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…. What other worship can usurp my days When I may lie amid her sunny tresses Enraptured by the music of her lute One long calm love, one heart’s delight always ? 2 Bright spheres of heaven, firefly gleams, fair ghosts Laugh lightly to the silver globe of night That glitters on green fields, and on the sea
…w, I feel the Godhead set above me, My own high part in His celestial sphere; In life, in death, the universe cries—love me !— God in my heart, and all the world is dear!
…for a boon, Sweet kisses of showers, O mother, O life, O desire, my soul is a bird in thy bowers ! , | My soul is caught up In thy green-hearted waves. I drink at the cup Of thy sweet valley graves. My spirit may sup Slow tunes in thy caves. O hide me, thy child, in thy bosom, that the heart in me yearns to and craves. 56
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;…
…ing. I pass from change and thought to peace, woven on loves incredible loom, Rose on the breast of the world of spring ! How shall the heart dissolved in joy take form and harmony and sing ? How shall the ecstasy of light fall back to musics magic gloom ? O China rose without a thorn, O honey-bee with- out a sting ! The scent of all thy beauty burns upon the wind. The deep perfume Of our own love is hidden in our hearts, the invul- nerable ring. No man shall know. I bear thee down unto the tomb, beyond the tomb, Rose on the breast of the wor…
…head in murk, O man, how piteous thy plight, The doubts that daunt, the ills that irk, Thou hast nor wit nor will to fight — How hope in heart, or worth in work ? No star in sight ! Thy gods proved puppets of the priest. “Truth ? All’s relation !” science sighed. In bondage with thy brother beast, Love tortured thee, as Love’s hope died And Lover’s faith rotted. Life no least Dim star descried. Thy cringing carrion cowered and crawled To find itself a chance-cast clod Whose Pain was purposeless; appalled That aimless accident thus trod Its agon…
…le at that spectre, imminent, immense, Cold Chastity, the child of Impotence, And eyes grow dim with grey distrust thereof. Forget, dear heart, forget ; life’s glow is sweet : Come to a lover’s arms that grow divine At the first eloquent embrace of thine, While pulses in wild unison warmly beat. 2 I know a valley walled with glistening steep Of fire-hewn rock, and stately cliff of ice,
…pure, unsullied soul. Even so, forsooth ! They tell no secrets in the scullery. And there is Heinrich, wastrel of the Court, Yet hides a heart beneath the foolish face. And lo ! The Landgrave ! Flushed, undignified ! The chase was long—if he could see himself! Wind, wind the mort ! What call will answer me When I step forward ? Am I dead, I wonder, Or merely on my hare-brain quest ? Three years Since I was seen in Germany ! \^He descends the hill and enters the company. Hail, friends ! Good cousin Landgrave, merry be the meet ! Landgrave. Hands…
‘Over the hill! The hunter is hot—this is the kill! The heart of the home Is a fury of foam; ‘The storm is awake, and the billows comb. But though I be ‘Their frenzy of glee, I am also the passionless soul of the sea! Mine eyes glint fire, And my cruel lips curl; ‘Mine the desire Of the god and the girl; But fierier and fteeter, And subtler and sweeter Than the race of the rhythm, the march of the metre, Is the shrilling, sbrilling Of the knife in the killing That ends, when it must, (O the throb and the thrust!) In death, in the dust, The sile…
ROSA IGNOTA I INVOCATION My unknown Rose! Sweet-hearted, scented purely With all the passion of my heart, if now I sing new songs to thee Where many songs before have marked thee surely Their own, let vagrant Liberty Inform my songs; for I, of the pure brow And the soul that glows With the fervency of eld, invoke thee; for I have known thee : Wandering far into the cities I found thee, Unsuspected still, and round thee The idle worshippers that the wind hath blown thee. It is well; for I know thee and thy magic grace, And the history of thy rac…
ROSA IGNOTA I INVOCATION My unknown Rose! Sweet-hearted, scented purely With all the passion of my heart, if now I sing new songs to thee Where many songs before have marked thee surely Their own, let vagrant Liberty Inform my songs; for I, of the pure brow And the soul that glows With the fervency of eld, invoke thee; for I have known thee : Wandering far into the cities I found thee, Unsuspected still, and round thee The idle worshippers that the wind hath blown thee. It is well; for I know thee and thy magic grace, And the history of thy rac…
