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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Silhouettes, by Arthur Symons
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+Title: Silhouettes
+
+Author: Arthur Symons
+
+Release Date: July 28, 2009 [EBook #29531]
+[Last updated: October 29, 2020]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILHOUETTES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Ruth Hart
+
+
+
+
+SILHOUETTES
+
+BY
+ARTHUR SYMONS
+
+SECOND EDITION
+REVISED AND ENLARGED
+
+LONDON: LEONARD SMITHERS
+EFFINGHAM HOUSE: ARUNDEL STREET
+STRAND: MDCCCXCVI
+
+TO
+KATHERINE WILLARD,
+NOW
+KATHERINE BALDWIN.
+
+
+_Paris: May,_ 1892.
+_London: February,_ 1896.
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+*Preface:     
+Being a Word on Behalf of Patchouli:     p. xiii.
+
+At Dieppe:     
+After Sunset:     p. 3.
+On the Beach:     p. 4.
+Rain on the Down:     p. 5.
+Before the Squall:     p. 6.
+Under the Cliffs:     p. 7.
+Requies:     p. 8.
+
+Masks and Faces:     
+Pastel:     p. 11.
+Her Eyes:     p. 12.
+Morbidezza:     p. 13.
+Maquillage:     p. 14.
+*Impression:     p. 15.
+An Angel of Perugino:     p. 16.
+At Fontainebleau:     p. 17.
+On the Heath:     p. 18.
+In the Oratory:     p. 19.
+Pattie:     p. 20.
+In an Omnibus:     p. 21.
+On Meeting After:     p. 22.
+In Bohemia:     p. 23.
+Emmy:     p. 24.
+Emmy at the Eldorado:     p. 26.
+*At the Cavour:     p. 27.
+In the Haymarket:     p. 28.
+At the Lyceum:     p. 29.
+The Blind Beggar:     p. 30.
+The Old Labourer:     p. 31.
+The Absinthe Drinker:     p. 32.
+Javanese Dancers     p. 33.
+
+Love’s Disguises:     
+Love in Spring:     p. 37.
+Gipsy Love     p. 38.
+In Kensington Gardens:     p. 39.
+*Rewards:     p. 40.
+Perfume:     p. 41.
+Souvenir:     p. 42.
+*To Mary:     p. 43.
+To a Great Actress:     p. 44.
+Love in Dreams:     p. 45.
+Music and Memory:     p. 46.
+*Spring Twilight:     p. 47.
+In Winter:     p. 48.
+*Quest:     p. 49.
+To a Portrait:     p. 50.
+*Second Thoughts:     p. 51.
+April Midnight:     p. 52.
+During Music:     p. 53.
+On the Bridge:     p. 54.
+“I Dream of Her”:     p. 55.
+*Tears:     p. 56.
+*The Last Exit:     p. 57.
+After Love:     p. 58.
+Alla Passeretta Bruna:     p. 59.
+
+Nocturnes:     
+Nocturne:     p. 63.
+Her Street:     p. 64.
+On Judges’ Walk:     p. 65.
+In the Night:     p. 66.
+
+Fêtes Galantes:     
+*Mandoline:     p. 69.
+*Dans l’Allée     p. 70.
+*Cythère:     p. 71.
+*Les Indolents:     p. 72.
+*Fantoches:     p. 73.
+*Pantomine:     p. 74.
+*L’Amour par Terre:     p. 75.
+*A Clymène:     p. 76.
+From Romances sans Parole     p. 71.
+ 
+Moods and Memories:     
+City Nights:     p. 81.
+A White Night:     p. 82.
+In the Valley:     p. 83.
+Peace at Noon:     p. 84.
+In Fountain Court:     p. 85.
+At Burgos:     p. 86.
+At Dawn:     p. 87.
+In Autumn:     p. 88.
+On the Roads:     p. 89.
+*Pierrot in Half-Mourning:     p. 90.
+For a Picture of Watteau:     p. 91.
+
+* The Preface, and the nineteen Poems marked with an asterisk, were not
+contained in the first edition. One Poem has been omitted, and many
+completely rewritten.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE:
+
+BEING A WORD ON BEHALF OF PATCHOULI.
+
+AN ingenuous reviewer once described some verses of mine as
+“unwholesome,” because, he said, they had “a faint smell of Patchouli
+about them.” I am a little sorry he chose Patchouli, for that is not a
+particularly favourite scent with me. If he had only chosen Peau
+d’Espagne, which has a subtle meaning, or Lily of the Valley, with
+which I have associations! But Patchouli will serve. Let me ask, then,
+in republishing, with additions, a collection of little pieces, many of
+which have been objected to, at one time or another, as being somewhat
+deliberately frivolous, why art should not, if it please, concern
+itself with the artificially charming, which, I suppose, is what my
+critic means by Patchouli? All art, surely, is a form of artifice, and
+thus, to the truly devout mind, condemned already, if not as actively
+noxious, at all events as needless. That is a point of view which I
+quite understand, and its conclusion I hold to be absolutely logical. I
+have the utmost respect for the people who refuse to read a novel, to
+go to the theatre, or to learn dancing. That is to have convictions and
+to live up to them. I understand also the point of view from which a
+work of art is tolerated in so far as it is actually militant on behalf
+of a religious or a moral idea. But what I fail to understand are those
+delicate, invisible degrees by which a distinction is drawn between
+this form of art and that; the hesitations, and compromises, and
+timorous advances, and shocked retreats, of the Puritan conscience once
+emancipated, and yet afraid of liberty. However you may try to convince
+yourself to the contrary, a work of art can be judged only from two
+standpoints: the standpoint from which its art is measured entirely by
+its morality, and the standpoint from which its morality is measured
+entirely by its art.
+
+Here, for once, in connection with these “Silhouettes,” I have not, if
+my recollection serves me, been accused of actual immorality. I am but
+a fair way along the “primrose path,” not yet within singeing distance
+of the “everlasting bonfire.” In other words, I have not yet written
+“London Nights,” which, it appears (I can scarcely realize it, in my
+innocent abstraction in aesthetical matters), has no very salutary
+reputation among the blameless moralists of the press. I need not,
+therefore, on this occasion, concern myself with more than the curious
+fallacy by which there is supposed to be something inherently wrong in
+artistic work which deals frankly and lightly with the very real charm
+of the lighter emotions and the more fleeting sensations.
+
+I do not wish to assert that the kind of verse which happened to
+reflect certain moods of mine at a certain period of my life, is the
+best kind of verse in itself, or is likely to seem to me, in other
+years, when other moods may have made me their own, the best kind of
+verse for my own expression of myself. Nor do I affect to doubt that
+the creation of the supreme emotion is a higher form of art than the
+reflection of the most exquisite sensation, the evocation of the most
+magical impression. I claim only an equal liberty for the rendering of
+every mood of that variable and inexplicable and contradictory creature
+which we call ourselves, of every aspect under which we are gifted or
+condemned to apprehend the beauty and strangeness and curiosity of the
+visible world.
+
+Patchouli! Well, why not Patchouli? Is there any “reason in nature” why
+we should write exclusively about the natural blush, if the delicately
+acquired blush of rouge has any attraction for us? Both exist; both, I
+think, are charming in their way; and the latter, as a subject, has, at
+all events, more novelty. If you prefer your “new-mown hay” in the
+hayfield, and I, it may be, in a scent-bottle, why may not my
+individual caprice be allowed to find expression as well as yours?
+Probably I enjoy the hayfield as much as you do; but I enjoy quite
+other scents and sensations as well, and I take the former for granted,
+and write my poem, for a change, about the latter. There is no
+necessary difference in artistic value between a good poem about a
+flower in the hedge and a good poem about the scent in a sachet. I am
+always charmed to read beautiful poems about nature in the country.
+Only, personally, I prefer town to country; and in the town we have to
+find for ourselves, as best we may, the _décor_ which is the town
+equivalent of the great natural _décor_ of fields and hills. Here it is
+that artificiality comes in; and if any one sees no beauty in the
+effects of artificial light, in all the variable, most human, and yet
+most factitious town landscape, I can only pity him, and go on my own
+way.
+
+That is, if he will let me. But he tells me that one thing is right and
+the other is wrong; that one is good art and the other is bad; and I
+listen in amazement, sometimes not without impatience, wondering why an
+estimable personal prejudice should be thus exalted into a dogma, and
+uttered in the name of art. For in art there can be no prejudices, only
+results. If we arc to save people’s souls by the writing of verses,
+well and good. But if not, there is no choice but to admit an absolute
+freedom of choice. And if Patchouli pleases one, why not Patchouli?
+
+Arthur Symons.
+
+
+London, _February,_1896.
+
+
+
+
+AT DIEPPE.
+
+
+
+
+AFTER SUNSET.
+
+
+THE sea lies quieted beneath
+     The after-sunset flush
+That leaves upon the heaped grey clouds
+     The grape’s faint purple blush.
+
+Pale, from a little space in heaven
+     Of delicate ivory,
+The sickle-moon and one gold star
+     Look down upon the sea.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE BEACH.
+
+
+NIGHT, a grey sky, a ghostly sea,
+     The soft beginning of the rain:
+     Black on the horizon, sails that wane
+Into the distance mistily.
+
+The tide is rising, I can hear
+     The soft roar broadening far along;
+It cries and murmurs in my car
+     A sleepy old forgotten song.
+
+Softly the stealthy night descends,
+     The black sails fade into the sky:
+Is this not, where the sea-line ends,
+     The shore-line of infinity?
+
+I cannot think or dream: the grey
+     Unending waste of sea and night,
+     Dull, impotently infinite,
+Blots out the very hope of day.
+
+
+
+
+RAIN ON THE DOWN.
+
+
+NIGHT, and the down by the sea,
+     And the veil of rain on the down;
+And she came through the mist and the rain to me
+     From the safe warm lights of the town.
+
+The rain shone in her hair,
+     And her face gleamed in the rain;
+And only the night and the rain were there
+     As she came to me out of the rain.
+
+
+
+
+BEFORE THE SQUALL.
+
+
+THE wind is rising on the sea,
+     White flashes dance along the deep,
+That moans as if uneasily
+     It turned in an unquiet sleep.
+
+Ridge after rocky ridge upheaves
+     A toppling crest that falls in spray
+Where the tormented beach receives
+     The buffets of the sea’s wild play.
+
+On the horizon’s nearing line,
+     Where the sky rests, a visible wall.
+Grey in the offing, I divine
+     The sails that fly before the squall.
+
+
+
+
+UNDER THE CLIFFS.
+
+
+BRIGHT light to windward on the horizon’s verge;
+To leeward, stormy shadows, violet-black,
+And the wide sea between
+A vast unfurrowed field of windless green;
+The stormy shadows flicker on the track
+Of phantom sails that vanish and emerge.
+
+I gaze across the sea, remembering her.
+I watch the white sun walk across the sea,
+This pallid afternoon,
+With feet that tread as whitely as the moon,
+And in his fleet and shining feet I see
+The footsteps of another voyager.
+
+
+
+
+REQUIES.
+
+
+O IS it death or life
+     That sounds like something strangely known
+In this subsiding out of strife,
+     This slow sea-monotone?
+
+A sound, scarce heard through sleep,
+     Murmurous as the August bees
+That fill the forest hollows deep
+     About the roots of trees.
+
+O is it life or death,
+     O is it hope or memory,
+That quiets all things with this breath
+     Of the eternal sea?
+
+
+
+
+MASKS AND FACES.
+
+
+
+
+PASTEL.
+
+
+THE light of our cigarettes
+     Went and came in the gloom:
+     It was dark in the little room.
+
+Dark, and then, in the dark,
+     Sudden, a flash, a glow,
+     And a hand and a ring I know.
+
+And then, through the dark, a flush
+     Ruddy and vague, the grace—
+     A rose—of her lyric face.
+
+
+
+
+HER EYES.
+
+
+BENEATH the heaven of her brows’
+     Unclouded noon of peace, there lies
+A leafy heaven of hazel boughs
+     In the seclusion of her eyes;
+
+Her troubling eyes that cannot rest;
+     And there’s a little flame that dances
+(A firefly in a grassy nest)
+     In the green circle of her glances;
+
+A frolic Faun that must be hid,
+     Shyly, in some fantastic shade,
+Where pity droops a tender lid
+     On laughter of itself afraid.
+
+
+
+
+MORBIDEZZA.
+
+
+WHITE girl, your flesh is lilies
+Grown ’neath a frozen moon,
+So still is
+The rapture of your swoon
+Of whiteness, snow or lilies.
+
+The virginal revealment,
+Your bosom’s wavering slope,
+Concealment,
+’Neath fainting heliotrope,
+Of whitest white’s revealment,
+
+Is like a bed of lilies,
+A jealous-guarded row,
+Whose will is
+Simply chaste dreams:—but oh,
+The alluring scent of lilies!
+
+
+
+
+MAQUILLAGE.
+
+
+THE charm of rouge on fragile cheeks,
+     Pearl-powder, and, about the eyes,
+The dark and lustrous Eastern dyes;
+     The floating odour that bespeaks
+A scented boudoir and the doubtful night
+Of alcoves curtained close against the light
+
+Gracile and creamy white and rose,
+     Complexioned like the flower of dawn,
+Her fleeting colours are as those
+     That, from an April sky withdrawn,
+Fade in a fragrant mist of tears away
+When weeping noon leads on the altered day.
+
+
+
+
+IMPRESSION.
+
+TO M. C.
+
+
+THE pink and black of silk and lace,
+     Flushed in the rosy-golden glow
+Of lamplight on her lifted face;
+Powder and wig, and pink and lace,
+
+And those pathetic eyes of hers;
+     But all the London footlights know
+The little plaintive smile that stirs
+The shadow in those eyes of hers.
+
+Outside, the dreary church-bell tolled,
+     The London Sunday faded slow;
+Ah, what is this? what wings unfold
+In this miraculous rose of gold?
+
+
+
+
+AN ANGEL OF PERUGINO.
+
+
+HAVE I not seen your face before
+     Where Perugino’s angels stand
+In those calm circles, and adore
+     With singing throat and lifted hand?
+
+So the pale hair lay crescent-wise,
+     About the placid forehead curled,
+And the pale piety of eyes
+     Was as God’s peace upon the world.
+
+And you, a simple child serene,
+     Wander upon your quiet way,
+Nor know that any eyes have seen
+     The Umbrian halo crown the day.
+
+
+
+
+AT FONTAINEBLEAU.
+
+
+IT was a day of sun and rain,
+     Uncertain as a child’s quick moods;
+And I shall never pass again
+     So blithe a day among the woods.
+
+The forest knew you and was glad,
+     And laughed for very joy to know
+Her child was with her; then, grown sad,
+     She wept, because her child must go.
+
+And you would spy and you would capture
+     The shyest flower that lit the grass:
+The joy I had to watch your rapture
+     Was keen as even your rapture was.
+
+The forest knew you and was glad,
+     And laughed and wept for joy and woe.
+This was the welcome that you had
+     Among the woods of Fontainebleau.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE HEATH.
+
+
+HER face’s wilful flash and glow
+     Turned all its light upon my face
+     One bright delirious moment’s space,
+And then she passed: I followed slow
+
+Across the heath, and up and round,
+     And watched the splendid death of day
+     Upon the summits far away,
+And in her fateful beauty found
+
+The fierce wild beauty of the light
+     That startles twilight on the hills,
+     And lightens all the mountain rills,
+And flames before the feet of night.
+
+
+
+
+IN THE ORATORY.
+
+
+THE incense mounted like a cloud,
+     A golden cloud of languid scent;
+Robed priests before the altar bowed,
+     Expecting the divine event.
+
+Then silence, like a prisoner bound,
+     Rose, by a mighty hand set free,
+And dazzlingly, in shafts of sound,
+     Thundered Beethoven’s Mass in C.
+
+She knelt in prayer; large lids serene
+     Lay heavy on the sombre eyes,
+As though to veil some vision seen
+     Upon the mounts of Paradise.
+
+Her dark face, calm as carven stone.
+     The face that twilight shows the day,
+Brooded, mysteriously alone,
+     And infinitely far away.
+
+Inexplicable eyes that drew
+     Mine eyes adoring, why from me
+Demand, new Sphinx, the fatal clue
+     That seals my doom or conquers thee?
+
+
+
+
+PATTIE.
+
+
+COOL comely country Pattie, grown
+     A daisy where the daisies grow,
+No wind of heaven has ever blown
+     Across a field-flower’s daintier snow.
+
+Gold-white among the meadow-grass
+     The humble little daisies thrive;
+I cannot see them as I pass,
+     But I am glad to be alive.
+
+And so I turn where Pattie stands,
+     A flower among the flowers at play;
+I’ll lay my heart into her hands,
+     And she will smile the clouds away.
+
+
+
+
+IN AN OMNIBUS.
+
+
+YOUR smile is like a treachery,
+     A treachery adorable;
+So smiles the siren where the sea
+     Sings to the unforgetting shell.
+
+Your fleeting Leonardo face,
+     Parisian Monna Lisa, dreams
+     Elusively, but not of streams
+Born in a shadow-haunted place.
+
+Of Paris, Paris, is your thought,
+     Of Paris robes, and when to wear
+The latest bonnet you have bought
+     To match the marvel of your hair.
+
+Yet that fine malice of your smile,
+     That faint and fluctuating glint
+     Between your eyelids, does it hint
+Alone of matters mercantile?
+
+Close lips that keep the secret in,
+     Half spoken by the stealthy eyes,
+Is there indeed no word to win,
+     No secret, from the vague replies
+
+Of lips and lids that feign to hide
+     That which they feign to render up?
+     Is there, in Tantalus’ dim cup,
+The shadow of water, nought beside?
+
+
+
+
+ON MEETING AFTER.
+
+
+HER eyes are haunted, eyes that were
+     Scarce sad when last we met.
+What thing is this has come to her
+     That she may not forget?
+
+They loved, they married: it is well!
+     But ah, what memories
+Are these whereof her eyes half tell,
+     Her haunted eyes?
+
+
+
+
+IN BOHEMIA.
+
+
+DRAWN blinds and flaring gas within,
+     And wine, and women, and cigars;
+Without, the city’s heedless din;
+     Above, the white unheeding stars.
+
+And we, alike from each remote,
+     The world that works, the heaven that waits,
+Con our brief pleasures o’er by rote,
+     The favourite pastime of the Fates.
+
+We smoke, to fancy that we dream,
+     And drink, a moment’s joy to prove,
+And fain would love, and only seem
+     To love because we cannot love.
+
+Draw back the blinds, put out the light:
+     ’Tis morning, let the daylight come.
+God! how the women’s cheeks are white,
+     And how the sunlight strikes us dumb!
+
+
+
+
+EMMY.
+
+
+EMMY’S exquisite youth and her virginal air,
+     Eyes and teeth in the flash of a musical smile,
+Come to me out of the past, and I see her there
+     As I saw her once for a while.
+
+Emmy’s laughter rings in my ears, as bright,
+     Fresh and sweet as the voice of a mountain brook,
+And still I hear her telling us tales that night,
+     Out of Boccaccio’s book.
+
+There, in the midst of the villainous dancing-hall,
+     Leaning across the table, over the beer,
+While the music maddened the whirling skirts of the ball,
+     As the midnight hour drew near,
+
+There with the women, haggard, painted and old,
+     One fresh bud in a garland withered and stale,
+She, with her innocent voice and her clear eyes, told
+     Tale after shameless tale.
+
+And ever the witching smile, to her face beguiled,
+     Paused and broadened, and broke in a ripple of fun,
+And the soul of a child looked out of the eyes of a child,
+     Or ever the tale was done.
+
+O my child, who wronged you first, and began
+     First the dance of death that you dance so well?
+Soul for soul: and I think the soul of a man
+     Shall answer for yours in hell.
+
+
+
+
+EMMY AT THE ELDORADO.
+
+
+TO meet, of all unlikely things,
+Here, after all one’s wanderings!
+But, Emmy, though we meet,
+What of this lover at your feet?
+
+For, is this Emmy that I see?
+A fragile domesticity
+I seem to half surprise
+In the evasions of those eyes.
+
+Once a child’s cloudless eyes, they seem
+Lost in the blue depths of a dream,
+As though, for innocent hours,
+To stray with love among the flowers.
+
+Without regret, without desire,
+In those old days of love on hire,
+Child, child, what will you do,
+Emmy, now love is come to you?
+
+Already, in so brief a while,
+The gleam has faded from your smile;
+This grave and tender air
+Leaves you, for all but one, less fair.
+
+Then, you were heedless, happy, gay,
+Immortally a child; to-day
+A woman, at the years’ control:
+Undine has found a soul.
+
+
+
+
+AT THE CAVOUR.
+
+
+WINE, the red coals, the flaring gas,
+     Bring out a brighter tone in cheeks
+That learn at home before the glass
+     The flush that eloquently speaks.
+
+The blue-grey smoke of cigarettes
+     Curls from the lessening ends that glow;
+The men are thinking of the bets,
+     The women of the debts, they owe.
+
+Then their eyes meet, and in their eyes
+     The accustomed smile comes up to call,
+A look half miserably wise.
+     Half heedlessly ironical.
+
+
+
+
+IN THE HAYMARKET.
+
+
+I DANCED at your ball a year ago,
+     To-night I pay for your bread and cheese,
+“And a glass of bitters, if you please,
+     For you drank my best champagne, you know!”
+
+Madcap ever, you laugh the while,
+     As you drink your bitters and munch your bread;
+The face is the same, and the same old smile
+     Came up at a word I said.
+
+A year ago I danced at your ball,
+     I sit by your side in the bar to-night;
+And the luck has changed, you say: that’s all!
+     And the luck will change, you say: all right!
+
+For the men go by, and the rent’s to pay,
+     And you haven’t a friend in the world to-day;
+And the money comes and the money goes:
+     And to-night, who cares? and to-morrow, who knows?
+
+
+
+
+AT THE LYCEUM.
+
+
+HER eyes are brands that keep the angry heat
+     Of fire that crawls and leaves an ashen path.
+     The dust of this devouring flame she hath
+Upon her cheeks and eyelids. Fresh and sweet
+In days that were, her sultry beauty now
+     Is pain transfigured, love’s impenitence,
+     The memory of a maiden innocence,
+As a crown set upon a weary brow.
+
+She sits, and fain would listen, fain forget;
+     She smiles, but with those tragic, waiting eyes,
+Those proud and piteous lips that hunger yet
+     For love’s fulfilment. Ah, when Landry cries
+“My heart is dead!” with what a wild regret
+     Her own heart feels the throb that never dies!
+
+
+
+
+THE BLIND BEGGAR.
+
+
+HE stands, a patient figure, where the crowd
+     Heaves to and fro beside him. In his ears
+     All day the Fair goes thundering, and he hears
+In darkness, as a dead man in his shroud.
+Patient he stands, with age and sorrow bowed,
+     And holds a piteous hat of ancient yean;
+     And in his face and gesture there appears
+The desperate humbleness of poor men proud.
+
+What thoughts are his, as, with the inward sight,
+     He sees those mirthful faces pass him by?
+Is the long darkness darker for that light.
+     The misery deeper when that joy is nigh?
+Patient, alone, he stands from morn to night,
+     Pleading in his reproachful misery.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD LABOURER.
+
+
+HIS fourscore years have bent a back of oak,
+     His earth-brown cheeks are full of hollow pits;
+     His gnarled hands wander idly as he sits
+Bending above the hearthstone’s feeble smoke.
+Threescore and ten slow years he tilled the land;
+     He wrung his bread from out the stubborn soil;
+     He saw his masters flourish through his toil;
+He held their substance in his horny hand.
+
+Now he is old: he asks for daily bread:
+     He who has sowed the bread he may not taste
+          Begs for the crumbs: he would do no man wrong.
+The Parish Guardians, when his case is read,
+     Will grant him (yet with no unseemly haste)
+     Just seventeen pence to starve on, seven days long.
+
+
+
+
+THE ABSINTHE DRINKER.
+
+
+GENTLY I wave the visible world away.
+     Far off, I hear a roar, afar yet near,
+     Far off and strange, a voice is in my ear,
+And is the voice my own? the words I say
+Fall strangely, like a dream, across the day;
+     And the dim sunshine is a dream. How clear,
+     New as the world to lovers’ eyes, appear
+The men and women passing on their way!
+
+The world is very fair. The hours are all
+     Linked in a dance of mere forgetfulness.
+          I am at peace with God and man. O glide,
+Sands of the hour-glass that I count not, fall
+     Serenely: scarce I feel your soft caress.
+          Rocked on this dreamy and indifferent tide.
+
+
+
+
+JAVANESE DANCERS,
+
+
+TWITCHED strings, the clang of metal, beaten drums.
+     Dull, shrill, continuous, disquieting;
+And now the stealthy dancer comes
+     Undulantly with cat-like steps that cling;
+
+Smiling between her painted lids a smile,
+     Motionless, unintelligible, she twines
+     Her fingers into mazy lines,
+Twining her scarves across them all the while.
+
+One, two, three, four step forth, and, to and fro,
+     Delicately and imperceptibly,
+Now swaying gently in a row,
+     Now interthreading slow and rhythmically,
+
+Still with fixed eyes, monotonously still,
+     Mysteriously, with smiles inanimate,
+     With lingering feet that undulate,
+With sinuous fingers, spectral hands that thrill,
+
+The little amber-coloured dancers move,
+     Like little painted figures on a screen,
+     Or phantom-dancers haply seen
+Among the shadows of a magic grove.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE’S DISGUISES.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE IN SPRING.
+
+
+GOOD to be loved and to love for a little, and then
+     Well to forget, be forgotten, ere loving grow life!
+Dear, you have loved me, but was I the man among men?
+Sweet, I have loved you, but scarcely as mistress or wife.
+
+Message of Spring in the hearts of a man and a maid,
+     Hearts on a holiday: ho! let us love: it is Spring.
+Joy in the birds of the air, in the buds of the glade,
+     Joy in our hearts in the joy of the hours on the wing.
+
+Well, but to-morrow? To-morrow, good-bye: it is over.
+     Scarcely with tears shall we part, with a smile who had met.
+Tears? What is this? But I thought we were playing at lover.
+     Play-time is past. I am going. And you love me yet!
+
+
+
+
+GIPSY LOVE.
+
+
+THE gipsy tents are on the down,
+     The gipsy girls are here;
+And it’s O to be off and away from the town
+     With a gipsy for my dear!
+
+We’d make our bed in the bracken
+     With the lark for a chambermaid;
+The lark would sing us awake in the mornings
+     Singing above our head.
+
+We’d drink the sunlight all day long
+     With never a house to bind us;
+And we’d only flout in a merry song
+     The world we left behind us.
+
+We would be free as birds are free
+     The livelong day, the livelong day;
+And we would lie in the sunny bracken
+     With none to say us nay.
+
+The gipsy tents are on the down,
+     The gipsy girls are here;
+And it’s O to be off and away from the town
+     With a gipsy for my dear!
+
+
+
+
+IN KENSINGTON GARDENS.
