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diff --git a/29521.txt b/29521.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d59b3a2 --- /dev/null +++ b/29521.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3751 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Enamels and Cameos and other Poems, by Theophile 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: 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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