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StandardEbooksCollections/oscar-wilde/se-ebooks-oscar-wilde-xhtml/oscar-wilde_poetry.xhtml

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<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
<!DOCTYPE html>
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xmlns:epub="http://www.idpf.org/2007/ops" lang="en-GB" epub:prefix="z3998: http://www.daisy.org/z3998/2012/vocab/structure/, se: https://standardebooks.org/vocab/1.0" xml:lang="en-GB">
<head>
<title>Poetry</title>
<meta content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" name="viewport"/>
<link rel="canonical" href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/oscar-wilde/poetry/text/single-page" />
<style><![CDATA[
@namespace epub "http://www.idpf.org/2007/ops";
@namespace xml "http://www.w3.org/XML/1998/namespace";
/* core.css */
body{
font-variant-numeric: oldstyle-nums;
hyphens: auto;
text-wrap: pretty;
}
p{
margin: 0;
text-indent: 1em;
}
hr{
border: none;
border-top: 1px solid;
height: 0;
margin: 1.5em auto;
width: 25%;
}
q::before,
q::after{
content: "";
}
blockquote{
margin: 1em 2.5em;
}
h1,
h2,
h3,
h4,
h5,
h6,
hgroup{
break-after: avoid;
break-inside: avoid;
font-variant: small-caps;
hyphens: none;
margin: 3em 0;
text-align: center;
}
/* simulate h3 in an hgroup */
hgroup h2 + p{
font-size: 1.17em;
}
/* simulate h4 in an hgroup */
hgroup h2 + p + p,
hgroup h3 + p{
font-size: 1em;
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/* simulate h5 in an hgroup */
hgroup h2 + p + p + p,
hgroup h3 + p + p,
hgroup h4 + p{
font-size: .83em;
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/* simulate h6 in an hgroup */
hgroup h2 + p + p + p + p,
hgroup h3 + p + p + p,
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hgroup h5 + p{
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hgroup > *{
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margin: 0;
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hgroup > *:first-child{
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}
hgroup > p{
text-indent: 0;
}
p.continued,
h2 + p,
h3 + p,
h4 + p,
h5 + p,
h6 + p,
header + p,
hr + p,
hgroup + p,
p:first-child{
hanging-punctuation: first last;
text-indent: 0;
}
cite{
font-style: normal;
}
abbr{
border: none;
white-space: nowrap;
}
blockquote cite{
display: block;
font-style: italic;
text-align: right;
}
blockquote cite i{
font-style: normal;
}
b,
strong{
font-variant: small-caps;
font-weight: normal;
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i > i,
em > i,
i > em{
font-style: normal;
}
ol,
ul{
margin-bottom: 1em;
margin-top: 1em;
}
header{
break-after: avoid;
break-inside: avoid;
hyphens: none;
text-align: center;
}
header > * + p{
text-indent: 0;
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article > header + *,
section > header + *{
margin-top: 3em;
}
a[epub|type~="noteref"]{
font-size: smaller;
font-style: normal !important;
vertical-align: super;
}
section[epub|type~="endnotes"] > ol > li{
margin: 1em 0;
}
/* Invert images in dark mode. RMSDK requires a target media as well as a state. */
@media all and (prefers-color-scheme: dark){
img[epub|type~="se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"]{
filter: invert(100%);
}
img[epub|type~="se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"][epub|type~="se:image.style.realistic"]{
background: currentColor;
filter: none;
}
}
/* se.css */
/* This may appear in the colophon */
abbr[epub|type~="se:era"]{
font-variant: all-small-caps;
}
section[epub|type~="titlepage"] h1,
section[epub|type~="titlepage"] p,
section[epub|type~="colophon"] h2,
section[epub|type~="imprint"] h2{
left: -999em;
position: absolute;
}
section[epub|type~="titlepage"] img{
display: block;
margin: 3em auto auto auto;
width: 100%;
}
section[epub|type~="colophon"],
section[epub|type~="imprint"]{
text-align: center;
}
section[epub|type~="colophon"] header,
section[epub|type~="imprint"] header{
line-height: 0;
margin-top: 3em;
}
img[epub|type~="z3998:publisher-logo"]{
max-width: 25%;
width: 220px;
}
section[epub|type~="colophon"] p,
section[epub|type~="imprint"] p{
margin: 1em auto 0 auto;
text-indent: 0;
}
section[epub|type~="imprint"] p{
font-size: smaller;
text-align: justify;
width: 75%;
}
section[epub|type~="colophon"] p + p::before{
border-top: 1px solid;
content: "";
display: block;
margin: auto auto 1em auto;
width: 25%;
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section[epub|type~="colophon"] p:nth-last-child(2) time{
font-variant: small-caps;
}
section[epub|type~="colophon"] a{
font-variant: small-caps;
}
section[epub|type~="imprint"] a,
section[epub|type~="colophon"] a{
hyphens: none;
}
section[epub|type~="copyright-page"] p{
margin: 1em auto;
text-indent: 0;
}
section[epub|type~="copyright-page"] blockquote p{
font-style: italic;
text-align: initial;
text-indent: 0;
}
section[epub|type~="copyright-page"] blockquote p span{
display: block;
padding-left: 1em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
section[epub|type~="copyright-page"] blockquote br{
display: none;
}
/* local.css */
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"],
[epub|type~="z3998:verse"]{
text-align: initial;
text-indent: 0;
}
/* p in poem hgroup */
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"] hgroup p{
text-align: center;
}
[epub|type~="bridgehead"]{
display: inline-block;
font-style: italic;
max-width: 60%;
text-align: justify;
text-indent: 0;
}
/* breaks after poem */
article[epub|type~="z3998:poem"],
section[epub|type~="z3998:poem"],
article[epub|type~="z3998:drama"],
article[epub|type~="z3998:fiction"],
section[epub|type~="z3998:fiction"],
section[epub|type~="chapter"],
section > h2{
break-after: page;
}
/* breaks in The Sphinx, where there are no section headers */
#the-sphinx section{
margin-top: 3em;
}
/* poem footer */
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"] footer,
[epub|type~="chapter"] footer{
font-variant: small-caps;
margin-top: 1em;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"] footer p{
text-align: right;
}
/* stanza */
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"] p{
text-align: initial;
text-indent: 0;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"] p + p{
margin-top: 1em;
}
/* poetry span */
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"] p > span{
display: block;
padding-left: 1em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"] p > span + br{
display: none;
}
p span.i1{
padding-left: 2em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i2{
padding-left: 3em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i3{
padding-left: 4em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i4{
padding-left: 5em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i5{
padding-left: 6em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i6{
padding-left: 7em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
/* Dropped line */
.dl2 span:first-child{
vertical-align: 100%;
}
/* Dialogue table */
[epub|type~="z3998:drama"] table{
border-collapse: collapse;
margin: 1em auto;
width: 100%;
}
article[epub|type~="z3998:drama"] > p{
margin: 1em auto;
width: 75%;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:drama"] tr:first-child td{
padding-top: 0;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:drama"] tr:last-child td{
padding-bottom: 0;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:drama"] td{
padding: .5em;
vertical-align: top;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:drama"] td:last-child{
padding-right: 0;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:drama"] td:first-child{
padding-left: 0;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:drama"] td[epub|type~="z3998:persona"]{
hyphens: none;
text-align: right;
width: 20%;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:persona"]{
font-variant: all-small-caps;
}
/* Epigraph */
/* All epigraphs */
[epub|type~="epigraph"]{
font-style: italic;
hyphens: none;
}
/* End all epigraphs */
/* Epigraphs in section headers */
article > header [epub|type~="epigraph"]{
display: inline-block;
margin: auto;
max-width: 80%;
text-align: initial;
}
@supports(display: table){
article > header [epub|type~="epigraph"]{
display: table;
}
}
/* End epigraphs in section headers */
/* Italics for blocks with language tags */
blockquote[xml|lang]{
font-style: italic;
}
/* Dedication */
header p[epub|type~="dedication"]{
text-align: center;
}
@media(max-width: 400px){
[epub|type~="z3998:drama"] td,
[epub|type~="z3998:drama"] td[epub|type~="z3998:persona"],
[epub|type~="z3998:drama"] td:last-child{
display: block;
padding: 0;
text-align: initial;
width: 100%;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:drama"] td[epub|type~="z3998:persona"]{
break-after: avoid;
margin-top: 1.5em;
}
}
/* web.css */
body{
display: flex;
flex-direction: column;
font-family: "Georgia", serif;
font-size: 18px;
margin: 0;
line-height: 1.5;
}
main{
flex-grow: 1;
margin: 5rem auto 3rem;
max-width: 55ch;
padding: 0 3rem;
width: calc(100% - 2 * 3rem); /* calc instead of box-sizing: border-box which would make max-width count padding */
}
body > header{
all: unset; /* Remove any properties set by selectors in the ebook itself */
background: #fff;
border-bottom: 1px solid #999;
box-shadow: 0 0 3px #ccc;
left: 0;
position: absolute;
right: 0;
top: 0;
z-index: 1000; /* Required so that SVGs don't scroll over the header */
}
body > header ul{
align-items: center;
display: flex;
list-style: none;
margin: 0;
padding: 1em;
gap: 1.5em;
}
body > header li:first-child{
margin-right: auto;
}
body > header li:first-child > a{
background: no-repeat center / 100% url("/images/logo-full.svg");
display: block;
font-size: 0;
height: 42px;
transition: transform 200ms ease;
width: 180px;
}
body > header li:first-child > a:hover{
transform: scale(1.025) rotate(1deg);
}
body > footer ul{
display: flex;
justify-content: space-between;
list-style: none;
margin: 0;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
}
body > footer li{
max-width: 40%;
}
body > main > section[epub|type~="titlepage"],
body > main > section[epub|type~="halftitlepage"]{
}
nav + section,
section + nav,
section + section,
section + article,
article + section,
article + article{
box-sizing: border-box;
margin-top: 12em !important;
padding: 0;
}
nav[epub|type~="toc"] ol{
list-style: none;
}
@media(max-width: 65ch){
main{
padding: 0 2rem;
width: calc(100% - 2 * 2rem);
}
section[epub|type~="imprint"] p{
width: 100%;
}
}
@media(max-width: 450px){
body > header > nav > ul{
flex-wrap: wrap;
}
body > header > nav > ul > li > a{
font-size: .8rem;
}
body > header li:first-child > a{
background: no-repeat center / 100% url("/images/logo-small.svg");
width: 31px;
height: 20px;
}
}
@media(prefers-color-scheme: dark){
body,
body > header{
background: #222222;
color: #ffffff;
}
/* These three link colors provide WCAG AAA compliance at 16px */
a:link{
color: #6bb9f0;
}
a:active{
color: #e6cc22;
}
a:visited{
color: #dda0dd;
}
body > header li:first-child > a,
img[epub|type~="se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"]{
filter: invert(1);
}
}
/* As of July 2022 Chrome on Android doesn't yet understand `or (pointer: none)`
and will just drop this entire query together if it's included. */
@media(pointer: coarse){
body > header{
position: fixed;
}
body > header li:first-child > a{
height: 21px;
width: 90px;
}
nav[epub|type~="toc"] ol li{
margin-bottom: 2em;
margin-top: 2em;
}
*:target{
scroll-margin-top: 4em;
}
}
@media((max-width: 450px) and (pointer: coarse)){
body > header li:first-child > a{
width: 31px;
height: 20px;
}
}
]]></style>
</head>
<body><main>
<section id="titlepage" epub:type="titlepage frontmatter">
<h1 epub:type="title">Poetry</h1>
<p>By <b epub:type="z3998:author z3998:personal-name">Oscar Wilde</b>.</p>
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</section>
<nav id="toc" epub:type="toc">
<h2 epub:type="title">Table of Contents</h2>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#titlepage">Titlepage</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#imprint">Imprint</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#chorus-of-cloud-maidens">Chorus of Cloud Maidens</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#chorus-of-cloud-maidens-στροφή" lang="grc" xml:lang="grc">Στροφή</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#chorus-of-cloud-maidens-ἀντιστροφή" lang="grc" xml:lang="grc">Άντιστροφή</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#from-spring-days-to-winter-for-music">From Spring Days to Winter</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#tristitae">A Lament</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-true-knowledge">The True Knowledge</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#θρηνωιδια" lang="grc" xml:lang="grc">Θρηνῳδία</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#θρηνωιδια-στροφή" lang="grc" xml:lang="grc">Στροφή</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#θρηνωιδια-ἀντιστροφή" lang="grc" xml:lang="grc">Άντιστροφή</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#θρηνωιδια-στροφή-β" lang="grc" xml:lang="grc">Στροφή Β</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#θρηνωιδια-ἀντιστροφή-β" lang="grc" xml:lang="grc">Άντιστροφή Β</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#lotus-leaves">Lotus Leaves</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#lotus-leaves-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#lotus-leaves-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#lotus-leaves-3" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#lotus-leaves-4" epub:type="z3998:roman">IV</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#lotus-leaves-5" epub:type="z3998:roman">V</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#wasted-days">Wasted Days</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#a-fragment-from-the-agamemnon-of-aeschylos">A Fragment from the <i epub:type="se:name.publication.play">Agamemnon</i> of Aeschylos</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-theatre-at-argos">The Theatre at Argos</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#ravenna">Ravenna</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#ravenna-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#ravenna-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#ravenna-3" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#ravenna-4" epub:type="z3998:roman">IV</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#ravenna-5" epub:type="z3998:roman">V</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#ravenna-6" epub:type="z3998:roman">VI</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#ravenna-7" epub:type="z3998:roman">VII</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#sen-artysty" lang="pl" xml:lang="pl">Sen Artysty</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#helas" lang="grc-Latn" xml:lang="grc-Latn">Hélas!</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#eleutheria" lang="grc-Latn" xml:lang="grc-Latn">Eleutheria</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#sonnet-to-liberty">Sonnet to Liberty</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#ave-imperatrix" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Ave Imperatrix</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-milton">To Milton</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#louis-napoleon">Louis Napoleon</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#sonnet-on-the-massacre-of-the-christians-in-bulgaria">Sonnet</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#quantum-mutata" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Quantum Mutata</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#libertatis-sacra-fames" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Libertatis Sacra Fames</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#theoretikos" lang="grc-Latn" xml:lang="grc-Latn">Theoretikos</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-garden-of-eros">The Garden of Eros</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#rosa-mystica" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Rosa Mystica</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#requiescat">Requiescat</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#sonnet-on-approaching-italy">Sonnet on Approaching Italy</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#san-miniato">San Miniato</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#ave-maria-gratia-plena" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Ave Maria Gratia Plena</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#italia" lang="it" xml:lang="it">Italia</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#sonnet-written-in-holy-week-at-genoa">Sonnet</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#rome-unvisited">Rome Unvisited</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#rome-unvisited-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#rome-unvisited-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#rome-unvisited-3" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#rome-unvisited-4" epub:type="z3998:roman">IV</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#urbs-sacra-aeterna" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Urbs Sacra Aeterna</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#sonnet-on-hearing-the-dies0irae-in-the-sistine-chapel">Sonnet</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#easter-day">Easter Day</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#e-tenebris" lang="la" xml:lang="la">E Tenebris</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#vita-nuova" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Vita Nuova</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#madonna-mia" lang="it" xml:lang="it">Madonna Mia</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-new-helen">The New Helen</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-burden-of-itys">The Burden of Itys</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#wind-flowers">Wind Flowers</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#impression-du-matin" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Impression du Matin</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#magdalen-walks">Magdalen Walks</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#athanasia">Athanasia</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#serenade-for-music">Serenade</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#endymion-for-music">Endymion</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#la-bella-donna-della-mia-mente" lang="it" xml:lang="it">La Bella Donna Della Mia Mente</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#chanson">Chanson</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#charmides">Charmides</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#charmides-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#charmides-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#charmides-3" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#flowers-of-gold">Flowers of Gold</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#impressions-1">Impressions</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#impressions-1-1-les-silhouettes"><span epub:type="z3998:roman">I</span>: <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Les Silhouettes</span></a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#impressions-1-2-la-fuite-de-la-lune"><span epub:type="z3998:roman">II</span>: <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">La Fuite de la Lune</span></a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-grave-of-keats">The Grave of Keats</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#theocritus-a-villanelle">Theocritus</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#in-the-gold-room-a-harmony">In the Gold Room</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#ballade-de-marguerite" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ballade de Marguerite</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-dole-of-the-kings-daughter">The Dole of the King’s Daughter</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#amor-intellectualis" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Amor Intellectualis</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#santa-decca" lang="co" xml:lang="co">Santa Decca</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#a-vision">A Vision</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#impression-de-voyage" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Impression de Voyage</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-grave-of-shelley">The Grave of Shelley</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#by-the-arno">By the Arno</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#impressions-de-théâtre" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Impressions de Théâtre</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#fabien-dei-franchi">Fabien Dei Franchi</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#phèdre">Phèdre</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#written-at-the-lyceum-theatre">Written at the Lyceum Theatre</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#written-at-the-lyceum-theatre-1-portia"><span epub:type="z3998:roman">I</span>: Portia</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#written-at-the-lyceum-theatre-2-queen-henrietta-maria"><span epub:type="z3998:roman">II</span>: Queen Henrietta Maria</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#written-at-the-lyceum-theatre-3-camma"><span epub:type="z3998:roman">III</span>: Camma</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#panthea" lang="grc-Latn" xml:lang="grc-Latn">Panthea</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-fourth-movement">The Fourth Movement</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#impression-le-réveillon">Impression</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#at-verona">At Verona</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#apologia">Apologia</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#quia-multum-amavi" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Quia Multum Amavi</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#silentium-amoris" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Silentium Amoris</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#her-voice">Her Voice</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#my-voice">My Voice</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#taedium-vitae" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Taedium Vitae</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#humanitad" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Humanitad</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#flower-of-love">Flower of Love</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#impressions-2">Impressions</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#impressions-2-1-le-jardin"><span epub:type="z3998:roman">I</span>: <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Le Jardin</span></a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#impressions-2-2-la-mer"><span epub:type="z3998:roman">II</span>: <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">La Mer</span></a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#under-the-balcony">Under the Balcony</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-harlots-house">The Harlot’s House</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#le-jardin-des-tuileries" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Le Jardin des Tuileries</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#on-the-sale-by-auction-of-keats-love-letters">On the Sale by Auction of Keats’ Love Letters</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-new-remorse">The New Remorse</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#fantaisies-décoratives" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Fantaisies Décoratives</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#fantaisies-décoratives-1-le-panneau"><span epub:type="z3998:roman">I</span>: <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Le Panneau</span></a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#fantaisies-décoratives-2-les-ballons"><span epub:type="z3998:roman">II</span>: <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Les Ballons</span></a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#canzonet">Canzonet</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#symphony-in-yellow">Symphony in Yellow</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#in-the-forest">In the Forest</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-my-wife-with-a-copy-of-my-poems">To My Wife</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#with-a-copy-of-a-house-of-pomegranates">With a Copy of <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">A House of Pomegranates</i></a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#roses-and-rue">Roses and Rue</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#désespoir" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Désespoir</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#pan">Pan</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#pan-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#pan-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-sphinx">The Sphinx</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#poems-in-prose">Poems in Prose</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#poems-in-prose-the-artist">The Artist</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#poems-in-prose-the-doer-of-good">The Doer of Good</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#poems-in-prose-the-disciple">The Disciple</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#poems-in-prose-the-master">The Master</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#poems-in-prose-the-house-of-judgment">The House of Judgment</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#poems-in-prose-the-teacher-of-wisdom">The Teacher of Wisdom</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-ballad-of-reading-gaol">The Ballad of Reading Gaol</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#the-ballad-of-reading-gaol-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-ballad-of-reading-gaol-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-ballad-of-reading-gaol-3" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-ballad-of-reading-gaol-4" epub:type="z3998:roman">IV</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-ballad-of-reading-gaol-5" epub:type="z3998:roman">V</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-ballad-of-reading-gaol-6" epub:type="z3998:roman">VI</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#colophon">Colophon</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#uncopyright">Uncopyright</a>
</li>
</ol>
</nav>
<section id="imprint" epub:type="imprint frontmatter">
<header>
<h2 epub:type="title">Imprint</h2>
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epub:type="z3998:publisher-logo se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"/>
</header>
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</section>
<article id="chorus-of-cloud-maidens" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">Chorus of Cloud Maidens</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle"><i lang="grc" xml:lang="grc">Ἀριστοφανους Νεφέλαι</i>, 275⁠–⁠290, 298⁠–⁠313.</p>
</hgroup>
<section id="chorus-of-cloud-maidens-στροφή">
<h3 lang="grc" epub:type="title" xml:lang="grc">Στροφή</h3>
<p>
<span>Cloud maidens that float on for ever,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Dew-sprinkled, fleet bodies, and fair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Let us rise from our Sire’s loud river,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Great Ocean, and soar through the air</span>
<br/>
<span>To the peaks of the pine-covered mountains where the pines hang as tresses of hair.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Let us seek the watch-towers undaunted,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Where the well-watered corn-fields abound,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And through murmurs of rivers nymph-haunted</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">The songs of the sea-waves resound;</span>