+
+
+UNDER the almond tree,
+Room for my love and me!
+     Over our heads the April blossom;
+April-hearted are we.
+
+Under the pink and white,
+Love in her eyes alight;
+     Love and the Spring and Kensington Gardens:
+Hey for the heart’s delight!
+
+
+
+
+REWARDS.
+
+
+BECAUSE you cried, I kissed you, and,
+Ah me! how should I understand
+That piteous little you were fain
+To cry and to be kissed again?
+
+Because you smiled at last, I thought
+That I had found what I had sought.
+But soon I found, without a doubt,
+No man can find a woman out.
+
+I kissed your tears, and did not stay
+Till I had kissed them all away.
+Ah, hapless me! ah, heartless child!
+She would not kiss me when she smiled.
+
+
+
+
+PERFUME.
+
+
+SHAKE out your hair about me, so,
+     That I may feel the stir and scent
+Of those vague odours come and go
+     The way our kisses went.
+
+Night gave this priceless hour of love,
+     But now the dawn steals in apace,
+And amorously bends above
+     The wonder of your face.
+
+“Farewell” between our kisses creeps,
+     You fade, a ghost, upon the air;
+Yet, ah! the vacant place still keeps
+     The odour of your hair.
+
+
+
+
+SOUVENIR.
+
+
+HOW you haunt me with your eyes!
+Still that questioning persistence,
+Sad and sweet, across the distance
+Of the days of love and laughter,
+Those old days of love and lies.
+
+Not reproaching, not reproving,
+Only, always, questioning,
+Those divinest eyes can bring
+Memories of certain summers,
+Nights of dreaming, days of loving,
+
+When I loved you, when your kiss,
+Shyer than a bird to capture,
+Lit a sudden heaven of rapture;
+When we neither dreamt that either
+Could grow old in heart like this.
+
+Do you still, in love’s December,
+Still remember, still regret
+That sweet unavailing debt?
+Ah, you haunt me, to remind me
+You remember, I forget!
+
+
+
+
+TO MARY.
+
+
+IF, Mary, that imperious face,
+     And not in dreams alone,
+Come to this shadow-haunted place
+     And claim dominion;
+
+If, for your sake, I do unqueen
+     Some well-remembered ghost,
+Forgetting much of what hath been
+     Best loved, remembered most;
+
+It is your witchery, not my will,
+     Your beauty, not my choice:
+My shadows knew me faithful, till
+     They heard your living voice.
+
+
+
+
+TO A GREAT ACTRESS.
+
+
+SHE has taken my heart, though she knows not, would care not.
+     It thrills at her voice like a reed in the wind;
+I would taste all her agonies, have her to spare not,
+          Sin deep as she sinned,
+
+To be tossed by the storm of her love, as the ocean
+     Rocks vessels to wreck; to be hers, though the cost
+Were the loss of all else: for that moment’s emotion
+          Content to be lost!
+
+To be, for a moment, the man of all men to her,
+     All the world, for one measureless moment complete;
+To possess, be possessed! To be mockery then to her,
+          Then to die at her feet!
+
+
+
+
+LOVE IN DREAMS.
+
+
+I LIE on my pallet bed,
+     And I hear the drip of the rain;
+The rain on my garret roof is falling,
+     And I am cold and in pain.
+
+I lie on my pallet bed,
+     And my heart is wild with delight;
+I hear her voice through the midnight calling,
+     As I lie awake in the night.
+
+I lie on my pallet bed,
+     And I see her bright eyes gleam;
+She smiles, she speaks, and the world is ended,
+     And made again in a dream.
+
+
+
+
+MUSIC AND MEMORY.
+
+To K.W.
+
+
+ACROSS the tides of music, in the night,
+Her magical face,
+A light upon it as the happy light
+Of dreams in some delicious place
+Under the moonlight in the night.
+
+Music, soft throbbing music in the night,
+Her memory swims
+Into the brain, a carol of delight;
+The cup of music overbrims
+With wine of memory, in the night.
+
+Her face across the music, in the night,
+Her face a refrain,
+A light that sings along the waves of light,
+A memory that returns again,
+Music in music, in the night.
+
+
+
+
+SPRING TWILIGHT.
+
+To K. W.
+
+
+THE twilight droops across the day,
+     I watch her portrait on the wall
+Palely recede into the grey
+     That palely comes and covers all.
+
+The sad Spring twilight, dull, forlorn,
+     The menace of the dreary night:
+But in her face, more fair than morn,
+     A sweet suspension of delight.
+
+
+
+
+IN WINTER.
+
+
+PALE from the watery west, with the pallor of winter a-cold,
+Rays of the afternoon sun in a glimmer across the trees;
+Glittering moist underfoot, the long alley. The firs, one by one,
+Catch and conceal, as I saunter, and flash in a dazzle of gold
+Lower and lower the vanishing disc: and the sun alone sees
+At I wait for my love in the fir-tree alley alone with the sun.
+
+
+
+
+QUEST.
+
+
+I CHASE a shadow through the night,
+     A shadow unavailing;
+Out of the dark, into the light,
+     I follow, follow: is it she?
+
+Against the wall of sea outlined,
+     Outlined against the windows lit,
+The shadow flickers, and behind
+     I follow, follow after it.
+
+The shadow leads me through the night
+     To the grey margin of the sea;
+Out of the dark, into the light,
+     I follow unavailingly.
+
+
+
+
+TO A PORTRAIT.
+
+
+A PENSIVE photograph
+     Watches me from the shelf:
+Ghost of old love, and half
+     Ghost of myself!
+
+How the dear waiting eyes
+     Watch me and love me yet:
+Sad home of memories,
+     Her waiting eyes!
+
+Ghost of old love, wronged ghost,
+     Return, though all the pain
+Of all once loved, long lost,
+     Come back again.
+
+Forget not, but forgive!
+     Alas, too late I cry.
+We are two ghosts that had their chance to live,
+     And lost it, she and I.
+
+
+
+
+SECOND THOUGHTS.
+
+
+WHEN you were here, ah foolish then!
+     I scarcely knew I loved you, dear.
+I know it now, I know it when
+     You are no longer here.
+
+When you were here, I sometimes tired,
+     Ah me! that you so loved me, dear.
+Now, in these weary days desired,
+     You are no longer here.
+
+When you were here, did either know
+     That each so loved the other, dear?
+But that was long and long ago:
+     You are no longer here.
+
+
+
+
+APRIL MIDNIGHT.
+
+
+SIDE by side through the streets at midnight,
+     Roaming together,
+Through the tumultuous night of London,
+     In the miraculous April weather.
+
+Roaming together under the gaslight,
+     Day’s work over,
+How the Spring calls to us, here in the city,
+     Calls to the heart from the heart of a lover!
+
+Cool the wind blows, fresh in our faces,
+     Cleansing, entrancing,
+After the heat and the fumes and the footlights,
+     Where you dance and I watch your dancing.
+
+Good it is to be here together,
+     Good to be roaming;
+Even in London, even at midnight,
+     Lover-like in a lover’s gloaming.
+
+You the dancer and I the dreamer,
+     Children together,
+Wandering lost in the night of London,
+     In the miraculous April weather.
+
+
+
+
+DURING MUSIC.
+
+
+THE music had the heat of blood,
+     A passion that no words can reach;
+We sat together, and understood
+     Our own heart’s speech.
+
+We had no need of word or sign,
+     The music spoke for us, and said
+All that her eyes could read in mine
+     Or mine in hers had read.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE BRIDGE.
+
+
+MIDNIGHT falls across hollow gulfs of
+night
+     As a stone that falls in a sounding well;
+Under us the Seine flows through dark and light,
+     While the beat of time—hark!—is audible.
+
+Lights on bank and bridge glitter gold and red,
+     Lights upon the stream glitter red and white;
+Under us the night, and the night overhead.
+     We together, we alone together in the night.
+
+
+
+
+“I DREAM OF HER.”
+
+
+I DREAM of her the whole night long,
+     The pillows with my tears are wet.
+I wake, I seek amid the throng
+     The courage to forget.
+
+Yet still, as night comes round, I dread,
+     With unavailing fears,
+The dawn that finds, beneath my head,
+     The pillows wet with tears.
+
+
+
+
+TEARS.
+
+
+O HANDS that I have held in mine,
+     That knew my kisses and my tears,
+     Hands that in other years
+Have poured my balm, have poured my wine;
+
+Women, once loved, and always mine,
+     I call to you across the years,
+     I bring a gift of tears,
+I bring my tears to you as wine.
+
+
+
+
+THE LAST EXIT.
+
+
+OUR love was all arrayed in pleasantness,
+     A tender little love that sighed and smiled
+     At little happy nothings, like a child,
+A dainty little love in fancy dress.
+
+But now the love that once was half in play
+     Has come to be this grave and piteous thing.
+     Why did you leave me all this suffering
+For all your memory when you went away?
+
+You might have played the play out, O my friend,
+     Closing upon a kiss our comedy.
+     Or is it, then, a fault of taste in me,
+Who like no tragic exit at the end?
+
+
+
+
+AFTER LOVE.
+
+
+O TO part now, and, parting now,
+     Never to meet again;
+To have done for ever, I and thou,
+     With joy, and so with pain.
+
+It is too hard, too hard to meet
+     As friends, and love no more;
+Those other meetings were too sweet
+     That went before.
+
+And I would have, now love is over,
+     An end to all, an end:
+I cannot, having been your lover,
+     Stoop to become your friend!
+
+
+
+
+ALLA PASSERETTA BRUNA.
+
+
+IF I bid you, you will come,
+     If I bid you, you will go,
+          You are mine, and so I take you
+To my heart, your home;
+     Well, ah, well I know
+          I shall not forsake you.
+
+I shall always hold you fast,
+     I shall never set you free,
+          You are mine, and I possess you
+Long as life shall last;
+     You will comfort me,
+          I shall bless you.
+
+I shall keep you as we keep
+     Flowers for memory, hid away,
+          Under many a newer token
+Buried deep,
+     Roses of a gaudier day,
+          Rings and trinkets, bright and broken.
+
+Other women I shall love,
+     Fame and fortune I may win,
+          But when fame and love forsake me
+And the light is night above,
+     You will let me in,
+          You will take me.
+
+
+
+
+NOCTURNES.
+
+
+
+
+NOCTURNE.
+
+
+ONE little cab to hold us two,
+Night, an invisible dome of cloud,
+The rattling wheels that made our whispers loud,
+As heart-beats into whispers grew;
+And, long, the Embankment with its lights,
+The pavement glittering with fallen rain,
+The magic and the mystery that are night’s,
+And human love without the pain.
+
+The river shook with wavering gleams,
+Deep buried as the glooms that lay
+Impenetrable as the grave of day,
+Near and as distant as our dreams.
+A bright train flashed with all its squares
+Of warm light where the bridge lay mistily.
+The night was all about us: we were free,
+Free of the day and all its cares!
+
+That was an hour of bliss too long,
+Too long to last where joy is brief.
+Yet one escape of souls may yield relief
+To many weary seasons’ wrong.
+“O last for ever!” my heart cried;
+It ended: heaven was done.
+I had been dreaming by her side
+That heaven was but begun.
+
+
+
+
+HER STREET.
+
+(IN ABSENCE.)
+
+
+I PASSED your street of many memories.
+     A sunset, sombre pink, the flush
+     Of inner rose-leaves idle fingers crush,
+Died softly, as the rose that dies.
+All the high heaven behind the roof lay thus,
+     Tenderly dying, touched with pain
+     A little; standing there I saw again
+The sunsets that were dear to us.
+
+I knew not if ’twere bitter or more sweet
+     To stand and watch the roofs, the sky.
+     O bitter to be there and you not nigh,
+Yet this had been that blessed street.
+How the name thrilled me, there upon the wall!
+    There was the house, the windows there
+     Against the rosy twilight high and bare,
+The pavement-stones: I knew them all!
+
+Days that have been, days that have fallen cold!
+     I stood and gazed, and thought of you,
+     Until remembrance sweet and mournful drew
+Tears to eyes smiling as of old.
+So, sad and glad, your memory visibly
+     Alive within my eyes, I turned;
+     And, through a window, met two eyes that burned,
+Tenderly questioning, on me.
+
+
+
+
+ON JUDGES’ WALK.
+
+
+THAT night on Judges’ Walk the wind
+     Was as the voice of doom;
+The heath, a lake of darkness, lay
+     As silent as the tomb.
+
+The vast night brooded, white with stars,
+     Above the world’s unrest;
+The awfulness of silence ached
+     Like a strong heart repressed.
+
+That night we walked beneath the trees,
+     Alone, beneath the trees;
+There was some word we could not say
+     Half uttered in the breeze.
+
+That night on Judges’ Walk we said
+     No word of all we had to say;
+But now there shall be no word said
+     Before the Judge’s Day.
+
+
+
+
+IN THE NIGHT.
+
+
+THE moonlight had tangled the trees
+Under our feet as we walked in the night,
+And the shadows beneath us were stirred by the breeze
+In the magical light;
+And the moon was a silver fire,
+And the stars were flickers of flame,
+Golden and violet and red;
+And the night-wind sighed my desire,
+And the wind in the tree-tops whispered and said
+In her ear her adorable name.
+
+But her heart would not hear what I heard,
+The pulse of the night as it beat,
+Love, Love, Love, the unspeakable word,
+In its murmurous repeat;
+She heard not the night-wind’s sigh,
+Nor her own name breathed in her ear,
+Nor the cry of my heart to her heart,
+A speechless, a clamorous cry:
+“Love! Love! will she hear? will she hear?”
+O heart, she will hear, by and by,
+When we part, when for ever we part.
+
+
+
+
+FÊTES GALANTES.
+
+AFTER PAUL VERLAINE.
+
+
+
+
+MANDOLINE,
+
+
+THE singers of serenades
+     Whisper their faded vows
+Unto fair listening maids
+     Under the singing boughs.
+
+Tircis, Aminte, are there,
+     Clitandre is over-long,
+And Damis for many a fair
+     Tyrant makes many a song.
+
+Their short vests, silken and bright,
+     Their long pale silken trains,
+Their elegance of delight,
+     Twine soft blue silken chains.
+
+And the mandolines and they,
+     Faintlier breathing, swoon
+Into the rose and grey
+     Ecstasy of the moon.
+
+
+
+
+DANS L’ALLÉE.
+
+
+AS in the age of shepherd king and queen,
+Painted and frail amid her nodding bows,
+Under the sombre branches, and between
+The green and mossy garden-ways she goes,
+With little mincing airs one keeps to pet
+A darling and provoking perroquet.
+Her long-trained robe is blue, the fan she holds
+With fluent fingers girt with heavy rings,
+So vaguely hints of vague erotic things
+That her eye smiles, musing among its folds.
+—Blonde too, a tiny nose, a rosy mouth,
+Artful as that sly patch that makes more sly,
+In her divine unconscious pride of youth,
+The slightly simpering sparkle of the eye.
+
+
+
+
+CYTHÈRE.
+
+
+BY favourable breezes fanned,
+     A trellised arbour is at hand
+     To shield us from the summer airs;
+
+The scent of roses, fainting sweet,
+     Afloat upon the summer heat,
+     Blends with the perfume that she wears.
+
+True to the promise her eyes gave,
+     She ventures all, and her mouth rains
+     A dainty fever through my veins;
+
+And Love, fulfilling all things, save
+     Hunger, we ’scape, with sweets and ices,
+     The folly of Love’s sacrifices.
+
+
+
+
+LES INDOLENTS.
+
+
+BAH! spite of Fate, that says us nay,
+Suppose we die together, eh?
+     —A rare conclusion you discover!
+
+—What’s rare is good. Let us die so,
+Like lovers in Boccaccio.
+     —Hi! hi! hi! you fantastic lover!
+
+—Nay, not fantastic. If you will,
+Fond, surely irreproachable.
+     Suppose, then, that we die together?
+
+—Good sir, your jests are fitlier told
+Than when you speak of love or gold.
+     Why speak at all, in this glad weather?
+
+Whereat, behold them once again,
+Tircis beside his Dorimène,
+     Not far from two blithe rustic rovers,
+
+For some caprice of idle breath
+Deferring a delicious death.
+     Hi! hi! hi! what fantastic lovers!
+
+
+
+
+FANTOCHES.
+
+
+SCARAMOUCHE waves a threatening hand
+To Pulcinella, and they stand,
+     Two shadows, black against the moon.
+
+The old doctor of Bologna pries
+For simples with impassive eyes,
+     And mutters o’er a magic rune.
+
+The while his daughter, scarce half-dressed,
+Glides slyly ’neath the trees, in quest
+     Of her bold pirate lover’s sail;
+
+Her pirate from the Spanish main,
+Whose passion thrills her in the pain
+     Of the loud languorous nightingale.
+
+
+
+
+PANTOMIME.
+
+
+PIERROT, no sentimental swain,
+Washes a pâté down again
+     With furtive flagons, white and red.
+
+Cassandre, to chasten his content,
+Greets with a tear of sentiment
+     His nephew disinherited.
+
+That blackguard of a Harlequin
+Pirouettes, and plots to win
+     His Colombine that flits and flies.
+
+Colombine dreams, and starts to find
+A sad heart sighing in the wind,
+     And in her heart a voice that sighs.
+
+
+
+
+L’AMOUR PAR TERRE.
+
+
+THE wind the other evening overthrew
+     The little Love who smiled so mockingly
+     Down that mysterious alley, so that we,
+Remembering, mused thereon a whole day through.
+
+The wind has overthrown him! The poor stone
+     Lies scattered to the breezes. It is sad
+     To see the lonely pedestal, that had
+The artist’s name, scarce visible, alone,
+
+Oh! it is sad to see the pedestal
+     Left lonely! and in dream I seem to hear
+     Prophetic voices whisper in my ear
+The lonely and despairing end of all.
+
+Oh! it is sad! And thou, hast thou not found
+     One heart-throb for the pity, though thine eye
+     Lights at the gold and purple butterfly
+Brightening the littered leaves upon the ground.
+
+
+
+
+À CLYMÈNE.
+
+
+MYSTICAL strains unheard,
+A song without a word,
+Dearest, because thine eyes.
+     Pale as the skies,
+
+Because thy voice, remote
+As the far clouds that float
+Veiling for me the whole
+     Heaven of the soul,
+
+Because the stately scent
+Of thy swan’s whiteness, blent
+With the white lily’s bloom
+     Of thy perfume,
+
+Ah! because thy dear love,
+The music breathed above
+By angels halo-crowned,
+     Odour and sound,
+
+Hath, in my subtle heart,
+With some mysterious art
+Transposed thy harmony,
+     So let it be!
+
+
+
+
+FROM ROMANCES SANS PAROLES.
+
+
+TEARS in my heart that weeps,
+Like the rain upon the town,
+What drowsy languor steeps
+In tears my heart that weeps?
+
+O sweet sound of the rain
+On earth and on the roofs!
+For a heart’s weary pain
+O the song of the rain!
+
+Vain tears, vain tears, my heart!
+What, none hath done thee wrong?
+Tears without reason start,
+From my disheartened heart.
+
+This is the weariest woe,
+O heart, of love and hate
+Too weary, not to know
+Why thou hast all this woe.
+
+
+
+
+MOODS AND MEMORIES.
+
+
+
+
+CITY NIGHTS.
+
+
+I. IN THE TRAIN.
+
+THE train through the night of the town,
+     Through a blackness broken in twain
+          By the sudden finger of streets;
+Lights, red, yellow, and brown,
+     From curtain and window-pane,
+          The flashing eyes of the streets.
+
+Night, and the rush of the train,
+     A cloud of smoke through the town,
+          Scaring the life of the streets;
+And the leap of the heart again,
+     Out into the night, and down
+          The dazzling vista of streets!
+
+II. IN THE TEMPLE.
+
+THE grey and misty night,
+     Slim trees that hold the night among
+     Their branches, and, along
+The vague Embankment, light on light.
+
+The sudden, racing lights!
+     I can just hear, distinct, aloof,
+     The gaily clattering hoof
+Beating the rhythm of festive nights.
+
+The gardens to the weeping moon
+     Sigh back the breath of tears.
+     O the refrain of years on years
+’Neath the weeping moon!
+
+
+
+
+A WHITE NIGHT.
+
+
+THE yellow moon across the clouds
+     That shiver in the sky;
+White, hurrying travellers, the clouds,
+     And, white and aching cold on high,
+     Stars in the sky.
+
+Whiter, along the frozen earth,
+     The miracle of snow;
+Close covered as for sleep, the earth
+     Lies, mutely slumbering below
+     Its shroud of snow.
+
+Sleepless I wander in the night,
+     And, wandering, watch for day;
+Earth sleeps, yet, high in heaven, the night
+     Awakens, faint and far away,
+     A phantom day.
+
+
+
+
+IN THE VALLEY.
+
+
+DOWN the valley will I wander, singing songs forlorn,
+Waiting for the maiden coming up between the corn.
+
+Down below I hear the river babbling to the breeze,
+And I see the sunlight kiss the tresses of the trees.
+
+All the corn is shining with the tears of early rain:
+Come, thou sunlight of mine eyes, and bring the dawn again!
+
+Down the valley will I wander, singing songs forlorn,
+Till I meet the maiden coming up between the corn.
+
+
+
+
+PEACE AT NOON.
+
+
+HERE there is peace, cool peace,
+Upon these heights, beneath these trees;
+Almost the peace of sleep or death,
+To wearying brain, to labouring breath.
+
+Here there is rest at last,
+A sweet forgetting of the past;
+There is no future here, nor aught
+Save this soft healing pause of thought.
+
+
+
+
+IN FOUNTAIN COURT.
+
+
+THE fountain murmuring of sleep,
+     A drowsy tune;
+The flickering green of leaves that keep
+     The light of June;
+Peace, through a slumbering afternoon,
+     The peace of June.
+
+A waiting ghost, in the blue sky,
+     The white curved moon;
+June, hushed and breathless, waits, and I
+     Wait too, with June;
+Come, through the lingering afternoon,
+     Soon, love, come soon.
+
+
+
+
+AT BURGOS.
+
+
+MIRACULOUS silver-work in stone
+     Against the blue miraculous skies,
+     The belfry towers and turrets rise
+Out of the arches that enthrone
+     That airy wonder of the skies.
+
+Softly against the burning sun
+     The great cathedral spreads its wings;
+     High up, the lyric belfry sings.
+Behold Ascension Day begun
+     Under the shadow of those wings!
+
+
+
+
+AT DAWN.
+
+
+SHE only knew the birth and death
+     Of days, when each that died
+Was still at morn a hope, at night
+     A hope unsatisfied.
+
+The dark trees shivered to behold
+     Another day begin;
+She, being hopeless, did not weep
+     As the grey dawn came in.
+
+
+
+
+IN AUTUMN.
+
+
+FRAIL autumn lights upon the leaves
+     Beacon the ending of the year.
+     The windy rains are here,
+Wet nights and blowing winds about the eaves.
+
+Here in the valley, mists begin
+     To breathe about the river side
+     The breath of autumn-tide.
+The dark fields wait to take the harvest in.
+
+And you, and you are far away.
+     Ah, this it is, and not the rain
+     Now loud against the pane,
+That takes the light and colour from the day!
+
+
+
+
+ON THE ROADS.
+
+
+THE road winds onward long and white,
+     It curves in mazy coils, and crooks
+A beckoning finger down the height;
+     It calls me with the voice of brooks
+To thirsty travellers in the night.
+
+I leave the lonely city street,
+     The awful silence of the crowd;
+The rhythm of the roads I beat,
+     My blood leaps up, I shout aloud,
+My heart keeps measure with my feet.
+
+Nought know, nought care I whither I wend:
+     ’Tis on, on, on, or here or there.
+What profiteth it an aim or end?
+     I walk, and the road leads anywhere.
+Then forward, with the Fates to friend!
+
+’Tis on and on! Who knows but thus
+     Kind Chance shall bring us luck at last?
+     Adventures to the adventurous!
+     Hope flies before, and the hours slip past:
+O what have the hours in store for us?
+
+A bird sings something in my ear,
+     The wind sings in my blood a song
+Tis good at times for a man to hear;
+     The road winds onward white and long,
+And the best of Earth is here!
+
+
+
+
+PIERROT IN HALF-MOURNING.
+
+
+I THAT am Pierrot, pray you pity me!
+To be so young, so old in misery:
+See me, and how the winter of my grief
+Wastes me, and how I whiten like a leaf,
+And how, like a lost child, lost and afraid,
+I seek the shadow, I that am a shade,
+I that have loved a moonbeam, nor have won
+Any Diana to Endymion.
+Pity me, for I have but loved too well
+The hope of the too fair impossible.
+Ah, it is she, she, Columbine: again
+I see her, and I woo her, and in vain.
+She lures me with her beckoning finger-tip;
+How her eyes shine for me, and how her lips
+Bloom for me, roses, roses, red and rich!
+She waves to me the white arms of a witch
+Over the world: I follow, I forget
+All, but she’ll love me yet, she’ll love me yet!
+
+
+
+
+FOR A PICTURE OF WATTEAU.
+
+
+HERE the vague winds have rest;
+The forest breathes in sleep,
+Lifting a quiet breast;
+It is the hour of rest.
+
+How summer glides away!
+An autumn pallor blooms
+Upon the check of day.
+Come, lovers, come away!
+
+But here, where dead leaves fall
+Upon the grass, what strains,
+Languidly musical,
+Mournfully rise and fall?
+
+Light loves that woke with spring
+This autumn afternoon
+Beholds meandering,
+Still, to the strains of spring.
+
+Your dancing feet are faint,
+Lovers: the air recedes
+Into a sighing plaint,
+Faint, as your loves are faint.
+
+It is the end, the end,
+The dance of love’s decease.
+Feign no more now, fair friend!
+It is the end, the end.
