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diff --git a/old/63399-8.txt b/old/63399-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3851918..0000000 --- a/old/63399-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2186 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Glebe 1914/09 (Vol. 2, No. 2): Poems, by -George W. Cronyn - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Glebe 1914/09 (Vol. 2, No. 2): Poems - -Author: George W. Cronyn - -Editor: Alfred Kreymborg - Man Ray - -Release Date: October 7, 2020 [EBook #63399] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GLEBE 1914/09: POEMS *** - - - - -Produced by Jens Sadowski and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. This book was -produced from images made available by the Blue Mountain -Project, Princeton University. - - - - - - - THE - GLEBE - - VOLUME 2 - NUMBER 2 - - SEPTEMBER - 1914 - - SUBSCRIPTION - Three Dollars Yearly - THIS ISSUE 50 CENTS - - POEMS - - George Cronyn - - -The only editorial policy of THE GLEBE is that embodied in its -declaration of absolute freedom of expression, which makes for a range -broad enough to include every temperament from the most radical to the -most conservative, the only requisite being that the work should have -unmistakable merit. Each issue will be devoted exclusively to one -individual, thereby giving him an opportunity to present his work in -sufficient bulk to make it possible for the reader to obtain a much more -comprehensive grasp of his personality than is afforded him in the -restricted spaces allotted by the other magazines. Published monthly, -THE GLEBE will issue twelve books per year, chosen on their merits -alone, since the subscription list does away with the need of catering -to the popular demand that confronts every publisher. Thus, THE GLEBE -can promise the best work of American and foreign authors, known and -unknown. - -The price of each issue of THE GLEBE will be fifty cents and the yearly -subscription three dollars. - - Editor - ALFRED KREYMBORG - - Published by - ALBERT AND CHARLES BONI - 96 FIFTH AVENUE - New York City - - - POEMS - - - - - POEMS - - - GEORGE W. CRONYN - - - NEW YORK - ALBERT AND CHARLES BONI - 96 FIFTH AVENUE - 1914 - - - Copyright, 1914 - By - Albert and Charles Boni - - - - - - - To touch the sleeping lids of Beauty - Drawing thru finger-tips her dream--a birth - Of hell and heaven for a nobler earth; - This is the poet's duty. - - To sleep with stars, to dream a flower, - From passing shadows pluck profound relation, - With a divine wonder at its emanation; - This is the poet's power. - - - - - DIONYSUS ELEUTHERIOS - - - THE PRAYER - - Like a cat beside a pool - More than half afraid of it, - Fishing gingerly I sit - Here beside this pool of wit-- - Dumb as any fool! - Chirrups humor in the grass; - Winds of tickling laughter pass, - And the world grows wise forsooth, - Lets gleam amused tooth - Seeing in this water-glass - Jests that swim the depths of truth, - And like fins of fishes shiver - It to fretful quirk and quiver. - Ripples break and bubbles rise - Catching smiles from out the skies - In their globed eyes. - Surely, surely there was never - Such a pleasant river! - Only I am out of tune - Like an icicle in June, - Or a monster from the moon. - - Dionysus, hear my prayer! - Spreading arms to the mute air, - I entreat thee, fashion me - One with this gay company, - One in mirth and one in song - Dartling their minds among. - Loosener of lips and heart, - Draw my sullen mouth apart. - Give a gleam to guide me by - As a phare in a night-sky-- - Grace of tongue and warmth of eye; - Give me of thy fire and dew; - Give me flash of mimic art-- - Spice of Godhead in this brew - To pierce my fellows thru and thru. - - Oh, thou vintal Deity, - Loose my limbs that they may fly - With this reckless revelry! - Sick of sober ways am I; - In this tumult I alone - Am a satyr turned to stone; - Satyr--satyr--not a man! - Gifts I ask not of Apollo-- - Wine is good and grief is hollow; - I would follow after Pan; - I would follow, follow, follow - After Pan! - Or if he wander ways too quiet, - Shepherd ways of warmth and ease, - Let me taste a wilder riot - In thy mysteries-- - Let me quaff it, laugh it, cry it! - Give me, give me, give me these-- - Fleet foot after those that flee, - Hot veins amorous to seize - Maenads maddened by the wine, - Wound with hair and wreathed with vine, - Maenads stained with purple lees-- - Give me, give me, give me these. - Only this I ask of thee - Dionysus, Dionysus, son of Semele! - - - THE ANSWER - - Lo! the God of purple pleasure - Heard and hearkened to his prayer, - Reft the swathed bands that bound him, - From his cloak of Self unwound him, - Filled him with supernal seizure - That his humor's jewelled treasure - Leaped and sparkled in the air-- - Till the night was bright around him. - Never such a jestful fit - Dreamt he in his wildest wishes! - Never from the pool of wit - Had he drawn such shining fishes! - Humid flame glowed in each eye - And his face had changed its vesture, - And his arms moved with strange gesture - Apt in every mimicry. - With the spell of Fire and Dew - He pierced his fellows thru and thru. - Surely Dithyrambus pressed him! - - Surely the Great God possessed him! - And the mystic sisters too, - Oeno, Spermo, and Elais, - (Who knoweth what their way