<br/>
<span>And the sun in the sky never wearies of spreading his radiance around.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Let us cast off the haze</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Of the mists from our band,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Till with far-seeing gaze</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">We may look on the land.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="chorus-of-cloud-maidens-ἀντιστροφή">
<h3 lang="grc" epub:type="title" xml:lang="grc">Άντιστροφή</h3>
<p>
<span>Cloud maidens that bring the rain-shower,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To the Pallas-loved land let us wing,</span>
<br/>
<span>To the land of stout heroes and Power,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where Kekrops was hero and king,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where honour and silence is given</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To the mysteries that none may declare,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where are gifts to the high gods in heaven</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When the house of the gods is laid bare,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where are lofty roofed temples, and statues well carven and fair;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where are feasts to the happy immortals</span>
<br/>
<span>When the sacred procession draws near,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where garlands make bright the bright portals</span>
<br/>
<span>At all seasons and months in the year;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And when spring days are here,</span>
<br/>
<span>Then we tread to the wine-god a measure,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In Bacchanal dance and in pleasure,</span>
<br/>
<span>’Mid the contests of sweet singing choirs,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the crash of loud lyres.</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="from-spring-days-to-winter-for-music" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">From Spring Days to Winter</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">(For Music)</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>In the glad springtime when leaves were green,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O merrily the throstle sings!</span>
<br/>
<span>I sought, amid the tangled sheen,</span>
<br/>
<span>Love whom mine eyes had never seen,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O the glad dove has golden wings!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Between the blossoms red and white,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O merrily the throstle sings!</span>
<br/>
<span>My love first came into my sight,</span>
<br/>
<span>O perfect vision of delight,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O the glad dove has golden wings!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The yellow apples glowed like fire,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O merrily the throstle sings!</span>
<br/>
<span>O Love too great for lip or lyre,</span>
<br/>
<span>Blown rose of love and of desire,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O the glad dove has golden wings!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But now with snow the tree is grey,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ah, sadly now the throstle sings!</span>
<br/>
<span>My love is dead: ah! well-a-day,</span>
<br/>
<span>See at her silent feet I lay</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A dove with broken wings!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ah, Love! ah, Love! that thou wert slain⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Fond Dove, fond Dove return again!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="tristitae" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<header>
<h2 epub:type="title">A Lament</h2>
<blockquote lang="grc" epub:type="epigraph z3998:verse" xml:lang="grc">
<p>
<span>Αἴλινον, αἴλινον εἰπέ, τὸ δ’ εὖ νικάτω</span>
</p>
</blockquote>
</header>
<p>
<span>O well for him who lives at ease</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With garnered gold in wide domain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nor heeds the splashing of the rain,</span>
<br/>
<span>The crashing down of forest trees.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O well for him who ne’er hath known</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The travail of the hungry years,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A father grey with grief and tears,</span>
<br/>
<span>A mother weeping all alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But well for him whose foot hath trod</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The weary road of toil and strife,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Yet from the sorrows of his life</span>
<br/>
<span>Builds ladders to be nearer God.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-true-knowledge" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<header>
<h2 epub:type="title">The True Knowledge</h2>
<blockquote lang="grc" epub:type="epigraph z3998:verse" xml:lang="grc">
<p>
<span>… ἀναγκαίως δ’ ἔχει</span>
<br/>
<span>Βίον θερίζειν ὥστε κάρπιμον στάχυν,</span>
<br/>
<span>καὶ τὸν μὲν εἶναι τὸν δὲ μή.</span>
</p>
</blockquote>
</header>
<p>
<span>Thou knowest all⁠—I seek in vain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">What lands to till or sow with seed⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The land is black with briar and weed,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor cares for falling tears or rain.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Thou knowest all⁠—I sit and wait</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With blinded eyes and hands that fail,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Till the last lifting of the veil</span>
<br/>
<span>And the first opening of the gate.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Thou knowest all; I cannot see.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I trust I shall not live in vain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I know that we shall meet again</span>
<br/>
<span>In some divine eternity.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="θρηνωιδια" epub:type="z3998:fiction bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<header>
<hgroup>
<h2 lang="grc" epub:type="title" xml:lang="grc">Θρηνῳδία</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">(Eur. <i epub:type="se:name.publication.play">Hec</i>., 444⁠–⁠483)</p>
</hgroup>
<p epub:type="bridgehead">Song sung by captive women of Troy on the sea beach at Aulis, while the Achaeans were there storm-bound through the wrath of dishonoured Achilles, and waiting for a fair wind to bring them home.</p>
</header>
<section id="θρηνωιδια-poem" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<section id="θρηνωιδια-στροφή">
<h3 lang="grc" epub:type="title" xml:lang="grc">Στροφή</h3>
<p>
<span>O fair wind blowing from the sea!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who through the dark and mist dost guide</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">The ships that on the billows ride,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Unto what land, ah, misery!</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall I be borne, across what stormy wave,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or to whose house a purchased slave?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O sea-wind blowing fair and fast</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is it unto the Dorian strand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Or to those far and fable shores,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Where great Apidanus outpours</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">His streams upon the fertile land,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or shall I tread the Phthian sand,</span>
<br/>
<span>Borne by the swift breath of the blast?</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="θρηνωιδια-ἀντιστροφή">
<h3 lang="grc" epub:type="title" xml:lang="grc">Άντιστροφή</h3>
<p>
<span>O blowing wind! you bring my sorrow near,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For surely borne with splashing of the oar,</span>
<br/>
<span>And hidden in some galley-prison drear</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I shall be led unto that distant shore</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Where the tall palm-tree first took root, and made,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">With clustering laurel leaves, a pleasant shade</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For Leto when with travail great she bore</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">A god and goddess in Love’s bitter fight,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Her body’s anguish, and her soul’s delight.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i3">It may be in Delos,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Encircled of seas,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">I shall sing with some maids</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">From the Cyclades,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Of Artemis goddess</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">And queen and maiden,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Sing of the gold</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">In her hair heavy-laden.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Sing of her hunting,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Her arrows and bow,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">And in singing find solace</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">From weeping and woe.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="θρηνωιδια-στροφή-β">
<h3 lang="grc" epub:type="title" xml:lang="grc">Στροφή Β</h3>
<p>
<span class="i2">Or it may be my bitter doom</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">To stand a handmaid at the loom,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In distant Athens of supreme renown;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And weave some wondrous tapestry,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Or work in bright embroidery,</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon the crocus-flowered robe and saffron-coloured gown,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">The flying horses wrought in gold,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">The silver chariot onward rolled</span>
<br/>
<span>That bears Athena through the Town;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or the warring giants that strove to climb</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">From earth to heaven to reign as kings,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And Zeus the conquering son of Time</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Borne on the hurricane’s eagle wings;</span>
<br/>
<span>And the lightning flame and the bolts that fell</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From the risen cloud at the god’s behest,</span>
<br/>
<span>And hurled the rebels to darkness of hell,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To a sleep without slumber or waking or rest.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="θρηνωιδια-ἀντιστροφή-β">
<h3 lang="grc" epub:type="title" xml:lang="grc">Άντιστροφή Β</h3>
<p>
<span>Alas! our children’s sorrow, and their pain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">In slavery.</span>
<br/>
<span>Alas! our warrior sires nobly slain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">For liberty.</span>
<br/>
<span>Alas! our country’s glory, and the name</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">Of Troy’s fair town;</span>
<br/>
<span>By the lances and the fighting and the flame</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">Tall Troy is down.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I shall pass with my soul over-laden,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To a land far away and unseen,</span>
<br/>
<span>For Asia is slave and handmaiden,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Europa is Mistress and Queen.</span>
<br/>
<span>Without love, or love’s holiest treasure,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I shall pass into Hades abhorred,</span>
<br/>
<span>To the grave as my chamber of pleasure,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To death as my Lover and Lord.</span>
</p>
</section>
</section>
</article>
<article id="lotus-leaves" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<header>
<h2 epub:type="title">Lotus Leaves</h2>
<blockquote lang="grc" epub:type="epigraph z3998:verse" xml:lang="grc">
<p>
<span class="i6">… νεμεσσῶμαί γε μὲν οὐδέν</span>
<br/>
<span>κλαίειν ὅς κε θάνῃσι βροτῶν καὶ πότμον ἐπίσπῃ,</span>
<br/>
<span>τοῦτό νυ καὶ γέρας οἶον ὀϊζυροῖσι βροτοῖσι</span>
<br/>
<span>κείρασθαί τε κόμην βαλέειν τ’ ἀπὸ δάκρυ παρειῶν.</span>
</p>
</blockquote>
</header>
<section id="lotus-leaves-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span>There is no peace beneath the noon⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ah! in those meadows is there peace</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where, girdled with a silver fleece,</span>
<br/>
<span>As a bright shepherd, strays the moon?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Queen of the gardens of the sky,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where stars like lilies, white and fair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Shine through the mists of frosty air,</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh, tarry, for the dawn is nigh!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Oh, tarry, for the envious day</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Stretches long hands to catch thy feet.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Alas! but thou art overfleet,</span>
<br/>
<span>Alas! I know thou wilt not stay.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="lotus-leaves-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span>Eastward the dawn has broken red,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The circling mists and shadows flee;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Aurora rises from the sea,</span>
<br/>
<span>And leaves the crocus-flowered bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Eastward the silver arrows fall,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Splintering the veil of holy night:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And a long wave of yellow light</span>
<br/>
<span>Breaks silently on tower and hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And speeding wide across the wold</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wakes into flight some fluttering bird;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And all the chestnut tops are stirred,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all the branches streaked with gold.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="lotus-leaves-3" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>
<p>
<span>To outer senses there is peace,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A dream-like peace on either hand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Deep silence in the shadowy land,</span>
<br/>
<span>Deep silence where the shadows cease,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Save for a cry that echoes shrill</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From some lone bird disconsolate;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A curlew calling to its mate;</span>
<br/>
<span>The answer from the distant hill.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And, herald of my love to Him</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who, waiting for the dawn, doth lie,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The orbèd maiden leaves the sky,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the white firs grow more dim.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="lotus-leaves-4" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IV</h3>
<p>
<span>Up sprang the sun to run his race,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The breeze blew fair on meadow and lea,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But in the west I seemed to see</span>
<br/>
<span>The likeness of a human face.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A linnet on the hawthorn spray</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Sang of the glories of the spring,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And made the flow’ring copses ring</span>
<br/>
<span>With gladness for the new-born day.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A lark from out the grass I trod</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Flew wildly, and was lost to view</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the great seamless veil of blue</span>
<br/>
<span>That hangs before the face of God.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The willow whispered overhead</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That death is but a newer life</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And that with idle words of strife</span>
<br/>
<span>We bring dishonour on the dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I took a branch from off the tree,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And hawthorn branches drenched with dew,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I bound them with a sprig of yew,</span>
<br/>
<span>And made a garland fair to see.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I laid the flowers where He lies</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(Warm leaves and flowers on the stones):</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">What joy I had to sit alone</span>
<br/>
<span>Till evening broke on tired eyes:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Till all the shifting clouds had spun</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A robe of gold for God to wear</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And into seas of purple air</span>
<br/>
<span>Sank the bright galley of the sun.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="lotus-leaves-5" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">V</h3>
<p>
<span>Shall I be gladdened for the day,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And let my inner heart be stirred</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By murmuring tree or song of bird,</span>
<br/>
<span>And sorrow at the wild winds’ play?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Not so, such idle dreams belong</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To souls of lesser depth than mine;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I feel that I am half divine;</span>
<br/>
<span>I know that I am great and strong.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I know that every forest tree</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By labour rises from the root;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I know that none shall gather fruit</span>
<br/>
<span>By sailing on the barren sea.</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="wasted-days" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">Wasted Days</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">From a Picture Painted by Miss <abbr class="eoc" epub:type="z3998:personal-name">V. T.</abbr></p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>A fair slim boy not made for this world’s pain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With hair of gold thick clustering round his ears,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And longing eyes half veiled by foolish tears</span>
<br/>
<span>Like bluest water seen through mists of rain;</span>
<br/>
<span>Pale cheeks whereon no kiss hath left its stain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Red under-lip drawn in for fear of love,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And white throat whiter than the breast of dove⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Alas! Alas! If all should be in vain.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Corn-fields behind, and reapers all a-row</span>
<br/>
<span>In weariest labour toiling wearily,</span>
<br/>
<span>To no sweet sound of laughter or of lute.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And careless of the crimson sunset-glow,</span>
<br/>
<span>The boy still dreams; nor knows that night is night,</span>
<br/>
<span>And in the night-time no man gathers fruit.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="a-fragment-from-the-agamemnon-of-aeschylos" epub:type="z3998:drama bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">A Fragment from the <i epub:type="se:name.publication.play">Agamemnon</i> of Aeschylos</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">Lines 1140⁠–⁠1173</p>
</hgroup>
<p>The scene is the court-yard of the Palace at Argos. Agamemnon has already entered the House of Doom, and Clytemnestra has followed close on his heels. Cassandra is left alone upon the stage. The conscious terror of death and the burden of prophecy lie heavy upon her; terrible signs and visions greet her approach. She sees blood upon the lintel, and the smell of blood scares her, as some bird, from the door. The ghosts of the murdered children come to mourn with her. Her second sight pierces the Palace walls; she sees the fatal bath, the trammelling net, and the axe sharpened for her own ruin and her lord’s.</p>
<p>But not even in the hour of her last anguish is Apollo merciful; her warnings are unheeded, her prophetic utterances made mock of.</p>
<p>The orchestra is filled with a chorus of old men weak, foolish, irresolute. They do not believe the weird woman of mystery till the hour for help is past, and the cry of Agamemnon echoes from the house, “Oh me! I am stricken with a stroke of death.”</p>
<table epub:type="z3998:verse">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Chorus</td>
<td epub:type="z3998:verse">
<p>
<span>Thy prophecies are but a lying tale,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For cruel gods have brought thee to this state,</span>
<br/>
<span>And of thyself and thine own wretched fate</span>
<br/>
<span>Sing you this song and these unhallowed lays,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like the brown bird of grief insatiate</span>
<br/>
<span>Crying for sorrow of its dreary days;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Crying for Itys, Itys, in the vale⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">The nightingale! The nightingale!</span>
</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Cassandra</td>
<td epub:type="z3998:verse">
<p>
<span>Yet I would that to me they had given</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The fate of that singer so clear,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fleet wings to fly up unto heaven,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Away from all mourning and fear;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For ruin and slaughter await me-⁠—the cleaving with sword and the spear.</span>
</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Chorus</td>
<td epub:type="z3998:verse">
<p>
<span>Whence come these crowding fancies on thy brain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Sent by some god it may be, yet for naught?</span>
<br/>
<span>Why dost thou sing with evil-tongued refrain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Moulding thy terrors to this hideous strain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With shrill, sad cries, as if by death distraught?</span>
<br/>
<span>Why dost thou tread that path of prophecy,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Where, upon either hand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Landmarks for ever stand</span>
<br/>
<span>With horrid legend for all men to see?</span>
</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Cassandra</td>
<td epub:type="z3998:verse">
<p>
<span>O bitter bridegroom who didst bear</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ruin to those that loved thee true!</span>
<br/>
<span>O holy stream Scamander, where</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With gentle nurturement I grew</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the first days, when life and love were new.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And now⁠—and now⁠—it seems that I must lie</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the dark land that never sees the sun;</span>
<br/>
<span>Sing my sad songs of fruitless prophecy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By the black stream Cokytos that doth run</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Through long, low hills of dreary Acheron.</span>
</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Chorus</td>
<td epub:type="z3998:verse">
<p>
<span class="i2">Ah, but thy word is clear!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Even a child among men,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Even a child might see</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">What is lying hidden here.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Ah! I am smitten deep</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">To the heart with a deadly blow</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">At the evil fate of the maid,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">At the cry of her song of woe!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Sorrows for her to bear!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Wonders for me to hear!</span>
</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Cassandra</td>
<td epub:type="z3998:verse">
<p>
<span>O my poor land laid waste with flame and fire!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O ruined city overthrown by fate!</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, what availed the offerings of my Sire</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To keep the foreign foemen from the gate!</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, what availed the herds of pasturing kine</span>
<br/>
<span>To save my country from the wrath divine!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah, neither prayer nor priest availèd aught,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor the strong captains that so stoutly fought,</span>
<br/>
<span>For the tall town lies desolate and low.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And I, the singer of this song of woe,</span>
<br/>
<span>Know, by the fire burning in my brain,</span>
<br/>
<span>That Death, the healer of all earthly pain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is close at hand! I will not shirk the blow.</span>
</p>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
</article>
<article id="the-theatre-at-argos" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Theatre at Argos</h2>
<p>
<span>Nettles and poppy mar each rock-hewn sea</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">No poet crowned with olive deathlessly</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Chants his glad song, nor clamorous Tragedy</span>
<br/>
<span>Startles the air; green corn is waving sweet</span>
<br/>
<span>Where once the Chorus danced to measures fleet;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Far to the East a purple sea,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The cliffs of gold that prisoned Danae;</span>
