectral form uncouth, +And virgin glances, beauty-glad, +Sped frankly to the naked youth. + +Twas only at Trimalchio's board +A little skeleton made sign, +An ivory plaything unabhorred, +To bid the feasters to the wine. + +Gods, whom Art ever must avow, +Ruled the marmoreal sky's demesne. +Olympus yields to Calvary, now; +Jupiter to the Nazarene! + +Voices are calling, "Pan is dead!" +Dusk deepeneth within, without. +On the black sheet of sorrow spread, +The whitened skeleton gleams out. + +It glideth to the headstone bare, +And signs it with a paraph wild, +And hangs a wreath of bones to glare +Upon the charnel death-defiled. + +It lifts the coffin-lid and quaffs +The musty air, and peers within, +Displays a ring of ribs, and laughs +Forever with its awful grin. + +It urges unto Death's fleet dance +The Emperor, the Pope, the King, +And makes the pallid steed to prance, +And low the doughty warrior fling;-- + +Behind the courtesan steals up, +And makes wry faces in her glass; +Drinks from the sick man's trembling cup; +Delves in the miser's golden mass. + +Above the team it whirls the thong, +With bone for goad to hurry it, +Follows the plowman's way along, +And guides the furrows to a pit. + +It comes, the uninvited guest, +And lurks beneath the banquet chair, +Unseen from the pale bride to wrest +Her little silken garter fair. + +The number swells: the young give hand +Unto the old, and none may flee. +The irresistible saraband +Compelleth all humanity. + +Forth speeds the tall, ungainly fright, +Playing the rebeck, dancing mad, +Against the dark a frame of white, +As Holbein drew it--horror-sad;-- + +Or if the times be frivolous, +Trusses the shroud about its hips: +Then like a Cupid mischievous, +Across the ballet-room it skips, + +And unto carven tombs it flies, +Where marchionesses rest demure, +Weary of love, in exquisite guise, +In chapels dim and pompadour. + +But hide thy hideous form at last, +Worm-eaten actor! Long enough +In death's wan melodrama cast, +Thou'st played thy part without rebuff. + +Come back, come back, O ancient Art! +And cover with thy marble's gleam +This Gothic skeleton! Each part +Consume, ye flames of fire supreme! + +If man be then a creature made +In God's own image, to aspire, +When shattered must the image fade, +Let the lone fragments feed the fire! + +Immortal form! Rise thou in flame +Again to beauty's fount of bloom +Let not thy clay endure the shame, +The degradation of the tomb! + + + +BJORN'S BANQUET + +Bjorn, odd and lonely cenobite, +High on a barren rock's plateau, +Far out of time's and the world's sight, +Dwells in a castle none may know. + +No modern thought may violate +His darkened and secluded hall. +Bjorn bolts with care his postern-gate, +And barricades his castle wall. + +When others wait the rising sun, +He from his mouldering parapet +Still contemplates the valley dun, +Where he beheld the red sun set. + +Securely doth the past enlock +His retrospective spirit lone. +The pendulum within his clock +Was broken centuries agone. + +Waking the echoes wanders he +Beneath his feudal arches drear, +His ringing footsteps seemingly +Followed by other footsteps clear. + +Nor priests nor friends with him make bold, +Nor burghers plain nor gentlemen; +But his ancestral portraits hold +A parley with him now and then. + +And of a midnight, sparing him +The ennui of a lonely cup, +Bjorn, harbouring a gloomy whim, +Invites his ancestors to sup. + +Forth stepping at the hour's grim stroke, +Come phantoms armed from foot to head. +Bjorn, quaking, to the solemn folk +Proffers with state the goblet red. + +To seat itself each panoply +With joints that grumble in revolt +Maketh an angle with its knee, +That creaketh like a rusty bolt; + +Till all at once the suit of mail, +Rude coffin of an absent bulk, +Cleaving the silence with a wail, +Falls in its chair, a clanking hulk. + +Landgraves and burgraves, spare and stout, +Come down from heaven or up from hell, +The iron guests of many a bout, +Arc bound within the midnight spell. + +Their blow-indented helmets bear +Heraldic beasts that bay and grin, +Athwart the shades the red lights glare +On crest and ancient lambrequin. + +Each empty, open casque now seems +Like to the helms of heraldries, +Save for two strange and livid gleams +That issue forth in threatening wise. + +Seated is each old combatant +In the vast hall, at Bjorn's behest, +And the uncertain shadows grant +A swarthy page to every guest. + +The liquors in the candle-shine +Take on suspicious purples. All +The viands in their gravy's wine +Grow lurid and fantastical. + +Sometimes a breastplate glitters bright, +A morion speeds its flashes wroth, +A rondelle from a hand