is?) - Surely they caressed him! - He whose tongue of old was frozen-- - As he quaffs, with this potation - Deep and deeper inspiration - Seems to grow a Prophet--chosen, - For he speaks by divination! - Never were such fancies woven - From the carded thoughts of mortal. - Some are mazed, and some deride him, - "Lo, his wits have gone astray, - What a fool he is!" they say. - Others whisper (those beside him) - "He hath crossed another portal-- - He is one whose foot is cloven. - Do ye hear wild creatures beat - Lifted hoof and naked feet - On the quiet woodland sod? - Do ye mark what mood that strain is? - Hints it not the Shepherd God - With his pipings shrill and sweet-- - Snubnose, Sweetwine, old Silenus, - All his creatures shy and fleet?" - - Deeper, deeper, Fire and Dew - Drains he of the Wine-God's brew - Craving furthest essence--thus - Heareth now another voice - Terrible and new, - Luring--appalling, - "Iachus! Iachus! Iachus! - Wine! Wine! Wine! Rejoice!" - Thru the forest calling. - And the sky is red and golden - And the red, red stars are falling, - Falling to the earth in showers. - And the fresh blood-scents embolden - Gold and sable leopards, sleeping, - To come crawling, writhing, leaping, - Over gold and purple flowers. - And the autumn sun is swollen - With the sweetness he has stolen - From the wine, and he is wine, wine-red. - Come ye now with wreathed head, - Come ye now - With ivy bound on your white brow, - And forgotten, forgotten be the hours! - - Forgotten and forgotten! Ah the night has fled away, - And the wine is spilt, and the stars are gray, - For the old cold dawn abashes - All the torches turned to ashes, - But the feasters--where are they? - Fled, the sound of pipes at last; - Fled, the panting, goat-shank'd clan, - And the maenad rout have passed, - And the echoes caught and cast - Died where they began. - Never, never, never - A more sombre river - From such springs of laughter ran! - And the lucid pool of wit-- - What a scum has clouded it! - Past each stately Parian column - Day comes, gaunt and pale and shrunken - And her step is very solemn. - On the veined marble sunken, - Reft of breath of Deity, - Prone there, lies the Priest--the Chosen, - Huddled, bestial, bleared and drunken-- - Like a body that is frozen - (That such things should be!) - Shape of shapeless mockery - He had tasted all one can; - He had heard the pipes of Pan; - He had followed in thy van - Dionysus, Dionysus, son of Semele-- - Satyr?--not a satyr he--a man! - - - - - THE TRAIL BY NIGHT - - - No human foot-print here before my own! - And it is strange to come so far--alone-- - So far into this frozen forest world - Of moonlight and of shadow and deep snow, - And things I do not know, - That strike the civil vestments from my soul-- - As if all law-born years were backward hurled - Toward some dim and other pole-- - Some brute primordial reign - Whose voice was terror and whose life was pain. - - On--up the trail I go; - Beneath my feet cold streams of moonlight glow, - And in the silver-sifted dark strange, naked fancies grow, - While the vast pines in vista, round by round, - Move with an unearthly sound, - And every tree with its white hair is crowned. - - On--up--I go, - And as thru ancient Gothic arches seen - I glimpse the valley far below - That glistens with a fine fantastic sheen. - - On--up--I pass, - Nor reck the night-wrought spells about me thrown, - Heedless--sucked dry of thought or will - Save to peer curious into this magician's glass, - And see the forest dreams thru forest moonlight blown. - On--up I plunge--until - Bending, discern before me, with a thrill - The signs where some wild beast has gone. - - Who knows but that within the silence here - The cedar shadows gloom about a deer, - That stands with body lithe and slim - Struck to a statue by surprise? - Who knows but that, upon some snowy limb - A lynx, lean-bellied, pricks his tufted ear - And watches me with evil, amber eyes? - - * * * * * - - Surely beyond the stars my man-world lies-- - For close to me unhallowed mountains rise - And fill my heart with fear! - - - - - SONG IN WINTER - - - Burning stars in a frosty sky, - Thread-bare winds from the hollow west, - "Give us a garment of beauty!" they cry, - "For the waters of truth our throats are dry, - And phantoms of chaos uncover the bones of our breast, - Leaving us little rest." - - Bitter stars in a frozen sky, - Tattered winds from the lonely west, - Haggard beggars of hours that die-- - (Begging the gift of a golden lie!) - Is it with you as with us, no rest, no rest-- - Is it with you no rest? - - - - - - - The lacy chequer of aerial boughs - That winter weaves with delicate wizardry. - - * * * * * - - Far away--who knows how far?