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Silhouettes, by Arthur Symons
+
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+<pre>
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Silhouettes, by Arthur Symons
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+Title: Silhouettes
+
+Author: Arthur Symons
+
+Release Date: July 28, 2009 [EBook #29531]
+[Last updated: October 29, 2020]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILHOUETTES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Ruth Hart
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<h1>SILHOUETTES</h1>
+
+<h2>BY<br />ARTHUR SYMONS</h2>
+
+<h4>SECOND EDITION<br />
+REVISED AND ENLARGED</h4>
+
+<h4>LONDON: LEONARD SMITHERS<br />
+EFFINGHAM HOUSE: ARUNDEL STREET<br />
+STRAND: MDCCCXCVI</h4>
+
+<p class="center">
+TO<br />
+KATHERINE WILLARD,<br />
+NOW<br />
+KATHERINE BALDWIN.</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+<i>Paris: May,</i> 1892.<br />
+<i>London: February,</i> 1896.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+<table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#1">*Preface</a>:</td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#1">Being a Word on Behalf of Patchouli:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. xiii.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#2">At Dieppe:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#3">After Sunset</a>:</td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 3.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#4">On the Beach:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 4.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#5">Rain on the Down:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 5.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#6">Before the Squall:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 6.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#7">Under the Cliffs:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 7.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#8">Requies:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 8.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#9">Masks and Faces:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#10">Pastel:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 11.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#11">Her Eyes:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 12.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#12">Morbidezza:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 13.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#13">Maquillage:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 14.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#14">*Impression:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 15.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#15">An Angel of Perugino:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 16.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#16">At Fontainebleau:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 17.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#17">On the Heath:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 18.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#18">In the Oratory:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 19.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#19">Pattie:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 20.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#20">In an Omnibus:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 21.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#21">On Meeting After:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 22.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#22">In Bohemia:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 23.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#23">Emmy:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 24.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#24">Emmy at the Eldorado:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 26.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#25">*At the Cavour:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 27.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#26">In the Haymarket:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 28.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#27">At the Lyceum:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 29.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#28">The Blind Beggar:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 30.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#29">The Old Labourer:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 31.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#30">The Absinthe Drinker:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 32.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#31">Javanese Dancers</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 33.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#32">Love&rsquo;s Disguises:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#33">Love in Spring:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 37.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#34">Gipsy Love</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 38.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#35">In Kensington Gardens:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 39.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#36">*Rewards:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 40.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#37">Perfume:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 41.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#38">Souvenir:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 42.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#39">*To Mary:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 43.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#40">To a Great Actress:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 44.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#41">Love in Dreams:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 45.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#42">Music and Memory:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 46.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#43">*Spring Twilight:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 47.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#44">In Winter:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 48.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#45">*Quest:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 49.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#46">To a Portrait:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 50.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#47">*Second Thoughts:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 51.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#48">April Midnight:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 52.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#49">During Music:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 53.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#50">On the Bridge:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 54.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#51">&ldquo;I Dream of Her&rdquo;:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 55.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#52">*Tears:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 56.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#53">*The Last Exit:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 57.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#54">After Love:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 58.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#55">Alla Passeretta Bruna:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 59.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#56">Nocturnes:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#57">Nocturne:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 63.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#58">Her Street:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 64.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#59">On Judges&rsquo; Walk:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 65.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#60">In the Night:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 66.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#61">Fêtes Galantes:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#62">*Mandoline:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 69.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#63">*Dans l&rsquo;Allée</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 70.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#64">*Cythère:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 71.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#65">*Les Indolents:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 72.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#66">*Fantoches:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 73.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#67">*Pantomine:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 74.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#68">*L&rsquo;Amour par Terre:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 75.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#69">*A Clymène:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 76.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#70">From Romances sans Parole</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 71.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#71">Moods and Memories:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#72">City Nights:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 81.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#73">A White Night:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 82.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#74">In the Valley:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 83.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#75">Peace at Noon:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 84.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#76">In Fountain Court:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 85.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#77">At Burgos:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 86.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#78">At Dawn:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 87.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#79">In Autumn:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 88.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#80">On the Roads:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 89.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#81">*Pierrot in Half-Mourning:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 90.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#82">For a Picture of Watteau:</a></td>
+
+<td align="right">p. 91.</td>
+
+<td align="right"></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+<p>
+* The Preface, and the nineteen Poems marked with an asterisk, were not
+contained in the first edition. One Poem has been omitted, and many completely
+rewritten.
+</p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="1"></a>PREFACE:</h2>
+
+<h3>BEING A WORD ON BEHALF OF PATCHOULI.</h3>
+
+<p>
+AN ingenuous reviewer once described some verses of mine as &ldquo;unwholesome,&rdquo;
+because, he said, they had &ldquo;a faint smell of Patchouli about them.&rdquo; I am a
+little sorry he chose Patchouli, for that is not a particularly favourite scent
+with me. If he had only chosen Peau d&rsquo;Espagne, which has a subtle meaning, or
+Lily of the Valley, with which I have associations! But Patchouli will serve.
+Let me ask, then, in republishing, with additions, a collection of little
+pieces, many of which have been objected to, at one time or another, as being
+somewhat deliberately frivolous, why art should not, if it please, concern
+itself with the artificially charming, which, I suppose, is what my critic means
+by Patchouli? All art, surely, is a form of artifice, and thus, to the truly
+devout mind, condemned already, if not as actively noxious, at all events as
+needless. That is a point of view which I quite understand, and its conclusion I
+hold to be absolutely logical. I have the utmost respect for the people who
+refuse to read a novel, to go to the theatre, or to learn dancing. That is to
+have convictions and to live up to them. I understand also the point of view
+from which a work of art is tolerated in so far as it is actually militant on
+behalf of a religious or a moral idea. But what I fail to understand are those
+delicate, invisible degrees by which a distinction is drawn between this form of
+art and that; the hesitations, and compromises, and timorous advances, and
+shocked retreats, of the Puritan conscience once emancipated, and yet afraid of
+liberty. However you may try to convince yourself to the contrary, a work of art
+can be judged only from two standpoints: the standpoint from which its art is
+measured entirely by its morality, and the standpoint from which its morality is
+measured entirely by its art.</p>
+
+<p>Here, for once, in connection with these &ldquo;Silhouettes,&rdquo; I have not, if my
+recollection serves me, been accused of actual immorality. I am but a fair way
+along the &ldquo;primrose path,&rdquo; not yet within singeing distance of the &ldquo;everlasting
+bonfire.&rdquo; In other words, I have not yet written &ldquo;London Nights,&rdquo; which, it
+appears (I can scarcely realize it, in my innocent abstraction in aesthetical
+matters), has no very salutary reputation among the blameless moralists of the
+press. I need not, therefore, on this occasion, concern myself with more than
+the curious fallacy by which there is supposed to be something inherently wrong
+in artistic work which deals frankly and lightly with the very real charm of the
+lighter emotions and the more fleeting sensations.</p>
+
+<p>I do not wish to assert that the kind of verse which happened to reflect
+certain moods of mine at a certain period of my life, is the best kind of verse
+in itself, or is likely to seem to me, in other years, when other moods may have
+made me their own, the best kind of verse for my own expression of myself. Nor
+do I affect to doubt that the creation of the supreme emotion is a higher form
+of art than the reflection of the most exquisite sensation, the evocation of the
+most magical impression. I claim only an equal liberty for the rendering of
+every mood of that variable and inexplicable and contradictory creature which we
+call ourselves, of every aspect under which we are gifted or condemned to
+apprehend the beauty and strangeness and curiosity of the visible world.</p>
+
+<p>
+Patchouli! Well, why not Patchouli? Is there any &ldquo;reason in nature&rdquo;
+why we should write exclusively about the natural blush, if the delicately
+acquired blush of rouge has any attraction for us? Both exist; both, I think,
+are charming in their way; and the latter, as a subject, has, at all events,
+more novelty. If you prefer your &ldquo;new-mown hay&rdquo; in the hayfield, and
+I, it may be, in a scent-bottle, why may not my individual caprice be allowed
+to find expression as well as yours? Probably I enjoy the hayfield as much as
+you do; but I enjoy quite other scents and sensations as well, and I take the
+former for granted, and write my poem, for a change, about the latter. There is
+no necessary difference in artistic value between a good poem about a flower in
+the hedge and a good poem about the scent in a sachet. I am always charmed to
+read beautiful poems about nature in the country. Only, personally, I prefer
+town to country; and in the town we have to find for ourselves, as best we may,
+the <i>décor</i> which is the town equivalent of the great natural <i>décor</i>
+of fields and hills. Here it is that artificiality comes in; and if any one
+sees no beauty in the effects of artificial light, in all the variable, most
+human, and yet most factitious town landscape, I can only pity him, and go on
+my own way.
+</p>
+
+<p>That is, if he will let me. But he tells me that one thing is right and the
+other is wrong; that one is good art and the other is bad; and I listen in
+amazement, sometimes not without impatience, wondering why an estimable personal
+prejudice should be thus exalted into a dogma, and uttered in the name of art.
+For in art there can be no prejudices, only results. If we arc to save people&rsquo;s
+souls by the writing of verses, well and good. But if not, there is no choice
+but to admit an absolute freedom of choice. And if Patchouli pleases one, why
+not Patchouli?</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+Arthur Symons.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+London, <i>February,</i>1896.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="2"></a>AT DIEPPE.</h2>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="3"></a>AFTER SUNSET.</h2>
+
+<p>THE sea lies quieted beneath<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The after-sunset flush<br />
+That leaves upon the heaped grey clouds<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The grape&rsquo;s faint purple blush.</p>
+
+<p>Pale, from a little space in heaven<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of delicate ivory,<br />
+The sickle-moon and one gold star<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Look down upon the sea.<br /><br /></p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="4"></a>ON THE BEACH.</h2>
+
+<p>NIGHT, a grey sky, a ghostly sea,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The soft beginning of the rain:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Black on the horizon, sails that wane<br />
+Into the distance mistily.</p>
+
+<p>The tide is rising, I can hear<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The soft roar broadening far along;<br />
+It cries and murmurs in my car<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A sleepy old forgotten song.</p>
+
+<p>Softly the stealthy night descends,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The black sails fade into the sky:<br />
+Is this not, where the sea-line ends,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The shore-line of infinity?</p>
+
+<p>I cannot think or dream: the grey<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Unending waste of sea and night,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dull, impotently infinite,<br />
+Blots out the very hope of day.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="5"></a>RAIN ON THE DOWN.</h2>
+
+<p>NIGHT, and the down by the sea,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And the veil of rain on the down;<br />
+And she came through the mist and the rain to me<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; From the safe warm lights of the town.</p>
+
+<p>The rain shone in her hair,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And her face gleamed in the rain;<br />
+And only the night and the rain were there<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As she came to me out of the rain.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="6"></a>BEFORE THE SQUALL.</h2>
+
+<p>THE wind is rising on the sea,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; White flashes dance along the deep,<br />
+That moans as if uneasily<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It turned in an unquiet sleep.</p>
+
+<p>Ridge after rocky ridge upheaves<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A toppling crest that falls in spray<br />
+Where the tormented beach receives<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The buffets of the sea&rsquo;s wild play.</p>
+
+<p>On the horizon&rsquo;s nearing line,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Where the sky rests, a visible wall.<br />
+Grey in the offing, I divine<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The sails that fly before the squall.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="7"></a>UNDER THE CLIFFS.</h2>
+
+<p>BRIGHT light to windward on the horizon&rsquo;s verge;<br />
+To leeward, stormy shadows, violet-black,<br />
+And the wide sea between<br />
+A vast unfurrowed field of windless green;<br />
+The stormy shadows flicker on the track<br />
+Of phantom sails that vanish and emerge.</p>
+
+<p>I gaze across the sea, remembering her.<br />
+I watch the white sun walk across the sea,<br />
+This pallid afternoon,<br />
+With feet that tread as whitely as the moon,<br />
+And in his fleet and shining feet I see<br />
+The footsteps of another voyager.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="8"></a>REQUIES.</h2>
+
+<p>O IS it death or life<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That sounds like something strangely known<br />
+In this subsiding out of strife,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; This slow sea-monotone?</p>
+
+<p>A sound, scarce heard through sleep,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Murmurous as the August bees<br />
+That fill the forest hollows deep<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; About the roots of trees.</p>
+
+<p>O is it life or death,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O is it hope or memory,<br />
+That quiets all things with this breath<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of the eternal sea?</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="9"></a>MASKS AND FACES.</h2>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="10"></a>PASTEL.</h2>
+
+<p>THE light of our cigarettes<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Went and came in the gloom:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It was dark in the little room.</p>
+
+<p>Dark, and then, in the dark,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Sudden, a flash, a glow,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And a hand and a ring I know.</p>
+
+<p>And then, through the dark, a flush<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ruddy and vague, the grace—<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A rose—of her lyric face.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="11"></a>HER EYES.</h2>
+
+<p>BENEATH the heaven of her brows&rsquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Unclouded noon of peace, there lies<br />
+A leafy heaven of hazel boughs<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In the seclusion of her eyes;</p>
+
+<p>Her troubling eyes that cannot rest;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And there&rsquo;s a little flame that dances<br />
+(A firefly in a grassy nest)<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In the green circle of her glances;</p>
+
+<p>A frolic Faun that must be hid,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Shyly, in some fantastic shade,<br />
+Where pity droops a tender lid<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; On laughter of itself afraid.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="12"></a>MORBIDEZZA.</h2>
+
+<p>WHITE girl, your flesh is lilies<br />
+Grown &rsquo;neath a frozen moon,<br />
+So still is<br />
+The rapture of your swoon<br />
+Of whiteness, snow or lilies.</p>
+
+<p>The virginal revealment,<br />
+Your bosom&rsquo;s wavering slope,<br />
+Concealment,<br />
+&rsquo;Neath fainting heliotrope,<br />
+Of whitest white&rsquo;s revealment,</p>
+
+<p>Is like a bed of lilies,<br />
+A jealous-guarded row,<br />
+Whose will is<br />
+Simply chaste dreams:—but oh,<br />
+The alluring scent of lilies!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="13"></a>MAQUILLAGE.</h2>
+
+<p>THE charm of rouge on fragile cheeks,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Pearl-powder, and, about the eyes,<br />
+The dark and lustrous Eastern dyes;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The floating odour that bespeaks<br />
+A scented boudoir and the doubtful night<br />
+Of alcoves curtained close against the light</p>
+
+<p>Gracile and creamy white and rose,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Complexioned like the flower of dawn,<br />
+Her fleeting colours are as those<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That, from an April sky withdrawn,<br />
+Fade in a fragrant mist of tears away<br />
+When weeping noon leads on the altered day.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="14"></a>IMPRESSION.</h2>
+
+<p>TO M. C.</p>
+
+<p>THE pink and black of silk and lace,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Flushed in the rosy-golden glow<br />
+Of lamplight on her lifted face;<br />
+Powder and wig, and pink and lace,</p>
+
+<p>And those pathetic eyes of hers;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But all the London footlights know<br />
+The little plaintive smile that stirs<br />
+The shadow in those eyes of hers.</p>
+
+<p>Outside, the dreary church-bell tolled,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The London Sunday faded slow;<br />
+Ah, what is this? what wings unfold<br />
+In this miraculous rose of gold?</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="15"></a>AN ANGEL OF PERUGINO.</h2>
+
+<p>HAVE I not seen your face before<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Where Perugino&rsquo;s angels stand<br />
+In those calm circles, and adore<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With singing throat and lifted hand?</p>
+
+<p>So the pale hair lay crescent-wise,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; About the placid forehead curled,<br />
+And the pale piety of eyes<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Was as God&rsquo;s peace upon the world.</p>
+
+<p>And you, a simple child serene,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Wander upon your quiet way,<br />
+Nor know that any eyes have seen<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The Umbrian halo crown the day.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="16"></a>AT FONTAINEBLEAU.</h2>
+
+<p>IT was a day of sun and rain,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Uncertain as a child&rsquo;s quick moods;<br />
+And I shall never pass again<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; So blithe a day among the woods.</p>
+
+<p>The forest knew you and was glad,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And laughed for very joy to know<br />
+Her child was with her; then, grown sad,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; She wept, because her child must go.</p>
+
+<p>And you would spy and you would capture<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The shyest flower that lit the grass:<br />
+The joy I had to watch your rapture<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Was keen as even your rapture was.</p>
+
+<p>The forest knew you and was glad,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And laughed and wept for joy and woe.<br />
+This was the welcome that you had<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Among the woods of Fontainebleau.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="17"></a>ON THE HEATH.</h2>
+
+<p>HER face&rsquo;s wilful flash and glow<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Turned all its light upon my face<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; One bright delirious moment&rsquo;s space,<br />
+And then she passed: I followed slow</p>
+
+<p>Across the heath, and up and round,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And watched the splendid death of day<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Upon the summits far away,<br />
+And in her fateful beauty found</p>
+
+<p>The fierce wild beauty of the light<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That startles twilight on the hills,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And lightens all the mountain rills,<br />
+And flames before the feet of night.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="18"></a>IN THE ORATORY.</h2>
+
+<p>THE incense mounted like a cloud,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A golden cloud of languid scent;<br />
+Robed priests before the altar bowed,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Expecting the divine event.</p>
+
+<p>Then silence, like a prisoner bound,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Rose, by a mighty hand set free,<br />
+And dazzlingly, in shafts of sound,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Thundered Beethoven&rsquo;s Mass in C.</p>
+
+<p>She knelt in prayer; large lids serene<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Lay heavy on the sombre eyes,<br />
+As though to veil some vision seen<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Upon the mounts of Paradise.</p>
+
+<p>Her dark face, calm as carven stone.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The face that twilight shows the day,<br />
+Brooded, mysteriously alone,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And infinitely far away.</p>
+
+<p>Inexplicable eyes that drew<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Mine eyes adoring, why from me<br />
+Demand, new Sphinx, the fatal clue<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That seals my doom or conquers thee?</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="19"></a>PATTIE.</h2>
+
+<p>COOL comely country Pattie, grown<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A daisy where the daisies grow,<br />
+No wind of heaven has ever blown<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Across a field-flower&rsquo;s daintier snow.</p>
+
+<p>Gold-white among the meadow-grass<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The humble little daisies thrive;<br />
+I cannot see them as I pass,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But I am glad to be alive.</p>
+
+<p>And so I turn where Pattie stands,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A flower among the flowers at play;<br />
+I&rsquo;ll lay my heart into her hands,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And she will smile the clouds away.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="20"></a>IN AN OMNIBUS.</h2>
+
+<p>YOUR smile is like a treachery,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A treachery adorable;<br />
+So smiles the siren where the sea<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Sings to the unforgetting shell.</p>
+
+<p>Your fleeting Leonardo face,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Parisian Monna Lisa, dreams<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Elusively, but not of streams<br />
+Born in a shadow-haunted place.</p>
+
+<p>Of Paris, Paris, is your thought,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of Paris robes, and when to wear<br />
+The latest bonnet you have bought<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To match the marvel of your hair.</p>
+
+<p>Yet that fine malice of your smile,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That faint and fluctuating glint<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Between your eyelids, does it hint<br />
+Alone of matters mercantile?</p>
+
+<p>Close lips that keep the secret in,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Half spoken by the stealthy eyes,<br />
+Is there indeed no word to win,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; No secret, from the vague replies</p>
+
+<p>Of lips and lids that feign to hide<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That which they feign to render up?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Is there, in Tantalus&rsquo; dim cup,<br />
+The shadow of water, nought beside?</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="21"></a>ON MEETING AFTER.</h2>
+
+<p>HER eyes are haunted, eyes that were<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Scarce sad when last we met.<br />
+What thing is this has come to her<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That she may not forget?</p>
+
+<p>They loved, they married: it is well!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But ah, what memories<br />
+Are these whereof her eyes half tell,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Her haunted eyes?</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="22"></a>IN BOHEMIA.</h2>
+
+<p>DRAWN blinds and flaring gas within,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And wine, and women, and cigars;<br />
+Without, the city&rsquo;s heedless din;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Above, the white unheeding stars.</p>
+
+<p>And we, alike from each remote,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The world that works, the heaven that waits,<br />
+Con our brief pleasures o&rsquo;er by rote,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The favourite pastime of the Fates.</p>
+
+<p>We smoke, to fancy that we dream,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And drink, a moment&rsquo;s joy to prove,<br />
+And fain would love, and only seem<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To love because we cannot love.</p>
+
+<p>Draw back the blinds, put out the light:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis morning, let the daylight come.<br />
+God! how the women&rsquo;s cheeks are white,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And how the sunlight strikes us dumb!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="23"></a>EMMY.</h2>
+
+<p>EMMY&rsquo;S exquisite youth and her virginal air,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Eyes and teeth in the flash of a musical smile,<br />
+Come to me out of the past, and I see her there<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As I saw her once for a while.</p>
+
+<p>Emmy&rsquo;s laughter rings in my ears, as bright,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Fresh and sweet as the voice of a mountain brook,<br />
+And still I hear her telling us tales that night,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Out of Boccaccio&rsquo;s book.</p>
+
+<p>There, in the midst of the villainous dancing-hall,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Leaning across the table, over the beer,<br />
+While the music maddened the whirling skirts of the ball,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As the midnight hour drew near,</p>
+
+<p>There with the women, haggard, painted and old,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; One fresh bud in a garland withered and stale,<br />
+She, with her innocent voice and her clear eyes, told<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Tale after shameless tale.</p>
+
+<p>And ever the witching smile, to her face beguiled,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Paused and broadened, and broke in a ripple of fun,<br />
+And the soul of a child looked out of the eyes of a child,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Or ever the tale was done.</p>
+
+<p>O my child, who wronged you first, and began<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; First the dance of death that you dance so well?<br />
+Soul for soul: and I think the soul of a man<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Shall answer for yours in hell.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="24"></a>EMMY AT THE ELDORADO.</h2>
+
+<p>TO meet, of all unlikely things,<br />
+Here, after all one&rsquo;s wanderings!<br />
+But, Emmy, though we meet,<br />
+What of this lover at your feet?</p>
+
+<p>For, is this Emmy that I see?<br />
+A fragile domesticity<br />
+I seem to half surprise<br />
+In the evasions of those eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Once a child&rsquo;s cloudless eyes, they seem<br />
+Lost in the blue depths of a dream,<br />
+As though, for innocent hours,<br />
+To stray with love among the flowers.</p>
+
+<p>Without regret, without desire,<br />
+In those old days of love on hire,<br />
+Child, child, what will you do,<br />
+Emmy, now love is come to you?</p>
+
+<p>Already, in so brief a while,<br />
+The gleam has faded from your smile;<br />
+This grave and tender air<br />
+Leaves you, for all but one, less fair.</p>
+
+<p>Then, you were heedless, happy, gay,<br />
+Immortally a child; to-day<br />
+A woman, at the years&rsquo; control:<br />
+Undine has found a soul.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="25"></a>AT THE CAVOUR.</h2>
+
+<p>WINE, the red coals, the flaring gas,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Bring out a brighter tone in cheeks<br />
+That learn at home before the glass<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The flush that eloquently speaks.</p>
+
+<p>The blue-grey smoke of cigarettes<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Curls from the lessening ends that glow;<br />
+The men are thinking of the bets,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The women of the debts, they owe.</p>
+
+<p>Then their eyes meet, and in their eyes<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The accustomed smile comes up to call,<br />
+A look half miserably wise.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Half heedlessly ironical.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="26"></a>IN THE HAYMARKET.</h2>
+
+<p>I DANCED at your ball a year ago,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To-night I pay for your bread and cheese,<br />
+&ldquo;And a glass of bitters, if you please,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; For you drank my best champagne, you know!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Madcap ever, you laugh the while,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As you drink your bitters and munch your bread;<br />
+The face is the same, and the same old smile<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Came up at a word I said.</p>
+
+<p>A year ago I danced at your ball,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I sit by your side in the bar to-night;<br />
+And the luck has changed, you say: that&rsquo;s all!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And the luck will change, you say: all right!</p>
+
+<p>For the men go by, and the rent&rsquo;s to pay,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And you haven&rsquo;t a friend in the world to-day;<br />
+And the money comes and the money goes:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And to-night, who cares? and to-morrow, who knows?</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="27"></a>AT THE LYCEUM.</h2>
+
+<p>HER eyes are brands that keep the angry heat<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of fire that crawls and leaves an ashen path.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The dust of this devouring flame she hath<br />
+Upon her cheeks and eyelids. Fresh and sweet<br />
+In days that were, her sultry beauty now<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Is pain transfigured, love&rsquo;s impenitence,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The memory of a maiden innocence,<br />
+As a crown set upon a weary brow.</p>
+
+<p>She sits, and fain would listen, fain forget;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; She smiles, but with those tragic, waiting eyes,<br />
+Those proud and piteous lips that hunger yet<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; For love&rsquo;s fulfilment. Ah, when Landry cries<br />
+&ldquo;My heart is dead!&rdquo; with what a wild regret<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Her own heart feels the throb that never dies!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="28"></a>THE BLIND BEGGAR.</h2>
+
+<p>HE stands, a patient figure, where the crowd<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Heaves to and fro beside him. In his ears<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; All day the Fair goes thundering, and he hears<br />
+In darkness, as a dead man in his shroud.<br />
+Patient he stands, with age and sorrow bowed,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And holds a piteous hat of ancient yean;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And in his face and gesture there appears<br />
+The desperate humbleness of poor men proud.</p>
+
+<p>What thoughts are his, as, with the inward sight,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He sees those mirthful faces pass him by?<br />
+Is the long darkness darker for that light.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The misery deeper when that joy is nigh?<br />
+Patient, alone, he stands from morn to night,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Pleading in his reproachful misery.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="29"></a>THE OLD LABOURER.</h2>
+
+<p>HIS fourscore years have bent a back of oak,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; His earth-brown cheeks are full of hollow pits;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; His gnarled hands wander idly as he sits<br />
+Bending above the hearthstone&rsquo;s feeble smoke.<br />
+Threescore and ten slow years he tilled the land;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He wrung his bread from out the stubborn soil;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He saw his masters flourish through his toil;<br />
+He held their substance in his horny hand.</p>
+
+<p>Now he is old: he asks for daily bread:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He who has sowed the bread he may not taste<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Begs for the crumbs: he
+would do no man wrong.<br />
+The Parish Guardians, when his case is read,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Will grant him (yet with no unseemly haste)<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Just seventeen pence to starve on, seven days long.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="30"></a>THE ABSINTHE DRINKER.</h2>
+
+<p>GENTLY I wave the visible world away.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Far off, I hear a roar, afar yet near,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Far off and strange, a voice is in my ear,<br />
+And is the voice my own? the words I say<br />
+Fall strangely, like a dream, across the day;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And the dim sunshine is a dream. How clear,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; New as the world to lovers&rsquo; eyes, appear<br />
+The men and women passing on their way!</p>
+
+<p>The world is very fair. The hours are all<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Linked in a dance of mere forgetfulness.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I am at peace with God
+and man. O glide,<br />
+Sands of the hour-glass that I count not, fall<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Serenely: scarce I feel your soft caress.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Rocked on this dreamy and
+indifferent tide.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="31"></a>JAVANESE DANCERS,</h2>
+
+<p>TWITCHED strings, the clang of metal, beaten drums.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dull, shrill, continuous, disquieting;<br />
+And now the stealthy dancer comes<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Undulantly with cat-like steps that cling;</p>
+
+<p>Smiling between her painted lids a smile,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Motionless, unintelligible, she twines<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Her fingers into mazy lines,<br />
+Twining her scarves across them all the while.</p>
+
+<p>One, two, three, four step forth, and, to and fro,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Delicately and imperceptibly,<br />
