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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 *** + +***** This file should be named 29531.txt or 29531.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/5/3/29531/ + +Produced by Ruth Hart + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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