of might +Drops heavily upon the cloth. + +Heard are the softly flapping wings +Of unseen bats. The shimmer flicks +Upon the carven panellings +The banners of the heretics. + +The stiffly bended gauntlets play +In the dull glow incarnadine, +And, creaking, to the helmets gray +Pour bumpers full of Rhenish wine; + +Or with their daggers keen of blade +Carve boars upon the plates of gold. +The corridor's uncanny shade +Hath clamours vague and manifold. + +The orgy waxes riotsome-- +One could not hear God's voice for it-- +For when a phantom sups from home, +What wrong if he carouse a bit? + +Now every ghostly care they drown +With jokes and jeers and loud guffaws. +A wine-cascade is running down +Each rusty helmet's iron jaws. + +The full and rounded hauberks bulge, +And to the neck the river mounts. +Their eyes with liquid fire effulge. +They're howling drunk, these valiant counts! + +One through the salad idly wields +A foot; another scolds the sick. +Some like the lions on their shields +With gaping mouths the fancy trick. + +In voice still hoarse from silence long +In the tomb's dampness and restraint, +Max playfully intones a song +Of thirteen hundred, crude and quaint. + +Albrecht, of quarrelsome repute, +Stirs right and left a war intense, +And drubs about with fist and foot, +As once he drubbed the Saracens. + +And heated Fritz his helmet doffs, +Not deeming he's a headless trunk. +Then down pell-mell mid roars and scoffs +Together roll the phantoms drunk. + +Ah! 'T is a hideous battle-ground, +Where pots and weapons bang and scud, +Where every dead man through some wound +Doth vomit victuals up for blood. + +And Bjorn observes them, sad of eye, +And haggard, while athwart the panes +The dawn comes creeping stealthily, +With blue, thin lights, and darkness wanes. + +The prostrate mass of rusty brown +Pales like a torch in daylight's room, +Until the drunkest pours him down +At last the stirrup-cup of doom. + +The cock crows loud. And with the day +Once more with haughty mien and bold, +Their revel-weary heads they lay +Upon their marble pillows cold. + + + +THE WATCH + +Now twice my watch have I taken, +And twice as I've gazing sat, +The hand has pointed unshaken +To one--and it's long past that! + +The clock's light cadences linger. +The sun-dial laughs from the lawn, +And points with a long, gaunt finger +The path that its shade has drawn. + +A steeple ironically +Calls the true time to me. +The belfry bell makes tally +And taunts me with accents free. + +Ah, dead is the wretch! I sought not, +Last night, to my reverie sold, +Its ruby circle! I thought not +Of glimmering key of gold! + +No longer I see with pleasure +The spring of the balance-wheel +Flit hither and there at measure, +Like a butterfly form of steel. + +When Hippogriff bears me, yearning, +Through skies of another sphere, +My soul-reft body goes turning +Wherever the steed may veer. + +Eternity still is giving +Its gaze to the lifeless face. +Time seeketh the heart once living, +His ear at the old watch-case,-- + +That heart whose regular motion +Was followed within my breast +By wave-beats of life's full ocean! +Ah well! the watch is at rest. + +But its brother is beating ever, +Steadfast and sturdy kept +By One Who forgetteth never,-- +Who wound it the while I slept. + + + +THE MERMAIDS + +There's a sketch you may discover +By an artist of degree +Rime and metre quarrel over-- +Theophile Kniatowski. + +On the snowy foam that fringes +All the mantle of the brine, +Radiant with the sunlight's tinges, +Three mermaidens softly shine. + +Like the drowned lilies dancing +Turn they, as the spiral wave +Buoys their bodies hiding, glancing, +As they sink and rise and lave. + +In their golden hair for dowers +They have twined with beauteous hands +Shells for diadems, and flowers +From the deep wild under sands. + +Oysters pour a pearly hoarding +Their enrapturing throats to gem, +And the wave, its wealth according, +Tosses other pearls to them. + +Borne above the crest of ocean +By a Triton hand and strong, +Twine they, beautiful of motion, +Under gleaming tresses long. + +And the crystal water under, +Down the blue the glories pale +Of each lovely form of wonder, +Tapered to a shimmering tail. + +Ah! But who the scaly swimmers +Would behold in modern day-- +When a bust of ivory glimmers, +Cool from kisses of the spray? + +Look! Oh, mingled truth and fable! +O'er the horizon steady plied, +Comes a vessel proud and stable, +Toward the mermaids terrified! + +Tricoloured its flag is flaunted, +And it vomits vapour red, +And it beats the billows daunted, +Till the nymphs dive low for dread. + +Fearlessly they did beleaguer +Triremes immemorial, +And the dolphins