+Now swaying gently in a row,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Now interthreading slow and rhythmically,</p>
+
+<p>Still with fixed eyes, monotonously still,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Mysteriously, with smiles inanimate,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With lingering feet that undulate,<br />
+With sinuous fingers, spectral hands that thrill,</p>
+
+<p>The little amber-coloured dancers move,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Like little painted figures on a screen,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Or phantom-dancers haply seen<br />
+Among the shadows of a magic grove.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="32"></a>LOVE&rsquo;S DISGUISES.</h2>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="33"></a>LOVE IN SPRING.</h2>
+
+<p>GOOD to be loved and to love for a little, and then<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Well to forget, be forgotten, ere loving grow life!<br />
+Dear, you have loved me, but was I the man among men?<br />
+Sweet, I have loved you, but scarcely as mistress or wife.</p>
+
+<p>Message of Spring in the hearts of a man and a maid,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Hearts on a holiday: ho! let us love: it is Spring.<br />
+Joy in the birds of the air, in the buds of the glade,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Joy in our hearts in the joy of the hours on the wing.</p>
+
+<p>Well, but to-morrow? To-morrow, good-bye: it is over.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Scarcely with tears shall we part, with a smile who had
+met.<br />
+Tears? What is this? But I thought we were playing at lover.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Play-time is past. I am going. And you love me yet!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="34"></a>GIPSY LOVE.</h2>
+
+<p>THE gipsy tents are on the down,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The gipsy girls are here;<br />
+And it&rsquo;s O to be off and away from the town<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With a gipsy for my dear!</p>
+
+<p>We&rsquo;d make our bed in the bracken<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With the lark for a chambermaid;<br />
+The lark would sing us awake in the mornings<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Singing above our head.</p>
+
+<p>We&rsquo;d drink the sunlight all day long<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With never a house to bind us;<br />
+And we&rsquo;d only flout in a merry song<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The world we left behind us.</p>
+
+<p>We would be free as birds are free<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The livelong day, the livelong day;<br />
+And we would lie in the sunny bracken<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With none to say us nay.</p>
+
+<p>The gipsy tents are on the down,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The gipsy girls are here;<br />
+And it&rsquo;s O to be off and away from the town<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With a gipsy for my dear!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="35"></a>IN KENSINGTON GARDENS.</h2>
+
+<p>UNDER the almond tree,<br />
+Room for my love and me!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Over our heads the April blossom;<br />
+April-hearted are we.</p>
+
+<p>Under the pink and white,<br />
+Love in her eyes alight;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Love and the Spring and Kensington Gardens:<br />
+Hey for the heart&rsquo;s delight!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="36"></a>REWARDS.</h2>
+
+<p>BECAUSE you cried, I kissed you, and,<br />
+Ah me! how should I understand<br />
+That piteous little you were fain<br />
+To cry and to be kissed again?</p>
+
+<p>Because you smiled at last, I thought<br />
+That I had found what I had sought.<br />
+But soon I found, without a doubt,<br />
+No man can find a woman out.</p>
+
+<p>I kissed your tears, and did not stay<br />
+Till I had kissed them all away.<br />
+Ah, hapless me! ah, heartless child!<br />
+She would not kiss me when she smiled.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="37"></a>PERFUME.</h2>
+
+<p>SHAKE out your hair about me, so,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That I may feel the stir and scent<br />
+Of those vague odours come and go<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The way our kisses went.</p>
+
+<p>Night gave this priceless hour of love,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But now the dawn steals in apace,<br />
+And amorously bends above<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The wonder of your face.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Farewell&rdquo; between our kisses creeps,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; You fade, a ghost, upon the air;<br />
+Yet, ah! the vacant place still keeps<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The odour of your hair.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="38"></a>SOUVENIR.</h2>
+
+<p>HOW you haunt me with your eyes!<br />
+Still that questioning persistence,<br />
+Sad and sweet, across the distance<br />
+Of the days of love and laughter,<br />
+Those old days of love and lies.</p>
+
+<p>Not reproaching, not reproving,<br />
+Only, always, questioning,<br />
+Those divinest eyes can bring<br />
+Memories of certain summers,<br />
+Nights of dreaming, days of loving,</p>
+
+<p>When I loved you, when your kiss,<br />
+Shyer than a bird to capture,<br />
+Lit a sudden heaven of rapture;<br />
+When we neither dreamt that either<br />
+Could grow old in heart like this.</p>
+
+<p>Do you still, in love&rsquo;s December,<br />
+Still remember, still regret<br />
+That sweet unavailing debt?<br />
+Ah, you haunt me, to remind me<br />
+You remember, I forget!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="39"></a>TO MARY.</h2>
+
+<p>IF, Mary, that imperious face,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And not in dreams alone,<br />
+Come to this shadow-haunted place<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And claim dominion;</p>
+
+<p>If, for your sake, I do unqueen<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Some well-remembered ghost,<br />
+Forgetting much of what hath been<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Best loved, remembered most;</p>
+
+<p>It is your witchery, not my will,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Your beauty, not my choice:<br />
+My shadows knew me faithful, till<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; They heard your living voice.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="40"></a>TO A GREAT ACTRESS.</h2>
+
+<p>SHE has taken my heart, though she knows not, would care not.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It thrills at her voice like a reed in the wind;<br />
+I would taste all her agonies, have her to spare not,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Sin deep as she sinned,</p>
+
+<p>To be tossed by the storm of her love, as the ocean<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Rocks vessels to wreck; to be hers, though the cost<br />
+Were the loss of all else: for that moment&rsquo;s emotion<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Content to be lost!</p>
+
+<p>To be, for a moment, the man of all men to her,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; All the world, for one measureless moment complete;<br />
+To possess, be possessed! To be mockery then to her,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Then to die at her feet!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="41"></a>LOVE IN DREAMS.</h2>
+
+<p>I LIE on my pallet bed,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And I hear the drip of the rain;<br />
+The rain on my garret roof is falling,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And I am cold and in pain.</p>
+
+<p>I lie on my pallet bed,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And my heart is wild with delight;<br />
+I hear her voice through the midnight calling,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As I lie awake in the night.</p>
+
+<p>I lie on my pallet bed,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And I see her bright eyes gleam;<br />
+She smiles, she speaks, and the world is ended,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And made again in a dream.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="42"></a>MUSIC AND MEMORY.</h2>
+
+<p>To K.W.</p>
+
+<p>ACROSS the tides of music, in the night,<br />
+Her magical face,<br />
+A light upon it as the happy light<br />
+Of dreams in some delicious place<br />
+Under the moonlight in the night.</p>
+
+<p>Music, soft throbbing music in the night,<br />
+Her memory swims<br />
+Into the brain, a carol of delight;<br />
+The cup of music overbrims<br />
+With wine of memory, in the night.</p>
+
+<p>Her face across the music, in the night,<br />
+Her face a refrain,<br />
+A light that sings along the waves of light,<br />
+A memory that returns again,<br />
+Music in music, in the night.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="43"></a>SPRING TWILIGHT.</h2>
+
+<p>To K. W.</p>
+
+<p>THE twilight droops across the day,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I watch her portrait on the wall<br />
+Palely recede into the grey<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That palely comes and covers all.</p>
+
+<p>The sad Spring twilight, dull, forlorn,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The menace of the dreary night:<br />
+But in her face, more fair than morn,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A sweet suspension of delight.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="44"></a>IN WINTER.</h2>
+
+<p>PALE from the watery west, with the pallor of winter a-cold,<br />
+Rays of the afternoon sun in a glimmer across the trees;<br />
+Glittering moist underfoot, the long alley. The firs, one by one,<br />
+Catch and conceal, as I saunter, and flash in a dazzle of gold<br />
+Lower and lower the vanishing disc: and the sun alone sees<br />
+At I wait for my love in the fir-tree alley alone with the sun.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="45"></a>QUEST.</h2>
+
+<p>I CHASE a shadow through the night,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A shadow unavailing;<br />
+Out of the dark, into the light,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I follow, follow: is it she?</p>
+
+<p>Against the wall of sea outlined,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Outlined against the windows lit,<br />
+The shadow flickers, and behind<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I follow, follow after it.</p>
+
+<p>The shadow leads me through the night<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To the grey margin of the sea;<br />
+Out of the dark, into the light,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I follow unavailingly.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="46"></a>TO A PORTRAIT.</h2>
+
+<p>A PENSIVE photograph<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Watches me from the shelf:<br />
+Ghost of old love, and half<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ghost of myself!</p>
+
+<p>How the dear waiting eyes<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Watch me and love me yet:<br />
+Sad home of memories,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Her waiting eyes!</p>
+
+<p>Ghost of old love, wronged ghost,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Return, though all the pain<br />
+Of all once loved, long lost,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Come back again.</p>
+
+<p>Forget not, but forgive!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Alas, too late I cry.<br />
+We are two ghosts that had their chance to live,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And lost it, she and I.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="47"></a>SECOND THOUGHTS.</h2>
+
+<p>WHEN you were here, ah foolish then!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I scarcely knew I loved you, dear.<br />
+I know it now, I know it when<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; You are no longer here.</p>
+
+<p>When you were here, I sometimes tired,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ah me! that you so loved me, dear.<br />
+Now, in these weary days desired,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; You are no longer here.</p>
+
+<p>When you were here, did either know<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That each so loved the other, dear?<br />
+But that was long and long ago:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; You are no longer here.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="48"></a>APRIL MIDNIGHT.</h2>
+
+<p>SIDE by side through the streets at midnight,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Roaming together,<br />
+Through the tumultuous night of London,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In the miraculous April weather.</p>
+
+<p>Roaming together under the gaslight,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Day&rsquo;s work over,<br />
+How the Spring calls to us, here in the city,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Calls to the heart from the heart of a lover!</p>
+
+<p>Cool the wind blows, fresh in our faces,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Cleansing, entrancing,<br />
+After the heat and the fumes and the footlights,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Where you dance and I watch your dancing.</p>
+
+<p>Good it is to be here together,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Good to be roaming;<br />
+Even in London, even at midnight,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Lover-like in a lover&rsquo;s gloaming.</p>
+
+<p>You the dancer and I the dreamer,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Children together,<br />
+Wandering lost in the night of London,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In the miraculous April weather.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="49"></a>DURING MUSIC.</h2>
+
+<p>THE music had the heat of blood,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A passion that no words can reach;<br />
+We sat together, and understood<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Our own heart&rsquo;s speech.</p>
+
+<p>We had no need of word or sign,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The music spoke for us, and said<br />
+All that her eyes could read in mine<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Or mine in hers had read.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="50"></a>ON THE BRIDGE.</h2>
+
+<p>MIDNIGHT falls across hollow gulfs of<br />
+night<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As a stone that falls in a sounding well;<br />
+Under us the Seine flows through dark and light,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; While the beat of time—hark!—is audible.</p>
+
+<p>Lights on bank and bridge glitter gold and red,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Lights upon the stream glitter red and white;<br />
+Under us the night, and the night overhead.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; We together, we alone together in the night.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="51"></a>&ldquo;I DREAM OF HER.&rdquo;</h2>
+
+<p>I DREAM of her the whole night long,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The pillows with my tears are wet.<br />
+I wake, I seek amid the throng<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The courage to forget.</p>
+
+<p>Yet still, as night comes round, I dread,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With unavailing fears,<br />
+The dawn that finds, beneath my head,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The pillows wet with tears.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="52"></a>TEARS.</h2>
+
+<p>O HANDS that I have held in mine,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That knew my kisses and my tears,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Hands that in other years<br />
+Have poured my balm, have poured my wine;</p>
+
+<p>Women, once loved, and always mine,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I call to you across the years,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I bring a gift of tears,<br />
+I bring my tears to you as wine.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="53"></a>THE LAST EXIT.</h2>
+
+<p>OUR love was all arrayed in pleasantness,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A tender little love that sighed and smiled<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; At little happy nothings, like a child,<br />
+A dainty little love in fancy dress.</p>
+
+<p>But now the love that once was half in play<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Has come to be this grave and piteous thing.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Why did you leave me all this suffering<br />
+For all your memory when you went away?</p>
+
+<p>You might have played the play out, O my friend,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Closing upon a kiss our comedy.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Or is it, then, a fault of taste in me,<br />
+Who like no tragic exit at the end?</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="54"></a>AFTER LOVE.</h2>
+
+<p>O TO part now, and, parting now,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Never to meet again;<br />
+To have done for ever, I and thou,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With joy, and so with pain.</p>
+
+<p>It is too hard, too hard to meet<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As friends, and love no more;<br />
+Those other meetings were too sweet<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That went before.</p>
+
+<p>And I would have, now love is over,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; An end to all, an end:<br />
+I cannot, having been your lover,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Stoop to become your friend!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="55"></a>ALLA PASSERETTA BRUNA.</h2>
+
+<p>IF I bid you, you will come,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; If I bid you, you will go,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; You are mine, and so I
+take you<br />
+To my heart, your home;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Well, ah, well I know<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I shall not forsake you.</p>
+
+<p>I shall always hold you fast,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I shall never set you free,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; You are mine, and I
+possess you<br />
+Long as life shall last;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; You will comfort me,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I shall bless you.</p>
+
+<p>I shall keep you as we keep<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Flowers for memory, hid away,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Under many a newer token<br />
+Buried deep,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Roses of a gaudier day,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Rings and trinkets,
+bright and broken.</p>
+
+<p>Other women I shall love,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Fame and fortune I may win,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But when fame and love
+forsake me<br />
+And the light is night above,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; You will let me in,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; You will take me.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="56"></a>NOCTURNES.</h2>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="57"></a>NOCTURNE.</h2>
+
+<p>ONE little cab to hold us two,<br />
+Night, an invisible dome of cloud,<br />
+The rattling wheels that made our whispers loud,<br />
+As heart-beats into whispers grew;<br />
+And, long, the Embankment with its lights,<br />
+The pavement glittering with fallen rain,<br />
+The magic and the mystery that are night&rsquo;s,<br />
+And human love without the pain.</p>
+
+<p>The river shook with wavering gleams,<br />
+Deep buried as the glooms that lay<br />
+Impenetrable as the grave of day,<br />
+Near and as distant as our dreams.<br />
+A bright train flashed with all its squares<br />
+Of warm light where the bridge lay mistily.<br />
+The night was all about us: we were free,<br />
+Free of the day and all its cares!</p>
+
+<p>That was an hour of bliss too long,<br />
+Too long to last where joy is brief.<br />
+Yet one escape of souls may yield relief<br />
+To many weary seasons&rsquo; wrong.<br />
+&ldquo;O last for ever!&rdquo; my heart cried;<br />
+It ended: heaven was done.<br />
+I had been dreaming by her side<br />
+That heaven was but begun.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="58"></a>HER STREET.</h2>
+
+<p>(IN ABSENCE.)</p>
+
+<p>I PASSED your street of many memories.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A sunset, sombre pink, the flush<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of inner rose-leaves idle fingers crush,<br />
+Died softly, as the rose that dies.<br />
+All the high heaven behind the roof lay thus,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Tenderly dying, touched with pain<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A little; standing there I saw again<br />
+The sunsets that were dear to us.</p>
+
+<p>I knew not if &rsquo;twere bitter or more sweet<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To stand and watch the roofs, the sky.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O bitter to be there and you not nigh,<br />
+Yet this had been that blessed street.<br />
+How the name thrilled me, there upon the wall!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; There was the house, the windows there<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Against the rosy twilight high and bare,<br />
+The pavement-stones: I knew them all!</p>
+
+<p>Days that have been, days that have fallen cold!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I stood and gazed, and thought of you,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Until remembrance sweet and mournful drew<br />
+Tears to eyes smiling as of old.<br />
+So, sad and glad, your memory visibly<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Alive within my eyes, I turned;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And, through a window, met two eyes that burned,<br />
+Tenderly questioning, on me.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="59"></a>ON JUDGES&rsquo; WALK.</h2>
+
+<p>THAT night on Judges&rsquo; Walk the wind<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Was as the voice of doom;<br />
+The heath, a lake of darkness, lay<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As silent as the tomb.</p>
+
+<p>The vast night brooded, white with stars,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Above the world&rsquo;s unrest;<br />
+The awfulness of silence ached<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Like a strong heart repressed.</p>
+
+<p>That night we walked beneath the trees,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Alone, beneath the trees;<br />
+There was some word we could not say<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Half uttered in the breeze.</p>
+
+<p>That night on Judges&rsquo; Walk we said<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; No word of all we had to say;<br />
+But now there shall be no word said<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Before the Judge&rsquo;s Day.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="60"></a>IN THE NIGHT.</h2>
+
+<p>THE moonlight had tangled the trees<br />
+Under our feet as we walked in the night,<br />
+And the shadows beneath us were stirred by the breeze<br />
+In the magical light;<br />
+And the moon was a silver fire,<br />
+And the stars were flickers of flame,<br />
+Golden and violet and red;<br />
+And the night-wind sighed my desire,<br />
+And the wind in the tree-tops whispered and said<br />
+In her ear her adorable name.</p>
+
+<p>But her heart would not hear what I heard,<br />
+The pulse of the night as it beat,<br />
+Love, Love, Love, the unspeakable word,<br />
+In its murmurous repeat;<br />
+She heard not the night-wind&rsquo;s sigh,<br />
+Nor her own name breathed in her ear,<br />
+Nor the cry of my heart to her heart,<br />
+A speechless, a clamorous cry:<br />
+&ldquo;Love! Love! will she hear? will she hear?&rdquo;<br />
+O heart, she will hear, by and by,<br />
+When we part, when for ever we part.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="61"></a>FÊTES GALANTES.</h2>
+
+<p>AFTER PAUL VERLAINE.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="62"></a>MANDOLINE,</h2>
+
+<p>THE singers of serenades<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Whisper their faded vows<br />
+Unto fair listening maids<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Under the singing boughs.</p>
+
+<p>Tircis, Aminte, are there,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Clitandre is over-long,<br />
+And Damis for many a fair<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Tyrant makes many a song.</p>
+
+<p>Their short vests, silken and bright,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Their long pale silken trains,<br />
+Their elegance of delight,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Twine soft blue silken chains.</p>
+
+<p>And the mandolines and they,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Faintlier breathing, swoon<br />
+Into the rose and grey<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ecstasy of the moon.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="63"></a>DANS L&rsquo;ALLÉE.</h2>
+
+<p>AS in the age of shepherd king and queen,<br />
+Painted and frail amid her nodding bows,<br />
+Under the sombre branches, and between<br />
+The green and mossy garden-ways she goes,<br />
+With little mincing airs one keeps to pet<br />
+A darling and provoking perroquet.<br />
+Her long-trained robe is blue, the fan she holds<br />
+With fluent fingers girt with heavy rings,<br />
+So vaguely hints of vague erotic things<br />
+That her eye smiles, musing among its folds.<br />
+—Blonde too, a tiny nose, a rosy mouth,<br />
+Artful as that sly patch that makes more sly,<br />
+In her divine unconscious pride of youth,<br />
+The slightly simpering sparkle of the eye.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="64"></a>CYTHÈRE.</h2>
+
+<p>BY favourable breezes fanned,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A trellised arbour is at hand<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To shield us from the summer airs;</p>
+
+<p>The scent of roses, fainting sweet,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Afloat upon the summer heat,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Blends with the perfume that she wears.</p>
+
+<p>True to the promise her eyes gave,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; She ventures all, and her mouth rains<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A dainty fever through my veins;</p>
+
+<p>And Love, fulfilling all things, save<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Hunger, we &rsquo;scape, with sweets and ices,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The folly of Love&rsquo;s sacrifices.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="65"></a>LES INDOLENTS.</h2>
+
+<p>BAH! spite of Fate, that says us nay,<br />
+Suppose we die together, eh?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; —A rare conclusion you discover!</p>
+
+<p>—What&rsquo;s rare is good. Let us die so,<br />
+Like lovers in Boccaccio.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; —Hi! hi! hi! you fantastic lover!</p>
+
+<p>—Nay, not fantastic. If you will,<br />
+Fond, surely irreproachable.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Suppose, then, that we die together?</p>
+
+<p>—Good sir, your jests are fitlier told<br />
+Than when you speak of love or gold.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Why speak at all, in this glad weather?</p>
+
+<p>Whereat, behold them once again,<br />
+Tircis beside his Dorimène,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Not far from two blithe rustic rovers,</p>
+
+<p>For some caprice of idle breath<br />
+Deferring a delicious death.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Hi! hi! hi! what fantastic lovers!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="66"></a>FANTOCHES.</h2>
+
+<p>SCARAMOUCHE waves a threatening hand<br />
+To Pulcinella, and they stand,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Two shadows, black against the moon.</p>
+
+<p>The old doctor of Bologna pries<br />
+For simples with impassive eyes,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And mutters o&rsquo;er a magic rune.</p>
+
+<p>The while his daughter, scarce half-dressed,<br />
+Glides slyly &rsquo;neath the trees, in quest<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of her bold pirate lover&rsquo;s sail;</p>
+
+<p>Her pirate from the Spanish main,<br />
+Whose passion thrills her in the pain<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of the loud languorous nightingale.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="67"></a>PANTOMIME.</h2>
+
+<p>PIERROT, no sentimental swain,<br />
+Washes a pâté down again<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With furtive flagons, white and red.</p>
+
+<p>Cassandre, to chasten his content,<br />
+Greets with a tear of sentiment<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; His nephew disinherited.</p>
+
+<p>That blackguard of a Harlequin<br />
+Pirouettes, and plots to win<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; His Colombine that flits and flies.</p>
+
+<p>Colombine dreams, and starts to find<br />
+A sad heart sighing in the wind,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And in her heart a voice that sighs.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="68"></a>L&rsquo;AMOUR PAR TERRE.</h2>
+
+<p>THE wind the other evening overthrew<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The little Love who smiled so mockingly<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Down that mysterious alley, so that we,<br />
+Remembering, mused thereon a whole day through.</p>
+
+<p>The wind has overthrown him! The poor stone<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Lies scattered to the breezes. It is sad<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To see the lonely pedestal, that had<br />
+The artist&rsquo;s name, scarce visible, alone,</p>
+
+<p>Oh! it is sad to see the pedestal<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Left lonely! and in dream I seem to hear<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Prophetic voices whisper in my ear<br />
+The lonely and despairing end of all.</p>
+
+<p>Oh! it is sad! And thou, hast thou not found<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; One heart-throb for the pity, though thine eye<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Lights at the gold and purple butterfly<br />
+Brightening the littered leaves upon the ground.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="69"></a>À CLYMÈNE.</h2>
+
+<p>MYSTICAL strains unheard,<br />
+A song without a word,<br />
+Dearest, because thine eyes.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Pale as the skies,</p>
+
+<p>Because thy voice, remote<br />
+As the far clouds that float<br />
+Veiling for me the whole<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Heaven of the soul,</p>
+
+<p>Because the stately scent<br />
+Of thy swan&rsquo;s whiteness, blent<br />
+With the white lily&rsquo;s bloom<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of thy perfume,</p>
+
+<p>Ah! because thy dear love,<br />
+The music breathed above<br />
+By angels halo-crowned,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Odour and sound,</p>
+
+<p>Hath, in my subtle heart,<br />
+With some mysterious art<br />
+Transposed thy harmony,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; So let it be!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="70"></a>FROM ROMANCES SANS PAROLES.</h2>
+
+<p>TEARS in my heart that weeps,<br />
+Like the rain upon the town,<br />
+What drowsy languor steeps<br />
+In tears my heart that weeps?</p>
+
+<p>O sweet sound of the rain<br />
+On earth and on the roofs!<br />
+For a heart&rsquo;s weary pain<br />
+O the song of the rain!</p>
+
+<p>Vain tears, vain tears, my heart!<br />
+What, none hath done thee wrong?<br />
+Tears without reason start,<br />
+From my disheartened heart.</p>
+
+<p>This is the weariest woe,<br />
+O heart, of love and hate<br />
+Too weary, not to know<br />
+Why thou hast all this woe.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="71"></a>MOODS AND MEMORIES.</h2>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="72"></a>CITY NIGHTS.</h2>
+
+<p>I. IN THE TRAIN.</p>
+
+<p>THE train through the night of the town,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Through a blackness broken in twain<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; By the sudden finger of
+streets;<br />
+Lights, red, yellow, and brown,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; From curtain and window-pane,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The flashing eyes of the
+streets.</p>
+
+<p>Night, and the rush of the train,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A cloud of smoke through the town,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Scaring the life of the
+streets;<br />
+And the leap of the heart again,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Out into the night, and down<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The dazzling vista of
+streets!</p>
+
+<p>II. IN THE TEMPLE.</p>
+
+<p>THE grey and misty night,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Slim trees that hold the night among<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Their branches, and, along<br />
+The vague Embankment, light on light.</p>
+
+<p>The sudden, racing lights!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I can just hear, distinct, aloof,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The gaily clattering hoof<br />
+Beating the rhythm of festive nights.</p>
+
+<p>The gardens to the weeping moon<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Sigh back the breath of tears.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O the refrain of years on years<br />
+&rsquo;Neath the weeping moon!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="73"></a>A WHITE NIGHT.</h2>
+
+<p>THE yellow moon across the clouds<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That shiver in the sky;<br />
+White, hurrying travellers, the clouds,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And, white and aching cold on high,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Stars in the sky.</p>
+
+<p>Whiter, along the frozen earth,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The miracle of snow;<br />
+Close covered as for sleep, the earth<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Lies, mutely slumbering below<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Its shroud of snow.</p>
+
+<p>Sleepless I wander in the night,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And, wandering, watch for day;<br />
+Earth sleeps, yet, high in heaven, the night<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Awakens, faint and far away,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A phantom day.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="74"></a>IN THE VALLEY.</h2>
+
+<p>DOWN the valley will I wander, singing songs forlorn,<br />
+Waiting for the maiden coming up between the corn.</p>
+
+<p>Down below I hear the river babbling to the breeze,<br />
+And I see the sunlight kiss the tresses of the trees.</p>
+
+<p>All the corn is shining with the tears of early rain:<br />
+Come, thou sunlight of mine eyes, and bring the dawn again!</p>
+
+<p>Down the valley will I wander, singing songs forlorn,<br />
+Till I meet the maiden coming up between the corn.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="75"></a>PEACE AT NOON.</h2>
+
+<p>HERE there is peace, cool peace,<br />
+Upon these heights, beneath these trees;<br />
+Almost the peace of sleep or death,<br />
+To wearying brain, to labouring breath.</p>
+
+<p>Here there is rest at last,<br />
+A sweet forgetting of the past;<br />
+There is no future here, nor aught<br />
+Save this soft healing pause of thought.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="76"></a>IN FOUNTAIN COURT.</h2>
+
+<p>THE fountain murmuring of sleep,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A drowsy tune;<br />
+The flickering green of leaves that keep<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The light of June;<br />
+Peace, through a slumbering afternoon,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The peace of June.</p>
+
+<p>A waiting ghost, in the blue sky,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The white curved moon;<br />
+June, hushed and breathless, waits, and I<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Wait too, with June;<br />
+Come, through the lingering afternoon,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Soon, love, come soon.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="77"></a>AT BURGOS.</h2>
+
+<p>MIRACULOUS silver-work in stone<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Against the blue miraculous skies,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The belfry towers and turrets rise<br />
+Out of the arches that enthrone<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That airy wonder of the skies.</p>
+
+<p>Softly against the burning sun<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The great cathedral spreads its wings;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; High up, the lyric belfry sings.<br />
+Behold Ascension Day begun<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Under the shadow of those wings!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="78"></a>AT DAWN.</h2>
+
+<p>SHE only knew the birth and death<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of days, when each that died<br />
+Was still at morn a hope, at night<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A hope unsatisfied.</p>
+
+<p>The dark trees shivered to behold<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Another day begin;<br />
+She, being hopeless, did not weep<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As the grey dawn came in.</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="79"></a>IN AUTUMN.</h2>
+
+<p>FRAIL autumn lights upon the leaves<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Beacon the ending of the year.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The windy rains are here,<br />
+Wet nights and blowing winds about the eaves.</p>
+
+<p>Here in the valley, mists begin<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To breathe about the river side<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The breath of autumn-tide.<br />
+The dark fields wait to take the harvest in.</p>
+
+<p>And you, and you are far away.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ah, this it is, and not the rain<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Now loud against the pane,<br />
+That takes the light and colour from the day!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="80"></a>ON THE ROADS.</h2>
+
+<p>THE road winds onward long and white,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It curves in mazy coils, and crooks<br />
+A beckoning finger down the height;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It calls me with the voice of brooks<br />
+To thirsty travellers in the night.</p>
+
+<p>I leave the lonely city street,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The awful silence of the crowd;<br />
+The rhythm of the roads I beat,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; My blood leaps up, I shout aloud,<br />
+My heart keeps measure with my feet.</p>
+
+<p>Nought know, nought care I whither I wend:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis on, on, on, or here or there.<br />
+What profiteth it an aim or end?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I walk, and the road leads anywhere.<br />
+Then forward, with the Fates to friend!</p>
+
+<p>&rsquo;Tis on and on! Who knows but thus<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Kind Chance shall bring us luck at last?<br />
+Adventures to the adventurous!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Hope flies before, and the hours slip past:<br />
+O what have the hours in store for us?</p>
+
+<p>A bird sings something in my ear,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The wind sings in my blood a song<br />
+Tis good at times for a man to hear;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The road winds onward white and long,<br />
+And the best of Earth is here!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="81"></a>PIERROT IN HALF-MOURNING.</h2>
+
+<p>I THAT am Pierrot, pray you pity me!<br />
+To be so young, so old in misery:<br />
+See me, and how the winter of my grief<br />
+Wastes me, and how I whiten like a leaf,<br />
+And how, like a lost child, lost and afraid,<br />
+I seek the shadow, I that am a shade,<br />
+I that have loved a moonbeam, nor have won<br />
+Any Diana to Endymion.<br />
+Pity me, for I have but loved too well<br />
+The hope of the too fair impossible.<br />
+Ah, it is she, she, Columbine: again<br />
+I see her, and I woo her, and in vain.<br />
+She lures me with her beckoning finger-tip;<br />
+How her eyes shine for me, and how her lips<br />
+Bloom for me, roses, roses, red and rich!<br />
+She waves to me the white arms of a witch<br />
+Over the world: I follow, I forget<br />
+All, but she&rsquo;ll love me yet, she&rsquo;ll love me yet!</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="82"></a>FOR A PICTURE OF WATTEAU.</h2>
+
+<p>HERE the vague winds have rest;<br />
+The forest breathes in sleep,<br />
+Lifting a quiet breast;<br />
+It is the hour of rest.</p>
+
+<p>How summer glides away!<br />
+An autumn pallor blooms<br />
+Upon the check of day.<br />
+Come, lovers, come away!</p>
+
+<p>But here, where dead leaves fall<br />
+Upon the grass, what strains,<br />
+Languidly musical,<br />
+Mournfully rise and fall?</p>
+
+<p>Light loves that woke with spring<br />
+This autumn afternoon<br />
+Beholds meandering,<br />
+Still, to the strains of spring.</p>
+
+<p>Your dancing feet are faint,<br />
+Lovers: the air recedes<br />
+Into a sighing plaint,<br />
+Faint, as your loves are faint.</p>
+
+<p>It is the end, the end,<br />
+The dance of love&rsquo;s decease.<br />
+Feign no more now, fair friend!<br />
+It is the end, the end.</p><br />
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
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+</body>
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+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #29531 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29531)
diff --git a/old/29531-8.txt b/old/29531-8.txt
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Silhouettes, by Arthur Symons
+
+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: Silhouettes
+
+Author: Arthur Symons
+
+Release Date: July 28, 2009 [EBook #29531]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILHOUETTES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Ruth Hart
+
+
+
+
+SILHOUETTES.