…d misshapen; its mystery is not a brooding, but a conspiracy. And these truths are evident above all to one who recognizes that London's heart is Charing Cross. For the old Cross, which is, even technically, the centre of the city, is so in sober moral geography. The Strand roars toward Fleet Street, and so to Ludgate Hill, crowned by St. Paul's Cathedral; Whitehall sweeps down to Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament. Trafalgar Square, which guards it at the third angle, saves it to some extent from the modern banalities of Piccadilly…
… demand sacrifice, one of men, another of cattle, a third of doves, let these sacrifices be replaced by the true sacrifices in thine own heart. Yet if thou must symbolise them outwardly for the hardness of thine heart, let thine own blood and no other’s, be spilt before that altar. 1 1. The exceptions to this rule pertain neither to this practice, nor to this grade. N. Fra. A A 403 —
…he maiden’s body prone Lay on her altar. Then she gave consent, And I smote once. RupHa. Ha! Ha! What came then? Criospa. I tore out her heart, And held its flame aloft. The blackening blood Gushed on my arms—and then— RupHA. Ho! Ho! Criospa. With red lips reeking from the sweet foul feast, I sang in tuneless agony the spell ; Rolled athwart space the black words: then some force
Forget your silly self, and store Its vital horror, stabbed and spurred ‘To fearful pace and torture wild Deep in your true heart's core, my child! For though I strip you bare, and run My red-hot iron through your flesh, ‘There is a citadel that none May touch—not God! The rotten rest Evacuate; be seated there, Let there be music, and Rome burn ‘Then you may climb to be aware How well you serve my idle turn, Yet to yourself avail. There too Lies a last doubtful chance for you. Behold who dare! (Ay, you are fain!) Purblind with prejudice? No vis…
THE STORM Written on the North Atlantic Ocean. IN the sorrow of the silence of the sunset, when the world’s heart sinks to sleep, And the waking wind arises from the wedding of the aether and the deep, There are perfumes through the saltness of the even ; there are hints of flowers afar ; And the God goes down lamented by the lonely vesper star. The monsters rise around us as we move in moving mist, Slow whales that swim as musing, and lo ! or ever we wist, Looms northward in the grey, mysterious ice, cathedral high, Clad in transparent clouds …
…m. And all the time I only want your" “ But you’re not only Edgar Rolles.” “ And when I return, be more than Ida Pendragon. Keep a stout heart, wench ! " So, with a thousand tears and kisses, they parted She would not come to see him off; her self-command was weakened alike by her new love and by the terrible ordeal that she had undergone, Her mind remembered nothing of it— such is the merciful order of things ; but her soul, beaten with rods, was sore. So Edgar Rolles went to England to his martyrdom, with a lock of her hair in his pocket-book…
…m. And all the time I only want your" “ But you’re not only Edgar Rolles.” “ And when I return, be more than Ida Pendragon. Keep a stout heart, wench ! " So, with a thousand tears and kisses, they parted She would not come to see him off; her self-command was weakened alike by her new love and by the terrible ordeal that she had undergone, Her mind remembered nothing of it— such is the merciful order of things ; but her soul, beaten with rods, was sore. So Edgar Rolles went to England to his martyrdom, with a lock of her hair in his pocket-book…
…hat America (God bless her!) calls ‘sob-stuff.’ When tipsy old ladies become maudlin, it is time to go. 44. Yet, if the “Doctrine of the Heart” is too high-winged for thee, if thou needest help thyself and fearest to offer help to others—then, thou of timid heart, be warned in time: re- main content with the “Eye Doctrine” of the Law. Hope still. For if the “Secret Path” is unattainable this “day,” it is within thy reach “To-morrow.” Learn that no efforts, not the smallest—whether in right or wrong direction—can vanish from the world of causes.…
…Maurya. I did not mean to jest. As brother to sister ? CRIOSDA. Ah! that hurts, that hurts. Maurya. lam heavy? CRrIOsDA. Heavy as my own heart’s fear.