arched and eager +Waited for Arion's call. + +This of old. But now the steamer-- +Vulcan hurtling Venus' charms,-- +Would destroy the siren gleamer, +With her fair, nude tail and arms. + +Farewell myth! The boat that passes +Thinks to see on silver bar, +Where the widening billow glasses, +Porpoises that plunge afar. + + + +TWO LOVE-LOCKS + +Reviving languorous dreaming +Of conquered, conquering eye, +Upon thy forehead gleaming, +Two fairest love-locks lie. + +I see them softly nesting, +Of wondrous, golden sheen, +Like little wheels come resting +From car of Mab the Queen; + +Or bows of Cupid ready +To let the arrows fly, +Bent circlewise and steady +For archer's mastery. + +One heart have I of passion. +Yet two love-locks are thine! +O brow of fickle fashion! +Whose heart is caught with mine? + + + +THE TEA-ROSE + +Most beautiful of all the roses +Is this half-open bud, whose bare, +Unpetalled heart a dream discloses +Of carmine very faint and fair. + +I wonder, was it once a white rose, +Till butterfly too ardent spoke +A language soft, and in the light rose +A shyer, warmer tint awoke? + +Its delicate fabric hath the colour +Of lovely and velutinous skin. +Its perfect freshness maketh duller +Environing hues incarnadine. + +For as some rare patrician features +Eclipse the brows of ruddier gleam, +So masquerade as rustic creatures +Gay sisters of this rose supreme. + +But, dear one, if your hand caress it, +And raise it for its sweet perfume, +Ere yet your velvet cheek shall press it, +'T will fade before a fairer bloom. + +No rose in all the world so tender, +That gloweth in the springtime fleet, +But shall its every charm surrender +Unto your seventeen years, my sweet. + +A face hath more than petal's power: +A pure heart's blood that blushing flows +O'er youth's nobility, is flower +High sovereign over every rose. + + + +CARMEN + +Slender is Carmen, of lissome guise, +Her hair is black as the midnight's heart; +Dark circles are under her gypsy eyes, +Her swarthy skin is the devil's art. + +The women will mock at her form and face; +But the men will follow her all the day. +Toledo's Archbishop (now save His Grace!) +Tones his mass at her knees, they say. + +Nestled in warmth of her amber neck +Lies a massive coil, till she fling it down +To be a raiment to frame and deck +Her delicate body from foot to crown. + +Then out from her pallid face with power +Her witching, terrible smiles compel. +Her mouth is a mystical poison-flower +That hath drawn its crimson from hearts in hell. + +The haughtiest beauty must yield her fame, +When this strange vision shall dusk her sky. +For Carmen rules, and her glance's flame +Shall set the torch to satiety. + +Wild, graceless Carmen!--Though yet this be, +Savour she hath of a world undreamt, +Of a world of wonder, whose salt young sea +Provoked a Venus to rise and tempt. + + + +WHAT THE SWALLOWS SAY + +AN AUTUMN SONG + +The dry, brown leaves have dropped forlorn, +And lie amid the golden grass. +The wind is fresh both eve and morn. +But where are summer days, alas! + +The tardy flowers the autumn stayed +For latter treasures now unfold. +The dahlia dons its gay cockade, +Its flaming cap the marigold. + +Rain stirs the pool with pelt and shock. +The swallows to the roof repair, +Confabulating as they flock +And feel the winter in the air. + +By hundreds gather they to vow +Their little yearnings and intents. +Saith one: "'T is fair in Athens now, +Upon the sun-warm battlements! + +"Thither I go to take my nap +Upon the Parthenon high and free. +My cornice nest is in the gap +A cannon-ball made there for me." + +And one: "A ceiling meets my needs +Within a Smyrna coffee-house, +Where Hadjis tell their amber beads +Upon the threshold luminous. + +"I go and come above the folk, +While their chibouques their clouds upfling. +I skim along through silver smoke, +And graze the turbans with my wing." + +Another: "There's a triglyph gray +On one of Baalbec's temples high. +'T is there I go to brood all day +Above my little family." + +Another calleth, "My address +Is settled: 'At the Knights of Rhodes.' +In a dark colonnade's recess +I'll make the snuggest of abodes." + +"Old age hath made me slow for flight," +Declares a fifth; "I'll rest at even +On Malta's terraces of white, +Where blue sea melts to blue of heaven." + +A sixth: "In Cairo is my home, +Up in a minaret's retreat: +A twig or two, a bit of loam-- +My winter lodgings are complete." + +A last: "The Second Cataract +Shall mark my place--the nest of brown +A granite king doth hold intact +Within the circle of his crown." + +And all together sing: "What miles +To-morrow shall have stretched beneath +Our fleeing swarm:--remembered