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diff --git a/40200-0.txt b/40200-0.txt index 06e86ce..6947c55 100644 --- a/40200-0.txt +++ b/40200-0.txt @@ -1,4 +1,4 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40200 *** +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40200 *** EXULTATIONS @@ -1217,5 +1217,4 @@ but afterwards seems to gain a curious and distinctive vigour." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Exultations, by Ezra Pound - *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40200 *** diff --git a/40200-0.zip b/40200-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 00e072b..0000000 --- a/40200-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/40200-8.txt b/40200-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0b23d18..0000000 --- a/40200-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1607 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Exultations, by Ezra Pound - -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/license - - -Title: Exultations - -Author: Ezra Pound - -Release Date: July 10, 2012 [EBook #40200] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXULTATIONS *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -EXULTATIONS - -OF - -EZRA POUND - - - -LONDON - -ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET - -M CM IX - - - - _I am an eternal spirit and the things I_ - _make are but ephemera, yet I endure:_ - _Yea, and the little earth crumbles beneath_ - _our feet and we endure._ - - - -TO CARLOS TRACY CHESTER - -"_amicitiae longaevitate_" - - - - I have to thank the Editors of the _English Review_ and the - _Evening Standard_ and _St. James's Gazette_ for permission to - include in this volume certain poems which originally appeared in - those papers. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - - GUIDO INVITES YOU THUS - NIGHT LITANY - SANDALPHON - SESTINA: ALTAFORTE - PIERE VIDAL OLD - BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE - HYMN III FROM THE LATIN OF FLAMINIUS - SESTINA FOR YSOLT - PORTRAIT (FROM "LA MÈRE INCONNUE") - FAIR HELENA - LAUDANTES DECEM - AUX BELLES DE LONDRES - FRANCESCA - GREEK EPIGRAM - COLUMBUS' EPITAPH - PLOTINUS - ON HIS OWN FACE IN A GLASS - HISTRION - THE EYES - DEFIANCE - SONG - NEL BIANCHEGGIAR - NILS LYKKE - A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER - PLANH FOR THE YOUNG ENGLISH KING - ALBA INNOMINATA - PLANH - - - - -EXULTATIONS - - - Guido invites you thus[1] - - - "Lappo I leave behind and Dante too, - Lo, I would sail the seas with thee alone! - Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry, - Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise, - All the blind earth knows not th' emprise - Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call. - - Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams, - Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire; - Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams - Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire! - - Lo, thou hast voyaged not! The ship is mine." - - -[Footnote 1: The reference is to Dante's sonnet "Guido vorrei...."] - - - - Night Litany - - - O Dieu, purifiez nos coeurs! - purifiez nos coeurs! - - Yea the lines hast thou laid unto me - in pleasant places, - And the beauty of this thy Venice - hast thou shown unto me - Until is its loveliness become unto me - a thing of tears. - - O God, what great kindness - have we done in times past - and forgotten it, - That thou givest this wonder unto us, - O God of waters? - - O God of the night - What great sorrow - Cometh unto us, - That thou thus repayest us - Before the time of its coming? - - O God of silence, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - For we have seen - The glory of the shadow of the - likeness of thine handmaid, - Yea, the glory of the shadow - of thy Beauty hath walked - - Upon the shadow of the waters - In this thy Venice. - And before the holiness - Of the shadow of thy handmaid - Have I hidden mine eyes, - O God of waters. - - O God of silence, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - O God of waters, - make clean our hearts within us - And our lips to show forth thy praise, - For I have seen the - Shadow of this thy Venice - Floating upon the waters, - And thy stars - Have seen this thing out of their far courses - Have they seen this thing, - O God of waters, - Even as are thy stars - Silent unto us in their far-coursing, - Even so is mine heart - become silent within me. - - _Purifiez nos coeurs_ - _O God of the silence,_ - _Purifiez nos coeurs_ - _O God of waters._ - - - - Sandalphon - - - The angel of prayer according to the Talmud stands unmoved among - the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is finished, - also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his hands. - - - And these about me die, - Because the pain of the infinite singing - Slayeth them. - Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's - age-long crusading, - Ye know somewhat the strain, - the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing. - And therefore ye know after what fashion - This singing hath power destroying. - - Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage - Unto the Mover of Circles, - Die for the might of their praising, - And the autumn of their marcescent wings - Maketh ever new loam for my forest; - And these grey ash trees hold within them - All the secrets of whatso things - They dreamed before their praises, - And in this grove my flowers, - Fruit of prayerful powers, - Have first their thought of life - And then their being. - - Ye marvel that I die not! _forsitan_! - Thinking me kin with such as may not weep, - Thinking me part of them that die for praising - --yea, tho' it be praising, - past the power of man's mortality to - dream or name its phases, - --yea, tho' it chant and paean - past the might of earth-dwelt - soul to think on, - --yea, tho' it be praising - as these the winged ones die of. - - Ye think me one insensate - else die I also - Sith these about me die, - And if I, watching - - Ever the multiplex jewel, of beryl and jasper and sapphire - Make of these prayers of earth ever new flowers; - Marvel and wonder! - Marvel and wonder even as I, - Giving to prayer new language - And causing the works to speak - Of the earth-horde's age-lasting longing, - Even as I marvel and wonder, and know not, - Yet keep my watch in the ash wood. - - - - Sestina: Altaforte - - - LOQUITUR: _En_ Bertrans de Born. - Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer-up - of strife. - Eccovi! - Judge ye! - Have I dug him up again? - The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. "Papiols" is his jongleur. - "The Leopard," the _device_ of Richard (Coeur de Lion). - - - - I - - - Damn it all! all this our South stinks peace. - You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music! - I have no life save when the swords clash. - But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing - And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson, - Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing. - - II - - In hot summer have I great rejoicing - When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace, - And the light'nings from black heav'n flash crimson, - And the fierce thunders roar me their music - And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing, - And through all the riven skies God's swords clash. - - III - - Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash! - And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, - Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing! - Better one hour's stour than a year's peace - With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music! - Bah! there's no wine like the blood's crimson! - - IV - - And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson. - And I watch his spears through the dark clash - And it fills all my heart with rejoicing - And pries wide my mouth with fast music - When I see him so scorn and defy peace, - His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing. - - V - - The man who fears war and squats opposing - My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson - But is fit only to rot in womanish peace - Far from where worth's won and the swords clash - For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing; - Yea, I fill all the air with my music. - - VI - - Papiols, Papiols, to the music! - There's no sound like to swords swords opposing, - No cry like the battle's rejoicing - When our elbows and swords drip the crimson - And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash. - May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace!" - - VII - - And let the music of the swords make them crimson! - Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash! - Hell blot black for alway the thought "Peace"! - - - - Piere Vidal Old - - - It is of Piere Vidal, the fool par excellence of all Provence, of - whom the tale tells how he ran mad, as a wolf, because of his love - for Loba of Penautier, and how men hunted him with dogs through the - mountains of Cabaret and brought him for dead to the dwelling of - this Loba (she-wolf) of Penautier, and how she and her Lord had him - healed and made welcome, and he stayed some time at that court. He - speaks: - - - When I but think upon the great dead days - And turn my mind upon that splendid madness, - Lo! I do curse my strength - And blame the sun his gladness; - For that the one is dead - And the red sun mocks my sadness. - - Behold me, Vidal, that was fool of fools! - Swift as the king wolf was I and as strong - When tall stags fled me through the alder brakes, - And every jongleur knew me in his song, - And the hounds fled and the deer fled - And none fled over long. - - Even the grey pack knew me and knew fear. - God! how the swiftest hind's blood spurted hot - Over the sharpened teeth and purpling lips! - Hot was that hind's blood yet it scorched me not - As did first scorn, then lips of the Penautier! - Aye ye are fools, if ye think time can blot - - From Piere Vidal's remembrance that blue night, - God! but the purple of the sky was deep! - Clear, deep, translucent, so the stars me seemed - Set deep in crystal; and because my sleep - --Rare visitor--came not,--the Saints I guerdon - For that restlessness--Piere set to keep - - One more fool's vigil with the hollyhocks. - Swift came the Loba, as a branch that's caught, - Tom, green and silent in the swollen Rhone, - Green was her mantle, close, and wrought - Of some thin silk stuff that's scarce stuff at all, - But like a mist wherethrough her white form fought, - - And conquered! Ah God! conquered! - Silent my mate came as the night was still. - Speech? Words? Faugh! Who talks of words and love?! - Hot is such love and silent, - Silent as fate is, and as strong until - It faints in taking and in giving all. - - Stark, keen, triumphant, till it plays at death. - God! she was white then, splendid as some tomb - High wrought of marble, and the panting breath - Ceased utterly. Well, then I waited, drew, - Half-sheathed, then naked from its saffron sheath - Drew full this dagger that doth tremble here. - - Just then she woke and mocked the less keen blade. - Ah God, the Loba! and my only mate! - Was there such flesh made ever and unmade! - God curse the years that turn such women grey! - Behold here Vidal, that was hunted, flayed, - Shamed and yet bowed not and that won at last. - - And yet I curse the sun for his red gladness, - I that have known strath, garth, brake, dale, - And every run-way of the wood through that great madness, - Behold me shrivelled as an old oak's trunk - And made men's mock'ry in my rotten sadness! - - No man hath heard the glory of my days: - No man hath dared and won his dare as I: - One night, one body and one welding flame! - What do ye own, ye niggards! that can buy - Such glory of the earth? Or who will win - Such battle-guerdon with his "prowesse high"? - - O Age gone lax! O stunted followers, - That mask at passions and desire desires, - Behold me shrivelled, and your mock of mocks; - And yet I mock you by the mighty fires - That burnt me to this ash. - * * * * * * * - Ah! Cabaret! Ah Cabaret, thy hills again! - * * * * * * * - Take your hands off me!... [_Sniffing the air_. - Ha! this scent is hot! - - - - Ballad of the Goodly Fere[1] - - - Simon Zelotes speaketh it somewhile after the Crucifixion. - - - Ha' we lost the goodliest fere o' all - For the priests and the gallows tree? - Aye lover he was of brawny men, - O' ships and the open sea. - - When they came wi' a host to take Our Man - His smile was good to see, - "First let these go!" quo' our Goodly Fere, - "Or I'll see ye damned," says he. - - Aye he sent us out through the crossed high spears - And the scorn of his laugh rang free, - "Why took ye not me when I walked about - Alone in the town?" says he. - - Oh we drank his "Hale" in the good red wine - When we last made company, - No capon priest was the Goodly Fere - But a man o' men was he. - - I ha' seen him drive a hundred men - Wi' a bundle o' cords swung free, - That they took the high and holy house - For their pawn and treasury. - - They'll no' get him a' in a book I think - Though they write it cunningly; - No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere - But aye loved the open sea. - - If they think they ha' snared our Goodly Fere - They are fools to the last degree. - "I'll go to the feast," quo' our Goodly Fere, - "Though I go to the gallows tree." - - "Ye ha' seen me heal the lame and blind, - And wake the dead," says he, - "Ye shall see one thing to master all: - 'Tis how a brave man dies on the tree." - - A son of God was the Goodly Fere - That bade us his brothers be. - I ha' seen him cow a thousand men. - I have seen him upon the tree. - - He cried no cry when they drave the nails - And the blood gushed hot and free, - The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue - But never a cry cried he. - - I ha' seen him cow a thousand men - On the hills o' Galilee, - They whined as he walked out calm between, - Wi' his eyes like the grey o' the sea. - - Like the sea that brooks no voyaging - With the winds unleashed and free, - Like the sea that he cowed at Genseret - Wi' twey words spoke' suddently. - - A master of men was the Goodly Fere, - A mate of the wind and sea, - If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere - They are fools eternally. - - I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb - Sin' they nailed him to the tree. - - -[Footnote 1: Fere = Mate, Companion.] - - -_*** The Publisher desires to state that the "Ballad of the -Goodly Fere"--by the wish of the Author--is reproduced exactly -as it appeared in the "English Review."_ - - - Hymn III - - - From the Latin of Marc Antony Flaminius, sixteenth century. - - - As a fragile and lovely flower unfolds its gleaming - foliage on the breast of the fostering earth, if - the dew and the rain draw it forth; - So doth my tender mind flourish, if it be fed with the - sweet dew of the fostering spirit, - Lacking this, it beginneth straightway to languish, - even as a floweret born upon dry earth, if the - dew and the rain tend it not. - - - - Sestina for Ysolt - - - There comes upon me will to speak in praise - Of things most fragile in their loveliness; - Because the sky hath wept all this long day - And wrapped men's hearts within its cloak of greyness, - Because they look not down I sing the stars, - Because 'tis still mid-March I praise May's flowers. - - Also I praise long hands that lie as flowers - Which though they labour not are worthy praise, - And praise deep eyes like pools wherein the stars - Gleam out reflected in their loveliness, - For whoso look on such there is no greyness - May hang about his heart on any day. - - The other things that I would praise to-day? - Besides white hands and all the fragile flowers, - And by their praise dispel the evening's greyness? - I praise dim hair that worthiest is of praise - And dream upon its unbound loveliness, - And how therethrough mine eyes have seen the stars. - - Yea, through that cloud mine eyes have seen the stars - That drift out slowly when night steals the day, - Through such a cloud meseems their loveliness - Surpasses that of all the other flowers. - For that one night I give all nights my praise - And love therefrom the twilight's coming greyness. - - There is a stillness in this twilight greyness - Although the rain hath veiled the flow'ry stars, - They seem to listen as I weave this praise - Of what I have not seen all this grey day, - And they will tell my praise unto the flowers - When May shall bid them in in loveliness. - - O ye I love, who hold this loveliness - Near to your hearts, may never any greyness - Enshroud your hearts when ye would gather flowers, - Or bind your eyes when ye would see the stars; - But alway do I give ye flowers by day, - And when day's plucked I give ye stars for praise. - - But most, thou Flower, whose eyes are like the stars, - With whom my dreams bide all the live-long day, - Within thy hands would I rest all my praise. - - - - Portrait - - - From "La Mère Inconnue." - - - Now would I weave her portrait out of all dim splendour. - Of Provence and far halls of memory, - Lo, there come echoes, faint diversity - Of blended bells at even's end, or - As the distant seas should send her - The tribute of their trembling, ceaselessly - Resonant. Out of all dreams that be, - Say, shall I bid the deepest dreams attend her? - - Nay! For I have seen the purplest shadows stand - Alway with reverent chere that looked on her, - Silence himself is grown her worshipper - And ever doth attend her in that land - Wherein she reigneth, wherefore let there stir - Naught but the softest voices, praising her. - - - - "Fair Helena" by Rackham - - - "_What I love best in all the world?_" - - - When the purple twilight is unbound, - To watch her slow, tall grace - and its wistful loveliness, - And to know her face - is in the shadow there, - Just by two stars beneath that cloud-- - The soft, dim cloud of her hair, - And to think my voice - can reach to her - As but the rumour of some tree-bound stream, - Heard just beyond the forest's edge, - Until she all forgets I am, - And knows of me - Naught but my dream's felicity. - - - - Laudantes Decem Pulchritudinis - - Johannae Templi - - - I - - When your beauty is grown old in all men's songs, - And my poor words are lost amid that throng, - Then you will know the truth of my poor words, - And mayhap dreaming of the wistful throng - That hopeless sigh your praises in their songs, - You will think kindly then of these mad words. - - II - - I am torn, torn with thy beauty, - O Rose of the sharpest thorn! - O Rose of the crimson beauty, - Why hast thou awakened the sleeper? - Why hast thou awakened the heart within me, - O Rose of the crimson thorn? - - III - - The unappeasable loveliness - is calling to me out of the wind, - And because your name - is written upon the ivory doors, - The wave in my heart is as a green wave, unconfined, - Tossing the white foam toward you; - And the lotus that pours - Her fragrance into the purple cup, - Is more to be gained with the foam - Than are you with these words of mine. - - IV - - _He speaks to the moonlight concerning the Beloved_. - - Pale hair that the moon has shaken - Down over the dark breast of the sea, - O magic her beauty has shaken - About the heart of me; - Out of you have I woven a dream - That shall walk in the lonely vale - Betwixt the high hill and the low hill, - Until the pale stream - Of the souls of men quench and grow still. - - V - - _Voices speaking to the sun_. - - Red leaf that art blown upward and out and over - The green sheaf of the world, - And through the dim forest and under - The shadowed arches and the aisles, - We, who are older than thou art, - Met and remembered when his eyes beheld her - In the garden of the peach-trees, - In the day of the blossoming. - - VI - - I stood on the hill of Yrma - when the winds were a-hurrying, - With the grasses a-bending - I followed them, - Through the brown grasses of Ahva - unto the green of Asedon. - I have rested with the voices - in the gardens of Ahthor, - I have lain beneath the peach-trees - in the hour of the purple: - - Because I had awaited in - the garden of the peach-trees, - Because I had feared not - in the forest of my mind, - Mine eyes beheld the vision of the blossom - There in the peach-gardens past Asedon. - - O winds of Yrma, let her again come unto me, - Whose hair ye held unbound in the gardens of Ahthor! - - VII - - Because of the beautiful white shoulders and the rounded breasts - I can in no wise forget my beloved of the peach-trees, - And the little winds that speak when the dawn is unfurled - And the rose-colour in the grey oak-leaf's fold - - When it first comes, and the glamour that rests - On the little streams in the evening; all of these - Call me to her, and all the loveliness in the world - Binds me to my beloved with strong chains of gold. - - VIII - - If the rose-petals which have fallen upon my eyes - And if the perfect faces which I see at times - When my eyes are closed-- - Faces fragile, pale, yet flushed a little, like petals of roses: - If these things have confused my memories of her - So that I could not draw her face - Even if I had skill and the colours, - Yet because her face is so like these things - They but draw me nearer unto her in my thought - And thoughts of her come upon my mind gently, - As dew upon the petals of roses. - - IX - - _He speaks to the rain_. - - O pearls that hang on your little silver chains, - The innumerable voices that are whispering - Among you as you are drawn aside by the wind, - Have brought to my mind the soft and eager speech - Of one who hath great loveliness, - - Which is subtle as the beauty of the rains - That hang low in the moonshine and bring - The May softly among us, and unbind - The streams and the crimson and white flowers and reach - Deep down into the secret places. - - X - - The glamour of the soul hath come upon me, - And as the twilight comes upon the roses, - Walking silently among them, - So have the thoughts of my heart - Gone out slowly in the twilight - Toward my beloved, - Toward the crimson rose, the fairest. - - - - Aux Belles de Londres - - - I am aweary with the utter and beautiful weariness - And with the ultimate wisdom and with things terrene, - I am aweary with your smiles and your laughter, - And the sun and the winds again - Reclaim their booty and the heart o' me. - - - - Francesca - - - You came in out of the night - And there were flowers in your hands, - Now you will come out of a confusion of people, - Out of a turmoil of speech about you. - - I who have seen you amid the primal things - Was angry when they spoke your name - In ordinary places. - I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind, - And that the world should dry as a dead leaf, - Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away, - So that I might find you again, - Alone. - - - - Greek Epigram - - - Day and night are never weary, - Nor yet is God of creating - For day and night their torch-bearers - The aube and the crepuscule. - - So, when I weary of praising the dawn and the sun-set, - Let me be no more counted among the immortals; - But number me amid the wearying ones, - Let me be a man as the herd, - And as the slave that is given in barter. - - - - Christophori Columbi Tumulus - - - From the Latin of Hipolytus Capilupus, Early Cent XVI. - - Genoan, glory of Italy, Columbus thou sure light, - Alas the urn takes even thee so soon out-blown. - Its little space - - Doth hold thee, whom Oceanus had not the might - Within his folds to hold, altho' his broad embrace - Doth hold all lands. - - Bark-borne beyond his bound'ries unto Hind thou wast - Where scarce Fame's volant self the way had cast. - - - - Plotinus - - - As one that would draw through the node of things, - Back sweeping to the vortex of the cone, - Cloistered about with memories, alone - In chaos, while the waiting silence sings: - - Obliviate of cycles' wanderings - I was an atom on creation's throne - And knew all nothing my unconquered own. - God! Should I be the hand upon the strings?! - - But I was lonely as a lonely child. - I cried amid the void and heard no cry, - And then for utter loneliness, made I - New thoughts as crescent images of _me_. - And with them was my essence reconciled - While fear went forth from mine eternity. - - - - On His Own Face in a Glass - - - O strange face there in the glass! - O ribald company, O saintly host, - O sorrow-swept my fool, - What answer? O ye myriad - That strive and play and pass, - Jest, challenge, counterlie? - I? I? I? - And ye? - - - - Histrion - - - No man hath dared to write this thing as yet, - And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great - At times pass through us, - And we are melted into them, and are not - Save reflexions of their souls. - Thus am I Dante for a space and am - One François Villon, ballad-lord and thief - Or am such holy ones I may not write, - Lest blasphemy be writ against my name; - This for an instant and the flame is gone. - - 'Tis as in midmost us there glows a sphere - Translucent, molten gold, that is the "I" - And into this some form projects itself: - Christus, or John, or eke the Florentine; - And as the clear space is not if a form's - Imposed thereon, - So cease we from all being for the time, - And these, the Masters of the Soul, live on. - - - - The Eyes - - - Rest Master, for we be a-weary, weary - And would feel the fingers of the wind - Upon these lids that lie over us - Sodden and lead-heavy. - - Rest brother, for lo! the dawn is without! - The yellow flame paleth - And the wax runs low. - - Free us, for without be goodly colours, - Green of the wood-moss and flower colours, - And coolness beneath the trees. - - Free us, for we perish - In this ever-flowing monotony - Of ugly print marks, black - Upon white parchment. - - Free us, for there is one - Whose smile more availeth - Than all the age-old knowledge of thy books: - And we would look thereon. - - - - Defiance - - - Ye blood-red spears-men of the dawn's array - That drive my dusk-clad knights of dream away, - Hold! For I will not yield. - - My moated soul shall dream in your despite - A refuge for the vanquished hosts of night - That _can_ not yield. - - - - Song - - - Love thou thy dream - All base love scorning, - Love thou the wind - And here take warning - That dreams alone can truly be, - For 'tis in dream I come to thee. - - - - Nel Biancheggiar - - - Blue-Grey, and white, and white-of-rose, - The flowers of the West's fore-dawn unclose. - I feel the dusky softness whirr - Of colour, as upon a dulcimer - "Her" dreaming fingers lay between the tunes, - As when the living music swoons - But dies not quite, because for love of us - --knowing our state - How that 'tis troublous-- - It wills not die to leave us desolate. - - - - Nils Lykke - - - Beautiful, infinite memories - That are a-plucking at my heart, - Why will you be ever calling and a-calling, - And a-murmuring in the dark there? - And a-reaching out your long hands - Between me and my beloved? - - And why will you be ever a-casting - The black shadow of your beauty - On the white face of my beloved - And a-glinting in the pools of her eyes? - - - - A Song of the Virgin Mother - - - _In the play "Los Pastores de Belen."_ - - From the Spanish of Lope de Vega. - - - As ye go through these palm-trees - O holy angel; - Sith sleepeth my child here - Still ye the branches. - - O Bethlehem palm-trees - That move to the anger - Of winds in their fury, - Tempestuous voices, - Make ye no clamour, - Run ye less swiftly, - Sith sleepeth the child here - Still ye your branches. - - He the divine child - Is here a-wearied - Of weeping the earth-pain, - Here for his rest would he - Cease from his mourning, - Only a little while, - Sith sleepeth this child here - Stay ye the branches. - - Cold be the fierce winds, - Treacherous round him. - Ye see that I have not - Wherewith to guard him, - O angels, divine ones - That pass us a-flying, - Sith sleepeth my child here - Stay ye the branches. - - - - Planh for the Young English King - - - _That is, Prince Henry Plantagenet, elder brother to - Richard "Coeur de Lion."_ - - From the Provençal of Bertrans de Born "Si tuit li dol elh - plor elh marrimen." - - - If all the grief and woe and bitterness, - All dolour, ill and every evil chance - That ever came upon this grieving world - Were set together they would seem but light - Against the death of the young English King. - Worth lieth riven and Youth dolorous, - The world o'ershadowed, soiled and overcast, - Void of all joy and full of ire and sadness. - - Grieving and sad and full of bitterness - Are left in teen the liegemen courteous, - The joglars supple and the troubadours. - O'er much hath ta'en Sir Death that deadly warrior - In taking from them the young English King, - Who made the freest hand seem covetous. - 'Las! Never was nor will be in this world - The balance for this loss in ire and sadness! - - O skilful Death and full of bitterness, - Well mayst thou boast that thou the best chevalier - That any folk e'er had, hast from us taken; - Sith nothing is that unto worth pertaineth - But had its life in the young English King, - And better were it, should God grant his pleasure - That he should live than many a Irving dastard - That doth but wound the good with ire and sadness. - - From this faint world, how full of bitterness - Love takes his way and holds his joy deceitful, - Sith no thing is but turneth unto anguish - And each to-day 'vails less than yestere'en, - Let each man visage this young English King - That was most valiant mid all worthiest men! - Gone is his body fine and amorous, - Whence have we grief, discord and deepest sadness. - - Him, whom it pleased for our great bitterness - To come to earth to draw us from misventure, - Who drank of death for our salvacioun, - Him do we pray as to a Lord most righteous - And humble eke, that the young English King - He please to pardon, as true pardon is, - And bid go in with honoured companions - There where there is no grief, nor shall be sadness. - - - - Alba Innominata - - - From the Provençal. - - - In a garden where the whitethorn spreads her leaves - My lady hath her love lain close beside her, - Till the warder cries the dawn--Ah dawn that grieves! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Please God that night, dear night should never cease, - Nor that my love should parted be from me, - Nor watch cry 'Dawn'--Ah dawn that slayeth peace! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Fair friend and sweet, thy lips! Our lips again! - Lo, in the meadow there the birds give song! - Ours be the love and Jealousy's the pain! