T H E W O R K S O F T H EO P H I L E GA U TI E R

4. IN TWENTY—FO UR V O LUMES

I M I T E D T O O N E T H O US A N D l RE GI T ERE D E T OF W HI CH S S S,

T HIS I S J - .

TRA NS L A TE D A ND E D IT E D B Y

P R O F E S S O R F . C . D E S U M I C H RA S T

A N D O T H E R P O E M S

B T A GN E S L E E

TH E JE NSO N SOC I ETY PRINTED FOR MEMB ERS ONLY M C M V I

ti t t i t f t t ab tifie iééikifiitéé

Ca fl te fl ts

3 — GOD A N D THE O PAL TO THEO PHILE GAUTI ER 3 3

ENAME LS AND CAME O S

AFFI NI TY — A PANTH EISTIC MAD RI GAL

THE POEM OF WOMAN MARB LE OF PA ROS A STUDY OF HANDS

II LACENAI E E

VAnAnons ON THE CA RN IVAL OF VENICE

I O N THE STREET

II O N TII E LA GOONS

III CARN IV AL

SYMPHONY IN WHITE MAJOR

CoogETE Y mDEATH

’ HEAET s DIAMON D

’ THE TomDou s SEREN AD E

I THE OE ELI sIc IN PARIS

II THE 03 51.s mv on t iifit i i k t itfi étiiééiiffl k C O N T E N T S

VETERANS O F TH OLD GUA R ECEM R E D, D BE 1 5

SEA - GLOOM

To A ROSE- COLOU RED GOWN

’ TH E WO RLD s MALICIOUS — INEs DE LAS SIERRAS TO PETRA CAMARA

O DELET AFTER NACREON , A SMOKE

ArOLLONIA

THE B LIND MAN

SO N G

WINTER FA NTASIES

THE B ROOK

TOMES AND FUNERAL ’ BJORN S BAN QUET

THE WATCH

THE MERMAI Ds

Two LOVE- LOCKS

THE TEA- ROSE

CARMEN — WHAT THE SWALLOWS SAY AN AUTUMN S ONG CHRISTMAS

’ THE DEAD CHILD S PLAYTHIN GS

AFTER WRITIN G MY DRAMATIC R EVI EW

THE CASTLE OE R EMEMB RANCE

CAMELLIA AND M EADOW DAISY

— - THE FEL LA H A WATER COLOU R B Y PRI N CESS

MATHILDE

THE GARRET ’ THE C LOUD

v iii tit t i i i t t ittttétéétittfi C O N T E N T S

Pa ge 1 68 1 70 A LAST WIS H 1 7 3 l 74 A PLEASANT EVEN IN G I 76 I SO

SE LECTED PO EMS

THE C APTIVE BIRD

’ O N A THOUG HT OF WORDSWO RTH S

THE CHIMERA

’ A KING S SOLITUDE THE LAUREL I N THE GEN ERALI EE GA RDEN

LBERTU OR THE OUL AND SIN A S , S THE CO M EDY O F DEATH

ix tt i i t i i i t fi ifi ii t itéii éfi

L ist ofI ll ustra tions

Of S l “ The Procession the acred Bu l , Apis

O siris

S S ff Pa e 1 42 cene in a myrna Co ee House g

ttt t t t i‘ i' t t t tt t t t t tiith ité E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S ing features of the style . It never can be an easy task , or one that when accomplished satisfies fully the

Of e exacting demands the cultured reader, more parti u la rl Of y the translator, if the latter, as is at times the

. case , is endowed with a literary and artistic conscience The very character Of French verse presents in itself an Obstacle that can but rarely be overcome . The

Of total lack accent, as generally understood , and the

a s consequent dependence upon rime, incre e the ardu o u sne ss Ofthe task .

t i in Then , with all poetry , it is impossible to re a n

a a version , however skilful and loving, that flower, th t n essence, subtle, delicate, magical , which , like the dow

’ bu tte rfl s . on y wing, vanishes the instant it is touched

one It is impossible, or wellnigh so , to reproduce in

swmt tongue the mysterious and deep harmony , the , elusive melody of another. It is impossible to preserve

e Of fl n that p culiar warmth colour, that ushi g of hue

m O f h which char in the original , and the loss whic , while it may not be noted by the rea der una c quainte d

a a with the langu ge in which the origin l is written , nevertheless so far disfigu re s the translation and make s it perforce unfaithful . With the best intentions in

o e in the world , with the livelie4st desire to repr duc tit t i t it t t tfi dz té itiéiiié I N T R O D U C T I O N

E Of nglish the characteristics the French , with the most thorough knowledge Of the idioms and turns Of

a nd r who the one the other tongue, the a tist seeks to transpose from the one language into the other must fain confess tha t it is after all but a paraphrase — however excellent , however accurate that has been produced . e More especially o must this be true of Th ophile ’ Ga utier 3 work in verse . An artist himself in the most

c Of pre ise sense the word , he was a believer in and an apostle Ofform . Words were not mere aggregations

t of le ters or syllables, having each and all a definite me a ning attached to them and nothing more . They w ere not simply a means , when assembled , of com . mu nic a ting ideas . They had qualities and properties of their own intimately , essentially their own which ga ve them a value wholly apart from any usefulness the y might possess as replacing the primitive language of signs . They were full of colour, they were colour ;

’ they were full of music , they were music s self ; they were sculpture and they were architecture ; they were ff metal , and they were stu s of richest loom , silk and satin , gauze and lawn , velvet and brocade they were gems and stones of purest ray serene ; they blazed with

S tiit t i i dwt iifi dz iiéttédttfi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S internal fires ; they were refulgent with inward glow ; they burned with dull flame and shone with scintillation

. NO Of t resplendent precious metal , no pearl fines orient but was to be found among them . Every shade

Of and hue of colour, every sound and note music was given out by them . They had properties of their own h ’ t at naught could destroy , and the poet s business it was to discover these , to turn them to use . Baude laire, whose talent Gautier so thoroughly understood and so well described , said in his poem entitled Correspondences

L - a e s in s an i r ike longdr wn echo that the di t ce m ngle in da k,

’ s a s s s s f s a s aby mal harmony , v t a night el and va t the light, per ” himes and colours a nd sound s correspond . S Gautier did not go so far ; he was not a ymbolist, ” w though he did believe in correspondences, ithout the feeling for and gift of which , he maintained , no man could be a true poet . Words did possess a music

e of their own , in his belief, and he has many a tim proved the fact in his own verse they also possessed

Of l a colour their own , and painter as he was he uti ised this property over and over again ; they had a sono rousness w how of their own , and like Hugo , he kne to avail himself of it. But it cannot be said of him that

6 tiii t i é i t t ifi fifi ik dz it tit I N T R O D U C T I O N he used words in the way in which the Symbolists and

Decadents used them ; he did not force them to the same extent, and was content to bring out that which wa s plainly or subtly visible or audible in them to the artistic eye and ear . It was the sense of vision which he especially cultivated , never having forgotten his early training in that line when he studied painting . He

r beheld particula ly the exterior world , and no one has surpassed him in his descriptions of it . Here again it it was his painter sense that stood him in such good

a d ste . He had learned to look, and having seen to reproduce. His poems are full of admirable examples

Ofvivid descriptions of scenery and landscape of vast “ ” prospe cts and of bits . He has what Brunetiere “ ca ll ed intense impressions of art ; he paints in words to a degree and with a power and skill u n surpa ssed in any other works of the period . One has to come down to Leconte de Lisle, one of his own dis c il e s l p , to meet with any word paintings equal ing his in perfection and strength and vividness . Now these very qualities make the translation of his poems into any other tongue an exceedingly difficult

k. and arduous tas It is not possible, simply , to say in another language just what he says in his rich, ample , ' - tidz t t zkirdrdrikifi zkizbééééi é ii E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

varied French . It is not possible to reproduce the ff E e ects he sought and attained , for nglish is so dif

’ fetc h t from Gautier s mother- tongue that not th e greatest poet could render in it just the effects that he O btained , and obtained by most diligent labour and con tinua l polishing and repolishing O fthe form in which be cast his thought . “ Form is everything, he says in an article on one

’ “ of Hugo s dramas , no matter what may have been ” prated on the subject . And to the cult of form he

i s appl ed himself with singular diligence and per everance, attaining effects so remarkable as to be the delight of the ear attuned to the melody and beauteousness of

French verse. It is always beauty he is in search

Of — , for he holds it superior to all else on earth and possibly in heaven . He admires Baudelaire la rgely because that poet is a worshipper of the beautiful and succeeds in finding it even in the horrible and the

s . t repul ive He holds that beau y is an end in itself, and he repels the proposition that every piece of literary or artistic work shoul d have a practical or at least a moral purpose . d Poetry , to him , was not meant to be use as a vehicle for instruction in morals , in science, in aught

8 tit t fii fii t fittfidz iéifitiiitt I N T R O D U C T I O N

wa s that positive, utilitarian , workaday , commonplace . It wa s a divine tongue in which beauteous things

were to be said ; a tongue which the vulgar could not

a and need not underst nd , but which was comprehended

a ll of in whom burned , however faintly , the sacred fire . He was at one with Alfred de Musset when the latter a cclaimed r

“ I a ll — m It is verse love above the la nguage i mortal . ’ P r a t is a s m so s low I e ch nce bl phe y , let me whi per it love

m s. It ha s s it to adnes thi great advantage, that never were fo s a a it us fr God ol ble to appreciate it ; th t comes to om ,

is i a nd s that it l mpid beauteou ; that the world hears it, but

’ spe aks it not. He thoroughly endorsed every word in the following

a ssa p ge from Baudelaire, who looked upon him as his master 2

“ If a k r mi se f a man will only t e the t ouble to exa ne him l , he wil l perce ive that poetry c a n have no other end

s f a o h r be so than it el ; it c nn t ave any othe , and no poem can

re so so of l m a s g at, noble , truly worthy being ca led a poe , that which has been writte n solely for the pleasure ofwriting a poem . I do not mean to imply that poetry does not ennoble

n s I e s re be s a its ma ner , d i to correctly under tood , or th t final result is not the elevation ofman above sordid interests

9 t i i i i é i i t t é ié dz i é i é t t i i fi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S that woul d be plainly absurd . What I sa y is that ifthe poet has a he ha s sse his sought to att in a moral end , le ned poetic f u e a his l orce, and it is not impr d nt to w ger that work wil be

. P e ss s f s poor o try cannot a imilate it el to science or moral ,

of f f . I s f h is . under pain death or or eiture t el , not trut , its end “ The principle of poetry is strictly and simply human a s ifs s se l piration to a higher beauty, and the principle man e t it f in s s in ofthe s s s i enthu ia m, rapture oul , an enthu ia m wh ch is l i of ss the i i of r whol y ndependent pa ion, intox cat on the hea t,

of r f of s . F ss is na ta ra l and t uth , the ood rea on or pa ion a

n n sa n dis thi g, too natural indeed not to i troduce an unplea t, a cordant tone into the domain ofpure beauty ; too familiar a nd too s a s the e s s s violent not to c ndali e pure d ire , the graciou

the s r nh su e r l melancholy , and noble de pai that i abit the p natura ” regions ofpoetry .

’ Poems of passion are not to be met with in Gautie r s work . He has none that recall the cries of despair and ardour that burst forth from de Musset , the tender regrets and lamentations of Lamartine . He has writ ten some love poems ; he has indulged , as young

Romanticists all did , in addresses to fair female forms , f o ten as not purely ideal ; he has talked love, but it has never swayed and tossed him about on the ocea n of

. E passion For him no Graziella, no lvira, no Julia appears to have existed ; in his heart there was little

I O

ti fi t é é i i é éfi dz ié éidz iétté E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

s s fo th e m sculpture pa rt ca t directly r m living odel , so he insisted that before be ingadmitted into the sphere ofart every object should und e rgo a metamorphosis that should fit it for that ” a al s a nd v n f il . subtle re lm, by ide i ingit remo i git rom triv a truth

own a n That is his creed , put into practice by admirer and a follower. It is the cult of Art for

’ . Art s own sake , without utilitarian or moral motive It is the worship of pure beauty, and it is the thought

e that inspired Leconte de Lisle, the imp ccable poet, equally with Gautier, when he sang the wondrous song of Hypatia

’ e e 0 fa ic m wih n o ur so s c ose e hs Sl p , ir v ti , t i ul l d d pt , W ra ppe d in thy virgin sh rou d a nd w ith lotu s c rowne d .

F r hi e ou s u ine ss o fthe wor is u e e n Sl e e p ! o d gl ld q , A nd no l onge r w e kno w th e roa d tha t to Pa ros l ea ds.

Th e god s a re tu rne d to du st the e a rth is mu te

' ' N o sound fro mthy de se rte d he a v n sha ll e e r be hea rd .

' e e ! B u t iin w thin him sin to th e oe t s hea t Sl p , l v g i , g p r

Ofsa c re d B e a u ty th e me l odio us hymn.

For it a o ne su ie s u nc a n e e te na . l rv v , h g d, r l Sc a tte re d by D e a th the qua king worlds ma y be

B u t fo rth doth B ea u t fla me a nd a ll inh e r re v e s y , iv w Unde r he r white fe e t still the orlds re volve .

thisr u r ose a d This conception , p p Gautier faithfully hered to throughout his career, and in face ofthe reproach ,

1 2 a t a a s s s zss s s s a I N T R O D U C T I O N

addressed to him even during his lifetime , that he lost sight of great moral notions . He discla imed being a moralist , a student of manners, an inquirer into the possibilities of elevating the human race by spreading the principles of philosophy , total a bstinence, religion , or anything akin thereto, and desired simply to be an artist , to sing melodiously of beauty, and to reproduce it as fully a s he might in all his works .

Poetry was a thing apart ; the gift of writing verse was not merely , in his opinion , the power of expressing admirably and feelingly, of imparting the sense of colour and melody , of communicating rhythm and number to the phrase, or, on the other hand , the

r mere power of riming, a gift possessed , as he has t uly remarked , by very mediocre people. It is not enough f to align words , to make the inal letters of each line repeat a given sound . There is more than this in real poetry , and it was real poetry alone that he cared for — or wrote . It involved , not necessarily ideas com — monpla c e or original but the bringing out of the subject the fullest measure of perfection of form of

. which it was susceptible Form is indispensable, in his theory of poetry . It is the very touchstone of merit ; the very test of existence . The careful working out

1 3 fit t t t é ffi t itfi fi t tiiitt“ E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

of the form , at least the producing of perfect form with or without labour, alone marked out the man as a poet . Without form he was only a poetaster ; with it, a true singer.

V r - a n r . This iew gives , appa ently , over import ce to ve se

Whether it do so or not , it is unquestionably the view “ held by Gautier. It is the commonest thing in the ” s a s world , at the pre ent time, he says, to s ume that what is poetical is poetry . The two have nothing in Féne l on - common . , Jean Jacques Rousseau, Ber

S - S a re nardin de aint Pierre, Chateaubriand , George and poetical, but they are not poets ; that is to say , they

s are incapable of writing verse, even mediocre ver e, a special gift possessed by people greatly inferior in merit to these illustrious masters. To attempt to sepa ra te verse from poet ry is a modern piece of folly that ” tends to nothing less than the destruction of art itself.

It is curious that Gautier, once the contemner of

e s Boileau , had become, by the time he penned th e

’ a s words, almost a champion of the critic s or at le t a defender and advocate of one of the principles u pon which Boileau laid most stres s : the absolute nece ssity of improving the form until perfection has been attaine d . Not every kind of verse satisfied his exacting taste ;

1 4 ti ffi f i é é t é é fi dz ié é é t é i é ié I N T R O D U C T I O N

it had to be the very best , wrought out with infinite

o care, for it is not given to every one to pr duce

e ffort superb, perfect lines without an , as was the case with Victor Hugo , who uttered them as naturally and as ea sily as he breathed . Gautier held to the need of w improving the work, and the first cast of the form a s not necessa rily the best . So the poet must work over his verse until he attained perfection . This meant v erse of a higher quality than the avera ge verse of

a r Lam tine and Alfred de Musset , neither of whom troubled much about the minuti ae upon which Gautier “ a s s . l y stre s When a poet is in question , he says “ a a g in , the manner in which his verse is wrought is a matter of considerable importance and worth study in g, for it constitutes in great part the intrinsic value of his verse . It is the stamp with which he mints his ” srlv e r . gold, his or copper That amounts to saying tha t, while the value of the poem , outside its form , must necessarily vary with the variation in the talent , genius, and inspiration of the writer, in no case can the writer dispense with seeking excellence of form , which is to constitute a great part o f the worth of his “ ” “ . ae work No doubt, he continues, these minuti

l r wil seem very frivolous to utilitarians, prog essive and

1 5 tiii itzh zkirt értfl skdc é sbé rb tbittt E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

who t practical, or simply clever men , think wi h Stend hal, that verse is a childish form that was good enough for the primitive ages , but who insist that poetry should be written in prose , as beseems an age of common sense . Yet it is precisely these minuti a that cause verse to be good or bad , and that distinguish the true ” poet from the sham . f The instrument of verse, words , with their in inite

wa s capabilities, therefore a matter of importance to him , and on the study of words and the resources they offer to the poet he bestowed infinite time and thought .

Gifted with a vivid sense of colour, with an intense sense of form , with a delicate appreciation of sound , he naturally enough sought to turn to account every word that could be made to yield an effect in any one of ff these ways . It was herein he di ered from Boileau, to whom the separation of the nobler from the more common words was a matter of moment . To Gautier

u all words were good , if only they rendered his tho ght .

He wished to attain accuracy in expression ; to ff produce just the e ect he sought , and not another, or one merely analogous to it . Hence his vocabul a ry was enriched with many terms drawn from the most varied sources . There are numberless examples of

1 6 tit t i i é i t i éfi é iétééti iit I N T R O D U C T I O N

” E u n th is in namels and Cameos, though the reader

r l d acquainted with the co rect , restrained , sti ted mo e of — speech of the pseud o classicists may not notice them . And indeed in English these words would not attract attention.

t E In one of his conversations , repor ed by mile

Be r e ra t e E So u v e g , Th ophile Gautier ntretiens ,

s e t c s nir Correspondance , Gautier dis us ed the na ture and value of his work in enriching the language

d s of French poetry , and claimed the mo est prai e of ” . d being a philologist He believed he had fashione , for the poets who were coming after him , a remarkable instrument capable of rendering every shade of feeling,

ra of us every g dation hue and colour, every sound of m ic and melody . He dilated on the importance, on the necessity which exists for thought to be possessed of a ga rment of words suited to itself

So soon a s fin s s a m fi e it it d in word a g r ent tt d to , it stra ightway goe s alongea sily a nd if the words be elega nt of c u t a nd in o r it s a for rich col u , grow bolder and triumph nt,

a tid a e it fe s a it is we l when be uteous and y ttir d , el th t more c ome and is receive d into be tter socie ty . Then if so be

fa s s f the tw o s s of m a poet ten to its eet sonorou wing ri e , it ” ta kes its flight a nd soars on high .

I 7 tiii fii k wk k tfiééwk ififiéié ié E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

This view recalls that set forth by Victor Hugo in the interesting and highly personal poem entitled “ Reply to an Indictment, in which he relates the part he played in the linguistic revolution :

T a I — I I Wh s hen, a brig nd , came shouted y hould

s e o e f e s e ? T the e ev r g b or and tho e behind ev r be hen, upon the A m the e s e he r s s cade y , old b ldame, pr ading kirts to helter the fi s a nd the a of e terri ed trope , upon batt lions alexandrin s in s s I s of o . The I quare , blew a bla t rev lt old dictionary

’ crowned with Liberty s red cap . I stormed and de m molishe d the B a stile ofri es. I did more : I smashed every

f the s I e f f iron etter that bound common word , and dr w orth rom

e the s s of s h ll old one , long damned, legion the nether depth .

I e n the of pull d dow spirals periphrases , and mingled , con ’ f n e the s ou ded, laid flat under h aven s vault, alphabet, that ombre tower which uprose out ofBabel for well I knew that the

f s the s f h wrath ul hand that set word ree, to t ought restores its ” liberty .

Gautier had this in mind when he said further, in “ that same conversation : My share in that literary revolution was plainly indicated . I was the painter of the company . I hurried forth to conquer adjectives ; I dug up lovely, even admirable ones , that henceforth ma n cannot do without . I foraged on all hands in the sixteenth century , to the horror of the subscribers to

1 8 a s s a s s s s s s s a s a s s a s s u u s E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

“ ” They are the Symphony in White Major and “ ” The Obelisk in Luxor. These may also serve as instances of the absolute impossibility of rendering into any other language the exquisite impression made by the originals and the perfection of form which marks them . The exigencies of English verse are not compatible with the beauties of the French , and the utmost artistic effort must fail to reproduce exactly the infinitely strong yet delicate fashioning of the stanzas , the wondrous variety of whiteness in the one , the glow of intensest colour and light in the other.

The rhythm is perfect , so also the rime, and the music of each poem is marvellous . Take these stanzas “The Obelisk in Luxor ”

e e i e u n u e se nine e J v ll , iq t ll

D e c c a n a a is a s gr d p l dév té ,

D a ns l a so iu e e ne e l t d ét r ll ,

’ E nfa c e de l imme nsité.

’ A h iz on u e ie nne o ne l or q r b r ,

ie mu e t infini Stér l , , ,

L e dese rt sou s l e so e mome l il ,

D érou l e son linc e ul ja u ni.

A u - e ssu s d e l a e re nu e d t r ,

’ L e c e a u e se z i l , tr dé rt d a ur,

a i tt ne n e Oil j a m s ne flo e u u ,

’ S eta l e impla ca ble me nt pu r.

20 titt t t i i t witéakk sbskéiit tfi I N T R O D U C T I O N

’ ’ Le Nil on e a mo te s éta me , d t l u r

' D u ne e ic u e de om p ll l pl b,

’ L i i a r l hi o ota me u t, r dé p pp p ,

' So u s nu j ou r ma t tomba nt d a plomb ;

Et l e s c oc odie s a a c e s r l r p ,

S u r l e sa e e nfe u d es io s bl l t ,

D e mi- c u its a ns e s c a a a c e s d l ur r p , Se péme nt a ve c des sa ngl ots .

“ Immo il e su r son ie rél e b p d g ,

' L is le be c a ns son a o ib , d j b t, Déc hiffre a u bo u t de q u e lqu e stel e

! h r Le c a rtou c e sa c é de Thot. How is it possible to reproduce by a translation into any other European tongue just the effect attained here ?

Un u im do btedly the meaning, the general idea , the pression of tremendous loneliness and su ffocating heat may be, is conveyed , but the form escapes the most skilful treatment and vanishes as the morning mist f be fore the hot sun o summer . It is plain that the effort to translate a poet into another tongue than his own is to court defea t at the

t outse , yet it was impossible to present an edition of

Gautier to the public without including in it some part , at least , of his verse. One advantage the translation possesses : it proves

2 1 titb- ird: i i é fié éfl idz ééfisfiéiifl E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S that Gautier wa s not so wholly devoid of ideas as hostile critics , mayhap deaf to the singular charm of

. En his verse, have maintained The poems in their g lish dress interest ; Gautier has delightful comparisons,

r novel views of things, unexpected cont asts , and these are not lost . Further, it is interesting to note how subjects that would never strike the average mind as susceptible of being turned into a vehicle for beautiful verse are after all susceptible of poetic treatment if only a thorough artist takes hold of them . The Watch ” Love Locks, After Writing my Dramatic Review , “ E ” and A Pleasant vening, do not appear to be poeti

in u m cal subjects , yet , French at least, there is an

o deniable charm about every one of these p ems , and

S difiic u l tie s each is a plendid instance of surmounted ,

s apparently, with the greate t ease .

’ Gautier s production in verse is comparatively limited .

His Farewell to Poetry gives us the reason . The incessant demands of the news paper upon his time and talent , the need of turning out a daily supply of copy that increased instead of lessening , left him no leisure for the worship of the Muse . E re he entered upon his career as a journalist , he had written more than one graceful and even striking poem . These earlier pro

22 t it t t t fdrt t tfi drtizbtiié ifl I N T R O D U C T I O N duc tions were necessarily in the purest Romanticist taste, and the characteristics of that school are markedly evident in this part of his work . Yet , already the

a wa s gre t artist that he manifested himself, and there

m s are nu erous pa sages of infinite beauty , wrought out with utmost care . The subjects are drawn from the

r o f — plethoric sto ehouse the new school landscapes , reminiscences of the beloved Middle Ages, so much in fashion just then , dreams and reveries , sentimental ff recollections , sunsets and picturesque e ects , shudders and orgies , ghastly contemplations of skeletons and

’ - a e death s heads , p ans in honour of comrades or masters , — in a word , all the stock in trade with which any reader of the literature of that period is familiar .

The Preface is interesting, and deserves to be tran

in 1 8 2 scribed part , for already , in 3 , he holds to the

’ theory of Art for Art s sake, and maintains the useful ness of Beauty

To the a s s s is - m s utilit rian , utopi t , econom ts, Saint Si onist

h w ho ma a sk him is th e u se of a ll he l and ot ers y what it , wil

W h f I s answer hat is t e u se o it ? It is be autiful . not that s ffi ? It is a fl s a nd s e n s u cient be uti u , like flower , c ts, and bird like everythingma n ha s be en unabl e to divert to his own use and to depra ve.

23 tit t i t fir é t é étifiééittii ééé E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

As a e e a u e the mome n n e ms use fu g n r l r l , t a thi g b co e l , it cea se s to be be a u tifiil . It be come s me rge d in positive life ;

turns to ose fom oe t ha n e e fe it e it pr r p ry ; vi gb n r e, becom s a s a e — t a is a rt a ll a rt e a . A rt is e x l v , h t , r lly lib rty , lu ury ,

m of th in e fll ore sc e nc e it is the blosso ingout e soul idleness.

Pa nt n s u e a nd ms s s s f s i i g, c lptur , u ic ub erve no u e ul purpo e what e e r Ge ms e fu u trifle s m v . car lly cut, uniq e , unco mon orna me nts a re me re sup e rfiuitie s. Ye t who would de liberately do with out th e m? Ha ppine ss doe s not consist in the posse ssion of the n s s e e noy me n oe s m s ff i di pen abl j t d not ean not u ering, n h a nd the things o e le a st ne e d s a re t ose th a t cha rm one most. The re a re a nd the re a lwa y s will be arti stic souls to whom the

a nt s of I e s a nd De the e - s of p i ing ngr lacroix, and wat r colour Boula nge r a nd De camps will a ppear more use ful than railways a nd steamships.

He described the contents himself, and in so pic ture s ue q , so attractive a manner that the reader of the present day is fain to read every one of the poems thus announced :

T e s s s e e here are, to b gin with , little home cene , w t and

e a c e fiil e ffe s s a a n s a e a fe the of the p ct , m ll l d c p s t r manner

F e s in h s e s e in h l mi h , quiet touc , om what ubdu d tone, wit out

n s u e ss z s ts a ta a s mighty mou tain , bo ndl hori on , torren , or c r ct .

