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Page 36 of 1031904 · PDF PAGE 69
…An hag of sixty ; I were greater so. He who doth know And fears and hates, Is not as he who cares not, but creates A royal crown from an old bonnet string, A maiden from a strumpet : that is to be like God, Who from all chaos, from the husks of matter, Crusts shed off putrefaction, shakes a wing And flies ; bids flowers spring from the dull black sod, Is not the scientist to shatter Beauty by dint of microscope, But wakes a wider hope And turns all to the beautiful ; so I. Angela, wake ! The midnight hour is nigh : — Let us renew the vows of lo…
1909 · PDF PAGE 217
…hould be smiting cities. Time never wearies of her silly smile. There are temples all about her that he has forgotton to spoil. I saw an old man go by and Time never touched him. Time that has carried away the seven gates of Thebes! She has tried to bind him with ropes of eternal sand, she had hoped to oppress him with the Pyramids. He lies there in the sun with his foolish hair all spread about her paws. If she ever learns his secret we will put out his eyes, so that he shall find no more our beautiful things—there are lovely gates in Florence…
1909 · PDF PAGE 217
…hould be smiting cities. Time never wearies of her silly smile. There are temples all about her that he has forgotton to spoil. I saw an old man go by and Time never touched him. Time that has carried away the seven gates of Thebes! She has tried to bind him with ropes of eternal sand, she had hoped to oppress him with the Pyramids. He lies there in the sun with his foolish hair all spread about her paws. If she ever learns his secret we will put out his eyes, so that he shall find no more our beautiful things—there are lovely gates in Florence…
1910 · PDF PAGE 16
… strikes the day to hyaline floors Whereon blithe fish and emerald water snakes Play all the day, and all their innocence adores Is some old anchor with its rusty flakes Fallen from God knows what forgotten ship. No ! not in Fancys palace will I play, Nor in imaginations deep will dip The timid foot ; but rather will I strip Each rag of thought, and leap Into the sunset deep Still glowing with the glamour Of your lifes blood, and ashen gold With floating gossamer your hair, that might enfold A giant god, and strangle him anon With starry ser…
1929 · PDF PAGE 61
…he sturdy peasants or went abroad. North- western Europe appealed to me. There was a certain element of romance in the long nights, the cold clear air, the ice. I loved to wander solitary in Holland, Denmark, Norway and Sweden. There was a mystery in the streets and a spontaneous gaiety in the places of amusement, which satisfied my soul. Life seemed both more remote and more intense. As a stranger, I never came into contact with the malaise, the soul-searching, the psychological dissatisfaction which Ibsen and Strindberg describe. But though m…
1901 · PDF PAGE 113
…earthquakes gnash their teeth be- neath her. The night is monstrous: in the flickering fire Strange faces gibber as the brands burn low; Old shapes of hate, young phantoms of desire More hateful yet, shatter and change and grow. There is a sense of terror in the air, And dreadful stories catch my breath and bind me, Soft noises as of breathing: unaware What devils or what ghosts may lurk behind me! Even my horse is troubled: vain it is Invoking memory for sweet sound of youth ; The song, the day, the cup, the shot, the kiss! This night begets i…
1910 · PDF PAGE 124
…s awake ! The King-Ghost wears a crown of hopes forgotten ; Dead loves are woven in his ghastly robe ; Bewildered wills and faiths grown old and rotten And deeds undared his sceptre, sword, and globe. Keep us, O Mary maid, What time the King-Ghost goes arrayed ! The Hell-Wind whistles through his plumeless pinions ; Clanks all that melancholy host of bones ; Fates principalities and Deaths dominions Echo the drear discord, the tuneless tones. Keep us, dear God, from ill, What time the Hell-Wind whistles shrill. The King-Ghost hath no music bu…
1910 · PDF PAGE 364
… striking picture, the scene between Little Red Riding Hood and her sick grand- mother—how perverted! For in my dream it seemed that the old lady had devoured the wolf and that the scourge of the 346
1910 · PDF PAGE 364
… striking picture, the scene between Little Red Riding Hood and her sick grand- mother—how perverted! For in my dream it seemed that the old lady had devoured the wolf and that the scourge of the 346
1913 · PDF PAGE 205
…y One hope still blossoms, one last flower still blows Upon the mystic earth, my Rose, my Rose, XIV THE BEGINNING Rose of the gardens of old Babylon, Red, scarlet Rose of fire in the breast of light :— I had a dream of thee, my Babylon ; Yea; all thy petals were crimson with delight: And under the soft stars, the silent night Grew deeper, deeper, till the heart o the world Lay bare before me, with no robe to don Save the lucent veil of spirit, argent-white ; And then there came a voice: Arise! Smite! Smite! Ere the portal of the temple may be w…
1913 · PDF PAGE 260
…ed from his labia, and the thanatogenous hagio- cratist halated his ultimate. Neuburg, as one inspired, uttered his Morte d’Arthur. Poor old Waite is gone to hell. He will soon begin to smell : We must meddle with him, s¢atim. Let us not incinerate him! Let us not be anthropophagous! Let us build him a sarcophagus! Let us bury him in state Worthy of our wobled*® Waite! Find a weed whose tangled mazes May metaphorize his phrases, Find a bunch of camomile Fit to represent his style, Waxen flowers to symbolize His archaicologories, Dandelions as a…