+
+BY
+
+ARTHUR SYMONS
+
+
+SECOND EDITION
+REVISED AND ENLARGED
+
+
+LONDON: LEONARD SMITHERS
+EFFINGHAM HOUSE: ARUNDEL STREET
+STRAND: MDCCCXCVI
+
+
+
+TO
+KATHERINE WILLARD,
+NOW
+KATHERINE BALDWIN.
+
+_Paris: May,_ 1892.
+_London: February,_ 1896.
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+*Preface:
+Being a Word on Behalf of Patchouli: p. xiii.
+
+At Dieppe:
+After Sunset: p. 3.
+On the Beach: p. 4.
+Rain on the Down: p. 5.
+Before the Squall: p. 6.
+Under the Cliffs: p. 7.
+Requies: p. 8.
+
+Masks and Faces:
+Pastel: p. 11.
+Her Eyes: p. 12.
+Morbidezza: p. 13.
+Maquillage: p. 14.
+*Impression: p. 15.
+An Angel of Perugino: p. 16.
+At Fontainebleau: p. 17.
+On the Heath: p. 18.
+In the Oratory: p. 19.
+Pattie: p. 20.
+In an Omnibus: p. 21.
+On Meeting After: p. 22.
+In Bohemia: p. 23.
+Emmy: p. 24.
+Emmy at the Eldorado: p. 26.
+*At the Cavour: p. 27.
+In the Haymarket: p. 28.
+At the Lyceum: p. 29.
+The Blind Beggar: p. 30.
+The Old Labourer: p. 31.
+The Absinthe Drinker: p. 32.
+Javanese Dancers p. 33.
+
+Love's Disguises:
+Love in Spring: p. 37.
+Gipsy Love p. 38.
+In Kensington Gardens: p. 39.
+*Rewards: p. 40.
+Perfume: p. 41.
+Souvenir: p. 42.
+*To Mary: p. 43.
+To a Great Actress: p. 44.
+Love in Dreams: p. 45.
+Music and Memory: p. 46.
+*Spring Twilight: p. 47.
+In Winter: p. 48.
+*Quest: p. 49.
+To a Portrait: p. 50.
+*Second Thoughts: p. 51.
+April Midnight: p. 52.
+During Music: p. 53.
+On the Bridge: p. 54.
+"I Dream of Her": p. 55.
+*Tears: p. 56.
+*The Last Exit: p. 57.
+After Love: p. 58.
+Alla Passeretta Bruna: p. 59.
+
+Nocturnes:
+Nocturne: p. 63.
+Her Street: p. 64.
+On Judges' Walk: p. 65.
+In the Night: p. 66.
+
+F�tes Galantes:
+*Mandoline: p. 69.
+*Dans l'All�e p. 70.
+*Cyth�re: p. 71.
+*Les Indolents: p. 72.
+*Fantoches: p. 73.
+*Pantomine: p. 74.
+*L'Amour par Terre: p. 75.
+*A Clym�ne: p. 76.
+From Romances sans Parole p. 71.
+
+Moods and Memories:
+City Nights: p. 81.
+A White Night: p. 82.
+In the Valley: p. 83.
+Peace at Noon: p. 84.
+In Fountain Court: p. 85.
+At Burgos: p. 86.
+At Dawn: p. 87.
+In Autumn: p. 88.
+On the Roads: p. 89.
+*Pierrot in Half-Mourning: p. 90.
+For a Picture of Watteau: p. 91.
+
+* The Preface, and the nineteen Poems marked with an asterisk,
+were not contained in the first edition. One Poem has been omitted,
+and many completely rewritten.
+
+
+
+PREFACE:
+
+BEING A WORD ON BEHALF OF PATCHOULI.
+
+AN ingenuous reviewer once described some verses of mine as
+"unwholesome," because, he said, they had "a faint smell of
+Patchouli about them." I am a little sorry he chose Patchouli, for that
+is not a particularly favourite scent with me. If he had only chosen
+Peau d'Espagne, which has a subtle meaning, or Lily of the Valley,
+with which I have associations! But Patchouli will serve. Let me ask,
+then, in republishing, with additions, a collection of little pieces,
+many of which have been objected to, at one time or another, as
+being somewhat deliberately frivolous, why art should not, if it
+please, concern itself with the artificially charming, which, I
+suppose, is what my critic means by Patchouli? All art, surely, is a
+form of artifice, and thus, to the truly devout mind, condemned
+already, if not as actively noxious, at all events as needless. That is a
+point of view which I quite understand, and its conclusion I hold to
+be absolutely logical. I have the utmost respect for the people who
+refuse to read a novel, to go to the theatre, or to learn dancing. That
+is to have convictions and to live up to them. I understand also the
+point of view from which a work of art is tolerated in so far as it is
+actually militant on behalf of a religious or a moral idea. But what I
+fail to understand are those delicate, invisible degrees by which a
+distinction is drawn between this form of art and that; the
+hesitations, and compromises, and timorous advances, and shocked
+retreats, of the Puritan conscience once emancipated, and yet afraid
+of liberty. However you may try to convince yourself to the contrary,
+a work of art can be judged only from two standpoints: the
+standpoint from which its art is measured entirely by its morality,
+and the standpoint from which its morality is measured entirely by
+its art.
+
+Here, for once, in connection with these "Silhouettes," I have not, if
+my recollection serves me, been accused of actual immorality. I am
+but a fair way along the "primrose path," not yet within singeing
+distance of the "everlasting bonfire." In other words, I have not yet
+written "London Nights," which, it appears (I can scarcely realize it,
+in my innocent abstraction in aesthetical matters), has no very
+salutary reputation among the blameless moralists of the press. I
+need not, therefore, on this occasion, concern myself with more than
+the curious fallacy by which there is supposed to be something
+inherently wrong in artistic work which deals frankly and lightly
+with the very real charm of the lighter emotions and the more
+fleeting sensations.
+
+I do not wish to assert that the kind of verse which happened to
+reflect certain moods of mine at a certain period of my life, is the
+best kind of verse in itself, or is likely to seem to me, in other years,
+when other moods may have made me their own, the best kind of
+verse for my own expression of myself. Nor do I affect to doubt that
+the creation of the supreme emotion is a higher form of art than the
+reflection of the most exquisite sensation, the evocation of the most
+magical impression. I claim only an equal liberty for the rendering
+of every mood of that variable and inexplicable and contradictory
+creature which we call ourselves, of every aspect under which we
+are gifted or condemned to apprehend the beauty and strangeness
+and curiosity of the visible world.
+
+Patchouli! Well, why not Patchouli? Is there any "reason in nature"
+why we should write exclusively about the natural blush, if the
+delicately acquired blush of rouge has any attraction for us? Both
+exist; both, I think, are charming in their way; and the latter, as a
+subject, has, at all events, more novelty. If you prefer your
+"new-mown hay" in the hayfield, and I, it may be, in a scent-bottle, why
+may not my individual caprice be allowed to find expression as well
+as yours? Probably I enjoy the hayfield as much as you do; but I
+enjoy quite other scents and sensations as well, and I take the former
+for granted, and write my poem, for a change, about the latter. There
+is no necessary difference in artistic value between a good poem
+about a flower in the hedge and a good poem about the scent in a
+sachet. I am always charmed to read beautiful poems about nature in
+the country. Only, personally, I prefer town to country; and in the
+town we have to find for ourselves, as best we may, the _d�cor_
+which is the town equivalent of the great natural _d�cor_ of fields
+and hills. Here it is that artificiality comes in; and if any one sees no
+beauty in the effects of artificial light, in all the variable, most
+human, and yet most factitious town landscape, I can only pity him,
+and go on my own way.
+
+That is, if he will let me. But he tells me that one thing is right and
+the other is wrong; that one is good art and the other is bad; and I
+listen in amazement, sometimes not without impatience, wondering
+why an estimable personal prejudice should be thus exalted into a
+dogma, and uttered in the name of art. For in art there can be no
+prejudices, only results. If we arc to save people's souls by the
+writing of verses, well and good. But if not, there is no choice but to
+admit an absolute freedom of choice. And if Patchouli pleases one,
+why not Patchouli?
+
+          Arthur Symons.
+     London, _February,_1896.
+
+
+
+AT DIEPPE.
+
+
+
+AFTER SUNSET.
+
+THE sea lies quieted beneath
+     The after-sunset flush
+That leaves upon the heaped grey clouds
+     The grape's faint purple blush.
+
+Pale, from a little space in heaven
+     Of delicate ivory,
+The sickle-moon and one gold star
+     Look down upon the sea.
+
+
+
+ON THE BEACH.
+
+NIGHT, a grey sky, a ghostly sea,
+     The soft beginning of the rain:
+     Black on the horizon, sails that wane
+Into the distance mistily.
+
+The tide is rising, I can hear
+     The soft roar broadening far along;
+It cries and murmurs in my car
+     A sleepy old forgotten song.
+
+Softly the stealthy night descends,
+     The black sails fade into the sky:
+Is this not, where the sea-line ends,
+     The shore-line of infinity?
+
+I cannot think or dream: the grey
+     Unending waste of sea and night,
+     Dull, impotently infinite,
+Blots out the very hope of day.
+
+
+
+RAIN ON THE DOWN.
+
+NIGHT, and the down by the sea,
+     And the veil of rain on the down;
+And she came through the mist and the rain to me
+     From the safe warm lights of the town.
+
+The rain shone in her hair,
+     And her face gleamed in the rain;
+And only the night and the rain were there
+     As she came to me out of the rain.
+
+
+
+BEFORE THE SQUALL.
+
+THE wind is rising on the sea,
+     White flashes dance along the deep,
+That moans as if uneasily
+     It turned in an unquiet sleep.
+
+Ridge after rocky ridge upheaves
+     A toppling crest that falls in spray
+Where the tormented beach receives
+     The buffets of the sea's wild play.
+
+On the horizon's nearing line,
+     Where the sky rests, a visible wall.
+Grey in the offing, I divine
+     The sails that fly before the squall.
+
+
+
+UNDER THE CLIFFS.
+
+BRIGHT light to windward on the horizon's verge;
+To leeward, stormy shadows, violet-black,
+And the wide sea between
+A vast unfurrowed field of windless green;
+The stormy shadows flicker on the track
+Of phantom sails that vanish and emerge.
+
+I gaze across the sea, remembering her.
+I watch the white sun walk across the sea,
+This pallid afternoon,
+With feet that tread as whitely as the moon,
+And in his fleet and shining feet I see
+The footsteps of another voyager.
+
+
+
+REQUIES.
+
+O IS it death or life
+     That sounds like something strangely known
+In this subsiding out of strife,
+     This slow sea-monotone?
+
+A sound, scarce heard through sleep,
+     Murmurous as the August bees
+That fill the forest hollows deep
+     About the roots of trees.
+
+O is it life or death,
+     O is it hope or memory,
+That quiets all things with this breath
+     Of the eternal sea?
+
+
+
+MASKS AND FACES.
+
+
+
+PASTEL.
+
+THE light of our cigarettes
+     Went and came in the gloom:
+     It was dark in the little room.
+
+Dark, and then, in the dark,
+     Sudden, a flash, a glow,
+     And a hand and a ring I know.
+
+And then, through the dark, a flush
+     Ruddy and vague, the grace--
+     A rose--of her lyric face.
+
+
+
+HER EYES.
+
+BENEATH the heaven of her brows'
+     Unclouded noon of peace, there lies
+A leafy heaven of hazel boughs
+     In the seclusion of her eyes;
+
+Her troubling eyes that cannot rest;
+     And there's a little flame that dances
+(A firefly in a grassy nest)
+     In the green circle of her glances;
+
+A frolic Faun that must be hid,
+     Shyly, in some fantastic shade,
+Where pity droops a tender lid
+     On laughter of itself afraid.
+
+
+
+MORBIDEZZA.
+
+WHITE girl, your flesh is lilies
+Grown 'neath a frozen moon,
+So still is
+The rapture of your swoon
+Of whiteness, snow or lilies.
+
+The virginal revealment,
+Your bosom's wavering slope,
+Concealment,
+'Neath fainting heliotrope,
+Of whitest white's revealment,
+
+Is like a bed of lilies,
+A jealous-guarded row,
+Whose will is
+Simply chaste dreams:--but oh,
+The alluring scent of lilies!
+
+
+
+MAQUILLAGE.
+
+THE charm of rouge on fragile cheeks,
+     Pearl-powder, and, about the eyes,
+The dark and lustrous Eastern dyes;
+     The floating odour that bespeaks
+A scented boudoir and the doubtful night
+Of alcoves curtained close against the light
+
+Gracile and creamy white and rose,
+     Complexioned like the flower of dawn,
+Her fleeting colours are as those
+     That, from an April sky withdrawn,
+Fade in a fragrant mist of tears away
+When weeping noon leads on the altered day.
+
+
+
+IMPRESSION.
+
+TO M. C.
+
+THE pink and black of silk and lace,
+     Flushed in the rosy-golden glow
+Of lamplight on her lifted face;
+Powder and wig, and pink and lace,
+
+And those pathetic eyes of hers;
+     But all the London footlights know
+The little plaintive smile that stirs
+The shadow in those eyes of hers.
+
+Outside, the dreary church-bell tolled,
+     The London Sunday faded slow;
+Ah, what is this? what wings unfold
+In this miraculous rose of gold?
+
+
+
+AN ANGEL OF PERUGINO.
+
+HAVE I not seen your face before
+     Where Perugino's angels stand
+In those calm circles, and adore
+     With singing throat and lifted hand?
+
+So the pale hair lay crescent-wise,
+     About the placid forehead curled,
+And the pale piety of eyes
+     Was as God's peace upon the world.
+
+And you, a simple child serene,
+     Wander upon your quiet way,
+Nor know that any eyes have seen
+     The Umbrian halo crown the day.
+
+
+
+AT FONTAINEBLEAU.
+
+IT was a day of sun and rain,
+     Uncertain as a child's quick moods;
+And I shall never pass again
+     So blithe a day among the woods.
+
+The forest knew you and was glad,
+     And laughed for very joy to know
+Her child was with her; then, grown sad,
+     She wept, because her child must go.
+
+And you would spy and you would capture
+     The shyest flower that lit the grass:
+The joy I had to watch your rapture
+     Was keen as even your rapture was.
+
+The forest knew you and was glad,
+     And laughed and wept for joy and woe.
+This was the welcome that you had
+     Among the woods of Fontainebleau.
+
+
+
+ON THE HEATH.
+
+HER face's wilful flash and glow
+     Turned all its light upon my face
+     One bright delirious moment's space,
+And then she passed: I followed slow
+
+Across the heath, and up and round,
+     And watched the splendid death of day
+     Upon the summits far away,
+And in her fateful beauty found
+
+The fierce wild beauty of the light
+     That startles twilight on the hills,
+     And lightens all the mountain rills,
+And flames before the feet of night.
+
+
+
+IN THE ORATORY.
+
+THE incense mounted like a cloud,
+     A golden cloud of languid scent;
+Robed priests before the altar bowed,
+     Expecting the divine event.
+
+Then silence, like a prisoner bound,
+     Rose, by a mighty hand set free,
+And dazzlingly, in shafts of sound,
+     Thundered Beethoven's Mass in C.
+
+She knelt in prayer; large lids serene
+     Lay heavy on the sombre eyes,
+As though to veil some vision seen
+     Upon the mounts of Paradise.
+
+Her dark face, calm as carven stone.
+     The face that twilight shows the day,
+Brooded, mysteriously alone,
+     And infinitely far away.
+
+Inexplicable eyes that drew
+     Mine eyes adoring, why from me
+Demand, new Sphinx, the fatal clue
+     That seals my doom or conquers thee?
+
+
+
+PATTIE.
+
+COOL comely country Pattie, grown
+     A daisy where the daisies grow,
+No wind of heaven has ever blown
+     Across a field-flower's daintier snow.
+
+Gold-white among the meadow-grass
+     The humble little daisies thrive;
+I cannot see them as I pass,
+     But I am glad to be alive.
+
+And so I turn where Pattie stands,
+     A flower among the flowers at play;
+I'll lay my heart into her hands,
+     And she will smile the clouds away.
+
+
+
+IN AN OMNIBUS.
+
+YOUR smile is like a treachery,
+     A treachery adorable;
+So smiles the siren where the sea
+     Sings to the unforgetting shell.
+
+Your fleeting Leonardo face,
+     Parisian Monna Lisa, dreams
+     Elusively, but not of streams
+Born in a shadow-haunted place.
+
+Of Paris, Paris, is your thought,
+     Of Paris robes, and when to wear
+The latest bonnet you have bought
+     To match the marvel of your hair.
+
+Yet that fine malice of your smile,
+     That faint and fluctuating glint
+     Between your eyelids, does it hint
+Alone of matters mercantile?
+
+Close lips that keep the secret in,
+     Half spoken by the stealthy eyes,
+Is there indeed no word to win,
+     No secret, from the vague replies
+
+Of lips and lids that feign to hide
+     That which they feign to render up?
+     Is there, in Tantalus' dim cup,
+The shadow of water, nought beside?
+
+
+
+ON MEETING AFTER.
+
+HER eyes are haunted, eyes that were
+     Scarce sad when last we met.
+What thing is this has come to her
+     That she may not forget?
+
+They loved, they married: it is well!
+     But ah, what memories
+Are these whereof her eyes half tell,
+     Her haunted eyes?
+
+
+
+IN BOHEMIA.
+
+DRAWN blinds and flaring gas within,
+     And wine, and women, and cigars;
+Without, the city's heedless din;
+     Above, the white unheeding stars.
+
+And we, alike from each remote,
+     The world that works, the heaven that waits,
+Con our brief pleasures o'er by rote,
+     The favourite pastime of the Fates.
+
+We smoke, to fancy that we dream,
+     And drink, a moment's joy to prove,
+And fain would love, and only seem
+     To love because we cannot love.
+
+Draw back the blinds, put out the light:
+     'Tis morning, let the daylight come.
+God! how the women's checks are white,
+     And how the sunlight strikes us dumb!
+
+
+
+EMMY.
+
+EMMY'S exquisite youth and her virginal air,
+     Eyes and teeth in the flash of a musical smile,
+Come to me out of the past, and I see her there
+     As I saw her once for a while.
+
+Emmy's laughter rings in my ears, as bright,
+     Fresh and sweet as the voice of a mountain brook,
+And still I hear her telling us tales that night,
+     Out of Boccaccio's book.
+
+There, in the midst of the villainous dancing-hall,
+     Leaning across the table, over the beer,
+While the music maddened the whirling skirts of the ball,
+     As the midnight hour drew near,
+
+There with the women, haggard, painted and old,
+     One fresh bud in a garland withered and stale,
+She, with her innocent voice and her clear eyes, told
+     Tale after shameless tale.
+
+And ever the witching smile, to her face beguiled,
+     Paused and broadened, and broke in a ripple of fun,
+And the soul of a child looked out of the eyes of a child,
+     Or ever the tale was done.
+
+O my child, who wronged you first, and began
+     First the dance of death that you dance so well?
+Soul for soul: and I think the soul of a man
+     Shall answer for yours in hell.
+
+
+
+EMMY AT THE ELDORADO.
+
+TO meet, of all unlikely things,
+Here, after all one's wanderings!
+But, Emmy, though we meet,
+What of this lover at your feet?
+
+For, is this Emmy that I see?
+A fragile domesticity
+I seem to half surprise
+In the evasions of those eyes.
+
+Once a child's cloudless eyes, they seem
+Lost in the blue depths of a dream,
+As though, for innocent hours,
+To stray with love among the flowers.
+
+Without regret, without desire,
+In those old days of love on hire,
+Child, child, what will you do,
+Emmy, now love is come to you?
+
+Already, in so brief a while,
+The gleam has faded from your smile;
+This grave and tender air
+Leaves you, for all but one, less fair.
+
+Then, you were heedless, happy, gay,
+Immortally a child; to-day
+A woman, at the years' control:
+Undine has found a soul.
+
+
+
+AT THE CAVOUR.
+
+WINE, the red coals, the flaring gas,
+     Bring out a brighter tone in cheeks
+That learn at home before the glass
+     The flush that eloquently speaks.
+
+The blue-grey smoke of cigarettes
+     Curls from the lessening ends that glow;
+The men are thinking of the bets,
+     The women of the debts, they owe.
+
+Then their eyes meet, and in their eyes
+     The accustomed smile comes up to call,
+A look half miserably wise.
+     Half heedlessly ironical.
+
+
+
+IN THE HAYMARKET.
+
+I DANCED at your ball a year ago,
+     To-night I pay for your bread and cheese,
+"And a glass of bitters, if you please,
+     For you drank my best champagne, you know!"
+
+Madcap ever, you laugh the while,
+     As you drink your bitters and munch your bread;
+The face is the same, and the same old smile
+     Came up at a word I said.
+
+A year ago I danced at your ball,
+     I sit by your side in the bar to-night;
+And the luck has changed, you say: that's all!
+     And the luck will change, you say: all right!
+
+For the men go by, and the rent's to pay,
+     And you haven't a friend in the world to-day;
+And the money comes and the money goes:
+     And to-night, who cares? and to-morrow, who knows?
+
+
+
+AT THE LYCEUM.
+
+HER eyes are brands that keep the angry heat
+     Of fire that crawls and leaves an ashen
+     The dust of this devouring flame she hath
+Upon her cheeks and eyelids. Fresh and sweet
+In days that were, her sultry beauty now
+     Is pain transfigured, love's impenitence,
+     The memory of a maiden innocence,
+As a crown set upon a weary brow.
+
+She sits, and fain would listen, fain forget;
+     She smiles, but with those tragic, waiting eyes,
+Those proud and piteous lips that hunger yet
+     For love's fulfilment. Ah, when Landry cries
+"My heart is dead!" with what a wild regret
+     Her own heart feels the throb that never dies!
+
+
+
+THE BLIND BEGGAR.
+
+HE stands, a patient figure, where the crowd
+     Heaves to and fro beside him. In his ears
+     All day the Fair goes thundering, and he hears
+In darkness, as a dead man in his shroud.
+Patient he stands, with age and sorrow bowed,
+     And holds a piteous hat of ancient yean;
+     And in his face and gesture there appears
+The desperate humbleness of poor men proud.
+
+What thoughts are his, as, with the inward sight,
+     He sees those mirthful faces pass him by?
+Is the long darkness darker for that light.
+     The misery deeper when that joy is nigh?
+Patient, alone, he stands from morn to night,
+     Pleading in his reproachful misery.
+
+
+
+THE OLD LABOURER.
+
+HIS fourscore years have bent a back of oak,
+     His earth-brown cheeks are full of hollow pits;
+     His gnarled hands wander idly as he sits
+Bending above the hearthstone's feeble smoke.