<br/>
<span>And desecrated Argos at my feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>No season now to mourn the days of old,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A nation’s shipwreck on the rocks of Time,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Or the dread storms of all-devouring Fate.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">For now the peoples clamor at our gate,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The world is full of plague and sin and crime,</span>
<br/>
<span>And God Himself is half-dethroned for Gold!</span>
</p>
<footer>
<p>Argos, 1877</p>
</footer>
</article>
<article id="ravenna" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<header>
<h2 epub:type="title">Ravenna</h2>
<p epub:type="dedication">To My Friend George Fleming, Author of <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">The Nile Novel</i> and <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Mirage</i></p>
</header>
<section id="ravenna-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span>A year ago I breathed the Italian air⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>And yet, methinks this northern Spring is fair⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>These fields made golden with the flower of March,</span>
<br/>
<span>The throstle singing on the feathered larch,</span>
<br/>
<span>The cawing rooks, the wood-doves fluttering by,</span>
<br/>
<span>The little clouds that race across the sky;</span>
<br/>
<span>And fair the violet’s gentle drooping head,</span>
<br/>
<span>The primrose, pale for love uncomforted,</span>
<br/>
<span>The rose that burgeons on the climbing briar,</span>
<br/>
<span>The crocus-bed, (that seems a moon of fire</span>
<br/>
<span>Round-girdled with a purple marriage-ring);</span>
<br/>
<span>And all the flowers of our English Spring,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fond snowdrops, and the bright-starred daffodil.</span>
<br/>
<span>Up starts the lark beside the murmuring mill,</span>
<br/>
<span>And breaks the gossamer-threads of early dew;</span>
<br/>
<span>And down the river, like a flame of blue,</span>
<br/>
<span>Keen as an arrow flies the water-king,</span>
<br/>
<span>While the brown linnets in the greenwood sing.</span>
<br/>
<span>A year ago!⁠—it seems a little time</span>
<br/>
<span>Since last I saw that lordly southern clime,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where flower and fruit to purple radiance blow,</span>
<br/>
<span>And like bright lamps the fabled apples glow.</span>
<br/>
<span>Full Spring it was⁠—and by rich flowering vines,</span>
<br/>
<span>Dark olive-groves and noble forest-pines,</span>
<br/>
<span>I rode at will; the moist glad air was sweet,</span>
<br/>
<span>The white road rang beneath my horse’s feet,</span>
<br/>
<span>And musing on Ravenna’s ancient name,</span>
<br/>
<span>I watched the day till, marked with wounds of flame,</span>
<br/>
<span>The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">O how my heart with boyish passion burned,</span>
<br/>
<span>When far away across the sedge and mere</span>
<br/>
<span>I saw that Holy City rising clear,</span>
<br/>
<span>Crowned with her crown of towers!⁠—On and on</span>
<br/>
<span>I galloped, racing with the setting sun,</span>
<br/>
<span>And ere the crimson after-glow was passed,</span>
<br/>
<span>I stood within Ravenna’s walls at last!</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="ravenna-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span class="i1">How strangely still! no sound of life or joy</span>
<br/>
<span>Startles the air; no laughing shepherd-boy</span>
<br/>
<span>Pipes on his reed, nor ever through the day</span>
<br/>
<span>Comes the glad sound of children at their play:</span>
<br/>
<span>O sad, and sweet, and silent! surely here</span>
<br/>
<span>A man might dwell apart from troublous fear,</span>
<br/>
<span>Watching the tide of seasons as they flow</span>
<br/>
<span>From amorous Spring to Winter’s rain and snow,</span>
<br/>
<span>And have no thought of sorrow;⁠—here, indeed,</span>
<br/>
<span>Are Lethe’s waters, and that fatal weed</span>
<br/>
<span>Which makes a man forget his fatherland.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Ay! amid lotus-meadows dost thou stand,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like Proserpine, with poppy-laden head,</span>
<br/>
<span>Guarding the holy ashes of the dead.</span>
<br/>
<span>For though thy brood of warrior sons hath ceased,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy noble dead are with thee!⁠—they at least</span>
<br/>
<span>Are faithful to thine honour:⁠—guard them well,</span>
<br/>
<span>O childless city! for a mighty spell,</span>
<br/>
<span>To wake men’s hearts to dreams of things sublime,</span>
<br/>
<span>Are the lone tombs where rest the Great of Time.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="ravenna-3" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>
<p>
<span class="i1">Yon lonely pillar, rising on the plain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Marks where the bravest knight of France was slain⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>The Prince of chivalry, the Lord of war,</span>
<br/>
<span>Gaston de Foix: for some untimely star</span>
<br/>
<span>Led him against thy city, and he fell,</span>
<br/>
<span>As falls some forest-lion fighting well.</span>
<br/>
<span>Taken from life while life and love were new,</span>
<br/>
<span>He lies beneath God’s seamless veil of blue;</span>
<br/>
<span>Tall lance-like reeds wave sadly o’er his head,</span>
<br/>
<span>And oleanders bloom to deeper red,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where his bright youth flowed crimson on the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Look farther north unto that broken mound⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>There, prisoned now within a lordly tomb</span>
<br/>
<span>Raised by a daughter’s hand, in lonely gloom,</span>
<br/>
<span>Huge-limbed Theodoric, the Gothic king,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sleeps after all his weary conquering.</span>
<br/>
<span>Time hath not spared his ruin⁠—wind and rain</span>
<br/>
<span>Have broken down his stronghold; and again</span>
<br/>
<span>We see that Death is mighty lord of all,</span>
<br/>
<span>And king and clown to ashen dust must fall.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Mighty indeed <em>their</em> glory! yet to me</span>
<br/>
<span>Barbaric king, or knight of chivalry,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or the great queen herself, were poor and vain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Beside the grave where Dante rests from pain.</span>
<br/>
<span>His gilded shrine lies open to the air;</span>
<br/>
<span>And cunning sculptor’s hands have carven there</span>
<br/>
<span>The calm white brow, as calm as earliest morn,</span>
<br/>
<span>The eyes that flashed with passionate love and scorn,</span>
<br/>
<span>The lips that sang of Heaven and of Hell,</span>
<br/>
<span>The almond-face which Giotto drew so well,</span>
<br/>
<span>The weary face of Dante;⁠—to this day,</span>
<br/>
<span>Here in his place of resting, far away</span>
<br/>
<span>From Arno’s yellow waters, rushing down</span>
<br/>
<span>Through the wide bridges of that fairy town,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where the tall tower of Giotto seems to rise</span>
<br/>
<span>A marble lily under sapphire skies!</span>
<br/>
<span>Alas! my Dante! thou hast known the pain</span>
<br/>
<span>Of meaner lives⁠—the exile’s galling chain,</span>
<br/>
<span>How steep the stairs within kings’ houses are,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all the petty miseries which mar</span>
<br/>
<span>Man’s nobler nature with the sense of wrong.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet this dull world is grateful for thy song;</span>
<br/>
<span>Our nations do thee homage⁠—even she,</span>
<br/>
<span>That cruel queen of vine-clad Tuscany,</span>
<br/>
<span>Who bound with crown of thorns thy living brow,</span>
<br/>
<span>Hath decked thine empty tomb with laurels now,</span>
<br/>
<span>And begs in vain the ashes of her son.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">O mightiest exile! all thy grief is done:</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy soul walks now beside thy Beatrice;</span>
<br/>
<span>Ravenna guards thine ashes: sleep in peace.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="ravenna-4" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IV</h3>
<p>
<span class="i1">How lone this palace is; how grey the walls!</span>
<br/>
<span>No minstrel now wakes echoes in these halls.</span>
<br/>
<span>The broken chain lies rusting on the door,</span>
<br/>
<span>And noisome weeds have split the marble floor:</span>
<br/>
<span>Here lurks the snake, and here the lizards run</span>
<br/>
<span>By the stone lions blinking in the sun.</span>
<br/>
<span>Byron dwelt here in love and revelry</span>
<br/>
<span>For two long years⁠—a second Anthony,</span>
<br/>
<span>Who of the world another Actium made!⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet suffered not his royal soul to fade,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or lyre to break, or lance to grow less keen,</span>
<br/>
<span>’Neath any wiles of an Egyptian queen.</span>
<br/>
<span>For from the East there came a mighty cry,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Greece stood up to fight for Liberty,</span>
<br/>
<span>And called him from Ravenna: never knight</span>
<br/>
<span>Rode forth more nobly to wild scenes of fight!</span>
<br/>
<span>None fell more bravely on ensanguined field,</span>
<br/>
<span>Borne like a Spartan back upon his shield!</span>
<br/>
<span>O Hellas! Hellas! in thine hour of pride,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy day of might, remember him who died</span>
<br/>
<span>To wrest from off thy limbs the trammelling chain:</span>
<br/>
<span>O Salamis! O lone Plataean plain!</span>
<br/>
<span>O tossing waves of wild Euboean sea!</span>
<br/>
<span>O wind-swept heights of lone Thermopylae!</span>
<br/>
<span>He loved you well⁠—ay, not alone in word,</span>
<br/>
<span>Who freely gave to thee his lyre and sword,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like Aeschylos at well-fought Marathon:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">And England, too, shall glory in her son,</span>
<br/>
<span>Her warrior-poet, first in song and fight.</span>
<br/>
<span>No longer now shall Slander’s venomed spite</span>
<br/>
<span>Crawl like a snake across his perfect name,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or mar the lordly scutcheon of his fame.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">For as the olive-garland of the race,</span>
<br/>
<span>Which lights with joy each eager runner’s face,</span>
<br/>
<span>As the red cross which saveth men in war,</span>
<br/>
<span>As a flame-bearded beacon seen from far</span>
<br/>
<span>By mariners upon a storm-tossed sea⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Such was his love for Greece and Liberty!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Byron, thy crowns are ever fresh and green:</span>
<br/>
<span>Red leaves of rose from Sapphic Mitylene</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall bind thy brows; the myrtle blooms for thee,</span>
<br/>
<span>In hidden glades by lonely Castaly;</span>
<br/>
<span>The laurels wait thy coming: all are thine,</span>
<br/>
<span>And round thy head one perfect wreath will twine.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="ravenna-5" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">V</h3>
<p>
<span class="i1">The pine-tops rocked before the evening breeze</span>
<br/>
<span>With the hoarse murmur of the wintry seas,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the tall stems were streaked with amber bright;⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>I wandered through the wood in wild delight,</span>
<br/>
<span>Some startled bird, with fluttering wings and fleet,</span>
<br/>
<span>Made snow of all the blossoms; at my feet,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like silver crowns, the pale narcissi lay,</span>
<br/>
<span>And small birds sang on every twining spray.</span>
<br/>
<span>O waving trees, O forest liberty!</span>
<br/>
<span>Within your haunts at least a man is free,</span>
<br/>
<span>And half forgets the weary world of strife:</span>
<br/>
<span>The blood flows hotter, and a sense of life</span>
<br/>
<span>Wakes i’ the quickening veins, while once again</span>
<br/>
<span>The woods are filled with gods we fancied slain.</span>
<br/>
<span>Long time I watched, and surely hoped to see</span>
<br/>
<span>Some goat-foot Pan make merry minstrelsy</span>
<br/>
<span>Amid the reeds! some startled Dryad-maid</span>
<br/>
<span>In girlish flight! or lurking in the glade,</span>
<br/>
<span>The soft brown limbs, the wanton treacherous face</span>
<br/>
<span>Of woodland god! Queen Dian in the chase,</span>
<br/>
<span>White-limbed and terrible, with look of pride,</span>
<br/>
<span>And leash of boar-hounds leaping at her side!</span>
<br/>
<span>Or Hylas mirrored in the perfect stream.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">O idle heart! O fond Hellenic dream!</span>
<br/>
<span>Ere long, with melancholy rise and swell,</span>
<br/>
<span>The evening chimes, the convent’s vesper bell,</span>
<br/>
<span>Struck on mine ears amid the amorous flowers.</span>
<br/>
<span>Alas! alas! these sweet and honied hours</span>
<br/>
<span>Had whelmed my heart like some encroaching sea,</span>
<br/>
<span>And drowned all thoughts of black Gethsemane.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="ravenna-6" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VI</h3>
<p>
<span class="i1">O lone Ravenna! many a tale is told</span>
<br/>
<span>Of thy great glories in the days of old:</span>
<br/>
<span>Two thousand years have passed since thou didst see</span>
<br/>
<span>Caesar ride forth to royal victory.</span>
<br/>
<span>Mighty thy name when Rome’s lean eagles flew</span>
<br/>
<span>From Britain’s isles to far Euphrates blue;</span>
<br/>
<span>And of the peoples thou wast noble queen,</span>
<br/>
<span>Till in thy streets the Goth and Hun were seen.</span>
<br/>
<span>Discrowned by man, deserted by the sea,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thou sleepest, rocked in lonely misery!</span>
<br/>
<span>No longer now upon thy swelling tide,</span>
<br/>
<span>Pine-forest-like, thy myriad galleys ride!</span>
<br/>
<span>For where the brass-beaked ships were wont to float,</span>
<br/>
<span>The weary shepherd pipes his mournful note;</span>
<br/>
<span>And the white sheep are free to come and go</span>
<br/>
<span>Where Adria’s purple waters used to flow.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">O fair! O sad! O Queen uncomforted!</span>
<br/>
<span>In ruined loveliness thou liest dead,</span>
<br/>
<span>Alone of all thy sisters; for at last</span>
<br/>
<span>Italia’s royal warrior hath passed</span>
<br/>
<span>Rome’s lordliest entrance, and hath worn his crown</span>
<br/>
<span>In the high temples of the Eternal Town!</span>
<br/>
<span>The Palatine hath welcomed back her king,</span>
<br/>
<span>And with his name the seven mountains ring!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">And Naples hath outlived her dream of pain,</span>
<br/>
<span>And mocks her tyrant! Venice lives again,</span>
<br/>
<span>New risen from the waters! and the cry</span>
<br/>
<span>Of Light and Truth, of Love and Liberty,</span>
<br/>
<span>Is heard in lordly Genoa, and where</span>
<br/>
<span>The marble spires of Milan wound the air,</span>
<br/>
<span>Rings from the Alps to the Sicilian shore,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Dante’s dream is now a dream no more.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">But thou, Ravenna, better loved than all,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy ruined palaces are but a pall</span>
<br/>
<span>That hides thy fallen greatness! and thy name</span>
<br/>
<span>Burns like a grey and flickering candle-flame</span>
<br/>
<span>Beneath the noonday splendour of the sun</span>
<br/>
<span>Of new Italia! for the night is done,</span>
<br/>
<span>The night of dark oppression, and the day</span>
<br/>
<span>Hath dawned in passionate splendour: far away</span>
<br/>
<span>The Austrian hounds are hunted from the land,</span>
<br/>
<span>Beyond those ice-crowned citadels which stand</span>
<br/>
<span>Girdling the plain of royal Lombardy,</span>
<br/>
<span>From the far West unto the Eastern sea.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">I know, indeed, that sons of thine have died</span>
<br/>
<span>In Lissa’s waters, by the mountain-side</span>
<br/>
<span>Of Aspromonte, on Novara’s plain⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor have thy children died for thee in vain:</span>
<br/>
<span>And yet, methinks, thou hast not drunk this wine</span>
<br/>
<span>From grapes new-crushed of Liberty divine,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thou hast not followed that immortal Star</span>
<br/>
<span>Which leads the people forth to deeds of war.</span>
<br/>
<span>Weary of life, thou liest in silent sleep,</span>
<br/>
<span>As one who marks the lengthening shadows creep,</span>
<br/>
<span>Careless of all the hurrying hours that run,</span>
<br/>
<span>Mourning some day of glory, for the sun</span>
<br/>
<span>Of Freedom hath not shown to thee his face,</span>
<br/>
<span>And thou hast caught no flambeau in the race.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Yet wake not from thy slumbers⁠—rest thee well,</span>
<br/>
<span>Amidst thy fields of amber asphodel,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy lily-sprinkled meadows⁠—rest thee there,</span>
<br/>
<span>To mock all human greatness: who would dare</span>
<br/>
<span>To vent the paltry sorrows of his life</span>
<br/>
<span>Before thy ruins, or to praise the strife</span>
<br/>
<span>Of kings’ ambition, and the barren pride</span>
<br/>
<span>Of warring nations! wert not thou the Bride</span>
<br/>
<span>Of the wild Lord of Adria’s stormy sea!</span>
<br/>
<span>The Queen of double Empires! and to thee</span>
<br/>
<span>Were not the nations given as thy prey!</span>
<br/>
<span>And now⁠—thy gates lie open night and day,</span>
<br/>
<span>The grass grows green on every tower and hall,</span>
<br/>
<span>The ghastly fig hath cleft thy bastioned wall;</span>
<br/>
<span>And where thy mailèd warriors stood at rest</span>
<br/>
<span>The midnight owl hath made her secret nest.</span>
<br/>
<span>O fallen! fallen! from thy high estate,</span>
<br/>
<span>O city trammelled in the toils of Fate,</span>
<br/>
<span>Doth nought remain of all thy glorious days,</span>
<br/>
<span>But a dull shield, a crown of withered bays!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Yet who beneath this night of wars and fears,</span>
<br/>
<span>From tranquil tower can watch the coming years;</span>
<br/>
<span>Who can foretell what joys the day shall bring,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or why before the dawn the linnets sing?</span>
<br/>
<span>Thou, even thou, mayst wake, as wakes the rose</span>
<br/>
<span>To crimson splendour from its grave of snows;</span>
<br/>
<span>As the rich corn-fields rise to red and gold</span>
<br/>
<span>From these brown lands, now stiff with Winter’s cold;</span>
<br/>
<span>As from the storm-rack comes a perfect star!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">O much-loved city! I have wandered far</span>
<br/>
<span>From the wave-circled islands of my home;</span>
<br/>
<span>Have seen the gloomy mystery of the Dome</span>
<br/>
<span>Rise slowly from the drear Campagna’s way,</span>
<br/>
<span>Clothed in the royal purple of the day:</span>
<br/>
<span>I from the city of the violet crown</span>
<br/>
<span>Have watched the sun by Corinth’s hill go down,</span>
<br/>
<span>And marked the “myriad laughter” of the sea</span>
<br/>
<span>From starlit hills of flower-starred Arcady;</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet back to thee returns my perfect love,</span>
<br/>
<span>As to its forest-nest the evening dove.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">O poet’s city! one who scarce has seen</span>
<br/>
<span>Some twenty summers cast their doublets green,</span>
<br/>
<span>For Autumn’s livery, would seek in vain</span>
<br/>
<span>To wake his lyre to sing a louder strain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or tell thy days of glory;⁠—poor indeed</span>
<br/>
<span>Is the low murmur of the shepherd’s reed,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where the loud clarion’s blast should shake the sky,</span>
<br/>
<span>And flame across the heavens! and to try</span>
<br/>
<span>Such lofty themes were folly: yet I know</span>
<br/>
<span>That never felt my heart a nobler glow</span>
<br/>
<span>Than when I woke the silence of thy street</span>
<br/>
<span>With clamorous trampling of my horse’s feet,</span>
<br/>
<span>And saw the city which now I try to sing,</span>
<br/>
<span>After long days of weary travelling.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="ravenna-7" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VII</h3>
<p>
<span class="i1">Adieu, Ravenna! but a year ago,</span>
<br/>
<span>I stood and watched the crimson sunset glow</span>
<br/>
<span>From the lone chapel on thy marshy plain:</span>
<br/>
<span>The sky was as a shield that caught the stain</span>
<br/>
<span>Of blood and battle from the dying sun,</span>
<br/>
<span>And in the west the circling clouds had spun</span>
<br/>
<span>A royal robe, which some great God might wear,</span>
<br/>
<span>While into ocean-seas of purple air</span>
<br/>
<span>Sank the gold galley of the Lord of Light.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Yet here the gentle stillness of the night</span>
<br/>
<span>Brings back the swelling tide of memory,</span>
<br/>
<span>And wakes again my passionate love for thee:</span>
<br/>
<span>Now is the Spring of Love, yet soon will come</span>
<br/>
<span>On meadow and tree the Summer’s lordly bloom;</span>
<br/>
<span>And soon the grass with brighter flowers will blow,</span>
<br/>
<span>And send up lilies for some boy to mow.</span>
<br/>
<span>Then before long the Summer’s conqueror,</span>
<br/>
<span>Rich Autumn-time, the season’s usurer,</span>
<br/>
<span>Will lend his hoarded gold to all the trees,</span>
<br/>
<span>And see it scattered by the spendthrift breeze;</span>
<br/>
<span>And after that the Winter cold and drear.</span>
<br/>
<span>So runs the perfect cycle of the year.</span>
<br/>
<span>And so from youth to manhood do we go,</span>
<br/>
<span>And fall to weary days and locks of snow.</span>
<br/>
<span>Love only knows no winter; never dies:</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor cares for frowning storms or leaden skies.</span>
<br/>
<span>And mine for thee shall never pass away,</span>
<br/>
<span>Though my weak lips may falter in my lay.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Adieu! Adieu! yon silent evening star,</span>
<br/>
<span>The night’s ambassador, doth gleam afar,</span>
<br/>
<span>And bid the shepherd bring his flocks to fold.</span>
<br/>
<span>Perchance before our inland seas of gold</span>
<br/>
<span>Are garnered by the reapers into sheaves,</span>
<br/>
<span>Perchance before I see the Autumn leaves,</span>
<br/>
<span>I may behold thy city; and lay down</span>
<br/>
<span>Low at thy feet the poet’s laurel crown.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Adieu! Adieu! yon silver lamp, the moon,</span>
<br/>
<span>Which turns our midnight into perfect noon,</span>
<br/>
<span>Doth surely light thy towers, guarding well</span>
<br/>
<span>Where Dante sleeps, where Byron loved to dwell.</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="sen-artysty" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 lang="pl" epub:type="title" xml:lang="pl">Sen Artysty</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">Or, The Artist’s Dream</p>
<p epub:type="subtitle">From the Polish of Madame Helena Modjeska</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>I too have had my dreams: ay, indeed known</span>
<br/>
<span>The crowded visions of a fiery youth</span>
<br/>
<span>Which haunt me still.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span class="i6">Methought that once I lay</span>
<br/>
<span>Within some garden close, what time the Spring</span>
<br/>
<span>Breaks like a bird from Winter, and the sky</span>
<br/>
<span>Is sapphire-vaulted. The pure air was soft,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the deep grass I lay on soft as air.</span>
<br/>
<span>The strange and secret life of the young trees</span>
<br/>
<span>Swelled in the green and tender bark, or burst</span>
<br/>
<span>To buds of sheathèd emerald; violets</span>
<br/>
<span>Peered from their nooks of hiding, half afraid</span>
<br/>
<span>Of their own loveliness; the vermeil rose</span>
<br/>
<span>Opened its heart, and the bright star-flower</span>
<br/>
<span>Shone like a star of morning. Butterflies,</span>
<br/>
<span>In painted liveries of brown and gold,</span>
<br/>
<span>Took the shy bluebells as their pavilions</span>
<br/>
<span>And seats of pleasaunce; overhead a bird</span>
<br/>
<span>Made snow of all the blossoms as it flew</span>
<br/>
<span>To charm the woods with singing: the whole world</span>
<br/>
<span class="dl2">
<span>Seemed waking to delight!</span>
<span>And yet⁠—and yet⁠—</span>
</span>
<br/>
<span>My soul was filled with leaden heaviness:</span>
<br/>
<span>I had no joy in Nature; what to me,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ambition’s slave, was crimson-stainèd rose</span>
<br/>
<span>Or the gold-sceptred crocus? The bright bird</span>
<br/>
<span>Sang out of tune for me, and the sweet flowers</span>
<br/>
<span>Seemed but a pageant, and an unreal show</span>
<br/>
<span>That mocked my heart; for, like the fabled snake</span>
<br/>
<span>That stings itself to anguish, so I lay</span>
<br/>
<span class="dl2">
<span>Self-tortured, self-tormented.</span>
<span>The day crept</span>
</span>
<br/>
<span>Unheeded on the dial, till the sun</span>
<br/>
<span>Dropt, purple-sailed, into the gorgeous East,</span>
<br/>
<span>When, from the fiery heart of that great orb,</span>
<br/>
<span>Came One whose shape of beauty far outshone</span>
<br/>
<span>The most bright vision of this common earth.</span>
<br/>
<span>Girt was she in a robe more white than flame</span>
<br/>
<span>Or furnace-heated brass; upon her head</span>
<br/>
<span>She bare a laurel crown, and, like a star</span>
<br/>
<span>That falls from the high heaven suddenly,</span>
<br/>
<span class="dl2">
<span>Passed to my side.</span>
<span>Then kneeling low, I cried</span>
</span>
<br/>
<span>“O much-desired! O long-waited for!</span>
<br/>
<span>Immortal Glory! Great world-conqueror!</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh, let me not die crownless; once, at least,</span>
<br/>
<span>Let thine imperial laurels bind my brows,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ignoble else. Once let the clarion note</span>
<br/>
<span>And trump of loud ambition sound my name,</span>
<br/>
<span class="dl2">
<span>And for the rest I care not.”</span>
<span>Then to me,</span>
</span>
<br/>
<span>In gentle voice, the angel made reply:</span>
<br/>
<span>“Child, ignorant of the true happiness,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor knowing life’s best wisdom, thou wert made</span>
<br/>
<span>For light and love and laughter, not to waste</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy youth in shooting arrows at the sun,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or nurturing that ambition in thy soul</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose deadly poison will infect thy heart,</span>
<br/>
<span>Marring all joy and gladness! Tarry here</span>
<br/>