isles, +Snow peaks, vast waters, lands of heath!" + +With calls and cries and beat of wings, +Grown eager now and venturesome, +The swallows hold their twitterings, +To see the blight of winter come. + +And I--I understand them all, +Because the poet is a bird,-- +Oh! but a sorry bird, and thrall +To a great lack, pressed heavenward. + +It's Oh for wings! to seek the star, +To count the seas when day is done, +To breast the air with swallows far, +To verdant spring, to golden sun! + + + +CHRISTMAS + +Black is the sky and white the ground. +O ring, ye bells, your carol's grace! +The Child is born! A love profound +Beams o'er Him from His Mother's face. + +No silken woof of costly show +Keeps off the bitter cold from Him. +But spider-webs have drooped them low, +To be His curtain soft and dim. + +Now trembles on the straw downspread +The Little Child, the Star beneath. +To warm Him in His holy bed, +Upon Him ox and ass do breathe. + +Snow hangs its fringes on the byre. +The roof stands open to the tryst +Of aureoled saints, that sweetly choir +To shepherds, "Come, behold the Christ!" + + + +THE DEAD CHILD'S PLAYTHINGS + +Marie comes no more at call. +She has wandered from her play. +Ah, how pitifully small +Was the coffin borne away! + +See--about the nursery floor +All her little heritage: +Rubber ball and battledore, +Tattered book and coloured page. + +Poor forsaken doll! in vain +Stretch your arms. She will not come. +Stopped forever is the train, +And the music-box is dumb. + +Some one touched it soft, apart, +Where the silence is her name. +And what sinking of the heart +At the plaintive note that came! + +Ah, the anguish! when the tomb +Robs the cradle; when bereft +We discover in the gloom +Child toys that an angel left. + + + +AFTER WRITING MY DRAMATIC REVIEW + +My columns are ranged and steady, +Upbearing, though sad forespent, +The newspaper pediment, +And my review is ready. + +Now for a week, poetaster, +My door is bolted. Away, +Thou still-born masterpiece,--aye, +Till Monday I am my master. + +No melodrama shall whiten +My labour with threadbare leaves. +The warp that my fancy weaves +With silken flowers shall brighten. + +Brief moment my spirit's warder, +Ye voices of soul that float, +I'll hearken your sorrow's note, +Nor verses evoke to order. + +Then deep in my glass regaining +The health of a day gone by,-- +Old visions for company-- +The bloom of my vintage draining, + +The wine of my thought I'll measure, +Wine virgin of alien glow, +Grapes trodden by life, that flow +From my heart at my heart's own pleasure! + + + +THE CASTLE OF REMEMBRANCE + +Before my hearth with head low-bowed +I dream, and strive to reach again, +Across the misty past's gray cloud, +Unto Remembrance's domain, + +Where tree and house and upland way +Are blurred and blue like passing ghosts, +And the eye, ponder though it may, +Consults in vain the guiding-posts. + +Now gropingly to gain a sight +Of all the buried world, I press +Through mystic marge of shade and light +And limbo of forgetfulness. + +But white, diaphanous Memory stands, +Where many roadways meet and spread, +Like Ariadne, in my hands +Thrusting her little ball of thread. + +Henceforth the way is all secure. +The shrouded sun hath reappeared, +And o'er the trees with vision sure +I see the castle tower upreared. + +Beneath the boughs where day grows dark +With shower on shower of leaves down-poured +The dear old path through moss and bark +Still lengthens far its narrow cord. + +But creeping-plant and bramble-spray +Have wrought a net to daunt me now. +The stubborn branch I force away +Swings fiercely back to lash my brow. + +I come upon the house at last. +No window lit with lamp or face, +No breath of smoke from gables vast, +To touch with life the mouldering place! + +Bridges are crumbling. Moats are still, +And slimed with rank, green refuse-flowers, +And tortuous waves of ivy fill +The crevices and choke the towers. + +The portico in moonlight wanes. +Time sculptures it to suit his whim. +And with the wash of many rains +My coloured coat of arms is dim. + +The door I open eagerly. +The ancient hinges creak and halt. +A breath of dampness wafts to me +The musty odour of the vault. + +The hairy nettle sharp of sting, +The coarse and broad-leafed burdock weed +In court-yard nooks are prospering, +By spreading hemlocks canopied. + +Upon two marble monsters near, +That guard the mossy steps of stone, +The shadow of a tree falls clear, +That in my absence has upgrown. + +Sudden the lion sentinels raise +Their paws, aggressive and malign, +And challenge me with their white gaze; +But soft I breathe the countersign. + +I pass. The old dog menaceth, +But falls back