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Sweet friend and fair take we our joy again - Down in the garden, where the birds are loud, - Till the warder's reed astrain - Cry God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Of that sweet wind that comes from Far-Away - Have I drunk deep of my Beloved's breath, - Yea! of my Love's that is so dear and gay. - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon!" - - _Envoi_. - - Fair is this damsel and right courteous, - And many watch her beauty's gracious way. - Her heart toward love is no wise traitorous. - Ah God! Ah God! That dawns should come so soon! - - - - Planh - - - _It is of the white thoughts that he saw in the Forest_. - - - White Poppy, heavy with dreams, - O White Poppy, who art wiser than love, - Though I am hungry for their lips - When I see them a-hiding - And a-passing out and in through the shadows - --There in the pine wood it is, - And they are white, White Poppy, - They are white like the clouds in the forest of the sky - Ere the stars arise to their hunting. - - O White Poppy, who art wiser than love, - I am come for peace, yea from the hunting - Am I come to thee for peace. - Out of a new sorrow it is, - That my hunting hath brought me. - - White Poppy, heavy with dreams, - Though I am hungry for their lips - When I see them a-hiding - And a-passing out and in through the shadows - --And it is white they are-- - But if one should look at me with the old hunger in her eyes, - How will I be answering her eyes? - - For I have followed the white folk of the forest. - - Aye! It's a long hunting - And it's a deep hunger I have when I see them a-gliding - And a-flickering there, where the trees stand apart. - - But oh, it is sorrow and sorrow - When love dies-down in the heart. - - - - -BY THE SAME AUTHOR - -Personae - -_Choicely Printed at the Chiswick Press on fine paper. Foolscap Octavo, -2s. 6d. net_ - -SOME EARLY REVIEWS - -_The Observer_ says:--"It is something, after all, intangible and -indescribable that makes the real poetry. Criticism and praise alike -give no idea of it Everyone who pretends to know it when he sees it, -should read and keep this little book." - -_The Bookman_:--"No new book of poems for years past has had such a -freshness of inspiration, such a strongly individual note, or been more -alive with undoubtable promise." - -_The Daily Chronicle_:--" All his poems are like this, from beginning to -end, and in every way, his own, and in a world of his own. For brusque -intensity of effect we can hardly compare them to any other work. It is -the old miracle that cannot be defined, nothing more than a subtle -entanglement of words, so that they rise out of their graves and sing." - -From a 3 1/2 page detailed critique, by Mr. Edward Thomas, in _The -English Review_.--"He has ... hardly any of the superficial good -qualities of modern versifiers;... He has not the current melancholy or -resignation or unwillingness to live; nor the kind of feeling for nature -that runs to minute description and decorative metaphor. He cannot be -usefully compared with any living writers;... full of personality and -with such power to express it, that from the first to the last lines of -most of his poems he holds us steadily in his own pure, grave, -passionate world.... The beauty of it ('In praise of Ysolt') is the -beauty of passion, sincerity and intensity, not of beautiful words and -images and suggestions;... the thought dominates the words and is -greater than they are. Here ('Idyl for Glaucus') the effect is full of -human passion and natural magic, without any of the phrases which a -reader of modern verse would expect in the treatment of such a subject. -This admirable poet...." - -_The Oxford Magazine_:--"This is a most exciting book of poems." - -_The Evening Standard_:--"A queer little book which will irritate many -readers." - -_The Morning Post_:--" Mr. Ezra Pound ... immediately compels our -admiration by his fearlessness and lack of self-consciousness." - -_The Isis_(Oxford):--"This book has about it the breath of the open -air,... physically and intellectually the verse seems to reproduce the -personality with a brief fulness and adequacy. It is only in flexible, -lithe measures, such as those which Coventry Patmore chose in his -'Unknown Eros,' and Mr. Pound chooses here that a fully suitable form -for the recital of spiritual experience is to be found. Mr. Pound has a -true and invariable feeling for the measures he employs ... this -wonderful little book...." - -_The Daily Telegraph_:--"A poet with individuality.... Thread of true -beauty.... lifts it out of the ruck of those many volumes, the writers -or which toe the line of poetic convention, and please for no more than -a single reading." - -_Mr. Punch_, concerning a certain Mr. Ezekiel Ton:--"By far the newest -poet going, whatever other advertisements may say;" and announced as -"the most remarkable thing in poetry since Robert Browning," says:--"He -has succeeded where all others have failed, in evolving a blend of the -imagery of the unfettered west, the vocabulary of Wardour Street, and -the sinister abandon of Borgaic Italy." - -Mr. Scott-James, in _The Daily News_:--"At first the whole thing may -seem to be mere madness and rhetoric, a vain exhibition of force and -passion without beauty. But, as we read on, these curious metres of his -seem to have a law and order of their own; the brute force of Mr. -Pound's imagination seems to impart some quality of infectious beauty to -his words.... With Mr. Pound there is no eking out of thin sentiment -with a melody or a song. He writes out of an exuberance of incontinently -struggling ideas and passionate convictions.... He plunges straight into -the heart of his theme, and suggests virility in action combined with -fierceness, eagerness, and tenderness.... he has individuality, passion, -force, and an acquaintance with things that are profoundly moving." Mr. -Scott-James begins his half-column review of Mr. Pound's book with a -remark that he would "Like much more space in which to discuss his -work," and also notes a certain use of spondee and dactyl which "Comes -in strangely and, as we first read it, with the appearance of discord, -but afterwards seems to gain a curious and distinctive vigour." - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Exultations, by Ezra Pound - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXULTATIONS *** - -***** This file should be named 40200-8.txt or 40200-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/0/40200/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - -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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diff --git a/40200.txt b/40200.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 62b7dfe..0000000 --- a/40200.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1607 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Exultations, by Ezra Pound - -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/license - - -Title: Exultations - -Author: Ezra Pound - -Release Date: July 10, 2012 [EBook #40200] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXULTATIONS *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -EXULTATIONS - -OF - -EZRA POUND - - - -LONDON - -ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET - -M CM IX - - - - _I am an eternal spirit and the things I_ - _make are but ephemera, yet I endure:_ - _Yea, and the little earth crumbles beneath_ - _our feet and we endure._ - - - -TO CARLOS TRACY CHESTER - -"_amicitiae longaevitate_" - - - - I have to thank the Editors of the _English Review_ and the - _Evening Standard_ and _St. James's Gazette_ for permission to - include in this volume certain poems which originally appeared in - those papers. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - - GUIDO INVITES YOU THUS - NIGHT LITANY - SANDALPHON - SESTINA: ALTAFORTE - PIERE VIDAL OLD - BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE - HYMN III FROM THE LATIN OF FLAMINIUS - SESTINA FOR YSOLT - PORTRAIT (FROM "LA MERE INCONNUE") - FAIR HELENA - LAUDANTES DECEM - AUX BELLES DE LONDRES - FRANCESCA - GREEK EPIGRAM - COLUMBUS' EPITAPH - PLOTINUS - ON HIS OWN FACE IN A GLASS - HISTRION - THE EYES - DEFIANCE - SONG - NEL BIANCHEGGIAR - NILS LYKKE - A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER - PLANH FOR THE YOUNG ENGLISH KING - ALBA INNOMINATA - PLANH - - - - -EXULTATIONS - - - Guido invites you thus[1] - - - "Lappo I leave behind and Dante too, - Lo, I would sail the seas with thee alone! - Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry, - Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise, - All the blind earth knows not th' emprise - Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call. - - Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams, - Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire; - Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams - Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire! - - Lo, thou hast voyaged not! The ship is mine." - - -[Footnote 1: The reference is to Dante's sonnet "Guido vorrei...."] - - - - Night Litany - - - O Dieu, purifiez nos coeurs! - purifiez nos coeurs! - - Yea the lines hast thou laid unto me - in pleasant places, - And the beauty of this thy Venice - hast thou shown unto me - Until is its loveliness become unto me - a thing of tears. - - O God, what great kindness - have we done in times past - and forgotten it, - That thou givest this wonder unto us, - O God of waters? - - O God of the night - What great sorrow - Cometh unto us, - That thou thus repayest us - Before the time of its coming? - - O God of silence, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - For we have seen - The glory of the shadow of the - likeness of thine handmaid, - Yea, the glory of the shadow - of thy Beauty hath walked - - Upon the shadow of the waters - In this thy Venice. - And before the holiness - Of the shadow of thy handmaid - Have I hidden mine eyes, - O God of waters. - - O God of silence, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - O God of waters, - make clean our hearts within us - And our lips to show forth thy praise, - For I have seen the - Shadow of this thy Venice - Floating upon the waters, - And thy stars - Have seen this thing out of their far courses - Have they seen this thing, - O God of waters, - Even as are thy stars - Silent unto us in their far-coursing, - Even so is mine heart - become silent within me. - - _Purifiez nos coeurs_ - _O God of the silence,_ - _Purifiez nos coeurs_ - _O God of waters._ - - - - Sandalphon - - - The angel of prayer according to the Talmud stands unmoved among - the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is finished, - also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his hands. - - - And these about me die, - Because the pain of the infinite singing - Slayeth them. - Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's - age-long crusading, - Ye know somewhat the strain, - the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing. - And therefore ye know after what fashion - This singing hath power destroying. - - Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage - Unto the Mover of Circles, - Die for the might of their praising, - And the autumn of their marcescent wings - Maketh ever new loam for my forest; - And these grey ash trees hold within them - All the secrets of whatso things - They dreamed before their praises, - And in this grove my flowers, - Fruit of prayerful powers, - Have first their thought of life - And then their being. - - Ye marvel that I die not! _forsitan_! - Thinking me kin with such as may not weep, - Thinking me part of them that die for praising - --yea, tho' it be praising, - past the power of man's mortality to - dream or name its phases, - --yea, tho' it chant and paean - past the might of earth-dwelt - soul to think on, - --yea, tho' it be praising - as these the winged ones die of. - - Ye think me one insensate - else die I also - Sith these about me die, - And if I, watching - - Ever the multiplex jewel, of beryl and jasper and sapphire - Make of these prayers of earth ever new flowers; - Marvel and wonder! - Marvel and wonder even as I, - Giving to prayer new language - And causing the works to speak - Of the earth-horde's age-lasting longing, - Even as I marvel and wonder, and know not, - Yet keep my watch in the ash wood. - - - - Sestina: Altaforte - - - LOQUITUR: _En_ Bertrans de Born. - Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer-up - of strife. - Eccovi! - Judge ye! - Have I dug him up again? - The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. "Papiols" is his jongleur. - "The Leopard," the _device_ of Richard (Coeur de Lion). - - - - I - - - Damn it all! all this our South stinks peace. - You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music! - I have no life save when the swords clash. - But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing - And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson, - Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing. - - II - - In hot summer have I great rejoicing - When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace, - And the light'nings from black heav'n flash crimson, - And the fierce thunders roar me their music - And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing, - And through all the riven skies God's swords clash. - - III - - Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash! - And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, - Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing! - Better one hour's stour than a year's peace - With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music! - Bah! there's no wine like the blood's crimson! - - IV - - And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson. - And I watch his spears through the dark clash - And it fills all my heart with rejoicing - And pries wide my mouth with fast music - When I see him so scorn and defy peace, - His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing. - - V - - The man who fears war and squats opposing - My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson - But is fit only to rot in womanish peace - Far from where worth's won and the swords clash - For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing; - Yea, I fill all the air with my music. - - VI - - Papiols, Papiols, to the music! - There's no sound like to swords swords opposing, - No cry like the battle's rejoicing - When our elbows and swords drip the crimson - And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash. - May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace!" - - VII - - And let the music of the swords make them crimson! - Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash! - Hell blot black for alway the thought "Peace"! - - - - Piere Vidal Old - - - It is of Piere Vidal, the fool par excellence of all Provence, of - whom the tale tells how he ran mad, as a wolf, because of his love - for Loba of Penautier, and how men hunted him with dogs through the - mountains of Cabaret and brought him for dead to the dwelling of - this Loba (she-wolf) of Penautier, and how she and her Lord had him - healed and made welcome, and he stayed some time at that court. He - speaks: - - - When I but think upon the great dead days - And turn my mind upon that splendid madness, - Lo! I do curse my strength - And blame the sun his gladness; - For that the one is dead - And the red sun mocks my sadness. - - Behold me, Vidal, that was fool of fools! - Swift as the king wolf was I and as strong - When tall stags fled me through the alder brakes, - And every jongleur knew me in his song, - And the hounds fled and the deer fled - And none fled over long. - - Even the grey pack knew me and knew fear. - God! how the swiftest hind's blood spurted hot - Over the sharpened teeth and purpling lips! - Hot was that hind's blood yet it scorched me not - As did first scorn, then lips of the Penautier! - Aye ye are fools, if ye think time can blot - - From Piere Vidal's remembrance that blue night, - God! but the purple of the sky was deep! - Clear, deep, translucent, so the stars me seemed - Set deep in crystal; and because my sleep - --Rare visitor--came not,--the Saints I guerdon - For that restlessness--Piere set to keep - - One more fool's vigil with the hollyhocks. - Swift came the Loba, as a branch that's caught, - Tom, green and silent in the swollen Rhone, - Green was her mantle, close, and wrought - Of some thin silk stuff that's scarce stuff at all, - But like a mist wherethrough her white form fought, - - And conquered! Ah God! conquered! - Silent my mate came as the night was still. - Speech? Words? Faugh! Who talks of words and love?! - Hot is such love and silent, - Silent as fate is, and as strong until - It faints in taking and in giving all. - - Stark, keen, triumphant, till it plays at death. - God! she was white then, splendid as some tomb - High wrought of marble, and the panting breath - Ceased utterly. Well, then I waited, drew, - Half-sheathed, then naked from its saffron sheath - Drew full this dagger that doth tremble here. - - Just then she woke and mocked the less keen blade. - Ah God, the Loba! and my only mate! - Was there such flesh made ever and unmade! - God curse the years that turn such women grey! - Behold here Vidal, that was hunted, flayed, - Shamed and yet bowed not and that won at last. - - And yet I curse the sun for his red gladness, - I that have known strath, garth, brake, dale, - And every run-way of the wood through that great madness, - Behold me shrivelled as an old oak's trunk - And made men's mock'ry in my rotten sadness! - - No man hath heard the glory of my days: - No man hath dared and won his dare as I: - One night, one body and one welding flame! - What do ye own, ye niggards! that can buy - Such glory of the earth? Or who will win - Such battle-guerdon with his "prowesse high"? - - O Age gone lax! O stunted followers, - That mask at passions and desire desires, - Behold me shrivelled, and your mock of mocks; - And yet I mock you by the mighty fires - That burnt me to this ash. - * * * * * * * - Ah! Cabaret! Ah Cabaret, thy hills again! - * * * * * * * - Take your hands off me!... [_Sniffing the air_. - Ha! this scent is hot! - - - - Ballad of the Goodly Fere[1] - - - Simon Zelotes speaketh it somewhile after the Crucifixion. - - - Ha' we lost the goodliest fere o' all - For the priests and the gallows tree? - Aye lover he was of brawny men, - O' ships and the open sea. - - When they came wi' a host to take Our Man - His smile was good to see, - "First let these go!" quo' our Goodly Fere, - "Or I'll see ye damned," says he. - - Aye he sent us out through the crossed high spears - And the scorn of his laugh rang free, - "Why took ye not me when I walked about - Alone in the town?" says he. - - Oh we drank his "Hale" in the good red wine - When we last made company, - No capon priest was the Goodly Fere - But a man o' men was he. - - I ha' seen him drive a hundred men - Wi' a bundle o' cords swung free, - That they took the high and holy house - For their pawn and treasury. - - They'll no' get him a' in a book I think - Though they write it cunningly; - No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere - But aye loved the open sea. - - If they think they ha' snared our Goodly Fere - They are fools to the last degree. - "I'll go to the feast," quo' our Goodly Fere, - "Though I go to the gallows tree." - - "Ye ha' seen me heal the lame and blind, - And wake the dead," says he, - "Ye shall see one thing to master all: - 'Tis how a brave man dies on the tree." - - A son of God was the Goodly Fere - That bade us his brothers be. - I ha' seen him cow a thousand men. - I have seen him upon the tree. - - He cried no cry when they drave the nails - And the blood gushed hot and free, - The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue - But never a cry cried he. - - I ha' seen him cow a thousand men - On the hills o' Galilee, - They whined as he walked out calm between, - Wi' his eyes like the grey o' the sea. - - Like the sea that brooks no voyaging - With the winds unleashed and free, - Like the sea that he cowed at Genseret - Wi' twey words spoke' suddently. - - A master of men was the Goodly Fere, - A mate of the wind and sea, - If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere - They are fools eternally. - - I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb - Sin' they nailed him to the tree. - - -[Footnote 1: Fere = Mate, Companion.] - - -_*** The Publisher desires to state that the "Ballad of the -Goodly Fere"--by the wish of the Author--is reproduced exactly -as it appeared in the "English Review."_ - - - Hymn III - - - From the Latin of Marc Antony Flaminius, sixteenth century. - - - As a fragile and lovely flower unfolds its gleaming - foliage on the breast of the fostering earth, if - the dew and the rain draw it forth; - So doth my tender mind flourish, if it be fed with the - sweet dew of the fostering spirit, - Lacking this, it beginneth straightway to languish, - even as a floweret born upon dry earth, if the - dew and the rain tend it not. - - - - Sestina for Ysolt - - - There comes upon me will to speak in praise - Of things most fragile in their loveliness; - Because the sky hath wept all this long day - And wrapped men's hearts within its cloak of greyness, - Because they look not down I sing the stars, - Because 'tis still mid-March I praise May's flowers. - - Also I praise long hands that lie as flowers - Which though they labour not are worthy praise, - And praise deep eyes like pools wherein the stars - Gleam out reflected in their loveliness, - For whoso look on such there is no greyness - May hang about his heart on any day. - - The other things that I would praise to-day? - Besides white hands and all the fragile flowers, - And by their praise dispel the evening's greyness? - I praise dim hair that worthiest is of praise - And dream upon its unbound loveliness, - And how therethrough mine eyes have seen the stars. - - Yea, through that cloud mine eyes have seen the stars - That drift out slowly when night steals the day, - Through such a cloud meseems their loveliness - Surpasses that of all the other flowers. - For that one night I give all nights my praise - And love therefrom the twilight's coming greyness. - - There is a stillness in this twilight greyness - Although the rain hath veiled the flow'ry stars, - They seem to listen as I weave this praise - Of what I have not seen all this grey day, - And they will tell my praise unto the flowers - When May shall bid them in in loveliness. - - O ye I love, who hold this loveliness - Near to your hearts, may never any greyness - Enshroud your hearts when ye would gather flowers, - Or bind your eyes when ye would see the stars; - But alway do I give ye flowers by day, - And when day's plucked I give ye stars for praise. - - But most, thou Flower, whose eyes are like the stars, - With whom my dreams bide all the live-long day, - Within thy hands would I rest all my praise. - - - - Portrait - - - From "La Mere Inconnue." - - - Now would I weave her portrait out of all dim splendour. - Of Provence and far halls of memory, - Lo, there come echoes, faint diversity - Of blended bells at even's end, or - As the distant seas should send her - The tribute of their trembling, ceaselessly - Resonant. Out of all dreams that be, - Say, shall I bid the deepest dreams attend her? - - Nay! For I have seen the purplest shadows stand - Alway with reverent chere that looked on her, - Silence himself is grown her worshipper - And ever doth attend her in that land - Wherein she reigneth, wherefore let there stir - Naught but the softest voices, praising her. - - - - "Fair Helena" by Rackham - - - "_What I love best in all the world?_" - - - When the purple twilight is unbound, - To watch her slow, tall grace - and its wistful loveliness, - And to know her face - is in the shadow there, - Just by two stars beneath that cloud-- - The soft, dim cloud of her hair, - And to think my voice - can reach to her - As but the rumour of some tree-bound stream, - Heard just beyond the forest's edge, - Until she all forgets I am, - And knows of me - Naught but my dream's felicity. - - - - Laudantes Decem Pulchritudinis - - Johannae Templi - - - I - - When your beauty is grown old in all men's songs, - And my poor words are lost amid that throng, - Then you will know the truth of my poor words, - And mayhap dreaming of the wistful throng - That hopeless sigh your praises in their songs, - You will think kindly then of these mad words. - - II - - I am torn, torn with thy beauty, - O Rose of the sharpest thorn! - O Rose of the crimson beauty, - Why hast thou awakened the sleeper? - Why hast thou awakened the heart within me, - O Rose of the crimson thorn? - - III - - The unappeasable loveliness - is calling to me out of the wind, - And because your name - is written upon the ivory doors, - The wave in my heart is as a green wave, unconfined, - Tossing the white foam toward you; - And the lotus that pours - Her fragrance into the purple cup, - Is more to be gained with the foam - Than are you with these words of mine. - - IV - - _He speaks to the moonlight concerning the Beloved_. - - Pale hair that the moon has shaken - Down over the dark breast of the sea, - O magic her beauty has shaken - About the heart of me; - Out of you have I woven a dream - That shall walk in the lonely vale - Betwixt the high hill and the low hill, - Until the pale stream - Of the souls of men quench and grow still. - - V - - _Voices speaking to the sun_. - - Red leaf that art blown upward and out and over - The green sheaf of the world, - And through the dim forest and under - The shadowed arches and the aisles, - We, who are older than thou art, - Met and remembered when his eyes beheld her - In the garden of the peach-trees, - In the day of the blossoming. - - VI - - I stood on the hill of Yrma - when the winds were a-hurrying, - With the grasses a-bending - I followed them, - Through the brown grasses of Ahva - unto the green of Asedon. - I have rested with the voices - in the gardens of Ahthor, - I have lain beneath the peach-trees - in the hour of the purple: - - Because I had awaited in - the garden of the peach-trees, - Because I had feared not - in the forest of my mind, - Mine eyes beheld the vision of the blossom - There in the peach-gardens past Asedon. - - O winds of Yrma, let her again come unto me, - Whose hair ye held unbound in the gardens of Ahthor! - - VII - - Because of the beautiful white shoulders and the rounded breasts - I can in no wise forget my beloved of the peach-trees, - And the little winds that speak when the dawn is unfurled - And the rose-colour in the grey oak-leaf's fold - - When it first comes, and the glamour that rests - On the little streams in the evening; all of these - Call me to her, and all the loveliness in the world - Binds me to my beloved with strong chains of gold. - - VIII - - If the rose-petals which have fallen upon my eyes - And if the perfect faces which I see at times - When my eyes are closed-- - Faces fragile, pale, yet flushed a little, like petals of roses: - If these things have confused my memories of her - So that I could not draw her face - Even if I had skill and the colours, - Yet because her face is so like these things - They but draw me nearer unto her in my thought - And thoughts of her come upon my mind gently, - As dew upon the petals of roses. - - IX - - _He speaks to the rain_. - - O pearls that hang on your little silver chains, - The innumerable voices that are whispering - Among you as you are drawn aside by the wind, - Have brought to my mind the soft and eager speech - Of one who hath great loveliness, - - Which is subtle as the beauty of the rains - That hang low in the moonshine and bring - The May softly among us, and unbind - The streams and the crimson and white flowers and reach - Deep down into the secret places. - - X - - The glamour of the soul hath come upon me, - And as the twilight comes upon the roses, - Walking silently among them, - So have the thoughts of my heart - Gone out slowly in the twilight - Toward my beloved, - Toward the crimson rose, the fairest. - - - - Aux Belles de Londres - - - I am aweary with the utter and beautiful weariness - And with the ultimate wisdom and with things terrene, - I am aweary with your smiles and your laughter, - And the sun and the winds again - Reclaim their booty and the heart o' me. - - - - Francesca - - - You came in out of the night - And there were flowers in your hands, - Now you will come out of a confusion of people, - Out of a turmoil of speech about you. - - I who have seen you amid the primal things - Was angry when they spoke your name - In ordinary places. - I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind, - And that the world should dry as a dead leaf, - Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away, - So that I might find you again, - Alone. - - - - Greek Epigram - - - Day and night are never weary, - Nor yet is God of creating - For day and night their torch-bearers - The aube and the crepuscule. - - So, when I weary of praising the dawn and the sun-set, - Let me be no more counted among the immortals; - But number me amid the wearying ones, - Let me be a man as the herd, - And as the slave that is given in barter. - - - - Christophori Columbi Tumulus - - - From the Latin of Hipolytus Capilupus, Early Cent XVI. - - Genoan, glory of Italy, Columbus thou sure light, - Alas the urn takes even thee so soon out-blown. - Its little space - - Doth hold thee, whom Oceanus had not the might - Within his folds to hold, altho' his broad embrace - Doth hold all lands. - - Bark-borne beyond his bound'ries unto Hind thou wast - Where scarce Fame's volant self the way had cast. - - - - Plotinus - - - As one that would draw through the node of things, - Back sweeping to the vortex of the cone, - Cloistered about with memories, alone - In chaos, while the waiting silence sings: - - Obliviate of cycles' wanderings - I was an atom on creation's throne - And knew all nothing my unconquered own. - God! Should I be the hand upon the strings?! - - But I was lonely as a lonely child. - I cried amid the void and heard no cry, - And then for utter loneliness, made I - New thoughts as crescent images of _me_. - And with them was my essence reconciled - While fear went forth from mine eternity. - - - - On His Own Face in a Glass - - - O strange face there in the glass! - O ribald company, O saintly host, - O sorrow-swept my fool, - What answer? O ye myriad - That strive and play and pass, - Jest, challenge, counterlie? - I? I? I? - And ye? - - - - Histrion - - - No man hath dared to write this thing as yet, - And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great - At times pass through us, - And we are melted into them, and are not - Save reflexions of their souls. - Thus am I Dante for a space and am - One Francois Villon, ballad-lord and thief - Or am such holy ones I may not write, - Lest blasphemy be writ against my name; - This for an instant and the flame is gone. - - 'Tis as in midmost us there glows a sphere - Translucent, molten gold, that is the "I" - And into this some form projects itself: - Christus, or John, or eke the Florentine; - And as the clear space is not if a form's - Imposed thereon, - So cease we from all being for the time, - And these, the Masters of the Soul, live on. - - - - The Eyes - - - Rest Master, for we be a-weary, weary - And would feel the fingers of the wind - Upon these lids that lie over us - Sodden and lead-heavy. - - Rest brother, for lo! the dawn is without! - The yellow flame paleth - And the wax runs low. - - Free us, for without be goodly colours, - Green of the wood-moss and flower colours, - And coolness beneath the trees. - - Free us, for we perish - In this ever-flowing monotony - Of ugly print marks, black - Upon white parchment. - - Free us, for there is one - Whose smile more availeth - Than all the age-old knowledge of thy books: - And we would look thereon. - - - - Defiance - - - Ye blood-red spears-men of the dawn's array - That drive my dusk-clad knights of dream away, - Hold! For I will not yield. - - My moated soul shall dream in your despite - A refuge for the vanquished hosts of night - That _can_ not yield. - - - - Song - - - Love thou thy dream - All base love scorning, - Love thou the wind - And here take warning - That dreams alone can truly be, - For 'tis in dream I come to thee. - - - - Nel Biancheggiar - - - Blue-Grey, and white, and white-of-rose, - The flowers of the West's fore-dawn unclose. - I feel the dusky softness whirr - Of colour, as upon a dulcimer - "Her" dreaming fingers lay between the tunes, - As when the living music swoons - But dies not quite, because for love of us - --knowing our state - How that 'tis troublous-- - It wills not die to leave us desolate. - - - - Nils Lykke - - - Beautiful, infinite memories - That are a-plucking at my heart, - Why will you be ever calling and a-calling, - And a-murmuring in the dark there? - And a-reaching out your long hands - Between me and my beloved? - - And why will you be ever a-casting - The black shadow of your beauty - On the white face of my beloved - And a-glinting in the pools of her eyes? - - - - A Song of the Virgin Mother - - - _In the play "Los Pastores de Belen."