-- - Against the flaming calm of winter twilight, - I hear the voice of speed--muffled and hoarse, - Sounding across the hills. - - * * * * * - - Locomotive, locomotive, - Over the hills at night, - Running on your far-away groove - With the husky pant of things that move - And cannot turn to left or right, - Of things that toil and things that pass - In the murk of smoke and the stench of gas, - Serf of the monstrous city, - What pity--oh what pity - For the dearth of your delight, - Locomotive, locomotive, - Over the hills at night! - - - - - CLOUDS - - - Whence do you come, oh silken shapes, - Across the silver sky? - We come from where the wind blows - And the young stars die. - - Why do you move so fast, so fast - Across the white moon's breast? - The cruel wind is at our heels - And we may not rest. - - Are you not weary, fleeing shapes, - That never cease to flee? - The forkéd trees' chained shadows are - Less weary than we. - - Whither do you go, O shadow-shapes - Across the ghastly sky? - We go to where the wind blows - And the old stars die. - - My head is circl'd with fire-- - And I think of the failing of one's desire-- - And I hear outside the pitiful dropping of rain; - Which is the greater pain? - - I yearn for the birth of the brain-- - Be it child of blood and pain, - (I pray to endure the pain)-- - My heart--lo! my heart is afire - With hue as of purple or Tyre-- - With hope of Promethean fire-- - And oh God! God! God! the desire - For what only the Gods attain! - - In the white moonlight stand - With every finger on a star, and feel - Infinity as an engulfing wave. - - - - - JOY - - - The cañons are covered with snow, - But the sky doth over them lean - With eyes that are warm and keen - As if he could never know - The gray despair of the snow; - And snow and sky join hands together - To dance a dance of wonderful weather! - - - - - A VOICE - - - A woman spoke to me in the street-- - I do not remember how or why-- - But a breath blew over the winter sky - And spring came in with silver feet! - - - - - ANOTHER - - - A creature plucked at me in the street - But well I knew the reason why - The red stars sickened in the sky - And Hell gaped open at my feet! - - - - - IMPRESSIONS - - - This is the Gate of the Gray City--wrought - With piled roofs and steeples dimly seen - Thru the gray dusk--pale, wistful flakes of fire - Kindled about its lower fringe--vast murk-- - A snuffling monster with an evil eye - That surly pants to work some will unknown, - Blowing white breaths--a semaphore - With lifted arm--a form that swings a light - In arcs, against infinitude of gray, - Uneasy sounds, the clink and clank and groan; - Of things inanimate--the curves of rails - In rhythmical convergence gathered up-- - (And gathering up what burdens from afar!) - Monotony--monotony--despair! - This is the Gate of the Gray City. - - - - - - - Whatever our immitigable end, - The earth's our home and prison thru whose windows - Our wistful scrutinizing minds traverse - The sky's dissolving continents, exult - In melancholy mountains or, shackled, - Envy the inconstant sea that seems - An uncontaminated god, alone, complete - In mighty passion and the scorn of time. - - * * * * * - - I love the skyward-spiring tree - For its supreme unconsciousness of me. - - - - - - - So let us seek the lands that the Gods love, - The soil unsown, the isles of sumptuous store; - Where fallow fields yield yearly fee of grain, - And vines unpruned produce perennial bloom, - And olive slips engender faithfully, - And dark figs deck their trees; the cavernous oaks - Bleed honey'd drops, and from high hills descend - The nimble waters with melodious feet. - - - - - PRELUDE TO A PHANTASY - - - I will tell thee of Far-Away, of Far-Away, of Far-Away, - I will tell thee of Far-Away - The home of wandering dreams; - For they come out of Far-Away - To show us how to love and play, - And when they've wandered for a day - Must return, it seems. - - There's more than gold in Far-Away, in Far-Away, in Far-Away, - There's more than gold in Far-Away, - There's more than jewelled gleams. - There's more than smiles in Far-Away, - And coronals of laughter gay; - There's crystal tears that bloom alway - Beside forgotten streams. - - We'll gather gold from Far-Away, from Far-Away, from Far-Away, - We'll gather gold from Far-Away, - We'll steal the jewelled gleams. - We'll hunt for smiles from Far-Away; - Following laughter by the way, - But we must for another day - Leave the tears it seems. - - We'll find the road to Far-Away, to Far-Away, to Far-Away, - We'll know the road to Far-Away - By the feet of dreams; - For they come out of Far-Away - To love a little and to play, - And when they've wandered for a day - Must return it seems. - - - - - RUNNING WATER - - - Oh you who stand by the river in a gown of willow-green, - I will make you an eager song of my heart to-night; - I will find me a feather of a singing bird that has seen - And touched the blue targe of the sky in its flight. - I will make me a quill of it, and dip in my heart and write! - - I would not make you a threnody of sorrow that has been, - For you are no more than an eager child who demand - Magical tales of me, of lacquered Arabian sheen; - I will speak very softly then with your hand - In mine, a rose petal, the things that you understand. - - On the waxen and beautiful tablet that is your heart - With a singing quill and the stain of my heart I will write; - I will write with the simplest words and the simplest art - All the splendors that glow so by night-- - Of the Genie and the Bottle, and carpets of orient flight. - - And you who are more than a princess in your gown of yellow-green - With your bird-like and trembling heart will understand - All the luxurious sorrows and loves that have been - Written on parchment at a king's demand-- - And the simple words of them will flutter like birds in your hand. - - - - - EPITHALAMION - - - The pale dawn went down unto the sea, - Past the gray ships