hushed, the shades amid. +My resonant footstep wakeneth +Crouched echoes in their corners hid. + +Through yellow panes of glass a ray +Of dubious light creeps down the hall +Where ancient tapestries display +Apollo's fortunes from the wall. + +Fair tree-bound Daphne still with grace +Stretches her tufted fingers green. +But in the amorous god's embrace +She fades, a formless phantom seen. + +I watch divine Apollo stand, +Herdsman to acarus-riddled sheep, +The Muses Nine, a haggard band, +Upon a faded Pindus weep; + +While Solitude in scanty gown +Traces "Desertion" in the dust +That through the air she sifteth down +Upon a marble stand august. + +And now, among forgotten things, +I find, like sleepers manifold, +Pastels bedimmed, dark picturings, +Young beauties, and the friends of old. + +My faltering fingers lift a crape,-- +And lo, my love with look and lure! +With puffing skirts and prisoned shape! +Cidalise _a la_ Pompadour! + +A tender, blossoming rose she feels +Against her ribboned bodice pressed, +Whose lace half hides and half reveals +A snowy, azure-veined breast. + +Within her eyes gleam sparkles lush, +As on the rime-kissed, deadened leaves. +Upon her cheek a purple flush-- +Death's own cosmetic hue!--deceives. + +She startles as I come before, +And fixeth soft on me her eyes, +Reproachfully forevermore, +Yet with a charm and witching wise. + +Life bore me from thee at its will, +Yet on my heart thy name is laid, +Thou dead delight, that lingereth still, +Bedizened for the masquerade! + +Envious of Art, fair Nature wrought +To overpass Murillo's fame,-- +From Andalusia here she brought +The face that lights the second frame. + +By some poetical caprice, +Our atmosphere of mist and cloud, +With rare exotic charm's increase +This other Petra Camara dowed. + +Warm orange tones are gilding yet +Her lovely skin of roseate hue. +Her eyelids fair have lashes jet +That beams of sunshine filter through. + +There shimmers fine a pearly gleam +Between her scarlet lips elate; +Her beauty flashes forth supreme-- +A bright south summer pomegranate. + +Long to the sound of Spain's guitar, +I told her praise 'mid song and glass. +She came alone one evenstar, +And all my room Alhambra was. + +Farther I see a robust Fair, +With strong and gem-beladen arms. +In pearls of price and velvet rare +Are set her ivory bosom's charms. + +Her ennui is a weary queen's, +An adulating court amid. +Superb, aloof, her hand she leans +Upon a casket's jewelled lid. + +Her sensuous lips their crimes confess, +As crimson with the blood of hearts. +With brutal, mad voluptuousness +Her conquering eye a challenge darts. + +Here dwells, in lieu of tender grace, +Vertiginous allure, whereof +A cruel Venus ruled a race, +Presiding o'er malignant love. + +Unnatural mother to her child, +This Venus all imperative! +O thou, my bitter joy and wild,-- +Farewell forever! I forgive! + +Within its frame in shadow fine, +The misty glass that still endures +Reveals another face than mine,-- +The earliest of my portraitures. + +A retrospective ghost, with face +Of vanished type, steps from the vast +Dim mirror of his biding-place +In tenebrous, forgotten past. + +Gay in his doublet satin-rose, +Coloured in bold and vivid way, +He seems as if about to pose +For Deveria or Boulanger. + +Terror of glabrous commoner, +His flowing locks in royal guise, +Like mane of lion, or sinister +King's hair, fall heavy to his thighs. + +Romanticist of bold conceit, +Knight of an art which strives anew, +He hurled himself at Drama's feet, +When erst Hernani's trumpet blew. + +Night falls. The corners are astir +With many shapes and shadows tall. +The Unknown--grim stage-carpenter-- +Sets up its darksome frights o'er all. + +A sudden burst of candles, weird +With aureoles, like lamps of death! +The room is populous, and bleared +With folk brought hither by a breath! + +Down step the portraits from the wall,-- +A ruddy-litten company! +Circling the fireplace in the hall, +Where the wood blazes suddenly. + +The figures wrested from the tombs +Have lost their rigid, frozen mien, +The gradual glow of life illumes +The Past with flush incarnadine. + +A colour lights the faces pale, +As in the days of old delight. +Friends whom my thought shall never fail, +I thank ye, that ye came to-night! + +Now eighteen-thirty shows to me +Its great and valiant-hearted men. +(Ah, like Otranto's pirates, we +Who were an hundred, are but ten!) + +And one his reddish beard spreads out, +Like Barbarossa in his cave. +Another his mustachio stout +Curls at the ends in fashion suave. + +Under the ample fold that cloaks +An ever unrevealed ill, +Petrus a cigarette now smokes, +Naming it "papelito" still. + +Another