_ - - From the Spanish of Lope de Vega. - - - As ye go through these palm-trees - O holy angel; - Sith sleepeth my child here - Still ye the branches. - - O Bethlehem palm-trees - That move to the anger - Of winds in their fury, - Tempestuous voices, - Make ye no clamour, - Run ye less swiftly, - Sith sleepeth the child here - Still ye your branches. - - He the divine child - Is here a-wearied - Of weeping the earth-pain, - Here for his rest would he - Cease from his mourning, - Only a little while, - Sith sleepeth this child here - Stay ye the branches. - - Cold be the fierce winds, - Treacherous round him. - Ye see that I have not - Wherewith to guard him, - O angels, divine ones - That pass us a-flying, - Sith sleepeth my child here - Stay ye the branches. - - - - Planh for the Young English King - - - _That is, Prince Henry Plantagenet, elder brother to - Richard "Coeur de Lion."_ - - From the Provencal of Bertrans de Born "Si tuit li dol elh - plor elh marrimen." - - - If all the grief and woe and bitterness, - All dolour, ill and every evil chance - That ever came upon this grieving world - Were set together they would seem but light - Against the death of the young English King. - Worth lieth riven and Youth dolorous, - The world o'ershadowed, soiled and overcast, - Void of all joy and full of ire and sadness. - - Grieving and sad and full of bitterness - Are left in teen the liegemen courteous, - The joglars supple and the troubadours. - O'er much hath ta'en Sir Death that deadly warrior - In taking from them the young English King, - Who made the freest hand seem covetous. - 'Las! Never was nor will be in this world - The balance for this loss in ire and sadness! - - O skilful Death and full of bitterness, - Well mayst thou boast that thou the best chevalier - That any folk e'er had, hast from us taken; - Sith nothing is that unto worth pertaineth - But had its life in the young English King, - And better were it, should God grant his pleasure - That he should live than many a Irving dastard - That doth but wound the good with ire and sadness. - - From this faint world, how full of bitterness - Love takes his way and holds his joy deceitful, - Sith no thing is but turneth unto anguish - And each to-day 'vails less than yestere'en, - Let each man visage this young English King - That was most valiant mid all worthiest men! - Gone is his body fine and amorous, - Whence have we grief, discord and deepest sadness. - - Him, whom it pleased for our great bitterness - To come to earth to draw us from misventure, - Who drank of death for our salvacioun, - Him do we pray as to a Lord most righteous - And humble eke, that the young English King - He please to pardon, as true pardon is, - And bid go in with honoured companions - There where there is no grief, nor shall be sadness. - - - - Alba Innominata - - - From the Provencal. - - - In a garden where the whitethorn spreads her leaves - My lady hath her love lain close beside her, - Till the warder cries the dawn--Ah dawn that grieves! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Please God that night, dear night should never cease, - Nor that my love should parted be from me, - Nor watch cry 'Dawn'--Ah dawn that slayeth peace! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Fair friend and sweet, thy lips! Our lips again! - Lo, in the meadow there the birds give song! - Ours be the love and Jealousy's the pain! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Sweet friend and fair take we our joy again - Down in the garden, where the birds are loud, - Till the warder's reed astrain - Cry God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Of that sweet wind that comes from Far-Away - Have I drunk deep of my Beloved's breath, - Yea! of my Love's that is so dear and gay. - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon!" - - _Envoi_. - - Fair is this damsel and right courteous, - And many watch her beauty's gracious way. - Her heart toward love is no wise traitorous. - Ah God! Ah God! That dawns should come so soon! - - - - Planh - - - _It is of the white thoughts that he saw in the Forest_. - - - White Poppy, heavy with dreams, - O White Poppy, who art wiser than love, - Though I am hungry for their lips - When I see them a-hiding - And a-passing out and in through the shadows - --There in the pine wood it is, - And they are white, White Poppy, - They are white like the clouds in the forest of the sky - Ere the stars arise to their hunting. - - O White Poppy, who art wiser than love, - I am come for peace, yea from the hunting - Am I come to thee for peace. - Out of a new sorrow it is, - That my hunting hath brought me. - - White Poppy, heavy with dreams, - Though I am hungry for their lips - When I see them a-hiding - And a-passing out and in through the shadows - --And it is white they are-- - But if one should look at me with the old hunger in her eyes, - How will I be answering her eyes? - - For I have followed the white folk of the forest. - - Aye! It's a long hunting - And it's a deep hunger I have when I see them a-gliding - And a-flickering there, where the trees stand apart. - - But oh, it is sorrow and sorrow - When love dies-down in the heart. - - - - -BY THE SAME AUTHOR - -Personae - -_Choicely Printed at the Chiswick Press on fine paper. Foolscap Octavo, -2s. 6d. net_ - -SOME EARLY REVIEWS - -_The Observer_ says:--"It is something, after all, intangible and -indescribable that makes the real poetry. Criticism and praise alike -give no idea of it Everyone who pretends to know it when he sees it, -should read and keep this little book." - -_The Bookman_:--"No new book of poems for years past has had such a -freshness of inspiration, such a strongly individual note, or been more -alive with undoubtable promise." - -_The Daily Chronicle_:--" All his poems are like this, from beginning to -end, and in every way, his own, and in a world of his own. For brusque -intensity of effect we can hardly compare them to any other work. It is -the old miracle that cannot be defined, nothing more than a subtle -entanglement of words, so that they rise out of their graves and sing." - -From a 3 1/2 page detailed critique, by Mr. Edward Thomas, in _The -English Review_.--"He has ... hardly any of the superficial good -qualities of modern versifiers;... He has not the current melancholy or -resignation or unwillingness to live; nor the kind of feeling for nature -that runs to minute description and decorative metaphor. He cannot be -usefully compared with any living writers;... full of personality and -with such power to express it, that from the first to the last lines of -most of his poems he holds us steadily in his own pure, grave, -passionate world.... The beauty of it ('In praise of Ysolt') is the -beauty of passion, sincerity and intensity, not of beautiful words and -images and suggestions;... the thought dominates the words and is -greater than they are. Here ('Idyl for Glaucus') the effect is full of -human passion and natural magic, without any of the phrases which a -reader of modern verse would expect in the treatment of such a subject. -This admirable poet...." - -_The Oxford Magazine_:--"This is a most exciting book of poems." - -_The Evening Standard_:--"A queer little book which will irritate many -readers." - -_The Morning Post_:--" Mr. Ezra Pound ... immediately compels our -admiration by his fearlessness and lack of self-consciousness." - -_The Isis_(Oxford):--"This book has about it the breath of the open -air,... physically and intellectually the verse seems to reproduce the -personality with a brief fulness and adequacy. It is only in flexible, -lithe measures, such as those which Coventry Patmore chose in his -'Unknown Eros,' and Mr. Pound chooses here that a fully suitable form -for the recital of spiritual experience is to be found. Mr. Pound has a -true and invariable feeling for the measures he employs ... this -wonderful little book...." - -_The Daily Telegraph_:--"A poet with individuality.... Thread of true -beauty.... lifts it out of the ruck of those many volumes, the writers -or which toe the line of poetic convention, and please for no more than -a single reading." - -_Mr. Punch_, concerning a certain Mr. Ezekiel Ton:--"By far the newest -poet going, whatever other advertisements may say;" and announced as -"the most remarkable thing in poetry since Robert Browning," says:--"He -has succeeded where all others have failed, in evolving a blend of the -imagery of the unfettered west, the vocabulary of Wardour Street, and -the sinister abandon of Borgaic Italy." - -Mr. Scott-James, in _The Daily News_:--"At first the whole thing may -seem to be mere madness and rhetoric, a vain exhibition of force and -passion without beauty. But, as we read on, these curious metres of his -seem to have a law and order of their own; the brute force of Mr. -Pound's imagination seems to impart some quality of infectious beauty to -his words.... With Mr. Pound there is no eking out of thin sentiment -with a melody or a song. He writes out of an exuberance of incontinently -struggling ideas and passionate convictions.... He plunges straight into -the heart of his theme, and suggests virility in action combined with -fierceness, eagerness, and tenderness.... he has individuality, passion, -force, and an acquaintance with things that are profoundly moving." Mr. -Scott-James begins his half-column review of Mr. Pound's book with a -remark that he would "Like much more space in which to discuss his -work," and also notes a certain use of spondee and dactyl which "Comes -in strangely and, as we first read it, with the appearance of discord, -but afterwards seems to gain a curious and distinctive vigour." - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Exultations, by Ezra Pound - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXULTATIONS *** - -***** This file should be named 40200.txt or 40200.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/0/40200/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Exultations - -Author: Ezra Pound - -Release Date: July 10, 2012 [EBook #40200] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXULTATIONS *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -EXULTATIONS - -OF - -EZRA POUND - - - -LONDON - -ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET - -M CM IX - - - - _I am an eternal spirit and the things I_ - _make are but ephemera, yet I endure:_ - _Yea, and the little earth crumbles beneath_ - _our feet and we endure._ - - - -TO CARLOS TRACY CHESTER - -"_amicitiae longaevitate_" - - - - I have to thank the Editors of the _English Review_ and the - _Evening Standard_ and _St. James's Gazette_ for permission to - include in this volume certain poems which originally appeared in - those papers. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - - GUIDO INVITES YOU THUS - NIGHT LITANY - SANDALPHON - SESTINA: ALTAFORTE - PIERE VIDAL OLD - BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE - HYMN III FROM THE LATIN OF FLAMINIUS - SESTINA FOR YSOLT - PORTRAIT (FROM "LA MÈRE INCONNUE") - FAIR HELENA - LAUDANTES DECEM - AUX BELLES DE LONDRES - FRANCESCA - GREEK EPIGRAM - COLUMBUS' EPITAPH - PLOTINUS - ON HIS OWN FACE IN A GLASS - HISTRION - THE EYES - DEFIANCE - SONG - NEL BIANCHEGGIAR - NILS LYKKE - A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER - PLANH FOR THE YOUNG ENGLISH KING - ALBA INNOMINATA - PLANH - - - - -EXULTATIONS - - - Guido invites you thus[1] - - - "Lappo I leave behind and Dante too, - Lo, I would sail the seas with thee alone! - Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry, - Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise, - All the blind earth knows not th' emprise - Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call. - - Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams, - Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire; - Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams - Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire! - - Lo, thou hast voyaged not! The ship is mine." - - -[Footnote 1: The reference is to Dante's sonnet "Guido vorrei...."] - - - - Night Litany - - - O Dieu, purifiez nos cÅ“urs! - purifiez nos cÅ“urs! - - Yea the lines hast thou laid unto me - in pleasant places, - And the beauty of this thy Venice - hast thou shown unto me - Until is its loveliness become unto me - a thing of tears. - - O God, what great kindness - have we done in times past - and forgotten it, - That thou givest this wonder unto us, - O God of waters? - - O God of the night - What great sorrow - Cometh unto us, - That thou thus repayest us - Before the time of its coming? - - O God of silence, - Purifiez nos cÅ“urs, - Purifiez nos cÅ“urs, - For we have seen - The glory of the shadow of the - likeness of thine handmaid, - Yea, the glory of the shadow - of thy Beauty hath walked - - Upon the shadow of the waters - In this thy Venice. - And before the holiness - Of the shadow of thy handmaid - Have I hidden mine eyes, - O God of waters. - - O God of silence, - Purifiez nos cÅ“urs, - Purifiez nos cÅ“urs, - O God of waters, - make clean our hearts within us - And our lips to show forth thy praise, - For I have seen the - Shadow of this thy Venice - Floating upon the waters, - And thy stars - Have seen this thing out of their far courses - Have they seen this thing, - O God of waters, - Even as are thy stars - Silent unto us in their far-coursing, - Even so is mine heart - become silent within me. - - _Purifiez nos cÅ“urs_ - _O God of the silence,_ - _Purifiez nos cÅ“urs_ - _O God of waters._ - - - - Sandalphon - - - The angel of prayer according to the Talmud stands unmoved among - the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is finished, - also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his hands. - - - And these about me die, - Because the pain of the infinite singing - Slayeth them. - Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's - age-long crusading, - Ye know somewhat the strain, - the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing. - And therefore ye know after what fashion - This singing hath power destroying. - - Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage - Unto the Mover of Circles, - Die for the might of their praising, - And the autumn of their marcescent wings - Maketh ever new loam for my forest; - And these grey ash trees hold within them - All the secrets of whatso things - They dreamed before their praises, - And in this grove my flowers, - Fruit of prayerful powers, - Have first their thought of life - And then their being. - - Ye marvel that I die not! _forsitan_! - Thinking me kin with such as may not weep, - Thinking me part of them that die for praising - --yea, tho' it be praising, - past the power of man's mortality to - dream or name its phases, - --yea, tho' it chant and paean - past the might of earth-dwelt - soul to think on, - --yea, tho' it be praising - as these the winged ones die of. - - Ye think me one insensate - else die I also - Sith these about me die, - And if I, watching - - Ever the multiplex jewel, of beryl and jasper and sapphire - Make of these prayers of earth ever new flowers; - Marvel and wonder! - Marvel and wonder even as I, - Giving to prayer new language - And causing the works to speak - Of the earth-horde's age-lasting longing, - Even as I marvel and wonder, and know not, - Yet keep my watch in the ash wood. - - - - Sestina: Altaforte - - - LOQUITUR: _En_ Bertrans de Born. - Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer-up - of strife. - Eccovi! - Judge ye! - Have I dug him up again? - The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. "Papiols" is his jongleur. - "The Leopard," the _device_ of Richard (CÅ“ur de Lion). - - - - I - - - Damn it all! all this our South stinks peace. - You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music! - I have no life save when the swords clash. - But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing - And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson, - Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing. - - II - - In hot summer have I great rejoicing - When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace, - And the light'nings from black heav'n flash crimson, - And the fierce thunders roar me their music - And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing, - And through all the riven skies God's swords clash. - - III - - Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash! - And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, - Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing! - Better one hour's stour than a year's peace - With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music! - Bah! there's no wine like the blood's crimson! - - IV - - And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson. - And I watch his spears through the dark clash - And it fills all my heart with rejoicing - And pries wide my mouth with fast music - When I see him so scorn and defy peace, - His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing. - - V - - The man who fears war and squats opposing - My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson - But is fit only to rot in womanish peace - Far from where worth's won and the swords clash - For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing; - Yea, I fill all the air with my music. - - VI - - Papiols, Papiols, to the music! - There's no sound like to swords swords opposing, - No cry like the battle's rejoicing - When our elbows and swords drip the crimson - And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash. - May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace!" - - VII - - And let the music of the swords make them crimson! - Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash! - Hell blot black for alway the thought "Peace"! - - - - Piere Vidal Old - - - It is of Piere Vidal, the fool par excellence of all Provence, of - whom the tale tells how he ran mad, as a wolf, because of his love - for Loba of Penautier, and how men hunted him with dogs through the - mountains of Cabaret and brought him for dead to the dwelling of - this Loba (she-wolf) of Penautier, and how she and her Lord had him - healed and made welcome, and he stayed some time at that court. He - speaks: - - - When I but think upon the great dead days - And turn my mind upon that splendid madness, - Lo! I do curse my strength - And blame the sun his gladness; - For that the one is dead - And the red sun mocks my sadness. - - Behold me, Vidal, that was fool of fools! - Swift as the king wolf was I and as strong - When tall stags fled me through the alder brakes, - And every jongleur knew me in his song, - And the hounds fled and the deer fled - And none fled over long. - - Even the grey pack knew me and knew fear. - God! how the swiftest hind's blood spurted hot - Over the sharpened teeth and purpling lips! - Hot was that hind's blood yet it scorched me not - As did first scorn, then lips of the Penautier! - Aye ye are fools, if ye think time can blot - - From Piere Vidal's remembrance that blue night, - God! but the purple of the sky was deep! - Clear, deep, translucent, so the stars me seemed - Set deep in crystal; and because my sleep - --Rare visitor--came not,--the Saints I guerdon - For that restlessness--Piere set to keep - - One more fool's vigil with the hollyhocks. - Swift came the Loba, as a branch that's caught, - Tom, green and silent in the swollen Rhone, - Green was her mantle, close, and wrought - Of some thin silk stuff that's scarce stuff at all, - But like a mist wherethrough her white form fought, - - And conquered! Ah God! conquered! - Silent my mate came as the night was still. - Speech? Words? Faugh! Who talks of words and love?! - Hot is such love and silent, - Silent as fate is, and as strong until - It faints in taking and in giving all. - - Stark, keen, triumphant, till it plays at death. - God! she was white then, splendid as some tomb - High wrought of marble, and the panting breath - Ceased utterly. Well, then I waited, drew, - Half-sheathed, then naked from its saffron sheath - Drew full this dagger that doth tremble here. - - Just then she woke and mocked the less keen blade. - Ah God, the Loba! and my only mate! - Was there such flesh made ever and unmade! - God curse the years that turn such women grey! - Behold here Vidal, that was hunted, flayed, - Shamed and yet bowed not and that won at last. - - And yet I curse the sun for his red gladness, - I that have known strath, garth, brake, dale, - And every run-way of the wood through that great madness, - Behold me shrivelled as an old oak's trunk - And made men's mock'ry in my rotten sadness! - - No man hath heard the glory of my days: - No man hath dared and won his dare as I: - One night, one body and one welding flame! - What do ye own, ye niggards! that can buy - Such glory of the earth? Or who will win - Such battle-guerdon with his "prowesse high"? - - O Age gone lax! O stunted followers, - That mask at passions and desire desires, - Behold me shrivelled, and your mock of mocks; - And yet I mock you by the mighty fires - That burnt me to this ash. - * * * * * * * - Ah! Cabaret! Ah Cabaret, thy hills again! - * * * * * * * - Take your hands off me!... [_Sniffing the air_. - Ha! this scent is hot! - - - - Ballad of the Goodly Fere[1] - - - Simon Zelotes speaketh it somewhile after the Crucifixion. - - - Ha' we lost the goodliest fere o' all - For the priests and the gallows tree? - Aye lover he was of brawny men, - O' ships and the open sea. - - When they came wi' a host to take Our Man - His smile was good to see, - "First let these go!" quo' our Goodly Fere, - "Or I'll see ye damned," says he. - - Aye he sent us out through the crossed high spears - And the scorn of his laugh rang free, - "Why took ye not me when I walked about - Alone in the town?" says he. - - Oh we drank his "Hale" in the good red wine - When we last made company, - No capon priest was the Goodly Fere - But a man o' men was he. - - I ha' seen him drive a hundred men - Wi' a bundle o' cords swung free, - That they took the high and holy house - For their pawn and treasury. - - They'll no' get him a' in a book I think - Though they write it cunningly; - No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere - But aye loved the open sea. - - If they think they ha' snared our Goodly Fere - They are fools to the last degree. - "I'll go to the feast," quo' our Goodly Fere, - "Though I go to the gallows tree." - - "Ye ha' seen me heal the lame and blind, - And wake the dead," says he, - "Ye shall see one thing to master all: - 'Tis how a brave man dies on the tree." - - A son of God was the Goodly Fere - That bade us his brothers be. - I ha' seen him cow a thousand men. - I have seen him upon the tree. - - He cried no cry when they drave the nails - And the blood gushed hot and free, - The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue - But never a cry cried he. - - I ha' seen him cow a thousand men - On the hills o' Galilee, - They whined as he walked out calm between, - Wi' his eyes like the grey o' the sea. - - Like the sea that brooks no voyaging - With the winds unleashed and free, - Like the sea that he cowed at Genseret - Wi' twey words spoke' suddently. - - A master of men was the Goodly Fere, - A mate of the wind and sea, - If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere - They are fools eternally. - - I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb - Sin' they nailed him to the tree. - - -[Footnote 1: Fere = Mate, Companion.] - - -_*** The Publisher desires to state that the "Ballad of the -Goodly Fere"--by the wish of the Author--is reproduced exactly -as it appeared in the "English Review."_ - - - - Hymn III - - - From the Latin of Marc Antony Flaminius, sixteenth century. - - - As a fragile and lovely flower unfolds its gleaming - foliage on the breast of the fostering earth, if - the dew and the rain draw it forth; - So doth my tender mind flourish, if it be fed with the - sweet dew of the fostering spirit, - Lacking this, it beginneth straightway to languish, - even as a floweret born upon dry earth, if the - dew and the rain tend it not. - - - - Sestina for Ysolt - - - There comes upon me will to speak in praise - Of things most fragile in their loveliness; - Because the sky hath wept all this long day - And wrapped men's hearts within its cloak of greyness, - Because they look not down I sing the stars, - Because 'tis still mid-March I praise May's flowers. - - Also I praise long hands that lie as flowers - Which though they labour not are worthy praise, - And praise deep eyes like pools wherein the stars - Gleam out reflected in their loveliness, - For whoso look on such there is no greyness - May hang about his heart on any day. - - The other things that I would praise to-day? - Besides white hands and all the fragile flowers, - And by their praise dispel the evening's greyness? - I praise dim hair that worthiest is of praise - And dream upon its unbound loveliness, - And how therethrough mine eyes have seen the stars. - - Yea, through that cloud mine eyes have seen the stars - That drift out slowly when night steals the day, - Through such a cloud meseems their loveliness - Surpasses that of all the other flowers. - For that one night I give all nights my praise - And love therefrom the twilight's coming greyness. - - There is a stillness in this twilight greyness - Although the rain hath veiled the flow'ry stars, - They seem to listen as I weave this praise - Of what I have not seen all this grey day, - And they will tell my praise unto the flowers - When May shall bid them in in loveliness. - - O ye I love, who hold this loveliness - Near to your hearts, may never any greyness - Enshroud your hearts when ye would gather flowers, - Or bind your eyes when ye would see the stars; - But alway do I give ye flowers by day, - And when day's plucked I give ye stars for praise. - - But most, thou Flower, whose eyes are like the stars, - With whom my dreams bide all the live-long day, - Within thy hands would I rest all my praise. - - - - Portrait - - - From "La Mère Inconnue." - - - Now would I weave her portrait out of all dim splendour. - Of Provence and far halls of memory, - Lo, there come echoes, faint diversity - Of blended bells at even's end, or - As the distant seas should send her - The tribute of their trembling, ceaselessly - Resonant. Out of all dreams that be, - Say, shall I bid the deepest dreams attend her? - - Nay! For I have seen the purplest shadows stand - Alway with reverent chere that looked on her, - Silence himself is grown her worshipper - And ever doth attend her in that land - Wherein she reigneth, wherefore let there stir - Naught but the softest voices, praising her. - - - - "Fair Helena" by Rackham - - - "_What I love best in all the world?_" - - - When the purple twilight is unbound, - To watch her slow, tall grace - and its wistful loveliness, - And to know her face - is in the shadow there, - Just by two stars beneath that cloud-- - The soft, dim cloud of her hair, - And to think my voice - can reach to her - As but the rumour of some tree-bound stream, - Heard just beyond the forest's edge, - Until she all forgets I am, - And knows of me - Naught but my dream's felicity. - - - - Laudantes Decem Pulchritudinis - - Johannae Templi - - - I - - When your beauty is grown old in all men's songs, - And my poor words are lost amid that throng, - Then you will know the truth of my poor words, - And mayhap dreaming of the wistful throng - That hopeless sigh your praises in their songs, - You will think kindly then of these mad words. - - II - - I am torn, torn with thy beauty, - O Rose of the sharpest thorn! - O Rose of the crimson beauty, - Why hast thou awakened the sleeper? - Why hast thou awakened the heart within me, - O Rose of the crimson thorn? - - III - - The unappeasable loveliness - is calling to me out of the wind, - And because your name - is written upon the ivory doors, - The wave in my heart is as a green wave, unconfined, - Tossing the white foam toward you; - And the lotus that pours - Her fragrance into the purple cup, - Is more to be gained with the foam - Than are you with these words of mine. - - IV - - _He speaks to the moonlight concerning the Beloved_. - - Pale hair that the moon has shaken - Down over the dark breast of the sea, - O magic her beauty has shaken - About the heart of me; - Out of you have I woven a dream - That shall walk in the lonely vale - Betwixt the high hill and the low hill, - Until the pale stream - Of the souls of men quench and grow still. - - V - - _Voices speaking to the sun_. - - Red leaf that art blown upward and out and over - The green sheaf of the world, - And through the dim forest and under - The shadowed arches and the aisles, - We, who are older than thou art, - Met and remembered when his eyes beheld her - In the garden of the peach-trees, - In the day of the blossoming. - - VI - - I stood on the hill of Yrma - when the winds were a-hurrying, - With the grasses a-bending - I followed them, - Through the brown grasses of Ahva - unto the green of Asedon. - I have rested with the voices - in the gardens of Ahthor, - I have lain beneath the peach-trees - in the hour of the purple: - - Because I had awaited in - the garden of the peach-trees, - Because I had feared not - in the forest of my mind, - Mine eyes beheld the vision of the blossom - There in the peach-gardens past Asedon. - - O winds of Yrma, let her again come unto me, - Whose hair ye held unbound in the gardens of Ahthor! - - VII - - Because of the beautiful white shoulders and the rounded breasts - I can in no wise forget my beloved of the peach-trees, - And the little winds that speak when the dawn is unfurled - And the rose-colour in the grey oak-leaf's fold - - When it first comes, and the glamour that rests - On the little streams in the evening; all of these - Call me to her, and all the loveliness in the world - Binds me to my beloved with strong chains of gold. - - VIII - - If the rose-petals which have fallen upon my eyes - And if the perfect faces which I see at times - When my eyes are closed-- - Faces fragile, pale, yet flushed a little, like petals of roses: - If these things have confused my memories of her - So that I could not draw her face - Even if I had skill and the colours, - Yet because her face is so like these things - They but draw me nearer unto her in my thought - And thoughts of her come upon my mind gently, - As dew upon the petals of roses. - - IX - - _He speaks to the rain_. - - O pearls that hang on your little silver chains, - The innumerable voices that are whispering - Among you as you are drawn aside by the wind, - Have brought to my mind the soft and eager speech - Of one who hath great loveliness, - - Which is subtle as the beauty of the rains - That hang low in the moonshine and bring - The May softly among us, and unbind - The streams and the crimson and white flowers and reach - Deep down into the secret places. - - X - - The glamour of the soul hath come upon me, - And as the twilight comes upon the roses, - Walking silently among them, - So have the thoughts of my heart - Gone out slowly in the twilight - Toward my beloved, - Toward the crimson rose, the fairest. - - - - Aux Belles de Londres - - - I am aweary with the utter and beautiful weariness - And with the ultimate wisdom and with things terrene, - I am aweary with your smiles and your laughter, - And the sun and the winds again - Reclaim their booty and the heart o' me. - - - - Francesca - - - You came in out of the night - And there were flowers in your hands, - Now you will come out of a confusion of people, - Out of a turmoil of speech about you. - - I who have seen you amid the primal things - Was angry when they spoke your name - In ordinary places. - I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind, - And that the world should dry as a dead leaf, - Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away, - So that I might find you again, - Alone. - - - - Greek Epigram - - - Day and night are never weary, - Nor yet is God of creating - For day and night their torch-bearers - The aube and the crepuscule. - - So, when I weary of praising the dawn and the sun-set, - Let me be no more counted among the immortals; - But number me amid the wearying ones, - Let me be a man as the herd, - And as the slave that is given in barter. - - - - Christophori Columbi Tumulus - - - From the Latin of Hipolytus Capilupus, Early Cent XVI. - - Genoan, glory of Italy, Columbus thou sure light, - Alas the urn takes even thee so soon out-blown. - Its little space - - Doth hold thee, whom Oceanus had not the might - Within his folds to hold, altho' his broad embrace - Doth hold all lands. - - Bark-borne beyond his bound'ries unto Hind thou wast - Where scarce Fame's volant self the way had cast. - - - - Plotinus - - - As one that would draw through the node of things, - Back sweeping to the vortex of the cone, - Cloistered about with memories, alone - In chaos, while the waiting silence sings: - - Obliviate of cycles' wanderings - I was an atom on creation's throne - And knew all nothing my unconquered own. - God! Should I be the hand upon the strings?! - - But I was lonely as a lonely child. - I cried amid the void and heard no cry, - And then for utter loneliness, made I - New thoughts as crescent images of _me_. - And with them was my essence reconciled - While fear went forth from mine eternity. - - - - On His Own Face in a Glass - - - O strange face there in the glass! - O ribald company, O saintly host, - O sorrow-swept my fool, - What answer? O ye myriad - That strive and play and pass, - Jest, challenge, counterlie? - I? I? I? - And ye? - - - - Histrion - - - No man hath dared to write this thing as yet, - And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great - At times pass through us, - And we are melted into them, and are not - Save reflexions of their souls. - Thus am I Dante for a space and am - One François Villon, ballad-lord and thief - Or am such holy ones I may not write, - Lest blasphemy be writ against my name; - This for an instant and the flame is gone. - - 'Tis as in midmost us there glows a sphere - Translucent, molten gold, that is the "I" - And into this some form projects itself: - Christus, or John, or eke the Florentine; - And as the clear space is not if a form's - Imposed thereon, - So cease we from all being for the time, - And these, the Masters of the Soul, live on. - - - - The Eyes - - - Rest Master, for we be a-weary, weary - And would feel the fingers of the wind - Upon these lids that lie over us - Sodden and lead-heavy. - - Rest brother, for lo! the dawn is without! - The yellow flame paleth - And the wax runs low. - - Free us, for without be goodly colours, - Green of the wood-moss and flower colours, - And coolness beneath the trees. - - Free us, for we perish - In this ever-flowing monotony - Of ugly print marks, black - Upon white parchment. - - Free us, for there is one - Whose smile more availeth - Than all the age-old knowledge of thy books: - And we would look thereon. - - - - Defiance - - - Ye blood-red spears-men of the dawn's array - That drive my dusk-clad knights of dream away, - Hold! For I will not yield. - - My moated soul shall dream in your despite - A refuge for the vanquished hosts of night - That _can_ not yield. - - - - Song - - - Love thou thy dream - All base love scorning, - Love thou the wind - And here take warning - That dreams alone can truly be, - For 'tis in dream I come to thee. - - - - Nel Biancheggiar - - - Blue-Grey, and white, and white-of-rose, - The flowers of the West's fore-dawn unclose. - I feel the dusky softness whirr - Of colour, as upon a dulcimer - "Her" dreaming fingers lay between the tunes, - As when the living music swoons - But dies not quite, because for love of us - --knowing our state - How that 'tis troublous-- - It wills not die to leave us desolate. - - - - Nils Lykke - - - Beautiful, infinite memories - That are a-plucking at my heart, - Why will you be ever calling and a-calling, - And a-murmuring in the dark there? - And a-reaching out your long hands - Between me and my beloved? - - And why will you be ever a-casting - The black shadow of your beauty - On the white face of my beloved - And a-glinting in the pools of her eyes? - - - - A Song of the Virgin Mother - - - _In the play "Los Pastores de Belen."