+Threescore and ten slow years he tilled the land;
+     He wrung his bread from out the stubborn soil;
+     He saw his masters flourish through his toil;
+He held their substance in his horny hand.
+
+Now he is old: he asks for daily bread:
+     He who has sowed the bread he may not taste
+          Begs for the crumbs: he would do no man wrong.
+The Parish Guardians, when his case is read,
+     Will grant him (yet with no unseemly haste)
+     Just seventeen pence to starve on, seven days long.
+
+
+
+THE ABSINTHE DRINKER.
+
+GENTLY I wave the visible world away.
+     Far off, I hear a roar, afar yet near,
+     Far off and strange, a voice is in my ear,
+And is the voice my own? the words I say
+Fall strangely, like a dream, across the day;
+     And the dim sunshine is a dream. How clear,
+     New as the world to lovers' eyes, appear
+The men and women passing on their way!
+
+The world is very fair. The hours are all
+     Linked in a dance of mere forgetfulness.
+          I am at peace with God and man. O glide,
+Sands of the hour-glass that I count not, fall
+     Serenely: scarce I feel your soft caress.
+          Rocked on this dreamy and indifferent tide.
+
+
+
+JAVANESE DANCERS,
+
+TWITCHED strings, the clang of metal, beaten drums.
+     Dull, shrill, continuous, disquieting;
+And now the stealthy dancer comes
+     Undulantly with cat-like steps that cling;
+
+Smiling between her painted lids a smile,
+     Motionless, unintelligible, she twines
+     Her fingers into mazy lines,
+Twining her scarves across them all the while.
+
+One, two, three, four step forth, and, to and fro,
+     Delicately and imperceptibly,
+Now swaying gently in a row,
+     Now interthreading slow and rhythmically,
+
+Still with fixed eyes, monotonously still,
+     Mysteriously, with smiles inanimate,
+     With lingering feet that undulate,
+With sinuous fingers, spectral hands that thrill,
+
+The little amber-coloured dancers move,
+     Like little painted figures on a screen,
+     Or phantom-dancers haply seen
+Among the shadows of a magic grove.
+
+
+
+LOVE'S DISGUISES.
+
+
+
+LOVE IN SPRING.
+
+GOOD to be loved and to love for a little, and then
+     Well to forget, be forgotten, ere loving grow life!
+Dear, you have loved me, but was I the man among men?
+Sweet, I have loved you, but scarcely as mistress or wife.
+
+Message of Spring in the hearts of a man and a maid,
+     Hearts on a holiday: ho! let us love: it is Spring.
+Joy in the birds of the air, in the buds of the glade,
+     Joy in our hearts in the joy of the hours on the wing.
+
+Well, but to-morrow? To-morrow, good-bye: it is over.
+     Scarcely with tears shall we part, with a smile who had met.
+Tears? What is this? But I thought we were playing at lover.
+     Play-time is past. I am going. And you love me yet!
+
+
+
+GIPSY LOVE.
+
+THE gipsy tents are on the down,
+     The gipsy girls are here;
+And it's O to be off and away from the town
+     With a gipsy for my dear!
+
+We'd make our bed in the bracken
+     With the lark for a chambermaid;
+The lark would sing us awake in the mornings
+     Singing above our head.
+
+We'd drink the sunlight all day long
+     With never a house to bind us;
+And we'd only flout in a merry song
+     The world we left behind us.
+
+We would be free as birds are free
+     The livelong day, the livelong day;
+And we would lie in the sunny bracken
+     With none to say us nay.
+
+The gipsy tents are on the down,
+     The gipsy girls are here;
+And it's O to be off and away from the town
+     With a gipsy for my dear!
+
+
+
+IN KENSINGTON GARDENS.
+
+UNDER the almond tree,
+Room for my love and me!
+     Over our heads the April blossom;
+April-hearted are we.
+
+Under the pink and white,
+Love in her eyes alight;
+     Love and the Spring and Kensington Gardens:
+Hey for the heart's delight!
+
+
+
+REWARDS.
+
+BECAUSE you cried, I kissed you, and,
+Ah me! how should I understand
+That piteous little you were fain
+To cry and to be kissed again?
+
+Because you smiled at last, I thought
+That I had found what I had sought.
+But soon I found, without a doubt,
+No man can find a woman out.
+
+I kissed your tears, and did not stay
+Till I had kissed them all away.
+Ah, hapless me! ah, heartless child!
+She would not kiss me when she smiled.
+
+
+
+PERFUME.
+
+SHAKE out your hair about me, so,
+     That I may feel the stir and scent
+Of those vague odours come and go
+     The way our kisses went.
+
+Night gave this priceless hour of love,
+     But now the dawn steals in apace,
+And amorously bends above
+     The wonder of your face.
+
+"Farewell" between our kisses creeps,
+     You fade, a ghost, upon the air;
+Yet, ah! the vacant place still keeps
+     The odour of your hair.
+
+
+
+SOUVENIR.
+
+HOW you haunt me with your eyes!
+Still that questioning persistence,
+Sad and sweet, across the distance
+Of the days of love and laughter,
+Those old days of love and lies.
+
+Not reproaching, not reproving,
+Only, always, questioning,
+Those divinest eyes can bring
+Memories of certain summers,
+Nights of dreaming, days of loving,
+
+When I loved you, when your kiss,
+Shyer than a bird to capture,
+Lit a sudden heaven of rapture;
+When we neither dreamt that either
+Could grow old in heart like this.
+
+Do you still, in love's December,
+Still remember, still regret
+That sweet unavailing debt?
+Ah, you haunt me, to remind me
+You remember, I forget!
+
+
+
+TO MARY.
+
+IF, Mary, that imperious face,
+     And not in dreams alone,
+Come to this shadow-haunted place
+     And claim dominion;
+
+If, for your sake, I do unqueen
+     Some well-remembered ghost,
+Forgetting much of what hath been
+     Best loved, remembered most;
+
+It is your witchery, not my will,
+     Your beauty, not my choice:
+My shadows knew me faithful, till
+     They heard your living voice.
+
+
+
+TO A GREAT ACTRESS.
+
+SHE has taken my heart, though she knows not, would care not.
+     It thrills at her voice like a reed in the wind;
+I would taste all her agonies, have her to spare not,
+          Sin deep as she sinned,
+
+To be tossed by the storm of her love, as the ocean
+     Rocks vessels to wreck; to be hers, though the cost
+Were the loss of all else: for that moment's emotion
+          Content to be lost!
+
+To be, for a moment, the man of all men to her,
+     All the world, for one measureless moment complete;
+To possess, be possessed! To be mockery then to her,
+          Then to die at her feet!
+
+
+
+LOVE IN DREAMS.
+
+I LIE on my pallet bed,
+     And I hear the drip of the rain;
+The rain on my garret roof is falling,
+     And I am cold and in pain.
+
+I lie on my pallet bed,
+     And my heart is wild with delight;
+I hear her voice through the midnight calling,
+     As I lie awake in the night.
+
+I lie on my pallet bed,
+     And I see her bright eyes gleam;
+She smiles, she speaks, and the world is ended,
+     And made again in a dream.
+
+
+
+MUSIC AND MEMORY.
+
+To K.W.
+
+ACROSS the tides of music, in the night,
+Her magical face,
+A light upon it as the happy light
+Of dreams in some delicious place
+Under the moonlight in the night.
+
+Music, soft throbbing music in the night,
+Her memory swims
+Into the brain, a carol of delight;
+The cup of music overbrims
+With wine of memory, in the night.
+
+Her face across the music, in the night,
+Her face a refrain,
+A light that sings along the waves of light,
+A memory that returns again,
+Music in music, in the night.
+
+
+
+SPRING TWILIGHT.
+
+To K. W.
+
+THE twilight droops across the day,
+     I watch her portrait on the wall
+Palely recede into the grey
+     That palely comes and covers all.
+
+The sad Spring twilight, dull, forlorn,
+     The menace of the dreary night:
+But in her face, more fair than morn,
+     A sweet suspension of delight.
+
+
+
+IN WINTER.
+
+PALE from the watery west, with the pallor of winter a-cold,
+Rays of the afternoon sun in a glimmer across the trees;
+Glittering moist underfoot, the long alley. The firs, one by one,
+Catch and conceal, as I saunter, and flash in a dazzle of gold
+Lower and lower the vanishing disc: and the sun alone sees
+At I wait for my love in the fir-tree alley alone with the sun.
+
+
+
+QUEST.
+
+I CHASE a shadow through the night,
+     A shadow unavailing;
+Out of the dark, into the light,
+     I follow, follow: is it she?
+
+Against the wall of sea outlined,
+     Outlined against the windows lit,
+The shadow flickers, and behind
+     I follow, follow after it.
+
+The shadow leads me through the night
+     To the grey margin of the sea;
+Out of the dark, into the light,
+     I follow unavailingly.
+
+
+
+TO A PORTRAIT.
+
+A PENSIVE photograph
+     Watches me from the shelf:
+Ghost of old love, and half
+     Ghost of myself!
+
+How the dear waiting eyes
+     Watch me and love me yet:
+Sad home of memories,
+     Her waiting eyes!
+
+Ghost of old love, wronged ghost,
+     Return, though all the pain
+Of all once loved, long lost,
+     Come back again.
+
+Forget not, but forgive!
+     Alas, too late I cry.
+We are two ghosts that had their chance to live,
+     And lost it, she and I.
+
+
+
+SECOND THOUGHTS.
+
+WHEN you were here, ah foolish then!
+     I scarcely knew I loved you, dear.
+I know it now, I know it when
+     You are no longer here.
+
+When you were here, I sometimes tired,
+     Ah me! that you so loved me, dear.
+Now, in these weary days desired,
+     You are no longer here.
+
+When you were here, did either know
+     That each so loved the other, dear?
+But that was long and long ago:
+     You are no longer here.
+
+
+
+APRIL MIDNIGHT.
+
+SIDE by side through the streets at midnight,
+     Roaming together,
+Through the tumultuous night of London,
+     In the miraculous April weather.
+
+Roaming together under the gaslight,
+     Day's work over,
+How the Spring calls to us, here in the city,
+     Calls to the heart from the heart of a lover!
+
+Cool the wind blows, fresh in our faces,
+     Cleansing, entrancing,
+After the heat and the fumes and the footlights,
+     Where you dance and I watch your dancing.
+
+Good it is to be here together,
+     Good to be roaming;
+Even in London, even at midnight,
+     Lover-like in a lover's gloaming.
+
+You the dancer and I the dreamer,
+     Children together,
+Wandering lost in the night of London,
+     In the miraculous April weather.
+
+
+
+DURING MUSIC.
+
+THE music had the heat of blood,
+     A passion that no words can reach;
+We sat together, and understood
+     Our own heart's speech.
+
+We had no need of word or sign,
+     The music spoke for us, and said
+All that her eyes could read in mine
+     Or mine in hers had read.
+
+
+
+ON THE BRIDGE.
+
+MIDNIGHT falls across hollow gulfs of
+night
+     As a stone that falls in a sounding well;
+Under us the Seine flows through dark and light,
+     While the beat of time--hark!--is audible.
+
+Lights on bank and bridge glitter gold and red,
+     Lights upon the stream glitter red and white;
+Under us the night, and the night overhead.
+     We together, we alone together in the night.
+
+
+
+"I DREAM OF HER."
+
+I DREAM of her the whole night long,
+     The pillows with my tears are wet.
+I wake, I seek amid the throng
+     The courage to forget.
+
+Yet still, as night comes round, I dread,
+     With unavailing fears,
+The dawn that finds, beneath my head,
+     The pillows wet with tears.
+
+
+
+TEARS.
+
+O HANDS that I have held in mine,
+     That knew my kisses and my tears,
+     Hands that in other years
+Have poured my balm, have poured my wine;
+
+Women, once loved, and always mine,
+     I call to you across the years,
+     I bring a gift of tears,
+I bring my tears to you as wine.
+
+
+
+THE LAST EXIT.
+
+OUR love was all arrayed in pleasantness,
+     A tender little love that sighed and smiled
+     At little happy nothings, like a child,
+A dainty little love in fancy dress.
+
+But now the love that once was half in play
+     Has come to be this grave and piteous thing.
+     Why did you leave me all this suffering
+For all your memory when you went away?
+
+You might have played the play out, O my friend,
+     Closing upon a kiss our comedy.
+     Or is it, then, a fault of taste in me,
+Who like no tragic exit at the end?
+
+
+
+AFTER LOVE.
+
+O TO part now, and, parting now,
+     Never to meet again;
+To have done for ever, I and thou,
+     With joy, and so with pain.
+
+It is too hard, too hard to meet
+     As friends, and love no more;
+Those other meetings were too sweet
+     That went before.
+
+And I would have, now love it over,
+     An end to all, an end:
+I cannot, having been your lover,
+     Stoop to become your friend!
+
+
+
+ALLA PASSERETTA BRUNA.
+
+IF I bid you, you will come,
+     If I bid you, you will go,
+          You are mine, and so I take you
+To my heart, your home;
+     Well, ah, well I know
+          I shall not forsake you.
+
+I shall always hold you fast,
+     I shall never set you free,
+          You are mine, and I possess you
+Long as life shall last;
+     You will comfort me,
+          I shall bless you.
+
+I shall keep you as we keep
+     Flowers for memory, hid away,
+          Under many a newer token
+Buried deep,
+     Roses of a gaudier day,
+          Rings and trinkets, bright and broken.
+
+Other women I shall love,
+     Fame and fortune I may win,
+          But when fame and love forsake me
+And the light is night above,
+     You will let me in,
+          You will take me.
+
+
+
+NOCTURNES.
+
+
+
+NOCTURNE.
+
+ONE little cab to hold us two,
+Night, an invisible dome of cloud,
+The rattling wheels that made our whispers loud,
+As heart-beats into whispers grew;
+And, long, the Embankment with its lights,
+The pavement glittering with fallen rain,
+The magic and the mystery that are night's,
+And human love without the pain.
+
+The river shook with wavering gleams,
+Deep buried as the glooms that lay
+Impenetrable as the grave of day,
+Near and as distant as our dreams.
+A bright train flashed with all its squares
+Of warm light where the bridge lay mistily.
+The night was all about us: we were free,
+Free of the day and all its cares!
+
+That was an hour of bliss too long,
+Too long to last where joy is brief.
+Yet one escape of souls may yield relief
+To many weary seasons' wrong.
+"O last for ever!" my heart cried;
+It ended: heaven was done.
+I had been dreaming by her side
+That heaven was but begun.
+
+
+
+HER STREET.
+
+(IN ABSENCE.)
+
+I PASSED your street of many memories.
+     A sunset, sombre pink, the flush
+     Of inner rose-leaves idle fingers crush,
+Died softly, as the rose that dies.
+All the high heaven behind the roof lay thus,
+     Tenderly dying, touched with pain
+     A little; standing there I saw again
+The sunsets that were dear to us.
+
+I knew not if 'twere bitter or more sweet
+     To stand and watch the roofs, the sky.
+     O bitter to be there and you not nigh,
+Yet this had been that blessed street.
+How the name thrilled me, there upon the wall!
+    There was the house, the windows there
+     Against the rosy twilight high and bare,
+The pavement-stones: I knew them all!
+
+Days that have been, days that have fallen cold!
+     I stood and gazed, and thought of you,
+     Until remembrance sweet and mournful drew
+Tears to eyes smiling as of old.
+So, sad and glad, your memory visibly
+     Alive within my eyes, I turned;
+     And, through a window, met two eyes that burned,
+Tenderly questioning, on me.
+
+
+
+ON JUDGES' WALK.
+
+THAT night on Judges' Walk the wind
+     Was as the voice of doom;
+The heath, a lake of darkness, lay
+     As silent as the tomb.
+
+The vast night brooded, white with stars,
+     Above the world's unrest;
+The awfulness of silence ached
+     Like a strong heart repressed.
+
+That night we walked beneath the trees,
+     Alone, beneath the trees;
+There was some word we could not say
+     Half uttered in the breeze.
+
+That night on Judges' Walk we said
+     No word of all we had to say;
+But now there shall be no word said
+     Before the Judge's Day.
+
+
+
+IN THE NIGHT.
+
+THE moonlight had tangled the trees
+Under our feet as we walked in the night,
+And the shadows beneath us were stirred by the breeze
+In the magical light;
+And the moon was a silver fire,
+And the stars were flickers of flame,
+Golden and violet and red;
+And the night-wind sighed my desire,
+And the wind in the tree-tops whispered and said
+In her ear her adorable name.
+
+But her heart would not hear what I heard,
+The pulse of the night as it beat,
+Love, Love, Love, the unspeakable word,
+In its murmurous repeat;
+She heard not the night-wind's sigh,
+Nor her own name breathed in her ear,
+Nor the cry of my heart to her heart,
+A speechless, a clamorous cry:
+"Love! Love! will she hear? will she hear?"
+O heart, she will hear, by and by,
+When we part, when for ever we part.
+
+
+
+F�TES GALANTES.
+
+AFTER PAUL VERLAINE.
+
+
+
+MANDOLINE,
+
+THE singers of serenades
+     Whisper their faded vows
+Unto fair listening maids
+     Under the singing boughs.
+
+Tircis, Aminte, are there,
+     Clitandre is over-long,
+And Damis for many a fair
+     Tyrant makes many a song.
+
+Their short vests, silken and bright,
+     Their long pale silken trains,
+Their elegance of delight,
+     Twine soft blue silken chains.
+
+And the mandolines and they,
+     Faintlier breathing, swoon
+Into the rose and grey
+     Ecstasy of the moon.
+
+
+
+DANS L'ALL�E.
+
+AS in the age of shepherd king and queen,
+Painted and frail amid her nodding bows,
+Under the sombre branches, and between
+The green and mossy garden-ways she goes,
+With little mincing airs one keeps to pet
+A darling and provoking perroquet.
+Her long-trained robe is blue, the fan she holds
+With fluent fingers girt with heavy rings,
+So vaguely hints of vague erotic things
+That her eye smiles, musing among its folds.
+--Blonde too, a tiny nose, a rosy mouth,
+Artful as that sly patch that makes more sly,
+In her divine unconscious pride of youth,
+The slightly simpering sparkle of the eye.
+
+
+
+CYTH�RE.
+
+BY favourable breezes fanned,
+     A trellised arbour is at hand
+     To shield us from the summer airs;
+
+The scent of roses, fainting sweet,
+     Afloat upon the summer heat,
+     Blends with the perfume that she wears.
+
+True to the promise her eyes gave,
+     She ventures all, and her mouth rains
+     A dainty fever through my veins;
+
+And Love, fulfilling all things, save
+     Hunger, we 'scape, with sweets and ices,
+     The folly of Love's sacrifices.
+
+
+
+LES INDOLENTS.
+
+BAH! spite of Fate, that says us nay,
+Suppose we die together, eh?
+     --A rare conclusion you discover!
+
+--What's rare is good. Let us die so,
+Like lovers in Boccaccio.
+     --Hi! hi! hi! you fantastic lover!
+
+--Nay, not fantastic. If you will,
+Fond, surely irreproachable.
+     Suppose, then, that we die together?
+
+--Good sir, your jests are fitlier told
+Than when you speak of love or gold.
+     Why speak at all, in this glad weather?
+
+Whereat, behold them once again,
+Tircis beside his Dorim�ne,
+     Not far from two blithe rustic rovers,
+
+For some caprice of idle breath
+Deferring a delicious death.
+     Hi! hi! hi! what fantastic lovers!
+
+
+
+FANTOCHES.
+
+SCARAMOUCHE waves a threatening hand
+To Pulcinella, and they stand,
+     Two shadows, black against the moon.
+
+The old doctor of Bologna pries
+For simples with impassive eyes,
+     And mutters o'er a magic rune.
+
+The while his daughter, scarce half-dressed,
+Glides slyly 'neath the trees, in quest
+     Of her bold pirate lover's sail;
+
+Her pirate from the Spanish main,
+Whose passion thrills her in the pain
+     Of the loud languorous nightingale.
+
+
+
+PANTOMIME.
+
+PIERROT, no sentimental swain,
+Washes a p�t� down again
+     With furtive flagons, white and red.
+
+Cassandre, to chasten his content,
+Greets with a tear of sentiment
+     His nephew disinherited.
+
+That blackguard of a Harlequin
+Pirouettes, and plots to win
+     His Colombine that flits and flies.
+
+Colombine dreams, and starts to find
+A sad heart sighing in the wind,
+     And in her heart a voice that sighs.
+
+
+
+L'AMOUR PAR TERRE.
+
+THE wind the other evening overthrew
+     The little Love who smiled so mockingly
+     Down that mysterious alley, so that we,
+Remembering, mused thereon a whole day through.
+
+The wind has overthrown him! The poor stone
+     Lies scattered to the breezes. It is sad
+     To see the lonely pedestal, that had
+The artist's name, scarce visible, alone,
+
+Oh! it is sad to see the pedestal
+     Left lonely! and in dream I seem to hear
+     Prophetic voices whisper in my ear
+The lonely and despairing end of all.
+
+Oh! it is sad! And thou, hast thou not found
+     One heart-throb for the pity, though thine eye
+     Lights at the gold and purple butterfly
+Brightening the littered leaves upon the ground.
+
+
+
+� CLYM�NE.
+
+MYSTICAL strains unheard,
+A song without a word,
+Dearest, because thine eyes.
+     Pale as the skies,
+
+Because thy voice, remote
+As the far clouds that float
+Veiling for me the whole
+     Heaven of the soul,
+
+Because the stately scent
+Of thy swan's whiteness, blent
+With the white lily's bloom
+     Of thy perfume,
+
+Ah! because thy dear love,
+The music breathed above
+By angels halo-crowned,
+     Odour and sound,
+
+Hath, in my subtle heart,
+With some mysterious art
+Transposed thy harmony,
+     So let it be!
+
+
+
+FROM ROMANCES SANS PAROLES.
+
+TEARS in my heart that weeps,
+Like the rain upon the town,
+What drowsy languor steeps
+In tears my heart that weeps?
+
+O sweet sound of the rain
+On earth and on the roofs!
+For a heart's weary pain
+O the song of the rain!
+
+Vain tears, vain tears, my heart!
+What, none hath done thee wrong?
+Tears without reason start,
+From my disheartened heart.
+
+This is the weariest woe,
+O heart, of love and hate
+Too weary, not to know
+Why thou hast all this woe.
+
+
+
+MOODS AND MEMORIES.
+
+
+
+CITY NIGHTS.
+
+I. IN THE TRAIN.
+
+THE train through the night of the town,
+     Through a blackness broken in twain
+          By the sudden finger of streets;
+Lights, red, yellow, and brown,
+     From curtain and window-pane,
+          The flashing eyes of the streets.
+
+Night, and the rush of the train,
+     A cloud of smoke through the town,
+          Scaring the life of the streets;
+And the leap of the heart again,
+     Out into the night, and down
+          The dazzling vista of streets!
+
+II. IN THE TEMPLE.
+
+THE grey and misty night,
+     Slim trees that hold the night among
+     Their branches, and, along
+The vague Embankment, light on light.
+
+The sudden, racing lights!
+     I can just hear, distinct, aloof,
+     The gaily clattering hoof
+Beating the rhythm of festive nights.
+
+The gardens to the weeping moon
+     Sigh back the breath of tears.
+     O the refrain of years on years
+'Neath the weeping moon!
+
+
+
+A WHITE NIGHT.
+
+THE yellow moon across the clouds
+     That shiver in the sky;
+White, hurrying travellers, the clouds,
+     And, white and aching cold on high,
+     Stars in the sky.
+
+Whiter, along the frozen earth,
+     The miracle of snow;
+Close covered as for sleep, the earth
+     Lies, mutely slumbering below
+     Its shroud of snow.
+
+Sleepless I wander in the night,
+     And, wandering, watch for day;
+Earth sleeps, yet, high in heaven, the night
+     Awakens, faint and far away,
+     A phantom day.
+
+
+
+IN THE VALLEY.
+
+DOWN the valley will I wander, singing songs forlorn,
+Waiting for the maiden coming up between the corn.
+
+Down below I hear the river babbling to the breeze,
+And I see the sunlight kiss the tresses of the trees.
+
+All the corn is shining with the tears of early rain:
+Come, thou sunlight of mine eyes, and bring the dawn again!
+
+Down the valley will I wander, singing songs forlorn,
+Till I meet the maiden coming up between the corn.
+
+
+
+PEACE AT NOON.
+
+HERE there is peace, cool peace,
+Upon these heights, beneath these trees;
+Almost the peace of sleep or death,
+To wearying brain, to labouring breath.
+
+Here there is rest at last,
+A sweet forgetting of the past;
+There is no future here, nor aught
+Save this soft healing pause of thought.
+
+
+
+IN FOUNTAIN COURT.
+
+THE fountain murmuring of sleep,
+     A drowsy tune;
+The flickering green of leaves that keep
+     The light of June;
+Peace, through a slumbering afternoon,
+     The peace of June.
+
+A waiting ghost, in the blue sky,
+     The white curved moon;
+June, hushed and breathless, waits, and I
+     Wait too, with June;
+Come, through the lingering afternoon,
+     Soon, love, come soon.
+
+
+
+AT BURGOS.
+
+MIRACULOUS silver-work in stone
+     Against the blue miraculous skies,
+     The belfry towers and turrets rise
+Out of the arches that enthrone
+     That airy wonder of the skies.
+
+Softly against the burning sun
+     The great cathedral spreads its wings;
+     High up, the lyric belfry sings.
+Behold Ascension Day begun
+     Under the shadow of those wings!
+
+
+
+AT DAWN.
+
+SHE only knew the birth and death
+     Of days, when each that died
+Was still at mom a hope, at night
+     A hope unsatisfied.
+
+The dark trees shivered to behold
+     Another day begin;
+She, being hopeless, did not weep
+     As the grey dawn came in.
+
+
+
+IN AUTUMN.
+
+FRAIL autumn lights upon the leaves
+     Beacon the ending of the year.
+     The windy rains are here,
+Wet nights and blowing winds about the eaves.
+
+Here in the valley, mists begin
+     To breathe about the river side
+     The breath of autumn-tide.
+The dark fields wait to take the harvest in.
+
+And you, and you are far away.
+     Ah, this it is, and not the rain
+     Now loud against the pane,
+That takes the light and colour from the day!
+
+
+
+ON THE ROADS.
+
+THE road winds onward long and white,
+     It curves in mazy coils, and crooks
+A beckoning finger down the height;
+     It calls me with the voice of brooks
+To thirsty travellers in the night.
+
+I leave the lonely city street,
+     The awful silence of the crowd;
+The rhythm of the roads I beat,
+     My blood leaps up, I shout aloud,
+My heart keeps measure with my feet.
+
+Nought know, nought care I whither I wend:
+     'Tis on, on, on, or here or there.
+What profiteth it an aim or end?
+     I walk, and the road leads anywhere.
+Then forward, with the Fates to friend!
