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Page 1 of 11907 · PDF PAGE 51
LA MAIN DE DIEU HE Hand. From mystery that is cloud control The mystery that is emptiness of air Purpose and power. What blossom do they bear? Stability and strength inform—what soul? Turn to me, love! the banks of air are soft. We are so safe; so happy we: Turn to me, love! the skies are blue, Our love can never falter; fate can never close Fleeced with the clouds that hang aloft, Hard on the flower of land and sea. Buds that may blossom into dew. Lift, O rose petals of my rose, Toward me, rest, dream on, we are here, we love. Turn to me, love…
1907 · PDF PAGE 62
… a rose, She spins aloft and laughs at him. So gay the pose, so quaint the whim, One stares and stares: it grows and grows. So swift the air she seems to skim One’s senses dazzle; wonder glows Warm in one’s veins like love—who knows? One follows till one’s eyes are dim My little lady light o’ limb. 38
1907 · PDF PAGE 99
…ian silence, mastery of pain, Gargantuan laughter, shake or still the ignited Stature of the Master, vivid. Far, affrighted, The stunned air shudders on the skin. In vain The Master of “ La Comedie Humaine” Shadows the deep-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 11
…égyptiaque, la Maitrise des Douleurs, Le Rire de Gargantua secoue ou pacifie La stature ardente du Maitre, vivide. Au loin, épouvanté, L’air frémit sur toute sa chair. En vain L’Incarné de la Comédie Humaine Enfonce aux orbites ombreux l'irradiation géniale de ses prunelles. Epithalames, Péans de naissances, Epitaphes S’inscrivent au mystére de ses lévres. La triste Sagesse, la Honte méprisante, l’Agonie profonde, Gisent aux plis du manteau, pans de montagne et faces de cercueil. —Ht la Pitié s’est blottie au coeur. L’apre science etreint L’ess…
1907 · PDF PAGE 14
…nculi that dance Around us wither at our brilliance. These puppets perish in the good grand glare, Our sworded sunlight in the boundless air! These bats need cloisters; these tame birds a cage; How should they know the Masters of the Age? Or understand when the archangels cry o Adoring us ‘““EAaajy zat aorep’ et” ? 60, JermMyN Street, 8.W. 16.4.07
1907 · PDF PAGE 30
…ars In plain perception of the aeon. Cry clear the paean! Its tunes recoil About thy flanks, O Tower of Toil. Below be miners fashioned fair, And all that labour in the sea Sepulchred from the ambient air, A fatal weird of dole to dree. No time to be, no light to live, Earth’s need to these hath hope to give. Above be various shapes of labour, The bodily strength, the manual skill; They shape the anvil and the sabre, The ploughshare and the bolt; they fill The myriad will of brains that boil: Their fame be thine, O Tower of Toil! 16