_ - - From the Spanish of Lope de Vega. - - - As ye go through these palm-trees - O holy angel; - Sith sleepeth my child here - Still ye the branches. - - O Bethlehem palm-trees - That move to the anger - Of winds in their fury, - Tempestuous voices, - Make ye no clamour, - Run ye less swiftly, - Sith sleepeth the child here - Still ye your branches. - - He the divine child - Is here a-wearied - Of weeping the earth-pain, - Here for his rest would he - Cease from his mourning, - Only a little while, - Sith sleepeth this child here - Stay ye the branches. - - Cold be the fierce winds, - Treacherous round him. - Ye see that I have not - Wherewith to guard him, - O angels, divine ones - That pass us a-flying, - Sith sleepeth my child here - Stay ye the branches. - - - - Planh for the Young English King - - - _That is, Prince Henry Plantagenet, elder brother to - Richard "Coeur de Lion."_ - - From the Provençal of Bertrans de Born "Si tuit li dol elh - plor elh marrimen." - - - If all the grief and woe and bitterness, - All dolour, ill and every evil chance - That ever came upon this grieving world - Were set together they would seem but light - Against the death of the young English King. - Worth lieth riven and Youth dolorous, - The world o'ershadowed, soiled and overcast, - Void of all joy and full of ire and sadness. - - Grieving and sad and full of bitterness - Are left in teen the liegemen courteous, - The joglars supple and the troubadours. - O'er much hath ta'en Sir Death that deadly warrior - In taking from them the young English King, - Who made the freest hand seem covetous. - 'Las! Never was nor will be in this world - The balance for this loss in ire and sadness! - - O skilful Death and full of bitterness, - Well mayst thou boast that thou the best chevalier - That any folk e'er had, hast from us taken; - Sith nothing is that unto worth pertaineth - But had its life in the young English King, - And better were it, should God grant his pleasure - That he should live than many a Irving dastard - That doth but wound the good with ire and sadness. - - From this faint world, how full of bitterness - Love takes his way and holds his joy deceitful, - Sith no thing is but turneth unto anguish - And each to-day 'vails less than yestere'en, - Let each man visage this young English King - That was most valiant mid all worthiest men! - Gone is his body fine and amorous, - Whence have we grief, discord and deepest sadness. - - Him, whom it pleased for our great bitterness - To come to earth to draw us from misventure, - Who drank of death for our salvacioun, - Him do we pray as to a Lord most righteous - And humble eke, that the young English King - He please to pardon, as true pardon is, - And bid go in with honoured companions - There where there is no grief, nor shall be sadness. - - - - Alba Innominata - - - From the Provençal. - - - In a garden where the whitethorn spreads her leaves - My lady hath her love lain close beside her, - Till the warder cries the dawn--Ah dawn that grieves! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Please God that night, dear night should never cease, - Nor that my love should parted be from me, - Nor watch cry 'Dawn'--Ah dawn that slayeth peace! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Fair friend and sweet, thy lips! Our lips again! - Lo, in the meadow there the birds give song! - Ours be the love and Jealousy's the pain! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Sweet friend and fair take we our joy again - Down in the garden, where the birds are loud, - Till the warder's reed astrain - Cry God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Of that sweet wind that comes from Far-Away - Have I drunk deep of my Beloved's breath, - Yea! of my Love's that is so dear and gay. - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon!" - - _Envoi_. - - Fair is this damsel and right courteous, - And many watch her beauty's gracious way. - Her heart toward love is no wise traitorous. - Ah God! Ah God! That dawns should come so soon! - - - - Planh - - - _It is of the white thoughts that he saw in the Forest_. - - - White Poppy, heavy with dreams, - O White Poppy, who art wiser than love, - Though I am hungry for their lips - When I see them a-hiding - And a-passing out and in through the shadows - --There in the pine wood it is, - And they are white, White Poppy, - They are white like the clouds in the forest of the sky - Ere the stars arise to their hunting. - - O White Poppy, who art wiser than love, - I am come for peace, yea from the hunting - Am I come to thee for peace. - Out of a new sorrow it is, - That my hunting hath brought me. - - White Poppy, heavy with dreams, - Though I am hungry for their lips - When I see them a-hiding - And a-passing out and in through the shadows - --And it is white they are-- - But if one should look at me with the old hunger in her eyes, - How will I be answering her eyes? - - For I have followed the white folk of the forest. - - Aye! It's a long hunting - And it's a deep hunger I have when I see them a-gliding - And a-flickering there, where the trees stand apart. - - But oh, it is sorrow and sorrow - When love dies-down in the heart. - - - - -BY THE SAME AUTHOR - -Personae - -_Choicely Printed at the Chiswick Press on fine paper. Foolscap Octavo, -2s. 6d. net_ - -SOME EARLY REVIEWS - -_The Observer_ says:--"It is something, after all, intangible and -indescribable that makes the real poetry. Criticism and praise alike -give no idea of it Everyone who pretends to know it when he sees it, -should read and keep this little book." - -_The Bookman_:--"No new book of poems for years past has had such a -freshness of inspiration, such a strongly individual note, or been more -alive with undoubtable promise." - -_The Daily Chronicle_:--" All his poems are like this, from beginning to -end, and in every way, his own, and in a world of his own. For brusque -intensity of effect we can hardly compare them to any other work. It is -the old miracle that cannot be defined, nothing more than a subtle -entanglement of words, so that they rise out of their graves and sing." - -From a 3 1/2 page detailed critique, by Mr. Edward Thomas, in _The -English Review_.--"He has ... hardly any of the superficial good -qualities of modern versifiers;... He has not the current melancholy or -resignation or unwillingness to live; nor the kind of feeling for nature -that runs to minute description and decorative metaphor. He cannot be -usefully compared with any living writers;... full of personality and -with such power to express it, that from the first to the last lines of -most of his poems he holds us steadily in his own pure, grave, -passionate world.... The beauty of it ('In praise of Ysolt') is the -beauty of passion, sincerity and intensity, not of beautiful words and -images and suggestions;... the thought dominates the words and is -greater than they are. Here ('Idyl for Glaucus') the effect is full of -human passion and natural magic, without any of the phrases which a -reader of modern verse would expect in the treatment of such a subject. -This admirable poet...." - -_The Oxford Magazine_:--"This is a most exciting book of poems." - -_The Evening Standard_:--"A queer little book which will irritate many -readers." - -_The Morning Post_:--" Mr. Ezra Pound ... immediately compels our -admiration by his fearlessness and lack of self-consciousness." - -_The Isis_(Oxford):--"This book has about it the breath of the open -air,... physically and intellectually the verse seems to reproduce the -personality with a brief fulness and adequacy. It is only in flexible, -lithe measures, such as those which Coventry Patmore chose in his -'Unknown Eros,' and Mr. Pound chooses here that a fully suitable form -for the recital of spiritual experience is to be found. Mr. Pound has a -true and invariable feeling for the measures he employs ... this -wonderful little book...." - -_The Daily Telegraph_:--"A poet with individuality.... Thread of true -beauty.... lifts it out of the ruck of those many volumes, the writers -or which toe the line of poetic convention, and please for no more than -a single reading." - -_Mr. Punch_, concerning a certain Mr. Ezekiel Ton:--"By far the newest -poet going, whatever other advertisements may say;" and announced as -"the most remarkable thing in poetry since Robert Browning," says:--"He -has succeeded where all others have failed, in evolving a blend of the -imagery of the unfettered west, the vocabulary of Wardour Street, and -the sinister abandon of Borgaic Italy." - -Mr. Scott-James, in _The Daily News_:--"At first the whole thing may -seem to be mere madness and rhetoric, a vain exhibition of force and -passion without beauty. But, as we read on, these curious metres of his -seem to have a law and order of their own; the brute force of Mr. -Pound's imagination seems to impart some quality of infectious beauty to -his words.... With Mr. Pound there is no eking out of thin sentiment -with a melody or a song. He writes out of an exuberance of incontinently -struggling ideas and passionate convictions.... He plunges straight into -the heart of his theme, and suggests virility in action combined with -fierceness, eagerness, and tenderness.... he has individuality, passion, -force, and an acquaintance with things that are profoundly moving." Mr. -Scott-James begins his half-column review of Mr. Pound's book with a -remark that he would "Like much more space in which to discuss his -work," and also notes a certain use of spondee and dactyl which "Comes -in strangely and, as we first read it, with the appearance of discord, -but afterwards seems to gain a curious and distinctive vigour." - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Exultations, by Ezra Pound - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXULTATIONS *** - -***** This file should be named 40200-0.txt or 40200-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/0/40200/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Exultations - -Author: Ezra Pound - -Release Date: July 10, 2012 [EBook #40200] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXULTATIONS *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -EXULTATIONS - -OF - -EZRA POUND - - - -LONDON - -ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET - -M CM IX - - - - _I am an eternal spirit and the things I_ - _make are but ephemera, yet I endure:_ - _Yea, and the little earth crumbles beneath_ - _our feet and we endure._ - - - -TO CARLOS TRACY CHESTER - -"_amicitiae longaevitate_" - - - - I have to thank the Editors of the _English Review_ and the - _Evening Standard_ and _St. James's Gazette_ for permission to - include in this volume certain poems which originally appeared in - those papers. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - - GUIDO INVITES YOU THUS - NIGHT LITANY - SANDALPHON - SESTINA: ALTAFORTE - PIERE VIDAL OLD - BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE - HYMN III FROM THE LATIN OF FLAMINIUS - SESTINA FOR YSOLT - PORTRAIT (FROM "LA MÈRE INCONNUE") - FAIR HELENA - LAUDANTES DECEM - AUX BELLES DE LONDRES - FRANCESCA - GREEK EPIGRAM - COLUMBUS' EPITAPH - PLOTINUS - ON HIS OWN FACE IN A GLASS - HISTRION - THE EYES - DEFIANCE - SONG - NEL BIANCHEGGIAR - NILS LYKKE - A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER - PLANH FOR THE YOUNG ENGLISH KING - ALBA INNOMINATA - PLANH - - - - -EXULTATIONS - - - Guido invites you thus[1] - - - "Lappo I leave behind and Dante too, - Lo, I would sail the seas with thee alone! - Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry, - Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise, - All the blind earth knows not th' emprise - Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call. - - Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams, - Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire; - Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams - Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire! - - Lo, thou hast voyaged not! The ship is mine." - - -[Footnote 1: The reference is to Dante's sonnet "Guido vorrei...."] - - - - Night Litany - - - O Dieu, purifiez nos coeurs! - purifiez nos coeurs! - - Yea the lines hast thou laid unto me - in pleasant places, - And the beauty of this thy Venice - hast thou shown unto me - Until is its loveliness become unto me - a thing of tears. - - O God, what great kindness - have we done in times past - and forgotten it, - That thou givest this wonder unto us, - O God of waters? - - O God of the night - What great sorrow - Cometh unto us, - That thou thus repayest us - Before the time of its coming? - - O God of silence, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - For we have seen - The glory of the shadow of the - likeness of thine handmaid, - Yea, the glory of the shadow - of thy Beauty hath walked - - Upon the shadow of the waters - In this thy Venice. - And before the holiness - Of the shadow of thy handmaid - Have I hidden mine eyes, - O God of waters. - - O God of silence, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - O God of waters, - make clean our hearts within us - And our lips to show forth thy praise, - For I have seen the - Shadow of this thy Venice - Floating upon the waters, - And thy stars - Have seen this thing out of their far courses - Have they seen this thing, - O God of waters, - Even as are thy stars - Silent unto us in their far-coursing, - Even so is mine heart - become silent within me. - - _Purifiez nos coeurs_ - _O God of the silence,_ - _Purifiez nos coeurs_ - _O God of waters._ - - - - Sandalphon - - - The angel of prayer according to the Talmud stands unmoved among - the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is finished, - also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his hands. - - - And these about me die, - Because the pain of the infinite singing - Slayeth them. - Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's - age-long crusading, - Ye know somewhat the strain, - the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing. - And therefore ye know after what fashion - This singing hath power destroying. - - Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage - Unto the Mover of Circles, - Die for the might of their praising, - And the autumn of their marcescent wings - Maketh ever new loam for my forest; - And these grey ash trees hold within them - All the secrets of whatso things - They dreamed before their praises, - And in this grove my flowers, - Fruit of prayerful powers, - Have first their thought of life - And then their being. - - Ye marvel that I die not! _forsitan_! - Thinking me kin with such as may not weep, - Thinking me part of them that die for praising - --yea, tho' it be praising, - past the power of man's mortality to - dream or name its phases, - --yea, tho' it chant and paean - past the might of earth-dwelt - soul to think on, - --yea, tho' it be praising - as these the winged ones die of. - - Ye think me one insensate - else die I also - Sith these about me die, - And if I, watching - - Ever the multiplex jewel, of beryl and jasper and sapphire - Make of these prayers of earth ever new flowers; - Marvel and wonder! - Marvel and wonder even as I, - Giving to prayer new language - And causing the works to speak - Of the earth-horde's age-lasting longing, - Even as I marvel and wonder, and know not, - Yet keep my watch in the ash wood. - - - - Sestina: Altaforte - - - LOQUITUR: _En_ Bertrans de Born. - Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer-up - of strife. - Eccovi! - Judge ye! - Have I dug him up again? - The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. "Papiols" is his jongleur. - "The Leopard," the _device_ of Richard (Coeur de Lion). - - - - I - - - Damn it all! all this our South stinks peace. - You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music! - I have no life save when the swords clash. - But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing - And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson, - Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing. - - II - - In hot summer have I great rejoicing - When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace, - And the light'nings from black heav'n flash crimson, - And the fierce thunders roar me their music - And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing, - And through all the riven skies God's swords clash. - - III - - Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash! - And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, - Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing! - Better one hour's stour than a year's peace - With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music! - Bah! there's no wine like the blood's crimson! - - IV - - And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson. - And I watch his spears through the dark clash - And it fills all my heart with rejoicing - And pries wide my mouth with fast music - When I see him so scorn and defy peace, - His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing. - - V - - The man who fears war and squats opposing - My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson - But is fit only to rot in womanish peace - Far from where worth's won and the swords clash - For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing; - Yea, I fill all the air with my music. - - VI - - Papiols, Papiols, to the music! - There's no sound like to swords swords opposing, - No cry like the battle's rejoicing - When our elbows and swords drip the crimson - And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash. - May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace!" - - VII - - And let the music of the swords make them crimson! - Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash! - Hell blot black for alway the thought "Peace"! - - - - Piere Vidal Old - - - It is of Piere Vidal, the fool par excellence of all Provence, of - whom the tale tells how he ran mad, as a wolf, because of his love - for Loba of Penautier, and how men hunted him with dogs through the - mountains of Cabaret and brought him for dead to the dwelling of - this Loba (she-wolf) of Penautier, and how she and her Lord had him - healed and made welcome, and he stayed some time at that court. He - speaks: - - - When I but think upon the great dead days - And turn my mind upon that splendid madness, - Lo! I do curse my strength - And blame the sun his gladness; - For that the one is dead - And the red sun mocks my sadness. - - Behold me, Vidal, that was fool of fools! - Swift as the king wolf was I and as strong - When tall stags fled me through the alder brakes, - And every jongleur knew me in his song, - And the hounds fled and the deer fled - And none fled over long. - - Even the grey pack knew me and knew fear. - God! how the swiftest hind's blood spurted hot - Over the sharpened teeth and purpling lips! - Hot was that hind's blood yet it scorched me not - As did first scorn, then lips of the Penautier! - Aye ye are fools, if ye think time can blot - - From Piere Vidal's remembrance that blue night, - God! but the purple of the sky was deep! - Clear, deep, translucent, so the stars me seemed - Set deep in crystal; and because my sleep - --Rare visitor--came not,--the Saints I guerdon - For that restlessness--Piere set to keep - - One more fool's vigil with the hollyhocks. - Swift came the Loba, as a branch that's caught, - Tom, green and silent in the swollen Rhone, - Green was her mantle, close, and wrought - Of some thin silk stuff that's scarce stuff at all, - But like a mist wherethrough her white form fought, - - And conquered! Ah God! conquered! - Silent my mate came as the night was still. - Speech? Words? Faugh! Who talks of words and love?! - Hot is such love and silent, - Silent as fate is, and as strong until - It faints in taking and in giving all. - - Stark, keen, triumphant, till it plays at death. - God! she was white then, splendid as some tomb - High wrought of marble, and the panting breath - Ceased utterly. Well, then I waited, drew, - Half-sheathed, then naked from its saffron sheath - Drew full this dagger that doth tremble here. - - Just then she woke and mocked the less keen blade. - Ah God, the Loba! and my only mate! - Was there such flesh made ever and unmade! - God curse the years that turn such women grey! - Behold here Vidal, that was hunted, flayed, - Shamed and yet bowed not and that won at last. - - And yet I curse the sun for his red gladness, - I that have known strath, garth, brake, dale, - And every run-way of the wood through that great madness, - Behold me shrivelled as an old oak's trunk - And made men's mock'ry in my rotten sadness! - - No man hath heard the glory of my days: - No man hath dared and won his dare as I: - One night, one body and one welding flame! - What do ye own, ye niggards! that can buy - Such glory of the earth? Or who will win - Such battle-guerdon with his "prowesse high"? - - O Age gone lax! O stunted followers, - That mask at passions and desire desires, - Behold me shrivelled, and your mock of mocks; - And yet I mock you by the mighty fires - That burnt me to this ash. - * * * * * * * - Ah! Cabaret! Ah Cabaret, thy hills again! - * * * * * * * - Take your hands off me!... [_Sniffing the air_. - Ha! this scent is hot! - - - - Ballad of the Goodly Fere[1] - - - Simon Zelotes speaketh it somewhile after the Crucifixion. - - - Ha' we lost the goodliest fere o' all - For the priests and the gallows tree? - Aye lover he was of brawny men, - O' ships and the open sea. - - When they came wi' a host to take Our Man - His smile was good to see, - "First let these go!" quo' our Goodly Fere, - "Or I'll see ye damned," says he. - - Aye he sent us out through the crossed high spears - And the scorn of his laugh rang free, - "Why took ye not me when I walked about - Alone in the town?" says he. - - Oh we drank his "Hale" in the good red wine - When we last made company, - No capon priest was the Goodly Fere - But a man o' men was he. - - I ha' seen him drive a hundred men - Wi' a bundle o' cords swung free, - That they took the high and holy house - For their pawn and treasury. - - They'll no' get him a' in a book I think - Though they write it cunningly; - No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere - But aye loved the open sea. - - If they think they ha' snared our Goodly Fere - They are fools to the last degree. - "I'll go to the feast," quo' our Goodly Fere, - "Though I go to the gallows tree." - - "Ye ha' seen me heal the lame and blind, - And wake the dead," says he, - "Ye shall see one thing to master all: - 'Tis how a brave man dies on the tree." - - A son of God was the Goodly Fere - That bade us his brothers be. - I ha' seen him cow a thousand men. - I have seen him upon the tree. - - He cried no cry when they drave the nails - And the blood gushed hot and free, - The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue - But never a cry cried he. - - I ha' seen him cow a thousand men - On the hills o' Galilee, - They whined as he walked out calm between, - Wi' his eyes like the grey o' the sea. - - Like the sea that brooks no voyaging - With the winds unleashed and free, - Like the sea that he cowed at Genseret - Wi' twey words spoke' suddently. - - A master of men was the Goodly Fere, - A mate of the wind and sea, - If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere - They are fools eternally. - - I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb - Sin' they nailed him to the tree. - - -[Footnote 1: Fere = Mate, Companion.] - - -_*** The Publisher desires to state that the "Ballad of the -Goodly Fere"--by the wish of the Author--is reproduced exactly -as it appeared in the "English Review."_ - - - Hymn III - - - From the Latin of Marc Antony Flaminius, sixteenth century. - - - As a fragile and lovely flower unfolds its gleaming - foliage on the breast of the fostering earth, if - the dew and the rain draw it forth; - So doth my tender mind flourish, if it be fed with the - sweet dew of the fostering spirit, - Lacking this, it beginneth straightway to languish, - even as a floweret born upon dry earth, if the - dew and the rain tend it not. - - - - Sestina for Ysolt - - - There comes upon me will to speak in praise - Of things most fragile in their loveliness; - Because the sky hath wept all this long day - And wrapped men's hearts within its cloak of greyness, - Because they look not down I sing the stars, - Because 'tis still mid-March I praise May's flowers. - - Also I praise long hands that lie as flowers - Which though they labour not are worthy praise, - And praise deep eyes like pools wherein the stars - Gleam out reflected in their loveliness, - For whoso look on such there is no greyness - May hang about his heart on any day. - - The other things that I would praise to-day? - Besides white hands and all the fragile flowers, - And by their praise dispel the evening's greyness? - I praise dim hair that worthiest is of praise - And dream upon its unbound loveliness, - And how therethrough mine eyes have seen the stars. - - Yea, through that cloud mine eyes have seen the stars - That drift out slowly when night steals the day, - Through such a cloud meseems their loveliness - Surpasses that of all the other flowers. - For that one night I give all nights my praise - And love therefrom the twilight's coming greyness. - - There is a stillness in this twilight greyness - Although the rain hath veiled the flow'ry stars, - They seem to listen as I weave this praise - Of what I have not seen all this grey day, - And they will tell my praise unto the flowers - When May shall bid them in in loveliness. - - O ye I love, who hold this loveliness - Near to your hearts, may never any greyness - Enshroud your hearts when ye would gather flowers, - Or bind your eyes when ye would see the stars; - But alway do I give ye flowers by day, - And when day's plucked I give ye stars for praise. - - But most, thou Flower, whose eyes are like the stars, - With whom my dreams bide all the live-long day, - Within thy hands would I rest all my praise. - - - - Portrait - - - From "La Mère Inconnue." - - - Now would I weave her portrait out of all dim splendour. - Of Provence and far halls of memory, - Lo, there come echoes, faint diversity - Of blended bells at even's end, or - As the distant seas should send her - The tribute of their trembling, ceaselessly - Resonant. Out of all dreams that be, - Say, shall I bid the deepest dreams attend her? - - Nay! For I have seen the purplest shadows stand - Alway with reverent chere that looked on her, - Silence himself is grown her worshipper - And ever doth attend her in that land - Wherein she reigneth, wherefore let there stir - Naught but the softest voices, praising her. - - - - "Fair Helena" by Rackham - - - "_What I love best in all the world?