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…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
…erene toward the sunset, murmuring low The tyrant’s curse, the hideous decree. Then she, instructed by the Saviour Snake, Saw once clear Truth and gave her life, and love, And peace, and favour of the fiend above, For Knowledge, Knowledge pure for Knowledge’ sake. The full moon rose. Creation’s voice was dumb For the first woman’s shame, strength, martyrdom. 59
As he loved her do I love you”? So much they shall know, surely; never The truth, how lofty and fresh as dew Our love began, abode for ever: They cannot know us through and through. We have exceeded all the past. The future shall not build another. This is the climax, first and last. We stand upon the summit. Mother Of ages, daughter of ages, cast The fatal die, and turn to death! Let evolution turn, involving As when the gray sun sickeneth— Ghostly September! so dissolving Into the pale eternal breath. When all is done, shall this be said. Whe…
OR I can give, nor you can take; endures The simple truth of me that this is yours. Is not the music mingled with the form When all the heavens break in blind black storm? Are we not veiled as Gods, and cruel as they, Smiting our brilliance on the shuddering clay? Silence and darkness cover us, confirm Our splendour to its unappointed term: ' For all the mean homunculi 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 bird…
…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 This holy rapture is the eternal spring, Here in the love t…
…on were vocal But Heaven forbid! What he said, though parrot-talk, caught up in some fifth-rate sculptor’s studio, no doubt, had so much truth in it, carefully concealed by the lying misinterpre- tation he had put on it, that, as I said, the pellet hit me. This was what it came to. Rodin’s works, it is said, mean nothing. He makes a study: people see it in his studio: A. goes up and says to the Master: “Ah, how beautiful, etc., ad nauseam—“I suppose it is ‘Harth and the Spring.’” B. follows, and suggests “ Hercules and Cacus’; C. thinks “The Bi…