L e a s o s a e s s ev l pl in , with c balt blue di t nc ; lowly hill up which wind s a pa th th e smoke from a cot a brookbabblingund e r the wate r- lilies a bush covered with red berries ; a n ox- e y e

24 it i t t i t t t i tfl fiii it t t t t ét I N T R O D U C T I O N daisy quivering de w - laden a pa ssing cloud castinga wave of shadow over th e wheat ; a stork settling on roof of Gothic

T is a ll w a of a r i f the donjon . hat ; then, by y imp t ng li e to

f r the s ra - fl s scene, a rogleaping th ough reed , a d gon y di port in e lf su a m z s i se f th e s ns e gits in a nbe , a li ard toa t ngit l in u hin ,

s i fiom fu us s n n in the a lark up pr nging the rrow, a thr h i gi g

z z a the me n s hedgerow, a bee bu ingand g rnering, re mbra ce of six months spent in a lovely country district . Here a nd

a s a of t at there, it were a d wning budding you h , longing, a

’ a r fe w s of s sk of r s fi te , a word love, a cha te etch a gi l pro le ;

d a nd e the a purely chil like poetry , plump dimpl d , on which n ” muscles do ot a s yet show .

The poe ms themselves are already very well written

s verse, with the feeling for colour, picture queness ,

t e sonori y, which is to become characteristic of Th o ” phile Gautier. The opening piece, Meditation , fl is u l of youthful freshness and of the sentiment , still immature, of the brief life of all things on earth . “The Middle Ages reveals the strong hold which tha t pe riod had taken upon the imagination of the “ writer and his contemporaries . A Landscape is marked by the qualities of vividness and accurate de sc ription which are to be stif more evident in the

S s o . pani h p ems In Wishes , the sensation of colour is a m l ost overpowering, and Hugo himself had not

25 it ik i i ik ii éfitwiiiééidréii E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S then anything more brilliant and powerful in this line. The Nightmare is interesting as an example of the literature of putridity which had adepts and admirers , but which did not long detain the poet , who has made “ ” ov a rd great fun of it in his Daniel J , in which he l used by way of epigraph , the last four ines of this “ ” composition . Sunset may well have inspired ! ’ ola s superb descriptions of the sunsets in Paris , in

“ ’ “ ” l CE u v re ; and The View , together with other

de sc ri poems in the same order, is an admirable bit of p tive poetry well worthy o f the writer who was to de pict so truly and strikingly scenes in many lands . “ ” . Debauch is peculiar, but very Romanticist It should be taken in conjunction with the tale entitled ” u u stifi The Bowl of P nch , of which it is a sort of j

’ cation , while the last lines expressly declare Gautier s reasons for what may shock many people

It is s n poetry at lea t, a palette on which glow i numerable

ff s s i r u m k s m i in di erent hue ; ometh ng clea , n ista able ; o eth ng ” s f m . It is ! it el co plete colour, song, and verse

of In later years , in the fulness his talent and in the deliberate proclamation of his views and beliefs, he will “ repeat : I am quite ready at times to have what is

26 a s s a s s s s s s s fi u u a u s s u E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

Foreign suns ha d shone upon his brow and gilded with a

of s his l sk . layer unburn natura ly pale Italian in His hair,

u his fi s f f r mpled by nger , ell on either side a orehead which

Ga s a f for six s ll would have ec tatic lly elt month , and on which h e would have written no less than a doz en tre ati se s. It wa s

’ ’ a n s s of f m an imperial brow , arti t s, a poet , and itsel ade up

’ a fthe twa s oa m ins i h l head br d and a ple, borne down by p

e nke f a e e s ration , which , in ev ry wri l urrowed not by g , conc al s s ma s m i ome uperhu n hope , ome ighty thought, and it pla nly bore the se words inscribe d upon it : Forc e a nd Conviction.

The rest of the feature s corresponded with thi s grand brow .

Ye t wa s s w a sa a e a nd there ome h t unplea nt bout th m, though f l e ss a e s e he m ffe e . I on a nd ault , one could h v wi h d t di r nt r y

a c a s h e s e a me f m e m the s r m rat er than gniu gl d ro th , and lower part ofthe face se emed to moc k the uppe r. Thi s combina tion produced the strange st effect ; one would have said a demon

’ ns writhing unde r an a nge l s tre a d ; he ll be ne a th the hea ve .

A he ha d f e e s on rk e r n fine lthough ine y , l g da yebrows gowi g r

s the e e s e the sk n a s a s s a ke toward t mpl , ov r in glidi g cr wl a n , a f of u n s ky a she s the on- k a n th e fe ringe q iveri g il l , li li e gl ce, i ry f s s o f a t me s fr m the s of se o s la h that h t orth ti o depth tho rb ,

a nd h made one involunt rily shudde r a turn pale . T e boldest would have looked down when me etingthe petrifyingMedusa

he s mk . O his s sha e glance ought to a e gentle ver tern lip, dow d

e nd th sm s a m kn at each wi a all mu t che daintily waxed , a oc i g smile at times flitte d ; but his customary expression wa s one of

’ deep di sda in.

28 u s e s s s s a u u a a u u s u u I N T R O D U C T I O N It is with this darksome dandy that Veronica falls

re desperately in love , and though at first he proves calcitrant , she manages to attract him to her house .

He yields to her desires , but as midnight strikes, the glorious beauty resumes her hag shape and carries him

’ off on a broomstick to the witches sabbath , where the most monstrou s diversions are indulged in under the presidency of Satan in person . The Devil sneezes . ” God bless you , unconsciously utters Albertus . And

r st aightway devil , witches , demons , sorcerers vanish into thin air, and on the Appian Way peasants repair ingto Rome in the early morn find the dead body of a man , his back broken , his neck twisted . It is all that is left of Albertus , and the poem ends with a mocking reference to the morality which is not clearly discern

’ ible . But the poet has had his fun at the reader s expen se ; he has startl ed and possibly shocked him he has certainly tried to do so he has introduced ex

u isite q descriptions , he has indulged in witty moralising

’ “ ” N a mo u na that recalls Musset s in , he has written — much beautiful verse and he is satisfied . If the — rea der is not no matter. The object of poetry is

- - r not to satisfy the wan faced , smooth shaven bou geois , the stupid Philistine .

29 iiii t i ii t é tééiédwifiidflkiti E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

” 1 8 8 The Comedy of Death appeared in 3 , but parts of it had been composed as early as 1 83 1 . There was prefixed to it the piece entitled “The

Portal , and the poem itself is divided into two parts , “ ” Life in Death, and Death in Life . The poet S ’ has wandered into a graveyard on All aints Day, and hears a conversation between a dead woman and the worm that has started to devour her flesh . Returning S home, Raphael anzio appears to him , and bewails the disappearance of art from the world . Gautier then

a nd proceeds into the depths, Faust tells him that science ends in nothingness , and that naught is worth having on earth save love . There then appears

a n Don Juan , who has known all the joys that love d voluptuousness can bestow upon man , and his conclu sion is that love is deadly, and that man should rather seek knowledge if he desires to enjoy real life . Thus the poet is left in uncertainty .

Here again are fine passages , and admirable examples

’ of Gautier s powers as a writer of verse . The Subject

a rtic u itself is not new , nor is the mode of treatment p l a rly striking . The main preoccupation o f the author is already to turn out beautiful lines , and in this he succeeds .

3 0 tit t i i t i t i tfiréééz é iiii i tii I N T R O D U C T I O N

S The panish poems contain many superb pieces , and here one may revel in the perfection of the de sc rip

i S t ons, in the glow and plendour of colour, in the sharpness and accuracy of line and contour, in the faithful and intense reproduction of effec ts . They are followed by a number of poems written at different intervals and hearing upon a variety of subjects ; every one of them a model of prosody . And finally come “ ” the Enamels and Cameos .

’ This is the typical collection of Gautier s verse . It

e 1 8 2 first app ared in 5 , and subsequently passed through

’ several editions . It is the author s most characteristic w ork ; that on which he has bestowed most pains, fashioning each poem with infinite care, until he had wrought out a perfect form . In his account of th e “ Progress o f French Poet ry since he thus states the end he sought to attain

’ The Ena s a nd Ca m s s m e i title, mel eo , indicate y int nt on

r a s s e ts w n a r s s a e s me me s to t e t light ubj c ithi e tricted p c , o ti with the i n s of m o a e of br llia t colour ena el up n a pl t gold or copper,

’ s s s the s w e e s s c a s a a ometime by u ing cutter h l upon gem u h g te, c ome lia n . E w a s me a fit , or onyx very poem to be a d llion to

se t in the e of a a ske a s be n th e be cov r c t, or eal to wor on — finge r some thing reca llingthe copies of a ntique me da l s one

3 1 itii i t é fi t i tfiéfiéfiééééé ifl E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

n e s s of a n s or s sees i th tudio p i ter culptors. But I did not intend to deny myse lf the ple asure of carvingon the whitish

s of the s a fi of or reddi h layers gem a cle n modern pro le, or dressing the hair of Pari sian Greek women seen at a recent f ball after the fash ions o Syracusan medal s. The Alexandrine

s m for s m s m I re - s ver e being too ighty uch ode t a bition , u ed the s s i I s octo yllabic ver e only , wh ch made over, poli hed and

s l t ss . Th s f chi e led wi h all po ible care i orm, by no means a ne w the hm th e s of he one, but renewed by rhyt , richne s t

s the w km i rime , and accuracy to which any or an may atta n

a nd s ks s s ll when he patiently lei urely wor out ome ma task, w a s l s s rather wel received, and octo yllabic ver e in quatrains became for a time a favourite subject for practice by young

’ poets. It has been found impossible to preserve in the translation the form itself, for the reasons enunciated in another part of this introduction . Nor was it possible to reproduce the delicacy of the work in French so that the reader might judge for himself of the merit

. . of Gautier as an artist Mrs Lee, indeed , considers her work simply a free translation , and it is in this light that it should be judged .

F. C . m; S u mrc na a sr .

3 2

ii i-t i: i i t t drdr‘kabdsésabth bzkzkdrdnbi

E N A M E L S a nd CA M E OS a n d O T H E R P O E M S iii-t i: in!: t t tfl éiéiétié t tt

P R E F A C E

H EN m W e pires lay riven apart ,

’ Fared Go ethe at battle time s thunder

To fragrant oases of art ,

To weave his Div a n into wonder.

e S L aving hakespeare , he pondered the note

N isa mi Of , and heard in his leisure

’ The hoopoe s weird monody float ,

And set it to soft Orient measure .

As Goethe at Weimar delayed

And dreamed in the fair garden closes ,

And , questing in sun or in shade,

With Hafiz plucked redolent roses,

o I , closed from the tempest that sho k

s My window with fury impa sioned ,

Sa t dreaming, and , safe in my nook ,

E namels and Cameos fashioned .

3 7 it i t i i i t t t tfi i i abit akii ifl E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

A F F I N I T Y

A P A N T H E I S T I C M A D R I G A L

N O an ancient temple gleaming , Two great blocks of marble high Thrice a thousand years lay dre a ming

Drea ms against an Attic sky .

t Se within one silver whiteness ,

- Two wave tears for Venus shed ,

f s Two air pearls of orient brightnes ,

Throu gh the waste of water spe d .

’ n the e ne ra life s s I G fresh close ,

o By a M orish light illumed,

Two delicious, tender roses

By a fountain met and bloomed .

’ the In balm of May s bright weather,

Where the domes of Venice rise,

’ Lighte d on Love s nest together

Two pale doves from azure skies .

3 8 ti t t i t t i t f fifi iit iiét i ifi A F F I N I T Y

n All thi gs vanish into wonder,

Marble, pearl, dove, rose on tree ,

Pearl shall melt and marble sunder, Flower shall fade and bird shall flee !

Not a smallest part but lowly

Through the crucible must pass, Where all shapes are molten slowly

In the universal mass .

Then as gradual Time discloses

Marbles melt to whitest skin ,

s s Ro e red to lips of roses, And anew the lives be g

And again the doves are plighted

In the hearts of lovers , while

Ocean pearls are reunited ,

Se t within a coral smile.

Thus a finity comes welling ; By its beauty everywhere

S - s oul a sister oul foretelling,

All awakened and aware .

39 ta s a a a a s s s s a a a a a s a u w u E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

h r Quickened by a c y sunny ,

subtle wise Or a perfume, ,

As the bee unto the honey ,

Atom unto atom flies .

And remembered are the hours

In the temple, down the blue ,

And the talks amid the flowers ,

Near the fount of crystal dew,

Kisses warm , and on the royal Golden domes the wings that beat ;

r Fo the atoms all are loyal,

And again must love and greet .

Love forgotten wakes imperious,

For the past is never dead , And the rose with joy delirious

Breathes again from lips of red .

Marble on the flesh of maiden

own a nd Feels its white bloom , Knows the dove a murmur laden

With the echo of its plaint,

40 tit i t t i t t i tfi fiéfikdz éifi éfi A F F I N I T Y

Till resistance giveth over,

And the barriers fall undone,

You before whose face I tremble, — Sa y what past we know not of

Called our fates to reassemble,

s ? Pearl or marble, ro e or dove

41 - intdrinkt i t t i tfi éfiéédz tté éti E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

T H E P O E M O F W O M A N

M A R B L E O F P A R O S

UN'ro the dreamer once whose heart she had ,

r As she was showing forth her treasures are,

Minded she was to read a poem fair,

The poem of her form with beauty glad .

First stately and superb she swept before

His gazing eyes , with high , Infanta mien, Trailing behind her all the splendid sheen

Of nacarat floods of velvet that she wore.

Thus at the opera had he watched her bend

From out her box, her body one bright flame,

When all the air was ringing with her name,

And every song made her fair praise ascend .

! Then had her art another way , for look

The weighty velvet dropped , and in its place A pal e and cloudy fabric proved the grace

Of every line her glowing body took ; t it t i t t t t ab t t t fi t abé étit iitb E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

U S pon a cashmere opulently pread , S S ultana of eraglio then she lay ,

Laughing unto her little mirror gay , That laughed again with lips of coral red ;

f The indolent , so t Georgian , posturing é With her long, supple narghil at lip, S howing the glorious fashion of her hip,

One foot upon the other languishing .

’ And , like to Ingres Odalisque, supine,

Defying prurient modesty turned she, Displayingin her beauty candidly

Wonder of curve and purity of line .

! But hence, thou idle Odalisque for life Hath now its own fair picture to display

' e flu l e nt The diamond in its rare g ray ,

Beauty in Love hath reached its blossom rife .

She sways her body , bendeth back her head .

Her breathing comes more subtle and more fast .

’ Rocked in her dream s alluring arms, at last Down hath she fallen u4p4on her costly bed . tt t t t t t i t t tfi éttétitt ttt T H E P O E M O F W O M A N Her eyelids beat like fluttering pinions lit

Upon the darkened silver of her eyes .

Her bright, voluptuous glances upward rise

Into the v a gue and nacreous infinite.

D he r eck with sweet, lush violets, instead

Of death-flowe rs with their every pearl a tear ;

c a S tter their purple clusters on her bier,

’ Who ofher being s ecstasy lies dea d .

And he a r her very gently to her tomb

He r be d . a of white There let the poet st y ,

o n e L g hours upon his bended kn es to pray,

close a round the funeral room.

4 5 titb- i: t it t iifi dz éiidz éiéiéi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

A S T U D Y O F H A N D S

I I M P E R I A

A SCULPTOR showed to me one da y

’ A hand , a Cleopatra s lure,

’ As a sia s Or an p , cast in clay , Of masterwork a fragment pure .

S f r eized in a snowy kiss , and ai As lily in the argent rise

i e e Of dawn , l ke whitest po m ther

a t la mn e s Its be u y y before i e ey ,

i a Br ght in its p llor lustreless,

Reposing on a velvet bed ,

ir Its fingers , weighted with the

. Of jewels, delicately spread

A little parted lay the thumb,

S a howing the undul ting line,

subtle some Beautiful, graceful, ,

Of its proud contour Flore ntine s 46 titt t t it t itfi iiiététt ffi A S T U D Y O F H A N D S Strange hand ! I wonder if it toyed

a In silken locks of Don Ju n , Or on a gem- bright caftan joyed

To stroke the he a rd of some soldan ;

h e W ether, as courtesan or qu en , Within its fingers fair a nd slight

’ W a s r pleasure s gilded scept e seen, Or sceptre of a roy a l might !

But sweet and firm it must have lain Full oft its touch of power rare

Upon the curling lion - mane

Of some chimera caught in a ir.

m a I perial, idle fant sy ,

And f i s love of so t , luxurious th ng ,

re s s e F nzie of passion , wondrou , fr e,

Impossible dream- flutte rings

a n l a nd Rom ces wi d, poesy

ha she e c h a nd e Of of wine, vain sp eds

’ Beneath Bohemia s brill ia nt sky On unrestrained4a nd maddened stee ds ! 7 ' n e w : at: t irt t é é é i é t zbté k té

had tre mbled t t t i t i é i t i iééé i é i t é i rb iit A S T U D Y O F H A N D S

II

L A C E N A I R E

Strange c ontrast was the severed hand

L a c e na ire Of , the murderer dead , S oaked in a powerful essence, and

Nea r by upon a cushion sprea d.

Letting a morbid fancy win ,

a I touched , despite my loathing s ne ,

- The cold , hair covered , slimy skin ,

Not yet washed clean of deathly stain.

n Yellow, unca ny , mummified ,

’ Like to a Pharaoh s hand it lay ,

And - stretched its faun shaped fingers wide,

‘ ’ Cl lS p with temptation s awful play ;

As though a n itch for flesh and gold

Lured them to horrors yet to be ,

s Twi ting the m roughly as of old , n Teasi g their im4mobility . 9 inkt- anki i fi t zk'fi' irérdsché zhdz és kéré akfi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S There every vice and passion ’ s whim Had seamed the flesh abundantly

With hideous hieroglyphs and grim ,

That headsmen read with fluency .

l There plainly writ in furrows fe l, d I saw the eeds of sin and soil , Scorchings from every fiery hell

Wherein corruptions seethe and boil .

C ’ There was a track of apri s vice,

- Of lupanars and gaming scores,

e Fretted with wine and blood and dic ,

Like ennui of old emperors .

S upple and fierce, it had some dower

Of grace unto the searching eye, S ’ ome brutal fascination s power,

’ A gladiator s mastery .

Cold aristocracy of crime !

t No plane inured, no hammer spen The hand whose task for every time

Had but the knife for implement.

50 tt i i t i i i é abitfit ifiiééii é éi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

V A R I A T I O N S O N T H E C A R N I V A L O F V E N I C E

O N T H E S T R E E T

THERE is a popular old air

That every fiddler loves to scrape. ’ T is wrung from organs everywhere,

To barking dog with wrath agape.

The music- box has registered

Its phrases garbled and reviled .

’ T is classic to the household bird ;

Grandmother learned it as a chil d.

The trumpet and the clarinet ,

In dusty gardens of the dance,

Blow it to clerk and gay grisette,

. In shrill, unlovely resonance

And of a Sunday swarm the folk U nder the honeysuckle vine,

u a flin i Q g, the wh le they talk and smoke,

. The sun , the melody , the wine

52 ini t ia l: t i i t t iéiiii dz i t it ifl

It lurks within the wry bassoon

a a . The blind man pl ys, the porch bene th m His poodle whi pers low the tune,

And holds the cup between its teeth .

a The players of the light guit r,

a n Decked with their flimsy t rta s, pale,

With voices sad , where feasters are,

Through coffee- houses fling its wa il .

a i Great P gan ni at a sign ,

’ a m One night, as with a needle s gle , Picked up with end of bow divine

The little antiquated theme ,

f And , threading it with fingers de t,

t He broidered it with colours brigh , Till up and down the faded weft

Ran golden arabesques of light .

53 itiii i i zkt i tfi étéidrtté fié

II

O N “ T H E L A G O O N S

Tra tra la la, la, , la, la, who

’ Knows not the theme s soft spe ll

Or sad or light or mock or true,

Our mothers loved it well .

The Carnival of Venice ! Long m Adown canals it ca e,

’ r s Till, wafted on a zephy s ong,

The ballet kept its fame.

’ se mw e r I r I e , h ne er its ph ase hea ,

A gondola to view,

a r With prow voluted, black and cle ,

’ Slip o er the water blue ;

’ se e h To , e r bosomcovere d o e r

he r b d a With pearls, o y su ve, The Adriatic Venus soa r

’ On sound s ch4romatic wave. S ti t t i t t t t t tfi dz iiirbtéé iéi V S OF ARIAT I O N , CARN I VA L VE N I CE The domes that on the water dwell Pursue the melody

- c In clear drawn adences, and swell

Like breasts of love that sigh .

My chains around a pillar cast, I la nd before a fair

Upon a marble stair.

! c Oh all lear Venice with her towers,

Her boats, her masquers boon ,

Her sweet chagrins , her mad , gay hours,

Throbs in that ancient tune.

The tenuous,vibra nt chords tha t Rebuild in subtle way

The city joyous, free and light

’ Of Ca na l e tto s day

SS it i fi fi i k fi é fiiéfiéxié idz rb t t é it E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

C A R N I V A L

Venice robes her for the ball

Decked with spangles bright,

‘ Multi- coloured Carnival

Teems with laughter light .

a H rlequin with negro mask,

Tights of serpent hue, Beateth with a note fantasque

His Cas sander true .

e e Flapping loose his long , white sle v ,

Like a penguin spread , Through a subtle semibreve

Pierrot thrusts his hea d .

’ Sleek Bol ogna s doctor goes

Maundering on a bass . Punchinello finds for nose

Quaver on his face .

56 ' im z tit t t fi fle t t afit fié é abtéd éééi

r Hu tling Trivellino fine ,

t On a trill in ent , Sca ramouch to Columbine

Gives the fan she lent .

a Gliding to the tune, I m rk e One v iled figure rise, While through satin lashes dark

e T nder little edge of lace, Heaving with her bre ath Under isher own dear face ! ”

An arpe ggio saith .

’ And be ne a ih the ma sk

Bloom of rosy lips ,

And ihe of n patch on chin s ow,

57 tit t it ii t i ffiiiititéabétéé E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

IV

M O O N L I G H T

Amid the chatter gay and ma d f Saint Mark to Lido wa ts, a tune Like as a rocket riseth glad

As fountain riseth to the moon .

But in that air with laughter stirred ,

se a That shakes its bells far out to ,

Regret , a little stifled bird,

Mingles its frail sob audibly ,

And in a mist of memory clad,

' - e fla c e d e w Like dream well nigh , I vi e The sweet Belov d, fair and sad ,

- e Of dear, long vanish d days I knew.

Ah is , pale she My soul in tears An April day remembers yet

e s We sought the violets by the mer ,

And in the grass our fingers met .

58 a s s s és s s fs s u u u s u u u “ E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

S Y M P H O N Y I N W H I TE MA JO R

IN r the Northe n tales of eld ,

’ ’ From the Rhine s esc arpments high

S - m a a wan wo en r di nt were beheld,

S oa n inging and fl ti g by ,

Or, leaving their plumage bright

wa s low On a bough that bending , Displaying skin more gleaming white

Than the white of their down of snow .

At times one comes our way ,

O f a all she is p llidest , White as the moonbeam ’ s shivering

’ On a gla cier s icy crest .

Her boreal bloomdoth win Our eyes to feasting in On rich delight of nacreous sk ,

And a wealth of whiteness fair .

6 0 titi t t fi t t tfi éiiitfi i éfi S Y M P H O N Y I N W H I T E M A JO R

Her rounded breasts, pale globes n n Of snow, wage i sole t war With her camellias and her robes

Of whiteness nebular.

In such white wars supreme

She i w ns, and weft and flower

’ a i e e em Le ve the r r venge s right, and s

’ Yellowed with envy s hour.

a e On the white of her shoulder b r ,

Whose marble Paros le nds,

hr fa ir As t ough the Polar twilight ,

Invisible frost descends .

e a m r What b ing vi gin snow,

What pith a reed within ,

W a s h t Ho t , what taper, did be stow The white of her matchless skin ?

Was she made of a mil ky drop On the blue of a winter heaven

’ The lily - blow on the stem s gre e n top The foam of the sea at even ?

6 1 iiit- i: i i i ii éfl tiééttiiitt E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

Of the marble still and cold , Wherein the great gods dwell Of creamy opal gems that hold Faint fires of mystic spell ?

Or the organ ’ s ivory keys ? Her winged fingers o ft i L ke butterflies flit over these,

With kisses pending soft .

’ i f Of the ermine s sta nless old ,

Whose white, warm touches On shivering shoulders and on Bright shields armorial ?

Of the phantom flowers of frost Enscrolled on the window clear ?

i t Of the fountain drop in the ch ll air los , An Undine’ s frozen tear ?

Of May bent low with the sweets

Of her bountiful white- thorn bloom Of alabaster that repeats The pallor of grief and gloom ?

6 2 it ii i i k é mab tb é sb sb ekeb sb dri zki é fl S Y M P H O N Y I N W H I T E M A JO R Of the feathers of doves that slip And snow on the gable steep ?

’ Of slow stalactite s tear- white drip In cavernous places deep

Came she from Greenland floe s With Séra phita forth Is she Madonna of the Snows

S A phinx of the icy North ,

S phinx buried by avalanche,

’ The glacier s guardian ghost, Whose frozen secrets hide a nd blanch In her white heart innermost

What ma gic of what far name Shall this pale soul ignite ? Ah ! who shall flush with rose ’ s

This cold , implacable white C O Q U E T R Y I N D E A T H

BEG I ye grant, when low I lie,

c oflin- Before ye close my bed ,

a A little bl ck beneath mine eye, And on my c he c k a touch of red !

m me Ah , ake beautiful as now m For I would be upon y bier, As on the night of his avow

a m bloomfu l a a nd el . Ch r ing and , gy m

For me no linen winding- sheet

But gown me very grand and bright .

r e Bring fo th my frock of muslin sw et ,

With many ru fll e s soft and white .

f ! l My avourite frock I wore it wel ,

’ Who wore it at love s flowering .

o And since his look up n it fell,

’ I ve kept it as a sacred thing .

me For no funeral coronet, No tear- embroidered cushion place ;

’ But o e r my fair lace pillow le t

My hair droop free about my face . 64 ta s a a a e a a a e s a a e a s a a a s a s a C O Q U E T R Y I N D E A T H

e e ! D r pillow Often did it mark ,

In mad , sweet nights our brows unlit,

And, all within the gondola dark,

Did count our kisses infinite.

About my waxen hands supine, ’ m Folded in prayer at life s deep gloa , ‘ M r y rosa y of opals twine,

Blessed by His Holiness at Rome.

’Il I finger it , when bedded cold

Where never one shall rise . How oft His lips upon my lips have told

A Pa te r a nd Av e soft ! a s s e s: th ie drt iri' tzkdrdséizbzkzkt tfi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

H E A R T ’ S D I A M O N D

E VERY lover deep hath set In a sacred nook apart Some dear token for the heart

In its hope or its regret . One hath nested safe away

Blackest ringlet ever seen , Over which an azure sheen

. Lieth , as on wing of jay One from shoulder pale as milk

Took a tress more golden - fine Than the threads that softly shine

’ In the silk- worm s wonder- silk .

In its hiding mystical ,

’ Memory s reliquary sweet , Glances of another greet

Gloves with fingers white and small .