_" - - - When the purple twilight is unbound, - To watch her slow, tall grace - and its wistful loveliness, - And to know her face - is in the shadow there, - Just by two stars beneath that cloud-- - The soft, dim cloud of her hair, - And to think my voice - can reach to her - As but the rumour of some tree-bound stream, - Heard just beyond the forest's edge, - Until she all forgets I am, - And knows of me - Naught but my dream's felicity. - - - - Laudantes Decem Pulchritudinis - - Johannae Templi - - - I - - When your beauty is grown old in all men's songs, - And my poor words are lost amid that throng, - Then you will know the truth of my poor words, - And mayhap dreaming of the wistful throng - That hopeless sigh your praises in their songs, - You will think kindly then of these mad words. - - II - - I am torn, torn with thy beauty, - O Rose of the sharpest thorn! - O Rose of the crimson beauty, - Why hast thou awakened the sleeper? - Why hast thou awakened the heart within me, - O Rose of the crimson thorn? - - III - - The unappeasable loveliness - is calling to me out of the wind, - And because your name - is written upon the ivory doors, - The wave in my heart is as a green wave, unconfined, - Tossing the white foam toward you; - And the lotus that pours - Her fragrance into the purple cup, - Is more to be gained with the foam - Than are you with these words of mine. - - IV - - _He speaks to the moonlight concerning the Beloved_. - - Pale hair that the moon has shaken - Down over the dark breast of the sea, - O magic her beauty has shaken - About the heart of me; - Out of you have I woven a dream - That shall walk in the lonely vale - Betwixt the high hill and the low hill, - Until the pale stream - Of the souls of men quench and grow still. - - V - - _Voices speaking to the sun_. - - Red leaf that art blown upward and out and over - The green sheaf of the world, - And through the dim forest and under - The shadowed arches and the aisles, - We, who are older than thou art, - Met and remembered when his eyes beheld her - In the garden of the peach-trees, - In the day of the blossoming. - - VI - - I stood on the hill of Yrma - when the winds were a-hurrying, - With the grasses a-bending - I followed them, - Through the brown grasses of Ahva - unto the green of Asedon. - I have rested with the voices - in the gardens of Ahthor, - I have lain beneath the peach-trees - in the hour of the purple: - - Because I had awaited in - the garden of the peach-trees, - Because I had feared not - in the forest of my mind, - Mine eyes beheld the vision of the blossom - There in the peach-gardens past Asedon. - - O winds of Yrma, let her again come unto me, - Whose hair ye held unbound in the gardens of Ahthor! - - VII - - Because of the beautiful white shoulders and the rounded breasts - I can in no wise forget my beloved of the peach-trees, - And the little winds that speak when the dawn is unfurled - And the rose-colour in the grey oak-leaf's fold - - When it first comes, and the glamour that rests - On the little streams in the evening; all of these - Call me to her, and all the loveliness in the world - Binds me to my beloved with strong chains of gold. - - VIII - - If the rose-petals which have fallen upon my eyes - And if the perfect faces which I see at times - When my eyes are closed-- - Faces fragile, pale, yet flushed a little, like petals of roses: - If these things have confused my memories of her - So that I could not draw her face - Even if I had skill and the colours, - Yet because her face is so like these things - They but draw me nearer unto her in my thought - And thoughts of her come upon my mind gently, - As dew upon the petals of roses. - - IX - - _He speaks to the rain_. - - O pearls that hang on your little silver chains, - The innumerable voices that are whispering - Among you as you are drawn aside by the wind, - Have brought to my mind the soft and eager speech - Of one who hath great loveliness, - - Which is subtle as the beauty of the rains - That hang low in the moonshine and bring - The May softly among us, and unbind - The streams and the crimson and white flowers and reach - Deep down into the secret places. - - X - - The glamour of the soul hath come upon me, - And as the twilight comes upon the roses, - Walking silently among them, - So have the thoughts of my heart - Gone out slowly in the twilight - Toward my beloved, - Toward the crimson rose, the fairest. - - - - Aux Belles de Londres - - - I am aweary with the utter and beautiful weariness - And with the ultimate wisdom and with things terrene, - I am aweary with your smiles and your laughter, - And the sun and the winds again - Reclaim their booty and the heart o' me. - - - - Francesca - - - You came in out of the night - And there were flowers in your hands, - Now you will come out of a confusion of people, - Out of a turmoil of speech about you. - - I who have seen you amid the primal things - Was angry when they spoke your name - In ordinary places. - I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind, - And that the world should dry as a dead leaf, - Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away, - So that I might find you again, - Alone. - - - - Greek Epigram - - - Day and night are never weary, - Nor yet is God of creating - For day and night their torch-bearers - The aube and the crepuscule. - - So, when I weary of praising the dawn and the sun-set, - Let me be no more counted among the immortals; - But number me amid the wearying ones, - Let me be a man as the herd, - And as the slave that is given in barter. - - - - Christophori Columbi Tumulus - - - From the Latin of Hipolytus Capilupus, Early Cent XVI. - - Genoan, glory of Italy, Columbus thou sure light, - Alas the urn takes even thee so soon out-blown. - Its little space - - Doth hold thee, whom Oceanus had not the might - Within his folds to hold, altho' his broad embrace - Doth hold all lands. - - Bark-borne beyond his bound'ries unto Hind thou wast - Where scarce Fame's volant self the way had cast. - - - - Plotinus - - - As one that would draw through the node of things, - Back sweeping to the vortex of the cone, - Cloistered about with memories, alone - In chaos, while the waiting silence sings: - - Obliviate of cycles' wanderings - I was an atom on creation's throne - And knew all nothing my unconquered own. - God! Should I be the hand upon the strings?! - - But I was lonely as a lonely child. - I cried amid the void and heard no cry, - And then for utter loneliness, made I - New thoughts as crescent images of _me_. - And with them was my essence reconciled - While fear went forth from mine eternity. - - - - On His Own Face in a Glass - - - O strange face there in the glass! - O ribald company, O saintly host, - O sorrow-swept my fool, - What answer? O ye myriad - That strive and play and pass, - Jest, challenge, counterlie? - I? I? I? - And ye? - - - - Histrion - - - No man hath dared to write this thing as yet, - And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great - At times pass through us, - And we are melted into them, and are not - Save reflexions of their souls. - Thus am I Dante for a space and am - One François Villon, ballad-lord and thief - Or am such holy ones I may not write, - Lest blasphemy be writ against my name; - This for an instant and the flame is gone. - - 'Tis as in midmost us there glows a sphere - Translucent, molten gold, that is the "I" - And into this some form projects itself: - Christus, or John, or eke the Florentine; - And as the clear space is not if a form's - Imposed thereon, - So cease we from all being for the time, - And these, the Masters of the Soul, live on. - - - - The Eyes - - - Rest Master, for we be a-weary, weary - And would feel the fingers of the wind - Upon these lids that lie over us - Sodden and lead-heavy. - - Rest brother, for lo! the dawn is without! - The yellow flame paleth - And the wax runs low. - - Free us, for without be goodly colours, - Green of the wood-moss and flower colours, - And coolness beneath the trees. - - Free us, for we perish - In this ever-flowing monotony - Of ugly print marks, black - Upon white parchment. - - Free us, for there is one - Whose smile more availeth - Than all the age-old knowledge of thy books: - And we would look thereon. - - - - Defiance - - - Ye blood-red spears-men of the dawn's array - That drive my dusk-clad knights of dream away, - Hold! For I will not yield. - - My moated soul shall dream in your despite - A refuge for the vanquished hosts of night - That _can_ not yield. - - - - Song - - - Love thou thy dream - All base love scorning, - Love thou the wind - And here take warning - That dreams alone can truly be, - For 'tis in dream I come to thee. - - - - Nel Biancheggiar - - - Blue-Grey, and white, and white-of-rose, - The flowers of the West's fore-dawn unclose. - I feel the dusky softness whirr - Of colour, as upon a dulcimer - "Her" dreaming fingers lay between the tunes, - As when the living music swoons - But dies not quite, because for love of us - --knowing our state - How that 'tis troublous-- - It wills not die to leave us desolate. - - - - Nils Lykke - - - Beautiful, infinite memories - That are a-plucking at my heart, - Why will you be ever calling and a-calling, - And a-murmuring in the dark there? - And a-reaching out your long hands - Between me and my beloved? - - And why will you be ever a-casting - The black shadow of your beauty - On the white face of my beloved - And a-glinting in the pools of her eyes? - - - - A Song of the Virgin Mother - - - _In the play "Los Pastores de Belen."_ - - From the Spanish of Lope de Vega. - - - As ye go through these palm-trees - O holy angel; - Sith sleepeth my child here - Still ye the branches. - - O Bethlehem palm-trees - That move to the anger - Of winds in their fury, - Tempestuous voices, - Make ye no clamour, - Run ye less swiftly, - Sith sleepeth the child here - Still ye your branches. - - He the divine child - Is here a-wearied - Of weeping the earth-pain, - Here for his rest would he - Cease from his mourning, - Only a little while, - Sith sleepeth this child here - Stay ye the branches. - - Cold be the fierce winds, - Treacherous round him. - Ye see that I have not - Wherewith to guard him, - O angels, divine ones - That pass us a-flying, - Sith sleepeth my child here - Stay ye the branches. - - - - Planh for the Young English King - - - _That is, Prince Henry Plantagenet, elder brother to - Richard "Coeur de Lion."_ - - From the Provençal of Bertrans de Born "Si tuit li dol elh - plor elh marrimen." - - - If all the grief and woe and bitterness, - All dolour, ill and every evil chance - That ever came upon this grieving world - Were set together they would seem but light - Against the death of the young English King. - Worth lieth riven and Youth dolorous, - The world o'ershadowed, soiled and overcast, - Void of all joy and full of ire and sadness. - - Grieving and sad and full of bitterness - Are left in teen the liegemen courteous, - The joglars supple and the troubadours. - O'er much hath ta'en Sir Death that deadly warrior - In taking from them the young English King, - Who made the freest hand seem covetous. - 'Las! Never was nor will be in this world - The balance for this loss in ire and sadness! - - O skilful Death and full of bitterness, - Well mayst thou boast that thou the best chevalier - That any folk e'er had, hast from us taken; - Sith nothing is that unto worth pertaineth - But had its life in the young English King, - And better were it, should God grant his pleasure - That he should live than many a Irving dastard - That doth but wound the good with ire and sadness. - - From this faint world, how full of bitterness - Love takes his way and holds his joy deceitful, - Sith no thing is but turneth unto anguish - And each to-day 'vails less than yestere'en, - Let each man visage this young English King - That was most valiant mid all worthiest men! - Gone is his body fine and amorous, - Whence have we grief, discord and deepest sadness. - - Him, whom it pleased for our great bitterness - To come to earth to draw us from misventure, - Who drank of death for our salvacioun, - Him do we pray as to a Lord most righteous - And humble eke, that the young English King - He please to pardon, as true pardon is, - And bid go in with honoured companions - There where there is no grief, nor shall be sadness. - - - - Alba Innominata - - - From the Provençal. - - - In a garden where the whitethorn spreads her leaves - My lady hath her love lain close beside her, - Till the warder cries the dawn--Ah dawn that grieves! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Please God that night, dear night should never cease, - Nor that my love should parted be from me, - Nor watch cry 'Dawn'--Ah dawn that slayeth peace! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Fair friend and sweet, thy lips! Our lips again! - Lo, in the meadow there the birds give song! - Ours be the love and Jealousy's the pain! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Sweet friend and fair take we our joy again - Down in the garden, where the birds are loud, - Till the warder's reed astrain - Cry God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Of that sweet wind that comes from Far-Away - Have I drunk deep of my Beloved's breath, - Yea! of my Love's that is so dear and gay. - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon!" - - _Envoi_. - - Fair is this damsel and right courteous, - And many watch her beauty's gracious way. - Her heart toward love is no wise traitorous. - Ah God! Ah God! That dawns should come so soon! - - - - Planh - - - _It is of the white thoughts that he saw in the Forest_. - - - White Poppy, heavy with dreams, - O White Poppy, who art wiser than love, - Though I am hungry for their lips - When I see them a-hiding - And a-passing out and in through the shadows - --There in the pine wood it is, - And they are white, White Poppy, - They are white like the clouds in the forest of the sky - Ere the stars arise to their hunting. - - O White Poppy, who art wiser than love, - I am come for peace, yea from the hunting - Am I come to thee for peace. - Out of a new sorrow it is, - That my hunting hath brought me. - - White Poppy, heavy with dreams, - Though I am hungry for their lips - When I see them a-hiding - And a-passing out and in through the shadows - --And it is white they are-- - But if one should look at me with the old hunger in her eyes, - How will I be answering her eyes? - - For I have followed the white folk of the forest. - - Aye! It's a long hunting - And it's a deep hunger I have when I see them a-gliding - And a-flickering there, where the trees stand apart. - - But oh, it is sorrow and sorrow - When love dies-down in the heart. - - - - -BY THE SAME AUTHOR - -Personae - -_Choicely Printed at the Chiswick Press on fine paper. Foolscap Octavo, -2s. 6d. net_ - -SOME EARLY REVIEWS - -_The Observer_ says:--"It is something, after all, intangible and -indescribable that makes the real poetry. Criticism and praise alike -give no idea of it Everyone who pretends to know it when he sees it, -should read and keep this little book." - -_The Bookman_:--"No new book of poems for years past has had such a -freshness of inspiration, such a strongly individual note, or been more -alive with undoubtable promise." - -_The Daily Chronicle_:--" All his poems are like this, from beginning to -end, and in every way, his own, and in a world of his own. For brusque -intensity of effect we can hardly compare them to any other work. It is -the old miracle that cannot be defined, nothing more than a subtle -entanglement of words, so that they rise out of their graves and sing." - -From a 3 1/2 page detailed critique, by Mr. Edward Thomas, in _The -English Review_.--"He has ... hardly any of the superficial good -qualities of modern versifiers;... He has not the current melancholy or -resignation or unwillingness to live; nor the kind of feeling for nature -that runs to minute description and decorative metaphor. He cannot be -usefully compared with any living writers;... full of personality and -with such power to express it, that from the first to the last lines of -most of his poems he holds us steadily in his own pure, grave, -passionate world.... The beauty of it ('In praise of Ysolt') is the -beauty of passion, sincerity and intensity, not of beautiful words and -images and suggestions;... the thought dominates the words and is -greater than they are. Here ('Idyl for Glaucus') the effect is full of -human passion and natural magic, without any of the phrases which a -reader of modern verse would expect in the treatment of such a subject. -This admirable poet...." - -_The Oxford Magazine_:--"This is a most exciting book of poems." - -_The Evening Standard_:--"A queer little book which will irritate many -readers." - -_The Morning Post_:--" Mr. Ezra Pound ... immediately compels our -admiration by his fearlessness and lack of self-consciousness." - -_The Isis_(Oxford):--"This book has about it the breath of the open -air,... physically and intellectually the verse seems to reproduce the -personality with a brief fulness and adequacy. It is only in flexible, -lithe measures, such as those which Coventry Patmore chose in his -'Unknown Eros,' and Mr. Pound chooses here that a fully suitable form -for the recital of spiritual experience is to be found. Mr. Pound has a -true and invariable feeling for the measures he employs ... this -wonderful little book...." - -_The Daily Telegraph_:--"A poet with individuality.... Thread of true -beauty.... lifts it out of the ruck of those many volumes, the writers -or which toe the line of poetic convention, and please for no more than -a single reading." - -_Mr. Punch_, concerning a certain Mr. Ezekiel Ton:--"By far the newest -poet going, whatever other advertisements may say;" and announced as -"the most remarkable thing in poetry since Robert Browning," says:--"He -has succeeded where all others have failed, in evolving a blend of the -imagery of the unfettered west, the vocabulary of Wardour Street, and -the sinister abandon of Borgaic Italy." - -Mr. Scott-James, in _The Daily News_:--"At first the whole thing may -seem to be mere madness and rhetoric, a vain exhibition of force and -passion without beauty. But, as we read on, these curious metres of his -seem to have a law and order of their own; the brute force of Mr. -Pound's imagination seems to impart some quality of infectious beauty to -his words.... With Mr. Pound there is no eking out of thin sentiment -with a melody or a song. He writes out of an exuberance of incontinently -struggling ideas and passionate convictions.... He plunges straight into -the heart of his theme, and suggests virility in action combined with -fierceness, eagerness, and tenderness.... he has individuality, passion, -force, and an acquaintance with things that are profoundly moving." Mr. -Scott-James begins his half-column review of Mr. Pound's book with a -remark that he would "Like much more space in which to discuss his -work," and also notes a certain use of spondee and dactyl which "Comes -in strangely and, as we first read it, with the appearance of discord, -but afterwards seems to gain a curious and distinctive vigour." - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Exultations, by Ezra Pound - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXULTATIONS *** - -***** This file should be named 40200-8.txt or 40200-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/0/40200/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Exultations - -Author: Ezra Pound - -Release Date: July 10, 2012 [EBook #40200] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXULTATIONS *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h1>EXULTATIONS</h1> - -<h3>OF</h3> - -<h2>EZRA POUND</h2> - - - -<h5>LONDON</h5> - -<h5>ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET</h5> - -<h5>M CM IX</h5> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>I am an eternal spirit and the things I</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>make are but ephemera, yet I endure:</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Yea, and the little earth crumbles beneath</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>our feet and we endure.</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4>TO CARLOS TRACY CHESTER</h4> - -<h4>"<i>amicitiae longaevitate</i>"</h4> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<blockquote> -<p>I have to thank the Editors of the -<i>English Review</i> and the <i>Evening -Standard</i> and <i>St. James's Gazette</i> -for permission to include in this -volume certain poems which originally -appeared in those papers.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> - - - -<p style="margin-left: 35%; font-size:smaller;"> -<a href="#Guido_invites_you_thus">GUIDO INVITES YOU THUS</a><br /> -<a href="#Night_Litany">NIGHT LITANY</a><br /> -<a href="#Sandalphon">SANDALPHON</a><br /> -<a href="#Sestina_Altaforte">SESTINA: ALTAFORTE</a><br /> -<a href="#Piere_Vidal_Old">PIERE VIDAL OLD</a><br /> -<a href="#Ballad_of_the_Goodly_Fere">BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE</a><br /> -<a href="#Hymn_III">HYMN III FROM THE LATIN OF FLAMINIUS</a><br /> -<a href="#Sestina_for_Ysolt">SESTINA FOR YSOLT</a><br /> -<a href="#Portrait">PORTRAIT (FROM "LA MÈRE INCONNUE")</a><br /> -<a href="#Fair_Helena_by_Rackham">FAIR HELENA</a><br /> -<a href="#Laudantes_Decem_Pulchritudinis">LAUDANTES DECEM</a><br /> -<a href="#Aux_Belles_de_Londres">AUX BELLES DE LONDRES</a><br /> -<a href="#Francesca">FRANCESCA</a><br /> -<a href="#Greek_Epigram">GREEK EPIGRAM</a><br /> -<a href="#Christophori_Columbi_Tumulus">COLUMBUS' EPITAPH</a><br /> -<a href="#Plotinus">PLOTINUS</a><br /> -<a href="#On_His_Own_Face_in_a_Glass">ON HIS OWN FACE IN A GLASS</a><br /> -<a href="#Histrion">HISTRION</a><br /> -<a href="#The_Eyes">THE EYES</a><br /> -<a href="#Defiance">DEFIANCE</a><br /> -<a href="#Song">SONG</a><br /> -<a href="#Nel_Biancheggiar">NEL BIANCHEGGIAR</a><br /> -<a href="#Nils_Lykke">NILS LYKKE</a><br /> -<a href="#A_Song_of_the_Virgin_Mother">A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER</a><br /> -<a href="#Planh_for_the_Young_English_King">PLANH FOR THE YOUNG ENGLISH KING</a><br /> -<a href="#Alba_Innominata">ALBA INNOMINATA</a><br /> -<a href="#Planh">PLANH</a><br /> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="EXULTATIONS" id="EXULTATIONS">EXULTATIONS</a></h3> - - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<br /><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Guido_invites_you_thus"></a>Guido invites you thus<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Lappo I leave behind and Dante too,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lo, I would sail the seas with thee alone!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">All the blind earth knows not th' emprise</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire!</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lo, thou hast voyaged not! The ship is mine."</span><br /> -<br /><br /></p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The reference is to Dante's sonnet "Guido vorrei...."</p></div> - - - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<br /><br /><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Night_Litany"></a>Night Litany</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O Dieu, purifiez nos cÅ“urs!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">purifiez nos cÅ“urs!</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Yea the lines hast thou laid unto me</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">in pleasant places,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the beauty of this thy Venice</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">hast thou shown unto me</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Until is its loveliness become unto me</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">a thing of tears.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O God, what great kindness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">have we done in times past</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">and forgotten it,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That thou givest this wonder unto us,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">O God of waters?</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O God of the night</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">What great sorrow</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Cometh unto us,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">That thou thus repayest us</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Before the time of its coming?</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O God of silence,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Purifiez nos cÅ“urs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Purifiez nos cÅ“urs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For we have seen</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The glory of the shadow of the</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">likeness of thine handmaid,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Yea, the glory of the shadow</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">of thy Beauty hath walked</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Upon the shadow of the waters</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">In this thy Venice.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And before the holiness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of the shadow of thy handmaid</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Have I hidden mine eyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">O God of waters.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O God of silence,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Purifiez nos cÅ“urs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Purifiez nos cÅ“urs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O God of waters,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">make clean our hearts within us</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And our lips to show forth thy praise,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">For I have seen the</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Shadow of this thy Venice</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Floating upon the waters,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And thy stars</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Have seen this thing out of their far courses</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Have they seen this thing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">O God of waters,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Even as are thy stars</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Silent unto us in their far-coursing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Even so is mine heart</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">become silent within me.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Purifiez nos cÅ“urs</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>O God of the silence,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Purifiez nos cÅ“urs</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>O God of waters.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Sandalphon"></a>Sandalphon</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The angel of prayer according to the Talmud stands unmoved</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">among the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">finished, also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">hands.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And these about me die,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Because the pain of the infinite singing</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Slayeth them.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">age-long crusading,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ye know somewhat the strain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And therefore ye know after what fashion</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">This singing hath power destroying.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Unto the Mover of Circles,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Die for the might of their praising,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the autumn of their marcescent wings</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Maketh ever new loam for my forest;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And these grey ash trees hold within them</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">All the secrets of whatso things</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">They dreamed before their praises,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And in this grove my flowers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Fruit of prayerful powers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Have first their thought of life</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">And then their being.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ye marvel that I die not! <i>forsitan</i>!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Thinking me kin with such as may not weep,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Thinking me part of them that die for praising</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—yea, tho' it be praising,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">past the power of man's mortality to</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">dream or name its phases,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—yea, tho' it chant and paean</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">past the might of earth-dwelt</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">soul to think on,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—yea, tho' it be praising</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">as these the winged ones die of.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ye think me one insensate</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">else die I also</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sith these about me die,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And if I, watching</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ever the multiplex jewel, of beryl and jasper and sapphire</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Make of these prayers of earth ever new flowers;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Marvel and wonder!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Marvel and wonder even as I,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Giving to prayer new language</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And causing the works to speak</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of the earth-horde's age-lasting longing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Even as I marvel and wonder, and know not,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Yet keep my watch in the ash wood.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Sestina_Altaforte"></a>Sestina: Altaforte</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">LOQUITUR: <i>En</i> Bertrans de Born.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer-up</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">of strife.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Eccovi!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Judge ye!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Have I dug him up again?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. "Papiols" is his jongleur.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"The Leopard," the <i>device</i> of Richard (CÅ“ur de Lion).</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Damn it all! all this our South stinks peace.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I have no life save when the swords clash.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">II</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In hot summer have I great rejoicing</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the light'nings from black heav'n flash crimson,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the fierce thunders roar me their music</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And through all the riven skies God's swords clash.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">III</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Better one hour's stour than a year's peace</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Bah! there's no wine like the blood's crimson!