cometh, fain to tell +His visions and his hopes supreme. +Like Icarus on the sands he fell, +Where lie all broken shafts of dream. + +And one a drama hath begot, +Planned after some new model's freak, +Which, merging all things in its plot, +Makes Calderon with Moliere speak. + +Tom, late forsaken by his Dear, +Love's Labour's Lost must low recite; +And Fritz to Cidalise makes clear +Faust's vision of Walpurgis Night. + +But dawn comes through the window free. +Diaphanous the phantoms grow. +The objects of reality +Strike through their shapes that merge and go. + +The candles are consumed away. +The ember-lights no longer gleam +Upon the hearth. No thing shall stay. +Farewell, O castle of my dream! + +December gray shall turn once more +The glass of Time, for all we fret! +The present enters at my door, +And vainly bids me to forget. + + + +CAMELLIA AND MEADOW-DAISY + +We praise the hot-house flowers that loom +Far from their native sun and shade, +The flaring forms that flaunt their bloom, +Like jewels under glass displayed. + +With never breeze to kiss their heads, +They have their birth and live and die +On costly, artificial beds, +Beneath an ever-crystal sky. + +For whomsoever idly scans, +Baring their treasures to entice, +Like fair and sumptuous courtesans, +They stand for sale at golden price. + +Fine porcelain holds their gathered groups, +Or glove-clad fingers fondle them +Between the dances, till each droops +Upon a limp or broken stem. + +But down amid the grass unreaped, +Shunning the curious, in repose +And silence all the long day steeped, +A little woodland daisy blows. + +A butterfly upon the wing +To point the place, a casual look, +And you surprise the sweet, shy thing, +Within its calm, sequestered nook. + +Beneath the blue it openeth, +Rising on slender, vernal rod, +Spreading its soul in fragrant breath +For solitude and for its God. + +And proud camellias tall and white, +Red tulips in a flaming mass, +Are all at once forgotten quite, +For the small flower amid the grass. + + + +THE FELLAH + +_On seeing a Water-Colour by Princess Mathilde_ + +Caprice of brush fantastical, +And of imperial idleness, +Your fellah-sphinx presents us all +With an enigma worth the guess. + +A rigid fashion, verily, +This mask, this garment, seem to us, +Intriguing with its mystery +The ball-room's every Oedipus. + +Isis bequeathed her veil of old +To modern daughters of the Nile. +But through this band austere, behold, +Two stars of radiance beam and smile,-- + +Two stars, two eyes, two poems that spring, +The soft, voluptuous fires whereof +Resolve the riddle, murmuring: +"Lo, I am Beauty! Be thou Love!" + + + +THE GARRET + +From balcony tiles where casual cats +Sit low in wait for birds unwise, +I see the worn and riven slats +Of a poor, humble garret rise. + +Now could I as an author lie, +To give you comfort as you think, +Its window I would falsify, +And frame with flowers refined and pink, + +And place within it Rigolette +With her cheap looking-glass, somehow, +Whose broken glazing mirrors yet +A portion of her pretty brow; + +Or Margery, her dress undone, +Her hair blown free, her tie forgot, +Watering in the pleasant sun +Her pail-encompassed garden-plot; + +Or poet-youth whom fame awaits, +Who scans his verse and eyes the hills, +Or in a reverie contemplates +Montmartre with its distant mills. + +Alas! my garret is no feint. +There climbeth no convolvulus. +The window with its nibbled paint +Leers filmy and unluminous. + +Alike for artist and grisette, +Alike for widower and lad, +A garret--save to music set-- +Is never otherwise than sad. + +Of old, beneath an angle pent, +That forced the forehead to a kiss, +Love, with a folding-couch content, +To chat with Susan deemed it bliss. + +But we must wad our bliss about +With cushioned walls and laces wide, +And silks that flutter in and out, +O'er beds by Monbro canopied. + +This evening, to Mount Breda fled +Is Rigolette, to linger there, +And Margery, well clothed and fed, +No longer tends her garden fair. + +The poet, tired of catching rimes +Upon the wing, has turned to cull +Reporter's bays, and left betimes +A heaven for an entresol. + +And in the window this is all: +An ancient goody chattering, +And railing at a kitten small +That toys forever with a string. + + + +THE CLOUD + +Lightly in the azure air +Soars a cloud, emerging free +Like a virgin from the fair +Blue sea; + +Or an Aphrodite sweet, +Floating upright and empearled +In the shell, about its feet +Foam-curled. + +Undulating overhead, +How its changing body glows! +On its shoulder dawn hath spread +A rose. + +Marble, snow, blend amorously +In that form by sunlight kissed-- +Slumbering