<span>In the sweet confines of this garden-close</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose level meads and glades delectable</span>
<br/>
<span>Invite for pleasure; the wild bird that wakes</span>
<br/>
<span>These silent dells with sudden melody</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall be thy playmate; and each flower that blows</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall twine itself unbidden in thy hair⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Garland more meet for thee than the dread weight</span>
<br/>
<span class="dl2">
<span>Of Glory’s laurel wreath.”</span>
<span>“Ah! fruitless gifts,”</span>
</span>
<br/>
<span>I cried, unheeding of her prudent word,</span>
<br/>
<span>“Are all such mortal flowers, whose brief lives</span>
<br/>
<span>Are bounded by the dawn and setting sun.</span>
<br/>
<span>The anger of the noon can wound the rose,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the rain rob the crocus of its gold;</span>
<br/>
<span>But thine immortal coronal of Fame,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy crown of deathless laurel, this alone</span>
<br/>
<span>Age cannot harm, nor winter’s icy tooth</span>
<br/>
<span>Pierce to its hurt, nor common things profane.”</span>
<br/>
<span>No answer made the angel, but her face</span>
<br/>
<span class="dl2">
<span>Dimmed with the mists of pity.</span>
<span>Then methought</span>
</span>
<br/>
<span>That from mine eyes, wherein ambition’s torch</span>
<br/>
<span>Burned with its latest and most ardent flame,</span>
<br/>
<span>Flashed forth two level beams of straitened light,</span>
<br/>
<span>Beneath whose fulgent fires the laurel crown</span>
<br/>
<span>Twisted and curled, as when the Sirian star</span>
<br/>
<span>Withers the ripening corn, and one pale leaf</span>
<br/>
<span>Fell on my brow; and I leapt up and felt</span>
<br/>
<span>The mighty pulse of Fame, and heard far off</span>
<br/>
<span>The sound of many nations praising me!</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>One fiery-coloured moment of great life!</span>
<br/>
<span>And then⁠—how barren was the nations’ praise!</span>
<br/>
<span>How vain the trump of Glory! Bitter thorns</span>
<br/>
<span>Were in that laurel leaf, whose toothèd barbs</span>
<br/>
<span>Burned and bit deep till fire and red flame</span>
<br/>
<span>Seemed to feed full upon my brain, and make</span>
<br/>
<span class="dl2">
<span>The garden a bare desert.</span>
<span>With wild hands</span>
</span>
<br/>
<span>I strove to tear it from my bleeding brow,</span>
<br/>
<span>But all in vain; and with a dolorous cry</span>
<br/>
<span>That paled the lingering stars before their time,</span>
<br/>
<span>I waked at last, and saw the timorous dawn</span>
<br/>
<span>Peer with grey face into my darkened room,</span>
<br/>
<span>And would have deemed it a mere idle dream</span>
<br/>
<span>But for this restless pain that gnaws my heart,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the red wounds of thorns upon my brow.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="helas" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 lang="grc-Latn" epub:type="title" xml:lang="grc-Latn">Hélas!</h2>
<p>
<span>To drift with every passion till my soul</span>
<br/>
<span>Is a stringed lute on which all winds can play,</span>
<br/>
<span>Is it for this that I have given away</span>
<br/>
<span>Mine ancient wisdom, and austere control?</span>
<br/>
<span>Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll</span>
<br/>
<span>Scrawled over on some boyish holiday</span>
<br/>
<span>With idle songs for pipe and virelay,</span>
<br/>
<span>Which do but mar the secret of the whole.</span>
<br/>
<span>Surely there was a time I might have trod</span>
<br/>
<span>The sunlit heights, and from life’s dissonance</span>
<br/>
<span>Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God:</span>
<br/>
<span>Is that time dead? lo! with a little rod</span>
<br/>
<span>I did but touch the honey of romance⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>And must I lose a soul’s inheritance?</span>
</p>
</article>
<section id="eleutheria" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 lang="grc-Latn" epub:type="title" xml:lang="grc-Latn">Eleutheria</h2>
<article id="sonnet-to-liberty" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">Sonnet to Liberty</h3>
<p>
<span>Not that I love thy children, whose dull eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>See nothing save their own unlovely woe,</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose minds know nothing, nothing care to know⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>But that the roar of thy Democracies,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy reigns of Terror, thy great Anarchies,</span>
<br/>
<span>Mirror my wildest passions like the sea</span>
<br/>
<span>And give my rage a brother⁠—! Liberty!</span>
<br/>
<span>For this sake only do thy dissonant cries</span>
<br/>
<span>Delight my discreet soul, else might all kings</span>
<br/>
<span>By bloody knout or treacherous cannonades</span>
<br/>
<span>Rob nations of their rights inviolate</span>
<br/>
<span>And I remain unmoved⁠—and yet, and yet,</span>
<br/>
<span>These Christs that die upon the barricades,</span>
<br/>
<span>God knows it I am with them, in some things.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="ave-imperatrix" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">Ave Imperatrix</h3>
<p>
<span>Set in this stormy Northern sea,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Queen of these restless fields of tide,</span>
<br/>
<span>England! what shall men say of thee,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Before whose feet the worlds divide?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The earth, a brittle globe of glass,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lies in the hollow of thy hand,</span>
<br/>
<span>And through its heart of crystal pass,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like shadows through a twilight land,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The spears of crimson-suited war,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The long white-crested waves of fight,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all the deadly fires which are</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The torches of the lords of Night.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The yellow leopards, strained and lean,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The treacherous Russian knows so well,</span>
<br/>
<span>With gaping blackened jaws are seen</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Leap through the hail of screaming shell.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The strong sea-lion of England’s wars</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hath left his sapphire cave of sea,</span>
<br/>
<span>To battle with the storm that mars</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The stars of England’s chivalry.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The brazen-throated clarion blows</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Across the Pathan’s reedy fen,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the high steeps of Indian snows</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Shake to the tread of armèd men.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And many an Afghan chief, who lies</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Beneath his cool pomegranate-trees,</span>
<br/>
<span>Clutches his sword in fierce surmise</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When on the mountain-side he sees</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The fleet-foot Marri scout, who comes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To tell how he hath heard afar</span>
<br/>
<span>The measured roll of English drums</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Beat at the gates of Kandahar.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For southern wind and east wind meet</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where, girt and crowned by sword and fire,</span>
<br/>
<span>England with bare and bloody feet</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Climbs the steep road of wide empire.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O lonely Himalayan height,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Grey pillar of the Indian sky,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where saw’st thou last in clanging flight</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Our wingèd dogs of Victory?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The almond-groves of Samarkand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Bokhara, where red lilies blow,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Oxus, by whose yellow sand</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The grave white-turbaned merchants go:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And on from thence to Ispahan,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The gilded garden of the sun,</span>
<br/>
<span>Whence the long dusty caravan</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Brings cedar wood and vermilion;</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And that dread city of Cabool</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Set at the mountain’s scarpèd feet,</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose marble tanks are ever full</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With water for the noonday heat:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Where through the narrow straight Bazaar</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A little maid Circassian</span>
<br/>
<span>Is led, a present from the Czar</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Unto some old and bearded khan⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Here have our wild war-eagles flown,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And flapped wide wings in fiery fight;</span>
<br/>
<span>But the sad dove, that sits alone</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In England⁠—she hath no delight.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>In vain the laughing girl will lean</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To greet her love with love-lit eyes:</span>
<br/>
<span>Down in some treacherous black ravine,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Clutching his flag, the dead boy lies.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And many a moon and sun will see</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The lingering wistful children wait</span>
<br/>
<span>To climb upon their father’s knee;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And in each house made desolate</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Pale women who have lost their lord</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Will kiss the relics of the slain⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Some tarnished epaulette⁠—some sword⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Poor toys to soothe such anguished pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For not in quiet English fields</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Are these, our brothers, lain to rest,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where we might deck their broken shields</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With all the flowers the dead love best.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For some are by the Delhi walls,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And many in the Afghan land,</span>
<br/>
<span>And many where the Ganges falls</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Through seven mouths of shifting sand.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And some in Russian waters lie,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And others in the seas which are</span>
<br/>
<span>The portals to the East, or by</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The wind-swept heights of Trafalgar.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O wandering graves! O restless sleep!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O silence of the sunless day!</span>
<br/>
<span>O still ravine! O stormy deep!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Give up your prey! Give up your prey!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And thou whose wounds are never healed,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whose weary race is never won,</span>
<br/>
<span>O Cromwell’s England! must thou yield</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For every inch of ground a son?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Go! crown with thorns thy gold-crowned head,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Change thy glad song to song of pain;</span>
<br/>
<span>Wind and wild wave have got thy dead,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And will not yield them back again.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Wave and wild wind and foreign shore</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Possess the flower of English land⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Lips that thy lips shall kiss no more,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hands that shall never clasp thy hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>What profit now that we have bound</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The whole round world with nets of gold,</span>
<br/>
<span>If hidden in our heart is found</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The care that groweth never old?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>What profit that our galleys ride,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Pine-forest-like, on every main?</span>
<br/>
<span>Ruin and wreck are at our side,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Grim warders of the House of pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Where are the brave, the strong, the fleet?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where is our English chivalry?</span>
<br/>
<span>Wild grasses are their burial-sheet,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And sobbing waves their threnody.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O loved ones lying far away,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">What word of love can dead lips send!</span>
<br/>
<span>O wasted dust! O senseless clay!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is this the end! is this the end!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Peace, peace! we wrong the noble dead</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To vex their solemn slumber so;</span>
<br/>
<span>Though childless, and with thorn-crowned head,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Up the steep road must England go,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Yet when this fiery web is spun,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Her watchmen shall descry from far</span>
<br/>
<span>The young Republic like a sun</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Rise from these crimson seas of war.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="to-milton" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">To Milton</h3>
<p>
<span>Milton! I think thy spirit hath passed away</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From these white cliffs and high-embattled towers;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">This gorgeous fiery-coloured world of ours</span>
<br/>
<span>Seems fallen into ashes dull and grey,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the age changed unto a mimic play</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wherein we waste our else too-crowded hours:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For all our pomp and pageantry and powers</span>
<br/>
<span>We are but fit to delve the common clay,</span>
<br/>
<span>Seeing this little isle on which we stand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">This England, this sea-lion of the sea,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By ignorant demagogues is held in fee,</span>
<br/>
<span>Who love her not: Dear God! is this the land</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which bare a triple empire in her hand</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When Cromwell spake the word Democracy!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="louis-napoleon" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">Louis Napoleon</h3>
<p>
<span>Eagle of Austerlitz! where were thy wings</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">When far away upon a barbarous strand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">In fight unequal, by an obscure hand,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fell the last scion of thy brood of Kings!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Poor boy! thou shalt not flaunt thy cloak of red,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Or ride in state through Paris in the van</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Of thy returning legions, but instead</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy mother France, free and republican,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Shall on thy dead and crownless forehead place</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">The better laurels of a soldier’s crown,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">That not dishonoured should thy soul go down</span>
<br/>
<span>To tell the mighty Sire of thy race</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>That France hath kissed the mouth of Liberty,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And found it sweeter than his honied bees,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And that the giant wave Democracy</span>
<br/>
<span>Breaks on the shores where Kings lay couched at ease.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="sonnet-on-the-massacre-of-the-christians-in-bulgaria" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="title">Sonnet</h3>
<p epub:type="subtitle">On the Massacre of the Christians in Bulgaria</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>Christ, dost thou live indeed? or are thy bones</span>
<br/>
<span>Still straitened in their rock-hewn sepulchre?</span>
<br/>
<span>And was thy Rising only dreamed by her</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose love of thee for all her sin atones?</span>
<br/>
<span>For here the air is horrid with men’s groans,</span>
<br/>
<span>The priests who call upon thy name are slain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Dost thou not hear the bitter wail of pain</span>
<br/>
<span>From those whose children lie upon the stones?</span>
<br/>
<span>Come down, O Son of God! incestuous gloom</span>
<br/>
<span>Curtains the land, and through the starless night</span>
<br/>
<span>Over thy Cross a Crescent moon I see!</span>
<br/>
<span>If Thou in very truth didst burst the tomb</span>
<br/>
<span>Come down, O Son of Man! and show thy might</span>
<br/>
<span>Lest Muhammad be crowned instead of Thee!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="quantum-mutata" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">Quantum Mutata</h3>
<p>
<span>There was a time in Europe long ago</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When no man died for freedom anywhere,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But England’s lion leaping from its lair</span>
<br/>
<span>Laid hands on the oppressor! it was so</span>
<br/>
<span>While England could a great Republic show.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Witness the men of Piedmont, chiefest care</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of Cromwell, when with impotent despair</span>
<br/>
<span>The Pontiff in his painted portico</span>
<br/>
<span>Trembled before our stern ambassadors.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">How comes it then that from such high estate</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We have thus fallen, save that Luxury</span>
<br/>
<span>With barren merchandise piles up the gate</span>
<br/>
<span>Where noble thoughts and deeds should enter by:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Else might we still be Milton’s heritors.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="libertatis-sacra-fames" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">Libertatis Sacra Fames</h3>
<p>
<span>Albeit nurtured in democracy,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And liking best that state republican</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where every man is Kinglike and no man</span>
<br/>
<span>Is crowned above his fellows, yet I see,</span>
<br/>
<span>Spite of this modern fret for Liberty,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Better the rule of One, whom all obey,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Than to let clamorous demagogues betray</span>
<br/>
<span>Our freedom with the kiss of anarchy.</span>
<br/>
<span>Wherefore I love them not whose hands profane</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Plant the red flag upon the piled-up street</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For no right cause, beneath whose ignorant reign</span>
<br/>
<span>Arts, Culture, Reverence, Honour, all things fade,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Save Treason and the dagger of her trade,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or Murder with his silent bloody feet.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="theoretikos" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="grc-Latn" epub:type="title" xml:lang="grc-Latn">Theoretikos</h3>
<p>
<span>This mighty empire hath but feet of clay:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of all its ancient chivalry and might</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Our little island is forsaken quite:</span>
<br/>
<span>Some enemy hath stolen its crown of bay,</span>
<br/>
<span>And from its hills that voice hath passed away</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which spake of Freedom: O come out of it,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Come out of it, my Soul, thou art not fit</span>
<br/>
<span>For this vile traffic-house, where day by day</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wisdom and reverence are sold at mart,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the rude people rage with ignorant cries</span>
<br/>
<span>Against an heritage of centuries.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">It mars my calm: wherefore in dreams of Art</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And loftiest culture I would stand apart,</span>
<br/>
<span>Neither for God, nor for his enemies.</span>
</p>
</article>
</section>
<article id="the-garden-of-eros" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Garden of Eros</h2>
<p>
<span>It is full summer now, the heart of June;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Not yet the sunburnt reapers are astir</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon the upland meadow where too soon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Rich autumn time, the season’s usurer,</span>
<br/>
<span>Will lend his hoarded gold to all the trees,</span>
<br/>
<span>And see his treasure scattered by the wild and spendthrift breeze.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Too soon indeed! yet here the daffodil,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That love-child of the Spring, has lingered on</span>
<br/>
<span>To vex the rose with jealousy, and still</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The harebell spreads her azure pavilion,</span>
<br/>
<span>And like a strayed and wandering reveller</span>
<br/>
<span>Abandoned of its brothers, whom long since June’s messenger</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The missel-thrush has frighted from the glade,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">One pale narcissus loiters fearfully</span>
<br/>
<span>Close to a shadowy nook, where half afraid</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of their own loveliness some violets lie</span>
<br/>
<span>That will not look the gold sun in the face</span>
<br/>
<span>For fear of too much splendour⁠—ah! methinks it is a place</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Which should be trodden by Persephone</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When wearied of the flowerless fields of Dis!</span>
<br/>
<span>Or danced on by the lads of Arcady!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The hidden secret of eternal bliss</span>
<br/>
<span>Known to the Grecian here a man might find,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah! you and I may find it now if Love and Sleep be kind.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There are the flowers which mourning Herakles</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Strewed on the tomb of Hylas, columbine,</span>
<br/>
<span>Its white doves all a-flutter where the breeze</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Kissed them too harshly, the small celandine,</span>
<br/>
<span>That yellow-kirtled chorister of eve,</span>
<br/>
<span>And lilac lady’s-smock⁠—but let them bloom alone, and leave</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Yon spirèd hollyhock red-crocketed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To sway its silent chimes, else must the bee,</span>
<br/>
<span>Its little bellringer, go seek instead</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Some other pleasaunce; the anemone</span>
<br/>
<span>That weeps at daybreak, like a silly girl</span>
<br/>
<span>Before her love, and hardly lets the butterflies unfurl</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Their painted wings beside it⁠—bid it pine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In pale virginity; the winter snow</span>
<br/>
<span>Will suit it better than those lips of thine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whose fires would but scorch it, rather go</span>
<br/>
<span>And pluck that amorous flower which blooms alone,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fed by the pander wind with dust of kisses not its own.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The trumpet-mouths of red convolvulus</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So dear to maidens, creamy meadow-sweet</span>
<br/>
<span>Whiter than Juno’s throat and odorous</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">As all Arabia, hyacinths the feet</span>
<br/>
<span>Of Huntress Dian would be loth to mar</span>
<br/>
<span>For any dappled fawn⁠—pluck these, and those fond flowers which are</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Fairer than what Queen Venus trod upon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Beneath the pines of Ida, eucharis,</span>
<br/>
<span>That morning star which does not dread the sun,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And budding marjoram which but to kiss</span>
<br/>
<span>Would sweeten Cytheraea’s lips and make</span>
<br/>
<span>Adonis jealous⁠—these for thy head⁠—and for thy girdle take</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Yon curving spray of purple clematis</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whose gorgeous dye outflames the Tyrian King,</span>
<br/>
<span>And foxgloves with their nodding chalices,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But that one narciss which the startled Spring</span>
<br/>
<span>Let from her kirtle fall when first she heard</span>
<br/>