in the offing. - The salt wind found her blowing hair - And closed his wings and nested there, - And the salt sea hungered for her rare - Sweet body and forgot his scoffing. - - The pale dawn went down unto the sea - When all the world was sleeping; - She lifted veils and veils of air - Until her eager limbs were bare, - And the salt sea shook his manéd hair, - And the curl'd waves came to her, leaping. - - - - - MARSH-LANDS - - - Sure in this spongy and luxuriant retreat-- - This lovely lyric little marsh - Which nothing hath of fierce or harsh, - Unhappy fancies to evoke, - Where all life is most delicately attuned to sweet - Melodious living, here we'll meet - Naiads dainty and discreet - With other watery folk - And watch the twinkle of their iridescent feet. - - Upon a reed's high silver point - Which early dews anoint, - The Red-wing lights and poises, swaying, - With throaty and delicious whistle playing - Pan-music in the mellow morning light. - It is like running water's flow - A bit unearthly, and celestial quite-- - A golden tremolo; - And satin robes of air half veil him from our sight. - - The gay marsh-marigold - Delights its small sun to unfold; - And many a bulbous goblin thing, - Ugly and grave, - Into the dull mud burrowing - Draws from some secret treasure-cave - And to the sunlight heaves - Green breadth--great leaves - To build a vessel floating on an inland wave. - - We'll be as busy as the clouds, with naught to do, - And we will wonder at the curious striping, - In saffron glimpses, of more distant pools - Which the wind cools - With deep reflected blue. - And we will listen now to Hyla's piping-- - A thin small sprite - That one may never see - Calling to the sky his clear delight - Filled with insatiate and unbounded ecstasy. - - - - - SPRING FANCY - - - There is an orchard, old and rare, - (I cannot tell you where!) - With green doors opening to the sun; - And the sky-children gather there - To watch the blossoms, one by one, - Falling wistfully thru the air - From the trees' dishevelled hair. - - The sky-children shake their wings - With flutterings and gurglings-- - And love the light and kiss the sun, - Nor heed the blossoms that have blown - From the fruit-wives' ancient hair - Earthward thru the glowing air, - Wistfully--one by one. - - - - - SONG - - - A Flicker, a Robin, a Song-sparrow - Have come from Arcady. - The Flicker was an imp that shouted in a tree; - The Robin was a winged laugh that Spring set free; - The Song-sparrow was a liquid arrow - That pierced to the heart of me. - - - - - PLAYING - - - Three little girls and one little boy - Out in the first warm sunshine; - The wind blows in and the wind blows out - Voices cool as moonshine. - - Six tin cans and a pile of dirt - And the air smiles like a mother-- - The wind blows in and the wind blows out - As they play with each other. - - Sparrows on the fence and clothes on the line - And somewhere someone's laughter-- - The wind blows in and the wind blows out - And it could not blow much softer! - - Three little girls and one little boy - Out in the first warm weather-- - The wind blows in and the wind blows out - While they play together. - - - - - SONG - - - Hi! hi! hi! - On this green morning - My soul is as taut as a greenwood-bow, - Feeling the sap in it mounting so, - Needs but a jog to loose without warning - An arrow into the infinite sky-- - Hi! hi! hi! - On this green morning! - - - - - A BUST BY RODIN, KNOWN AS CERES - - - With rhythmic feet and garments flowing free - Draw near, draw near, bring largesse in full hand; - Move as to music of the saraband - Stately, before this Woman-deity. - - Woman's--these billows of thick hair that roll - Down the billowing breasts of her, and close - Shadows of pain and mirth in firm repose-- - This delicate mask drawn tight across a soul! - - A Goddess--Ultima Thule in her eye; - For the sad wisdom of its steady gaze, - Fixed on far, wintry fields and frozen ways, - Goes out to larger things than you or I: - - The Titan-sap makes gods of the spring hours, - And Earth renews its children and its flowers! - - - - - THE FLOWER'S WAY - - - I have stood long in the night - Under a star; - I have stood still with shadowy head - And arrowy leaves outspread - Under its trembling light - Where green things are. - - I have crept close to the grass - Where the beetles dart, - And the humming-bird and the dragon-fly - Were visions in the sky, - And the mendicant bees that pass - Rifled my heart. - - I have lain long in the day - Under the sun, - With my burning face in the arms of the wind, - And my petals unconfin'd - And my virginal robes a-sway-- - Thus joy is won! - - - - - THE TREE'S WAY - - - The high trees are honest folk; - They do not stand so much aloof - Up under heaven's roof, - Altho they are earth's fairest cloak. - Their lives are very calm and slow; - They wait for coming things to come, - They wait, they rest, they ponder some - Purpose forgotten long ago - Like quiet folk; - And sometimes I am moved to stroke - Hand-greeting as I pass them near, - And often I am sure I hear - An answer from these stately folk! - - - - - CHILDREN - - - What a garden of surprise - Out beyond my window lies! - Fancy, when the night is there - Gentle trees with drooping hair - Rocking, rocking cradle-wise - Little stars with yellow eyes! - - - - - VERSES TO A LITTLE CHILD - - (From Hofmannsthal) - - - Your feet have been fashioned as roses - To seek the lands of the rainbow-- - The rainbow-kingdoms are open. - There, haunting the taciturn tree-tops - Millennial prophecies linger, - The inexhaustible waters - Abide there forever and aye. - Beside the immeasurable forest - From wooden bowl brimming will you then - Apportion your milk with a hop-toad? - So festive a banqueting almost - Entices the stars to their fall! - By borders of measureless waters - Soon you will discover a playmate, - A dolphin engaging and kind. - He'll leap to dry-land at your bidding, - And if he shall fail you sometimes - The tender, innumerable zephyrs - Will still your tempestuous sobbing. - You'll find in the rainbow-kingdom - The ancient exalted traditions - Forever and ever unchanged. - The sun with mysterious power - Has fashioned your feet as the roses - To enter his measureless kingdom. - - - - - NIGHT-FLOWERS - - - This night hath no disease; - It knows not wrecks nor wars - Nor deaths of human minds. - The feet of the sweet winds - Break all the river's peace - Into marmoreal bars. - The tops of moonlit trees - Have blossomed with white stars, - And perfumes that one finds - In old Arabian jars - Had never blooms like these! - - - - - THE NIGHT - - - Sorrows confide their secrets; joys lead lives - Of lonely splendor. Mankind tells all things - To me, knowing I will not ever speak. - - - - - DISILLUSION - - - The night was like a jewell'd crown-- - (Could jewels be so soft a thing!) - For stars and wind were in the town - And by the highways entering, - Plucked there as on a viol string, - Until--somewhere--a woman's scream-- - Sharply shattered the dream! - - - - - - - Silence within - The upper twilight of a temple lies - Asleep, with pendant plumes--a dreaming god-- - And dreams the pageantry of things--and dreams - The gifts that he has given with his hands-- - The gifts that he has taken with his hands-- - And dreams his own eternity. - - * * * * * - - I am one that loves - The stars of labyrinthine night whom the shrill dawn - Devours, the quietude of ultimate slopes - Thoughtful of twilight, peering moons that shed - Unrisen glamours thru the umbrageous wood - With gnome and goblin rife, and the light spray - Of gray spring rains enveloping the hills. - - - - - SONG - - - Would I were a bird - To nest in a cover - Of leaves that hover - 'Twixt earth and heaven - Where no sound is heard-- - Only the uneven - Brush of winds that slumber - With no thought to cumber; - Would I were a bird! - - Would I were a wave - To rise for a moment - From the ocean's foment, - To puff my lips asunder - Blowing bubbles brave, - To dream and to wonder - Of the depths below me - And the winds that blow me-- - Would I were a wave! - - Bird, canst thou fashion - Song of things that grieve thee? - Wave hast thou passion - For things that will deceive thee? - Bird and wave I leave ye! - - - - - RONDEAU - - - A Sunday-calm, ornate, profound, - Enchanting sense, subduing sound, - Enjoins its ritual to prepare; - The day is bland with unctuous prayer - That leaps to heaven at a bound. - - And bells ope throats in mellow round - Of sweet antiphonal resound, - And virtue glistens everywhere-- - A Sunday-calm. - - Draw breath! Away to virgin ground! - But where the fields are flower-crowned - The cattle with self-conscious stare - Chide my undeprecative air,-- - Good heavens! Can they too have found - A Sunday-calm? - - - - - SUNSET BURIAL - - - The trees upheaven filigrane fingers of desire - To touch a ruby-throated cloud-face fanned - By a bronze breath and globous mouth of fire; - Beneath, the rigid gravestones stand, - Each one a cadaver that cannot close its hand. - - - - - FAIRY SONG - - - I can live in a golden fruit - Whose core is hung with honey; - I can swing on golden wing - In elfin ceremony-- - But oh! for the power - To open as a flower - When the air is sunny! - - - - - A YOUNG GIRL'S LOVE - - - The season is less stubborn now; - Over the youngling world we see - A white sky full of scudding blue, - A white wind that runneth as a child - Touching most delicately the new - Sweet buds, and having touched and smiled, - Goes to seek out some pale anemone, - And wreathe with maiden flowers her fragile brow. - - - - - A YOUNG MAN'S LOVE - - - If I were your sister I'd lie with you the night-long - To feel your bosom's beating; - If I were your brother I'd wake you with a day-song - And give a kiss as greeting; - If I were your mother I'd hold you as a shut flower - When the dark comes creeping; - If I were your father I'd enter at the dawn-hour - To look upon you, sleeping. - What is there left over - For me, who am your lover? - - - - - SONG - - - A cup full of star-shine - That glowed as an ember, - (Oh, star of my delight!) - With smiles I do remember - And words forgotten quite, - A cup full of star-shine - I drank with you to-night. - - A cup full of sea-sound - That was as summer thunder-- - (Oh sea of my delight!) - With love that lay under - Seven heavens bright, - A cup full of sea-sound - I drank with you to-night. - - - - - SONG - - (_After an old English tune_) - - - I will bring thee a silver crown. - I will bring thee an ell of vair, - Cloth of gold and ermine rare - To make thee a gown. - - Thou hast brought me a marble frown. - Thou hast brought me a cold, cold stare, - Heart of