Antiope +Of mist! + +Sailing unto distant goal, +Over Alps and Apennines, +Sister of the woman-soul, +It shines; + +Till my heart flies forth at last +On the wings of passion warm, +And I yearn to gather fast +Its form. + +Reason saith: "Mere vapour thing! +Bursting bubble! Yet, we deem, +Holds this wind-distorted ring +Our dream." + +Faith declareth: "Beauty seen, +Like a cloud, is but a thought, +Or a breath, that, having been, +Is naught. + +"Have thy vision. Build it proud. +Let thy soul be full thereof. +Love a woman--love a cloud-- +But love!" + + + +THE BLACKBIRD + +A bird from yonder branch at dawn +Is trilling forth a joyful note, +Or hopping o'er the frozen lawn, +In yellow boots and ebon coat. + +It is the blackbird credulous. +Little of calendar knows he, +Whose soul, with sunbeams luminous, +Sings April to the snows that be. + +Rain sweeps in torrents unrepressed. +The Arve makes dull the Rhone with mire. +The pleasant hall retains its guest +In goodly cheer before the fire. + +The mountains have their ermine on, +Each one a mighty magistrate, +And hold grave conference upon +A case of Winter lasting late. + +The bird dries well his wing, and long, +Despite the rains, the mists that roll, +Insists upon his little song, +Believes in Spring with all his soul. + +He softly chides the slumberous morn +For dallying so long abed, +And bids the shivering flower forlorn +Be bold, and raise aloft its head; + +Behind the dark sees day that smiles, +Even as behind the Holy Rod, +When bare the altar, dim the aisles, +The child of faith beholds his God. + +He trusts to Nature's purpose high, +Sure of her laws for here and now. +Who laughs at thy philosophy, +Dear blackbird, is less wise than thou! + + + +THE FLOWER THAT MAKES THE SPRINGTIME + +The chestnut trees are soon to flower +At fair _Saint Jean,_ the villa dipped +In sun, before whose viny tower +Stretch purple mountains silver-tipped. + +The little leaves that yesterday +Pressed in their bodices were seen +Have put their sober garb away, +And touched the tender twigs with green. + +But vainly do the sunbeams fill +The branches with a flood of light. +The shy bud hesitateth still +To show the secret thyrse of white. + +And yet the rosy peach-tree blooms, +Like some faint blush of first desire. +The apple waves a wealth of plumes, +And laughs in all its fresh attire. + +To bask amid the buttercups +The timid speedwell ventures out. +Nature calls every earthling up, +And reassures each tiny sprout. + +Yet I must off to other sphere! +Then please your poet, chestnuts tall, +Yea, spread ye forth without a fear +Your firework bloom fantastical! + +I know your summer splendour's pride. +I've seen you standing sumptuous +In autumn's tunics purple-dyed, +With golden circlets luminous. + +In winter white and crystal-crossed +Your delicate boughs I saw again,-- +Like lovely traceries the frost +Limns lightly on the window-pane. + +Your every garment I have known, +Ye chestnuts grand that loom aloft,-- +Save one to me you've never shown, +Of young green fabric first and soft. + +Ah, well, good-bye, for I must go! +Keep, then, your flowers, where'er they be. +There is another flower I know, +That makes the springtime fair for me. + +Let May with all her blooms arise, +Let May with all her blooms depart! +That flower sufficeth for mine eyes, +And hath pure honey in its heart. + +Let be the season where it waits, +And blue or dull be heaven's dome-- +It smiles and charms and captivates,-- +The precious violet of my home! + + + +A LAST WISH + +How long my soul has loved thee, love! +It is full many a year agone. +Thy spring--what charm of flowers thereof, +My winter--what wild snows thereon! + +White lilacs from the land of graves +Blow near my temples. Soon enow +Thou'lt mark the pallid mass that waves +Enshadowing my withered brow. + +My westering sun must speedy drop, +And disappear behind the road. +Already on the dim hill-top, +There gleams and waits my last abode. + +Then from thy rosy lips let fall +Upon my lips a tardy kiss, +That in my tomb, when comes the call, +My heart may rest, remembering this. + + + +THE DOVE + +O tender, beauteous dove, +Calling such plaintive things! +Wilt serve unto my love, +And be my love's own wings? + +O, but we 're like, poor heart! +Thy dear one, too, is far. +Remembering, apart, +Each weeps beneath the star. + +Let not thy rosy feet +Stay once on any tower,-- +I am so fain, my sweet,-- +So weary turns the hour! + +Forswear the palm's repose +That spreadeth over all, +And gables where the snows +Of other pinions fall. + +Now fail me not, nor fear! +He dwelleth near the king. +Give him this letter, dear, +These kisses on thy wing. + +Then