</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">IV</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And I watch his spears through the dark clash</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And it fills all my heart with rejoicing</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And pries wide my mouth with fast music</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When I see him so scorn and defy peace,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">V</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The man who fears war and squats opposing</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But is fit only to rot in womanish peace</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Far from where worth's won and the swords clash</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Yea, I fill all the air with my music.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">VI</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Papiols, Papiols, to the music!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">There's no sound like to swords swords opposing,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">No cry like the battle's rejoicing</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When our elbows and swords drip the crimson</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace!"</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">VII</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And let the music of the swords make them crimson!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Hell blot black for alway the thought "Peace"!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Piere_Vidal_Old"></a>Piere Vidal Old</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">It is of Piere Vidal, the fool par excellence of all Provence, of</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">whom the tale tells how he ran mad, as a wolf, because of his love</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">for Loba of Penautier, and how men hunted him with dogs through</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">the mountains of Cabaret and brought him for dead to the dwelling</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">of this Loba (she-wolf) of Penautier, and how she and her Lord</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">had him healed and made welcome, and he stayed some time at</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">that court. He speaks:</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When I but think upon the great dead days</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And turn my mind upon that splendid madness,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lo! I do curse my strength</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And blame the sun his gladness;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For that the one is dead</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the red sun mocks my sadness.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Behold me, Vidal, that was fool of fools!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Swift as the king wolf was I and as strong</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When tall stags fled me through the alder brakes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And every jongleur knew me in his song,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the hounds fled and the deer fled</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And none fled over long.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Even the grey pack knew me and knew fear.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">God! how the swiftest hind's blood spurted hot</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Over the sharpened teeth and purpling lips!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Hot was that hind's blood yet it scorched me not</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As did first scorn, then lips of the Penautier!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Aye ye are fools, if ye think time can blot</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">From Piere Vidal's remembrance that blue night,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">God! but the purple of the sky was deep!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Clear, deep, translucent, so the stars me seemed</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Set deep in crystal; and because my sleep</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—Rare visitor—came not,—the Saints I guerdon</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For that restlessness—Piere set to keep</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">One more fool's vigil with the hollyhocks.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Swift came the Loba, as a branch that's caught,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Tom, green and silent in the swollen Rhone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Green was her mantle, close, and wrought</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of some thin silk stuff that's scarce stuff at all,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But like a mist wherethrough her white form fought,</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And conquered! Ah God! conquered!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Silent my mate came as the night was still.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Speech? Words? Faugh! Who talks of words and love?!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Hot is such love and silent,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Silent as fate is, and as strong until</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">It faints in taking and in giving all.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Stark, keen, triumphant, till it plays at death.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">God! she was white then, splendid as some tomb</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">High wrought of marble, and the panting breath</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ceased utterly. Well, then I waited, drew,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Half-sheathed, then naked from its saffron sheath</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Drew full this dagger that doth tremble here.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Just then she woke and mocked the less keen blade.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ah God, the Loba! and my only mate!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Was there such flesh made ever and unmade!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">God curse the years that turn such women grey!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Behold here Vidal, that was hunted, flayed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Shamed and yet bowed not and that won at last.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And yet I curse the sun for his red gladness,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I that have known strath, garth, brake, dale,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And every run-way of the wood through that great madness,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Behold me shrivelled as an old oak's trunk</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And made men's mock'ry in my rotten sadness!</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">No man hath heard the glory of my days:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">No man hath dared and won his dare as I:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">One night, one body and one welding flame!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">What do ye own, ye niggards! that can buy</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Such glory of the earth? Or who will win</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Such battle-guerdon with his "prowesse high"?</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O Age gone lax! O stunted followers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That mask at passions and desire desires,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Behold me shrivelled, and your mock of mocks;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And yet I mock you by the mighty fires</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That burnt me to this ash.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">* * * * * * *</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ah! Cabaret! Ah Cabaret, thy hills again!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">* * * * * * *</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Take your hands off me!... [<i>Sniffing the air</i>.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 13.5em;">Ha! this scent is hot!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Ballad_of_the_Goodly_Fere"></a>Ballad of the Goodly Fere<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Simon Zelotes speaketh it somewhile after the Crucifixion.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ha' we lost the goodliest fere o' all</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For the priests and the gallows tree?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Aye lover he was of brawny men,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O' ships and the open sea.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When they came wi' a host to take Our Man</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">His smile was good to see,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"First let these go!" quo' our Goodly Fere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Or I'll see ye damned," says he.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Aye he sent us out through the crossed high spears</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the scorn of his laugh rang free,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Why took ye not me when I walked about</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Alone in the town?" says he.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Oh we drank his "Hale" in the good red wine</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When we last made company,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">No capon priest was the Goodly Fere</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But a man o' men was he.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I ha' seen him drive a hundred men</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Wi' a bundle o' cords swung free,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That they took the high and holy house</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For their pawn and treasury.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">They'll no' get him a' in a book I think</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Though they write it cunningly;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But aye loved the open sea.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">If they think they ha' snared our Goodly Fere</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">They are fools to the last degree.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"I'll go to the feast," quo' our Goodly Fere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Though I go to the gallows tree."</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Ye ha' seen me heal the lame and blind,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And wake the dead," says he,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Ye shall see one thing to master all:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">'Tis how a brave man dies on the tree."</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A son of God was the Goodly Fere</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That bade us his brothers be.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I ha' seen him cow a thousand men.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I have seen him upon the tree.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">He cried no cry when they drave the nails</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the blood gushed hot and free,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But never a cry cried he.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I ha' seen him cow a thousand men</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">On the hills o' Galilee,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">They whined as he walked out calm between,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Wi' his eyes like the grey o' the sea.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Like the sea that brooks no voyaging</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With the winds unleashed and free,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Like the sea that he cowed at Genseret</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Wi' twey words spoke' suddently.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A master of men was the Goodly Fere,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A mate of the wind and sea,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">They are fools eternally.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sin' they nailed him to the tree.</span><br /> -<br /><br /></p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_2"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Fere = Mate, Companion.</p></div> - - -<p><br /><br /><i>*** The Publisher desires to state that the "Ballad of the -Goodly Fere"—by the wish of the Author—is reproduced exactly -as it appeared in the "English Review." -</i></p> - - - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;" ><br /><br /><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Hymn_III"></a>Hymn III</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">From the Latin of Marc Antony Flaminius, sixteenth century.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As a fragile and lovely flower unfolds its gleaming</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">foliage on the breast of the fostering earth, if</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">the dew and the rain draw it forth;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">So doth my tender mind flourish, if it be fed with the</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">sweet dew of the fostering spirit,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lacking this, it beginneth straightway to languish,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">even as a floweret born upon dry earth, if the</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">dew and the rain tend it not.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Sestina_for_Ysolt"></a>Sestina for Ysolt</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">There comes upon me will to speak in praise</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of things most fragile in their loveliness;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Because the sky hath wept all this long day</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And wrapped men's hearts within its cloak of greyness,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Because they look not down I sing the stars,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Because 'tis still mid-March I praise May's flowers.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Also I praise long hands that lie as flowers</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Which though they labour not are worthy praise,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And praise deep eyes like pools wherein the stars</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Gleam out reflected in their loveliness,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For whoso look on such there is no greyness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">May hang about his heart on any day.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The other things that I would praise to-day?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Besides white hands and all the fragile flowers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And by their praise dispel the evening's greyness?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I praise dim hair that worthiest is of praise</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And dream upon its unbound loveliness,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And how therethrough mine eyes have seen the stars.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Yea, through that cloud mine eyes have seen the stars</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That drift out slowly when night steals the day,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Through such a cloud meseems their loveliness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Surpasses that of all the other flowers.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For that one night I give all nights my praise</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And love therefrom the twilight's coming greyness.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">There is a stillness in this twilight greyness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Although the rain hath veiled the flow'ry stars,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">They seem to listen as I weave this praise</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of what I have not seen all this grey day,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And they will tell my praise unto the flowers</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When May shall bid them in in loveliness.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O ye I love, who hold this loveliness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Near to your hearts, may never any greyness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Enshroud your hearts when ye would gather flowers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Or bind your eyes when ye would see the stars;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But alway do I give ye flowers by day,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And when day's plucked I give ye stars for praise.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But most, thou Flower, whose eyes are like the stars,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With whom my dreams bide all the live-long day,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Within thy hands would I rest all my praise.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Portrait"></a>Portrait</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">From "La Mère Inconnue."</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Now would I weave her portrait out of all dim splendour.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of Provence and far halls of memory,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lo, there come echoes, faint diversity</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of blended bells at even's end, or</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As the distant seas should send her</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The tribute of their trembling, ceaselessly</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Resonant. Out of all dreams that be,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Say, shall I bid the deepest dreams attend her?</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Nay! For I have seen the purplest shadows stand</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Alway with reverent chere that looked on her,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Silence himself is grown her worshipper</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And ever doth attend her in that land</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Wherein she reigneth, wherefore let there stir</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Naught but the softest voices, praising her.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;">"<a id="Fair_Helena_by_Rackham"></a>Fair Helena" by Rackham</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"<i>What I love best in all the world?</i>"</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When the purple twilight is unbound,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">To watch her slow, tall grace</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">and its wistful loveliness,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And to know her face</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">is in the shadow there,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Just by two stars beneath that cloud—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The soft, dim cloud of her hair,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And to think my voice</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">can reach to her</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As but the rumour of some tree-bound stream,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Heard just beyond the forest's edge,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Until she all forgets I am,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And knows of me</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Naught but my dream's felicity.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Laudantes_Decem_Pulchritudinis"></a>Laudantes Decem Pulchritudinis</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;">Johannae Templi</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When your beauty is grown old in all men's songs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And my poor words are lost amid that throng,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Then you will know the truth of my poor words,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And mayhap dreaming of the wistful throng</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That hopeless sigh your praises in their songs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">You will think kindly then of these mad words.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">II</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I am torn, torn with thy beauty,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O Rose of the sharpest thorn!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O Rose of the crimson beauty,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Why hast thou awakened the sleeper?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Why hast thou awakened the heart within me,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O Rose of the crimson thorn?</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">III</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The unappeasable loveliness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">is calling to me out of the wind,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And because your name</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">is written upon the ivory doors,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The wave in my heart is as a green wave, unconfined,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Tossing the white foam toward you;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the lotus that pours</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Her fragrance into the purple cup,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Is more to be gained with the foam</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Than are you with these words of mine.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">IV</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>He speaks to the moonlight concerning the Beloved</i>.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Pale hair that the moon has shaken</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Down over the dark breast of the sea,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O magic her beauty has shaken</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">About the heart of me;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Out of you have I woven a dream</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That shall walk in the lonely vale</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Betwixt the high hill and the low hill,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Until the pale stream</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of the souls of men quench and grow still.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">V</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Voices speaking to the sun</i>.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Red leaf that art blown upward and out and over</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The green sheaf of the world,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And through the dim forest and under</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The shadowed arches and the aisles,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">We, who are older than thou art,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Met and remembered when his eyes beheld her</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In the garden of the peach-trees,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In the day of the blossoming.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">VI</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I stood on the hill of Yrma</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">when the winds were a-hurrying,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With the grasses a-bending</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">I followed them,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Through the brown grasses of Ahva</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">unto the green of Asedon.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I have rested with the voices</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">in the gardens of Ahthor,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I have lain beneath the peach-trees</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">in the hour of the purple:</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Because I had awaited in</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">the garden of the peach-trees,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Because I had feared not</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">in the forest of my mind,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Mine eyes beheld the vision of the blossom</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">There in the peach-gardens past Asedon.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O winds of Yrma, let her again come unto me,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Whose hair ye held unbound in the gardens of Ahthor!</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">VII</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Because of the beautiful white shoulders and the rounded breasts</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I can in no wise forget my beloved of the peach-trees,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the little winds that speak when the dawn is unfurled</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the rose-colour in the grey oak-leaf's fold</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When it first comes, and the glamour that rests</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">On the little streams in the evening; all of these</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Call me to her, and all the loveliness in the world</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Binds me to my beloved with strong chains of gold.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">VIII</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">If the rose-petals which have fallen upon my eyes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And if the perfect faces which I see at times</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When my eyes are closed—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Faces fragile, pale, yet flushed a little, like petals of roses:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">If these things have confused my memories of her</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">So that I could not draw her face</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Even if I had skill and the colours,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Yet because her face is so like these things</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">They but draw me nearer unto her in my thought</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And thoughts of her come upon my mind gently,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As dew upon the petals of roses.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">IX</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>He speaks to the rain</i>.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O pearls that hang on your little silver chains,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The innumerable voices that are whispering</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Among you as you are drawn aside by the wind,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Have brought to my mind the soft and eager speech</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of one who hath great loveliness,</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Which is subtle as the beauty of the rains</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That hang low in the moonshine and bring</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The May softly among us, and unbind</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The streams and the crimson and white flowers and reach</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Deep down into the secret places.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">X</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The glamour of the soul hath come upon me,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And as the twilight comes upon the roses,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Walking silently among them,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">So have the thoughts of my heart</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Gone out slowly in the twilight</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Toward my beloved,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Toward the crimson rose, the fairest.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Aux_Belles_de_Londres"></a>Aux Belles de Londres</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I am aweary with the utter and beautiful weariness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And with the ultimate wisdom and with things terrene,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I am aweary with your smiles and your laughter,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the sun and the winds again</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Reclaim their booty and the heart o' me.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Francesca"></a>Francesca</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">You came in out of the night</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And there were flowers in your hands,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Now you will come out of a confusion of people,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Out of a turmoil of speech about you.