<span>In her own woods the wild tempestuous song of summer’s bird,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah! leave it for a subtle memory</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of those sweet tremulous days of rain and sun,</span>
<br/>
<span>When April laughed between her tears to see</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The early primrose with shy footsteps run</span>
<br/>
<span>From the gnarled oak-tree roots till all the wold,</span>
<br/>
<span>Spite of its brown and trampled leaves, grew bright with shimmering gold.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nay, pluck it too, it is not half so sweet</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">As thou thyself, my soul’s idolatry!</span>
<br/>
<span>And when thou art a-wearied at thy feet</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Shall oxlips weave their brightest tapestry,</span>
<br/>
<span>For thee the woodbine shall forget its pride</span>
<br/>
<span>And veil its tangled whorls, and thou shalt walk on daisies pied.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And I will cut a reed by yonder spring</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And make the wood-gods jealous, and old Pan</span>
<br/>
<span>Wonder what young intruder dares to sing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In these still haunts, where never foot of man</span>
<br/>
<span>Should tread at evening, lest he chance to spy</span>
<br/>
<span>The marble limbs of Artemis and all her company.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And I will tell thee why the jacinth wears</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Such dread embroidery of dolorous moan,</span>
<br/>
<span>And why the hapless nightingale forbears</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To sing her song at noon, but weeps alone</span>
<br/>
<span>When the fleet swallow sleeps, and rich men feast,</span>
<br/>
<span>And why the laurel trembles when she sees the lightening east.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And I will sing how sad Proserpina</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Unto a grave and gloomy Lord was wed,</span>
<br/>
<span>And lure the silver-breasted Helena</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Back from the lotus meadows of the dead,</span>
<br/>
<span>So shalt thou see that awful loveliness</span>
<br/>
<span>For which two mighty Hosts met fearfully in war’s abyss!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And then I’ll pipe to thee that Grecian tale</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">How Cynthia loves the lad Endymion,</span>
<br/>
<span>And hidden in a grey and misty veil</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hies to the cliffs of Latmos once the Sun</span>
<br/>
<span>Leaps from his ocean bed in fruitless chase</span>
<br/>
<span>Of those pale flying feet which fade away in his embrace.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And if my flute can breathe sweet melody,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We may behold Her face who long ago</span>
<br/>
<span>Dwelt among men by the Aegean sea,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And whose sad house with pillaged portico</span>
<br/>
<span>And friezeless wall and columns toppled down</span>
<br/>
<span>Looms o’er the ruins of that fair and violet-cinctured town.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Spirit of Beauty! tarry still awhile,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">They are not dead, thine ancient votaries,</span>
<br/>
<span>Some few there are to whom thy radiant smile</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is better than a thousand victories,</span>
<br/>
<span>Though all the nobly slain of Waterloo</span>
<br/>
<span>Rise up in wrath against them! tarry still, there are a few</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Who for thy sake would give their manlihood</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And consecrate their being; I at least</span>
<br/>
<span>Have done so, made thy lips my daily food,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And in thy temples found a goodlier feast</span>
<br/>
<span>Than this starved age can give me, spite of all</span>
<br/>
<span>Its new-found creeds so sceptical and so dogmatical.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Here not Cephissos, not Ilissos flows,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The woods of white Colonos are not here,</span>
<br/>
<span>On our bleak hills the olive never blows,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">No simple priest conducts his lowing steer</span>
<br/>
<span>Up the steep marble way, nor through the town</span>
<br/>
<span>Do laughing maidens bear to thee the crocus-flowered gown.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Yet tarry! for the boy who loved thee best,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whose very name should be a memory</span>
<br/>
<span>To make thee linger, sleeps in silent rest</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Beneath the Roman walls, and melody</span>
<br/>
<span>Still mourns her sweetest lyre; none can play</span>
<br/>
<span>The lute of Adonais: with his lips Song passed away.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nay, when Keats died the Muses still had left</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">One silver voice to sing his threnody,</span>
<br/>
<span>But ah! too soon of it we were bereft</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When on that riven night and stormy sea</span>
<br/>
<span>Panthea claimed her singer as her own,</span>
<br/>
<span>And slew the mouth that praised her; since which time we walk alone,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Save for that fiery heart, that morning star</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of re-arisen England, whose clear eye</span>
<br/>
<span>Saw from our tottering throne and waste of war</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The grand Greek limbs of young Democracy</span>
<br/>
<span>Rise mightily like Hesperus and bring</span>
<br/>
<span>The great Republic! him at least thy love hath taught to sing,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And he hath been with thee at Thessaly,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And seen white Atalanta fleet of foot</span>
<br/>
<span>In passionless and fierce virginity</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hunting the tuskèd boar, his honied lute</span>
<br/>
<span>Hath pierced the cavern of the hollow hill,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Venus laughs to know one knee will bow before her still.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And he hath kissed the lips of Proserpine,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And sung the Galilaean’s requiem,</span>
<br/>
<span>That wounded forehead dashed with blood and wine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">He hath discrowned, the Ancient Gods in him</span>
<br/>
<span>Have found their last, most ardent worshipper,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the new Sign grows grey and dim before its conqueror.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Spirit of Beauty! tarry with us still,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">It is not quenched the torch of poesy,</span>
<br/>
<span>The star that shook above the Eastern hill</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Holds unassailed its argent armoury</span>
<br/>
<span>From all the gathering gloom and fretful fight⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>O tarry with us still! for through the long and common night,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Morris, our sweet and simple Chaucer’s child,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Dear heritor of Spenser’s tuneful reed,</span>
<br/>
<span>With soft and sylvan pipe has oft beguiled</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The weary soul of man in troublous need,</span>
<br/>
<span>And from the far and flowerless fields of ice</span>
<br/>
<span>Has brought fair flowers to make an earthly paradise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>We know them all, Gudrun the strong men’s bride,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Aslaug and Olafson we know them all,</span>
<br/>
<span>How giant Grettir fought and Sigurd died,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And what enchantment held the king in thrall</span>
<br/>
<span>When lonely Brynhild wrestled with the powers</span>
<br/>
<span>That war against all passion, ah! how oft through summer hours,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Long listless summer hours when the noon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Being enamoured of a damask rose</span>
<br/>
<span>Forgets to journey westward, till the moon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The pale usurper of its tribute grows</span>
<br/>
<span>From a thin sickle to a silver shield</span>
<br/>
<span>And chides its loitering car⁠—how oft, in some cool grassy field</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Far from the cricket-ground and noisy eight,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">At Bagley, where the rustling bluebells come</span>
<br/>
<span>Almost before the blackbird finds a mate</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And overstay the swallow, and the hum</span>
<br/>
<span>Of many murmuring bees flits through the leaves,</span>
<br/>
<span>Have I lain poring on the dreamy tales his fancy weaves,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And through their unreal woes and mimic pain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wept for myself, and so was purified,</span>
<br/>
<span>And in their simple mirth grew glad again;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For as I sailed upon that pictured tide</span>
<br/>
<span>The strength and splendour of the storm was mine</span>
<br/>
<span>Without the storm’s red ruin, for the singer is divine,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The little laugh of water falling down</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is not so musical, the clammy gold</span>
<br/>
<span>Close hoarded in the tiny waxen town</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Has less of sweetness in it, and the old</span>
<br/>
<span>Half-withered reeds that waved in Arcady</span>
<br/>
<span>Touched by his lips break forth again to fresher harmony.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Spirit of Beauty, tarry yet awhile!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Although the cheating merchants of the mart</span>
<br/>
<span>With iron roads profane our lovely isle,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And break on whirling wheels the limbs of Art,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ay! though the crowded factories beget</span>
<br/>
<span>The blindworm Ignorance that slays the soul, O tarry yet!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For One at least there is⁠—He bears his name</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From Dante and the seraph Gabriel⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose double laurels burn with deathless flame</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To light thine altar; He too loves thee well,</span>
<br/>
<span>Who saw old Merlin lured in Vivien’s snare,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the white feet of angels coming down the golden stair,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Loves thee so well, that all the World for him</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A gorgeous-coloured vestiture must wear,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Sorrow take a purple diadem,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or else be no more Sorrow, and Despair</span>
<br/>
<span>Gild its own thorns, and Pain, like Adon, be</span>
<br/>
<span>Even in anguish beautiful;⁠—such is the empery</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Which Painters hold, and such the heritage</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">This gentle solemn Spirit doth possess,</span>
<br/>
<span>Being a better mirror of his age</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In all his pity, love, and weariness,</span>
<br/>
<span>Than those who can but copy common things,</span>
<br/>
<span>And leave the Soul unpainted with its mighty questionings.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But they are few, and all romance has flown,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And men can prophesy about the sun,</span>
<br/>
<span>And lecture on his arrows⁠—how, alone,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Through a waste void the soulless atoms run,</span>
<br/>
<span>How from each tree its weeping nymph has fled,</span>
<br/>
<span>And that no more ’mid English reeds a Naïad shows her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Methinks these new Actaeons boast too soon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That they have spied on beauty; what if we</span>
<br/>
<span>Have analysed the rainbow, robbed the moon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of her most ancient, chastest mystery,</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall I, the last Endymion, lose all hope</span>
<br/>
<span>Because rude eyes peer at my mistress through a telescope!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>What profit if this scientific age</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Burst through our gates with all its retinue</span>
<br/>
<span>Of modern miracles! Can it assuage</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">One lover’s breaking heart? what can it do</span>
<br/>
<span>To make one life more beautiful, one day</span>
<br/>
<span>More godlike in its period? but now the Age of Clay</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Returns in horrid cycle, and the earth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hath borne again a noisy progeny</span>
<br/>
<span>Of ignorant Titans, whose ungodly birth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hurls them against the august hierarchy</span>
<br/>
<span>Which sat upon Olympus; to the Dust</span>
<br/>
<span>They have appealed, and to that barren arbiter they must</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Repair for judgment; let them, if they can,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From Natural Warfare and insensate Chance,</span>
<br/>
<span>Create the new Ideal rule for man!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Methinks that was not my inheritance;</span>
<br/>
<span>For I was nurtured otherwise, my soul</span>
<br/>
<span>Passes from higher heights of life to a more supreme goal.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Lo! while we spake the earth did turn away</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Her visage from the God, and Hecate’s boat</span>
<br/>
<span>Rose silver-laden, till the jealous day</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Blew all its torches out: I did not note</span>
<br/>
<span>The waning hours, to young Endymions</span>
<br/>
<span>Time’s palsied fingers count in vain his rosary of suns!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Mark how the yellow iris wearily</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Leans back its throat, as though it would be kissed</span>
<br/>
<span>By its false chamberer, the dragon-fly,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who, like a blue vein on a girl’s white wrist,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sleeps on that snowy primrose of the night,</span>
<br/>
<span>Which ’gins to flush with crimson shame, and die beneath the light.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Come let us go, against the pallid shield</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of the wan sky the almond blossoms gleam,</span>
<br/>
<span>The corncrake nested in the unmown field</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Answers its mate, across the misty stream</span>
<br/>
<span>On fitful wing the startled curlews fly,</span>
<br/>
<span>And in his sedgy bed the lark, for joy that Day is nigh,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Scatters the pearlèd dew from off the grass,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In tremulous ecstasy to greet the sun,</span>
<br/>
<span>Who soon in gilded panoply will pass</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Forth from yon orange-curtained pavilion</span>
<br/>
<span>Hung in the burning east: see, the red rim</span>
<br/>
<span>O’ertops the expectant hills! it is the God! for love of him</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Already the shrill lark is out of sight,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Flooding with waves of song this silent dell⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah! there is something more in that bird’s flight</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Than could be tested in a crucible!⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>But the air freshens, let us go, why soon</span>
<br/>
<span>The woodmen will be here; how we have lived this night of June!</span>
</p>
</article>
<section id="rosa-mystica" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">Rosa Mystica</h2>
<article id="requiescat" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">Requiescat</h3>
<p>
<span>Tread lightly, she is near</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Under the snow,</span>
<br/>
<span>Speak gently, she can hear</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The daisies grow.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>All her bright golden hair</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Tarnished with rust,</span>
<br/>
<span>She that was young and fair</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Fallen to dust.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Lily-like, white as snow,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She hardly knew</span>
<br/>
<span>She was a woman, so</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Sweetly she grew.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Coffin-board, heavy stone,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lie on her breast,</span>
<br/>
<span>I vex my heart alone,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She is at rest.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Peace, Peace, she cannot hear</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lyre or sonnet,</span>
<br/>
<span>All my life’s buried here,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Heap earth upon it.</span>
</p>
<footer>
<p>Avignon.</p>
</footer>
</article>
<article id="sonnet-on-approaching-italy" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">Sonnet on Approaching Italy</h3>
<p>
<span>I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Italia, my Italia, at thy name:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And when from out the mountain’s heart I came</span>
<br/>
<span>And saw the land for which my life had yearned,</span>
<br/>
<span>I laughed as one who some great prize had earned:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And musing on the marvel of thy fame</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I watched the day, till marked with wounds of flame</span>
<br/>
<span>The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned.</span>
<br/>
<span>The pine-trees waved as waves a woman’s hair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And in the orchards every twining spray</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Was breaking into flakes of blossoming foam:</span>
<br/>
<span>But when I knew that far away at Rome</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In evil bonds a second Peter lay,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I wept to see the land so very fair.</span>
</p>
<footer>
<p>Turin.</p>
</footer>
</article>
<article id="san-miniato" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">San Miniato</h3>
<p>
<span class="i1">See, I have climbed the mountain side</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Up to this holy house of God,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where once that Angel-Painter trod</span>
<br/>
<span>Who saw the heavens opened wide,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">And throned upon the crescent moon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Virginal white Queen of Grace⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Mary! could I but see thy face</span>
<br/>
<span>Death could not come at all too soon.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">O crowned by God with thorns and pain!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Mother of Christ! O mystic wife!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My heart is weary of this life</span>
<br/>
<span>And over-sad to sing again.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">O crowned by God with love and flame!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O crowned by Christ the Holy One!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O listen ere the searching sun</span>
<br/>
<span>Show to the world my sin and shame.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="ave-maria-gratia-plena" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">Ave Maria Gratia Plena</h3>
<p>
<span>Was this His coming! I had hoped to see</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A scene of wondrous glory, as was told</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of some great God who in a rain of gold</span>
<br/>
<span>Broke open bars and fell on Danae:</span>
<br/>
<span>Or a dread vision as when Semele</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Sickening for love and unappeased desire</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Prayed to see God’s clear body, and the fire</span>
<br/>
<span>Caught her brown limbs and slew her utterly:</span>
<br/>
<span>With such glad dreams I sought this holy place,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And now with wondering eyes and heart I stand</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Before this supreme mystery of Love:</span>
<br/>
<span>Some kneeling girl with passionless pale face,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">An angel with a lily in his hand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And over both the white wings of a Dove.</span>
</p>
<footer>
<p>Florence.</p>
</footer>
</article>
<article id="italia" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="it" epub:type="title" xml:lang="it">Italia</h3>
<p>
<span><i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Italia!</i> thou art fallen, though with sheen</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of battle-spears thy clamorous armies stride</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From the north Alps to the Sicilian tide!</span>
<br/>
<span>Ay! fallen, though the nations hail thee Queen</span>
<br/>
<span>Because rich gold in every town is seen,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And on thy sapphire-lake in tossing pride</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of wind-filled vans thy myriad galleys ride</span>
<br/>
<span>Beneath one flag of red and white and green.</span>
<br/>
<span>O Fair and Strong! O Strong and Fair in vain!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Look southward where Rome’s desecrated town</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lies mourning for her God-anointed King!</span>
<br/>
<span>Look heaven-ward! shall God allow this thing?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nay! but some flame-girt Raphael shall come down,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And smite the Spoiler with the sword of pain.</span>
</p>
<footer>
<p>Venice.</p>
</footer>
</article>
<article id="sonnet-written-in-holy-week-at-genoa" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="title">Sonnet</h3>
<p epub:type="subtitle">Written in Holy Week at Genoa</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>I wandered through Scoglietto’s far retreat,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The oranges on each o’erhanging spray</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Burned as bright lamps of gold to shame the day;</span>
<br/>
<span>Some startled bird with fluttering wings and fleet</span>
<br/>
<span>Made snow of all the blossoms; at my feet</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like silver moons the pale narcissi lay:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the curved waves that streaked the great green bay</span>
<br/>
<span>Laughed i’ the sun, and life seemed very sweet.</span>
<br/>
<span>Outside the young boy-priest passed singing clear,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">“Jesus the son of Mary has been slain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O come and fill His sepulchre with flowers.”</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, God! Ah, God! those dear Hellenic hours</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Had drowned all memory of Thy bitter pain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Cross, the Crown, the Soldiers and the Spear.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="rome-unvisited" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">Rome Unvisited</h3>
<section id="rome-unvisited-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h4 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h4>
<p>
<span>The corn has turned from grey to red,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Since first my spirit wandered forth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From the drear cities of the north,</span>
<br/>
<span>And to Italia’s mountains fled.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And here I set my face towards home,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For all my pilgrimage is done,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Although, methinks, yon blood-red sun</span>
<br/>
<span>Marshals the way to Holy Rome.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O Blessed Lady, who dost hold</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Upon the seven hills thy reign!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O Mother without blot or stain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Crowned with bright crowns of triple gold!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O Roma, Roma, at thy feet</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I lay this barren gift of song!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For, ah! the way is steep and long</span>
<br/>
<span>That leads unto thy sacred street.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="rome-unvisited-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h4 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h4>
<p>
<span>And yet what joy it were for me</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To turn my feet unto the south,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And journeying towards the Tiber mouth</span>
<br/>
<span>To kneel again at Fiesole!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And wandering through the tangled pines</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That break the gold of Arno’s stream,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To see the purple mist and gleam</span>
<br/>
<span>Of morning on the Apennines</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>By many a vineyard-hidden home,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Orchard and olive-garden grey,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Till from the drear Campagna’s way</span>
<br/>