lead and wry despair, - And a mad-man's swown. - - I will bring thee a leaden crown, - Cloth of Raines in thirty-fold! - I will bring thee a bed on the wold - To lay thee down. - - Thou hast brought me out of the town - To the earth upturned where the bell is tolled-- - Fires of hell and the river's cold - My sorrows drown! - - - - - TRISTAN AND ISOLDE - - - The sea is here, it hath not any shore, - Nor moves with moving of wind-driven waves - Which, undulant and writhing--naked slaves - To the uneasy wanderer of heaven's floor, - Bow sullen backs beneath their master's store - He brought with viewless hands from broken graves-- - The sea is here, and in its silent caves - Moves not, tho the wind clamors more and more. - - The sea is here, an infinite undertone; - But lo! upon its surface I descry - Two floating bubbles, wonderfully blown - Toward each other, flame-like from the sky-- - Meet--melt with lyric splendor into one-- - Then, wind-prick'd, vanish--o'er the Sea, a cry! - - - - - PALINURUS - - - Starlight: with deep and quiet breathing slept - The southern sea. The white-wing'd ship that bore - The good Aeneas from his Dido's shore - Ghostlike, with rippling furrows, onward crept, - And only faithful Palinurus kept - The midnight watch--but ah, the magic bough, - The opiate dew that dript upon his brow, - The vacant post, the friends who waking wept. - - The gods demand their victims; who shall know - What failures Time and Circumstance compel? - Yet, if such doom were mine, I would 'twere so - That they would mark my absence thus: "How well - Even unto the last he struggled, lo! - He tore the rudder with him when he fell!" - - - - - THE DERELICT - - - I cannot remember whither I was bound-- - I cannot remember why I was found - Moving without a sound - Moving in mystery-- - Derelict, derelict, - Over the sea! - - I too carry a cargo in my hold, - Underneath sea-water and green with mold-- - I cannot remember how old! - For terrible it is to be - Derelict, derelict, - Over the sea! - - Feebler ships weather bravely into port; - Running a course that is safe and short-- - My voyage is another sort; - No master guideth me-- - Derelict, derelict, - Over the sea! - - Nights have shadow'd me with phantom stride-- - Stars have peer'd at me, eerie-eyed-- - Goblin lights and magic tide - Keep me company, - Derelict, derelict, - Over the sea! - - Setting suns have rowell'd me with crimson'd heel-- - Winds have flung laughter, peal after peal-- - But they shall not know that I feel - Mute in my agony-- - Derelict, derelict, - Over the sea! - - Rudderless, by ways uncharted blown-- - Some day shall waken to find me gone-- - What matter? I have drifted alone - Ever--alone--yet free-- - Derelict, derelict, - Over the sea! - - - - - THE SQUIRE OF DAMES TO HIS LADY - - - Why should our meeting borrow - A sense of shame or sorrow - That each must go his way? - Love liketh no fetter - Therefore our roads were better - If you go yours to-morrow, - And I go mine to-day. - - I hold you for a minute-- - You'd catch the hour and pin it-- - But if I held you longer - Would you have more assurance - In days of richer durance, - Life with more rapture in it, - Passion more wise and stronger? - - The Daughter of Illusion - Hath made our love seem fusion - Of two strange things in one-- - But loving hath not taught her - That strange as fire to water, - Love becomes bleak intrusion - When all the glamor's gone. - - You say I've brought you sorrow - And pay not debts I borrow-- - But mirth is what's to pay! - So part our paths in laughter, - And, since your heart is softer, - You go your way to-morrow-- - And I'll go mine to-day. - - - - - GAS-LIGHT HEROICS - - - With this night's carousal - We will close the portal - On our poor espousal-- - Sacrament and housel - For a love too mortal! - - With this gay delaying - We'll delay yet longer-- - Care not what the saying - Of the World--that braying - Evil tattle-monger! - - Pleasure has as thunder - Scorched and jangled thru me; - Now I'll sit and wonder - At the day-star yonder - And your face, grown gloomy. - - You are known as "Lily" - And they mock your gender; - Is it but a silly - Fancy, you seem stilly - Lily-souled and tender? - - Underneath the bitter - Mockery of color, - Underneath the titter - Is there something fitter? - Something finer, fuller? - - Something (can I hear it - In your secret eyes?) - When I come too near it - Like a frightened spirit - Running from the skies? - - Girl, you know that glow meant - Dawn's thin lips of scarlet-- - Bubble of life's foment - Stay your soul a moment! - - * * * * * - - Bah! You're drunk, you harlot! - - - - - MISTS - - - I - - I am most weary of this fatuous me - That doth obtrude a niddering death's head - At a blithe feast of Springtide jollity, - Of revelling buds and flowers unsurfeited. - I am most weary of this chained thought - That hath forgotten where its mansions are-- - And lost the dew its seven-spher'd courses caught - Wandering in plunged dark from star to star. - I am most weary of my stagnant soul - That neither thirsts, nor hungers, nor is stirred - By the gigantic thunders that have rolled - From the white, hurtling lightning of a word. - - I am most weary, love; so let thy face-- - The sponge that sops my gaze, myself erase. - - - II - - Oft in the groping night I am afraid, - For this, mine opaque