And another yet may list To inhale a faint perfume

Of the violets from her room ,

Freshly given faded, kissed .

66 inkk- i rké t t t t itéétt itiié t“ E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

S P R I N G ’ S F I R S T S M I L E

W 1-11LE up and down the earth men pant and plod ,

a March , laughing at the showers and days unste dy ,

And whispering secret orders to the sod ,

For Spring makes ready .

et And slyly when the world is sleeping y ,

lla r ~ for E a isi He smooths out c o s the aster d e s, And fashions golden buttercups to se t

In woodland mazes.

C - a n. oif maker fine, he worketh well his pl

Orchard and vineyard for his touch are proude r. From a white swan he hath a down to fa n

The trees with powder.

le a n While Nature still upon her couch doth ,

S s tealthily hies he to the garden close , And la ces in their bodices of gree n

Pale buds of roses .

C omposing his solfeggios in the shade,

e a e t He whistles them to blackbirds as he tr d h,

e And violets in the wood , and in the glad

S . nowdrops , he spreadeth

68 it it t i t i t i éfi iié iiitié t é S P R I N G ’ S F I R S T S M I L E

Where for the restless stag the fountain wells,

His hidden hand glides soft amid the cresses,

- o f- - And scatters lily the valley bells ,

In silver dresses .

i He s nks the sweet, vermilion strawberries

s n Deep in the gra ses for thy rovi g fingers ,

’ And a r a t c a se g l nds leafle s for thy forehead s ,

When sunshine lingers .

e n a be Wh , l bour done, he must away, turns

’ r r On Ap il s threshold from his fai creating ,

And c a e t S : S ll h unto pring Come, pring for woods are waiting I ” tt tt t t i i t fiifl wisfibéfiiiifi

E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S !

C O N T R A L T O

’ HERE T lies within a great museum s hall , U pon a snowy bed of carven stone, e A statue ver strange and mystical ,

With some fair fascination all its own .

u is e w And is it yo th or it maid n s eet , A goddess or a god come down to swa y ?

Love fearful, hesitating , turns his feet ,

’ Nor any word s avowal will betray .

S ideways it lieth , with averted face ,

S e vo tretching its lovely limbs, half mischi us, U nto the curious crowd , an idle grace

Lighting its marble form luxurious .

For fa shioning of its evil beauty brought

The sexes twain each one its magic dower.

! t Man whispers Aphrodite in his though , And woman Eros ! wondering at its powe r.

i m Uncerta n sex and certain grace, that see

’ t To melt forever in a foun ain s kiss , Waters that whelm the body as they gleam

S l . And merge , and it is one with a macis

70 tiff i i i t t i éfi éit éiiiit ifi C O N T R A L T O

' e flort u Ardent chimera, vent resome Of Art a nd Pleas ure figure fanciful !

n th i I to y presence with del ght I come,

Loving thy beauty stra nge a nd multiple .

. Though I may never close to thee draw nigh ,

n e How ofte have my glanc s pierced the taut,

Stra i ght fold of thine austerest drapery , Fast a t the end about thine ankle caught

O dre a m of poet passing every bound ! M h i y t ought hath bu lt a fancy of thy form , i T ll it is molten into silver sound ,

And boy and girl are one in cadence warm .

0 n e to e divine, O rich st tone of earth ,

’ The be i st ! aut ful , bright atue s counterpart

tra n Con lto, thou fa tastical of birth ,

’ The voice s own Hermaphrodite thou a rt !

hou th e a n the a T art pl i tive dove, linnet r re,

e on one re l te . Perch d rose t e, mel ow in one no

ou fi a nd Th art a r Juliet Romeo fair,

Singing across the night with one warm throat .

7 1 tit tktb sb dtdrzké ée édsskskdz sbdc drské zkéi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

Thou art the young wife of the castellan ,

Cha flin gan amorous page below her bower, U pon her balcony the lady wan ,

The lover at the base of her high tower.

Thou art the yellow butterfly that swings ,

Pursuing soft a butterfly of snow,

In spiral flights and subtle traversings ,

low One winging high , the other winging ;

The angel flitting up and down the gold

’ Of the bright stair s aerial extent, The bell in whose alloy of mighty mould Are voice of bronze and voice of silver blent

Yea, melody and harmony art thou , S ong with its true accompaniment, and grace

v o Matched unto force, the woman plighting w

To her Beloved with a close embrace ;

Or thou art Cinderella doomed to S pend

Her night before the embers of the fire,

Deep in a conversation with her friend ,

r The cricket , as the latter hours expi e ;

7 2 tiii i i i i t i tfi ifiééétéétfi C O N T R A L T 0

Arsa c e s Or , the great and valorous,

t Waging his righteous bat le for a realm ,

Or Tancred with his breastplate luminous, Cuirassed a nd S plendid with his sword and helm;

t Or Desdemona wi h her willow song ,

i a u ! erl na l ghing at Mazetto , or

s . Malcolm , his plaid upon his shoulder trong

e ! Th e, O thou dear Contralto, I adore

e s t a rt e s For th e hou , thou d are t charm of each ,

0 i - ! fa r Contralto, double throated dove

he e T Kaled of a Lara, for thy sp ech ,

r Thou mightest, like the lost Gulna e, prove,

In s - s s who e heart stirring, pa sionate care s

In one wild , tremulous note there blend and mount

’ s A woman s sigh of plaintive tendernes ,

And virile accents from a firmer fount .

7 3 it i tb t d: i i ii ifi téidz étii iii E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

E Y E S O F B L U E

WO AN A M , mystic , sweet ,

Whose beauty draws my soul, Stands silent where the fleet

And singing waters roll .

Her eyes, the mirrored note

’ e Of heaven , merge heaven s blu

Bestarred of lights remote,

’ With the sea s gla ucous hue.

Within their languor set ,

Smiles sadness infinite.

Tears make the sparkles wet ,

And tender grows the light.

Like sea- gulls from aloft

That graze the ocean free , Her lashes flutter soft

Upon an azure sea .

As slumbering treasures drowned S end shimmers lightly up , Gleams through the tide profound

’ The King of Thule s cup .

74 it i akzkt dnb zh kzk'kohzh hzb sbzkfiidrité E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

The water heaves and falls, Like breasts with passion ’ s The breeze insistent cal ls

mu rmu re th To me, and

My

[ bout tbe e sa lt sba l l sprea d

To boney on tby lip !

b bi int 0b, In t e llows l

d bo‘v e us Tbou sba lt m , wa r ,

Fromc up ofbisses drinb

Thus sighs the glance that sweeps

- From out those sea blue gates , Till heart down treacherous deeps

The hymen consummates . t i mi k‘ tfi éié ittii iti d: f é i i T H E T O R E A D O R ’ S S E R E N A D E

T H E T O R E A D O R ’ S S E R E N A D E

R O N D A L L A

Ca D with airs imperial ,

’ c fa l ns e e s with c o .y

Underneath thy balcony

There, my foot upon the stone,

I shall twang my chords with grace,

Till thy window - pa ne hath shone

With thy lamplight and thy fa ce.

Le t no lad with his gu ita r

Strum adown the bordering ways. M n i e the road to watch and bar,

Mine alone to sing thy pra ise.

Le t the first my courage b rave .

a s s He sh ll lo e his ear , ega d Who shall howl his love and ra ve

In a couplet good or ba d.

77 Restless doth my dagger lie.

’ ' Come ! who ll venture its re bu fl? Who would wear for every sigh

’ ' Blood s red flower upon his rufl?

Blood grows weary of its veins

For it yearns to be displayed .

Night is ominous with ra ins .

e Haste, ye cowards , back to shad !

On , thou braggart , else aroint

Well thy forearm cover thou .

’ On and with my dagger s point

Let me write upon thy brow .

m a Let the come , alone , in m ss

Firm of foot I hide my place .

For thy glory, as they pass,

Would I slit each paltry face .

’ O er the gutter ere thy clear,

S de file d nowy feet shall be , By the Rood a bridge I ’ 11 rear

With the bones of galla nts wild .

78 tt t t t ita s t i' tfi tdriiekzkézkiéi T H E T O R E A D O R ’ S S E R E N A D E

a I would sl y, thy love to wear,

Any foe, yea, even proud S ’ atan s very self to dare,

S o thy sheets became my shroud .

S t W ! igh less indow, deafened door Wilt thou never heed my sounds ?

r Like a wounded bull I oar,

Ma ddening the baying hounds.

Drive at least a poor nail then,

Where my heart may hang inert. n i For I wa t it not aga n , With its and its hurt l

79 Autist ic zkde és sh ibdrédrdnhsbskzbézkahdc disk E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S i

N O S T A L G I A O F T H E O B E L I S K S

T H E O B E L I S K I N P A R I S

I STANT D from my native land , E ’ ver dull with ennui s pain ,

Lonely monolith I stand ,

In the snow and frost and rain .

red And my shaft, once burnt to

’ In a flaming heaven s glare, Taketh on a pallor dead

In this never azure air.

Oh, to stand again before

’ Luxor s pylons , and the dear, — G rim Colossi be once more My vermilion brother near !

Oh , to pierce the changeless blue,

u won Where of old my peak p , With my shadow sharp and true Trace the footsteps of the sun

8 o it ii t fii i t i ifi iit éittit tt N O S T A L G I A O F T H E O B E L I S K S

Once , O Rameses my tall mass

Not the ages could destroy .

But it fell cut down like grass .

Paris took it for a toy .

Ndw my granite form behold Sentinel the livelong day i Tw xt a spurious temple old,

And the Cba mbre de s D épu tis

On the spot where Louis Seiz e

Died , they set me , meaningless, With my secret which outweighs

Cycle s of forgetfulness .

S a p rrows lean defile my head ,

Where the ibis used to light , And the fierce gypmtu s spread

Talons gold and plumage white .

And S t the eine , the drip of stree ,

’ U a s ncle n river, crime s abys ,

e e Now befouls mine ancient f t, Which the Nile was wont to kiss

8 1 tiii t i é i i mt mt mmmméiéiifl E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

Hoary Nile that, crowned and stern ,

To its lotus- laden shores From its ever bended urn Crocodiles for gudgeon pours !

Golden chariots gem- belit

‘ ’ Of the Pharaohs p a ge a nting

- Grazed my side the cab wheels hit,

Bearing out the last poor king .

By my granite shape of yore nt Passed the priests , with stately psche ,

And the mystic boat upbore,

Emblemed and magnificent.

- da But to y, profane and wan ,

n e Camped between two fountai s wid , I behold the courtesan

In her carriage lounge with pride.

From the first of year to last I must se e the vulgar show S olons to the Council passed, Lovers to the woods that go !

8 2 it i t i t é t t é t ‘ké i i i abiiki fifl E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

T H E O B E L I S K I N L U X O R

Where the wasted columns brood, n Lonely sentinel sta d I , In e ternal solitude

Facing all infinity .

e Dumb, with beauty unendow d, To the horizon limitless

’ Spreads earth s desert like a shrou d

Stained by yellow suns that press.

l e n Whi e above it , blue and cl a , Is another desert cast Sk y where cloud is never seen ,

a Pure, impl cable, and vast .

’ And the Nile s great water- course Glazed with leaden pellicle

Wrinkled by the river- horse

Gle a me th u nl ustre ful. dead ,

s All about the flaming isle ,

By a turbid water spanned ,

s Hot , rapacious crocodile

Swoon and sob upon the sand . 84 a s s a s s s s t s s s s ms s u s s u a

Perching motionless, alone ,

o f Ibis, bird classic fame, From a carven slab of stone

’ Reads the moon - god s sacred name.

s Jackals howl, hyena grin ,

Fa mishe d hawks descend and cry .

Down the heavy air they spin ,

Commas black against the sky .

These the sounds of solitude, Where the sphinxes yawn and

Dull and passionless of mood ,

Weary of their endless pose .

’ Child of sand s reflected shine,

d - An of sun rays fiercely bent ,

Is there ennui like to thine, Spleen of luminous Orient

Thou it was cried Halt ! ofyore

To satiety of kings . Thou hast crushed me more and more

With thine awful weight of wings .

85 titt i t é i t t tiifidz t dz étéétéé E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S Here no zephyr of the sea

Wipes the tears from skies th a t fill .

Onthe pa lace s long still .

Naught sha ll touch the fe a ture s te rse

Of hi l a . t s dul , etern l spot

a n e In this ch ging univ rse,

Only Egypt icha ngeth not

th e When e ennui n ver ends,

o ld And I yearn a friend t ho ,

’ e nds I ve the fellahs, mummies, fri ,

Of the dynasties of old .

e n t Or a chipp d Colossus o e,

a i Watch a distant, gle ming sa l

Up and down the Nile afloa t.

’ br t id Oh, to seek my o her s s e ,

o In a Paris wondr us, grand,

f hide With his stately orm to , In the publ ic pla c e to stand !

86 tit i i i i fi i abtéfiiéfifiiiiiiét E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

V E T E R A N S O F T H E O L D G U A R D (Drea me rs. 1 5)

RI VEN D by ennui from my room ,

I walked along the Boulevard .

’ ’ T was in December s mist and gloom .

A bitter wind was blowing hard .

And there I saw strange thing to see !

In drizzle and in daylight drear,

From out their dark abodes let free,

- Dim, spectral shadow shapes appear.

’ ’ t Yet is by night s uncanny hours, By pallid German moonbeams cast

On old dilapidated towers,

That ghosts are wont to wander past .

’ ’ I t is by night s e flu lge nt star In dripping robes that elves intrigue To he a r beneath the nenuphar

Their dancer dead of his fatigue.

88 t i t t t t i i t i t ‘kéé it imt it é fi V ET E R A N S O F T H E O L D G U A R D At night ’ s mysterious tide hath been The great review of ballad writs E Wherein the mperor, dimly seen ,

Numbered the sha des of Austerlitz.

a G mna se f— ea But ph ntoms near the y y ,

And wet and miry phantoms, too,

Va riétér And close to the , And not a shroud to trick the view 1

With yellow teeth and stained dress, l e And mossy sku l and pierc d shoon ,

i M e Par s ontmartre behold it pr ss, Dea th in the very light of noo n !

’ t ! Ah, is a picture to be seen Three veteran ghosts in unifo rm

S Of the Old Guard , and , pare and lean ,

’ Two ghost- hussa rs in daylight s storm. m The lithograph, you would sur ise, Wherein one ray shines down upon

a ff fi The de d , that Ra et dei es , That pa ss and shout Napole on

89 t iit t i ii tirtfi fl dréiititfl E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

No dead are these, whom nightly drum

May rouse to battle fires that burn ,

he But stragglers of t Old Guard , come To celebrate the grand return

S r ince fighting in the fight sup eme, i One has grown th n , another stout ; The coats that fitted once now seem

. Too small, too loose , or draggled out

! r O epic rags O tatte s light , Starred with a cross ! Heroic things

c Of ridi ule, ye gleam more bright, More be autiful than robes of kings !

Limp feathers fluttering adorn

The tawny colbacks worn and grim . The bullet and the moth have torn

And riddled well the dolmans dim.

Their leathern breeches loosely hang

- In furrows on their lank thigh bones,

Their rusty sabres drag and clang,

As heavily they scrape the stones .

9 0 tit t i i dvt t t ifi tkidridz zkdz i iéi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

Ifthey be stiff? They ’ d but a flag

For sheet to hold their bodies wa rm. And ? if a sleeve be loose, poor rag

’ T is that a bullet tore an a rm.

s Mock not these veteran shape bizarre,

At whom the urchin laughs and gapes .

a re They were the day , of which we

a The evening , and the night, perh ps,

Remembering if we forget

Red lancer, grenadier in blue,

t Wi h faces to the Column set,

As to their only altar true.

e a s There, proud of pain ach sc r denote ,

And of long miseries gone by, They feel beneath their shabby coats

The heart of France beat mightily .

s e e a rs And so our smile are steep d in t , S eeing this holy carnival,

This picture wan that reappears,

’ Like morning after midnight s ball .

9 2 . ’ Wide the Grand Army s eagle spreads

Above their dear and

93 titt i i é dfi flrb ifiitékfidz éé éu E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

S E A —G L O O M

T H E - c sea gulls restless gleam and glan e, The mad white coursers cleave the length Of ocean as they rear and prance

And toss their manes in stormy strength .

The day is ending . Raindrops choke

The sunset furnaces . The gloom

a m e Brings the gre t steamboat spitting s ok ,

And beating down its long bla ck plume .

a And I , more wan than he ven wide,

a For l nd of soot and fog am bound, For land of smoke and suicide And right good weather have I found !

How eagerly I now would pierce The gulf that groweth wild a nd hoa r !

The vessel rocks . The waves are fierce.

The salt wind freshens more and more .

’ Ah bitter is my soul s unrest . The very ocean sighing heaves

In pity its unhopeful breast, Like some good frie4nd that knows and grieves . 9 it ik' t rt: dri t iéfi dz tkdnkzh zh zbrh iéi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

But, now, a woman , as I gaze, S ’ its in the bridge s darker nook,

A woman, who doth sweetly raise

Her eyes to mine in one long look.

’ S m T is ympathy with outstretched ar s, Who smile th to me through the gray

Of dusk with all her thousand charms . ! Hail, azure eyes Green sea, away

The sea- gulls restless gleam a nd glance. The mad white coursers cleave the length Of Ocean as they rear and prance And toss their manes in stormy tit t i i ii t fitfiéifiééiité iii T O A R O S E —C O L O U R E D G O W N

T O A R O S E - C O L O U R E D G O W N

How I love you in the robes That dis robe so well your charms

' r Your dear breasts , twin ivo y globes,

And your bare sweet pagan arms .

a Fr il as frailest wing of bee,

Fresher tha n the heart of rose,

All the fabric delicate, free,

Round your body gleams and glows,

to t Till from skin silken hread , S ilver shivers lightly win, And the rosy gown have shed

Roses on the creamy skin.

Whence have you the mystic thing ,

Made of very flesh of you , Living mesh to mix and cling

’ With your glorious body s hue Did you take it from the rud Of the dawn From Venus’ shell

From a breast- flowe r nigh to bud From a rose about to swell

9 7 s e t s s s s s e t e ts a e s s s s t e s e t E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S Doth the texture have its dye From some blushing bashfulness ? No your portraits do not lie

’ Beauty beauty s form shall guess ! m Down you cast your gar ent fair,

- Art dreamed, sweet Reality,

’ Bor h e se s Like g princess, rare For Canova ’ s mastery !

Ah ! the folds are lips of fire Sweeping round your lovely form

In a folly of desire, With a weft of kisses

Yet to thy crimson lips inviting,

’ Intelligence s bee of laughter,

At every flash of wit alighting, f Allures and gleams , and lingers a ter.

! Ah, little one, I know the trouble

. e Thou lovest me The world, it gu sse s.

I OO it i t t t t t t t tfi iidz iéiiitié I N E S D E L A S S I E R R A S

I N E S D E L A S S I E R R A S

T o P E T R A C A M A R A

’ I N S N odie r s pain , as pen has told ,

’ Three officers in night s mid hours .

Came on a castle dark and old ,

c a ve s s With sunken and mouldering tower ,

' Ra dc lifle A true Anne type it was, With ruined halls and crumbling rooms And windows graven by the claws

’ Of Goya s ha ts that ranged the glooms.

Now while they feasted , gazed upon By ancient portraits standing gua rd

e n In their ancestral fram s, ano

A sudden cry rang th itherward .

Forth from a distant corridor

’ That many a moonbeam s pa llid hue

’ Fretted fantastically o er,

A wondrous phantom sped in view.

1 0 1 iii t i i t t ffl téiétéié t“ E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

- With bodice high and hair comb tipped ,

. A woman , running, dancing, hied

Adown the dappled gloom she dipped,

An iridescent form descried .

A n la guid , dead , voluptuous mood

’ Filled every act s abandon brief,

Till at the door she stopped , and stood

S . inister, lovely past belief

He r raiment crumpled in the tomb

’ Showed here and there a spangle s foil . At every start a faded bloom

’ Dropped petals in her hair s black coil.

s a t A dull scar crossed her bloodle s thro ,

As of a knife . Like rattle chill

Of teeth , her castanets she smote

Full in their faces awed and still .

Ah a ! , poor bacchante, sad of gr ce

So wild the sweetness of her spell , The curved lips in her white face Had lured a saint from heaven to hell

1 02 tts s s s a s e s s fi s s s e e s e e e u E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S About her throat the scar of red

Unto a generation dead

By every new - born century .

s - t I saw this elf same phantom flee ,

All Paris ringing with her praise,

we e t When soft , diaphanous, mystic, s ,

r a La Petra Cama a held its g ze,

Closing her eyes with languor rare,

s s Impa sive, pa sionate of art ,

r s r And , like the murde ed Ine fai ,

’ Dancing, a dagger in

1 04 t it t i t i i t t éz fi idflz itt tt étt O D E L E T

O D E L E T

A r t e : A N A C R B O N

face divine,

e r- zeal of thine ! Doves wing frighted from the ground

’ s too At a tep s sudden sound ,

And her passion is a dove,

Frighted by too ho ld a love . Mute as marble Hermes wait

By the blooming hawthorn- gate .

Thou shalt see her wings expand ,

She shall flutter to thy hand . On thy forehead thou shalt know S omething like a breath of snow, Or of pinions pure that beat

In a whirl of whiteness sweet .

s And the dove, grown venture ome , S l hal upon thy shoulder come, And its rosy be ak shall sip

From the nectar of thy lip .

ros tit t t t i i i itfi iéé iéiéiifl E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

S M O K E

B E NEATH yon tree sits humble

a A squ lid , hunchbacked house,

With roof precipitous,

And mossy walls that crumble.

Bolted and barred the shanty. u But from its must and mo ld,

Like breath of lips in cold,

Comes respiration scanty .

A vapour upward welling,

A slender, silver streak, To God bears tidings meek

Of the soul in the little dwelling.

1 06 ti fit t t t f t t ifi ttfi itiit f“ E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

T H E B L I N D M A N

B L I ND i A man walks w thout the gate,

- Wild staring as an owl by day, mblin F u ghis flute betimes and late,

Along the way .

ie th e a ret and worn He p p , w ry w ch ,

A roundel shrill and obsolete. The spectre of a dog forlorn

Attends his fe e t.

For him the days go lustreless . Invisible life with he a t and roa r He heareth like a torrent press

Around , before .

What strange chimera s haunt his hea d ?

’ a c e And on his mind s bedarkened sp ,

r What characters unhea d , unread , Doth fanc y trace

s ’ V m Thu down enetian leads of doo , Wan prisoners ensepulchred

In palpable, undying gloom

Have graven their word .

1 08 T H E B L I N D M A N And yet perchance when life ’ s last spark

S Death peeds unto eternal night,

the dark,

1 09 itii t t k t t dttfi dz édflbtbttiéirb E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

S O N G

I N April earth is white and rose

Like youth and love, now tendering

e Her smiles, now f arful to disclose

Her virgin heart unto the Spring .

i l a nd In June, a l ttle pa e worn ,

l s And fu l at heart of vague de ire,

She l hideth in the yel ow corn ,

With sunburned Summer to respire.

In August, wild Bacchante, she

e Her bosom bares to Autumn shap s,

- n And on the tiger ski flung free, Draws forth the purple blood of gra pe s.

And in December, shrivelled, old ,

o a Bepowdered white from fo t to he d,

In a she dre m wakens Winter cold ,

Th a t sleeps beside her in her be d.

1 1 0

II In the Tuileries fount the swan

Meets the ice, and all the trees,

' in l a nd of As fairies wan ,

Are bedecked with filigre e s.

Flowers of frost in vases l ow

S r e tand unquickened and unsti r d, And we trace upon the snow

Sta rred footste ps of a bird .

o Venus was with Ph cion met,

[ 1 2 tii t t t i t t i ifl iéé idc édrdrf“ W I N T E R F A N T A S I E S

in Women pass ermine dress,

And the

’ Haste to don th e fashion s fur .

s f Venu of the Brine comes orth ,

’ “ In her hooded mantle s flufl.

Hides her fingers inher muff.

And the shepherdesses round

C ou sto u Of and Coysevox , Finding scarves too light have wound

Furs about their throats of snow .

1 1 3 IV

Heavy doth the North bedrape

Paris mode from foot to top, As o ’ er fair Athenian shape

Scythian should a bearskin drop.

’ t Over winter s garments mee , E verywhere we see the fur,

aw Flung with Russian pomp, and e “

With the fra grant vetiver.

’ Pleasure s laughing glances fea st

Far amid the statues , where From the bristl es of a beast Bursts a Venus torso fa ir

1 1 4 tr i ab t zh zh zkt zkzkfl tkahédcabédz ééfi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

T H E B R O O K

’ NEAR a great water s waste A brook mid rock and spar m i Ca e bubbl ng up in haste,

As though to travel far.

It sang : What joy to rise !

’ T was dismal under ground.

I mirror now the skies .

My banks with green abound .

Forget- me- nots how fair Beseech me from the grass ;

a ir Wings frolic in the ,

And graze me as they pass.

“ I yet shall be - who knows ?

0 A river winding d wn , And greeting as it flows

Valley and cliff and town. “I ’ ll broider with my spray S tone bridge and granite quay, And bear great ships away

Unto the long wide sea .

1 1 6 T H E B R O O K

So planned it, babbling by,

Within a basin high ,

Giants are early dead .

n o wa s ost Sca rce bor , the bro k l a lake’ s

1 1 7 u s u a s s s e s u a a s u u u e s E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

T O M B S A N D F U N E R P Y R E S

No grim cadaver set its flaw

In happy days of pagan art,

And man , content with what he saw,

’ Stripped not the veil from bea uty s

d No form once loved that burie lay ,

S A hideous pectre to appal,

hit Dropped bit by its flesh away,

As one by one our ga rments fall ;

Or, when the days had drifted by

e ne And sundered shrank the vault d sto s, Showed n a ked to the daring eye

A motley heap of rattling bones .

m a But , rescued fro the funer l pyre,

’ Life s ashen , light residuum

Lay soft, and , spent the cleansing fire ,

’ The urn held sweet the body s sum ,

1 1 8 tidz tkk' s s s s s s s s s s s s a u a s s s

The monster in flesh raiment clad n t Hid deep its spectral form u cou h ,

- And virgin glances, beauty glad,

Sped frankly to the naked youth.

’ Twas only at Trima lc hio s board

' little ske le ton A made sign ,

An ivory plaything unabhorred,

To bid the feasters to the wine .

mA rt Gods, who ever must avow, ’ Ruled the marmoreal sky s deme sne. a Olympus yields to Calv ry, now ; Jupiter to the Nazarene

! Voices are calling, Pan is dead

de e e ne th . Dusk p within , without

On the black sheet of sorrow spread ,

The whitened skeleton gleams out .

lide th It g to the headstone bare,

And signs it with a paraph wild , And hangs a wreath of bones to glare

Upon the charnel death- de fil e d.

1 20 it it t t t i t i ifi iéééééib' f“ T O M B S A N D FU N E R A L P Y R E S

It lifts the c oflin- lid and quaffs

The musty air , and peers within ,

a nd Displays a ring of ribs , laughs

Forever with its awful grin .