+
+'Tis on and on! Who knows but thus
+     Kind Chance shall bring us luck at last?_
+_ Adventures to the adventurous!
+     Hope flies before, and the hours slip past:
+O what have the hours in store for us?
+
+A bird sings something in my ear,
+     The wind sings in my blood a song
+Tis good at times for a man to hear;
+     The road winds onward white and long,
+And the best of Earth is here!
+
+
+
+PIERROT IN HALF-MOURNING.
+
+I THAT am Pierrot, pray you pity me!
+To be so young, so old in misery:
+See me, and how the winter of my grief
+Wastes me, and how I whiten like a leaf,
+And how, like a lost child, lost and afraid,
+I seek the shadow, I that am a shade,
+I that have loved a moonbeam, nor have won
+Any Diana to Endymion.
+Pity me, for I have but loved too well
+The hope of the too fair impossible.
+Ah, it is she, she, Columbine: again
+I see her, and I woo her, and in vain.
+She lures me with her beckoning finger-tip;
+How her eyes shine for me, and how her lips
+Bloom for me, roses, roses, red and rich!
+She waves to me the white arms of a witch
+Over the world: I follow, I forget
+All, but she'll love me yet, she'll love me yet!
+
+
+
+FOR A PICTURE OF WATTEAU.
+
+HERE the vague winds have rest;
+The forest breathes in sleep,
+Lifting a quiet breast;
+It is the hour of rest.
+
+How summer glides away!
+An autumn pallor blooms
+Upon the check of day.
+Come, lovers, come away!
+
+But here, where dead leaves fall
+Upon the grass, what strains,
+Languidly musical,
+Mournfully rise and fall?
+
+Light loves that woke with spring
+This autumn afternoon
+Beholds meandering,
+Still, to the strains of spring.
+
+Your dancing feet are faint,
+Lovers: the air recedes
+Into a sighing plaint,
+Faint, as your loves are faint.
+
+It is the end, the end,
+The dance of love's decease.
+Feign no more now, fair friend!
+It is the end, the end.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Silhouettes, by Arthur Symons
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILHOUETTES ***
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diff --git a/old/29531.txt b/old/29531.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5b6e54f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/29531.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,2270 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Silhouettes, by Arthur Symons
+
+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: Silhouettes
+
+Author: Arthur Symons
+
+Release Date: July 28, 2009 [EBook #29531]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILHOUETTES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Ruth Hart
+
+
+
+
+SILHOUETTES.
+
+BY
+
+ARTHUR SYMONS
+
+
+SECOND EDITION
+REVISED AND ENLARGED
+
+
+LONDON: LEONARD SMITHERS
+EFFINGHAM HOUSE: ARUNDEL STREET
+STRAND: MDCCCXCVI
+
+
+
+TO
+KATHERINE WILLARD,
+NOW
+KATHERINE BALDWIN.
+
+_Paris: May,_ 1892.
+_London: February,_ 1896.
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+*Preface:
+Being a Word on Behalf of Patchouli: p. xiii.
+
+At Dieppe:
+After Sunset: p. 3.
+On the Beach: p. 4.
+Rain on the Down: p. 5.
+Before the Squall: p. 6.
+Under the Cliffs: p. 7.
+Requies: p. 8.
+
+Masks and Faces:
+Pastel: p. 11.
+Her Eyes: p. 12.
+Morbidezza: p. 13.
+Maquillage: p. 14.
+*Impression: p. 15.
+An Angel of Perugino: p. 16.
+At Fontainebleau: p. 17.
+On the Heath: p. 18.
+In the Oratory: p. 19.
+Pattie: p. 20.
+In an Omnibus: p. 21.
+On Meeting After: p. 22.
+In Bohemia: p. 23.
+Emmy: p. 24.
+Emmy at the Eldorado: p. 26.
+*At the Cavour: p. 27.
+In the Haymarket: p. 28.
+At the Lyceum: p. 29.
+The Blind Beggar: p. 30.
+The Old Labourer: p. 31.
+The Absinthe Drinker: p. 32.
+Javanese Dancers p. 33.
+
+Love's Disguises:
+Love in Spring: p. 37.
+Gipsy Love p. 38.
+In Kensington Gardens: p. 39.
+*Rewards: p. 40.
+Perfume: p. 41.
+Souvenir: p. 42.
+*To Mary: p. 43.
+To a Great Actress: p. 44.
+Love in Dreams: p. 45.
+Music and Memory: p. 46.
+*Spring Twilight: p. 47.
+In Winter: p. 48.
+*Quest: p. 49.
+To a Portrait: p. 50.
+*Second Thoughts: p. 51.
+April Midnight: p. 52.
+During Music: p. 53.
+On the Bridge: p. 54.
+"I Dream of Her": p. 55.
+*Tears: p. 56.
+*The Last Exit: p. 57.
+After Love: p. 58.
+Alla Passeretta Bruna: p. 59.
+
+Nocturnes:
+Nocturne: p. 63.
+Her Street: p. 64.
+On Judges' Walk: p. 65.
+In the Night: p. 66.
+
+Fetes Galantes:
+*Mandoline: p. 69.
+*Dans l'Allee p. 70.
+*Cythere: p. 71.
+*Les Indolents: p. 72.
+*Fantoches: p. 73.
+*Pantomine: p. 74.
+*L'Amour par Terre: p. 75.
+*A Clymene: p. 76.
+From Romances sans Parole p. 71.
+
+Moods and Memories:
+City Nights: p. 81.
+A White Night: p. 82.
+In the Valley: p. 83.
+Peace at Noon: p. 84.
+In Fountain Court: p. 85.
+At Burgos: p. 86.
+At Dawn: p. 87.
+In Autumn: p. 88.
+On the Roads: p. 89.
+*Pierrot in Half-Mourning: p. 90.
+For a Picture of Watteau: p. 91.
+
+* The Preface, and the nineteen Poems marked with an asterisk,
+were not contained in the first edition. One Poem has been omitted,
+and many completely rewritten.
+
+
+
+PREFACE:
+
+BEING A WORD ON BEHALF OF PATCHOULI.
+
+AN ingenuous reviewer once described some verses of mine as
+"unwholesome," because, he said, they had "a faint smell of
+Patchouli about them." I am a little sorry he chose Patchouli, for that
+is not a particularly favourite scent with me. If he had only chosen
+Peau d'Espagne, which has a subtle meaning, or Lily of the Valley,
+with which I have associations! But Patchouli will serve. Let me ask,
+then, in republishing, with additions, a collection of little pieces,
+many of which have been objected to, at one time or another, as
+being somewhat deliberately frivolous, why art should not, if it
+please, concern itself with the artificially charming, which, I
+suppose, is what my critic means by Patchouli? All art, surely, is a
+form of artifice, and thus, to the truly devout mind, condemned
+already, if not as actively noxious, at all events as needless. That is a
+point of view which I quite understand, and its conclusion I hold to
+be absolutely logical. I have the utmost respect for the people who
+refuse to read a novel, to go to the theatre, or to learn dancing. That
+is to have convictions and to live up to them. I understand also the
+point of view from which a work of art is tolerated in so far as it is
+actually militant on behalf of a religious or a moral idea. But what I
+fail to understand are those delicate, invisible degrees by which a
+distinction is drawn between this form of art and that; the
+hesitations, and compromises, and timorous advances, and shocked
+retreats, of the Puritan conscience once emancipated, and yet afraid
+of liberty. However you may try to convince yourself to the contrary,
+a work of art can be judged only from two standpoints: the
+standpoint from which its art is measured entirely by its morality,
+and the standpoint from which its morality is measured entirely by
+its art.
+
+Here, for once, in connection with these "Silhouettes," I have not, if
+my recollection serves me, been accused of actual immorality. I am
+but a fair way along the "primrose path," not yet within singeing
+distance of the "everlasting bonfire." In other words, I have not yet
+written "London Nights," which, it appears (I can scarcely realize it,
+in my innocent abstraction in aesthetical matters), has no very
+salutary reputation among the blameless moralists of the press. I
+need not, therefore, on this occasion, concern myself with more than
+the curious fallacy by which there is supposed to be something
+inherently wrong in artistic work which deals frankly and lightly
+with the very real charm of the lighter emotions and the more
+fleeting sensations.
+
+I do not wish to assert that the kind of verse which happened to
+reflect certain moods of mine at a certain period of my life, is the
+best kind of verse in itself, or is likely to seem to me, in other years,
+when other moods may have made me their own, the best kind of
+verse for my own expression of myself. Nor do I affect to doubt that
+the creation of the supreme emotion is a higher form of art than the
+reflection of the most exquisite sensation, the evocation of the most
+magical impression. I claim only an equal liberty for the rendering
+of every mood of that variable and inexplicable and contradictory
+creature which we call ourselves, of every aspect under which we
+are gifted or condemned to apprehend the beauty and strangeness
+and curiosity of the visible world.
+
+Patchouli! Well, why not Patchouli? Is there any "reason in nature"
+why we should write exclusively about the natural blush, if the
+delicately acquired blush of rouge has any attraction for us? Both
+exist; both, I think, are charming in their way; and the latter, as a
+subject, has, at all events, more novelty. If you prefer your
+"new-mown hay" in the hayfield, and I, it may be, in a scent-bottle, why
+may not my individual caprice be allowed to find expression as well
+as yours? Probably I enjoy the hayfield as much as you do; but I
+enjoy quite other scents and sensations as well, and I take the former
+for granted, and write my poem, for a change, about the latter. There
+is no necessary difference in artistic value between a good poem
+about a flower in the hedge and a good poem about the scent in a
+sachet. I am always charmed to read beautiful poems about nature in
+the country. Only, personally, I prefer town to country; and in the
+town we have to find for ourselves, as best we may, the _decor_
+which is the town equivalent of the great natural _decor_ of fields
+and hills. Here it is that artificiality comes in; and if any one sees no
+beauty in the effects of artificial light, in all the variable, most
+human, and yet most factitious town landscape, I can only pity him,
+and go on my own way.
+
+That is, if he will let me. But he tells me that one thing is right and
+the other is wrong; that one is good art and the other is bad; and I
+listen in amazement, sometimes not without impatience, wondering
+why an estimable personal prejudice should be thus exalted into a
+dogma, and uttered in the name of art. For in art there can be no
+prejudices, only results. If we arc to save people's souls by the
+writing of verses, well and good. But if not, there is no choice but to
+admit an absolute freedom of choice. And if Patchouli pleases one,
+why not Patchouli?
+
+          Arthur Symons.
+     London, _February,_1896.
+
+
+
+AT DIEPPE.
+
+
+
+AFTER SUNSET.
+
+THE sea lies quieted beneath
+     The after-sunset flush
+That leaves upon the heaped grey clouds
+     The grape's faint purple blush.
+
+Pale, from a little space in heaven
+     Of delicate ivory,
+The sickle-moon and one gold star
+     Look down upon the sea.
+
+
+
+ON THE BEACH.
+
+NIGHT, a grey sky, a ghostly sea,
+     The soft beginning of the rain:
+     Black on the horizon, sails that wane
+Into the distance mistily.
+
+The tide is rising, I can hear
+     The soft roar broadening far along;
+It cries and murmurs in my car
+     A sleepy old forgotten song.
+
+Softly the stealthy night descends,
+     The black sails fade into the sky:
+Is this not, where the sea-line ends,
+     The shore-line of infinity?
+
+I cannot think or dream: the grey
+     Unending waste of sea and night,
+     Dull, impotently infinite,
+Blots out the very hope of day.
+
+
+
+RAIN ON THE DOWN.
+
+NIGHT, and the down by the sea,
+     And the veil of rain on the down;
+And she came through the mist and the rain to me
+     From the safe warm lights of the town.
+
+The rain shone in her hair,
+     And her face gleamed in the rain;
+And only the night and the rain were there
+     As she came to me out of the rain.
+
+
+
+BEFORE THE SQUALL.
+
+THE wind is rising on the sea,
+     White flashes dance along the deep,
+That moans as if uneasily
+     It turned in an unquiet sleep.
+
+Ridge after rocky ridge upheaves
+     A toppling crest that falls in spray
+Where the tormented beach receives
+     The buffets of the sea's wild play.
+
+On the horizon's nearing line,
+     Where the sky rests, a visible wall.
+Grey in the offing, I divine
+     The sails that fly before the squall.
+
+
+
+UNDER THE CLIFFS.
+
+BRIGHT light to windward on the horizon's verge;
+To leeward, stormy shadows, violet-black,
+And the wide sea between
+A vast unfurrowed field of windless green;
+The stormy shadows flicker on the track
+Of phantom sails that vanish and emerge.
+
+I gaze across the sea, remembering her.
+I watch the white sun walk across the sea,
+This pallid afternoon,
+With feet that tread as whitely as the moon,
+And in his fleet and shining feet I see
+The footsteps of another voyager.
+
+
+
+REQUIES.
+
+O IS it death or life
+     That sounds like something strangely known
+In this subsiding out of strife,
+     This slow sea-monotone?
+
+A sound, scarce heard through sleep,
+     Murmurous as the August bees
+That fill the forest hollows deep
+     About the roots of trees.
+
+O is it life or death,
+     O is it hope or memory,
+That quiets all things with this breath
+     Of the eternal sea?
+
+
+
+MASKS AND FACES.
+
+
+
+PASTEL.
+
+THE light of our cigarettes
+     Went and came in the gloom:
+     It was dark in the little room.
+
+Dark, and then, in the dark,
+     Sudden, a flash, a glow,
+     And a hand and a ring I know.
+
+And then, through the dark, a flush
+     Ruddy and vague, the grace--
+     A rose--of her lyric face.
+
+
+
+HER EYES.
+
+BENEATH the heaven of her brows'
+     Unclouded noon of peace, there lies
+A leafy heaven of hazel boughs
+     In the seclusion of her eyes;
+
+Her troubling eyes that cannot rest;
+     And there's a little flame that dances
+(A firefly in a grassy nest)
+     In the green circle of her glances;
+
+A frolic Faun that must be hid,
+     Shyly, in some fantastic shade,
+Where pity droops a tender lid
+     On laughter of itself afraid.
+
+
+
+MORBIDEZZA.
+
+WHITE girl, your flesh is lilies
+Grown 'neath a frozen moon,
+So still is
+The rapture of your swoon
+Of whiteness, snow or lilies.
+
+The virginal revealment,
+Your bosom's wavering slope,
+Concealment,
+'Neath fainting heliotrope,
+Of whitest white's revealment,
+
+Is like a bed of lilies,
+A jealous-guarded row,
+Whose will is
+Simply chaste dreams:--but oh,
+The alluring scent of lilies!
+
+
+
+MAQUILLAGE.
+
+THE charm of rouge on fragile cheeks,
+     Pearl-powder, and, about the eyes,
+The dark and lustrous Eastern dyes;
+     The floating odour that bespeaks
+A scented boudoir and the doubtful night
+Of alcoves curtained close against the light
+
+Gracile and creamy white and rose,
+     Complexioned like the flower of dawn,
+Her fleeting colours are as those
+     That, from an April sky withdrawn,
+Fade in a fragrant mist of tears away
+When weeping noon leads on the altered day.
+
+
+
+IMPRESSION.
+
+TO M. C.
+
+THE pink and black of silk and lace,
+     Flushed in the rosy-golden glow
+Of lamplight on her lifted face;
+Powder and wig, and pink and lace,
+
+And those pathetic eyes of hers;
+     But all the London footlights know
+The little plaintive smile that stirs
+The shadow in those eyes of hers.
+
+Outside, the dreary church-bell tolled,
+     The London Sunday faded slow;
+Ah, what is this? what wings unfold
+In this miraculous rose of gold?
+
+
+
+AN ANGEL OF PERUGINO.
+
+HAVE I not seen your face before
+     Where Perugino's angels stand
+In those calm circles, and adore
+     With singing throat and lifted hand?
+
+So the pale hair lay crescent-wise,
+     About the placid forehead curled,
+And the pale piety of eyes
+     Was as God's peace upon the world.
+
+And you, a simple child serene,
+     Wander upon your quiet way,
+Nor know that any eyes have seen
+     The Umbrian halo crown the day.
+
+
+
+AT FONTAINEBLEAU.
+
+IT was a day of sun and rain,
+     Uncertain as a child's quick moods;
+And I shall never pass again
+     So blithe a day among the woods.
+
+The forest knew you and was glad,
+     And laughed for very joy to know
+Her child was with her; then, grown sad,
+     She wept, because her child must go.
+
+And you would spy and you would capture
+     The shyest flower that lit the grass:
+The joy I had to watch your rapture
+     Was keen as even your rapture was.
+
+The forest knew you and was glad,
+     And laughed and wept for joy and woe.
+This was the welcome that you had
+     Among the woods of Fontainebleau.
+
+
+
+ON THE HEATH.
+
+HER face's wilful flash and glow
+     Turned all its light upon my face
+     One bright delirious moment's space,
+And then she passed: I followed slow
+
+Across the heath, and up and round,
+     And watched the splendid death of day
+     Upon the summits far away,
+And in her fateful beauty found
+
+The fierce wild beauty of the light
+     That startles twilight on the hills,
+     And lightens all the mountain rills,
+And flames before the feet of night.
+
+
+
+IN THE ORATORY.
+
+THE incense mounted like a cloud,
+     A golden cloud of languid scent;
+Robed priests before the altar bowed,
+     Expecting the divine event.
+
+Then silence, like a prisoner bound,
+     Rose, by a mighty hand set free,
+And dazzlingly, in shafts of sound,
+     Thundered Beethoven's Mass in C.
+
+She knelt in prayer; large lids serene
+     Lay heavy on the sombre eyes,
+As though to veil some vision seen
+     Upon the mounts of Paradise.
+
+Her dark face, calm as carven stone.
+     The face that twilight shows the day,
+Brooded, mysteriously alone,
+     And infinitely far away.
+
+Inexplicable eyes that drew
+     Mine eyes adoring, why from me
+Demand, new Sphinx, the fatal clue
+     That seals my doom or conquers thee?
+
+
+
+PATTIE.
+
+COOL comely country Pattie, grown
+     A daisy where the daisies grow,
+No wind of heaven has ever blown
+     Across a field-flower's daintier snow.
+
+Gold-white among the meadow-grass
+     The humble little daisies thrive;
+I cannot see them as I pass,
+     But I am glad to be alive.
+
+And so I turn where Pattie stands,
+     A flower among the flowers at play;
+I'll lay my heart into her hands,
+     And she will smile the clouds away.
+
+
+
+IN AN OMNIBUS.
+
+YOUR smile is like a treachery,
+     A treachery adorable;
+So smiles the siren where the sea
+     Sings to the unforgetting shell.
+
+Your fleeting Leonardo face,
+     Parisian Monna Lisa, dreams
+     Elusively, but not of streams
+Born in a shadow-haunted place.
+
+Of Paris, Paris, is your thought,
+     Of Paris robes, and when to wear
+The latest bonnet you have bought
+     To match the marvel of your hair.
+
+Yet that fine malice of your smile,
+     That faint and fluctuating glint
+     Between your eyelids, does it hint
+Alone of matters mercantile?
+
+Close lips that keep the secret in,
+     Half spoken by the stealthy eyes,
+Is there indeed no word to win,
+     No secret, from the vague replies
+
+Of lips and lids that feign to hide
+     That which they feign to render up?
+     Is there, in Tantalus' dim cup,
+The shadow of water, nought beside?
+
+
+
+ON MEETING AFTER.
+
+HER eyes are haunted, eyes that were
+     Scarce sad when last we met.
+What thing is this has come to her
+     That she may not forget?
+
+They loved, they married: it is well!
+     But ah, what memories
+Are these whereof her eyes half tell,
+     Her haunted eyes?
+
+
+
+IN BOHEMIA.
+
+DRAWN blinds and flaring gas within,
+     And wine, and women, and cigars;
+Without, the city's heedless din;
+     Above, the white unheeding stars.
+
+And we, alike from each remote,
+     The world that works, the heaven that waits,
+Con our brief pleasures o'er by rote,
+     The favourite pastime of the Fates.
+
+We smoke, to fancy that we dream,
+     And drink, a moment's joy to prove,
+And fain would love, and only seem
+     To love because we cannot love.
+
+Draw back the blinds, put out the light:
+     'Tis morning, let the daylight come.
+God! how the women's checks are white,
+     And how the sunlight strikes us dumb!
+
+
+
+EMMY.
+
+EMMY'S exquisite youth and her virginal air,
+     Eyes and teeth in the flash of a musical smile,
+Come to me out of the past, and I see her there
+     As I saw her once for a while.
+
+Emmy's laughter rings in my ears, as bright,
+     Fresh and sweet as the voice of a mountain brook,
+And still I hear her telling us tales that night,
+     Out of Boccaccio's book.
+
+There, in the midst of the villainous dancing-hall,
+     Leaning across the table, over the beer,
+While the music maddened the whirling skirts of the ball,
+     As the midnight hour drew near,
+
+There with the women, haggard, painted and old,
+     One fresh bud in a garland withered and stale,
+She, with her innocent voice and her clear eyes, told
+     Tale after shameless tale.
+
+And ever the witching smile, to her face beguiled,
+     Paused and broadened, and broke in a ripple of fun,
+And the soul of a child looked out of the eyes of a child,
+     Or ever the tale was done.
+
+O my child, who wronged you first, and began
+     First the dance of death that you dance so well?
+Soul for soul: and I think the soul of a man
+     Shall answer for yours in hell.
+
+
+
+EMMY AT THE ELDORADO.
+
+TO meet, of all unlikely things,
+Here, after all one's wanderings!
+But, Emmy, though we meet,
+What of this lover at your feet?
+
+For, is this Emmy that I see?
+A fragile domesticity
+I seem to half surprise
+In the evasions of those eyes.
+
+Once a child's cloudless eyes, they seem
+Lost in the blue depths of a dream,
+As though, for innocent hours,
+To stray with love among the flowers.
+
+Without regret, without desire,
+In those old days of love on hire,
+Child, child, what will you do,
+Emmy, now love is come to you?
+
+Already, in so brief a while,
+The gleam has faded from your smile;
+This grave and tender air
+Leaves you, for all but one, less fair.
+
+Then, you were heedless, happy, gay,
+Immortally a child; to-day
+A woman, at the years' control:
+Undine has found a soul.
+
+
+
+AT THE CAVOUR.
+
+WINE, the red coals, the flaring gas,
+     Bring out a brighter tone in cheeks
+That learn at home before the glass
+     The flush that eloquently speaks.
+
+The blue-grey smoke of cigarettes
+     Curls from the lessening ends that glow;
+The men are thinking of the bets,
+     The women of the debts, they owe.
+
+Then their eyes meet, and in their eyes
+     The accustomed smile comes up to call,
+A look half miserably wise.
+     Half heedlessly ironical.
+
+
+
+IN THE HAYMARKET.
+
+I DANCED at your ball a year ago,
+     To-night I pay for your bread and cheese,
+"And a glass of bitters, if you please,
+     For you drank my best champagne, you know!"
+
+Madcap ever, you laugh the while,
+     As you drink your bitters and munch your bread;
+The face is the same, and the same old smile
+     Came up at a word I said.
+
+A year ago I danced at your ball,
+     I sit by your side in the bar to-night;
+And the luck has changed, you say: that's all!
+     And the luck will change, you say: all right!
+
+For the men go by, and the rent's to pay,
+     And you haven't a friend in the world to-day;
+And the money comes and the money goes:
+     And to-night, who cares? and to-morrow, who knows?
+
+
+
+AT THE LYCEUM.
+
+HER eyes are brands that keep the angry heat
+     Of fire that crawls and leaves an ashen
+     The dust of this devouring flame she hath
+Upon her cheeks and eyelids. Fresh and sweet
+In days that were, her sultry beauty now
+     Is pain transfigured, love's impenitence,
+     The memory of a maiden innocence,
+As a crown set upon a weary brow.
+
+She sits, and fain would listen, fain forget;
+     She smiles, but with those tragic, waiting eyes,
+Those proud and piteous lips that hunger yet
+     For love's fulfilment. Ah, when Landry cries
+"My heart is dead!" with what a wild regret
+     Her own heart feels the throb that never dies!
+
+
+
+THE BLIND BEGGAR.
+
+HE stands, a patient figure, where the crowd
+     Heaves to and fro beside him. In his ears
+     All day the Fair goes thundering, and he hears
+In darkness, as a dead man in his shroud.
+Patient he stands, with age and sorrow bowed,
+     And holds a piteous hat of ancient yean;
+     And in his face and gesture there appears
+The desperate humbleness of poor men proud.
+
+What thoughts are his, as, with the inward sight,
+     He sees those mirthful faces pass him by?
+Is the long darkness darker for that light.
+     The misery deeper when that joy is nigh?
+Patient, alone, he stands from morn to night,
+     Pleading in his reproachful misery.
+
+
+
+THE OLD LABOURER.
+
+HIS fourscore years have bent a back of oak,
+     His earth-brown cheeks are full of hollow pits;
+     His gnarled hands wander idly as he sits
+Bending above the hearthstone's feeble smoke.
+Threescore and ten slow years he tilled the land;
+     He wrung his bread from out the stubborn soil;
+     He saw his masters flourish through his toil;
+He held their substance in his horny hand.
+
+Now he is old: he asks for daily bread:
+     He who has sowed the bread he may not taste
+          Begs for the crumbs: he would do no man wrong.
+The Parish Guardians, when his case is read,
+     Will grant him (yet with no unseemly haste)
+     Just seventeen pence to starve on, seven days long.
+
+
+
+THE ABSINTHE DRINKER.
+
+GENTLY I wave the visible world away.
+     Far off, I hear a roar, afar yet near,
+     Far off and strange, a voice is in my ear,
+And is the voice my own? the words I say
+Fall strangely, like a dream, across the day;
+     And the dim sunshine is a dream. How clear,
+     New as the world to lovers' eyes, appear
+The men and women passing on their way!
+
+The world is very fair. The hours are all
+     Linked in a dance of mere forgetfulness.
+          I am at peace with God and man. O glide,
+Sands of the hour-glass that I count not, fall
+     Serenely: scarce I feel your soft caress.
+          Rocked on this dreamy and indifferent tide.
+
+
+
+JAVANESE DANCERS,
+
+TWITCHED strings, the clang of metal, beaten drums.
+     Dull, shrill, continuous, disquieting;
+And now the stealthy dancer comes
+     Undulantly with cat-like steps that cling;
+
+Smiling between her painted lids a smile,
+     Motionless, unintelligible, she twines
+     Her fingers into mazy lines,
+Twining her scarves across them all the while.
+
+One, two, three, four step forth, and, to and fro,
+     Delicately and imperceptibly,
+Now swaying gently in a row,
+     Now interthreading slow and rhythmically,
+
+Still with fixed eyes, monotonously still,
+     Mysteriously, with smiles inanimate,
+     With lingering feet that undulate,
+With sinuous fingers, spectral hands that thrill,
+
+The little amber-coloured dancers move,
+     Like little painted figures on a screen,
+     Or phantom-dancers haply seen
+Among the shadows of a magic grove.