organism, seems - A glass, a mere reflex of trooping dreams-- - A polished boss where images parade. - And to see these doth make my senses cold-- - This globe become a visionary face-- - This little spinning soul of me--in space-- - I dare not think of what that space may hold! - Such thoughts are as the charnel mists that rise - From feverish and mortuary ground - Thru which one sees the country all around-- - Yet near, the dead--and far away, the skies. - - But at the thought of you my life expands - Until it holds all life within its hands! - - - - - SCEPTIC - - - I - - This hour has shut us like a tent - From all but night; we two, alone, - So close, so poignantly alert, have grown, - That trivial speech, from silence rent, - Breaks off--a useless instrument. - - For all the opening world is ours, - And you, tho scarce a woman yet, - Your eyes with feasts of lights and vintage set, - Hold all the dewy wealth of flowers, - And gold of Babylonian towers. - - Our lives will alter if we move-- - It were so easy now to rise - And tell my unimpassioned soul it lies-- - And claim youth's heritage of love, - Let bald life prove what it may prove! - - It were so easy to conceive - Your lack my lack would compensate-- - And by one stroke undo the knot of fate; - It were so easy to believe - The lies that such a thing could weave! - - Or shall I stumble through the night - Biting my lips to hold the tears - Because your incommunicable years - Must spend their summer of delight - Without my reach--beyond my sight? - - The house is still; the midnight seems - Inscrutable--no answer there. - Oh God!--to break this tension of despair. - Between us the calm lamplight streams-- - "Good night!" and "Pleasant dreams!"--yes--dreams. - - - II - - I would I had lain with my love to-night; - Her eyes trembled for her body said, - "I have smoothed a pillow and made a bed"-- - But I smiled against it - And turned away my head - To come into the cold starlight. - - I would I had lain with my love to-night, - For I know how flowers are shed, - And the cynical scintillant stars are dead-- - Dead, dead utterly! - Yet I turned away my head - To come into the cold starlight. - - I would I had lain with my love to-night! - Oh, indolent Gods, we too can tread - On the silent spirits, the uncomforted! - She did not reproach me, - Tho I turned away my head - And came into the starlight. - - - III - - Love (as a cloud on the sea - Hung between poles of blue) - Hangs in the heart of me - Between the eyes of you. - Love, as a cloud on the sea, - Claims the tears of two. - - Love (as a wind in a tree - Shaking its tower of green) - Shakes all the heart of me - And leaves no peace between. - Love, as the wind the tree - Tears with hands unseen. - - Love (as a storm on the sea - Shatters the sleep of the wave) - Shatters the heart of me - With desires that grope and crave. - Love, as the storm the sea, - Boasts not me his slave. - - - IV - - You, flower-named, and as a flower arrayed, - Open to all the wandering airs that pass, - Opened to me--yet I drew back afraid, - Craven to the blood that would have preyed - And the sly viper coiling in the grass. - - - V - - Love, when you smiled and beckoned - My cold thought stood aloof and reckoned - Some heights above you. - But now you have turned and gone - Smiling, fugitive as dawn, - I know (oh fool!) I love you. - - - VI - - Love, with her queen's face and child lips - Walked at my side; her hair about her head - Streamed, with riotous and exuberant spread - Like sails and cordage of sea-breasting ships, - And as the tides, her mirthful glints and dips - Tugged at my anchor'd calmness--then she said, - Chilling to gravity, "You are lead." - It was as when the bright blade cruelly slips, - For in my soul that hid its vain desires - Under closed hatch, I knew the stifled fires - Devoured in silence, as stealthy serpents writhe - Their folds about their prey; and seemed to hear - The passing of some irrevocable year, - And faint for whistle of a monstrous scythe. - - - VII - - Pain of widest range-- - The intimate grown strange. - - - - - ARMA VIRUMQUE CANO - - - And so the good Aeneas went away. - It was not dawn, and yet the sleepless sea - Felt as a mother, the still unborn day. - The stars were brighter than they ought to be. - A milky foam curled from the vessel's breast - Whose long blades lifted to each lifting crest. - - Happy were the sailors to be aboard once more, - And the laughing sea answered to their shouts afar off shore. - - Dido the Queen - Knew he was gone. - No need to have seen - From the casement withdrawn; - No need to be told; - Her heart had guessed - By the aching unrest - And empty breast-- - Empty and cold. - - Oh, plain her Maidens at their spinning, - Love has end that had beginning. - - As the course was traced Aeneas paced, - His thoughts uprising like a flock of birds; - And one flew west, to the new the unknown nest, - And one that was wing'd with flaming words-- - Something the Queen had uttered, tender--sweet,-- - Fluttered back and died--just at her feet. - - Ho! chants a Rower, straining at the sweep, - Leave the landsman to his pillow, the sailor to the deep. - - All night the Queen - In fever burned; - A dream returned - Long ago seen: - A dream of ships, - Of one who came - Out of a flame - And cried her name - And kissed her lips. - - Somewhere