It urges unto Death’ s fleet dance E n The mperor, the Pope, the Ki g,

s n e And make the pallid steed to pra c ,

And low the doughty warrior fling ;

C t a u Behind the our es n steals p,

And ma kes wry fa ces in her glass ;

’ Drinks from the sick mans t remblingcup ;

’ Delve s in the m iser s golden mass.

a s Above the te m it whirl the thong,

it With bone for goad to hurry , wm ’ Follows the plo an s way along,

And guides the furrows to a pit .

e v t It com s, the unin ited gues ,

And lurks beneath the banquet chair, Unseen from the pa le bride to wrest

Her little silke n garter fa ir.

1 2 ! iiii i i ié dti ifi sfiié abéfiiabé ii E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

The number swells : the young give hand

U . nto the old , and none may flee The irresistible saraband

Compe ll e th all humanity .

t Forth speeds the tall , ungainly frigh , l P aying the rebeck, dancing mad ,

Against the dark a frame of white,

As Holbein drew it - horror-sa d ;

Or if the times be frivolous, Trusses the shroud abo ut its hips

Then like a Cupid mischievous,

- Across the ballet room it skips,

And unto carven tombs it flies,

ma Where rchionesses rest demure,

a We ry of love, in exquisite guise,

In chapels dim and pompadour.

But hide thy hideous form at last , Worm- eaten actor ! Long enough

’ In death s wan melodrama cast ,

’ ' Thou st played thy part without re bu fl.

1 2 2

E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

B JO R N ’ S B A N Q U E T

ORN BJ , odd and lonely cenobite,

’ a High on a barren rock s plate u ,

’ ’ Far out of time s and the world s sight ,

Dwells in a castle none may know .

No modern thought may viola te

His darkened and secluded ha l l .

- Bjorn bolts with care his postern gate,

And barricades his castle wall .

When others wait the rising sun , He from his mouldering pa rapet S till contemplates the valley dun ,

Where he beheld the red sun set .

S ecurely doth the past enlock

His retrospective spirit lone . The pendulum within his clock

Was broken centuries agone. Waking the echoes wanders he

a Beneath his feudal arches dre r, His ringing footsteps seemingly

Followed by other footsteps clear.

1 24 tit t t t i t t t tfi iééifittiiti B JO R N ’ S B A N Q U E T

or no r him a b N priests friends with m ke old , Nor burghers plain nor gentleme n But his ancestral portraits hold

A parley with him now and then .

And of a midnight, sparing him The ennui of a lonely cup ,

a i Bjorn , h rbour ng a gloomy whim,

Invites his ancestors to sup.

’ n s Forth steppi g at the hour s grim troke,

Come phantoms armed from foot to he ad.

Bjorn , quaking, to the solemn folk

' Profle rs with sta te the goble t red .

To se at itself each panoply With joints tha t grumble in re volt

' a Maketh an ngl e with its knee, That c re a ke th like a rusty bolt;

i a ll e the ma i T ll at onc suit of l,

ffi a n se n ulk Rude co n of ab t b ,

n s h a i Cleavi g the ilence wit wa l ,

a u l . Falls in its chair, a cl nking h k

1 25 tit fit i fii mééééfl éiiiéiéd fi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

S Landgraves and burgraves , pare and stout,

Come down from heaven or up from hell , i The ron guests of many a bout,

Are bound within the midnight spell .

Their blow- indented helmets bear

Heraldic beasts that bay and grin , Athwart the shades the red lights gla re

On crest and ancient lambrequin .

E c a s ire now ach empty, open q seems

‘ Like to the helms of heraldries , Save for two strange and livid gleams

That issue forth in threatening wise.

Seated is each old combatant ’ t In the vast hall , at Bjorn s behes , And the uncertain shadows grant

A swarthy page to every guest .

The liquors in the candle- shine

Take on suspicious purples . All The viands in their gravy ’ s wine

Grow lurid and fantastical .

1 26 tit i t i drdrt ski' fi dz dz t zh h kzké tfl E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S Now every ghostly care they drown

With jokes and jeers and loud guffaws . A wine- cascade is running down

’ Each rusty helmet s iron jaws .

The full and rounded hauberks bulge,

And to the neck the river mounts .

Their eyes with liquid fire effulge .

’ te n lia m They howli g drunk, these va

One through the salad idly wields

A foot ; another scolds the sick . Some like the lions on their shields

With gaping mouths the fancy trick .

In voice still hoarse from silence long

’ m a In the to b s dampness and restr int, Max playfully intones a song

a int. Of thirteen hundred , c rude and qu

o Albrecht, of quarrels me repute,

S r f Wa r ti s right and le t a intense,

a nd And drubs about with fist foot,

As once he drubbed the Sara cen s.

1 28 t intt- i i i i t é éifidz iééidz éiétt B JO R N ’ S B A N Q U E T

ff And heated Fritz his helmet do s,

’ Not deeming he s a headless trunk .

Then down pell- mell mid roars and scoffs

Together roll the phantoms drunk.

’ ! T - Ah is a hideous battle ground,

o se nd Where pots and weap ns bang and , Where every dead man through some wound

Doth vomit victuals up for blood .

And Bjorn observes them, sad of eye,

t e And haggard , while athwart h panes

S a The dawn comes creeping te lthily ,

ne . With blue, thin lights , and darkness wa s

The prostrate mass of rusty brown

’ Pales like a torch in daylight s room, Until the drunkest po urs him down

At last the stirrup- cup of doom .

The cock crows loud.And with the day

o Once more with haughty mien and b ld ,

Their revel - weary heads they lay

Upon their marble pillows cold .

1 29 fit t fi t é fi é i i féfik é é i ié t i t fi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

T H E W A T C H

I Now twice my watch have taken ,

’ I v e And twice as gazing sat, The hand has pointed unshaken

’ To one and it s long past that !

’ The clock s light cadences linger .

- n The sun dial laughs from the law ,

And points with a long, gaunt finger

The path that its shade has dra wn. A steeple ironically

Calls the true time to me. The belfry bell ma kes tally

And taunts me with accents free .

I not Ah , dead is the wretch sought ,

Last night, to my reverie sold , Its ruby circle ! I thought not Of glimmering key of gold

No longer I see with pleasure

The spring of the balance- wheel

Flit hither and there at measure,

Like a butterfly form of steel .

1 3 0

‘ k é fi i i i i éi éfl iiiisfidz fii akfié E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

T H E M E R M A I D S

’ TH ERE S a sketch you may discover By an artist of degree Rime and metre quarrel over

Theophile Knia towski.

On the snowy foam that fringes

All the mantle of the brine ,

’ Radiant with the sunlight s tinges,

Three mermaidens softly shine. Like the drowned lilies dancing

S Turn they, as the piral wave

t a Buoys heir bodies hiding, gl ncing,

As they sink and rise and lave . In their golden hair for dowers They have twined with beauteous S f hells for diadems, and lowers

From the deep wild under sands . Oysters pour a pearly hoarding

a Their enr pturing throats to gem ,

And the wave, its wealth according ,

Tosses other pearls to them .

1 3 2 tit $ t i t i t t ¢fi idz é¢itéiiii T H E M E R M A I D S Borne above the crest of ocean

By a Triton hand and strong ,

Twine they , beautiful of motion ,

Under gleaming tresses long.

And the crystal water under, Down the blue the glories pale

Of each lovely form of wonder,

Tapered to a shimmering tail .

Ah ! But who the scaly swimmers Would behold in modern day

When a bust of ivory glimmers, Cool from kisses of the S pray ?

! Look Oh , mingled truth and fable

’ O er the horizon steady plied ,

Comes a vessel proud and stable, Toward the mermaids terrifie d !

fl H Tricoloured its ag is aunted ,

And it vomits vapour red ,

And it beats the billows daunted ,

Till the nymphs dive low for dread .

I 33 ine rti- i: i i i t itéidréé étiéiffi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

Fea rle ssly they did beleaguer

Triremes immemorial, And the dolphins arched and eager

’ Waited for Arion s call .

This of old . But now the steamer

’ Vulcan hurtling Venus charms,

Would destroy the siren gleamer,

With her fair, nude tail and arms .

Farewell myth ! The boat that pa sses

Thinks to see on silver bar ,

s Where the widening billow gla ses, Porpo ise s tha t plunge

“ wa s é i fi t é i fl i dz é fik fi afii i“ E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

T H E T E A —R O S E

MOST beautiful of all the roses

h - Is this alf open bud , whose bare, Unpetalled heart a dream discloses

Of carmine very faint and fair.

I wonder, was it once a white rose, Till butterfly too ardent spoke f A language so t , and in the light rose ? A shyer, warmer tint awoke

Its delicate fabric hath the colour

Of lovely and velutinous skin . Its perfect freshness maketh duller

Environing hues incarnadine . For as some rare patrician features E clipse the brows of ruddier gleam , So masquerade as rustic creatures

Gay si sters of this rose supreme .

But, dear one, if your hand caress it,

And raise it for its sweet perfume,

E re yet your velvet cheek shall press it,

’ T will fade before a fairer bloom .

1 3 6 T H E T E A - R O S E

No rose in all the world so tender,

l owe th S That g in the pringtime fleet , B ut shall its every chasm surrender

’ ' A face hath more than pe ta l s p owe r A pure heart ’ s blood that blushing flows

’ ’ O er youth s nobility , is flower

over every rose .

I 3 7 tanke d: fi é é k abtitéfié fimééitmi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

C A R M E N

LENDER s S is Carmen , of li some guise,

’ Her hair is black as the midnight s heart ;

Dark circles are under her gypsy eyes ,

’ He r sw a rthy skin is the devil s art .

The women will mock at her form and face ;

But the men will follow her all the day . Toledo’ s Archbishop (now save His Grace !)

Tones his mass at her knees , they say .

Nestl ed in warmth of her amber neck

c oil Lies a massive , till she fling it down To be a raiment to frame and deck

He r delicate body fromfoot to crown . Then out from her pallid face with power

. Her witching, terrible smiles compel

Her mouth is a mystical poison - flowe r That hath drawn its crimson from hea rts in

i The haught est beauty must yield her fame,

When this strange vision shall dusk her sky . m ’ For Car en rules, and her glance s flame

Shall set the torch to satiety .

1 3 8 it i i t t i ab t i tfi dz iféétii éit E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

W H A T T H E S W A L L O W S S A LY

A N A U T U M N S O N G

T H E dry , brown leaves have dropped forlorn ,

And lie amid the golden grass .

The wind is fresh both eve and mom. ! But where are summer days , alas

The tardy flowers the autumn stayed

For latter treasures now un fold .

The dahlia dons its gay cockade,

Its flaming cap the marigold .

Rain stirs the pool with pelt and shock.

The swallows to the roof repair, Confabulating as they flock

And feel the winter in the air.

By hundreds gather they to vow

Their little yearnings and intents .

’ S : T aith one is fair in Athens now ,

U pon the sun - warm battlements !

1 40 t it fi i é é é fié ttfifiifiiééa fiifi W H A T T H E S W A L L O W S S A Y

Thither I go to take my nap

Upon the Parthenon high and free. My cornice nest is in the gap

-A cannon- ball made there for me.

“ And one : A ceiling meets my needs

S ff - Within a myrna co ee house, Where Hadjis tell their amber beads

Upon the threshold luminous .

“ o I go and come above the f lk,

.While their chibouques their clouds u pfling.

I skim along through silver smoke ,

And graze the turbans with rh yming .

’ Another : There s a triglyph gray

’ r On one of B a a lbe c s temples high.

’ T is there I go to brood all .day

Above my little family .

n A other calleth, My address

’ Is se ttled : At the Knights of Rhode s.

’ In a dark c ‘olonnade s recess

’ I ll make the snuggest of abodes .

1 41 tt t i t t k vkt i th hzbzkitb zh zbéfi*fl E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

fl ” Old age hath made me slow for ight,

“ ’ Declares a fifth ; I ll rest at even

’ On Malta s terraces of white, ” Where blue sea melts to blue of heaven.

“ : A sixth In Cairo is my home,

’ Up in a minaret s retreat

A twig or two, a bit of loam

My winter lodgings are complete.

“ A last : The Second Cataract Shall mark my place the nest of brown A granite king doth hold intact

W ithin the circle of his crown .

And all together sing : What miles

To- morrow shall have stretched benea th

Our fleeing swarm remembered isles,

S a t now peaks , vast waters, lands of he h

a nd s With calls and cries beat of wing ,

e Grown eager now and venturesom ,

The swallows hold their twitterings,

To see the blight of winter come .

1 42

é t i fi i fi fi i t t i fifi fl' fi wmi r t wfi x fi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

C H R I S T M A S

B LACK is the sky and white the ground . 0 ’ ring, ye bells, your carol s grace The Child is born! A love profound

’ ’ Beams o er Him from His Mother s fa ce .

No silken woof of costly show

Keeps o ffthe bitter cold from Him .

- But spider webs have drooped them low,

To be His curtain soft and dim .

Now trembles on the straw downspre a d

S . The Little Child , the tar beneath

To warm Him in His holy bed ,

Upon Him ox and ass do breathe .

Snow hangs its fringes on the byre. The roof stands open to the tryst

Of aureoled saints , that sweetly choir

o rit To shepherds, Come, beh ld the Ch s

1 44 t i t t i t t i tdz ééé rké rkab zh éz th i i zké TH E D EA D CH I LD ’ S P LAYTH I NGS

T H E D E A D C H I L D ’ S P T H I N G S

MARI E comes no more at call .

She has wandered from her play . f Ah , how piti ully small Was the c o flin borne away !

Se e about the nursery fl oor All her little heritage :

Rubber ball and battledore,

Tattered book and coloured pa ge .

Poo r forsaken doll ! in vain

Stretch your arms . She will not come . S topped forever is the train,

And the music - box is dumb .

S f ome one touched it so t , apart,

Where the silence is her name . And what sinking of the heart At the plaintive note that came !

x4 5 iii -zkééé zkézbiitiiiié E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

Ah , the anguish when the tomb

Robs the cradle ; when bereft We discover in the gloom toys a n

1 46

Then deep in my glass rega ining b The health of a day gone y, Old visions for company

’ The wine of my thought I ll measure,

Wine virgin of alien glow,

flow Grapes trodden by life, that Frommy heart at my

1 48 tiit dz i wzkt drw'kédz édnbdréidri‘ ii T H E CAST LE O F RE M E M B RAN CE

T H E C A S T L E O F R E M E M B R A N C E

B EFORE my hearth with head low- bowed

I dream , and strive to reach again ,

’ Across the misty past s gray cloud , Unto Remembrance’ s domain

Where tree and house and upland way

Are blurred and blue like passing ghosts ,

And the eye, ponder though it may ,

Consults in vain the guiding- posts .

Now gropingly to gain a sight

Of all the buried world , I press Through mystic marge of shade and light

And limbo of forgetfulness .

But white, diaphanous Memory stands ,

ea Where many roadways meet and spr d,

Like Ariadne, in my hands

Thrusting her little ball of thread .

1 4 9 titt t t fdrt i fiézkiz abéiéisktti E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

Henceforth the way is all secure.

The shrouded sun hath reappeared ,

’ And o er the trees with vision su re

I see the castle tower upreared .

Benea th the boughs where day grows dark

With shower on shower o fleaves dow n- poured The dear old path through moss and ba rk

Still lengthens fa r its narrow cord .

But creeping- plant and bramble- spra y

Have wrought a net to daunt me now. The stubborn bra nch I force away

Swings fiercely ba ck to lash my brow.

I come upon the house at last .

la No window lit with mp or face,

No breath of smoke from gables vast , To touch with life the mouldering pla ce !

l Bridges are crumbling . Moats are stil ,

- flo we rs And slimed with rank, green refuse , And tortuous waves of ivy fill

The crevices and choke the towers .

1 50 a r s e s s s s a s s a s a a a s u u a u E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

me na c e th I pass . The old dog ,

But falls back hushed , the shades amid . My resonant footstep wakeneth

Crouched echoes in their cornershid .

Through yellow panes of glass a ray Of dubious light creeps down the ha ll Where ancient tapestries display

’ Apollo s fortunes from the wal l .

Fair tree- bound Daphne still with grace

Stretches her tufted fingers green . But in the amorous god ’ s embrace

She . fades, a formless phantom seen

I watch divine Apollo stand ,

- Herdsman to acarus riddled sheep,

The Muses Nine, a haggard band,

Upon a faded Pindus weep ;

While Solitude in scanty gown Traces Desertion in the dust That through the air she sifte th down

Upon a marble stand august .

1 52 tt t i iz t t i‘ t ib‘ fi iii rb dz tiifl i TH E CA ST LE O F R E M E M B R A NCE

And now , among forgotten things, f nf I ind , like sleepers ma i old ,

d ic turin s Pastels be immed , dark p g ,

e a nd Young b auties , the friends of old.

r tering fingers lift a c ape,

10 ! , my love with look and lure With pu flingskirts and priso n e d sha pe ! Cida lise a l a Pompadour !

ss A tender, blo oming rose she feels

a b o e sse Ag inst her rib oned b dice pr d, Whose la ce half hides a nd half reveals

w - e a . A sno y , azure vein d bre st

t n a s Wi hi her eyes gleam sp rkles lu h,

- As on the rime kissed , deadened leave s. Upon her che ek a purple flush ’ — De a th s own cos metic hue de c e iv s .

She t rt s fr s a le as I come be o e,

fixe th e e s And soft on me her y , m Reproachfully forever ore,

Y e t with a charm a nd Witching wise .

l 53 titt ii é i t itfi éétéfitit iéé E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

l Life bore me from thee at its wil ,

a a d Yet on my he rt thy name is l i ,

i till Thou dead delight, that l ngereth s , Bedizened for the masquerade !

E N nvious of Art , fair ature wrought i ’ To overpass Mur llo s fame, From Andalusia here she brought The face that lights the second frame .

s By ome poetical caprice,

Our atmosphere of mist and cloud ,

’ With rare exotic charm s increase

This other Petra Camara dowed .

Warm ora nge tones are gilding yet

Her lovely skin of roseate hue . Her eyelids fair have lashes jet

That . beams of sunshine filter through.

There shimmers fine a pearly gleam

Between her scarlet lips elate ; Her beauty flashes forth supreme

A bright south summer pomegranate .

I 4 5 s e s s s s s s s s tu a a a a a a s s éu E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

U nnatural mother to her child , This Venus all imperative

O thou , my bitter joy and wild , Farewell forever I forgive !

Within its frame in shadow fine, The misty glass that still endures

Reveals another face than mine,

The earliest of my portraitures .

A retrospective ghost, with face

Of vanished type, steps from the

Dim mirror of his biding- place

In tenebrous , forgotten past .

- Gay in his doublet satin rose ,

Coloured in bold and vivid way , He seems as if about to pose

For Deveria or Boulanger.

Terror of glabrous commoner,

His flowing locks in royal guise,

Like mane of lion , or sinister

’ King s hair, fall heavy to his thighs .

1 56 TH E CAST LE O F RE M E M B RAN C E

Romanticist of bold conceit,

s Knight of an art which strive anew ,

’ He hurled himself at Drama s feet,

’ W hen erst He rna nis trumpet blew .

Night falls . The corners are astir

W ith many shapes and shadows tall .

The Unknown grim stage- carpenter

’ Sets up its darksome frights o er all.

s A udden burst of candles , weird

With aureoles , like lamps of death

u The room is populo s , and bleared With folk brought hither by a bre ath 1

Down step the portraits from the wall ,

A ruddy- litten company !

r Ci cling the fireplace in the hall ,

Where the wood blazes suddenly .

The figu res wrested from the tombs n Have lost their rigid, froze mien , The gradual glow of life illumes

The Past with flush incarnadine.

I S 7 tit t i i i é t iééfidz éiéitwiifl E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

A colour lights the faces pale,

As in the days of old delight . f Friends whom my thought shall never ail ,

- ni htl I thank ye, that ye came to g

Now eighteen - thirty shows to me

Its great and valiant - hearted men .

’ O tra nto s (Ah, like pirates , we

te nI Who were an hundred , are but )

e out And one his r ddish beard spreads ,

Like Barbarossa in his cave . Another his mustachio stout Curls at the ends in fashion suave .

Under the ample fold that cloa ks e An ever unreveal d ill,

Petrus a cigarette now smokes,

Naming it papelito still .

Another cometh , fain to tell

His visions and his hopes supreme .

Like Icarus on the sands he fell,

Where lie all broken shafts of drea m .

1 58 tit t i i é i t i éfi ééé ifiifii abéi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

M E L L I A A N D ME A D O W D A I S Y

W E praise the hot- house flowers that loom

Far from their native sun and shade, m m The flaring for s that flaunt their bloo ,

Like jewels under glass displayed .

W z a s ith never bree e to kiss their he d , They have their birth and live a nd die

On costly , artificial beds ,

Beneath an ever- crystal sky .

For whomsoever idly scans,

Baring their treasures to entice,

i s Like fa r and sumptuous courtesan ,

They stand for sale at golden price.

u s Fine porcelain holds their gathered gro p , Or glove- clad fingers fondle them

e Betw en the dances , till each droops

Upon a limp or broken stem.

1 60 tit t it ff fiitiiiitédz tiéé“ C A M E L L I A AN D M E AD OW—DAI SY

r But down amid the g ass unreaped , S hunning the curious, in repose

e And silence all the long day st eped ,

A little woodland daisy blows .

A butterfly upon the wing

To point the place, a casual look,

And you surprise the sweet , shy thing, n Withi its calm , sequestered nook.

e Ben ath the blue it openeth,

Rising on slender, vernal rod , Spreading its soul in fragrant breath

For solitude and for its God .

And proud camellias tall and white,

a u lis Red p in a flaming mass,

Are all at once forgotten quite,

For the small flower amid the grass.

1 6 1 s ense s as s s s a s s a ws e wss a s a u E N A NH H S A N D C A M E O S x

T H E F E L L A H

On se eing a Wa ter Colour by Primer: Ma tbildc

APRI CE C of brush fantastical ,

of l And imperia idleness ,

Your fellah- sphinx presents us all

With an enigma worth the gu ess.

A rigid fashion, verily,

e u s This mask, this garm nt, seem to , Intriguing with its mystery

’ The ball- room s every (E dipu s.

Isis bequea thed her veil of old

To modern daughters of the Nile.

But through this band austere, behold ,

in Two stars , two eyes , two poems that spr g,

The soft, voluptuous fires whereof

Resolve the riddle, murmuring ! Lo , I am Beauty Be thou Love

1 6 2

fit t i t t i i t fi tédz été idc iiwiifi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

Alas ! my garret is no feint .

There climbeth no convolvulus . The window with its nibbled pa int

Leers filmy and unluminous.

Alike for artist and grisette,

Alike for widower and lad, A garret save to music set

Is never otherwise than sad .

Of old , beneath an angle pent, That forced the forehead to a

- Love, with a folding couch content,

To chat with Susan d e em e d it bliss.

But we must wad our bliss about

With cushioned walls and laces wide,

And silks that flutter in and out ,

’ O er beds by Monbro canopied.

This evening , to Mount Breda fled l Is Rigolette, to inger there,

And Margery , well clothed and fed,

No longer tends her garden fair .

1 64 ti t t i i i i t i ttt i ifi iéi té é ti T H E G A R R E T

U l pon the wing, has turned to cu l

’ Reporter s bays, and left betimes

And railing at a kitten small

toys forever with a string.

1 65 A M E L S A N D C A M E

T H E C L O U D

LIGHTL Y in the azure air f S oars a cloud , emerging ree Like a virgin from the fair

Blue sea ;

Floating upright and e mpe a rle d

In the shell, about its feet

Fc a m- curled .

U ndulating overhead , How its changing body glows ! On its shoulder dawn hath spread

A rose .

Marble, snow, blend amorously In that formby sunlight kissed Slumbering Antiope Of mist !

Sa il ing unto distant goal ,

Over Alps and Apennines,

S - ister of the woman soul , It shines ;

1 66 a a s s s s s s e e u s a u a mma ws E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

T H E B L A C K B I R D

A B I RD from yonder branch at dawn

Is trilling forth a joyful note,

’ Or hopping o er the frozen lawn ,

In yellow boots and ebon coat .

It is the blackbird credulous .

Little of calendar knows he,

Whose soul , with sunbeams luminous,

Sings April to the snows that be .

Rain sweeps in torrents unrepressed . The Arve makes dull the Rhone with The pleasant hall retains its guest

In goodly cheer before the fire.

The mountains have their ermine on, E ach one a mighty magistrate, And hold grave conference upon

A case of Winter lasting late.

The bird dries well his wing, and long,

Despite the rains, the mists that roll,

Insists upon his little song,

Believes in Spring with all his soul.

1 68 t iii t t t t t t ttdz iiiiétié éti T H E B L A C K B I R D He softl y chides the slumberous morn

For dallying so long abed , And bids the shivering flower forlorn

Be bold , and raise aloft its head ;

Behind the dark sees day that smiles, Ev en as behind the Holy Rod, dim When bare the altar, the aisles ,

The child of faith beholds his God .

’ He trusts to Nature s purpose high,

Sure of her laws for here and now .

Who laughs at thy philosophy ,

Dear blackbird , is less wise than

1 69 titt i t it tiifi zh biiiééééibé E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

T H E FL O W E R T H A T M zA K T H E S P R I N G T I M E

T H E chestnut trees are soon to flower

Sa int c q n At fair 7 , the villa dipped

In sun , before whose viny tower

Stretch purple mountains silver- tippe d .

The little leaves that yesterday Pressed in their bodices were seen H ave put their sober garb away ,

And touched the tender twigs with green.

But vainly do the sunbeams fill

The branches with a flood of light . The shy bud he sita te th still

To show the se cret thyrse of white.

- And yet the rosy peach tree blooms ,

Like some faint blush of first desire .

The apple waves a wealth of plumes ,

And laughs in all its fresh attire .

1 70

M a s t i fi iiitéiiiitiééééi

- u ! Ah , well, good bye, for I m st go

’ be . Keep , then , your flowers, where er they

There is another flower I know ,

That makes the springtime fair for me.

o Let May with all her blo ms arise, Let May with all her blooms depa rt !

su fi c e th That flower for mine eyes ,

And hath pure honey in its heart.

Let be the season where it waits, And blue or dull be heaven ’ s dome

It smiles and charms and captivates, The precious violet of my home !

1 7 2 t‘tt t k i t wtt tfi ttéitfbii ttt A L A S T W I S H

A L A S T W I S H

! How long my soul has loved thee, love

It is full many a year agone .

Thy spring what charm of flowers thereof, My winter what wild snows thereon

White lilacs from the land of gra ves

Blow ne a r my temples . Soon enow

’ Thou lt mark the pa llid mass that waves

Ensha dowing my withered brow.

M s r y we tering sun must speedy d op,

And di sappear behind the road .

Alre a d v y on the dim hill top,

There gleams and waits my last abode .

Then from thy rosy lips le t fa ll

U n s a po my lip a t rdy kiss, h T at in my tomb, when comes the call ,

M ea r ma m . y h t y rest, reme bering this

I 73 tt t fi k‘ fi i tktkt t fi t r t drtktrkiétfi E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

T H E D O V E

TE NDER a O , be uteous dove, Calling such pla intive things !