<span>The seven hills bear up the dome!</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="rome-unvisited-3" epub:type="chapter">
<h4 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h4>
<p>
<span>A pilgrim from the northern seas⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">What joy for me to seek alone</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The wondrous temple and the throne</span>
<br/>
<span>Of Him who holds the awful keys!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>When, bright with purple and with gold,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Come priest and holy Cardinal,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And borne above the heads of all</span>
<br/>
<span>The gentle Shepherd of the Fold.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O joy to see before I die</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The only God-anointed King,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And hear the silver trumpets ring</span>
<br/>
<span>A triumph as He passes by!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Or at the brazen-pillared shrine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Holds high the mystic sacrifice,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And shows his God to human eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>Beneath the veil of bread and wine.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="rome-unvisited-4" epub:type="chapter">
<h4 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IV</h4>
<p>
<span>For lo, what changes time can bring!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The cycles of revolving years</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">May free my heart from all its fears,</span>
<br/>
<span>And teach my lips a song to sing.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Before yon field of trembling gold</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is garnered into dusty sheaves,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or ere the autumn’s scarlet leaves</span>
<br/>
<span>Flutter as birds adown the wold,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I may have run the glorious race,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And caught the torch while yet aflame,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And called upon the holy name</span>
<br/>
<span>Of Him who now doth hide His face.</span>
</p>
<footer>
<p>Arona.</p>
</footer>
</section>
</article>
<article id="urbs-sacra-aeterna" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">Urbs Sacra Aeterna</h3>
<p>
<span>Rome! what a scroll of History thine has been;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the first days thy sword republican</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ruled the whole world for many an age’s span:</span>
<br/>
<span>Then of the peoples wert thou royal Queen,</span>
<br/>
<span>Till in thy streets the bearded Goth was seen;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And now upon thy walls the breezes fan</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(Ah, city crowned by God, discrowned by man!)</span>
<br/>
<span>The hated flag of red and white and green.</span>
<br/>
<span>When was thy glory! when in search for power</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Thine eagles flew to greet the double sun,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the wild nations shuddered at thy rod?</span>
<br/>
<span>Nay, but thy glory tarried for this hour,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When pilgrims kneel before the Holy One,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The prisoned shepherd of the Church of God.</span>
</p>
<footer>
<p>Montre Mario.</p>
</footer>
</article>
<article id="sonnet-on-hearing-the-dies0irae-in-the-sistine-chapel" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="title">Sonnet</h3>
<p epub:type="subtitle">On Hearing the <i epub:type="se:name.music">Dies Irae</i> Sung in the Sistine Chapel</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sad olive-groves, or silver-breasted dove,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Teach me more clearly of Thy life and love</span>
<br/>
<span>Than terrors of red flame and thundering.</span>
<br/>
<span>The hillside vines dear memories of Thee bring:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A bird at evening flying to its nest</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Tells me of One who had no place of rest:</span>
<br/>
<span>I think it is of Thee the sparrows sing.</span>
<br/>
<span>Come rather on some autumn afternoon,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When red and brown are burnished on the leaves,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the fields echo to the gleaner’s song,</span>
<br/>
<span>Come when the splendid fullness of the moon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Looks down upon the rows of golden sheaves,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And reap Thy harvest: we have waited long.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="easter-day" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">Easter Day</h3>
<p>
<span>The silver trumpets rang across the Dome:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The people knelt upon the ground with awe:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And borne upon the necks of men I saw,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome.</span>
<br/>
<span>Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head:</span>
<br/>
<span>In splendour and in light the Pope passed home.</span>
<br/>
<span>My heart stole back across wide wastes of years</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To One who wandered by a lonely sea,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And sought in vain for any place of rest:</span>
<br/>
<span>“Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I, only I, must wander wearily,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with tears.”</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="e-tenebris" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">E Tenebris</h3>
<p>
<span>Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach thy hand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For I am drowning in a stormier sea</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Than Simon on thy lake of Galilee:</span>
<br/>
<span>The wine of life is spilt upon the sand,</span>
<br/>
<span>My heart is as some famine-murdered land</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whence all good things have perished utterly,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And well I know my soul in Hell must lie</span>
<br/>
<span>If I this night before God’s throne should stand.</span>
<br/>
<span>“He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like Baal, when his prophets howled that name</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From morn to noon on Carmel’s smitten height.”</span>
<br/>
<span>Nay, peace, I shall behold, before the night,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The feet of brass, the robe more white than flame,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The wounded hands, the weary human face.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="vita-nuova" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">Vita Nuova</h3>
<p>
<span>I stood by the unvintageable sea</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Till the wet waves drenched face and hair with spray,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The long red fires of the dying day</span>
<br/>
<span>Burned in the west; the wind piped drearily;</span>
<br/>
<span>And to the land the clamorous gulls did flee:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">“Alas!” I cried, “my life is full of pain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And who can garner fruit or golden grain</span>
<br/>
<span>From these waste fields which travail ceaselessly!”</span>
<br/>
<span>My nets gaped wide with many a break and flaw,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nathless I threw them as my final cast</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Into the sea, and waited for the end.</span>
<br/>
<span>When lo! a sudden glory! and I saw</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From the black waters of my tortured past</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The argent splendour of white limbs ascend!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="madonna-mia" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="it" epub:type="title" xml:lang="it">Madonna Mia</h3>
<p>
<span>A lily-girl, not made for this world’s pain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With brown, soft hair close braided by her ears,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And longing eyes half veiled by slumberous tears</span>
<br/>
<span>Like bluest water seen through mists of rain:</span>
<br/>
<span>Pale cheeks whereon no love hath left its stain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Red underlip drawn in for fear of love,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And white throat, whiter than the silvered dove,</span>
<br/>
<span>Through whose wan marble creeps one purple vein.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet, though my lips shall praise her without cease,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Even to kiss her feet I am not bold,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Being o’ershadowed by the wings of awe,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like Dante, when he stood with Beatrice</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Beneath the flaming Lion’s breast, and saw</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The seventh Crystal, and the Stair of Gold.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-new-helen" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">The New Helen</h3>
<p>
<span>Where hast thou been since round the walls of Troy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The sons of God fought in that great emprise?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Why dost thou walk our common earth again?</span>
<br/>
<span>Hast thou forgotten that impassioned boy,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">His purple galley, and his Tyrian men,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And treacherous Aphrodite’s mocking eyes?</span>
<br/>
<span>For surely it was thou, who, like a star</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hung in the silver silence of the night,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Didst lure the Old World’s chivalry and might</span>
<br/>
<span>Into the clamorous crimson waves of war!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Or didst thou rule the fire-laden moon?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In amorous Sidon was thy temple built</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Over the light and laughter of the sea</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where, behind lattice scarlet-wrought and gilt,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Some brown-limbed girl did weave thee tapestry,</span>
<br/>
<span>All through the waste and wearied hours of noon;</span>
<br/>
<span>Till her wan cheek with flame of passion burned,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And she rose up the sea-washed lips to kiss</span>
<br/>
<span>Of some glad Cyprian sailor, safe returned</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From Calpé and the cliffs of Herakles!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>No! thou art Helen, and none other one!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">It was for thee that young Sarpedôn died,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And Memnôn’s manhood was untimely spent;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">It was for thee gold-crested Hector tried</span>
<br/>
<span>With Thetis’ child that evil race to run,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">In the last year of thy beleaguerment;</span>
<br/>
<span>Ay! even now the glory of thy fame</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Burns in those fields of trampled asphodel,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where the high lords whom Ilion knew so well</span>
<br/>
<span>Clash ghostly shields, and call upon thy name.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Where hast thou been? in that enchanted land</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whose slumbering vales forlorn Calypso knew,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Where never mower rose at break of day</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But all unswathed the trammelling grasses grew,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the sad shepherd saw the tall corn stand</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Till summer’s red had changed to withered grey?</span>
<br/>
<span>Didst thou lie there by some Lethaean stream</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Deep brooding on thine ancient memory,</span>
<br/>
<span>The crash of broken spears, the fiery gleam</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From shivered helm, the Grecian battle-cry?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nay, thou wert hidden in that hollow hill</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With one who is forgotten utterly,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">That discrowned Queen men call the Erycine;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hidden away that never mightst thou see</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">The face of Her, before whose mouldering shrine</span>
<br/>
<span>To-day at Rome the silent nations kneel;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who gat from Love no joyous gladdening,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">But only Love’s intolerable pain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Only a sword to pierce her heart in twain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Only the bitterness of child-bearing.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The lotus-leaves which heal the wounds of Death</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lie in thy hand; O, be thou kind to me,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">While yet I know the summer of my days;</span>
<br/>
<span>For hardly can my tremulous lips draw breath</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">To fill the silver trumpet with thy praise,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So bowed am I before thy mystery;</span>
<br/>
<span>So bowed and broken on Love’s terrible wheel,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That I have lost all hope and heart to sing,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Yet care I not what ruin time may bring</span>
<br/>
<span>If in thy temple thou wilt let me kneel.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Alas, alas, thou wilt not tarry here,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But, like that bird, the servant of the sun,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Who flies before the north wind and the night,</span>
<br/>
<span>So wilt thou fly our evil land and drear,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Back to the tower of thine old delight,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the red lips of young Euphorion;</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor shall I ever see thy face again,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But in this poisonous garden-close must stay,</span>
<br/>
<span>Crowning my brows with the thorn-crown of pain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Till all my loveless life shall pass away.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O Helen! Helen! Helen! yet a while,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Yet for a little while, O, tarry here,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Till the dawn cometh and the shadows flee!</span>
<br/>
<span>For in the gladsome sunlight of thy smile</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of heaven or hell I have no thought or fear,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Seeing I know no other god but thee:</span>
<br/>
<span>No other god save him, before whose feet</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In nets of gold the tired planets move,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The incarnate spirit of spiritual love</span>
<br/>
<span>Who in thy body holds his joyous seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Thou wert not born as common women are!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But, girt with silver splendour of the foam,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Didst from the depths of sapphire seas arise!</span>
<br/>
<span>And at thy coming some immortal star,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Bearded with flame, blazed in the Eastern skies,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And waked the shepherds on thine island-home.</span>
<br/>
<span>Thou shalt not die: no asps of Egypt creep</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Close at thy heels to taint the delicate air;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">No sullen-blooming poppies stain thy hair,</span>
<br/>
<span>Those scarlet heralds of eternal sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Lily of love, pure and inviolate!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Tower of ivory! red rose of fire!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Thou hast come down our darkness to illume:</span>
<br/>
<span>For we, close-caught in the wide nets of Fate,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wearied with waiting for the World’s Desire,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Aimlessly wandered in the House of gloom,</span>
<br/>
<span>Aimlessly sought some slumberous anodyne</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For wasted lives, for lingering wretchedness,</span>
<br/>
<span>Till we beheld thy re-arisen shrine,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the white glory of thy loveliness.</span>
</p>
</article>
</section>
<article id="the-burden-of-itys" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Burden of Itys</h2>
<p>
<span>This English Thames is holier far than Rome,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Those harebells like a sudden flush of sea</span>
<br/>
<span>Breaking across the woodland, with the foam</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of meadow-sweet and white anemone</span>
<br/>
<span>To fleck their blue waves⁠—God is likelier there</span>
<br/>
<span>Than hidden in that crystal-hearted star the pale monks bear!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Those violet-gleaming butterflies that take</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Yon creamy lily for their pavilion</span>
<br/>
<span>Are monsignores, and where the rushes shake</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A lazy pike lies basking in the sun,</span>
<br/>
<span>His eyes half shut⁠—he is some mitred old</span>
<br/>
<span>Bishop <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">in partibus</i>! look at those gaudy scales all green and gold.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The wind the restless prisoner of the trees</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Does well for Palaestrina, one would say</span>
<br/>
<span>The mighty master’s hands were on the keys</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of the Maria organ, which they play</span>
<br/>
<span>When early on some sapphire Easter morn</span>
<br/>
<span>In a high litter red as blood or sin the Pope is borne</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>From his dark House out to the Balcony</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Above the bronze gates and the crowded square,</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose very fountains seem for ecstasy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To toss their silver lances in the air,</span>
<br/>
<span>And stretching out weak hands to East and West</span>
<br/>
<span>In vain sends peace to peaceless lands, to restless nations rest.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Is not yon lingering orange after-glow</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That stays to vex the moon more fair than all</span>
<br/>
<span>Rome’s lordliest pageants! strange, a year ago</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I knelt before some crimson Cardinal</span>
<br/>
<span>Who bare the Host across the Esquiline,</span>
<br/>
<span>And now⁠—those common poppies in the wheat seem twice as fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The blue-green beanfields yonder, tremulous</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With the last shower, sweeter perfume bring</span>
<br/>
<span>Through this cool evening than the odorous</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Flame-jewelled censers the young deacons swing,</span>
<br/>
<span>When the grey priest unlocks the curtained shrine,</span>
<br/>
<span>And makes God’s body from the common fruit of corn and vine.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Poor Fra Giovanni bawling at the mass</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Were out of tune now, for a small brown bird</span>
<br/>
<span>Sings overhead, and through the long cool grass</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I see that throbbing throat which once I heard</span>
<br/>
<span>On starlit hills of flower-starred Arcady,</span>
<br/>
<span>Once where the white and crescent sand of Salamis meets sea.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sweet is the swallow twittering on the eaves</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">At daybreak, when the mower whets his scythe,</span>
<br/>
<span>And stock-doves murmur, and the milkmaid leaves</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Her little lonely bed, and carols blithe</span>
<br/>
<span>To see the heavy-lowing cattle wait</span>
<br/>
<span>Stretching their huge and dripping mouths across the farmyard gate.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And sweet the hops upon the Kentish leas,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And sweet the wind that lifts the new-mown hay,</span>
<br/>
<span>And sweet the fretful swarms of grumbling bees</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That round and round the linden blossoms play;</span>
<br/>
<span>And sweet the heifer breathing in the stall,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the green bursting figs that hang upon the red-brick wall,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And sweet to hear the cuckoo mock the spring</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">While the last violet loiters by the well,</span>
<br/>
<span>And sweet to hear the shepherd Daphnis sing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The song of Linus through a sunny dell</span>
<br/>
<span>Of warm Arcadia where the corn is gold</span>
<br/>
<span>And the slight lithe-limbed reapers dance about the wattled fold.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And sweet with young Lycoris to recline</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In some Illyrian valley far away,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where canopied on herbs amaracine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We too might waste the summer-trancèd day</span>
<br/>
<span>Matching our reeds in sportive rivalry,</span>
<br/>
<span>While far beneath us frets the troubled purple of the sea.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But sweeter far if silver-sandalled foot</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of some long-hidden God should ever tread</span>
<br/>
<span>The Nuneham meadows, if with reeded flute</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Pressed to his lips some Faun might raise his head</span>
<br/>
<span>By the green water-flags, ah! sweet indeed</span>
<br/>
<span>To see the heavenly herdsman call his white-fleeced flock to feed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then sing to me thou tuneful chorister,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Though what thou sing’st be thine own requiem!</span>
<br/>
<span>Tell me thy tale thou hapless chronicler</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of thine own tragedies! do not contemn</span>
<br/>
<span>These unfamiliar haunts, this English field,</span>
<br/>
<span>For many a lovely coronal our northern isle can yield</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Which Grecian meadows know not, many a rose</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which all day long in vales Aeolian</span>
<br/>
<span>A lad might seek in vain for over-grows</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Our hedges like a wanton courtesan</span>
<br/>
<span>Unthrifty of its beauty; lilies too</span>
<br/>
<span>Ilissos never mirrored star our streams, and cockles blue</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Dot the green wheat which, though they are the signs</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For swallows going south, would never spread</span>
<br/>
<span>Their azure tents between the Attic vines;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Even that little weed of ragged red,</span>
<br/>
<span>Which bids the robin pipe, in Arcady</span>
<br/>
<span>Would be a trespasser, and many an unsung elegy</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sleeps in the reeds that fringe our winding Thames</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which to awake were sweeter ravishment</span>
<br/>
<span>Than ever Syrinx wept for, diadems</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of brown bee-studded orchids which were meant</span>
<br/>
<span>For Cytheraea’s brows are hidden here</span>
<br/>
<span>Unknown to Cytheraea, and by yonder pasturing steer</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There is a tiny yellow daffodil,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The butterfly can see it from afar,</span>
<br/>
<span>Although one summer evening’s dew could fill</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Its little cup twice over ere the star</span>
<br/>
<span>Had called the lazy shepherd to his fold</span>
<br/>
<span>And be no prodigal; each leaf is flecked with spotted gold</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>As if Jove’s gorgeous leman Danae</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hot from his gilded arms had stooped to kiss</span>
<br/>
<span>The trembling petals, or young Mercury</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Low-flying to the dusky ford of Dis</span>
<br/>
<span>Had with one feather of his pinions</span>
<br/>
<span>Just brushed them! the slight stem which bears the burden of its suns</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Is hardly thicker than the gossamer,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or poor Arachne’s silver tapestry⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Men say it bloomed upon the sepulchre</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of One I sometime worshipped, but to me</span>
<br/>
<span>It seems to bring diviner memories</span>
<br/>
<span>Of faun-loved Heliconian glades and blue nymph-haunted seas,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Of an untrodden vale at Tempe where</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On the clear river’s marge Narcissus lies,</span>
<br/>