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I who have seen you amid the primal things</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Was angry when they spoke your name</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In ordinary places.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And that the world should dry as a dead leaf,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">So that I might find you again,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Alone.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Greek_Epigram"></a>Greek Epigram</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Day and night are never weary,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Nor yet is God of creating</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For day and night their torch-bearers</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The aube and the crepuscule.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">So, when I weary of praising the dawn and the sun-set,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Let me be no more counted among the immortals;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But number me amid the wearying ones,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Let me be a man as the herd,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And as the slave that is given in barter.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Christophori_Columbi_Tumulus"></a>Christophori Columbi Tumulus</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">From the Latin of Hipolytus Capilupus, Early Cent XVI.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Genoan, glory of Italy, Columbus thou sure light,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Alas the urn takes even thee so soon out-blown.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Its little space</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Doth hold thee, whom Oceanus had not the might</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Within his folds to hold, altho' his broad embrace</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Doth hold all lands.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Bark-borne beyond his bound'ries unto Hind thou wast</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Where scarce Fame's volant self the way had cast.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Plotinus"></a>Plotinus</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As one that would draw through the node of things,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Back sweeping to the vortex of the cone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Cloistered about with memories, alone</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In chaos, while the waiting silence sings:</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Obliviate of cycles' wanderings</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">I was an atom on creation's throne</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And knew all nothing my unconquered own.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">God! Should I be the hand upon the strings?!</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But I was lonely as a lonely child.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I cried amid the void and heard no cry,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And then for utter loneliness, made I</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">New thoughts as crescent images of <i>me</i>.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And with them was my essence reconciled</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">While fear went forth from mine eternity.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="On_His_Own_Face_in_a_Glass"></a>On His Own Face in a Glass</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O strange face there in the glass!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O ribald company, O saintly host,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O sorrow-swept my fool,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">What answer? O ye myriad</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That strive and play and pass,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Jest, challenge, counterlie?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I? I? I?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And ye?</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Histrion"></a>Histrion</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">No man hath dared to write this thing as yet,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">At times pass through us,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And we are melted into them, and are not</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Save reflexions of their souls.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Thus am I Dante for a space and am</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">One François Villon, ballad-lord and thief</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Or am such holy ones I may not write,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lest blasphemy be writ against my name;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">This for an instant and the flame is gone.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">'Tis as in midmost us there glows a sphere</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Translucent, molten gold, that is the "I"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And into this some form projects itself:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Christus, or John, or eke the Florentine;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And as the clear space is not if a form's</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Imposed thereon,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">So cease we from all being for the time,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And these, the Masters of the Soul, live on.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="The_Eyes"></a>The Eyes</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Rest Master, for we be a-weary, weary</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And would feel the fingers of the wind</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Upon these lids that lie over us</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sodden and lead-heavy.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Rest brother, for lo! the dawn is without!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The yellow flame paleth</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the wax runs low.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Free us, for without be goodly colours,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Green of the wood-moss and flower colours,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And coolness beneath the trees.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Free us, for we perish</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In this ever-flowing monotony</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of ugly print marks, black</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Upon white parchment.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Free us, for there is one</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Whose smile more availeth</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Than all the age-old knowledge of thy books:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And we would look thereon.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Defiance"></a>Defiance</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ye blood-red spears-men of the dawn's array</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That drive my dusk-clad knights of dream away,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Hold! For I will not yield.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">My moated soul shall dream in your despite</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A refuge for the vanquished hosts of night</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That <i>can</i> not yield.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Song"></a>Song</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Love thou thy dream</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">All base love scorning,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Love thou the wind</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And here take warning</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That dreams alone can truly be,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For 'tis in dream I come to thee.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Nel_Biancheggiar"></a>Nel Biancheggiar</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Blue-Grey, and white, and white-of-rose,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The flowers of the West's fore-dawn unclose.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I feel the dusky softness whirr</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of colour, as upon a dulcimer</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Her" dreaming fingers lay between the tunes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As when the living music swoons</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But dies not quite, because for love of us</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—knowing our state</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">How that 'tis troublous—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">It wills not die to leave us desolate.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Nils_Lykke"></a>Nils Lykke</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Beautiful, infinite memories</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That are a-plucking at my heart,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Why will you be ever calling and a-calling,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And a-murmuring in the dark there?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And a-reaching out your long hands</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Between me and my beloved?</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And why will you be ever a-casting</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The black shadow of your beauty</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">On the white face of my beloved</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And a-glinting in the pools of her eyes?</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="A_Song_of_the_Virgin_Mother"></a>A Song of the Virgin Mother</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>In the play "Los Pastores de Belen."</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">From the Spanish of Lope de Vega.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As ye go through these palm-trees</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O holy angel;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sith sleepeth my child here</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Still ye the branches.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O Bethlehem palm-trees</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That move to the anger</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of winds in their fury,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Tempestuous voices,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Make ye no clamour,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Run ye less swiftly,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sith sleepeth the child here</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Still ye your branches.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">He the divine child</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Is here a-wearied</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of weeping the earth-pain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Here for his rest would he</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Cease from his mourning,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Only a little while,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sith sleepeth this child here</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Stay ye the branches.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Cold be the fierce winds,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Treacherous round him.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ye see that I have not</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Wherewith to guard him,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O angels, divine ones</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That pass us a-flying,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sith sleepeth my child here</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Stay ye the branches.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Planh_for_the_Young_English_King"></a>Planh for the Young English King</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>That is, Prince Henry Plantagenet, elder brother to</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Richard "Coeur de Lion."</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">From the Provençal of Bertrans de Born "Si tuit li dol elh</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 11em;">plor elh marrimen."</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">If all the grief and woe and bitterness,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">All dolour, ill and every evil chance</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That ever came upon this grieving world</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Were set together they would seem but light</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Against the death of the young English King.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Worth lieth riven and Youth dolorous,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The world o'ershadowed, soiled and overcast,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Void of all joy and full of ire and sadness.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Grieving and sad and full of bitterness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Are left in teen the liegemen courteous,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The joglars supple and the troubadours.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O'er much hath ta'en Sir Death that deadly warrior</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In taking from them the young English King,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Who made the freest hand seem covetous.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">'Las! Never was nor will be in this world</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The balance for this loss in ire and sadness!</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O skilful Death and full of bitterness,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Well mayst thou boast that thou the best chevalier</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That any folk e'er had, hast from us taken;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sith nothing is that unto worth pertaineth</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But had its life in the young English King,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And better were it, should God grant his pleasure</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That he should live than many a Irving dastard</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That doth but wound the good with ire and sadness.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">From this faint world, how full of bitterness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Love takes his way and holds his joy deceitful,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sith no thing is but turneth unto anguish</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And each to-day 'vails less than yestere'en,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Let each man visage this young English King</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That was most valiant mid all worthiest men!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Gone is his body fine and amorous,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Whence have we grief, discord and deepest sadness.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Him, whom it pleased for our great bitterness</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">To come to earth to draw us from misventure,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Who drank of death for our salvacioun,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Him do we pray as to a Lord most righteous</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And humble eke, that the young English King</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">He please to pardon, as true pardon is,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And bid go in with honoured companions</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">There where there is no grief, nor shall be sadness.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Alba_Innominata"></a>Alba Innominata</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">From the Provençal.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In a garden where the whitethorn spreads her leaves</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">My lady hath her love lain close beside her,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Till the warder cries the dawn—Ah dawn that grieves!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon!</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Please God that night, dear night should never cease,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Nor that my love should parted be from me,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Nor watch cry 'Dawn'—Ah dawn that slayeth peace!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon!</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Fair friend and sweet, thy lips! Our lips again!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lo, in the meadow there the birds give song!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ours be the love and Jealousy's the pain!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon!</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Sweet friend and fair take we our joy again</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Down in the garden, where the birds are loud,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Till the warder's reed astrain</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Cry God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon!</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Of that sweet wind that comes from Far-Away</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Have I drunk deep of my Beloved's breath,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Yea! of my Love's that is so dear and gay.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon!"</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Envoi</i>.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Fair is this damsel and right courteous,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And many watch her beauty's gracious way.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Her heart toward love is no wise traitorous.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ah God! Ah God! That dawns should come so soon!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold;"><a id="Planh"></a>Planh</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>It is of the white thoughts that he saw in the Forest</i>.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">White Poppy, heavy with dreams,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O White Poppy, who art wiser than love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Though I am hungry for their lips</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">When I see them a-hiding</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And a-passing out and in through the shadows</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—There in the pine wood it is,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And they are white, White Poppy,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">They are white like the clouds in the forest of the sky</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ere the stars arise to their hunting.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">O White Poppy, who art wiser than love,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I am come for peace, yea from the hunting</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Am I come to thee for peace.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Out of a new sorrow it is,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That my hunting hath brought me.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">White Poppy, heavy with dreams,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Though I am hungry for their lips</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">When I see them a-hiding</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And a-passing out and in through the shadows</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—And it is white they are—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But if one should look at me with the old hunger in her eyes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">How will I be answering her eyes?</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For I have followed the white folk of the forest.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Aye! It's a long hunting</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And it's a deep hunger I have when I see them a-gliding</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And a-flickering there, where the trees stand apart.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But oh, it is sorrow and sorrow</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When love dies-down in the heart.</span><br /> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</h4> - -<p class="caption">Personae</p> - -<p><i>Choicely Printed at the Chiswick Press on fine -paper. Foolscap Octavo, 2s. 6d. net</i></p> - -<p>SOME EARLY REVIEWS</p> - -<p><i>The Observer</i> says:—"It is something, after all, intangible and -indescribable that makes the real poetry. Criticism and praise alike -give no idea of it Everyone who pretends to know it when he -sees it, should read and keep this little book."</p> - -<p><i>The Bookman</i>:—"No new book of poems for years past has had -such a freshness of inspiration, such a strongly individual note, or -been more alive with undoubtable promise."</p> - -<p><i>The Daily Chronicle</i>:—" All his poems are like this, from beginning -to end, and in every way, his own, and in a world of his own. -For brusque intensity of effect we can hardly compare them to any -other work. It is the old miracle that cannot be defined, nothing -more than a subtle entanglement of words, so that they rise out -of their graves and sing."</p> - -<p>From a 3 1/2 page detailed critique, by Mr. Edward Thomas, in -<i>The English Review</i>.—"He has ... hardly any of the superficial -good qualities of modern versifiers;... He has not the current -melancholy or resignation or unwillingness to live; nor the kind -of feeling for nature that runs to minute description and decorative -metaphor. He cannot be usefully compared with any living writers;... -full of personality and with such power to express it, that from -the first to the last lines of most of his poems he holds us steadily -in his own pure, grave, passionate world.... The beauty of it -('In praise of Ysolt') is the beauty of passion, sincerity and intensity, -not of beautiful words and images and suggestions;... -the thought dominates the words and is greater than they are. -Here ('Idyl for Glaucus') the effect is full of human passion and -natural magic, without any of the phrases which a reader of modern -verse would expect in the treatment of such a subject. This admirable -poet...."</p> - -<p><i>The Oxford Magazine</i>:—"This is a most exciting book of -poems."</p> - -<p><i>The Evening Standard</i>:—"A queer little book which will irritate -many readers."</p> - -<p><i>The Morning Post</i>:—" Mr. Ezra Pound ... immediately compels -our admiration by his fearlessness and lack of self-consciousness."</p> - -<p><i>The Isis</i>(Oxford):—"This book has about it the breath of the -open air,... physically and intellectually the verse seems to -reproduce the personality with a brief fulness and adequacy. It is -only in flexible, lithe measures, such as those which Coventry -Patmore chose in his 'Unknown Eros,' and Mr. Pound chooses -here that a fully suitable form for the recital of spiritual experience -is to be found. Mr. Pound has a true and invariable feeling for the -measures he employs ... this wonderful little book...."</p> - -<p><i>The Daily Telegraph</i>:—"A poet with individuality.... Thread -of true beauty.... lifts it out of the ruck of those many volumes, -the writers or which toe the line of poetic convention, and please -for no more than a single reading."</p> - -<p><i>Mr. Punch</i>, concerning a certain Mr. Ezekiel Ton:—"By far the -newest poet going, whatever other advertisements may say;" and -announced as "the most remarkable thing in poetry since Robert -Browning," says:—"He has succeeded where all others have -failed, in evolving a blend of the imagery of the unfettered west, -the vocabulary of Wardour Street, and the sinister abandon of -Borgaic Italy."</p> - -<p>Mr. Scott-James, in <i>The Daily News</i>:—"At first the whole thing -may seem to be mere madness and rhetoric, a vain exhibition of -force and passion without beauty. But, as we read on, these -curious metres of his seem to have a law and order of their own; -the brute force of Mr. Pound's imagination seems to impart some -quality of infectious beauty to his words.... With Mr. Pound -there is no eking out of thin sentiment with a melody or a song. -He writes out of an exuberance of incontinently struggling ideas -and passionate convictions.... He plunges straight into the heart -of his theme, and suggests virility in action combined with fierceness, -eagerness, and tenderness.... he has individuality, passion, -force, and an acquaintance with things that are profoundly moving." -Mr. Scott-James begins his half-column review of Mr. -Pound's book with a remark that he would "Like much more -space in which to discuss his work," and also notes a certain use -of spondee and dactyl which "Comes in strangely and, as we first -read it, with the appearance of discord, but afterwards seems to -gain a curious and distinctive vigour."</p> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Exultations, by Ezra Pound - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXULTATIONS *** - -***** This file should be named 40200-h.htm or 40200-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/0/40200/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Exultations - -Author: Ezra Pound - -Release Date: July 10, 2012 [EBook #40200] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXULTATIONS *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -EXULTATIONS - -OF - -EZRA POUND - - - -LONDON - -ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET - -M CM IX - - - - _I am an eternal spirit and the things I_ - _make are but ephemera, yet I endure:_ - _Yea, and the little earth crumbles beneath_ - _our feet and we endure._ - - - -TO CARLOS TRACY CHESTER - -"_amicitiae longaevitate_" - - - - I have to thank the Editors of the _English Review_ and the - _Evening Standard_ and _St. James's Gazette_ for permission to - include in this volume certain poems which originally appeared in - those papers. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - - GUIDO INVITES YOU THUS - NIGHT LITANY - SANDALPHON - SESTINA: ALTAFORTE - PIERE VIDAL OLD - BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE - HYMN III FROM THE LATIN OF FLAMINIUS - SESTINA FOR YSOLT - PORTRAIT (FROM "LA MERE INCONNUE") - FAIR HELENA - LAUDANTES DECEM - AUX BELLES DE LONDRES - FRANCESCA - GREEK EPIGRAM - COLUMBUS' EPITAPH - PLOTINUS - ON HIS OWN FACE IN A GLASS - HISTRION - THE EYES - DEFIANCE - SONG - NEL BIANCHEGGIAR - NILS LYKKE - A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER - PLANH FOR THE YOUNG ENGLISH KING - ALBA INNOMINATA - PLANH - - - - -EXULTATIONS - - - Guido invites you thus[1] - - - "Lappo I leave behind and Dante too, - Lo, I would sail the seas with thee alone! - Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry, - Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise, - All the blind earth knows not th' emprise - Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call. - - Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams, - Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire; - Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams - Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire! - - Lo, thou hast voyaged not! The ship is mine." - - -[Footnote 1: The reference is to Dante's sonnet "Guido vorrei...."] - - - - Night Litany - - - O Dieu, purifiez nos coeurs! - purifiez nos coeurs! - - Yea the lines hast thou laid unto me - in pleasant places, - And the beauty of this thy Venice - hast thou shown unto me - Until is its loveliness become unto me - a thing of tears. - - O God, what great kindness - have we done in times past - and forgotten it, - That thou givest this wonder unto us, - O God of waters? - - O God of the night - What great sorrow - Cometh unto us, - That thou thus repayest us - Before the time of its coming? - - O God of silence, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - For we have seen - The glory of the shadow of the - likeness of thine handmaid, - Yea, the glory of the shadow - of thy Beauty hath walked - - Upon the shadow of the waters - In this thy Venice. - And before the holiness - Of the shadow of thy handmaid - Have I hidden mine eyes, - O God of waters. - - O God of silence, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - Purifiez nos coeurs, - O God of waters, - make clean our hearts within us - And our lips to show forth thy praise, - For I have seen the - Shadow of this thy Venice - Floating upon the waters, - And thy stars - Have seen this thing out of their far courses - Have they seen this thing, - O God of waters, - Even as are thy stars - Silent unto us in their far-coursing, - Even so is mine heart - become silent within me. - - _Purifiez nos coeurs_ - _O God of the silence,_ - _Purifiez nos coeurs_ - _O God of waters._ - - - - Sandalphon - - - The angel of prayer according to the Talmud stands unmoved among - the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is finished, - also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his hands. - - - And these about me die, - Because the pain of the infinite singing - Slayeth them. - Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's - age-long crusading, - Ye know somewhat the strain, - the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing. - And therefore ye know after what fashion - This singing hath power destroying. - - Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage - Unto the Mover of Circles, - Die for the might of their praising, - And the autumn of their marcescent wings - Maketh ever new loam for my forest; - And these grey ash trees hold within them - All the secrets of whatso things - They dreamed before their praises, - And in this grove my flowers, - Fruit of prayerful powers, - Have first their thought of life - And then their being. - - Ye marvel that I die not! _forsitan_! - Thinking me kin with such as may not weep, - Thinking me part of them that die for praising - --yea, tho' it be praising, - past the power of man's mortality to - dream or name its phases, - --yea, tho' it chant and paean - past the might of earth-dwelt - soul to think on, - --yea, tho' it be praising - as these the winged ones die of. - - Ye think me one insensate - else die I also - Sith these about me die, - And if I, watching - - Ever the multiplex jewel, of beryl and jasper and sapphire - Make of these prayers of earth ever new flowers; - Marvel and wonder! - Marvel and wonder even as I, - Giving to prayer new language - And causing the works to speak - Of the earth-horde's age-lasting longing, - Even as I marvel and wonder, and know not, - Yet keep my watch in the ash wood. - - - - Sestina: Altaforte - - - LOQUITUR: _En_ Bertrans de Born. - Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer-up - of strife. - Eccovi! - Judge ye! - Have I dug him up again? - The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. "Papiols" is his jongleur. - "The Leopard," the _device_ of Richard (Coeur de Lion). - - - - I - - - Damn it all! all this our South stinks peace. - You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music! - I have no life save when the swords clash. - But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing - And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson, - Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing. - - II - - In hot summer have I great rejoicing - When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace, - And the light'nings from black heav'n flash crimson, - And the fierce thunders roar me their music - And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing, - And through all the riven skies God's swords clash. - - III - - Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash! - And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, - Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing! - Better one hour's stour than a year's peace - With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music! - Bah! there's no wine like the blood's crimson! - - IV - - And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson. - And I watch his spears through the dark clash - And it fills all my heart with rejoicing - And pries wide my mouth with fast music - When I see him so scorn and defy peace, - His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing. - - V - - The man who fears war and squats opposing - My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson - But is fit only to rot in womanish peace - Far from where worth's won and the swords clash - For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing; - Yea, I fill all the air with my music. - - VI - - Papiols, Papiols, to the music! - There's no sound like to swords swords opposing, - No cry like the battle's rejoicing - When our elbows and swords drip the crimson - And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash. - May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace!" - - VII - - And let the music of the swords make them crimson! - Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash! - Hell blot black for alway the thought "Peace"! - - - - Piere Vidal Old - - - It is of Piere Vidal, the fool par excellence of all Provence, of - whom the tale tells how he ran mad, as a wolf, because of his love - for Loba of Penautier, and how men hunted him with dogs through the - mountains of Cabaret and brought him for dead to the dwelling of - this Loba (she-wolf) of Penautier, and how she and her Lord had him - healed and made welcome, and he stayed some time at that court. He - speaks: - - - When I but think upon the great dead days - And turn my mind upon that splendid madness, - Lo! I do curse my strength - And blame the sun his gladness; - For that the one is dead - And the red sun mocks my sadness. - - Behold me, Vidal, that was fool of fools! - Swift as the king wolf was I and as strong - When tall stags fled me through the alder brakes, - And every jongleur knew me in his song, - And the hounds fled and the deer fled - And none fled over long. - - Even the grey pack knew me and knew fear. - God! how the swiftest hind's blood spurted hot - Over the sharpened teeth and purpling lips! - Hot was that hind's blood yet it scorched me not - As did first scorn, then lips of the Penautier! - Aye ye are fools, if ye think time can blot - - From Piere Vidal's remembrance that blue night, - God! but the purple of the sky was deep! - Clear, deep, translucent, so the stars me seemed - Set deep in crystal; and because my sleep - --Rare visitor--came not,--the Saints I guerdon - For that restlessness--Piere set to keep - - One more fool's vigil with the hollyhocks. - Swift came the Loba, as a branch that's caught, - Tom, green and silent in the swollen Rhone, - Green was her mantle, close, and wrought - Of some thin silk stuff that's scarce stuff at all, - But like a mist wherethrough her white form fought, - - And conquered! Ah God! conquered! - Silent my mate came as the night was still. - Speech? Words? Faugh! Who talks of words and love?! - Hot is such love and silent, - Silent as fate is, and as strong until - It faints in taking and in giving all. - - Stark, keen, triumphant, till it plays at death. - God! she was white then, splendid as some tomb - High wrought of marble, and the panting breath - Ceased utterly. Well, then I waited, drew, - Half-sheathed, then naked from its saffron sheath - Drew full this dagger that doth tremble here. - - Just then she woke and mocked the less keen blade. - Ah God, the Loba! and my only mate! - Was there such flesh made ever and unmade! - God curse the years that turn such women grey! - Behold here Vidal, that was hunted, flayed, - Shamed and yet bowed not and that won at last. - - And yet I curse the sun for his red gladness, - I that have known strath, garth, brake, dale, - And every run-way of the wood through that great madness, - Behold me shrivelled as an old oak's trunk - And made men's mock'ry in my rotten sadness! - - No man hath heard the glory of my days: - No man hath dared and won his dare as I: - One night, one body and one welding flame! - What do ye own, ye niggards! that can buy - Such glory of the earth? Or who will win - Such battle-guerdon with his "prowesse high"? - - O Age gone lax! O stunted followers, - That mask at passions and desire desires, - Behold me shrivelled, and your mock of mocks; - And yet I mock you by the mighty fires - That burnt me to this ash. - * * * * * * * - Ah! Cabaret! Ah Cabaret, thy hills again! - * * * * * * * - Take your hands off me!... [_Sniffing the air_. - Ha! this scent is hot! - - - - Ballad of the Goodly Fere[1] - - - Simon Zelotes speaketh it somewhile after the Crucifixion. - - - Ha' we lost the goodliest fere o' all - For the priests and the gallows tree? - Aye lover he was of brawny men, - O' ships and the open sea. - - When they came wi' a host to take Our Man - His smile was good to see, - "First let these go!" quo' our Goodly Fere, - "Or I'll see ye damned," says he. - - Aye he sent us out through the crossed high spears - And the scorn of his laugh rang free, - "Why took ye not me when I walked about - Alone in the town?" says he. - - Oh we drank his "Hale" in the good red wine - When we last made company, - No capon priest was the Goodly Fere - But a man o' men was he. - - I ha' seen him drive a hundred men - Wi' a bundle o' cords swung free, - That they took the high and holy house - For their pawn and treasury. - - They'll no' get him a' in a book I think - Though they write it cunningly; - No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere - But aye loved the open sea. - - If they think they ha' snared our Goodly Fere - They are fools to the last degree. - "I'll go to the feast," quo' our Goodly Fere, - "Though I go to the gallows tree." - - "Ye ha' seen me heal the lame and blind, - And wake the dead," says he, - "Ye shall see one thing to master all: - 'Tis how a brave man dies on the tree." - - A son of God was the Goodly Fere - That bade us his brothers be. - I ha' seen him cow a thousand men. - I have seen him upon the tree. - - He cried no cry when they drave the nails - And the blood gushed hot and free, - The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue - But never a cry cried he. - - I ha' seen him cow a thousand men - On the hills o' Galilee, - They whined as he walked out calm between, - Wi' his eyes like the grey o' the sea. - - Like the sea that brooks no voyaging - With the winds unleashed and free, - Like the sea that he cowed at Genseret - Wi' twey words spoke' suddently. - - A master of men was the Goodly Fere, - A mate of the wind and sea, - If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere - They are fools eternally. - - I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb - Sin' they nailed him to the tree. - - -[Footnote 1: Fere = Mate, Companion.] - - -_*** The Publisher desires to state that the "Ballad of the -Goodly Fere"--by the wish of the Author--is reproduced exactly -as it appeared in the "English Review."_ - - - Hymn III - - - From the Latin of Marc Antony Flaminius, sixteenth century. - - - As a fragile and lovely flower unfolds its gleaming - foliage on the breast of the fostering earth, if - the dew and the rain draw it forth; - So doth my tender mind flourish, if it be fed with the - sweet dew of the fostering spirit, - Lacking this, it beginneth straightway to languish, - even as a floweret born upon dry earth, if the - dew and the rain tend it not. - - - - Sestina for Ysolt - - - There comes upon me will to speak in praise - Of things most fragile in their loveliness; - Because the sky hath wept all this long day - And wrapped men's hearts within its cloak of greyness, - Because they look not down I sing the stars, - Because 'tis still mid-March I praise May's flowers. - - Also I praise long hands that lie as flowers - Which though they labour not are worthy praise, - And praise deep eyes like pools wherein the stars - Gleam out reflected in their loveliness, - For whoso look on such there is no greyness - May hang about his heart on any day. - - The other things that I would praise to-day? - Besides white hands and all the fragile flowers, - And by their praise dispel the evening's greyness? - I praise dim hair that worthiest is of praise - And dream upon its unbound loveliness, - And how therethrough mine eyes have seen the stars. - - Yea, through that cloud mine eyes have seen the stars - That drift out slowly when night steals the day, - Through such a cloud meseems their loveliness - Surpasses that of all the other flowers. - For that one night I give all nights my praise - And love therefrom the twilight's coming greyness. - - There is a stillness in this twilight greyness - Although the rain hath veiled the flow'ry stars, - They seem to listen as I weave this praise - Of what I have not seen all this grey day, - And they will tell my praise unto the flowers - When May shall bid them in in loveliness. - - O ye I love, who hold this loveliness - Near to your hearts, may never any greyness - Enshroud your hearts when ye would gather flowers, - Or bind your eyes when ye would see the stars; - But alway do I give ye flowers by day, - And when day's plucked I give ye stars for praise. - - But most, thou Flower, whose eyes are like the stars, - With whom my dreams bide all the live-long day, - Within thy hands would I rest all my praise. - - - - Portrait - - - From "La Mere Inconnue." - - - Now would I weave her portrait out of all dim splendour. - Of Provence and far halls of memory, - Lo, there come echoes, faint diversity - Of blended bells at even's end, or - As the distant seas should send her - The tribute of their trembling, ceaselessly - Resonant. Out of all dreams that be, - Say, shall I bid the deepest dreams attend her? - - Nay! For I have seen the purplest shadows stand - Alway with reverent chere that looked on her, - Silence himself is grown her worshipper - And ever doth attend her in that land - Wherein she reigneth, wherefore let there stir - Naught but the softest voices, praising her. - - - - "Fair Helena" by Rackham - - - "_What I love best in all the world?_" - - - When the purple twilight is unbound, - To watch her slow, tall grace - and its wistful loveliness, - And to know her face - is in the shadow there, - Just by two stars beneath that cloud-- - The soft, dim cloud of her hair, - And to think my voice - can reach to her - As but the rumour of some tree-bound stream, - Heard just beyond the forest's edge, - Until she all forgets I am, - And knows of me - Naught but my dream's felicity. - - - - Laudantes Decem Pulchritudinis - - Johannae Templi - - - I - - When your beauty is grown old in all men's songs, - And my poor words are lost amid that throng, - Then you will know the truth of my poor words, - And mayhap dreaming of the wistful throng - That hopeless sigh your praises in their songs, - You will think kindly then of these mad words. - - II - - I am torn, torn with thy beauty, - O Rose of the sharpest thorn! - O Rose of the crimson beauty, - Why hast thou awakened the sleeper? - Why hast thou awakened the heart within me, - O Rose of the crimson thorn? - - III - - The unappeasable loveliness - is calling to me out of the wind, - And because your name - is written upon the ivory doors, - The wave in my heart is as a green wave, unconfined, - Tossing the white foam toward you; - And the lotus that pours - Her fragrance into the purple cup, - Is more to be gained with the foam - Than are you with these words of mine. - - IV - - _He speaks to the moonlight concerning the Beloved_. - - Pale hair that the moon has shaken - Down over the dark breast of the sea, - O magic her beauty has shaken - About the heart of me; - Out of you have I woven a dream - That shall walk in the lonely vale - Betwixt the high hill and the low hill, - Until the pale stream - Of the souls of men quench and grow still. - - V - - _Voices speaking to the sun_. - - Red leaf that art blown upward and out and over - The green sheaf of the world, - And through the dim forest and under - The shadowed arches and the aisles, - We, who are older than thou art, - Met and remembered when his eyes beheld her - In the garden of the peach-trees, - In the day of the blossoming. - - VI - - I stood on the hill of Yrma - when the winds were a-hurrying, - With the grasses a-bending - I followed them, - Through the brown grasses of Ahva - unto the green of Asedon. - I have rested with the voices - in the gardens of Ahthor, - I have lain beneath the peach-trees - in the hour of the purple: - - Because I had awaited in - the garden of the peach-trees, - Because I had feared not - in the forest of my mind, - Mine eyes beheld the vision of the blossom - There in the peach-gardens past Asedon. - - O winds of Yrma, let her again come unto me, - Whose hair ye held unbound in the gardens of Ahthor! - - VII - - Because of the beautiful white shoulders and the rounded breasts - I can in no wise forget my beloved of the peach-trees, - And the little winds that speak when the dawn is unfurled - And the rose-colour in the grey oak-leaf's fold - - When it first comes, and the glamour that rests - On the little streams in the evening; all of these - Call me to her, and all the loveliness in the world - Binds me to my beloved with strong chains of gold. - - VIII - - If the rose-petals which have fallen upon my eyes - And if the perfect faces which I see at times - When my eyes are closed-- - Faces fragile, pale, yet flushed a little, like petals of roses: - If these things have confused my memories of her - So that I could not draw her face - Even if I had skill and the colours, - Yet because her face is so like these things - They but draw me nearer unto her in my thought - And thoughts of her come upon my mind gently, - As dew upon the petals of roses. - - IX - - _He speaks to the rain_. - - O pearls that hang on your little silver chains, - The innumerable voices that are whispering - Among you as you are drawn aside by the wind, - Have brought to my mind the soft and eager speech - Of one who hath great loveliness, - - Which is subtle as the beauty of the rains - That hang low in the moonshine and bring - The May softly among us, and unbind - The streams and the crimson and white flowers and reach - Deep down into the secret places. - - X - - The glamour of the soul hath come upon me, - And as the twilight comes upon the roses, - Walking silently among them, - So have the thoughts of my heart - Gone out slowly in the twilight - Toward my beloved, - Toward the crimson rose, the fairest. - - - - Aux Belles de Londres - - - I am aweary with the utter and beautiful weariness - And with the ultimate wisdom and with things terrene, - I am aweary with your smiles and your laughter, - And the sun and the winds again - Reclaim their booty and the heart o' me. - - - - Francesca - - - You came in out of the night - And there were flowers in your hands, - Now you will come out of a confusion of people, - Out of a turmoil of speech about you. - - I who have seen you amid the primal things - Was angry when they spoke your name - In ordinary places. - I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind, - And that the world should dry as a dead leaf, - Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away, - So that I might find you again, - Alone. - - - - Greek Epigram - - - Day and night are never weary, - Nor yet is God of creating - For day and night their torch-bearers - The aube and the crepuscule. - - So, when I weary of praising the dawn and the sun-set, - Let me be no more counted among the immortals; - But number me amid the wearying ones, - Let me be a man as the herd, - And as the slave that is given in barter. - - - - Christophori Columbi Tumulus - - - From the Latin of Hipolytus Capilupus, Early Cent XVI. - - Genoan, glory of Italy, Columbus thou sure light, - Alas the urn takes even thee so soon out-blown. - Its little space - - Doth hold thee, whom Oceanus had not the might - Within his folds to hold, altho' his broad embrace - Doth hold all lands. - - Bark-borne beyond his bound'ries unto Hind thou wast - Where scarce Fame's volant self the way had cast. - - - - Plotinus - - - As one that would draw through the node of things, - Back sweeping to the vortex of the cone, - Cloistered about with memories, alone - In chaos, while the waiting silence sings: - - Obliviate of cycles' wanderings - I was an atom on creation's throne - And knew all nothing my unconquered own. - God! Should I be the hand upon the strings?! - - But I was lonely as a lonely child. - I cried amid the void and heard no cry, - And then for utter loneliness, made I - New thoughts as crescent images of _me_. - And with them was my essence reconciled - While fear went forth from mine eternity. - - - - On His Own Face in a Glass - - - O strange face there in the glass! - O ribald company, O saintly host, - O sorrow-swept my fool, - What answer? O ye myriad - That strive and play and pass, - Jest, challenge, counterlie? - I? I? I? - And ye? - - - - Histrion - - - No man hath dared to write this thing as yet, - And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great - At times pass through us, - And we are melted into them, and are not - Save reflexions of their souls. - Thus am I Dante for a space and am - One Francois Villon, ballad-lord and thief - Or am such holy ones I may not write, - Lest blasphemy be writ against my name; - This for an instant and the flame is gone. - - 'Tis as in midmost us there glows a sphere - Translucent, molten gold, that is the "I" - And into this some form projects itself: - Christus, or John, or eke the Florentine; - And as the clear space is not if a form's - Imposed thereon, - So cease we from all being for the time, - And these, the Masters of the Soul, live on. - - - - The Eyes - - - Rest Master, for we be a-weary, weary - And would feel the fingers of the wind - Upon these lids that lie over us - Sodden and lead-heavy. - - Rest brother, for lo! the dawn is without! - The yellow flame paleth - And the wax runs low. - - Free us, for without be goodly colours, - Green of the wood-moss and flower colours, - And coolness beneath the trees. - - Free us, for we perish - In this ever-flowing monotony - Of ugly print marks, black - Upon white parchment. - - Free us, for there is one - Whose smile more availeth - Than all the age-old knowledge of thy books: - And we would look thereon. - - - - Defiance - - - Ye blood-red spears-men of the dawn's array - That drive my dusk-clad knights of dream away, - Hold! For I will not yield. - - My moated soul shall dream in your despite - A refuge for the vanquished hosts of night - That _can_ not yield. - - - - Song - - - Love thou thy dream - All base love scorning, - Love thou the wind - And here take warning - That dreams alone can truly be, - For 'tis in dream I come to thee. - - - - Nel Biancheggiar - - - Blue-Grey, and white, and white-of-rose, - The flowers of the West's fore-dawn unclose. - I feel the dusky softness whirr - Of colour, as upon a dulcimer - "Her" dreaming fingers lay between the tunes, - As when the living music swoons - But dies not quite, because for love of us - --knowing our state - How that 'tis troublous-- - It wills not die to leave us desolate. - - - - Nils Lykke - - - Beautiful, infinite memories - That are a-plucking at my heart, - Why will you be ever calling and a-calling, - And a-murmuring in the dark there? - And a-reaching out your long hands - Between me and my beloved? - - And why will you be ever a-casting - The black shadow of your beauty - On the white face of my beloved - And a-glinting in the pools of her eyes? - - - - A Song of the Virgin Mother - - - _In the play "Los Pastores de Belen."_ - - From the Spanish of Lope de Vega. - - - As ye go through these palm-trees - O holy angel; - Sith sleepeth my child here - Still ye the branches. - - O Bethlehem palm-trees - That move to the anger - Of winds in their fury, - Tempestuous voices, - Make ye no clamour, - Run ye less swiftly, - Sith sleepeth the child here - Still ye your branches. - - He the divine child - Is here a-wearied - Of weeping the earth-pain, - Here for his rest would he - Cease from his mourning, - Only a little while, - Sith sleepeth this child here - Stay ye the branches. - - Cold be the fierce winds, - Treacherous round him. - Ye see that I have not - Wherewith to guard him, - O angels, divine ones - That pass us a-flying, - Sith sleepeth my child here - Stay ye the branches. - - - - Planh for the Young English King - - - _That is, Prince Henry Plantagenet, elder brother to - Richard "Coeur de Lion."_ - - From the Provencal of Bertrans de Born "Si tuit li dol elh - plor elh marrimen." - - - If all the grief and woe and bitterness, - All dolour, ill and every evil chance - That ever came upon this grieving world - Were set together they would seem but light - Against the death of the young English King. - Worth lieth riven and Youth dolorous, - The world o'ershadowed, soiled and overcast, - Void of all joy and full of ire and sadness. - - Grieving and sad and full of bitterness - Are left in teen the liegemen courteous, - The joglars supple and the troubadours. - O'er much hath ta'en Sir Death that deadly warrior - In taking from them the young English King, - Who made the freest hand seem covetous. - 'Las! Never was nor will be in this world - The balance for this loss in ire and sadness! - - O skilful Death and full of bitterness, - Well mayst thou boast that thou the best chevalier - That any folk e'er had, hast from us taken; - Sith nothing is that unto worth pertaineth - But had its life in the young English King, - And better were it, should God grant his pleasure - That he should live than many a Irving dastard - That doth but wound the good with ire and sadness. - - From this faint world, how full of bitterness - Love takes his way and holds his joy deceitful, - Sith no thing is but turneth unto anguish - And each to-day 'vails less than yestere'en, - Let each man visage this young English King - That was most valiant mid all worthiest men! - Gone is his body fine and amorous, - Whence have we grief, discord and deepest sadness. - - Him, whom it pleased for our great bitterness - To come to earth to draw us from misventure, - Who drank of death for our salvacioun, - Him do we pray as to a Lord most righteous - And humble eke, that the young English King - He please to pardon, as true pardon is, - And bid go in with honoured companions - There where there is no grief, nor shall be sadness. - - - - Alba Innominata - - - From the Provencal. - - - In a garden where the whitethorn spreads her leaves - My lady hath her love lain close beside her, - Till the warder cries the dawn--Ah dawn that grieves! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Please God that night, dear night should never cease, - Nor that my love should parted be from me, - Nor watch cry 'Dawn'--Ah dawn that slayeth peace! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Fair friend and sweet, thy lips! Our lips again! - Lo, in the meadow there the birds give song! - Ours be the love and Jealousy's the pain! - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Sweet friend and fair take we our joy again - Down in the garden, where the birds are loud, - Till the warder's reed astrain - Cry God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon! - - "Of that sweet wind that comes from Far-Away - Have I drunk deep of my Beloved's breath, - Yea! of my Love's that is so dear and gay. - Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so soon!" - - _Envoi_. - - Fair is this damsel and right courteous, - And many watch her beauty's gracious way. - Her heart toward love is no wise traitorous. - Ah God! Ah God! That dawns should come so soon! - - - - Planh - - - _It is of the white thoughts that he saw in the Forest_. - - - White Poppy, heavy with dreams, - O White Poppy, who art wiser than love, - Though I am hungry for their lips - When I see them a-hiding - And a-passing out and in through the shadows - --There in the pine wood it is, - And they are white, White Poppy, - They are white like the clouds in the forest of the sky - Ere the stars arise to their hunting. - - O White Poppy, who art wiser than love, - I am come for peace, yea from the hunting - Am I come to thee for peace. - Out of a new sorrow it is, - That my hunting hath brought me. - - White Poppy, heavy with dreams, - Though I am hungry for their lips - When I see them a-hiding - And a-passing out and in through the shadows - --And it is white they are-- - But if one should look at me with the old hunger in her eyes, - How will I be answering her eyes? - - For I have followed the white folk of the forest. - - Aye! It's a long hunting - And it's a deep hunger I have when I see them a-gliding - And a-flickering there, where the trees stand apart. - - But oh, it is sorrow and sorrow - When love dies-down in the heart. - - - - -BY THE SAME AUTHOR - -Personae - -_Choicely Printed at the Chiswick Press on fine paper. Foolscap Octavo, -2s. 6d. net_ - -SOME EARLY REVIEWS - -_The Observer_ says:--"It is something, after all, intangible and -indescribable that makes the real poetry. Criticism and praise alike -give no idea of it Everyone who pretends to know it when he sees it, -should read and keep this little book." - -_The Bookman_:--"No new book of poems for years past has had such a -freshness of inspiration, such a strongly individual note, or been more -alive with undoubtable promise." - -_The Daily Chronicle_:--" All his poems are like this, from beginning to -end, and in every way, his own, and in a world of his own. For brusque -intensity of effect we can hardly compare them to any other work. It is -the old miracle that cannot be defined, nothing more than a subtle -entanglement of words, so that they rise out of their graves and sing." - -From a 3 1/2 page detailed critique, by Mr. Edward Thomas, in _The -English Review_.--"He has ... hardly any of the superficial good -qualities of modern versifiers;... He has not the current melancholy or -resignation or unwillingness to live; nor the kind of feeling for nature -that runs to minute description and decorative metaphor. He cannot be -usefully compared with any living writers;... full of personality and -with such power to express it, that from the first to the last lines of -most of his poems he holds us steadily in his own pure, grave, -passionate world.... The beauty of it ('In praise of Ysolt') is the -beauty of passion, sincerity and intensity, not of beautiful words and -images and suggestions;... the thought dominates the words and is -greater than they are. Here ('Idyl for Glaucus') the effect is full of -human passion and natural magic, without any of the phrases which a -reader of modern verse would expect in the treatment of such a subject. -This admirable poet...." - -_The Oxford Magazine_:--"This is a most exciting book of poems." - -_The Evening Standard_:--"A queer little book which will irritate many -readers." - -_The Morning Post_:--" Mr. Ezra Pound ... immediately compels our -admiration by his fearlessness and lack of self-consciousness." - -_The Isis_(Oxford):--"This book has about it the breath of the open -air,... physically and intellectually the verse seems to reproduce the -personality with a brief fulness and adequacy. It is only in flexible, -lithe measures, such as those which Coventry Patmore chose in his -'Unknown Eros,' and Mr. Pound chooses here that a fully suitable form -for the recital of spiritual experience is to be found. Mr. Pound has a -true and invariable feeling for the measures he employs ... this -wonderful little book...." - -_The Daily Telegraph_:--"A poet with individuality.... Thread of true -beauty.... lifts it out of the ruck of those many volumes, the writers -or which toe the line of poetic convention, and please for no more than -a single reading." - -_Mr. Punch_, concerning a certain Mr. Ezekiel Ton:--"By far the newest -poet going, whatever other advertisements may say;" and announced as -"the most remarkable thing in poetry since Robert Browning," says:--"He -has succeeded where all others have failed, in evolving a blend of the -imagery of the unfettered west, the vocabulary of Wardour Street, and -the sinister abandon of Borgaic Italy." - -Mr. Scott-James, in _The Daily News_:--"At first the whole thing may -seem to be mere madness and rhetoric, a vain exhibition of force and -passion without beauty. But, as we read on, these curious metres of his -seem to have a law and order of their own; the brute force of Mr. -Pound's imagination seems to impart some quality of infectious beauty to -his words.... With Mr. Pound there is no eking out of thin sentiment -with a melody or a song. He writes out of an exuberance of incontinently -struggling ideas and passionate convictions.... He plunges straight into -the heart of his theme, and suggests virility in action combined with -fierceness, eagerness, and tenderness.... he has individuality, passion, -force, and an acquaintance with things that are profoundly moving." Mr. -Scott-James begins his half-column review of Mr. Pound's book with a -remark that he would "Like much more space in which to discuss his -work," and also notes a certain use of spondee and dactyl which "Comes -in strangely and, as we first read it, with the appearance of discord, -but afterwards seems to gain a curious and distinctive vigour." - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Exultations, by Ezra Pound - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EXULTATIONS *** - -***** This file should be named 40200.txt or 40200.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/0/40200/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - -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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