Wilt serve unto my love, And be my love’ s own wings ?

’ 0 re a ! , but we like, poor he rt

Thy dear one, too , is far.

Remembering , apart ,

Each weeps beneath the sta r.

Let not thy rosy feet

St ay once on any tower,

a m a I so f in , my sweet, So weary turns the hou r !

’ ‘ Forswear the pa lm s repose

r That sp eadeth over all, And gables where the snows

Of other pinions fall .

i ! Now fa l me not, nor fear

He dwelleth near the king .

Give him this letter, dear,

These kisses on thy wing . iiik- t a t é éfi éééiéiéé éii E N AWH H A A N D C A M E O S

P L E A S A NT E V E N I N G

WHAT flurrying of rains and snows !

Now every coachman, blue of nose, In fur and ire

S . its petrified Oh , it were right To spend this wild December night Before one’ s fire !

The cosy chimney-corner chair

Assumes its most persuasive air. I seem to see

a r Its arms held out , its voice to he , Beseeching like a mistress dea r “ Ah , stay with me

e A gauze reveals the orb d lamp,

Like a fair breast beneath a guimpe, And drowsily l The shimmer of its ight ascends, Flushing with gold and crimson blends

The ceiling high .

1 76 it i i t t i i i t é ié i é é i mt ii ifi A P L E A S A N T E V E N I N G

The silence frames no sound of things , Save for the pendulum that swings

Its golden disk,

And many winds that roam and weep,

- wa Or stealthy to the hall y sweep ,

To dance and frisk .

’ It s ball- night at the Embassy .

’ My coat s limp sleeves are S ignalling me

To dress anon .

My waistcoat yawns . My shirt obtuse S eems raising high its wristbands loose,

To be put on .

A narrow boot ’ s abundant glaze

’ Reflects the ruddy fire l ight s blaze . Have I forgot

’ A glove s flat fingers span the shelf.

A thin cravat protrudes itself,

And begs a knot .

Then must I forth ? But what a bore

To seek the over- crowded door ! To fall in line

I 77 E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S Of coaches bearing coats of arms

w e And haughty beauties ith th ir charms, Superb and fine !

To stand against a portal wide And see the surging ma ss inside Bear form on form n Old faces, faces fresh and you g,

Black coats low bodices among, A motley swarm

And puffy backs that hide their re d With laces fine of costly threa d

Aerial,

s t e Dandies , diplomatist , hat pr ss,

With features dull , expressionless,

’ At fashion s call .

! to win.a ofh What Brave, , glance t e n,

The rows of lynx-eyed dowa gers ! Try undeterred

de a To speak the dear name of my r, And whisper softly in he r ear Love’ s little word

1 78 a s s a s a t a t e s fl a u a u u s u E N A M E L S A N D C A M E O S

A R T

ORE i t M fa r the work, more s rong, S in tamped resistance long,

E . namel, marble, song

b Poet , no shackles ear, Yet bid thy Muse to w e ar

The buskin bound with ca re .

a A f shion loose forsake,

A shoe of sloven make,

That any foot may take.

S culptor, the clay withstand,

That yieldeth to the hand,

Though listless heart command.

l Contend ti l thou have wrought, Till the hard stone have c a ugh

The beauty of thy thought .

With Paros match thy might,

And with Carrara bright ,

That guard the line of light.

1 80 it it t t t i t i' ifl éiiétiiiétt

Borrow from Syracuse

’ The bronze s stubborn use,

Wherein thy form to choose.

And with a delicate gra ce In the veined onyx trace

’ Apollo s perfect face.

a Painter, put thou side

The transient . Be thy pride The col our furnace- tried .

' m fe e Li n thou , fantastic, r

Blue sirens of the sea, And beasts of heraldry.

Before a nimbus gold Transcendently uphold

. The Child , the Cross foretold

Things perish . Gods have passe d. But song sublimely cast

Sha ll citadels outlast .

1 8 1 The crown the potenta te.

r me Ca ve, burnish, build thy the ,

supreme .

1 8 2

ét t fi t i i i t t ifi idz iittét ité

E C TE D E M S

tit t i é i t t i tafih fidz t ifitéfiéii

T H E M I D D L E A G E S

O W HE NB VER I follow my fancy away ,

a I love ne r the old Gothic castles to stray,

Where tower the roofs azure- slated and high

r h s t And c owned with low s rub , green agains the pale

sky.

a r I love the dear gables, the w lls tur eted , T he window - panes crossed with their networks of

e a l d ,

The lege nde d olden - time valiant and sa int

Un e r n d ogival arch wrought with fantasy quai t ,

The a ch pel with pinnacle piercing the air,

Whose bell rings the summons to worship and prayer.

- I love the mossed stone where the rain water files,

The courts where the grasses peep up mid the tiles ,

The - keep to whose summit the weather vane clings ,

’ ra G zed oft by the stately ciconia s white wings , The trembling drawbridges of gates bla zoned bold

' fa riflins With bulous monsters and g of gold ,

1 85 The corridors endless that gather the past,

he e W re I wand r at will, sunk in reveries deep, h m And through hours of enc antment and ystery move, Inthe bright Middle

1 8 6 t t t t t t f t t tktfi §éi itéiiéfi S E L E C T E D P O E M S

s ff i My soul , like thine, is caged with u er ngs,

t l Against the mor a bars it beats its wings ,

’ e And fain would pierce the heaven s azure sp ll ,

Ithu rie l Itself an angel, track ,

a nd Inebriate with love and light force,

And so ascend unto the Primal Source .

r e dun But ah, what hand shall break the bar i rs , Or open up the to the su n!

1 88 ti i t t i i t t i t ii éii ié iii é éé O N A TH OUGHT OF WO RDSWO RTH ’ S

O N A T H O U G H T O F W O R D S W O R T H ’ S

’ I VE read no line of Wordsworth whom the steven

h t Of Byron ath assailed with bit erest gall ,

S r ave this I came upon , a f agment small

r In a omance pseudonymously given , “ ” r m filc hed F o Apuleius , Louisa, leaven

Of thought impure and pictures passional .

How well the flash of beauty I recall, The Spire: wbore sile ntfinger paint: to bea v e nI

’ i a ss e A wh te dove s fe ther down the darkne stray d,

A lovely flower abloom in some foul nook . And now when riming halts and fancy tires,

And s e Pro pero is of Ariel unobey d , I over all the margin of my book

Tra ce group on group of h ea venwa rd- pointing

1 89 iii-t a s s u u u u u e m i: e S E L E C T E D P O E M S

C A R Y A T I D E S

’ I LOOK ED o on Michael Angelo s wrought f lk,

’ Sistine s : sa w great frescoes , the Last Judgment ,

S l w . peechless, the whi e the wonder in me oke

And as I looke d my spirit bowed with l a we .

- A mass of shapes of every attitude,

- i Lion l ke faces, necks of oxen strength ,

Flesh firm as marble, muscles taut and rude,

’ With force to b reak a cable s iron length !

No sto ny arch upon their forms wa s ' set;

But all their sinews to some ta sk were stee led .

Meseem e d their tensioned arms were dripping s weat .

loa d ' the ir e a e ? What, then , the invisible power r ve l d

u They bore a weight to weary Herc les , 0 The weight , master, of thy mighty thought And never noble Caryatides Their shoulders to more massive burden brought !

1 90 itit té éi t iéééééiééééiiét S E L E C T E D P O E M S

T H E E N C O U N T E R

YESTER morning it was I beheld as I dreamed

On the arch of a bridge an encounter of horse.

a Cuirassed and cap risoned , truly it seemed

The charging of splendid and passionate force .

a Fierce dr gons crouched low on the helmets of light,

- s e And haggard eyed , brazen Medusa peer d out

From the bucklers . The imbricate brassarts were bright

With knotted wild serpents which girt them about.

’ Oft from the gigantical arch s tall brim

A knight , losing balance, a mad frighted steed,

Reeled down to the depth of the water whose grim,

Cruel jaws waited wide in their crocodile greed .

It was you , O my thoughts , my desires battling well

- - . Hard pressing, down beating, the bridgeway to keep l d And your muti ate bo ies that hurtled and fell ,

E u . ng lfed in the wave, are forever asleep

1 9 2 u s e e a a s e u e s a u a u a u u V E R 8 A I LL E S

V E R S A I L L E S

’ To be a city s ghost , Versailles , thy fate

Like Venus in her Adriatic, how

Under a carven mantle ’ s sumptuous weight

Ah , what impoverishment , what falle n state,

! N o Olden , yet not antique vine hast thou , About thy portico upspringing now

To veil thy nudeness wan and u ne la te .

And like a sorrowful , forsaken one,

wa ite st Thou for thy royal paramour,

Dreaming his bright return the livelong hours .

Beneath his tomb the Rival of the S u n M Now slumbers . ute thy garden streams endure ,

And but a statue people fills thy bowers .

I 93 iii-te a: s s s e e s s s a a u e s u e u S E L E C T E D P O E M S

B A R C A R O L L E

E L L T me , beautiful maiden ,

Whither wouldst thou away ,

- To what shore blossom laden , Through the wind and the spray

Oars of ivory are gleaming , S ilken banners are streaming ,

Golden - bright is the prow .

’ v e I a page fair and minion ,

’ s For a ail a saint s pinion ,

And for ballast a bough .

Tell me, beautiful maiden ,

Whither wouldst thou away ,

W - To hat shore blossom laden , Through the wind and the spray ?

Tell me, what is thy pleasure, A wide ocean to measure ? A far island to claim

- flowe rs Wreaths of snow to fashion, Or to linger with passion Near the flower of the flame ?

I 4 9

ét tt t i i i t t k kiiiiititt ifi S E L E C T E D P O E M S

T H E P O R T A L

A RTI ST O , man , whoever thou mayst be, Marvel not through so sad a gate to see

This new- born volume fatally unfold !

Alas all monument built high , complete, Before it raise its head must plunge its feet

The S kyward tower hath felt the secret mould.

- . e Below, the night bird and the tomb Abov ,

Rose of the sun and whiteness of the dove,

Ca rols and bells on every arch of gold .

’ Above, the minarets , the window s charm, Where birdl ings fret their wings in sunbeams warm

The carved escutcheons borne by angels tall ,

Acanthus leaves and lotus flowers of stone,

Like lilies in Elysian gardens blown . l Below , rude shaft and vault e liptical ,

de a thl on Knights rigid on their biers the gdays,

With folded hands and helpless upward gaze,

And oozing drips from cavern roofs that fall .

1 96 iiit i t i t t i titifiiiéééitéfi T H E P O R T A L

i My book is builded thus, with narrow l ne

Of stratum stone, embossed with many a sign ,

And carven words the creeping mosses fill .

’ a God grant that , p ssing o er this humble place, The pilgrimfoot shall never quite efface

’ Its poor inscription and its work s unskil l.

a My ghostly dead That ye might walk the sh des,

s With patience have I wrought your colonnade , — And in my Campo Santo couched you still .

Th er e watcheth at your side an angel true, m To ake a curtain of his wing for you ,

l w f . Pi lo of marble, cloth of leaden old

Ye a , Righteousness and Peace have kissed in stone,

Mercy and Truth are met together, one

in a i In flow g r iment, fa r and aureoled .

A sculptured greyhound lieth at your heels . A beauteous child eternally appeals

From out the shadow of the tomb enscrolled .

l 97 it i ii i i i t i tfi dxdz é ié fl é tfl S E L E C T E D P O E M S

U pon the pillars arabesques arise

o Of blo ming vines that flutter circlewise,

’ ‘ As o er es palier twines the dappled green .

r And the da k tomb appears a gladsome thing,

a ll i e With this br ght, p rpetual flowering,

And looks on sorrow with a smile se re ne .

‘ Dea th pl a ys coque tte . Only he r forehea d fair

H a th pa llor still bene ath her ebon ha ir .

She se e s to c a a nd a t r a mie k h rm, h h a oy l n.

A burst of colo ur fi re s the blazons cle a r ;

The alaba ster me lts to whitest tear ;

Less ha rd u plooms the bronze- bu ilt se pulture .

The consorts l ie uponthe ir beds of sta te ;

e e s f t Their pillows s m to o ten with their weigh ,

Their love to flower within the marble pure ;

a e a nd s s Till with her garlands , tr ceri s, fe toon ,

rs h Trefoils , pende ntives, pilla wrought wit runes ,

Fantasia a he r will ma y laugh and lure .

1 98 ta s s s s s a e e s e a a a e a a s e u u S E L E C T E D P O E M S

An angel shall discern them in his quest ,

U o u p n the r ins of the world at rest ,

For they shall sleep and sleep, the cycles long.

And if the Christ Himself should raise His hand ,

As unto Lazarus , to bid them stand ,

The grave would loosen not its fetter strong .

A tomb enwrought with sculpture is my verse,

s That hide a body under leaf and thyrse,

And bre aks its weeping heart to seem a song .

My poems are graves of mine illusions dead , Where many a Wild and luckless fo rmI bed When a ship founders in the tempest ’ s pea! !

’ Abortive dream , ambition s eagerness, All secret ardours , passions issueless ,

All bitter, intimate things that life can feel.

Each day the sea devours a goodly ship . Close to the shore there hides a reef to rip

Her copper- sheathed flanks and iron keel .

200 té $é t i $i t t tfi dz tiiétiiéfl T H E P O R T A L

! How many have I launched , with what fair names

fla me s With silken streamers coloured like the , Never to cleave the harbour sun ’ s reflex

Ah, what dear passengers , what faces sweet,

Desires with heaving breasts, hopes , visions fleet, O my heart ’ s children swarming to the decks !

The sea hath shrouded them with glaucous taint

The red of rose, the alabaster faint,

The star, the flower, lie floating in the wrecks .

a Fe rful and masterful, the hurtling tide Dashes from drifting S par to dolphin side

My stark and drowned dreams that sink and part.

t - For these inglorious ravellers distant bound ,

Pale seekers of Americas unfound ,

m Art Curve into hollow caverns , O ine

Then rise in towers and cupolas of fire,

Press upward in a bold cathedral spire, And fix your peak in heaven ’ s open heart

20 1 itit i t t firt t ifi skéé zbzbdz zké téé S E L E C T E D P O E M S

Ye little birds of love and fantasy, S ’ onnets , white doves of heaven s poetry ,

Light softly on my gables argentine .

s i And swallow , Apr l messengers that pass,

a Beat not your tender wings ag inst the glass,

My marbles have their rifts where you may win .

i My virgin sa nt shall hide you in her robe ,

For you the emperor shall let fall his globe,

The lotus heart spread wide to nest you i n .

’ It v e n reared mine azure arch, mi e organ grand , ’ i I ve carved my p llars, placed with loving hand In each recess a saint of m a rtydom

’ El ius I ve begged a chalice of yg , spice And frankincense for holy sacrifice

Of Kaspar, and have drawn the sweet therefrom.

The people kneel at prayer. The radiant priest

In orphreyed chasuble prepares the Feast . ! The church is builded , Lord Then wilt Thou come

202 tii akdc zb drdrt t ftdz dnbzbézbézké drfl S E L E C T E D P O E M S

A K I N G ’ S S O L I T U D E

E NCL O I STE RE D I live in a tenebrous place

a nd At the depth of my soul, with no love no friend ,

a Alone like a god , with no equ l to face,

Save mine ancestors sleeping their sleep without end . For grandeur is solitude ! All the long day A changeless , an indolent idol I stand ; S uperhuman and cold in my castle I stay,

. The purple upon me, the world in my hand

Crown of thorns like to Christ ’ s they have set on my

hair.

U bow nder weight of my terrible splendour I ,

the And sharp, golden rays of the nimbus I wear ;

Bright drops of blood - royal I bear on my brow.

Heraldical vultures come tearing my side . Prometheus chaine d to his mountain and cast

To the tempest of heaven , the wrath of the tide,

Was only a king to his glory made fast .

Throned high on my mystic Olympus, I note

fla tte re rs But the voices of flocking in line, Sole cadences counted as worthy to float

. Unto summit so lofty , so distant , as mine

204 ti t t i t i i t fiifi éfiié iéié éié A K I N G ’ S S O L I T U D E

I f wild with oppression my people upswarm ,

And rattle their irons and moan in their fear, ” “ S S . leep, ire, they tell me, it is but the storm

The thunder shall slacken , the sky shall be clear.

’ v e . I power all things, and pleasure for none

Ah, wou might know one deep wish in my heart, f f Feel li e in its warmth lood my bosom of stone, S ! hare one true delight , in one feast have a part

But lonely the sun in its circle must go .

High peaks are the coldest, and never a spring, And never a summer can soften the snow

On h ofS r a eight ie ra, in he rt of a

205 u s e u u mu s s s s s a u u u S E L E C T E D P O E M S

T H E L A U R E L I N T H E G E N E R A L I F E G A R D E N

I N Ge ne ra l ife the a lovely laurel ,

Gay as victory and glad as love,

a l Bathes its boughs in fountain mists auror ,

Hides a pearl within each bloom of coral .

And the green earth smiles to heaven abo ve .

Like a blushing girl elate and slender,

Tint of fl esh it taketh with the spring ;

S Like an odalisk in her nude plendour,

Waiting by the water, flushed and tender,

Ready for her fair apparelling .

Beauteous laurel ! Many a mystic hour

Have I rested me beside its form , Sealed my lips upon its precious flower — Sweet red mouth and , thrilling to its power,

Felt it give me back my kisses warm .

206 tiii é: i fi' t i zb fi'éré akde idc éééde ééé S E L E C T E D P O E M S

T H E T U L I P

’ A M a . I the tulip , Holl nd s choicest flower The thrifty Fleming such my loveliness Pays for my perfe ct bulb a price no less

Than dia mond . Lordly linea ge is my dower. Like to a proud Yolande in her young hour

ss Of pomp and kirtle bright, upon my dre

s Of dewy crimson crossed with silver fes ,

I bea r the painted blazon of my power.

The garde ner divine with fingers deft

Spun golden beams of iridescent noon ,

f i u And liquid depths of purple ash oned p ,

To make for me a robe of royal weft . Peerless I stand yet grieve that Nature boon Poured never perfume in my shining c u p !

208 tit t i i é t t i ifi éiéitiékifi T O U C H N O T T H E M A R B L E

O U C H N O T T H E MA R B L E

Tall and still,

e e t And he forg tt th tha her form is chill,

T fsc na te a nd hat her white glances a i kill,

Bound fast before her fair divinity .

” “ m t ? I mor al one, a woman , then , art thou

A fiery touch is o n the marble wa n;

thunder shakes the skies ,

knoweth all- indulgent Venus ho w

’ A god s desire ma y flame the heart of man !

209

ik éfi t é é é é ééfi éiiéééééééé U S S I ALB E RT S , O R T H E O U L AN D N

II

Comfort a nd far niente ! A world of poetic calm and satisfaction tha t wellnigh might the fancy excite

r coloured pipe , and a stoup with painted flowers ado ned , a tankard huge enough four pints to hold , such as

’ B ra we r s . topers grasp And at night , close by the

to stove with hissing , crackling logs , amid a cloud of bacco smoke , hands on stomach folded , vague thoughts idly to pursue, to doze or digest , to sing some old refrain , to drink a health , within one of those warm interiors which O sta de knows so well how to light up with soft luminousness .

III

So u m that even you , poet and painter, wo ld co e

’ to forget that fairy land of which Goethe s Mignon, l of cold abhorrent , remembering, oft to her Wi helm

— r e speaks, the land of sunshine where the citron ip ns, whe re the jessamine ever freshly blows ; to ma ke you

’ u r forget Naples for Amsterdam s sake , Cla de Lo rain

n e for for Berghem ; to make you willing to excha g ,

- m n t these mossy green walls between which Re bra d ,

2 1 6 tii t t i zkétzkskabéskskdz éu kdz dz zkt tfi S E L E C T E D P O E M S

i s n s w th in the dun darkne s , bri gs gleaming forth Fau t

e of n t in dr ss olde days, the fair marble palaces wi h

- their white colonnades , the dark hued women , the

‘ o s a ir ! langour us serenade , and all the azure Venetian

IV

Of yore within this town , so tradition tells, there

. dwelt a woman wicked , Veronica by name Feared

wa s she by one and all , and it was whispered low that

e round her home had murmurs strange b en heard arise, and that angels of evil there in darksome night their

— s pleasure took . The ounds were nameless sounds , till then unheard by human ears , like unto the voice i of dead with n the tomb , by magic spell from sleep awaked ; faint plaints from underground arising ; distant

r n rumours, songs , cries, tea s , the clank of chai s , and terrifying howls .

V m One stormy day, indeed , had da e Gertrude with her own eyes seen emerge from out a cloud a black

- o fiend on lightning bolt astride, who sh t across the

- blood red sky, and within the chimney , whence sudden

s o o ro e vap urs bluish , dash down head first with hide us

2 1 7 tiii t i é i iiiiidxiéiktédxi“ S A LB E RT US, O R T H E O U L AN D SI N

E yell . The barn of Justus van yck, the farmer, broke in l into flames, that none might quench , and its fal , an avalanche of fire, crushed to death four of the workers . And people worthy of belief do declare that

Veronica stood there, laughing sardonic laughter and muttering sarcastic words .

VI

f i r f i The wi e of Cornel us, the b ewer, be ore her t me

’ did bring into the world a child a ll covered o er with

u a loathsome hair, and of gliness such that gl dly would

’ the father have seen it dead . T was said tha t o n the

a wom n brought to bed , and since that day sick con tinu ousl s y and in her bed lying, Veronica, by ome — foul, mysterious means , had cast an evil spell . And

a truth to tell , her grim and tre cherous mien more than justified these reports . Her eyes were green, her

r mouth a cave, black her teeth , wrinkled her b ow, her

fingers knotty , bowed her back, her foot misshapen and her legs yet worse, harsh her voice , and her soul more repulsive even than her frame. The Devil himself more hide ous could not be.

2 1 8 tifi i t t t t t ftfi iiidz iéié t“ A E U TH E LB RT S, O R SOU L AN D SI N himself dared to pass in front of the sinister den without shudder and pallor of fear.

IX

The interior worthy was of the ext e rior wa s o ne th e a pandemonium , wherein on and same row were jumbled together innumerable fantastic

. r i n articles There we e lean bats w th wings diapha ous , clinging to the walls with their four slight cla ws ;

n- s broke necked bottles , cracked earthen di hes, croco

ff t s diles , serpents stu ed , rare plants, alembics, wi ted

m i o i into shapes of the strangest , old anuscr pts pen ly ng

- r fmti off d upon limping chairs , ill prese ved en ing the nose from a mile away ; their yellow, blue faces plastered against the glass of the jar.

X

’ It was a downright w itches sabba th of colo urs a nd forms, amid which the paunchy jar, with its huge

- the - e c e sides, loomed like a river horse, and long n k d vial seemed to be an Egyptian ibis perched upon the edge of the sarcophagus o f some Pha raoh or long- dea d

’ Magi king . It was a v ision like unto a madman s

re r b re d ams, or w ought in brain y opium, in which

2 20 ti t t i t i i t i tfl ifi ié t fi t fl S E L E C T E D P O E M S c e iv e rs um - d , matrasses, syphons, and p ps, long rawn

i lu st i t m the l ke a phal s or twi ed l ke rumps, assu ed ap peara nce of elepha nt and rhinoceros ; in which the mn u i o sters traced aro nd the zodiac , bear ng on their

e r S n t s n . brows th i name in yria , toge her bolero da ced

XI

A dusty heaping up of apparatus strange, of which f the eye the ba fling contours could trace, and of old

l m i ris ia n o u . vo u es , w th not one title in the Ch t t ng es

me m A dley , a chaos in which everything gri aced, was f m wi i de or ed, t sted, changed its shape ; a m rror reversed, in a which nought could be known , for all was tr ns

— c a nd posed red turned dun , white bla k became , bla ck to blue did turn . Never under an alcove did S marra more hideous phantoms crowd : it was the

the mo realising of fantastic tales, living e b diment of

n ff e la visio s queer, Ho mann at once and Rab is .

XII m To ake the picture complete , from the edge of i n shelves there grinned wh te ed skulls , with polished

ro w lo e a u a ose s a nd t wc ke ts c ns, ng t eth, tri ng l r n , emp y which se eme d to gla re with hungry look . A skele ton

22 1 it it f t t i t itfi ifiéifiétiitki L A N D A LB E RTUS, O R T H E SO U SI N u il pright, its arms hanging limp, cast, as w led the light that streamed through the network of its ribs scarce deserted by the inhabitants of the grave — its

’ shadow in straight lines upon the wall . Had Satan s

r - self ente ed there, heretic though he be , such ice cold

l li a terror upon him would have fal en that, ke good

’ e s . Catholic, he d have cross d him elf

XIII

’ Yet to an a rtist a hell like this is a pa ra dise . T m

w a nd a thence Teniers his Alchemist dre , C llot

’ ’ many a motive for his Temptation . T wa s thence Goethe got a ll that scene in which Mephistopheles

’ a his leads Faust , e ger youth to renew, to the witch s

l . i s u t den the potion to swa low The llu trio s barone ,

Sir S Cle ishbotha m f Walter cott himself (Jedediah ), ound in it more than one theme . The chara cter he re “ peats constantly , Meg , in Guy Mannering, is as like as two pe as to our Veronica . Al l he did wa s to take her and to conceal her dress .

XIV

The chequered tarta n pla id a nd the bonne t hide the f skirt a nd the coif. Scotland ha s taken the pla ce o

2 22 it ii t t i i t é t fl mfé ié é ié t thé E A N D A LB RTUS , O R T H E SOU L S I N

XVI

one For the matter of that, this worthy cat was the a nd only creature allowed within the den ; the sole and only one for whomVeronica felt any love . And it may be that he alone in all the world her did love ; for, id who e n eed , old, ugly , and poor as she was, lse would — have do ne so ? Those we h a te are wicked tha t is — excuse enough for us . It is night ; all is silence ; a

’ red light flickers and gleams on the hovel s pane .

- ir s The cat , curled up on the broken legged cha , watche l with serious , intel igent gaze , the old woman who moves abo ut and ha stes to prepa re some shm ful mystery . XVII

his ff a w u bin Or else, on whiskers sti his p r b g,

’ h the he smooths his coat , lustrous as ermine s, wit lp

i il e twe e n of his rough , harsh tongue, and feel ng ch l y , b

de r ta i the andirons , close to the logs , his head un his l, artistically himself curls u p . - Mea nwhil e the wind

u s l a nd th e r ou n s witho t til moans , with st ident s d of the storm the orfre y mingle s its screa ms . The roof creaks and groans the logs crackle sharp ; the flame s

a nd n o n swirl on high, withi the great caldr n, u der a

224 tiii t i t i t t itédxiiéiéééiii S E L E C T E D P O E M S f oam of flakes, dark, stinking water bubbles and boils ,

’ its sound accompanying the kettle a nd the feline s purr . XVIII

Midnight is the hour appointed for the evil deed .

Midnight now sounds . Forthwith the infamous Ver o nic a a circle on the floor draws with her wand , and in the centre stands . Outside the magic ring, phantoms innumerable, luminous dots against the hangings dark,

i . tremble, l ke motes a sunbeam in the shadow reveals — Meanwhile the hag her incantation mutters, utters

S fierce cries, peaks words the sound of which pains

c a r - the as sledge hammers wielded in a forge, and which scrape the throat like potions evil .