in the dawn Someone's singing: - "Lo! what gifts love's hands are bringing!" - - Jet-black, the palms like sculptured fountains loomed - Above the lovers; one star blazed all night. - Beyond the river was the sea that boomed. - Their barge was lit with lightnings of delight. - Of this, the good Aeneas too had dreamed - While the unshaken towers of Ilium gleamed. - - Ah! cry the sailors, "whom we loved must wait. - There's no turning back from the open track to the gates of fate." - - The cicadas drone; - Desert winds blow - As oarsmen row - Their Queen alone - Down the river. - Alone, she cried - Alone! to the tide. - And the sea replied - Forever! - - La, croon the Women, nimbly weaving, - "Whose heart do we hear grieving?" - - Months bring all wanderings to a close. - The fleet years flee; Aeneas wisely wed, - Often, when wind and sea strike mighty blows, - Wakening from dreams half ecstasy, half dread, - That come upon him from another life, - Touches the calm breast of his sleeping wife. - - Hum, the Night Watch mutters, leaning on his spear, - "'Tis a strange world to be in and to have no fear." - - The sea at last - Brings pain to end. - The desert vast - Becomes her friend. - Her people fear it: - "The Queen," they say, - "Grows day by day - Paler, but still gay-- - As a spirit." - - Oh, they murmur, "Queen Dido goes away - To where the dark river runs, sunless and gray." - - - - - A HYMN TO DIONYSUS IN SPRING - - - Yellow the sands of the shores of Elis, and over the creaming - Foam-flakes that flutter and curl on the edge of the dreaming - Mediterranean, Jupiter arches his azure dome. - Here to the somnolent sands the Aeolian women have come, - The dreamers, all languid with silence of spring-tide dreaming, - And they stand with their hair unbound and their feet in the foam. - - The heart of the morning beats with a swooning, amorous beating, - And the nymph-cool waters and brazen sunshine meeting, - Mingle where indolent spring-tide ripples shimmer and burn; - Out to the dim horizon the eyes of the dreamers yearn, - And like flutes are the low, soft voices that chant thus, entreating - The God, Dionysus, to rise from the sea and return. - - "Bitter thy roving hath been, O Hunter, and stricken with madness, - And thy winter frenzy hath torn us with torment of sadness-- - Horror of blood in the mouth and of murderous lusts that bring - Shadows a-couch in the forest from under us shuddering. - We are sick of the feverish nights that have stolen our gladness-- - Ah! we are weary of winter and fain of the Spring!" - - "Thy foes, O Hunter, have goaded thy soul, but their goading is - over, - For every unfolding leaf is a shield for thy cover - And every grass-blade upraises a spear that is scimitar-keen, - Gladly the flowers will weave thee a mantle to wander unseen. - Slim as a willow-wand, Ariadne awaits thee, her lover, - And her heart is full of the dreams that are cool and green." - - "Hyé, the Dew, thy mother, sorrows because of thy going, - And the film-pale, rain-sweet Hyades fleeing and flowing, - Dissolved from the rainbow and river to rise in the sap of the tree, - Leave never their dolorous grieving, lamenting in quest of thee. - And the succulent vine and the spirit of all things growing - Cry 'Dionysus, return! Oh, return from the sea!'" - - "Wilt thou forsake us forever, unheeding our sedulous plaining? - See'st not the clusters of pale green globes, crescent and straining - Sunwards, that long for thy hand to engarb them with royal attire? - Hear us, O Wine-God; return to us! Kindle once more Desire!" - So chant the Aeolian women till the light be waning - While the foam breaks over their feet in soft folds of fire. - - The robes of the sun are red, and close to the earth he dozes; - The long day lingers, then slowly and silently closes - The shadowy orient gates, climbing upward stair by stair, - Raising her evening face to the stars in the spring-tide air. - Lo! the sea is aglow and aflame with the odor of roses! - Lo! a glimpse of the God with the sun in his yellow hair! - - - Recent Publications - - Price Post - Love of One's Neighbor--Leonid Andreyev Boards .40 .05 - A satirical comedy by the greatest of the - modern Russians. - Mariana--José Echegaray Cloth .75 .10 - The masterpiece of modern Spain's greatest - writer. - Chants Communal--Horace Traubel Boards 1.00 .10 - Inspirational prose pieces. Paper .25 .05 - Collects--Horace Traubel Cloth 1.00 .10 - Jack London says: "His is the vision of the Paper .50 Paid - poet and the voice of the poet." - Horace Traubel--Mildred Bain Boards .50 .05 - Not Guilty--Robert Blatchford Cloth .50 .10 - A defence of the bottom-dog. Paper .25 .05 - The Diary of a Suicide--Wallace Baker Cloth 1.00 .08 - "The confession of a youth who was prematurely Paper .50 Paid - tired." - The Case of Mexico--De Zayas Cloth 1.35 0.10 - Our Irrational Distribution of Wealth--Byron C. Cloth 1.00 .10 - Mathews - Des Imagistes--An Anthology Cloth 1.00 .07 - "It sticks out of the crowd like a tall marble - monument."--_The New Weekly._ - The Thresher's Wife--Harry Kemp Boards .40 .05 - A narrative poem of great strength and - originality. - An English Dante--John Pyne Boards 1.00 .07 - A translation in the original rhythm and - rhymes. - Erna Vitek--Alfred Kreymborg Cloth 1.00 .10 - A new form of the novel. 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