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Page 1 of 11907 · PDF PAGE 52
DESESPOIR NTO the inmost agony of things She sees, through glamour of untrusty sense, The full corruption of omnipotence, The infinite rage of fishes to have wings, The lust of beasts for tentacles; caught thence . Corollary, syllogism, she strides tense Into the inmost agony of things. So, fearless, amid gods and evil kings, She sits, poor wretch, eternal scientist, Straining mild muscles, leaving to its list The spasm-shaken body. So she flings The teeth-set fate of Fortune’s face unkissed Against the fiat: sets her clenchéd fist In his face:…
1907 · PDF PAGE 99
…-set eyes, genius-lighted. Epithalamia, birth-songs, epitaphs, Are written in the mystery of his lips. Sad wisdom, scornful shame, grand agony In the coffin-folds of the cloak, scarred mountains, lie, And pity hides i’ th’ heart. Grim knowledge grips The essential manhood. Balzac stands, and laughs. 63
1907 · PDF PAGE 84
…e mystic stress, Imagining’s reiterate miracle. Evil breathes, bending, the reverberate spell, Conjuring ghosts of the insane address Of agony lurid in the damned caress, Exulting tortures of the heart of hell. The maiden sits and listens, smiles. Her breath Is easy; over her bowed head fall deep Glowing cascades of hair; she combs her hair With subtle ecstasy, electric sweep Of unimaginable joy; let life and death Pass; she will comb, and comb, and will not care. 06
1907 · PDF PAGE 83
…hese litanies unchanted, unperfumed? Live in the shuddering marble they remain: Here is the infinite credo of pure pain. Here let life’s agony take hold enough Of all that lives: let partial tears for them Wake knowledge, brain-dissolving diadem Of white-hot woe upon the brows of love! D0
1907 · PDF PAGE 78
…Abhorred and careless she bids order cease. Her hate resolves the shriek into a stammer Of inarticulate rage. The wounded man Twisted in agony beneath her squirms To hear her raucous blasphemies outspan The grip of God at this his last of terms. Yea! he must die with horror in his ears, Hate in his heart. The mischief must endure. He hath expiated naught by death. His tears, His thoughts, these strike nor stay her not, be sure! She is Madness, and a fury; though were gone All life to war, she would scream on—scream on. 50
1907 · PDF PAGE 74
LE PENSEUR LIND agony of thought! Who turns his pen Or brush or lyre to Art, shall see in this The symbol of his battle against men For men, the picture of the torturing bliss Of his necessity: sits clutched and closed Into himself the adept of wizard thought. Gripped in his own embrace he sits: keen-nosed The invisible bloodhounds ache upon the slot! Soon, soon they are on him: soon the fangs of hate, The sharp teeth of the infinite are in him! Shall love, or fame, or gold, those pangs abate? What siren with smooth voice and breast shall win h…
1907 · PDF PAGE 29
…face their senseless scars? One makes, one mars. The aeons foil All purpose; rise, O Tower of Toil. Rise in thy radiance to proclaim The agony of the earth alive! Stand by the sea, a marble flame, A lighthouse wedded to an hive! Still upward strive! O tower, arise An endless spiral to the skies! Stand on the weather-beaten coast A flaming angel in the noon; A silver, fascinated ghost In midnight’s revel with the moon; In silent swoon be still! the spoil Of years is thine, O Tower of Toil. 15
1907 · PDF PAGE 37
…he gold of the heart. As you sit there mighty in bronze I adore the twist Of the miracle ankle gripped by the miracle wrist. I adore the agony-lipped and the tilted head, And I pay black orisons to the breasts aspread In multiple mutable motion, whose soul is hid. © And the toils of confused emotion the Master bid Lurk in the turn of the torso for poets to see is hid from the lesser and dull—hidden from me. She squats, and is void and null; I know her not; ' As God is above, but more so, she sits, to blot Intelligence out of my brain, conceit f…
1907 · PDF PAGE 57
EPERVIER ET COLOMBE HEN, at the awful Judgment-day, God stands Shrunken and shaking at my gaze, before My hollow seat of agony, it may be He shall discover me the great excuse For an ill world ill shapen by ill hands, For unit joy and misery ten score, For all his work’s complaint; I think that He, Twitching His fearful fingers, may let loose This answer: Thus a kiss I brought to being Which by no other way were possible. Measure, O man! Balance with eyes true seeing If I were right or no to have made Hell! Then would He stand forgiven—nay! acq…