XIX

But this is not enough . To fulfil the mystery, she one by one her garments to the ground doth cast , and naked stands . A terrifying sight A whitened skeleton swaying in the wind , and which has grinned for six f months rom the gibbet at the crows, is a cheerful spectacle by comparison with this carcass with its in flaccid breasts , its yellow, sunken belly , wr kled with

a m “ l rge folds, its ar s red as lobsters . Horror ! hor

1 s 2 25 a s s e s s s s s s s s s tss s e u s u s O R TH E A N D S I N A LB ERTU S, SO U L ror ! horror as Shakes peare would say a n a meless l i thing , impossible to describe ; the very idea of n ghtmare grim . XX Within her palm the water dark she takes and thrice her bosom with it she doth anoint . Now , no human tongue can truly tell what then befell l — The flaccid

- breasts, that hung as hangs the skirt of well worn coat, miraculously swell and round become ; the cloud of tan is cleared away, and they might be an opal globe parted in twain , so fair the form and fair the tint . The blood courses in them in azure veins, life gleams in them so that evena maid of fifteen could scarce more blooming be. XXI

. o Her eyes she rubs , her whole face next R ses h bloom once more ; smallest wrinkles go, as vanis ripples when the bre eze doth fail ; her mouth with enamels gleams , and brilliant light, a fiery diamond ,

et within her eyes doth flash ; her hair is j , her frame no longer bowed she is beauteous now ; so fair that she would envy excite . Many a gallant swain his life i n ’ nd would per l merely to touch her fi gers tips, a no

2 26 s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s a s s s s s s s s S A LBE RTU , O R T H E SOU L AN D SI N

exile, and this desert of the world , in which felicity on nothingness is based . as on reality is woe .

XXIV

The lambent flame upsprings once more . Forth from the circle Veronica steps, a tunic white slips on , O U in and ver that a purple robe . pon her head, place

S he of the black cap wore erstwhile, an ermine hood she sets , and a mirror in her hand taking, looks long within and with pleasure smiles at the sight she

. in sees The moon just then, through a break the

a i . clouds, upon her c st her fond , chaste l ght The

t door open stood , so hat one might from without look i straight within ; and , haply, had any at th s time strayed along the road , he would have made sure he dreamed awake.

XXV

Veronica, with the tip of her wand , touches the cat, which gazes upon her with bright, treacherous glance,

. and rolls at her feet, its back curling Thrice she

S pins around , makes mystic signs, and whispers low , cabalistic words . Then is seen a sight that m a kes the blood run cold . In place of the cat , appears a hand

2 2 8 ti tt i i t t t i tiéfiiéézfiidz é iéi S E L E C T E D P O E M S

- f some youth, aquiline nose, orehead high , black mous

— a tache , youth such as maidens see in their dreams

. of love His mantle is red and his doublet of silk , his Toledo blade has a sparkling hilt , he undoubtedly is a sprightly lad . XXVI

“ ’ T is well , said Veronica, holding out her white hand to the young cavalier, who, hand on hip, in “ ” . E silence waited scort me, Don Juan . Juan ” . ? bowed Whither may I take you , madame —The lady bowed and whispered in his ear a syllable ” . . or two Don Juan understood Here, Leporello,

a i s d he in a loud , ringing voice . Her ladyship goes ” forth . Take a torch and light her on her way . l Instant y, torch in hand , Leporello appears . Bring ” u i . — p the carr age They enter it, the whip cracks, the

’ a c m re off. co h an swears , and they

XXVII Off , but which way That is a profound mystery .

- s It was pitch dark , and be ides, in so dark a place who ? the devil could have seen them No one, for all were asleep . The moo n had bound a cloud across its eyes of blue lest they indiscreet should prove . So the

2 29 t i t t i é i é é i t iéé ié itéfii t ti

A LB E RT US, O R T H E SOU L AN D SI N carriage reached the end of its way without any o ne suspecting whom it contained . Not a single sp lash of n mud defaced the pa els broad and blazoned the wheels , as if the stones had been covered with velvet and with

r silk, rolled on , silent , noiseless, through the fields st aight on , and so lightly that they made no mark , that they nowhere the wheat bowed down .

XXVIII

sc d For the nonce, the ene to Leyden is shifte .

ha That petticoated monkey, that g, hideous enough to

s make Beelzebub him elf turn on his heel, now young

r s and beautiful , incarnate poetry , treasure of g ace , makes the fashionable beauties and middle- class Venuses m of the place with jealousy wither, under their a ple

l s skirts, overladen with ga loons, and their lofty cap , full six feet high . E mpty are the rooms of La dy Barba ra

Von Alte nhorff; empty are the halls of the young

Countess Cecilia Wilmot ; there is no sign of a crush

’ at the Landgravine of Gotha s .

XXIX

Old s s s e Young and , lawy ers in du ty wig , dandie sh d

of ffi in ding around them the scent amber, o cers gay

23 0 t iri dc dnh i' dr zkdrirzb zh dnh sb sbzkzh cbdrdrét TH E A LBE RTUS , O R SOU L AN D SI N her to contradict . The shape of bonnets and the form of sleeves ; which was better, flowers or feathers white

which the right jewels , which the most becoming , especially the important matter whether one should

a l l rouge or not, she it was who decided . The lady of the Margrave Tie le ma nn Van Horn and the old Duke ’ s daughter in vain protested by their heretical dress ; scarce was there to be seen within their old fashioned rooms a broken- down admirer ancient .

XXXII

Young would have become cheerful . He ra c lite s the weeper, wiping his eyes, would have laughed louder than Democritus at the comical sight of the efforts made by the ladies of the place , short and stout Irises ,

. to dress as she did and to copy her grace Maidens , the slimmest of whom weighed three or four hundred , rubicund faces , with flowers , lots of ribbons and laces,

’ a in masses of flesh (after Rubens m nner), wearing

of i stead rich velvet and great pattern brocades, th n

fle e c e - ff. o tissues , gauze, like stu Ye g ds, what a masquerade

23 2 ti t t i i i k t itfl idz t itfiit i“ S E L E C T E D P O E M S

XXXIII

But as for our heroine, she was invariably charming,

“ whether adorned or not ; whether veiled or cloaked ; whether cape wearing or a hood . In short , in every way everything she had seemed endowed with life . The folds appeared to understand when they ought to flutter and when they ought to hang ; the in te ll ige nt silk hushed its chatter or kept it up to wa rble her praise ; the breeze blew just on purpose

flu t to make her fringes shimmer, and her feathers te re d i in l ke birds about to take to flight, while an visible hand her laces separated and played within their ma ze. XXXIV

Her hair was always well dressed . Whatever she w — a ore, mere trifle, the first thing she took, every

flo we r - bit of ribbon , every , fairylike seemed to be ; whatever touched her at once precious became ; ev e rything wa s in perfect taste and indicated quality .

Whatever her dress, grand , rich , or quaint, she alone

’ wa s notice d . Her eyes made the flash of diamond s self grow pale ; her teeth were fairer than pearls , and satin lost its gloss when near her skin. With her port

2 3 3 t iifi t i é fifié tétédz ifiééifiéié A N D A L B E RTUS , O R TH E SO U L SI N

so free, her teasing wit , her charm both coy and arch , m i she was in turns Ca argo, Manon Lescaut , Phil ne,

in short , a ravishing wretch

XXXV

il Hans, Aulic counsellor, and Master Ph ip for her sake their gin , their pipe renounced . It was positively l jolly to see these worthy F emings, so perfect of their r kind , stout , squat, their faces beaming, actually fo get

a ful of their tulips, blooming at l st , transform them selves into dandies and posture round the diva . Wives e and mothers certes did not spare her bitter r marks,

r but serenely she kept on her way, none of her adore s losing, and , caring little for the empty talk , welcomed every one, and accepted the homage and the cash of each . XXXVI

. O n Two months have passed this day , like a

to queen , Veronica a headache boasts or pretends have . Her door is closed . Her courtiers in numbers great are vainly waiting . Within a rich boudoir in

a stile s which amber p sweet perfume shed , and where every footfall upon the handsome Turkish rugs is noiseless as on sward , in which a silver lamp and the

2 4 3

tt fi i t i k t i i t iifii i i ié ié iti O A N D A LB E RT US, O R T H E S U L SI N stouter frame ? Has a dress she expected a nd on which she reckoned to take away the Count from

— e Lady Wilmot , has that dress been torn or crush d ? ? on its way Is it her dog that has sickened Or, f a ter three nights at the dance , has fever paled the pure carmine of her lovely lips

XXXIX

i Is her glance less bright, her neck less fa r, the form ? of her Greek face less pure Has some rival , in

u greater youth or diamonds richer rejoicing, t rned ? more heads at the last assembly Nay , still , as ever, the queen of the feast she is . All at her knees do fall . But yesterday one of her lovers , filled with empty despair on finding her unfaithful , within the Rhine himself did headlong cast . This very mo mfor her

’ sake did Ludwig Von Sie ge ndorfi a duel fight ; his

’ adversary s dead ; himself is wounded . Surely this is a great success ; all Leyden is talking about it now . ? Why , then , her gloomy brow

XL

Why do her brows tremble and bend ? W hy do h her long, black lashes , as , half closed, between t em

23 6 tarantu la i i i é i ifi étiiiiiiitt S E L E C T E D P O E M S

now i tears slip, flutter and cast upon the sat ny skin a brown aureole, a velvety shade such as Lawrence paints ? Why do her troubled breasts within their

a l g uze press and under the thin nets rise and fa l, l ike snow when blows the storm ? What strange thought imparts so dreamy an air to her lightsome face ? Is it the remembrance of her first love and the voice of infancy ? Is it regret that she has lost

fa i ? her r innocence , or of the future is it dread

XLI

Nay , it is not that . Too thoroughly corrupt is she not to forget, and broken is the chain that her past to he r e . I i present link d Besides, do not bel eve there be in a ny recess of her soul a single one of those remem

’ ’ bra nc e s in r n a which eve y woma s heart , howe er depr ved

o she may be, are left of better days, and remain sp t

’ less within the memory s depths like pearls within the

. She waters black is but a coquette, she has never

v . lo ed A ball , a supper, a party, an entertainment to — be given, pleasure , these are the things that take her out of herself and prevent her hearing the voice of her oppressed heart .

23 7 TH E A LB E RT US , O R SO U L AN D SI N

XLII

Here is the trouble . The night before at the pla y ’ “ was given Moz a rt s Don Juan . S urrounded by her

n a i - lightsome crowd of da dies young, dr w ng room butterflies whose wings by some Leyden tailor have

— wa s s s a ll been made, Veronica pre ent, the cyno ure of

i a nd . eyes , coquetting with n her box radiant to behold All women else under their rouge with rage turned i pale, their lips did bite, but she, sure to please , l ke a peacock its tail spreading, her fan opened out , chatted ,

s o ff laughed aloud, let fall her glas , her glove took , her s i cent bottle passed , or made its r ch enamel flash and gleam . XLIII

the o o t ma in In vain act rs wr ugh with might and , spun out their finest notes . They made no gain .

Leporello step by step behind Don Juan wa lke d in. vain ; in vain the Com mander thundered with his

! n a nd boots , erli a warbled playing with the notes, i Donna Anna wept . The y might have kept t up for a livelong year without any taking note. The sta l ls

l k but were inattentive . They ta ked , they loo ed, looked

- l l another way . Through the gold mounted glasses a

2 3 8 t it fi i i i wfifi fiwiéié fifié ii t éfi S I N ALB E RTUS , OR TH E SO U L AN D

some hare aimed ; or killed by falling slate, or taken o ff . by fever, as he to his home returns

XLVI

She who, till then , like the salamander cold amid

a the flames, scarce deigned to give a p ssing caprice in return for passion , and made it her delight for such ’ — is woman s pleasure, hearts to torture and souls to damn ; she who pitiless trifle d with love as a cruel

trifle s fa r child with its plaything , forgetting it and

s — a s away casting it so soon as it wearie , she now w suffering the pains that yesterday she caused . She

now made men love her, and she loved , and she

’ who captured at last in her snare wa s caught . Her haughty heart at last was bowed .

XLVII

That is just the way of life, of fate. When on the fatal dial strikes the hour, none may his end for

off. a day put No matter how virtuous , whether one

flee or stay , all must yield to that power, infernal

’ . Two - or celestial things unavoidable are, one s

. a ! fate and love Love, the joy and scourge of e rth

rms. sweet pain sorrow one regrets, and so full of cha

240 itit t i ii t t tfi irdz étitéé tét S E L E C T E D P O E M S

ill a ll Laughter and tears ; pallid , lovely care ; , that

! l a n seek A paradise , a hel ; a dre m , in heaven begu , ! on earth prolonged ; an enchantment mysterious

XLVIII

! s Oh, voluptuousness intense Plea ure which , may

’ a ! hap, of man God s equal m kes Who would not w kno you , if yet unknown , moments delicious and yet so short, that are a whole life worth, and which the ange l that envies them would gladly pay for with an i eternity of happiness in heaven . Oh , sea of fel city,

a t r vishment, ecstasy, of which no words on ear h can ! convey the bliss , whether in prose or eke in verse

r ! s Oh , hou s of trysting Oh, ye glorious sleeple s

s S S r night , delirious sobs intoxicate ighs, trange wo ds, lost in a caress Kisses ma d a nd wild desires !

XLIX n Love, thou art the only sin worth while incurri g hell for ! In vain in his sermons the priest condemns

- thee . In vain within her arm chair, spectacles on

s t no e, the mother to her daughter as a mons er paints thee . In vain does jealous Orgon his door close and ll to his windows bars doth place . In vain, in sti

1 6 241 tit wfi i é fi t fit ééiiééiiéé tté

A LB ERTUS, O R TH E SO U L AN D S I N

born tomes , do moralists endlessly cry out against thee .

In vain coquettes thy power flout . When thou art named , the novice herself doth cross . Young or

- E old , handsome or ugly , rosy faced or pale, nglish or

s French , pagan or Christian , every one loves at lea t once in life . L

’t As for me, was last year the frenzy of love fell

’ upon me. Good- bye then to poetry . I d not time enough to use it to compass words . Four months and a half not another thing I did save worship my idol, adore her, wonder at her glorious hair, ebony waves in which my hands loved to lose themselves ; listen to her breathing, watch her live, and smile when i she sm led to me , drink deeper intoxication from the i sight ; read her nascent des res within her eyes , on her sleeping face note her dreams, and from her rosy lips sip her breath within a kiss .

LI

But for that the world would have had this po em in eighteen nine and twenty ; nay , earlier yet ; but, as

I have said , I had not leisure to string words upon a verse like pearls upon a string . With her I wa s t i t t i é é é i firwfi éiééééti iitk S ALB E RTU , O R T H E SO U L AND SI N brought her back uttering dreadful sh rieks . Then

’ she d hide her head upon my breast , quite pale, trem bling when the b ranches in the Wind did move . Her beauteous breasts with the beating of her heart tremble d and fluttered like two little turtle- doves caught in their l nest , and which flutter their wings ightly in the hands of the fowler. LIV

i n Wh le reassuri g her, with practised hand the mon

’ now d ster I would seize, and , her fear gone, she turn to laughter again , and , nestling on me anew, laugh at “ ho w I herself and kiss me as she said , Ye heavens, ! ” love him Then when I kissed her back, dreamy she leaned her head upon my shoulder and closed her eyes, as if to sleep away . The long beam of light pressing through the leaves gilded her lovely brow .

- The nightingale sang its pearly trills, and the scent per fumed breeze softly bre athed under the arches green . LV

w e Never a word spake and sad we both did seem , a nd e t if y anywhere on earth happiness doth exist, we twain most happy were . But what could speech have served ? On ruddy lips the words we staye d ; the

244 ti t t i t i t t t tfi tiiéttié é“ S E L E C T E D P O E M S

t . h a d n houghts we knew We but one mi d, but one

u in so l for the pair of us, and , as it were, Paradise in

’ a n t r e one o he s embrace locked , we could not dr am

h a t . ot er he ven han ours might be Our veins, our he arts in harmony pulsed ; in the ravishment of ecstasy profound the very world wa s well forgot ; not before ou r e yes did horizon sprea d .

LVI

’ Gone is al l that happiness . Who d ha ve believ e d

’ ? Ea t n t th e it ch to the other now a s ra ger is , for is wa E a a y of men, whose ver is never gre ter th n a six

’ mon s a n? n th sp Our love has fl own, Heaven k ows w it er. M s a te r a s h h y godde s , like p inted but fly th t flie a nd la v es but bloo m ofre d and white upon the finger ti a v hm n u ps, her flight has taken , le ing in my a ght hu t mistrust of the present a nd bitter reme mbrance of the pa st. But wha t of that Love is a strange thing .

In h s e se t t o e bygone days I lov d , and now I my loves so fiir in wretched verse .

LVII

u a e t s Th s, gentle re d r, is my whole s ory told mo t fa it f l a s ill - t h u ly to you , so far my memory (an kep

24 5 it i fi fi i i wzh zh wiédnh bdz zh t shé é ét

A LB E RTUS, O R TH E SO UL AN D SI N register) can recall to my thoughts trifle s that mean so much , for they make up love , and by and by we laugh — at them . Forgive this pause . The bubble I took i pleasure in blowing and wh ch floated in the air, gor e ou s g with prismatic fires , has suddenly faded out into mere drop of water, bursting when it touched the gable

’ . E roof s angle ven so, when it met reality , my glorious dream was spent , and now for mother only have I love .

All othe r affection in me has died out .

LVIII

E c t x ept love for thee, O Poesy , hat speakest ever

! - l loud in chosen souls Poesy O golden ha oed angel, who, passing from one world to another without fear of soiling thy white form by contact with ours for a moment , within the gloom of our night thy fl ight

whis e re st dost stay ; p words to us , and with the tip of

’ thy wing driest our bitter tears . And thou , Poesy s twin sister, Painting, God rivalling, and His equal,

re sublime deception , wondrous imposture , that life store st dou bl e st and nature , to you twain I do not bid farewell . te s s s s s s s e e fi s s s és u e e u

A L BE RTUS, O R TH E SO U L AN D SI N

LXI

Strange the effect of this combination . It was like

’ a demon under angel s tread writhing ; hell under

. heaven opened Though he had glorious eyes, long ebony brows towards the temples fining, over the skin

s gliding as a serpent crawl , a fringe of fluttering silken a l - l a l shes, yet his ion like glance and the fata flash th t shot at times from his eyes made one shudder and

. turn pale in spite of all The boldest look must, per

be force, cast down before that Medusa glance which could change to stone, though gentle he strove to make it seem . LXII

On his stern lip, shadowed at each end with a slight

e mustache, elegantly waxed , a m chanical smile at times re ste d but , , in general, his expression deepest disdain did plain betray . In vain the fair, having again in society

a ll do met him , did that in such case coquette may to

. a draw him to her feet To her am zement , nothing could touch his adamantine heart . Glances from be

i - hind her fan , s ghs , simperings, half spoken avowals ,

— . teasing arch , all failed , and utterly

248 u s e a- t i i t t éfi iéiéétdz iflhé* S E L E C T E D P O E M S

LXIII

He was not the ma n to let himself he caught in the nets Veronica tried to set for him . A great eagle scarce sacrifices a feather to the lime which a sparrow holds . The foolish fly is caught by the wing within in the web the spider spins corner dark, but the wasp the whole with her bears away , and Gulliver, with

’ e ffo rt Liliutia ns single , breaks the p silken chains . Yet

fine i so a prey was well worth troubl ng for, so , if she ” did not plainly speak the words , I love you , she tried every art . But he, unchanging still, on her bestowed no thought . LXIV This was the reason why her door to comers all was

lo c sed . For, indeed , what cared her anxious heart for

r r s l her cou tier t ain The e handsome fel ows, these dan

s i die , who before now delighted her, seemed at th s

ff r a time a ected or vulgar, their perfumed mad igals we ried her . Noise and light to her brought pain ; all things troubled and annoyed her. On her dainty hand she rests her brow ; her dimpled arm upon her chair hangs limp . ~ Poor girl ! just see the pallor of her cheeks !

24 9 itit t i i t t i éfi édeé idz drdnkithw

A LBE RT US, O R T H E SO U L AN D SI N Grief her roses to pearls has changed within her eyes the tears begin to well .

‘ LXV

The paper which the fair, with anguished mien,

- u n u e s with rosy nailed fingers crushes and crumples, q tiona bl - y a love letter is on azure vellum, which through the room sheds sweet and fashionable scent of amber .

I know all about it . Yet the handwriting and the turn of phrase have something about them that tell of

. woman Is it , then , a note intercepted from a rival, or does the lady on her own account to some young beau now write The latter fact seems proved by the black n b spot upon the white fi ger tip , by the inkstand, and y

’ the raven s quill .

LXVI

S - uddenly, bird like looking up , and throwing back a curl astray, her indolent pose she leaves, and begins ,

wa x before calling for light and to seal her note , to

l ow read again quite , as if afraid the echo might under “ I ’ ” stand will not send it . I ve written it ill , she “ says , the paper tearing . Low is her voice . It is only

fit within the fire to go . It was very cold, the flames

2 50 s e e s s e e e t a s fi e e e e a s e e e e e S A LB E RT US, O R TH E SO U L AN D I N

believe that he would have said Raphael . For, of these

e in m a three sisters qual merit, at botto p inting was his favorite and his truest talent .

LXIX

He considered the world an infamous pot- house . What he believed about woman and man was what

t v Hamle thought , he would not have gi en a copper for the pair. Womankind delighted him not, save in

s painting, and having ince birth inquired the why and

s e wherefore, he was pes imistic as the old st of men might be ; consequently , more generally sad than other wise . Love was but an empty word to him ; although quite young, still , for long years past, of belief in it he had still none . Thus within his days move d many hours of weariness .

LXX

All . e a the same, his ills he patient bore Gr t knowl edge a very grea t scourge is sure to be ; a child into an old man it makes . At the very outset of life, novice

a though one be, there is nothing new in wh t one feels when the cause appears the effect is al ready known ; existence is burdensome ; all is savourless . To the

252 e s t a t e e e e e s fi e e e e e e e e s u S E L E C T E D P O E M S

’ sick man s pa late pimento tasteless is ; the much- tried nostrils scarce can ether smell : love becomes a mere spasm glory an empty phrase ; like a squeezed lemon arid the heart becomes . Behind Werther Don Juan

LXXI

Ev e s Our hero, like his ancestre s, had , by the ser

a . pent urged , t sted the bitter fruit A god he desired to be . When naked he beheld himself and possessed in f ull of knowledge human , he longed for death , but his

r cou age failed him, and as one tires of treading the

- ne w well known path , he sought a road to discover . ? Now, did he find the world of his dreams I doubt it , for in the search his passions he had outworn . He had lifted up the veil and glanced behind . At twenty he

oflin might have been laid in his c dark, of all illusions be reft . LXXII

Woe ! Woe ! unto him who the fathomless ocean of man ’ s heart imprudently seeks to sound ! Too oft

s the ounding lead , instead of golden sand and pearly s l hel s that lovely shine, brings up but foul and stinking

' s I mud . - If I could live another life again , certe

253 u s ms s s e s e s s e s s s e e e e u e T TH E A LB ER US , O R SO U L AN D S I N should not within it all search out as hitherto I have done . What matters after all , whether the cause be ff ? sad , if the e ect produced be sweet Let us be merry ; let us outwardly be ha ppy . A handsome mask is bet

. ter than an ugly face Then why, poor fools, do we snatch it off LXXIII If he had been the arbiter of his fate you may be sure that many a chapter of life’ s novel he would have skipped , and passed at once to the conclusion of this most foolish tale. But uncertain whether he ought to

’ doubt, deny , believe, or seek in death the riddle s

- answer, like down wind driven he let his life drift on as chance itself did will . The affairs of the w orld troubled him but little : the things of heaven interested

we nt I him still less . As far as his soul , must tell you , even at the risk of your blame incurring, that he did

’ not believe in its existence any more than in God s .

LXXIV — That was the way he was made a nature strange

— . and yet his soul, which he disbelieved in , was pure

What he sought was nothingness ; nothing would he have gained if hell had been suppressed . A strange

2 54 tr e s s e s s t e s s s s s e e e e s s s u E U A LB RT S, O R TH E SO U L AN D SI N

a universe apart , in no wise resembling the world we live in ; a fantastic world in which everything to the eyes doth spe ak ; everything is poetic ; in which modern art shines by the side of that of old . Beautiful

ti : things of every me and every land a sample page, from the book out torn ; weapons , furniture, drawings, b casts, mar les , pictures , Giotto, Cimabue, Ghirlandajo ,

’ n He mske rk s and I k ow not whom ; Reynolds by side,

’ Corre io s Watteau by gg , and Perugino between the Van

Loo s twain . LXXVII

Lacquered ware and vases of Japan , monsters and i porcela n ware, pagodas golden with little bells all hung, glorious Chinese fans it would take too long to describe ;

S v panish knives , Malay creeses , with wa y blades ; kha nd a rs - j , yataghans with rich wrought sheaths ; lin

o a r u e bu sse s st ck q , matchlocks, blunderbusses ; helms

- and corslets , battle maces , bassinets , damaged , in holes, rusted, stained ; innumerable objects , good for nothing , but glorious to behold ; Oriental caftans, doublets

a e : medi val ; rebecs and psalteries, instruments outworn a den , a museum , and a boudoir in one

256 tiit' i t i t t fl fi fl éééttt ifl S E L E C T E D P O E M S

LXXVIII

l n Around the wa ls many canvases hanging, u touched for the most part , others just begun a chaos of colours

l . — r t but ha f alive Leonora on ho seback, Macbe h and ’ i the witches, Lara s ch ldren , Marguerite at prayer ; h m sketches of portraits , among whic one fra ed , of

ir ro a young g l, light on a dark backg und, stands out

” a nd spa rkles ; so fair that one knows not by wha t na me

a ra f to c ll it , whether peri, fairy , or sylph, a g ce ul , delicate being ; an angel from heaven whose wings ha ve bee n clipped to prevent its flying awa y .

LXXIX

' it he r ea u ifu e a he r thou hfiul re s ne W h b t l h d and g , ig d

s e Ma te r Dd f Mw e ni look, she e med to be a , a ter o, ye t it wa s only the po rtra it of a forme r mimess the

ba t st e Ve na ia n who in he r one he and mo lov d ; a , , gondola one night on sh e Ca na le io ha d: be e n M hod ‘ to

’ a t . The e a u hu slnnd nowin he r nfa fu de h b ty s , k g u ith l,

- d n r ha pla ned the dee d . The storywa s a regu la r ro mme e .

da d a w ne w the - a c k ta t? Albertus to the had dr n , bl s

l a w a ke t e the rt a c h : he nish e pu led y, s ch d po r it, whi fi d

f oke . from memory, and then never again a ter of her sp

2S 7 e s s s s e e e e e e u s e s u e e e s u A N D A LB ERTUS , O R T H E SO U L SI N

LXXX

Only when his eyes fell upon the canvas, concealed ff from indi erent glances by a curtain thick, a furtive

. tear, forthwith dried up, gleamed in them A sigh from

’ a his be out his bre st softly rose, brows bent, but ne er a word did say . At Venice an Englishman dared make an offer ; he would have emptied his purse the master piece to own , but that would have been to profane ' — z l Sa nta Ritra tto and as he persisted and offered yet more wealth , Albertus raging sought to drown the man below the Rialto. LXXXI

Albertus was painting . It was a landscape . Salva tor would have named it Se lv e se lv a gge . Rocks in the foreground , in the middle distance the towers of a castle showing their sharp vanes against a blood- red sky filled with islands of clouds . The mighty oaks were bending

the like lightest trees , leaves up in the air did whirl , the faded grass , like the rolling billows of a midnight sea, under its gusts did rise and fall ; while incessant lightning with its red light lit up the tops of the blown

’ pines , bending o er the depths as over the mouth of hell .

