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Page 1 of 11907 · PDF PAGE 60
LYETERNEL PRINTEMPS I HE eternal spring is in the heart of youth. They are nearest to the secret of the world, These lovers with their lithe white bodies curled Into the rhythm of a dance; the truth Is theirs that feel, not ours that idly see; Theirs that inhabit, and not ours that flee The intimate touch of love and think to sleuth By intellect all the scent of being, whirled In the wheel of time—roll back, slow years, and be A monument, a memory for me; That I may in their passion have a part, And feel their glory glow within my heart! II Thi…
1907 · PDF PAGE 99
…ery 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
…es, 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 80
…cadian field. The god’s grip huddles her girl breasts: his grim And gnarléd lips grin forth the soul of him.- The imprint of his bestial heart is sealed And stamped armorial on her virgin shield, Fame’s argent heraldry despoiled. Grows dim For her the universe: supple and slim She slides in vain. She loathes him—and doth yield. Shame, sorrow, these be sire and dam of song. Fatality, O Nature, is thy name. Along the accurséd river, stagnant shame, Eddying woe, from rape and godly wrong, Springs the immortal reed: the mortal’s cry Rises, an angry…
1907 · PDF PAGE 82
…voke thee at the end When other gods are fallen and put to scorn. Thy foot is to my lips; my sighs unborn Rise, touch and curl about thy heart; they spend Pitiful love. Lovelier pity, descend And bring me luck who am lonely and forlorn.” Fortune sits idle on her throne. The scent Of honeyed incense wreathes her lips with pleasure. For pure delight of luxury she turns, Smooth in her goddess rapture. So she spurns And crushes the pale suppliant. Softly bent, Her body laughs in ecstasy of leisure. o4
1907 · PDF PAGE 63
…din made him so, Evoked the strength, the goodliness, the glow. The form is little: in the mind there dwells Force to avail the childish heart that swells With aught that is. The golden prime is past— Aye! but a nobler gain is ours at last Who see man weary, but within our span The perfect promise of the overman. oo
1907 · PDF PAGE 78
…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 101
… 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
1907 · PDF PAGE 46
… a rime to trace. What shall they say? For secret we Have held our love, and holy. Splendour Of light, and music of the sea And eyes and heart serene and tender, With kisses mingled utterly. These were our ways. And who shall know? What warrior bard our nuptial glories Shall sing? Historic shall we go Down through our country’s golden stories? Shall lovers whisper ‘Even so 26
1907 · PDF PAGE 37
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;…
1907 · PDF PAGE 19
…e utterly false, utterly funny story about me that I wrote one sonnet for “L’Ange déechu” and another for ‘‘ Fille d’'Icare.” _ The real heart of the attack is, of course, against Rodin’s intention, and it is my object to show what rubbish it is, even granting the literary basis of criticism to be valid: I am given to understand that something of the sort described above does sometimes take place in the naming of a statue (of the allegorical description especially). But that is a question of felicity, of epigram; never of subject. | 5