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…e Alone; it doth not ask a friend, © Nor shall it bend a fatuous knee To a fantastic deity. What crest or chrism were so good To work as Art, the crown upon Work’s brow? Thy will with love endued Lift up this loftier Parthenon! Thine art the consecrative oil To hallow us the Tower of Toil! 19
… the bird ’s on the wing! Adonis, awake! Adonis, awake! We are colour and song And form, we are Muses most tender to take Thy life up to Art that was lost over long. Adonis, awake! Adonis, awake! thou hast risen above The fear in the forest, the brute in the brake. | Thou art sacred to shrines that are higher than Love! Adonis, awake! 1 Properly the sequel to Mort d’ Adonis on p. 62. 30
…e of a master-mind, The Egyptian force, the Greek simplicity, The Celtic subtlety. Through suffering free, The calm great courage of new art, refined In nervous majesty, indwells behind The beauty of each radiant harmony. Titan! the little centuries drop back, Back from the contemplation. Stand and span With one great grip his cup, the Zodiac! Distil from all time’s art his wine, the truth! Drink, drink the mighty health—an age’s youth— Salut, Auguste Rodin! Here is a man. 11
…and purity his won reward ? Sweet blush of blood, pale blossom lightly folded, To thee did he carve his way by right of sword ? Thou who art all delight to all of us, Hast thou no special intimate caress For him whose bloody sweat stood murderous On the writhen brow, the bosom of distress ? Ay! for his anguish thou art gain enough— One thought, worth all Earth’s fame, and gold, and love! 47
…magistrale De la Force égyptienne, de la Simplicité grecque, De la Subtilité celte.—Libéré par la souffrance Le grand courage calme de l’Art Futur, raffiné En sa nerveuse majesté, glisse, profond, Sous la beauté de chaque rayon d’harmonie. Titan! Les Siécles amoindris s’enfoncent, S’enfoncent a4 l’‘horizon des contemplations. Debout, et léve D’un ferme poing la coupe supréme, le Zodiaque! La écume son vin—essence de l’ Art Eternel—la Vérité! Bois, bois a la toute puissante santé, au Temps rajeuni! —Salut, Auguste Rodin! Vous étes un homme! Trad…
… these groves are fit for Pan— O rich with Bacchic frenzy and his wine’s Atonement for the infinite woe of man! Is there no God of Vital Art to dwell Serene, enshrined, incensed, adored of us? Were not a cemetery His citadel? His treasure-house some barred sarcophagus? And here his mighty and reverend high-priest Bade me good cheer, an eager acolyte, Poured the high wine, unveiled the mystic feast ;— Swooped the plumed anguish of inveterate night; Devouring torture of insight shot. Night hovered; Dawn smote. I bowed—O God declared, discovered! …
MADAME RODIN EROIC helpmeet of the silent home! Shall who sings Art not worship womanhood? There is depth of calm beneath the sea’s fine foam; Behind the great there is ever found the good. Honour and glory to the sacred house And ark of the covenant of holy trust, The unseen mother and the secret spouse Ever availing in the sorrow and dust That aye avenge the artist’s victory won, That cover up his monuments of fame, That twist his sight, once steadfast on the sun To the fear folded in the robes of shame:— Lest he, to all the world plain victo…
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…
… of ice. Ay! and the petty and the sordid soul, A servile whore’s deformed debauchery,? Grins from the image. Let posterity From Rodin’s art guess Mirbeau’s heart, extol The lethal chamber men ere then will find For the pimp’s pen and the corrupted mind. 1 Le jardin des supplices, par Octave Mirbeau. 2 Les mémoires d’une femme de chambre, par Octave Mirbeau. 65 K
FEMME ACCROUPIE WIFT and subtle and thin are the arrows of Art: I strike through the gold of the skin to the 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;…
…claret-tappers, etc.,etc.,recentlyreceived one of these missiles in the eye, my attention was called to the disturber: I will now do my part as a law-abiding citizen and take my boot to the offender, as a warning to him and all of his kidney. I shall not mention his name: that he would enjoy: that is perhaps what he hoped. I will merely state that he is one of those unwashen and oleaginous individuals who are a kind of Mérodack-Jauneau without the Mérodack, ie., without the gleam of intention in their work which to the lay mind redeems even the…