258 u s e u u u tu u u e u u s e U O R TH E O AN D S I N A LB E RT S , S U L

“ ” appeared and said : What doth my lord will ? ” Quick, bring here to me my cloak and hat .

LXXXIV

In less time than it takes to tell, the man was back .

’ In a moment the young cavalier s toilet was done, and the valet having brought a mirror, he smiled , and with himself seemed well content . But suddenly , his com

. plexion , always pale, a paler white did turn Whether he saw it or merely fancied it he ’d seen within the f ’ rame the Venetian lady s head move , and her mute lips “ ? ” ope as if she sought to speak . Well , my lord

. said Don Juan Dear one, the painter said, the “ portrait kissing with a sad , soft smile , it is too late ” to draw back now.

LXXXV

The pair went out . Deserted was the town . Scarce here and there some open window . The rain with

' swift- falling drops the dark sky rayed ; the north wind made every vane shriek and scream as in heavy weather

t0 e r scream the gulls . A belated p went by, pitching up against the walls ; a street girl at her corner waited .

n. S Albertus , silent and gloomy , followed Jua urely he

26o tt t flrt t t k‘ t i i’ fi ééé éit tt t fl S E L E C T E D P O E M S had neither the mien nor the gait of a lover ; a thief to

l ed the gibbet , or schoolboy on his way to punishment , never stepped more slow than he .

LXXXVI

i a dv e n He m ght to his place have returned , but the ture after a ll wa s rea lly strange and such as ardently to pique his c uriosity ; so our hero meant to see the end .

The house was reached . Don Juan seized the brazen knocker of the postern door and knocked a master’ s W knock . Black eyes, hite brows , gleamed behind the

a . p nes The house was illumined , and light flashed upon the darkened walls ; from landing to landing the m light ca e down ; the bronze door oped , and the

’ S plendid , vast interior to the young cavalier s gaze was re v u l ed . LXXXVII

A t lit le negro boy, a torch of perfumed wax holding, under the porch was standing, in rich and gallant livery

. of scarlet trimmed with gold Here , said Juan , ” fair page, lead his lordship by the secret passage .

Albe rtus followed . At the end o f the corridor a cur tain rich half drawn back behind him closed . Scenting his a t appro ch , two great white greyhounds on the carpe

26 1 tit t i t i é ab tb éfl iizh kitkiitii U S O U L A N D A LBE RT S , O R TH E S I N

ff lying, snu ed the air, raised their long heads, uttered low and anxious whimper, and then fell back a nd dozed . LXXXVIII

U pon my word , it looked like the room of a duchess .

E f it — r verything was to be ound in , comfo t, elegance, and wealth . On a handsome Citron - wood table shone a n alabaster lamp that cast around a soft and bluish

. light Pearls , silks, a casket with steel knobs, rich

- sepias, bright water colours, albums , screens delicately wrought ; the latest review, the most recent novel, a bla ck mask broken ; innumerable fashionable trifle s cast pell- mell were S trewn upon cha irs and tables in attractive disorder.

LXXXIX

a a n Our in morata, half seated , half lying upon a div

tu s soft , uttered , as if surprised , a little cry when Alber

ff out entered ; then , her glance the mirror gaining , pu ed her sleeve and rearranged a disorderly ribbon . Never

She a had the signora been better dressed . was ador ble, just fit to make recruits for the devil as fit a s socie ty

a s lady , nay, more . Her bl ck and brilliant eye showed

2 6 2

fi tt i ii i tt ffi éfl éiéfi m T A LB ER US, OR T H E SOU L AN D SI N

el o t ine ttle a t e t a n d y l w wi h age, a w bo d l a s hun re d

r a o . yea s g , or two

XCII

Within the ta nkards it gl owe d like gold . A single gla ss woul d ha ve sufi c e d a ma n to daz e ; with the second Albert us quite tipsy was . To his fa scinated

l n e a ll di i c ontou rle ss g a c things d double show, float ng in ou dim the o l vap r ; fl or uprose, the wa ls appeared

n. the a ll h to spi As for beauty , shame be ind her cast

a nd t u ing , let ing her l st a free ha nd have, with her

the passionate arms she c lasped him round neck, clung

his a nd l his to body in heat madness, c utched at head a nd trie d to make himbend until her lips he me t.

XCIII

Albe rtus was ne ither ofice no r stone and e ven had

e n e r the a the d ne he b en , u d d rk eyelids of la y sho a sun whose fire would stone have v iv ifie d and me lted

n n e a his la e ice . A a g l, a son of he ven, to be in p c would have sold his stall in the paradise of God .

' ” “ n it the a n e Oh l said he, my heart bur s w h str g

’ a s l iv flame that in your glance fl she , and my sou I d g e

ou ne l r . A i to possess y alo , who ly and fo ever s ngle

264 s e mm M i ttt s e t tm S E L E C T E D P O E M S wo u n t rd of yo r lips would make me re ounce life e ernal , for is eternity wo rth a single minute of your days ?

XCIV

t Is hat the truth answered Veronica, a smile “ on he r lip s and with an i ronic look . And will you re pea t wha t you j u st ha ve sa id ? Tha t to pom s

’ ou the so l v the y , to devil I d give my u , if ha e it devil

’ ” w u a v e mid . e o ld Yea , mad m , I it Then for ver

’ ac cu rse d be ! cried the yo ung mans guardian angel .

’ ” ou . — From you I go, for no longer are y God s The

a i e e d not the p nt r in his madness h ar voice, and the

n e fle w wa . u a g l a y A glow of sulph r filled the room , a nd Me p histophel ian la ughter indescriba ble suddenly sou nde d in the a ir.

XCV

’ For a n insta nt Ve ronioa s eyes shone with darksome

fire like those of o rfre ys in darkness hid . Albertus sa w it not for e r e s he e th e , c t , had b held glance , great

h ou his c oura he w a sse t gh ge, ould h ve cro d himself for fe a on o l n the i mloo — r, beh di g w ld and gri k , for it wa s n e e . a t s u v i d d a glance th poke of nending e il,

la n e ofthe a mne d ofthe e v il the me i ir . a g c d , d ti nqu ing

265 t i t te d: aki dr irirzkt rkrkshahé sbzb rké é ii

ALB E RTUS , O R TH E SOU L AN D SI N

E E It read ver, Forever, ternity Most horrible, truly . The eye of man blasted by such a glance would die and melt as melts the pitch within the furnace cast .

XCVI

Her lips trembled . It seemed as if some blasphemy “ o were ab ut to escape , when suddenly she said , I

’ 7 “ . love you , springing like a maddened tiger But know you well what is woman ’ s love ? When you asked for mine did you test your soul ? Did you estimate aright the strength of your heart ? What . mighty power within you do you feel capable of ? ‘ E ! ’ bearing such burden without fail ver, forever Think again ! Within the wide universe but one

is . n being capable of love eternal That bei g is God, for He unchanging is . Man , creature of a day , but ” for a day doth love .

XCVII

th e n Within the room , a beam from lamp, steali g pale and faint upon the gilded walls , behind the curtains , discreetly drawn , a bed suggests . Albertus, no word answering (the best reply , after all), thither draws her, and to the edge of the bed doth her gently push .

2 66

ti i t t i i wt i éfi idz fl iiéiifi B R S I N AL E TUS , O R T H E SO U L AN D

the in e Adam before Fall , they onward freely go th ir

i o sainted nudity , free from all vice, and show ng with ut fear all that the hy pocrite world so careful ly conceals . I am not of those whom a bosom bared or a skirt rather short compels aside to look ; my gaze on these — things does not rest by preference Why declaim so much against an artist ’ s work ? What he does is i sacred . Pray , ye rigorous cr tics , do you see naught else than that ?

C

’ The stay- lace the painter had cut . Veronica s lovely frame for sole vestment her Flanders linen no w had on ; a mere cloud of lawn ; spun air ; a breath ; a l mist of gauze, that under its network a lowed the gaze

flimsie st ff to wander with delight ; in a word , the stu you can think of. It did not take Albertus long to

’ . tear away this rampart frail, and in a hand s turn he — had his beauty nude . He was wrong ; it is spoiling

’ ’ one s own pleasure ; this sort of thing is killing one s

o ft own love and its grave digging, alas for too with the veil illusion and desire both fall away .

268 tt it i t i t t fiéfi fi é ifl fi t ifi S E L E C T E D P O E M S

CI

Not thus this time ; the lady was so fair that a saint in heaven would for her sake damnation have welcomed . A poet in love could not have thoughf out an ideal more perfect . - O Nature ! Nature ! by the side of thy work what is painting worth ? What

a ? becomes of Raphael, of be uty the lord What of

Correggio, Guido , and Giorgione, Titian and all the nam es whose praise one age to the other sings ? O

a nd Raphael, believe me, thy brushes cast away, thou ,

Titian , thy palette . God alone the mighty Master is ;

a nd ma it His secret well he keeps, none y make out ; in vain we strive .

011

ic ture l — Oh , the lovely p Blushing rosy red with

a m r i sh e, red as be ry in May, upon her heav ng breasts — he r h e ad she bo ws a nd her a rms doth cross with he r a s ut in rch , rogui h look, her little pout , her long fl ter g

a c s ne l shes her cheeks are sing, her skin, brow r showing

’ sh a t gainst the white eets , her longhair n urally curling,

’ he r s l he r n eyes fla hing with carbunc e s glow, fair, golde ne r l he r i s ck , her co al lips, her Cinderel a foot and l mb

2-6 9 a s s a s s s s s t e fi e e s e e e e e e u B R O R S IN A L E TUS , TH E SOU L AN D

divine, and what the shadow hides and what may be — in guessed , her own self she more than a seraglio well was worth . CIII — t . The cur ains have closed again Frantic laugh ,

- shrieks of voluptuousness , ecstatic moans, long drawn

a — Idolo de l mio cor ! Anima sighs , sobs and te rs, my angel , my life and all the words in that language strange which love delirious invents in its heat, these were the sounds one heard . “ Wrecked w a s the alcove ; the bed creaked and groaned ; pleasure a very rage became . S howers of kisses and storm of movements lascivious ; arms round bodies grappling and clutching ;

t eyes flaming , teeth meeting and biting, breasts tha convulsive bound . CIV

’ The lamp flared up, and in the alcove s depths flashed,

’ - . T lightning like, a red and tawny light was but for

sa w an instant , yet Albertus Veronica , her skin by

so burning marks all rayed , pale as though dead , and disfigured that he shuddered at the sight . Then a ll once more dark became. The witch her lips to the

’ young cavalier s glued again , and anew the couch bent

2 7o tit t i fi t t t ifi itfl ifl m A N D A LB ERT US, O R TH E SO U L SI N with strident laugh pursued him. With in the shadow

bed b e ms ra . at the foot of the clim d shapes , o t st nge

t h st s e r e ath Incubus, nigh mares, g a ly, deformed p ct es , d ly

’ multitude of Goya s brains ! Horned sna ils issu e d from beneath the bricks and silvered the old walls with phosphorescent slime ; the lamp smoked a nd sputtered .

CVII

be s a c in Instead of the gilded d te d, a filthy cou h ; place of the boudoir rose a little room of aspec t

i a a wretched , with an old w ndow frame of p nes b dly

the l e re wet it cracked ; wal s , green with damp, w w h

dr the rim . rain , the great ops falling upon g y floor

n e a rks a nd M Jua , a cat aga in , cast innumerabl sp , c ina te d m his la nc mt! Albertus with the glea of g e,

himma ha nd like the dog in Faust, waving around gic s,

“ t n the hmm traced a brilliant circlet with his ail upo , upon which flickered a blue flame .

CVIII

Hop ! Hop ! c ri e d the old woma n ; and down the

o de n fire s .two ro m chimney, suddenly ablaze with g l , b o

’ sa l the o e e l sticks, bridled and dd ed , entered ro m , in v y

o ra nc in , rollin a nd lm direction kicking, carac ling , p g, g, p t it t t t s e t e w e m m S E L E C T E D P O E M S ingas do horses by their maste r called . These be my

E n l s s e i t g i h mare and my Arab te d, sa d the wi ch, opening her cra blike ha nds a nd patting onthe neck the broo ms ticks both . A swollen toa d w ith longslende r pa ws the stirrup held . Houac h h ou sc h ! like grass hoppers swi ft the two broomsticks thei r flight do ta ke .

CIX

’ Tra p ! t ra p ! they go as goe s the north wind . Na th th mthe a rth h w s l n r line a e e s ado s pa s in o g, gq s ; bove, the cloudy sky h urrie s by o nthe dimho riz onM a nge sha dows pm. The mill turns a ro und a nd piromv m.

limbs outstre tche s fa r ; a gibbet haw rd sha kmits

fi s nd f s its se s a r re a in st a ollow , corp b ing ; a crow, c k g a s s n e a hmv il r the a ir a nd it ce ts the d d, flaps y th ough , with its wing strike s th e brow o f the you! mm

CX

orfre s e Bats and owls , y and vultures bald , gr at owls a nd r s ih i d on a min e es W bi d of n g t w th , fl g y ; ers of k n s e t u n wn tr z h o ke hm s all i d y kno , yg with o d ,

h r ae ha e s a mire a nd e re -v wcdm g ouls, la v , rpi , v p s, w ,

2 7 3 it i fi t i fié t éifi ifié ééiédz ifi U SOU L A LB ERT S , O R TH E AN D SI N

impious spectres, mammoths and leviathans, crocodiles and boas , growling and snarling , hissing , laughing and chattering, swarming and gleaming, flying, crawling,

. leaping , till the ground is covered and darkened the air — Less swift is the speed of the breathless brooms ,

r and with her gnarled finge s the bridle drawing, “ ” . This is the place, the old hag cried

CXI

The place was lighted by a flame, a blue light cast inglike that of blazing punch . It was an open spot

’ within the forest s depth . Wizards in their gowns a nd witches nude astride upon their goats adown the four avenues from the four corners of the world arrived at once. Investigators into sciences occult, Fausts of

- every land , magi of every rite, dark faced gypsies, and

- he rme c e u tists rabbis red haired , cabalists, diviners ,

l - black as ink and asthmatica ly gasping, not one of them all failed at the meeting- place.

CXII

' S stufle d a ni keletons preserved in dissecting rooms,

‘ oe a ll mals , monsters, greenish f ti, yet dripping from

la me ste rs their spirit bath , cripples and on slugs

2 4 7 t it t t é é é t tb éfi zkfi éétbééiii L A LB E RT US, O R T H E SO U AN D SI N

c dandiest of fiends , wearing imperial and slight mousta he, twirling his cane as well as could have done a Boule

’ vard swell. You could have sworn he d just come “ o f “ from a performance Robert the Devil , or The ” Temptation , or had been attending some assembly fashionable. He limped like Byron (but not worse

ra than he), and with his haughty mien , his aristoc tic looks , and his exquisite talent tying for his cravat, in every drawing- room a sensation he would have made . CXV

sin a nd c This dandy Beelzebub made a g , the ompany drew together the concert to hear. Neither Ludwig

nor Beethoven , Gluck, nor Meyerbeer, nor Theodore

' ' Hoflma nn Hoflma nn , the fantastic , nor stout Rossini , of music king, nor Chevalier Karl Maria von Weber, could surely with all their genius have invented and written the wondrous symphony which these bla ck

B ériot dilettanti played at first . Boucher and , Paganini himself could not have embroidered a stra nger the me with more brilliant pizzicati .

2 76 tiii t t t t t t ifi itéééié ahifi S E L E C T E D P O E M S

CXVI

w t n s Virtuos i i h their dried , thin fi ger made the strings ofthe Stradivarii si ng aga in . Souls seemed to sound in the voices of the grave ; cavernous gongs like thunder l i rumbled a jol y sprite, his round face swell ng funnily , i blew in two horns at once ; here, one str kes on a bone ; the t a k his l o her, for a l rk ta es be ly for a drum , two bo nes for sticks ; four little demons with iron bows ma ke four giant double- basses roar and moan ; whil e a stou t soprano opes wide his ga ping jaws . The result a hellish row . CXVII

on s e e n the n . n The c cert fini h d , b ga da ces Ha ds with ha nds the chains did form. Within the gre a t bla c k cha ir the devil sea ted him se lf a nd the signal

a .— urra ! u ! gve H h h rrah The crowd , spurning the

roun bowlin s g d , g and mad , dashed along like bridleles

e e . a s s st d The h ven , the sight to shun, clo ed their

ta rr e s a nd in s y ye , the moon , cloudlets twain her face

i r io fle d i now veil ng, with fear f om the hor z n . Terr

’ fie d th e a s d a nd the e s s l s e w ter staye , echo e ve sil nt

e c a n a me s a i b me, dreadi g the bl sphe i to re pe t wh ch on tha t night they heard .

2 77 tit t i i i é é i éfi tifiiéfiié iéé S I N ALB ERTUS, O R TH E SO U L A N D

CXVIII

i a fla me It was as though there wh rled , , through the dark, the monstrous signs of a zodiac sombre . The

' - Fa lsta fl heavy hippopotamus, four footed , awkward rose upon its massive legs and broke out in lascivious gam ba doe s. The crippled , truncated and lame, leaped like

r toads, and the goats , livelier , pe formed entrechats and,

’ - a graceful, kicked ; a death s head , with long, le n legs, trotted along like S pider huge ; in every corner swarmed some hideous thing ; worms slimed over the trodden ground . CXIX

a fla me Loose in the wind their hair, their cheeks , the

o women twisted their bodies nude into p stures infamous,

’ whereat A retino s self would have blushed . Hot kisses marked the bruised breasts and shoulders white ; black hairy fingers touched the hips ; sounds of lustful embrace over all arose ; eyes flashed with electric glance ; lips

r burned in lascivious pressure ; fierce laughter, sh ieks,

. S guttural sounds rose in the air Never did odom , never did Gomorrah loa thsome darken the sky and soil this earth with more hideous unions foul .

2 78

fl it t t t t t ififi fi éézhfl tki“ A L A L BERTU S, O R TH E SO U N D S I N

“ ’ : - a - t kept repeating To m rrow, to morrow will be

’ done f CXXII

! sents a wo ndrou s allegory profound . But if you the

n ou marrow wish , the bo e y must break ; to enjoy the sc e nt the vas e must needs be Ope d ; the curtain be drawn from the painting it hides and when the ball is

’ done the domino s mask be cast away . I could have

a a nd r expl ined clearly every part , to each wo d attached

’ e le a e d ss. B ut a nl ou v e som rn glo I take it, re der ge t e, y

ins ll me . S o - s bra enough to fo ow , good night . Clo e

o . the do r Give me the tongs , and tell my man to bring me a volume of Pantagruel.

280

it it $ t t t t t tfi $fi fl iiétfi T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H an opening be tween the branches of the trees, at the

’ city s swe lling domes .

And r s as I noted many a leafless c o s , many a grave

i e l e to on wh ch the grass gr w ta l , where non pray knelt down , with pity I was filled with pity great , for the poor forsaken tombs which none on ea rth within his heart did be a r .

No trace of green upon these sla bs ; a nd yet the i names of widows desolate, or husbands in despa r, their

’ r falsehood bare displayed to every passe s eye, with

’ ne er a trace of moss to veil their huge lette rs black .

a s a u s a h o And , I g zed , within my heart pro e t ught which ever since has my soul possessed . Su ppose it were true that the dead raging within their biers do twist abo ut their knotty arms and strive to throw off

' their covers of stone with e flo rts incredible ? Perchance the tomb no refuge is where on pillow hard man may in peace at last forever sleep, forgetful of all worldly things , pleasure nor pain feeling, remem bering not being or having b e en .

Percha nce for slee p there is no desi re ; a nd whe n the ra t d r tlfi c e the w ld in fil ers ownwa d to orps come ,

2 84 t t t fi fi i fi t t t t ié fit i é éfit i ifl S E L E C T E D P O E M S

e . the weariness , and the lonesomeness of the grav

! h ow a one c Oh s dly must dream within that pla e,

’ where neither moan nor breath can move the shroud s

' stifl long, folds

Perchance, alive to the passions in us that once did

h s blaze, the as e of our hearts still feel and move

th e o within tomb , and some remembrance of this w rld within the next bears with it a remnant of a life of yore with ours mingled . These lonesome dead ! No doubt they wives did have, some one both near and dear ; some one to

. oh ! whom their thoughts they told But, the horror of their grief if ever they did awake within the depths of their tomb on which never a tear nor a flower

To fe el that one has passe d away without leaving

’ ’ more trace than does the ship s wake on oc ean s face ; that one is dead to all ; to se e that the best bel oved ha ve one so soon forgot ; and tha t the weeping willow n ’ with its long, bending boughs alone over o e s grave mourns .

e a s one the le wa n At l t if could , when pa , moon

n a nd opa its calm eyes with silvery gla ce, earthward

2 85 s s e e e e e e e e e e s e s s t e e s s s e e T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

—if looks and casts a bluish light, one could , within

e the cemetery’s rang , between the white tombs, the

’ ’ 0 will the wisp o er the grass flitting , under the branches stroll a while at least !

If one could home return within the house, the stage of the former life, and , chilled , by the fireside within the arm - chair sit ; glance the old books over ; within the desk rummage until the time when dawn the window lighting drove one back to c o fi n cold .

U a But no . pon the mortu ry bed one must remain , with covering none but the sheeted shroud ; no sound the silence breaking save crawl of worm that slowly drags towards its prey , cutting its secret mine ; no sight but night .

Then , if they be jealous, the dead , all that Dante has told of torments in his burning spiral would pleas

be ff . ant to that they su er Lovers, who know what

e s jealousy is , what tortures that frenzy m an , imagine a jealous corpse !

! ra Powerless and wroth He is there , in his g ve ,

’ fa while she , who was loved with heart s deep love, lse

’ to the oaths she swore , now in another s arms repeats

2 8 6 t i t t i i i i t i ttit fi i dz iii ifi T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

’ in re r Man , even the tomb, gainst fate has no cou se , and one may no longer cease to grieve caressing the blessed hope of and storm and of life .

28 8 fit t i h wi wi fiiiflhiiéiiiéiété S E L E C T E D P O E M S

II

Within my brain these thoughts revolving, thought ful I stood with deep- bowed head against a tombstone

- leaning. Brand new it was, and on the white marble shoulder of the weeping figure the Willow ’ s long branches like a cloak did fall .

The north wind leaf by leaf stripped the wreath ,

’ the remnants of which on the column s top did lie . They seemed like tears which their flowers shed upon

’ the maid in life s S pringtime removed ; a gentle morn ing bloom withered before noon .

The crescent moon betwixt the yews did shine ; great bla ck clouds the wan sky crossed and drove still

’ 0 on ; the will the wisps flashed around the graves, and the weeping willow its plumes did shake.

Pla in in the night sounds I heard from the nether world arising ! Moans of terror and agony deep ; voices entreating ne w flowers upon their tombs ; ask

ft ing how went the world , and why the widows le behind so long delayed them to join .

2 89 s a s s s s e s s ttu s u ss tsu u T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

S — uddenly scarce could I credit my own ears, ! ! from under the gaping marble, oh , terror oh, wonder

. wa I heard the sound of speech A dialogue it s, and from the depths of the grave sharp, shrill tone s mingled with another voice.

Chilled with fear I wa s. With terror my. te eth

m l v a for chattered ; my trembling li bs a most ga e w y ,

I understood the worm with the dead girl, of a sudden

w h r c a awaked upon this winter night ithin e iy c ge, its hymen was celebrating .

Tm: DEAD Gnu . Is this an illusion ? Has the night so long dreamed ? of, the wedding night , come at last Is this my ? S nuptial bed urely this the hour when the groom , young and scented , enjoys the beauty of the bride and from her brows removes the maiden orange- flowe r.

TH E W ORM

’ t 0 ! A long , long night will be, fair dead girl

To me for ever Death hath thee betrothed. Thy. bed is but the tomb . Now is the time when bays the watch - dog at the moon ; when the foul vampire sails forth in search of prey ; when downward swoops the crow .

290 sht i aki i zki' é t éfi ttzbié sbéi iiak T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

’ n v e l l . husba d I become, and faithfu sure wil be The

a gl dsome owl, with strong wing the air beating, sings our wedding song .

TH E DEAD Gnu . Oh ! if only some one by the cemetery would pass !

In vain I strike my brow against the c ofiinbo a rds ; the lid too heavy is . Sounder than the dead he buries deep the grave- digger sleeps . The silence is profound ; de

’ se rte d ! is the road, and echo s self to my cries is deaf

T H E W ORM

Mine are thine ivory arms ; mine thy fair white breasts ; mine thy polished waist and glorious hips luxuriant swelling ; mine thy little feet ; thy hands so soft ; thy lips , and that first kiss which thy maidenly shame to love refused .

T H E DEAD Gnu .

’ ’ T is over ! T is over ! The worm is here. Its bite makes in my side a deep, broad wound my heart

. ! ! it gnaws Oh , torture Oh, my God the cruel i ! pa n Mother, sister mine, why come you not unto my call

29 2 t t t fi t i i i i i t fl idz é t é é abé iié S E L E C T E D P O E M S

T H E WORM Within their hearts the thought of thee even now is gone ; and yet upon thy grave, poor deserted one, the orange flowers still b rilliant are . The funeral pall

’ e ste r s scarce folded is , yet like y dream they have — forgot forgot thee and for ever.

TH E DEAD Gnu .

Grass faster grows within the heart than even on the

a u l gr ve , and soon the cross and lowly mo nd alone recal the presence of the dead . But where the cross that

l o f ? s tel s tomb within the soul Forgetfulne s , second ! death , annihilation which I seek, come unto me I ca ll for you .

TH E WORM

now . U Be consoled , for Death gives Life pspring ing under the shadow of the cross the eglantine more

’ r . flowe r s osy is, more green the sward The roots l within thy frame shal plunge, and where thou sleepest,

’ ta ll shall wave the grass ; for in God s hands is nothing lost .