+
+
+
+LOVE'S DISGUISES.
+
+
+
+LOVE IN SPRING.
+
+GOOD to be loved and to love for a little, and then
+     Well to forget, be forgotten, ere loving grow life!
+Dear, you have loved me, but was I the man among men?
+Sweet, I have loved you, but scarcely as mistress or wife.
+
+Message of Spring in the hearts of a man and a maid,
+     Hearts on a holiday: ho! let us love: it is Spring.
+Joy in the birds of the air, in the buds of the glade,
+     Joy in our hearts in the joy of the hours on the wing.
+
+Well, but to-morrow? To-morrow, good-bye: it is over.
+     Scarcely with tears shall we part, with a smile who had met.
+Tears? What is this? But I thought we were playing at lover.
+     Play-time is past. I am going. And you love me yet!
+
+
+
+GIPSY LOVE.
+
+THE gipsy tents are on the down,
+     The gipsy girls are here;
+And it's O to be off and away from the town
+     With a gipsy for my dear!
+
+We'd make our bed in the bracken
+     With the lark for a chambermaid;
+The lark would sing us awake in the mornings
+     Singing above our head.
+
+We'd drink the sunlight all day long
+     With never a house to bind us;
+And we'd only flout in a merry song
+     The world we left behind us.
+
+We would be free as birds are free
+     The livelong day, the livelong day;
+And we would lie in the sunny bracken
+     With none to say us nay.
+
+The gipsy tents are on the down,
+     The gipsy girls are here;
+And it's O to be off and away from the town
+     With a gipsy for my dear!
+
+
+
+IN KENSINGTON GARDENS.
+
+UNDER the almond tree,
+Room for my love and me!
+     Over our heads the April blossom;
+April-hearted are we.
+
+Under the pink and white,
+Love in her eyes alight;
+     Love and the Spring and Kensington Gardens:
+Hey for the heart's delight!
+
+
+
+REWARDS.
+
+BECAUSE you cried, I kissed you, and,
+Ah me! how should I understand
+That piteous little you were fain
+To cry and to be kissed again?
+
+Because you smiled at last, I thought
+That I had found what I had sought.
+But soon I found, without a doubt,
+No man can find a woman out.
+
+I kissed your tears, and did not stay
+Till I had kissed them all away.
+Ah, hapless me! ah, heartless child!
+She would not kiss me when she smiled.
+
+
+
+PERFUME.
+
+SHAKE out your hair about me, so,
+     That I may feel the stir and scent
+Of those vague odours come and go
+     The way our kisses went.
+
+Night gave this priceless hour of love,
+     But now the dawn steals in apace,
+And amorously bends above
+     The wonder of your face.
+
+"Farewell" between our kisses creeps,
+     You fade, a ghost, upon the air;
+Yet, ah! the vacant place still keeps
+     The odour of your hair.
+
+
+
+SOUVENIR.
+
+HOW you haunt me with your eyes!
+Still that questioning persistence,
+Sad and sweet, across the distance
+Of the days of love and laughter,
+Those old days of love and lies.
+
+Not reproaching, not reproving,
+Only, always, questioning,
+Those divinest eyes can bring
+Memories of certain summers,
+Nights of dreaming, days of loving,
+
+When I loved you, when your kiss,
+Shyer than a bird to capture,
+Lit a sudden heaven of rapture;
+When we neither dreamt that either
+Could grow old in heart like this.
+
+Do you still, in love's December,
+Still remember, still regret
+That sweet unavailing debt?
+Ah, you haunt me, to remind me
+You remember, I forget!
+
+
+
+TO MARY.
+
+IF, Mary, that imperious face,
+     And not in dreams alone,
+Come to this shadow-haunted place
+     And claim dominion;
+
+If, for your sake, I do unqueen
+     Some well-remembered ghost,
+Forgetting much of what hath been
+     Best loved, remembered most;
+
+It is your witchery, not my will,
+     Your beauty, not my choice:
+My shadows knew me faithful, till
+     They heard your living voice.
+
+
+
+TO A GREAT ACTRESS.
+
+SHE has taken my heart, though she knows not, would care not.
+     It thrills at her voice like a reed in the wind;
+I would taste all her agonies, have her to spare not,
+          Sin deep as she sinned,
+
+To be tossed by the storm of her love, as the ocean
+     Rocks vessels to wreck; to be hers, though the cost
+Were the loss of all else: for that moment's emotion
+          Content to be lost!
+
+To be, for a moment, the man of all men to her,
+     All the world, for one measureless moment complete;
+To possess, be possessed! To be mockery then to her,
+          Then to die at her feet!
+
+
+
+LOVE IN DREAMS.
+
+I LIE on my pallet bed,
+     And I hear the drip of the rain;
+The rain on my garret roof is falling,
+     And I am cold and in pain.
+
+I lie on my pallet bed,
+     And my heart is wild with delight;
+I hear her voice through the midnight calling,
+     As I lie awake in the night.
+
+I lie on my pallet bed,
+     And I see her bright eyes gleam;
+She smiles, she speaks, and the world is ended,
+     And made again in a dream.
+
+
+
+MUSIC AND MEMORY.
+
+To K.W.
+
+ACROSS the tides of music, in the night,
+Her magical face,
+A light upon it as the happy light
+Of dreams in some delicious place
+Under the moonlight in the night.
+
+Music, soft throbbing music in the night,
+Her memory swims
+Into the brain, a carol of delight;
+The cup of music overbrims
+With wine of memory, in the night.
+
+Her face across the music, in the night,
+Her face a refrain,
+A light that sings along the waves of light,
+A memory that returns again,
+Music in music, in the night.
+
+
+
+SPRING TWILIGHT.
+
+To K. W.
+
+THE twilight droops across the day,
+     I watch her portrait on the wall
+Palely recede into the grey
+     That palely comes and covers all.
+
+The sad Spring twilight, dull, forlorn,
+     The menace of the dreary night:
+But in her face, more fair than morn,
+     A sweet suspension of delight.
+
+
+
+IN WINTER.
+
+PALE from the watery west, with the pallor of winter a-cold,
+Rays of the afternoon sun in a glimmer across the trees;
+Glittering moist underfoot, the long alley. The firs, one by one,
+Catch and conceal, as I saunter, and flash in a dazzle of gold
+Lower and lower the vanishing disc: and the sun alone sees
+At I wait for my love in the fir-tree alley alone with the sun.
+
+
+
+QUEST.
+
+I CHASE a shadow through the night,
+     A shadow unavailing;
+Out of the dark, into the light,
+     I follow, follow: is it she?
+
+Against the wall of sea outlined,
+     Outlined against the windows lit,
+The shadow flickers, and behind
+     I follow, follow after it.
+
+The shadow leads me through the night
+     To the grey margin of the sea;
+Out of the dark, into the light,
+     I follow unavailingly.
+
+
+
+TO A PORTRAIT.
+
+A PENSIVE photograph
+     Watches me from the shelf:
+Ghost of old love, and half
+     Ghost of myself!
+
+How the dear waiting eyes
+     Watch me and love me yet:
+Sad home of memories,
+     Her waiting eyes!
+
+Ghost of old love, wronged ghost,
+     Return, though all the pain
+Of all once loved, long lost,
+     Come back again.
+
+Forget not, but forgive!
+     Alas, too late I cry.
+We are two ghosts that had their chance to live,
+     And lost it, she and I.
+
+
+
+SECOND THOUGHTS.
+
+WHEN you were here, ah foolish then!
+     I scarcely knew I loved you, dear.
+I know it now, I know it when
+     You are no longer here.
+
+When you were here, I sometimes tired,
+     Ah me! that you so loved me, dear.
+Now, in these weary days desired,
+     You are no longer here.
+
+When you were here, did either know
+     That each so loved the other, dear?
+But that was long and long ago:
+     You are no longer here.
+
+
+
+APRIL MIDNIGHT.
+
+SIDE by side through the streets at midnight,
+     Roaming together,
+Through the tumultuous night of London,
+     In the miraculous April weather.
+
+Roaming together under the gaslight,
+     Day's work over,
+How the Spring calls to us, here in the city,
+     Calls to the heart from the heart of a lover!
+
+Cool the wind blows, fresh in our faces,
+     Cleansing, entrancing,
+After the heat and the fumes and the footlights,
+     Where you dance and I watch your dancing.
+
+Good it is to be here together,
+     Good to be roaming;
+Even in London, even at midnight,
+     Lover-like in a lover's gloaming.
+
+You the dancer and I the dreamer,
+     Children together,
+Wandering lost in the night of London,
+     In the miraculous April weather.
+
+
+
+DURING MUSIC.
+
+THE music had the heat of blood,
+     A passion that no words can reach;
+We sat together, and understood
+     Our own heart's speech.
+
+We had no need of word or sign,
+     The music spoke for us, and said
+All that her eyes could read in mine
+     Or mine in hers had read.
+
+
+
+ON THE BRIDGE.
+
+MIDNIGHT falls across hollow gulfs of
+night
+     As a stone that falls in a sounding well;
+Under us the Seine flows through dark and light,
+     While the beat of time--hark!--is audible.
+
+Lights on bank and bridge glitter gold and red,
+     Lights upon the stream glitter red and white;
+Under us the night, and the night overhead.
+     We together, we alone together in the night.
+
+
+
+"I DREAM OF HER."
+
+I DREAM of her the whole night long,
+     The pillows with my tears are wet.
+I wake, I seek amid the throng
+     The courage to forget.
+
+Yet still, as night comes round, I dread,
+     With unavailing fears,
+The dawn that finds, beneath my head,
+     The pillows wet with tears.
+
+
+
+TEARS.
+
+O HANDS that I have held in mine,
+     That knew my kisses and my tears,
+     Hands that in other years
+Have poured my balm, have poured my wine;
+
+Women, once loved, and always mine,
+     I call to you across the years,
+     I bring a gift of tears,
+I bring my tears to you as wine.
+
+
+
+THE LAST EXIT.
+
+OUR love was all arrayed in pleasantness,
+     A tender little love that sighed and smiled
+     At little happy nothings, like a child,
+A dainty little love in fancy dress.
+
+But now the love that once was half in play
+     Has come to be this grave and piteous thing.
+     Why did you leave me all this suffering
+For all your memory when you went away?
+
+You might have played the play out, O my friend,
+     Closing upon a kiss our comedy.
+     Or is it, then, a fault of taste in me,
+Who like no tragic exit at the end?
+
+
+
+AFTER LOVE.
+
+O TO part now, and, parting now,
+     Never to meet again;
+To have done for ever, I and thou,
+     With joy, and so with pain.
+
+It is too hard, too hard to meet
+     As friends, and love no more;
+Those other meetings were too sweet
+     That went before.
+
+And I would have, now love it over,
+     An end to all, an end:
+I cannot, having been your lover,
+     Stoop to become your friend!
+
+
+
+ALLA PASSERETTA BRUNA.
+
+IF I bid you, you will come,
+     If I bid you, you will go,
+          You are mine, and so I take you
+To my heart, your home;
+     Well, ah, well I know
+          I shall not forsake you.
+
+I shall always hold you fast,
+     I shall never set you free,
+          You are mine, and I possess you
+Long as life shall last;
+     You will comfort me,
+          I shall bless you.
+
+I shall keep you as we keep
+     Flowers for memory, hid away,
+          Under many a newer token
+Buried deep,
+     Roses of a gaudier day,
+          Rings and trinkets, bright and broken.
+
+Other women I shall love,
+     Fame and fortune I may win,
+          But when fame and love forsake me
+And the light is night above,
+     You will let me in,
+          You will take me.
+
+
+
+NOCTURNES.
+
+
+
+NOCTURNE.
+
+ONE little cab to hold us two,
+Night, an invisible dome of cloud,
+The rattling wheels that made our whispers loud,
+As heart-beats into whispers grew;
+And, long, the Embankment with its lights,
+The pavement glittering with fallen rain,
+The magic and the mystery that are night's,
+And human love without the pain.
+
+The river shook with wavering gleams,
+Deep buried as the glooms that lay
+Impenetrable as the grave of day,
+Near and as distant as our dreams.
+A bright train flashed with all its squares
+Of warm light where the bridge lay mistily.
+The night was all about us: we were free,
+Free of the day and all its cares!
+
+That was an hour of bliss too long,
+Too long to last where joy is brief.
+Yet one escape of souls may yield relief
+To many weary seasons' wrong.
+"O last for ever!" my heart cried;
+It ended: heaven was done.
+I had been dreaming by her side
+That heaven was but begun.
+
+
+
+HER STREET.
+
+(IN ABSENCE.)
+
+I PASSED your street of many memories.
+     A sunset, sombre pink, the flush
+     Of inner rose-leaves idle fingers crush,
+Died softly, as the rose that dies.
+All the high heaven behind the roof lay thus,
+     Tenderly dying, touched with pain
+     A little; standing there I saw again
+The sunsets that were dear to us.
+
+I knew not if 'twere bitter or more sweet
+     To stand and watch the roofs, the sky.
+     O bitter to be there and you not nigh,
+Yet this had been that blessed street.
+How the name thrilled me, there upon the wall!
+    There was the house, the windows there
+     Against the rosy twilight high and bare,
+The pavement-stones: I knew them all!
+
+Days that have been, days that have fallen cold!
+     I stood and gazed, and thought of you,
+     Until remembrance sweet and mournful drew
+Tears to eyes smiling as of old.
+So, sad and glad, your memory visibly
+     Alive within my eyes, I turned;
+     And, through a window, met two eyes that burned,
+Tenderly questioning, on me.
+
+
+
+ON JUDGES' WALK.
+
+THAT night on Judges' Walk the wind
+     Was as the voice of doom;
+The heath, a lake of darkness, lay
+     As silent as the tomb.
+
+The vast night brooded, white with stars,
+     Above the world's unrest;
+The awfulness of silence ached
+     Like a strong heart repressed.
+
+That night we walked beneath the trees,
+     Alone, beneath the trees;
+There was some word we could not say
+     Half uttered in the breeze.
+
+That night on Judges' Walk we said
+     No word of all we had to say;
+But now there shall be no word said
+     Before the Judge's Day.
+
+
+
+IN THE NIGHT.
+
+THE moonlight had tangled the trees
+Under our feet as we walked in the night,
+And the shadows beneath us were stirred by the breeze
+In the magical light;
+And the moon was a silver fire,
+And the stars were flickers of flame,
+Golden and violet and red;
+And the night-wind sighed my desire,
+And the wind in the tree-tops whispered and said
+In her ear her adorable name.
+
+But her heart would not hear what I heard,
+The pulse of the night as it beat,
+Love, Love, Love, the unspeakable word,
+In its murmurous repeat;
+She heard not the night-wind's sigh,
+Nor her own name breathed in her ear,
+Nor the cry of my heart to her heart,
+A speechless, a clamorous cry:
+"Love! Love! will she hear? will she hear?"
+O heart, she will hear, by and by,
+When we part, when for ever we part.
+
+
+
+FETES GALANTES.
+
+AFTER PAUL VERLAINE.
+
+
+
+MANDOLINE,
+
+THE singers of serenades
+     Whisper their faded vows
+Unto fair listening maids
+     Under the singing boughs.
+
+Tircis, Aminte, are there,
+     Clitandre is over-long,
+And Damis for many a fair
+     Tyrant makes many a song.
+
+Their short vests, silken and bright,
+     Their long pale silken trains,
+Their elegance of delight,
+     Twine soft blue silken chains.
+
+And the mandolines and they,
+     Faintlier breathing, swoon
+Into the rose and grey
+     Ecstasy of the moon.
+
+
+
+DANS L'ALLEE.
+
+AS in the age of shepherd king and queen,
+Painted and frail amid her nodding bows,
+Under the sombre branches, and between
+The green and mossy garden-ways she goes,
+With little mincing airs one keeps to pet
+A darling and provoking perroquet.
+Her long-trained robe is blue, the fan she holds
+With fluent fingers girt with heavy rings,
+So vaguely hints of vague erotic things
+That her eye smiles, musing among its folds.
+--Blonde too, a tiny nose, a rosy mouth,
+Artful as that sly patch that makes more sly,
+In her divine unconscious pride of youth,
+The slightly simpering sparkle of the eye.
+
+
+
+CYTHERE.
+
+BY favourable breezes fanned,
+     A trellised arbour is at hand
+     To shield us from the summer airs;
+
+The scent of roses, fainting sweet,
+     Afloat upon the summer heat,
+     Blends with the perfume that she wears.
+
+True to the promise her eyes gave,
+     She ventures all, and her mouth rains
+     A dainty fever through my veins;
+
+And Love, fulfilling all things, save
+     Hunger, we 'scape, with sweets and ices,
+     The folly of Love's sacrifices.
+
+
+
+LES INDOLENTS.
+
+BAH! spite of Fate, that says us nay,
+Suppose we die together, eh?
+     --A rare conclusion you discover!
+
+--What's rare is good. Let us die so,
+Like lovers in Boccaccio.
+     --Hi! hi! hi! you fantastic lover!
+
+--Nay, not fantastic. If you will,
+Fond, surely irreproachable.
+     Suppose, then, that we die together?
+
+--Good sir, your jests are fitlier told
+Than when you speak of love or gold.
+     Why speak at all, in this glad weather?
+
+Whereat, behold them once again,
+Tircis beside his Dorimene,
+     Not far from two blithe rustic rovers,
+
+For some caprice of idle breath
+Deferring a delicious death.
+     Hi! hi! hi! what fantastic lovers!
+
+
+
+FANTOCHES.
+
+SCARAMOUCHE waves a threatening hand
+To Pulcinella, and they stand,
+     Two shadows, black against the moon.
+
+The old doctor of Bologna pries
+For simples with impassive eyes,
+     And mutters o'er a magic rune.
+
+The while his daughter, scarce half-dressed,
+Glides slyly 'neath the trees, in quest
+     Of her bold pirate lover's sail;
+
+Her pirate from the Spanish main,
+Whose passion thrills her in the pain
+     Of the loud languorous nightingale.
+
+
+
+PANTOMIME.
+
+PIERROT, no sentimental swain,
+Washes a pate down again
+     With furtive flagons, white and red.
+
+Cassandre, to chasten his content,
+Greets with a tear of sentiment
+     His nephew disinherited.
+
+That blackguard of a Harlequin
+Pirouettes, and plots to win
+     His Colombine that flits and flies.
+
+Colombine dreams, and starts to find
+A sad heart sighing in the wind,
+     And in her heart a voice that sighs.
+
+
+
+L'AMOUR PAR TERRE.
+
+THE wind the other evening overthrew
+     The little Love who smiled so mockingly
+     Down that mysterious alley, so that we,
+Remembering, mused thereon a whole day through.
+
+The wind has overthrown him! The poor stone
+     Lies scattered to the breezes. It is sad
+     To see the lonely pedestal, that had
+The artist's name, scarce visible, alone,
+
+Oh! it is sad to see the pedestal
+     Left lonely! and in dream I seem to hear
+     Prophetic voices whisper in my ear
+The lonely and despairing end of all.
+
+Oh! it is sad! And thou, hast thou not found
+     One heart-throb for the pity, though thine eye
+     Lights at the gold and purple butterfly
+Brightening the littered leaves upon the ground.
+
+
+
+A CLYMENE.
+
+MYSTICAL strains unheard,
+A song without a word,
+Dearest, because thine eyes.
+     Pale as the skies,
+
+Because thy voice, remote
+As the far clouds that float
+Veiling for me the whole
+     Heaven of the soul,
+
+Because the stately scent
+Of thy swan's whiteness, blent
+With the white lily's bloom
+     Of thy perfume,
+
+Ah! because thy dear love,
+The music breathed above
+By angels halo-crowned,
+     Odour and sound,
+
+Hath, in my subtle heart,
+With some mysterious art
+Transposed thy harmony,
+     So let it be!
+
+
+
+FROM ROMANCES SANS PAROLES.
+
+TEARS in my heart that weeps,
+Like the rain upon the town,
+What drowsy languor steeps
+In tears my heart that weeps?
+
+O sweet sound of the rain
+On earth and on the roofs!
+For a heart's weary pain
+O the song of the rain!
+
+Vain tears, vain tears, my heart!
+What, none hath done thee wrong?
+Tears without reason start,
+From my disheartened heart.
+
+This is the weariest woe,
+O heart, of love and hate
+Too weary, not to know
+Why thou hast all this woe.
+
+
+
+MOODS AND MEMORIES.
+
+
+
+CITY NIGHTS.
+
+I. IN THE TRAIN.
+
+THE train through the night of the town,
+     Through a blackness broken in twain
+          By the sudden finger of streets;
+Lights, red, yellow, and brown,
+     From curtain and window-pane,
+          The flashing eyes of the streets.
+
+Night, and the rush of the train,
+     A cloud of smoke through the town,
+          Scaring the life of the streets;
+And the leap of the heart again,
+     Out into the night, and down
+          The dazzling vista of streets!
+
+II. IN THE TEMPLE.
+
+THE grey and misty night,
+     Slim trees that hold the night among
+     Their branches, and, along
+The vague Embankment, light on light.
+
+The sudden, racing lights!
+     I can just hear, distinct, aloof,
+     The gaily clattering hoof
+Beating the rhythm of festive nights.
+
+The gardens to the weeping moon
+     Sigh back the breath of tears.
+     O the refrain of years on years
+'Neath the weeping moon!
+
+
+
+A WHITE NIGHT.
+
+THE yellow moon across the clouds
+     That shiver in the sky;
+White, hurrying travellers, the clouds,
+     And, white and aching cold on high,
+     Stars in the sky.
+
+Whiter, along the frozen earth,
+     The miracle of snow;
+Close covered as for sleep, the earth
+     Lies, mutely slumbering below
+     Its shroud of snow.
+
+Sleepless I wander in the night,
+     And, wandering, watch for day;
+Earth sleeps, yet, high in heaven, the night
+     Awakens, faint and far away,
+     A phantom day.
+
+
+
+IN THE VALLEY.
+
+DOWN the valley will I wander, singing songs forlorn,
+Waiting for the maiden coming up between the corn.
+
+Down below I hear the river babbling to the breeze,
+And I see the sunlight kiss the tresses of the trees.
+
+All the corn is shining with the tears of early rain:
+Come, thou sunlight of mine eyes, and bring the dawn again!
+
+Down the valley will I wander, singing songs forlorn,
+Till I meet the maiden coming up between the corn.
+
+
+
+PEACE AT NOON.
+
+HERE there is peace, cool peace,
+Upon these heights, beneath these trees;
+Almost the peace of sleep or death,
+To wearying brain, to labouring breath.
+
+Here there is rest at last,
+A sweet forgetting of the past;
+There is no future here, nor aught
+Save this soft healing pause of thought.
+
+
+
+IN FOUNTAIN COURT.
+
+THE fountain murmuring of sleep,
+     A drowsy tune;
+The flickering green of leaves that keep
+     The light of June;
+Peace, through a slumbering afternoon,
+     The peace of June.
+
+A waiting ghost, in the blue sky,
+     The white curved moon;
+June, hushed and breathless, waits, and I
+     Wait too, with June;
+Come, through the lingering afternoon,
+     Soon, love, come soon.
+
+
+
+AT BURGOS.
+
+MIRACULOUS silver-work in stone
+     Against the blue miraculous skies,
+     The belfry towers and turrets rise
+Out of the arches that enthrone
+     That airy wonder of the skies.
+
+Softly against the burning sun
+     The great cathedral spreads its wings;
+     High up, the lyric belfry sings.
+Behold Ascension Day begun
+     Under the shadow of those wings!
+
+
+
+AT DAWN.
+
+SHE only knew the birth and death
+     Of days, when each that died
+Was still at mom a hope, at night
+     A hope unsatisfied.
+
+The dark trees shivered to behold
+     Another day begin;
+She, being hopeless, did not weep
+     As the grey dawn came in.
+
+
+
+IN AUTUMN.
+
+FRAIL autumn lights upon the leaves
+     Beacon the ending of the year.
+     The windy rains are here,
+Wet nights and blowing winds about the eaves.
+
+Here in the valley, mists begin
+     To breathe about the river side
+     The breath of autumn-tide.
+The dark fields wait to take the harvest in.
+
+And you, and you are far away.
+     Ah, this it is, and not the rain
+     Now loud against the pane,
+That takes the light and colour from the day!
+
+
+
+ON THE ROADS.
+
+THE road winds onward long and white,
+     It curves in mazy coils, and crooks
+A beckoning finger down the height;
+     It calls me with the voice of brooks
+To thirsty travellers in the night.
+
+I leave the lonely city street,
+     The awful silence of the crowd;
+The rhythm of the roads I beat,
+     My blood leaps up, I shout aloud,
+My heart keeps measure with my feet.
+
+Nought know, nought care I whither I wend:
+     'Tis on, on, on, or here or there.
+What profiteth it an aim or end?
+     I walk, and the road leads anywhere.
+Then forward, with the Fates to friend!
+
+'Tis on and on! Who knows but thus
+     Kind Chance shall bring us luck at last?_
+_ Adventures to the adventurous!
+     Hope flies before, and the hours slip past:
+O what have the hours in store for us?
+
+A bird sings something in my ear,
+     The wind sings in my blood a song
+Tis good at times for a man to hear;
+     The road winds onward white and long,
+And the best of Earth is here!
+
+
+
+PIERROT IN HALF-MOURNING.
+
+I THAT am Pierrot, pray you pity me!
+To be so young, so old in misery:
+See me, and how the winter of my grief
+Wastes me, and how I whiten like a leaf,
+And how, like a lost child, lost and afraid,
+I seek the shadow, I that am a shade,
+I that have loved a moonbeam, nor have won
+Any Diana to Endymion.
+Pity me, for I have but loved too well
+The hope of the too fair impossible.
+Ah, it is she, she, Columbine: again
+I see her, and I woo her, and in vain.
+She lures me with her beckoning finger-tip;
+How her eyes shine for me, and how her lips
+Bloom for me, roses, roses, red and rich!
+She waves to me the white arms of a witch
+Over the world: I follow, I forget
+All, but she'll love me yet, she'll love me yet!
+
+
+
+FOR A PICTURE OF WATTEAU.
+
+HERE the vague winds have rest;
+The forest breathes in sleep,
+Lifting a quiet breast;
+It is the hour of rest.
+
+How summer glides away!
+An autumn pallor blooms
+Upon the check of day.
+Come, lovers, come away!
+
+But here, where dead leaves fall
+Upon the grass, what strains,
+Languidly musical,
+Mournfully rise and fall?
+
+Light loves that woke with spring
+This autumn afternoon
+Beholds meandering,
+Still, to the strains of spring.
+
+Your dancing feet are faint,
+Lovers: the air recedes
+Into a sighing plaint,
+Faint, as your loves are faint.
+
+It is the end, the end,
+The dance of love's decease.
+Feign no more now, fair friend!
+It is the end, the end.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Silhouettes, by Arthur Symons
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILHOUETTES ***
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