1913 · PDF PAGE 386
…resented the hangman as a sacred being, and a permanent incarnation of divine justice upon earth, suggested that one should raise to the old man of Ferney a statue executed by the hangman. There is depth in this thought. Voltaire, in effect, also was, in the world, a being at the same time providential and fatal, endowed with insensibility for the accomplishment of his terrible functions. He was, in the domain of intelligence, a hangman, an extirminator armed by the justice of God Himself. God sent Voltaire between the century of Bossuet and th…
1913 · PDF PAGE 205
…y One hope still blossoms, one last flower still blows Upon the mystic earth, my Rose, my Rose, XIV THE BEGINNING Rose of the gardens of old Babylon, Red, scarlet Rose of fire in the breast of light :— I had a dream of thee, my Babylon ; Yea; all thy petals were crimson with delight: And under the soft stars, the silent night Grew deeper, deeper, till the heart o the world Lay bare before me, with no robe to don Save the lucent veil of spirit, argent-white ; And then there came a voice: Arise! Smite! Smite! Ere the portal of the temple may be w…
1913 · PDF PAGE 260
…ed from his labia, and the thanatogenous hagio- cratist halated his ultimate. Neuburg, as one inspired, uttered his Morte d’Arthur. Poor old Waite is gone to hell. He will soon begin to smell : We must meddle with him, s¢atim. Let us not incinerate him! Let us not be anthropophagous! Let us build him a sarcophagus! Let us bury him in state Worthy of our wobled*® Waite! Find a weed whose tangled mazes May metaphorize his phrases, Find a bunch of camomile Fit to represent his style, Waxen flowers to symbolize His archaicologories, Dandelions as a…
1913 · PDF PAGE 386
…resented the hangman as a sacred being, and a permanent incarnation of divine justice upon earth, suggested that one should raise to the old man of Ferney a statue executed by the hangman. There is depth in this thought. Voltaire, in effect, also was, in the world, a being at the same time providential and fatal, endowed with insensibility for the accomplishment of his terrible functions. He was, in the domain of intelligence, a hangman, an extirminator armed by the justice of God Himself. God sent Voltaire between the century of Bossuet and th…
1912 · PDF PAGE 8
…arred ; the little rift appeared in the lute of the perfect dinner. Again, the only proper wine (as far as colour goes) is tawny port or old brown sherry ; and these are not possible with Filets de Sole Dugléré ; they would even tend to over-whelm the truffles. I resolved upon an austere and ceremonial course. Cold consommé after the melonpale dawns of the rich gold of that Ineffable Champagne Sauceto serve as a lustration, an asperging. Then Oeufs aux Ecrévissesthe sunrise tinged with bloodthe puri- fication by fire. Then the full rage of …
1961 · PDF PAGE 81
THE BOOK OF WISDOM OR FOLLY 69 Bp De Magis Tempori Antiqui: Imprimis, De Lao-Tze (Of the Magi of Old Time: First, of Lao-Tze) T may be unto thy Profit, o my Son, if I relate unto thee the secret History of those who have gone before me in this Grade of Magus, so far as their Memory hath remained among Mankind. For what would it avail thee should I recount the deeds of those whom I indeed may know, but thou not? Thou knowest well how I keep me from all Taint of Fable, or any Word unproven and undemonstrable. First then I speak of Lao-Tze, whose …
1905 · PDF PAGE 197
…! For thou shalt understand A little of the pressure of the hand That crushed me now. Yes, yes! let fancy sup That grislier banquet than old Atreus 4 planned ! wasind cannot fathom, nor the brain conceive, Nor soul assimilate, nor heart believe The horror of that Thing without a Name. Full on me, boasting, like Death’s hand it came, And struck me headlong. I weave The web of mine old agony and shame. Linger, while A little shadow of that hour of mine Touches thy heart? Fill up the foaming wine, And listen for a little! How profound Strikes memo…
1906 · PDF PAGE 96
… crown, descend the steps to thee. Here is my breast. Look firmly in my face, . i And slay me. Is there fear writ large and deep In mine old eyes? Or shudderest thou with fear? JASON. More hate than fear. In sooth, I cannot strike. ' PELIAS, A kingis not so slain—except a madman May fall upon him with averted head.? Indeed, I conquer. [Aszde.] Even so, beware! oe Victory ill-nurtured breeds the babe defeat. [Aloud.] Listen, my brother’:s son!- Nay, stoop not so, — Bending ashaméd brows upon the earth ! I am well weary of the world of men. I gro…
1914 · PDF PAGE 11
10 CHICAGO MAY It's all so old, so slack, so soiled, so scarred, So shapeless. Were these really living glands Once, a pure fount to which a boy clung hard ‘And held them with his soft, strong, tiny hands? Well, history says it happened. But a man After all doesn't want to kiss Queen Anne! Ix fall Earth's hateful names I most abhor ‘The name of Mary. "Tis a bleat. Of course You must be Mary. Was there not one sore God could have spared to such a willing horse? Turn stripes to satire! So the only way Has been to cut the R out, and say “* May.” R…