One of the dea d their speech had wakened for silence

a . e c lled Lightning, not from heaven, but from arth ,

29 3 k t fi t i é i t i t té i i é sh shéiiréifi T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H showed me within their tombs all the dead ; skeletons o f bodies with yellowed bones, or purplish flesh in tatters falling away .

h ’ Bot young and old the graveyard s inhabitants, poor forgotten dead , hearing upon their tombs but the roar n of the gale, and to weari ess a prey within their dwelling cold, sought with sightless eyes to read the

’ hour upo n Eternity s mighty dial .

s Then all to darkne s turned, and on my way I went , pale at having seen so much ; with doubt and horror

and . filled ; weary in mind body both And, ever

s r the ie s following me, countles c acked bells like vo c of the dead swung out to me the moa ns

2 4 9 t i t t i t i t t fitfi fi itéifl éfl T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H a ll u - e t i the smoky old portraits, and d ll ton d pas els the r eyes now opene d wide.

’ - A death s head , from the skull well cast, white stood

i i . out , gr macing , gar sh under a bluish beam I saw it

’ to the bra cket s edge advance the jaws seemed striving

e use i a . sp ech to , the eyes to l ght with gl nce

From the dark orbs (where were no orbs) flashed

t sudden sparklings dun , as from a living eye . A brea h

’ ’ ca me forth from twixt its shaking teeth . T wa s

i u b not the wind , for stra ght the folds of c rtains y the window fell.

be a rs d ms sa d a s Then , like the voice one in rea , the

s o a nd moan of wave up n the shore, I heard a voice ;

’ ' as that day so many th ings I d seen so many e fie c ts — marvellous of unknown cau se my dre ad wa s le ss this time RA PH AE L

a S I am Raph el anzio , the mighty Master. Oh !

o br ther, tell me, can you my features know in this

’ hid e ous skull ? For there is nothing mid the c a ma nd — ma sks these shining skulls polished like helms o f — ste el tha t make s me diffe rent from them a ll .

296 tii t t k é é dz tb wfl ab hé zké zb sbdc ifl S E L E C T E D P O E M S

’ ’ t t n : And yet, is I , is I , i deed the youth divine, the angel of beauty and the light of Rome, Raphael

U — - of rbino, the brown haired lad you see in museums,

n his idly leani g, dreaming , resting his head upon

! Forna rina ! Oh my , my fair beloved who took with a kiss my soul in ecstasy to heaven ascending . This ,

n is n - the , your lover the ha dsome angel named painter

’ — i a . t th s he d with its strange grimace Well, is Ra pha e l !

’ ’ If e er, asleep within the chapel s depth , she were to

a a nd a l w ke come when c lls my voice, with fear she fil ed

. - would be Nay, let the half raised stone upon her

a f . ! ! he d all again Oh come not , come not but keep within your tomb the dream within your heart .

Ac c urse d analysers ! Race most vile ! Hyenas that tra c k the funeral step by step the body to dig up When will you be done breaking open biers to measure ou r bo nes and our dust to weigh ? Let the dead sleep in pe a ce. — My masters ! Do you know but who could have told you — what one feels when the saw ’ s teeth

29 7 it ik wfi é wt i éiéfifiéfiéfiifiiii T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H tear our palpitating heart ? Do you know whether ? death is not another life And if, when their remains d from the tomb are dragged , the dead are satisfie

So you come to search with hands profane our tombs ! which you violate, and to steal our skulls How bold ! you are Do you never fear that some day , pale and

a s wan , the dead may rise and curse you there just I curse you

So you fancy that in the rottenness you shall sur prise the secrets o f mother Nature and the work of

God ? It is not by the body the soul can be learned ; the body but an altar is ; genius is the flame and you the fire put out .

! Oh ! Child Christs o f mine Oh ! my dark- haired Madonnas ! Oh ! you who owe to me your fairest

ul crowns, saints in Paradise The learned cast my sk l ff upon the ground , and you su er it, nor hurl thunder bolts at these wretches accurst .

’ So t is true : Heaven its power has lost ; Christ is dead indeed The age Science for its God has ta ’ en

t for faith , Liberty . Farewell to the perfume swee of

29 8 it ii k fié k fiiéfl iéééwdz éééit T H E C O M E D Y Of D E A T H tiiérzkzkiri' t zkfirh kzkabzh shzkiiiétt

D E A T H I N L I F E

IV

: a n Death is multiform its face, its vesture ch ges oftener than actress lightsome . Beauteous it can make itself, and is not ever a sickening carcass that groans toothless and makes grimace most hideous to behold .

Its subjects do not all within the graveyard dwell ; they sleep not all on pillows stony under the shadow of the vaults ; they wear not all her pallid livery ; not upon all has the gate been closed in the gloom of the grave.

Dead there are Of kinds most various . To some stench befalls , and corruption , palpable nothingness, hor

a ror and disgust, night profound and d rk , and the avid bier, its jaws wide openinglike gaping monster.

Others , whom one sees unfearful go to and fro in the sight of the living under their shroud of flesh , have the invisible nothingness , the inner death which none

3 00 ti t t t t t i k iifi iié izht zkt tét S E L E C T E D P O E M S s uspects , which none doth mourn , not even nearest and

For when one goes into the cities of the dead to visit the tombs of the unknown or famous, the monuments

t e or h mounds , whether or not there lie asleep forever under the sombre shadows of the yews some friend

e — belov d , whether one weep or not ,

sa s z — . ha s One y Behold , dead are these Moss spre a d its veil over their names fast the worm its web doth spin in the sockets of their eyes ; their hair has

a e its m d way through the boards of their biers, and their flesh in dust doth fall upon the bones of their

At night their heirs fear not they shal l return even the ir dogs now scarce remember them . Their por tra is t t , wi h smoke befogged , with dust thickly covered

’ who o er, in shops are strown away ; those once envy

r he a r fie ce to them did , their praises now gladly sing

for they are de ad and gone for good and all .

The Angel of Sorrow praying on their tomb alone for them mourns with tears of stone , and as the worm

3 0 1 s s s s s s s s s s s wu s s u u a fl T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

d u their bo y gnaws, so gnaws forgetf lness their name with silent tooth . For tester they six feet of heavy mould do own . Dead are they ; of the dead th ey a re .

o Perchance a tear, from your heart escaped , up n

- - their dust, snow strewn , rain soaked , slowly filters down , which joy will bring them in their sad home ; a nd e a re m n their dried up hearts , f eling they our ed, faintly beat once more .

ma n who e a s But no one says, on seeing the b r death within his soul , Rest and peace be thine

a . What to the sheath is given , to the bl de is denied

o e The body is wept for and the wound is so th d , but the soul may bre ak and die without any feeling dmd or giving it a tomb .

And yet there is an agony horrible that none can ever guess ; there is grief incredible tha t eye can never see ; there is more than one cross on the Calvary of the soul, without the golden halo without the woma n white ev er prostrate below .

Every soul is a sepulchre wherein things innumera ble lie ; hideous cadavers buried asleep within rosy faces .

3 0 2

t i i dz drde firé artkéréde zb zh rkzbés éxké é tfi T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

Where, if one searches , will a skeleton not be found ? What hearth is there that every night beholds the family circle unbroken yet ? Where is the thresh

u h a s old , smiling and fair tho gh it be, that not beheld the owner outward pass under the black pall , never again homeward to turn ?

ff The little flower which joys now , o ering its bloom in e glips to kisses of the snow , the daughter is of D ath . Perchance its roots into the ground from some loved dust have caught the scent divine that charms so much .

! Oh betrothed of yesterday , that are lovers still, the place where nest your loves has served like you some old man grim . Before your soft sighs had waked

- its echoes his death rattle it heard , and the remem brance an odo ur sepulchral mingles with the sweet bridal perfumes .

Where shall we tread and not a tomb profane ?

E n f- ve if we had the wings of the dove, were swi t footed like the deer, and the waves traversed like the flashing fi a nd sh , everywhere would be found the hostess, black white, ready to receive us .

04 3 tit t t wt é k i fifl é iiidz ttfiidfir S E L E C T E D P O E M S

! Oh cease then , ye mothers young, to cradle your sons in the a rms of bright imaginings ; cease to dream

future for them . Spin them a shroud with

- of their swaddling clothes ; for sons, ‘your as fair a s

e d .,

3 05 e a s a s s s e s s s fl -u u u u a u T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

V

Amid sighs and moans and groans let us descend to its very depths the gloomy S piral and all its accursed turns . Our guide is no Vergil, the master poet ; no Beatrix towa rds us her lovely head doth bend from distant Paradise .

- For guide we have a wan faced virgin , who never was kissed by golden tan from lips of sun . Colourless

s her cheeks , bluish her lips ; alaba ter white the nipples

. of her breasts , but rosy never

A mere breath sways her delicate form ; her arms, more translucent than jasper or agate, languidly hang by m her side . Fro her hand escapes a withering flower, and folded on her back her diaphanous wings motionless remain .

More sombre than night, more staring than stone, under her ebony brows and her lashes long shine her

. two great eyes Like the waves of Lethe, dark and silent flowing, her loosened hair her ivory flesh enfolds with silent clasp .

3 06

a s s e s s a s s s s fi s a a a s a u a u T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

sleep have never known . To all pariahs she opes her

the in inn , and Phryne welcomes as she does virg foe and friend as cordially receives .

Following the steps of this guide with face impassi ble , onward we go adown the spiral terrible towards the bourne unknown , through a living hell that knows not cave nor gulf, nor burning pitch , nor seas with sulphurous waves, nor great horned devil .

a l Here ag inst a pane there is a light as of a amp ,

s a with the shadow of a man . Let us the t irs ascend ,

’ ! t . a ustu s ! in draw near and see. Ah is you , Dr F the same attitude as Rembrandt ’ s wizard in the sombre painting that gleams with light .

’ What have you not broken your al chemist s vials ?

a Do you still bend your gre t , bald , sad brow over some ? manuscript old Do you still seek within your book, li by the light of that sun mystical, the word caba stic that makes the S pirit rise ?

S Tell me , has cience, your mistress adored, to your l ? chaste desires yielded at ast Or, as when you first

3 08 inh ab i t! : t i t t t t fi t t t t t iifittt S E L E C T E D P O E M S

met , do you kiss of her dress but the hem or eke her slipper ? Is there yet in your breast asthmatic breath enough for a sigh of love

What sand or what coral has your lead brought up ? Have you sounded the depths of this world ’ s wisdom ? Or as you drew from your well did you in your pail n n bri g up nude, fair Truth , until now ig ored If you ” a re ? a tree, where then are your fruits

FAUST

a n I h ve plunged withi the sea, under the vault of the wa ves . The great fishes cast their fleeting shadows

’ down to the water s depths . Leviathan lashed the abyss with its tail , and their lovely blue hair the sirens combed upon the coral reefs .

The hideous cuttle- fish and the monstrous polyp their tentacles all out- stretched ; the shark and the orc enormous their great green eyes on me did turn ; but to the surface I came again , for my breath failed me . A

i heavy mantle for aged shoulders is the m a ntle of the

3 09 tit t i i i i é t ifi iifiiiité t “ T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

From my well limpid water al one have I drawn ; the

S tl . l phinx , as I question , s i l silent is Pa lid and broken

! e rba r a nd I know not down , alas I am still at p p , and the flowers of my brow are fal len like snow on the place where I have passed .

! Oh woe is me, that I , unguarded , tasted the golden

S S is t . apples of the tree of cience, for cience Dea h

’ ’ s a s Not the upa of Java s isle, nor Afric s euphorbi , i nor the manchineel that gives magnet c sleep, a stronger po ison hold .

. n ou In nothing, now, do I believe And whe y

i wa s n came, for very wear ness my study I renounci g and ready my fu rnace was to break . Within my

n l u bei g not a fibre now thri ls , and like a pend lum my

' heart alone doth beat with movement u nc ha ngmg.

s ! a Nothingne s This , then , is wh t at the end one

so finds . As the tomb doth hold the dead, doth my soul a living cadaver contain . It is to reach this point

ro fitle ss that I such pains have taken, and that, p , my

’ soul to the winds I ve scattered a s scattere d is the g rain .

3 1 0 fifi t f i t t t éfi fl éiéfi é tfl T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

VI

The endless spiral within the depths doth plunge. All around , waiting but for the wrong answer ere your blood they suck, upon their great pedestals with hiero n glyphs strewn , sphi xes with pointed breasts, with

i s fingers armed with claws, roll their glitter ng eye .

e s s As one passes before them , at each st p one tumble

a on old bones, on carrion remains, on skulls th t hollow

' sound . From every hole there issue stifle ne d limbs ; and monstrous apparitions hideous flash through the darksome a ir.

is a et s s It here th t Oedipus the riddle y mu t olve, and that still is awaited the beam tha t sha ll dispe l the darknes s of eld . It is here that Death its problem doth

a nd l a e rc e in propose, that the traveller, her pa lid f ce p iv g, draws ba ck in affright .

Ah ! how many noble he arts and souls so gre a t in vain through every poesy and every passion a l l have sought the answer to the fata l page . Their own bo nes

w u ra n ti lie there ith no sep lch l stone, with no i scrip on carved .

3 1 2 att i ahé i énkdc de dc fide dc aksh bzkzkdnkskakdc S E L E C T E D P O E M S

How many , Don Juans unknown , have filled their lists and still seek on ! How many lips turn pale under kisses sweetest, which have never pressed their fancy ’ s lips ! How many desires to heaven from earth n have retur ed , forever unappeased

thhre b ut Students are who would all things know, who for valet and teacher never Mephistopheles find .

In attic rooms are Fausts without their Marguerites,

a s . whom Hell repels and God c ts out Pity these, oh pity them all .

su ffe r s ! e a For they , ala from ill incurable , and a t r they mingle with ev e ry grain of sand that Time lets

’ l o rfre fa l . Their heart , like the y within the ruins

e d pths, moans within their weakened breasts a hymn to despair.

Their li fe is like the woods when autumn ends . Every passing wind fromtheir crown doth strip the l a s t touch of green, and their weeping dreams go silent , floating through the clouds like flock of storks when winter draweth nigh .

’ Their torments never in poets songs a re told .

h e a d Martyrs of thought, t ey bear not round their h s

3 1 3 t it t t t é t é é éfi tdz t itiié iti T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H the shining aureole ; and on the ways of earth they lonely march , and on the frozen ground they fall as snow doth fall when in the night it comes .

As on I went , my thoughts turning over, sad and speechless , under the icy vault, along the narrow way , stopping suddenly my companion said , as she stretched out her hand so frail “Look whither my finger ” points .

It was a horseman with a waving plume, long curl

. ing hair and black moustache, and spurs of gold He ff m r ru in wore a mantle, a rapier, and a u , like the g l blades in days of Louis Treize , and seemed sti l young.

his wi But on looking close I saw that g, under the false brown hair upon the neck, allowed to show the whitened hair. His brow like face of ru fil e d sea was wrinkled ; his cheek so hollow that all his teeth did show . In spite of the thick rouge with which it was

’ — r o e rl a id covered , as ma ble is with rosy gauze, his pallor wa s plain to see ; and through the carmine

l ’ t his ips that coloured , under his forced laugh was plain that every night hot fever did him kiss .

1 4 3 s s s s s s s s a s e e s s a u u u s u T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

m ? fro out the tombs Pageless and without torch, whom seek you so late , so far, at the hour when the Angel of Midnight in the belfry sings and weeps ?

You are no longer at the age when all smiled and

ou welcomed y ; when , petal by petal, virgins scattered at your feet the flower of their beauty ; it is no longer for you that windows are oped . You are fit for naught but by your ancestors to sleep under the carven marble tomb .

Hear you not the owl its shrill cry u ttering ? Hear

a r ? you not in the woods the gre t , hungy wolves howl

! f ’ m Oh oolish old man , return ; it is the oment when the moon wakes the pallid vampire upon its golden ! couch . Return to your home , return

The mocking wind your song on its wing away

u hath borne ; none to you is listening, and adown yo r ” — mantle stream the tears of the gale . He answers ! nothing . Oh Death , tell me who this man may

a l ? be, and know you the n me by which he is cal ed

That man is Don Juan .

3 1 6 tit t t é t i t t éfi édz iééédz it rbi S E L E C T E D P O E M S

VII

DON JUA N Oh ! happy youths whose heart scarce opes as doth the violet to the first breath of smiling S pring ;

- milk white souls like maybloom sweet, where, in the w c el ome sunshine and in the silver rain , all warbles and a ll blows .

Oh ! all ye who your mother’ s arms do leave with out knowing life and knowledge bitter and who seek a l l — r things to learn , poets and dreamers , mo e than once, no doubt , on edge of woods , as your road you

’ took in sunset s splendour ;

At that lovely hour when on branches swaying the white doves bill and the bu llfinc he s nest ; when weary na i ture s ghs and falls asleep ; when, like a lyre when

s ra s the t in is done, the leaf in the breeze quiver ;

When calm and forgetfulness on a ll th ings fall ; when the sylph returns to its pavilion of rose under the perfumes nestling, moved by these things and of e d t r stless ar our full, you have longed for my lis s and my c onquests all . You have envied me tit t i t i i é fiéfl iétisbzbfi iéé T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

i a ll The feasts , and the k sses on shoulders nude, the sensuous pleasures to your age unknown ; exquisite

! ! E r torments dear erlina, lvi a, Anna, the jealous

’ s E s d r Roman girl , ngland s fair lilie , An alusians b own , a ll that lovely flock of mine .

And then the voice of your souls did a sk of you “ How did you do to have more women than . S ultan

? S ever owned How did you manage, in pite of bolts

th e a l ? and bars, within bed of lovely m ids to s eep You

a ! a n happy , h ppy Don J “ c You forgetful vi tor, a single one of those, whose

s f name you put not down , one of your lea t air, your

! we most modest flower ; oh how well , how long ,

. She should have adored her would have adorned, as within an urn of gold , the altar of our heart .

She would have scented , that humble violet whose

o wn head your foot within the grass did bow , our pale

. a nd i springtime We should have picked up , wet w th

- the - our tears the blue eyed star, that in ball room had fallen from your inconstant hand .

Oh wondrous tremors of the fever of love ; doves that from heaven upon the lips alight ; kisses so bitter

3 1 8 zh firt dc i: th rb zlc zh ki' isbzh sbzb zb abzb zbié té T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

S w a n piring, and pallid faces more than death under their rumpled hair when rose the sun .

o re le ss Like the miner who works an vein , by day,

’ by night the depths of life I ve searched , and never ’ f struck the lead . I ve asked of love the li e it gives ,

’ but all in vain ; and ne er on earth have I affection felt for one who bore a name.

’ Many a heart I ve burned , and on its ashes trod ; but like the salamander, cold amid the flames I did — remain . I had mine own ideal fresh as dew, a ’ i vision golden , an opal, by God s own glance ir descent made

A woman , such as sculptor never wrought ; herself a Cleopatra and a Mary too, in modesty, grace, and beauty all ; a mystic rose, wherein no worm did lurk ; a burning volcano to stainless purity of snow allied

’ th e At fateful parting of the ways , Pythagoras Y,

’ twa s the left road I took ; and though onward I travel, yet the bourne I never reach . Deceitful Sensuality !

’ t f was thou I followed , and it may be that the riddle o ! life could be solved , O Virtue, by thee alone

3 20 tit t t é dri' t dri‘kdrda bzh brbtii ifi S E L E C T E D P O E M S

Why did I not , like Faust, within my cell so dark , gaze on the wall at trembling shadow of microcosm n? golde Why did I not, books of old and magic

’ r a works e ding, by my furnace pass the darkness hours in seeking pleasure

Strong was my mind : I c ou ld have read thy book a nd r 0 S d unk thy bitter wine, cience , without being

n a a s i toxic te, young student well may . I should have f ’ orced Isis her veil to remove, and from heaven s heights brou ght down the stars within my sombre

ite nnot . L s to Love , an evil teacher he To love is not no So to k w ; to live is to know . learn , and learn

til r . s s l mo e Ca t and cast again the lead , and plunge yet deeper down within the depths profound than did

’ your elders e er .

Le t Le viatha n through its nostrils blow ; let the weight of the sea s within your breasts your lungs sha rp pierc e. Hunt through the black reefs that no man yet ha s w a nd s n S kno n, in its ca ket golden the ri g of olomon

’ pe rcha nce you ll find .

3 2 1 e e s s a a s s s s e s s s s a s a a a s s t e T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

VIII

c Thus spake Don Juan , and under the icy ar h ,

o m wearied, but resolved the end to reach, I to k y way again . At last I entered on a gloomy plainwhich a fiery sky on the boundless horizon closed with circle of carmine .

The soil of the plain was ivory white , and cut by a river like a silken band of richest red . It was level

a nd a all ; nor wood , nor church , nor tower ; the we ry wind swept it with its wings and uttered plaintive moans .

- A first I thought the tint so strange, the blood red hue with which the stream thus flushed was but some reflection faint ; that chalk and tufa formed that ivo ry white. But as I bent to drink , I saw it was real blood indeed that flowed .

I saw that with whitened bones the earth was

’ - a h r covered o er, a chill snow fall of de th , w e e no green plant, no flower, did grow ; that the soil was made of

a nd u s Pa l the dust of men , that people eno gh Thebe ,

. myra , and Rome to fill were sleeping there

3 2 2

tt ii i i ii t i iédz éit éédfl bi idxb T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

books did ask, as Don Juan of love, the word of Death ? or Life, can it be you know

“ ! Oh wretched child , said the imperial shade, “ return above. Icy cold is the wind and chilled through am I . Along this road no hostelry you will m l find where you may war your feet, for Death a one receives those who this way pass .

’ t . . Look, is all over The star eclipsed is Black l ’ blood fa ls in showers from my eagle s side, wounded in th e its flight, and with the white flecks of eternal snow from the depths of the sombre skies the feathers of its wings downward flutter to the ground .

Alas ! your desire I can never satisfy . In vain the word of Life have I sought , like Faust and Don

. Juan I know no more than on the day of my birth , and yet , in the heyday of my power, it was I that made the calm and storm .

E TH E verywhere I was called above all men ,

MA N . Before me the eagle and the fasces were borne as before the old Roman Cae sars ; there were ten kings that bore my train ; I was a Charlemagne within a single hand the globe embracing .

24 3 tt t t t d: i t t i tfl iit iiéié éié S E L E C T E D P O E M S No more have I seen from the top of that column

r - o whe e my glory , a tri coloured rainb w, gleams th a n you can see from below . In vain with my heel I spurred on the world ; ever rose the sound of camps and the roar of the guns, of the stress of battle and

Ev e r m ca e on salvers the keys of the towns , ever

a nd a a concert of bugles servile cheers, of l urels and

s l speeche ; a b ack sky , with rain of shot , dead men

sa o the ba ttle fie ld — to lute up n , thus were spent my da ys.

How m bitterly did your sweet honey na e, oh my m t ! How other, , belie my fortune woeful .Lae itia wre tc he d I Everywhere I bore my wandering pain ;

ha d re a m E t I d ed of mpire, and the globe of ear h did hollow sound within my palm .

fo r a nd Oh the lot of a shepherd , the beech unda ' which Tity ru s during the heat of the day with dra ws and sings of Amaryllis . Oh for the twinkling

l a nd the t be l blea ing flock, the pure milk flowing from the udder white between the fingers fair .

3 25 tit skt zkdrdrt tb a'fi fl zb zbit fl drfl T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

Oh for the scent of the ne w- mown hay and the smell of the stable ; for the brown bread of the herd l ! and for nuts on the tab e, and a platter of wood

- For a seven hole flute put together with wax , and of goats half a doz en that th e sum of my desire ; I who have been the conqueror of kings .

A sheepskin my shoulders shall cover ; Galatea laughing shall flee to the reeds and I pursue her . S weeter than ambrosia shall be my verse, and Daphnis shall with jealousy pale at the sound of the airs I shall play .

Oh ! I long to go to my Corsican home ; through the wood where the goats, as they roam , the bark of trees nibble ; down the gullies deep, along the hollow way where cicada shrilly sings, careless in its wander in g, my ranging flock following .

“ Pitiless the Sphinx to whomsoever fails . Imp ru n dent youth , do you mea that it shall slay you and drink the purest blood of your heart ? The only one

fa e a ius the fatal riddle who guessed slew his th r L , and

‘ ’ ” incest committed . Su ch the victor s sad re ward !

3 26 t it t i i t t t t étidz ii édz iéiité T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

0 I am yet too young ; I must love and live, Death ! I cannot yet resolve to follow thee adown the darksome way . I have not had time to build the column on which Glory my crown to- morrow morn

. 0 ! shall hang Death, do thou later return

- ! Oh white breasted virgin , thy poet spare Remem i ber, I the first did thee make more beaut ful than day .

Thy greenish hue, to diaphanous pallor have I changed ; under glorious dark hair thine old skull concealed ; and thee have I courted .

Oh ! let me live a while and thy praise I ’ ll sing thy palaces to adorn , angels I shall carve and crosses forge . Within the church and within the graveyard

’ a the marble I ll make weep, and the stones sh ll moan as upon a regal monument .

I shall devote to thee my l oveliest songs ; ever for thee bouquets of immortelles and scentless flowers I ’ ll O have . My garden , Death , with thine own trees — is planted , the yew , the box, the cypress, over the marbles twine their green - brown boughs .

I tell the handsome flowers, sweet glories of the beds, the lily majestic its white cup opening , the tulip golden ,

3 2 8 it it t t t t t t i’ fi iiié dz dz iiété S E L E C T E D P O E M S

l o v e I the rose of May the nightingale doth , tell the h c rysanthemum , too, and many another still,

springtime loves ; for this garden austere your brilliancy

’ is too great . The holly s painted leaves would wound

’ ’ the o d you and in air the hemlock s pois n you imbibe, and bitter scent of yew .

Forsa ke O O ! of me not, Mother, Nature A time youth thou owest to every creature ; a season of love to every soul . I still am young and yet feel the chill of a ge ; I cannot love . Let me have my youth if but for a single day .

O Be no stepmother to me, Nature beloved . Let some sap return to the faded plant that hates to die. The torrent from mine eyes with its tears has drowned its worm- eaten bud which sunshine does not dry and which fails to bloom .

O r 0 O vi gin air, crystal air, water, principle of

! E a ll ! f this world arth , that feedest and thou , ertile

’ flame, a beam from God s own eye ! let not die yet , ye who life bestow , the poor drooping flower that seeks no more than for a brief time to blow .

3 29 s s s u s s s s s tss s s u a ssu u T H E C O M E D Y O F D E A T H

Stars that from above behold the whirling worlds, rain down on me from your lashes golden your diamond ! tears Moon , lily of the night , flower of the garden O divine, pour thy rays upon me , fair solitary , from the uttermost depths of heaven

E e t y ever open in the centre of space, do hou pierce,

O S u n se e mighty , the passing cloud , and that I may thee once more let the eagles through the heavens that

riflins swoop on mighty wing, the g that fiery fly, the ! swallows swift , to me their wings now lend

Ye Winds ! that from the flowers their soul ’ s per fume steal and avowals of love from lips beloved ; pure

Air of the Mountains, still full of the scent of the balsam ; Breeze of the Ocean which one brea thes so ! free, my lungs now fill April has made for me a grassy carpet whereon to

a lie ; above my brow the lilac blooms in clusters gre t, for now is S pringtime come . Take me within your ’ i arms , sweet poet s dreams ; between your pol shed

s . breasts my poor head re t, and cradle me long

Be far from me, nightmares, spectres of the nights

Roses , women , songs , all things fair and loves glori

3 3 °