seek again my breast, +This flaming, throbbing goal, +Then come, my dove, and rest-- +But bring me back his soul! + + + +A PLEASANT EVENING + +What flurrying of rains and snows! +Now every coachman, blue of nose, + In fur and ire +Sits petrified. Oh, it were right +To spend this wild December night + Before one's fire! + +The cosy chimney-corner chair +Assumes its most persuasive air. + I seem to see +Its arms held out, its voice to hear, +Beseeching like a mistress dear: + "Ah, stay with me!" + +A gauze reveals the orbed lamp, +Like a fair breast beneath a guimpe, + And drowsily +The shimmer of its light ascends, +Flushing with gold and crimson blends + The ceiling high. + +The silence frames no sound of things, +Save for the pendulum that swings + Its golden disk, +And many winds that roam and weep, +Or stealthy to the hall-way sweep, + To dance and frisk. + +It's ball-night at the Embassy. +My coat's limp sleeves are signalling me + To dress anon. +My waistcoat yawns. My shirt obtuse +Seems raising high its wristbands loose, + To be put on. + +A narrow boot's abundant glaze +Reflects the ruddy firelight's blaze. + Have I forgot? +A glove's flat fingers span the shelf. +A thin cravat protrudes itself, + And begs a knot. + +Then must I forth? But what a bore-- +To seek the over-crowded door! + To fall in line +Of coaches bearing coats of arms +And haughty beauties with their charms, + Superb and fine! + +To stand against a portal wide +And see the surging mass inside + Bear form on form: +Old faces, faces fresh and young, +Black coats low bodices among,-- + A motley swarm! + +And puffy backs that hide their red +With laces fine of costly thread + Aerial, +Dandies, diplomatists, that press, +With features dull, expressionless, + At fashion's call. + +What! Brave, to win a glance of hers, +The rows of lynx-eyed dowagers! + Try undeterred +To speak the dear name of my dear, +And whisper softly in her ear + Love's little word! + +Nay, but I'll not! Her eye shall heed +A letter in the flowers I'll speed. + No ball-room now! +Let Parma violets make good +Whatever be her passing mood. + They hold my vow. + +Ensconced with Heine or with Taine, +Or, if I like, the Goncourts twain, + The time will go. +I'll dream, until the hour shall stir +Reality, and wait for her. + She'll come, I know. + + + +ART + +More fair the work, more strong, +Stamped in resistance long,-- +Enamel, marble, song. + +Poet, no shackles bear, +Yet bid thy Muse to wear +The buskin bound with care. + +A fashion loose forsake,-- +A shoe of sloven make, +That any foot may take. + +Sculptor, the clay withstand, +That yieldeth to the hand, +Though listless heart command. + +Contend till thou have wrought, +Till the hard stone have caught +The beauty of thy thought. + +With Paros match thy might, +And with Carrara bright, +That guard the line of light. + +Borrow from Syracuse +The bronze's stubborn use, +Wherein thy form to choose. + +And with a delicate grace +In the veined onyx trace +Apollo's perfect face. + +Painter, put thou aside +The transient. Be thy pride +The colour furnace-tried. + +Limn thou, fantastic, free +Blue sirens of the sea, +And beasts of heraldry. + +Before a nimbus gold +Transcendently uphold +The Child, the Cross foretold. + +Things perish. Gods have passed. +But song sublimely cast +Shall citadels outlast. + +And the forgotten seal +Turned by the plowman's steel +An emperor may reveal. + +For Art alone is great: +The bust survives the state, +The crown the potentate. + +Carve, burnish, build thy theme,-- +But fix thy wavering dream +In the stern rock supreme. + +--- + +[Transcribers notes: I have created this online text from two +sources: _E?maux et came?es_ by The?ophile Gautier (Paris: +Charpentier, 1872), and Agnes Lee's English translation entitled +_Enamels and Cameos_, published in Volume XXIV of _The +Complete Works of The?ophile Gautier_ (Cambridge, MA: +University Press, John Wilson and Son, 1903). Lee added line +indentations for most of the poems which were not present in +Gautier's original text, so I have not included them here. Apart from +this, the online text follows Lee's translation, including her +dedicatory sonnet.] + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Enamels and Cameos and other Poems, by +Theophile Gautier + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENAMELS AND CAMEOS AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 29521.txt or 29521.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/5/2/29521/ + +Produced by Ruth Hart + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +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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