<span>The tangle of the forest in his hair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The silence of the woodland in his eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>Wooing that drifting imagery which is</span>
<br/>
<span>No sooner kissed than broken; memories of Salmacis</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Who is not boy nor girl and yet is both,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Fed by two fires and unsatisfied</span>
<br/>
<span>Through their excess, each passion being loth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For love’s own sake to leave the other’s side</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet killing love by staying; memories</span>
<br/>
<span>Of Oreads peeping through the leaves of silent moonlit trees,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Of lonely Ariadne on the wharf</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">At Naxos, when she saw the treacherous crew</span>
<br/>
<span>Far out at sea, and waved her crimson scarf</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And called false Theseus back again nor knew</span>
<br/>
<span>That Dionysos on an amber pard</span>
<br/>
<span>Was close behind her; memories of what Maeonia’s bard</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With sightless eyes beheld, the wall of Troy,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Queen Helen lying in the ivory room,</span>
<br/>
<span>And at her side an amorous red-lipped boy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Trimming with dainty hand his helmet’s plume,</span>
<br/>
<span>And far away the moil, the shout, the groan,</span>
<br/>
<span>As Hector shielded off the spear and Ajax hurled the stone;</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Of wingèd Perseus with his flawless sword</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Cleaving the snaky tresses of the witch,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all those tales imperishably stored</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In little Grecian urns, freightage more rich</span>
<br/>
<span>Than any gaudy galleon of Spain</span>
<br/>
<span>Bare from the Indies ever! these at least bring back again,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For well I know they are not dead at all,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The ancient Gods of Grecian poesy,</span>
<br/>
<span>They are asleep, and when they hear thee call</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Will wake and think ’tis very Thessaly,</span>
<br/>
<span>This Thames the Daulian waters, this cool glade</span>
<br/>
<span>The yellow-irised mead where once young Itys laughed and played.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>If it was thou dear jasmine-cradled bird</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who from the leafy stillness of thy throne</span>
<br/>
<span>Sang to the wondrous boy, until he heard</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The horn of Atalanta faintly blown</span>
<br/>
<span>Across the Cumnor hills, and wandering</span>
<br/>
<span>Through Bagley wood at evening found the Attic poets’ spring⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah! tiny sober-suited advocate</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That pleadest for the moon against the day!</span>
<br/>
<span>If thou didst make the shepherd seek his mate</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On that sweet questing, when Proserpina</span>
<br/>
<span>Forgot it was not Sicily and leant</span>
<br/>
<span>Across the mossy Sandford stile in ravished wonderment⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Light-winged and bright-eyed miracle of the wood!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">If ever thou didst soothe with melody</span>
<br/>
<span>One of that little clan, that brotherhood</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which loved the morning-star of Tuscany</span>
<br/>
<span>More than the perfect sun of Raphael</span>
<br/>
<span>And is immortal, sing to me! for I too love thee well.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sing on! sing on! let the dull world grow young,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Let elemental things take form again,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the old shapes of Beauty walk among</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The simple garths and open crofts, as when</span>
<br/>
<span>The son of Leto bare the willow rod,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the soft sheep and shaggy goats followed the boyish God.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sing on! sing on! and Bacchus will be here</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Astride upon his gorgeous Indian throne,</span>
<br/>
<span>And over whimpering tigers shake the spear</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With yellow ivy crowned and gummy cone,</span>
<br/>
<span>While at his side the wanton Bassarid</span>
<br/>
<span>Will throw the lion by the mane and catch the mountain kid!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sing on! and I will wear the leopard skin,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And steal the moonèd wings of Ashtaroth,</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon whose icy chariot we could win</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Cithaeron in an hour ere the froth</span>
<br/>
<span>Has over-brimmed the wine-vat or the Faun</span>
<br/>
<span>Ceased from the treading! ay, before the flickering lamp of dawn</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Has scared the hooting owlet to its nest,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And warned the bat to close its filmy vans,</span>
<br/>
<span>Some Maenad girl with vine-leaves on her breast</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Will filch their beech-nuts from the sleeping Pans</span>
<br/>
<span>So softly that the little nested thrush</span>
<br/>
<span>Will never wake, and then with shrilly laugh and leap will rush</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Down the green valley where the fallen dew</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lies thick beneath the elm and count her store,</span>
<br/>
<span>Till the brown Satyrs in a jolly crew</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Trample the loosestrife down along the shore,</span>
<br/>
<span>And where their hornèd master sits in state</span>
<br/>
<span>Bring strawberries and bloomy plums upon a wicker crate!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sing on! and soon with passion-wearied face</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Through the cool leaves Apollo’s lad will come,</span>
<br/>
<span>The Tyrian prince his bristled boar will chase</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Adown the chestnut-copses all a-bloom,</span>
<br/>
<span>And ivory-limbed, grey-eyed, with look of pride,</span>
<br/>
<span>After yon velvet-coated deer the virgin maid will ride.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sing on! and I the dying boy will see</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Stain with his purple blood the waxen bell</span>
<br/>
<span>That overweighs the jacinth, and to me</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The wretched Cyprian her woe will tell,</span>
<br/>
<span>And I will kiss her mouth and streaming eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>And lead her to the myrtle-hidden grove where Adon lies!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Cry out aloud on Itys! memory</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That foster-brother of remorse and pain</span>
<br/>
<span>Drops poison in mine ear⁠—O to be free,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To burn one’s old ships! and to launch again</span>
<br/>
<span>Into the white-plumed battle of the waves</span>
<br/>
<span>And fight old Proteus for the spoil of coral-flowered caves!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O for Medea with her poppied spell!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O for the secret of the Colchian shrine!</span>
<br/>
<span>O for one leaf of that pale asphodel</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which binds the tired brows of Proserpine,</span>
<br/>
<span>And sheds such wondrous dews at eve that she</span>
<br/>
<span>Dreams of the fields of Enna, by the far Sicilian sea,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Where oft the golden-girdled bee she chased</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From lily to lily on the level mead,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ere yet her sombre Lord had bid her taste</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The deadly fruit of that pomegranate seed,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ere the black steeds had harried her away</span>
<br/>
<span>Down to the faint and flowerless land, the sick and sunless day.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O for one midnight and as paramour</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Venus of the little Melian farm!</span>
<br/>
<span>O that some antique statue for one hour</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Might wake to passion, and that I could charm</span>
<br/>
<span>The Dawn at Florence from its dumb despair,</span>
<br/>
<span>Mix with those mighty limbs and make that giant breast my lair!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sing on! sing on! I would be drunk with life,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Drunk with the trampled vintage of my youth,</span>
<br/>
<span>I would forget the wearying wasted strife,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The riven veil, the Gorgon eyes of Truth,</span>
<br/>
<span>The prayerless vigil and the cry for prayer,</span>
<br/>
<span>The barren gifts, the lifted arms, the dull insensate air!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sing on! sing on! O feathered Niobe,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Thou canst make sorrow beautiful, and steal</span>
<br/>
<span>From joy its sweetest music, not as we</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who by dead voiceless silence strive to heal</span>
<br/>
<span>Our too untented wounds, and do but keep</span>
<br/>
<span>Pain barricadoed in our hearts, and murder pillowed sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sing louder yet, why must I still behold</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The wan white face of that deserted Christ,</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose bleeding hands my hands did once enfold,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whose smitten lips my lips so oft have kissed,</span>
<br/>
<span>And now in mute and marble misery</span>
<br/>
<span>Sits in his lone dishonoured House and weeps, perchance for me?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O Memory cast down thy wreathèd shell!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Break thy hoarse lute O sad Melpomene!</span>
<br/>
<span>O Sorrow, Sorrow keep thy cloistered cell</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nor dim with tears this limpid Castaly!</span>
<br/>
<span>Cease, Philomel, thou dost the forest wrong</span>
<br/>
<span>To vex its sylvan quiet with such wild impassioned song!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Cease, cease, or if ’tis anguish to be dumb</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Take from the pastoral thrush her simpler air,</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose jocund carelessness doth more become</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">This English woodland than thy keen despair,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah! cease and let the north wind bear thy lay</span>
<br/>
<span>Back to the rocky hills of Thrace, the stormy Daulian bay.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A moment more, the startled leaves had stirred,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Endymion would have passed across the mead</span>
<br/>
<span>Moonstruck with love, and this still Thames had heard</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Pan plash and paddle groping for some reed</span>
<br/>
<span>To lure from her blue cave that Naiad maid</span>
<br/>
<span>Who for such piping listens half in joy and half afraid.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A moment more, the waking dove had cooed,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The silver daughter of the silver sea</span>
<br/>
<span>With the fond gyves of clinging hands had wooed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Her wanton from the chase, and Dryope</span>
<br/>
<span>Had thrust aside the branches of her oak</span>
<br/>
<span>To see the lusty gold-haired lad rein in his snorting yoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A moment more, the trees had stooped to kiss</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Pale Daphne just awakening from the swoon</span>
<br/>
<span>Of tremulous laurels, lonely Salmacis</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Had bared his barren beauty to the moon,</span>
<br/>
<span>And through the vale with sad voluptuous smile</span>
<br/>
<span>Antinous had wandered, the red lotus of the Nile</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Down leaning from his black and clustering hair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To shade those slumberous eyelids’ caverned bliss,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or else on yonder grassy slope with bare</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">High-tuniced limbs unravished Artemis</span>
<br/>
<span>Had bade her hounds give tongue, and roused the deer</span>
<br/>
<span>From his green ambuscade with shrill halloo and pricking spear.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Lie still, lie still, O passionate heart, lie still!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O Melancholy, fold thy raven wing!</span>
<br/>
<span>O sobbing Dryad, from thy hollow hill</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Come not with such despondent answering!</span>
<br/>
<span>No more thou wingèd Marsyas complain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Apollo loveth not to hear such troubled songs of pain!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>It was a dream, the glade is tenantless,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">No soft Ionian laughter moves the air,</span>
<br/>
<span>The Thames creeps on in sluggish leadenness,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And from the copse left desolate and bare</span>
<br/>
<span>Fled is young Bacchus with his revelry,</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet still from Nuneham wood there comes that thrilling melody</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So sad, that one might think a human heart</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Brake in each separate note, a quality</span>
<br/>
<span>Which music sometimes has, being the Art</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which is most nigh to tears and memory,</span>
<br/>
<span>Poor mourning Philomel, what dost thou fear?</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy sister doth not haunt these fields, Pandion is not here,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Here is no cruel Lord with murderous blade,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">No woven web of bloody heraldries,</span>
<br/>
<span>But mossy dells for roving comrades made,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Warm valleys where the tired student lies</span>
<br/>
<span>With half-shut book, and many a winding walk</span>
<br/>
<span>Where rustic lovers stray at eve in happy simple talk.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The harmless rabbit gambols with its young</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Across the trampled towing-path, where late</span>
<br/>
<span>A troop of laughing boys in jostling throng</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Cheered with their noisy cries the racing eight;</span>
<br/>
<span>The gossamer, with ravelled silver threads,</span>
<br/>
<span>Works at its little loom, and from the dusky red-eaved sheds</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Of the lone Farm a flickering light shines out</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where the swinked shepherd drives his bleating flock</span>
<br/>
<span>Back to their wattled sheep-cotes, a faint shout</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Comes from some Oxford boat at Sandford lock,</span>
<br/>
<span>And starts the moor-hen from the sedgy rill,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the dim lengthening shadows flit like swallows up the hill.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The heron passes homeward to the mere,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The blue mist creeps among the shivering trees,</span>
<br/>
<span>Gold world by world the silent stars appear,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And like a blossom blown before the breeze</span>
<br/>
<span>A white moon drifts across the shimmering sky,</span>
<br/>
<span>Mute arbitress of all thy sad, thy rapturous threnody.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>She does not heed thee, wherefore should she heed,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She knows Endymion is not far away,</span>
<br/>
<span>’Tis I, ’tis I, whose soul is as the reed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which has no message of its own to play,</span>
<br/>
<span>So pipes another’s bidding, it is I,</span>
<br/>
<span>Drifting with every wind on the wide sea of misery.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah! the brown bird has ceased: one exquisite trill</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">About the sombre woodland seems to cling</span>
<br/>
<span>Dying in music, else the air is still,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So still that one might hear the bat’s small wing</span>
<br/>
<span>Wander and wheel above the pines, or tell</span>
<br/>
<span>Each tiny dew-drop dripping from the bluebell’s brimming cell.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And far away across the lengthening wold,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Across the willowy flats and thickets brown,</span>
<br/>
<span>Magdalen’s tall tower tipped with tremulous gold</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Marks the long High Street of the little town,</span>
<br/>
<span>And warns me to return; I must not wait,</span>
<br/>
<span>Hark! ’tis the curfew booming from the bell at Christ Church gate.</span>
</p>
</article>
<section id="wind-flowers" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Wind Flowers</h2>
<article id="impression-du-matin" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="fr" epub:type="title" xml:lang="fr">Impression du Matin</h3>
<p>
<span>The Thames nocturne of blue and gold</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Changed to a Harmony in grey:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A barge with ochre-coloured hay</span>
<br/>
<span>Dropt from the wharf: and chill and cold</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The yellow fog came creeping down</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The bridges, till the houses’ walls</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Seemed changed to shadows and <abbr>St.</abbr> Paul’s</span>
<br/>
<span>Loomed like a bubble o’er the town.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then suddenly arose the clang</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of waking life; the streets were stirred</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With country wagons: and a bird</span>
<br/>
<span>Flew to the glistening roofs and sang.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But one pale woman all alone,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The daylight kissing her wan hair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Loitered beneath the gas lamps’ flare,</span>
<br/>
<span>With lips of flame and heart of stone.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="magdalen-walks" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">Magdalen Walks</h3>
<p>
<span>The little white clouds are racing over the sky,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the fields are strewn with the gold of the flower of March,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The daffodil breaks under foot, and the tasselled larch</span>
<br/>
<span>Sways and swings as the thrush goes hurrying by.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A delicate odour is borne on the wings of the morning breeze,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The odour of deep wet grass, and of brown new-furrowed earth,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The birds are singing for joy of the Spring’s glad birth,</span>
<br/>
<span>Hopping from branch to branch on the rocking trees.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And all the woods are alive with the murmur and sound of Spring,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the rose-bud breaks into pink on the climbing briar,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the crocus-bed is a quivering moon of fire</span>
<br/>
<span>Girdled round with the belt of an amethyst ring.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And the plane to the pine-tree is whispering some tale of love</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Till it rustles with laughter and tosses its mantle of green,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the gloom of the wych-elm’s hollow is lit with the iris sheen</span>
<br/>
<span>Of the burnished rainbow throat and the silver breast of a dove.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>See! the lark starts up from his bed in the meadow there,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Breaking the gossamer threads and the nets of dew,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And flashing adown the river, a flame of blue!</span>
<br/>
<span>The kingfisher flies like an arrow, and wounds the air.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="athanasia" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">Athanasia</h3>
<p>
<span>To that gaunt House of Art which lacks for naught</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of all the great things men have saved from Time,</span>
<br/>
<span>The withered body of a girl was brought</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Dead ere the world’s glad youth had touched its prime,</span>
<br/>
<span>And seen by lonely Arabs lying hid</span>
<br/>
<span>In the dim womb of some black pyramid.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But when they had unloosed the linen band</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which swathed the Egyptian’s body⁠—lo! was found</span>
<br/>
<span>Closed in the wasted hollow of her hand</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A little seed, which sown in English ground</span>
<br/>
<span>Did wondrous snow of starry blossoms bear</span>
<br/>
<span>And spread rich odours through our spring-tide air.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With such strange arts this flower did allure</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That all forgotten was the asphodel,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the brown bee, the lily’s paramour,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Forsook the cup where he was wont to dwell,</span>
<br/>
<span>For not a thing of earth it seemed to be,</span>
<br/>
<span>But stolen from some heavenly Arcady.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>In vain the sad narcissus, wan and white</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">At its own beauty, hung across the stream,</span>
<br/>
<span>The purple dragon-fly had no delight</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With its gold dust to make his wings a-gleam,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah! no delight the jasmine-bloom to kiss,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or brush the rain-pearls from the eucharis.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For love of it the passionate nightingale</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Forgot the hills of Thrace, the cruel king,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the pale dove no longer cared to sail</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Through the wet woods at time of blossoming,</span>
<br/>
<span>But round this flower of Egypt sought to float,</span>
<br/>
<span>With silvered wing and amethystine throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>While the hot sun blazed in his tower of blue</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A cooling wind crept from the land of snows,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the warm south with tender tears of dew</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Drenched its white leaves when Hesperos up-rose</span>
<br/>
<span>Amid those sea-green meadows of the sky</span>
<br/>
<span>On which the scarlet bars of sunset lie.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But when o’er wastes of lily-haunted field</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The tired birds had stayed their amorous tune,</span>
<br/>
<span>And broad and glittering like an argent shield</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">High in the sapphire heavens hung the moon,</span>
<br/>
<span>Did no strange dream or evil memory make</span>
<br/>
<span>Each tremulous petal of its blossoms shake?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah no! to this bright flower a thousand years</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Seemed but the lingering of a summer’s day,</span>
<br/>
<span>It never knew the tide of cankering fears</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which turn a boy’s gold hair to withered grey,</span>
<br/>
<span>The dread desire of death it never knew,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or how all folk that they were born must rue.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For we to death with pipe and dancing go,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nor would we pass the ivory gate again,</span>
<br/>
<span>As some sad river wearied of its flow</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Through the dull plains, the haunts of common men,</span>
<br/>
<span>Leaps lover-like into the terrible sea!</span>
<br/>
<span>And counts it gain to die so gloriously.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>We mar our lordly strength in barren strife</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With the world’s legions led by clamorous care,</span>
<br/>
<span>It never feels decay but gathers life</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From the pure sunlight and the supreme air,</span>
<br/>
<span>We live beneath Time’s wasting sovereignty,</span>
<br/>
<span>It is the child of all eternity.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="serenade-for-music" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="title">Serenade</h3>
<p epub:type="subtitle">(For Music)</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>The western wind is blowing fair</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Across the dark Aegean sea,</span>
<br/>
<span>And at the secret marble stair</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My Tyrian galley waits for thee.</span>
<br/>
<span>Come down! the purple sail is spread,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The watchman sleeps within the town,</span>
<br/>
<span>O leave thy lily-flowered bed,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O Lady mine come down, come down!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>She will not come, I know her well,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of lover’s vows she hath no care,</span>
<br/>
<span>And little good a man can tell</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of one so cruel and so fair.</span>
<br/>
<span>True love is but a woman’s toy,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">They never know the lover’s pain,</span>
<br/>
<span>And I who loved as loves a boy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Must love in vain, must love in vain.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O noble pilot, tell me true,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is that the sheen of golden hair?</span>
<br/>
<span>Or is it but the tangled dew</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That binds the passion-flowers there?</span>
<br/>
<span>Good sailor come and tell me now</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is that my Lady’s lily hand?</span>
<br/>
<span>Or is it but the gleaming prow,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or is it but the silver sand?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>No! no! ’tis not the tangled dew,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">’Tis not the silver-fretted sand,</span>
<br/>
<span>It is my own dear Lady true</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With golden hair and lily hand!</span>
<br/>
<span>O noble pilot, steer for Troy,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Good sailor, ply the labouring oar,</span>
<br/>
<span>This is the Queen of life and joy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whom we must bear from Grecian shore!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The waning sky grows faint and blue,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">It wants an hour still of day,</span>
<br/>
<span>Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O Lady mine, away! away!</span>
<br/>
<span>O noble pilot, steer for Troy,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Good sailor, ply the labouring oar,</span>
<br/>
<span>O loved as only loves a boy!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O loved for ever evermore!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="endymion-for-music" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="title">Endymion</h3>
<p epub:type="subtitle">(For Music)</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>The apple trees are hung with gold,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And birds are loud in Arcady,</span>
<br/>
<span>The sheep lie bleating in the fold,</span>
<br/>
<span>The wild goat runs across the wold,</span>
<br/>
<span>But yesterday his love he told,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I know he will come back to me.</span>
<br/>
<span>O rising moon! O Lady moon!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Be you my lover’s sentinel,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">You cannot choose but know him well,</span>
<br/>
<span>For he is shod with purple shoon,</span>
<br/>
<span>You cannot choose but know my love,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For he a shepherd’s crook doth bear,</span>
<br/>
<span>And he is soft as any dove,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And brown and curly is his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The turtle now has ceased to call</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Upon her crimson-footed groom,</span>
<br/>
<span>The grey wolf prowls about the stall,</span>
<br/>
<span>The lily’s singing seneschal</span>
<br/>
<span>Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The violet hills are lost in gloom.</span>
<br/>
<span>O risen moon! O holy moon!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Stand on the top of Helice,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And if my own true love you see,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah! if you see the purple shoon,</span>
<br/>
<span>The hazel crook, the lad’s brown hair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The goat-skin wrapped about his arm,</span>
<br/>
<span>Tell him that I am waiting where</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The rushlight glimmers in the Farm.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The falling dew is cold and chill,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And no bird sings in Arcady,</span>
<br/>
<span>The little fauns have left the hill,</span>
<br/>
<span>Even the tired daffodil</span>
<br/>
<span>Has closed its gilded doors, and still</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My lover comes not back to me.</span>
<br/>
<span>False moon! False moon! O waning moon!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where is my own true lover gone,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where are the lips vermilion,</span>
<br/>
<span>The shepherd’s crook, the purple shoon?</span>
<br/>
<span>Why spread that silver pavilion,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Why wear that veil of drifting mist?</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah! thou hast young Endymion,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Thou hast the lips that should be kissed!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="la-bella-donna-della-mia-mente" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="it" epub:type="title" xml:lang="it">La Bella Donna Della Mia Mente</h3>
<p>
<span>My limbs are wasted with a flame,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My feet are sore with travelling,</span>
<br/>
<span>For, calling on my Lady’s name,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My lips have now forgot to sing.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O Linnet in the wild-rose brake</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Strain for my Love thy melody,</span>
<br/>
<span>O Lark sing louder for love’s sake,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My gentle Lady passeth by.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>She is too fair for any man</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To see or hold his heart’s delight,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fairer than Queen or courtesan</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or moonlit water in the night.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(Green leaves upon her golden hair!)</span>
<br/>
<span>Green grasses through the yellow sheaves</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of autumn corn are not more fair.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Her little lips, more made to kiss</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Than to cry bitterly for pain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Are tremulous as brook-water is,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or roses after evening rain.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Her neck is like white melilote</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Flushing for pleasure of the sun,</span>
<br/>
<span>The throbbing of the linnet’s throat</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is not so sweet to look upon.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>As a pomegranate, cut in twain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">White-seeded, is her crimson mouth,</span>
<br/>
<span>Her cheeks are as the fading stain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where the peach reddens to the south.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O twining hands! O delicate</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">White body made for love and pain!</span>
<br/>
<span>O House of love! O desolate</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Pale flower beaten by the rain!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="chanson" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">Chanson</h3>
<p>
<span>A ring of gold and a milk-white dove</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Are goodly gifts for thee,</span>
<br/>
<span>And a hempen rope for your own love</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To hang upon a tree.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For you a House of Ivory,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(Roses are white in the rose-bower)!</span>
<br/>
<span>A narrow bed for me to lie,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(White, O white, is the hemlock flower)!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Myrtle and jessamine for you,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(O the red rose is fair to see)!</span>
<br/>
<span>For me the cypress and the rue,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(Fairest of all is rosemary)!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For you three lovers of your hand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(Green grass where a man lies dead)!</span>
<br/>
<span>For me three paces on the sand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(Plant lilies at my head)!</span>
</p>
</article>
</section>
<article id="charmides" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Charmides</h2>
<section id="charmides-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span>He was a Grecian lad, who coming home</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily</span>
<br/>
<span>Stood at his galley’s prow, and let the foam</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Blow through his crisp brown curls unconsciously,</span>
<br/>
<span>And holding wave and wind in boy’s despite</span>
<br/>
<span>Peered from his dripping seat across the wet and stormy night.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Till with the dawn he saw a burnished spear</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like a thin thread of gold against the sky,</span>
<br/>
<span>And hoisted sail, and strained the creaking gear,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And bade the pilot head her lustily</span>
<br/>
<span>Against the nor’west gale, and all day long</span>
<br/>
<span>Held on his way, and marked the rowers’ time with measured song.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And when the faint Corinthian hills were red</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Dropped anchor in a little sandy bay,</span>
<br/>
<span>And with fresh boughs of olive crowned his head,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And brushed from cheek and throat the hoary spray,</span>
<br/>
<span>And washed his limbs with oil, and from the hold</span>
<br/>
<span>Brought out his linen tunic and his sandals brazen-soled,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And a rich robe stained with the fishes’ juice</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which of some swarthy trader he had bought</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon the sunny quay at Syracuse,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And was with Tyrian broideries inwrought,</span>
<br/>
<span>And by the questioning merchants made his way</span>
<br/>
<span>Up through the soft and silver woods, and when the labouring day</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Had spun its tangled web of crimson cloud,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Clomb the high hill, and with swift silent feet</span>
<br/>
<span>Crept to the fane unnoticed by the crowd</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of busy priests, and from some dark retreat</span>
<br/>
<span>Watched the young swains his frolic playmates bring</span>
<br/>
<span>The firstling of their little flock, and the shy shepherd fling</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The crackling salt upon the flame, or hang</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">His studded crook against the temple wall</span>
<br/>
<span>To Her who keeps away the ravenous fang</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of the base wolf from homestead and from stall;</span>
<br/>
<span>And then the clear-voiced maidens ’gan to sing,</span>
<br/>
<span>And to the altar each man brought some goodly offering,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A beechen cup brimming with milky foam,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A fair cloth wrought with cunning imagery</span>
<br/>
<span>Of hounds in chase, a waxen honey-comb</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Dripping with oozy gold which scarce the bee</span>
<br/>
<span>Had ceased from building, a black skin of oil</span>
<br/>
<span>Meet for the wrestlers, a great boar the fierce and white-tusked spoil</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Stolen from Artemis that jealous maid</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To please Athena, and the dappled hide</span>
<br/>
<span>Of a tall stag who in some mountain glade</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Had met the shaft; and then the herald cried,</span>
<br/>
<span>And from the pillared precinct one by one</span>
<br/>
<span>Went the glad Greeks well pleased that they their simple vows had done.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And the old priest put out the waning fires</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Save that one lamp whose restless ruby glowed</span>
<br/>
<span>For ever in the cell, and the shrill lyres</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Came fainter on the wind, as down the road</span>
<br/>
<span>In joyous dance these country folk did pass,</span>
<br/>
<span>And with stout hands the warder closed the gates of polished brass.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Long time he lay and hardly dared to breathe,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And heard the cadenced drip of spilt-out wine,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the rose-petals falling from the wreath</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">As the night breezes wandered through the shrine,</span>
<br/>
<span>And seemed to be in some entrancèd swoon</span>
<br/>
<span>Till through the open roof above the full and brimming moon</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Flooded with sheeny waves the marble floor,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When from his nook up leapt the venturous lad,</span>
<br/>
<span>And flinging wide the cedar-carven door</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Beheld an awful image saffron-clad</span>
<br/>
<span>And armed for battle! the gaunt Griffin glared</span>
<br/>
<span>From the huge helm, and the long lance of wreck and ruin flared</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Like a red rod of flame, stony and steeled</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Gorgon’s head its leaden eyeballs rolled,</span>
<br/>
<span>And writhed its snaky horrors through the shield,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And gaped aghast with bloodless lips and cold</span>
<br/>
<span>In passion impotent, while with blind gaze</span>
<br/>
<span>The blinking owl between the feet hooted in shrill amaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The lonely fisher as he trimmed his lamp</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Far out at sea off Sunium, or cast</span>
<br/>
<span>The net for tunnies, heard a brazen tramp</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of horses smite the waves, and a wild blast</span>
<br/>
<span>Divide the folded curtains of the night,</span>
<br/>
<span>And knelt upon the little poop, and prayed in holy fright.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And guilty lovers in their venery</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Forgat a little while their stolen sweets,</span>
<br/>
<span>Deeming they heard dread Dian’s bitter cry;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the grim watchmen on their lofty seats</span>
<br/>
<span>Ran to their shields in haste precipitate,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or strained black-bearded throats across the dusky parapet.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For round the temple rolled the clang of arms,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the twelve Gods leapt up in marble fear,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the air quaked with dissonant alarums</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Till huge Poseidon shook his mighty spear,</span>
<br/>
<span>And on the frieze the prancing horses neighed,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the low tread of hurrying feet rang from the cavalcade.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ready for death with parted lips he stood,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And well content at such a price to see</span>
<br/>
<span>That calm wide brow, that terrible maidenhood,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The marvel of that pitiless chastity,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah! well content indeed, for never wight</span>
<br/>
<span>Since Troy’s young shepherd prince had seen so wonderful a sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ready for death he stood, but lo! the air</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Grew silent, and the horses ceased to neigh,</span>
<br/>
<span>And off his brow he tossed the clustering hair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And from his limbs he throw the cloak away;</span>
<br/>
<span>For whom would not such love make desperate?</span>
<br/>
<span>And nigher came, and touched her throat, and with hands violate</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Undid the cuirass, and the crocus gown,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And bared the breasts of polished ivory,</span>
<br/>
<span>Till from the waist the peplos falling down</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Left visible the secret mystery</span>
<br/>
<span>Which to no lover will Athena show,</span>
<br/>
<span>The grand cool flanks, the crescent thighs, the bossy hills of snow.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Those who have never known a lover’s sin</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Let them not read my ditty, it will be</span>
<br/>
<span>To their dull ears so musicless and thin</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That they will have no joy of it, but ye</span>
<br/>
<span>To whose wan cheeks now creeps the lingering smile,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ye who have learned who Eros is⁠—O listen yet awhile.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A little space he let his greedy eyes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Rest on the burnished image, till mere sight</span>
<br/>
<span>Half swooned for surfeit of such luxuries,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And then his lips in hungering delight</span>
<br/>
<span>Fed on her lips, and round the towered neck</span>
<br/>
<span>He flung his arms, nor cared at all his passion’s will to check.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Never I ween did lover hold such tryst,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For all night long he murmured honeyed word,</span>
<br/>
<span>And saw her sweet unravished limbs, and kissed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Her pale and argent body undisturbed,</span>
<br/>
<span>And paddled with the polished throat, and pressed</span>
<br/>
<span>His hot and beating heart upon her chill and icy breast.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>It was as if Numidian javelins</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Pierced through and through his wild and whirling brain,</span>
<br/>
<span>And his nerves thrilled like throbbing violins</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In exquisite pulsation, and the pain</span>
<br/>
<span>Was such sweet anguish that he never drew</span>
<br/>
<span>His lips from hers till overhead the lark of warning flew.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>They who have never seen the daylight peer</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Into a darkened room, and drawn the curtain,</span>
<br/>
<span>And with dull eyes and wearied from some dear</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And worshipped body risen, they for certain</span>
<br/>
<span>Will never know of what I try to sing,</span>
<br/>
<span>How long the last kiss was, how fond and late his lingering.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The moon was girdled with a crystal rim,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The sign which shipmen say is ominous</span>
<br/>
<span>Of wrath in heaven, the wan stars were dim,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the low lightening east was tremulous</span>
<br/>
<span>With the faint fluttering wings of flying dawn,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ere from the silent sombre shrine this lover had withdrawn.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Down the steep rock with hurried feet and fast</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Clomb the brave lad, and reached the cave of Pan,</span>
<br/>
<span>And heard the goat-foot snoring as he passed,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And leapt upon a grassy knoll and ran</span>
<br/>
<span>Like a young fawn unto an olive wood</span>
<br/>
<span>Which in a shady valley by the well-built city stood.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And sought a little stream, which well he knew,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For oftentimes with boyish careless shout</span>
<br/>
<span>The green and crested grebe he would pursue,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or snare in woven net the silver trout,</span>
<br/>
<span>And down amid the startled reeds he lay</span>
<br/>
<span>Panting in breathless sweet affright, and waited for the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>On the green bank he lay, and let one hand</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Dip in the cool dark eddies listlessly,</span>
<br/>
<span>And soon the breath of morning came and fanned</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">His hot flushed cheeks, or lifted wantonly</span>
<br/>
<span>The tangled curls from off his forehead, while</span>
<br/>
<span>He on the running water gazed with strange and secret smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And soon the shepherd in rough woollen cloak</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With his long crook undid the wattled cotes,</span>
<br/>
<span>And from the stack a thin blue wreath of smoke</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Curled through the air across the ripening oats,</span>
<br/>
<span>And on the hill the yellow house-dog bayed</span>
<br/>
<span>As through the crisp and rustling fern the heavy cattle strayed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And when the light-foot mower went afield</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Across the meadows laced with threaded dew,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the sheep bleated on the misty weald,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And from its nest the waking corncrake flew,</span>
<br/>
<span>Some woodmen saw him lying by the stream</span>
<br/>
<span>And marvelled much that any lad so beautiful could seem,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nor deemed him born of mortals, and one said,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">“It is young Hylas, that false runaway</span>
<br/>
<span>Who with a Naiad now would make his bed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Forgetting Herakles,” but others, “Nay,</span>
<br/>
<span>It is Narcissus, his own paramour,</span>
<br/>
<span>Those are the fond and crimson lips no woman can allure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And when they nearer came a third one cried,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">“It is young Dionysos who has hid</span>
<br/>
<span>His spear and fawnskin by the river side</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Weary of hunting with the Bassarid,</span>
<br/>
<span>And wise indeed were we away to fly,</span>
<br/>
<span>They live not long who on the gods immortal come to spy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So turned they back, and feared to look behind,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And told the timid swain how they had seen</span>
<br/>
<span>Amid the reeds some woodland God reclined,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And no man dared to cross the open green,</span>
<br/>
<span>And on that day no olive-tree was slain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor rushes cut, but all deserted was the fair domain,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Save when the neat-herd’s lad, his empty pail</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Well slung upon his back, with leap and bound</span>
<br/>
<span>Raced on the other side, and stopped to hail,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hoping that he some comrade new had found,</span>
<br/>
<span>And gat no answer, and then half afraid</span>
<br/>
<span>Passed on his simple way, or down the still and silent glade</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A little girl ran laughing from the farm,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Not thinking of love’s secret mysteries,</span>
<br/>
<span>And when she saw the white and gleaming arm</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And all his manlihood, with longing eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose passion mocked her sweet virginity</span>
<br/>
<span>Watched him awhile, and then stole back sadly and wearily.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Far off he heard the city’s hum and noise,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And now and then the shriller laughter where</span>
<br/>
<span>The passionate purity of brown-limbed boys</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wrestled or raced in the clear healthful air,</span>
<br/>
<span>And now and then a little tinkling bell</span>
<br/>
<span>As the shorn wether led the sheep down to the mossy well.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Through the grey willows danced the fretful gnat,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The grasshopper chirped idly from the tree,</span>
<br/>
<span>In sleek and oily coat the water-rat</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Breasting the little ripples manfully</span>
<br/>
<span>Made for the wild-duck’s nest, from bough to bough</span>
<br/>
<span>Hopped the shy finch, and the huge tortoise crept across the slough.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>On the faint wind floated the silky seeds</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">As the bright scythe swept through the waving grass,</span>
<br/>
<span>The ousel-cock splashed circles in the reeds</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And flecked with silver whorls the forest’s glass,</span>
<br/>
<span>Which scarce had caught again its imagery</span>
<br/>
<span>Ere from its bed the dusky tench leapt at the dragon-fly.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But little care had he for any thing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Though up and down the beech the squirrel played,</span>
<br/>
<span>And from the copse the linnet ’gan to sing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To its brown mate its sweetest serenade;</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah! little care indeed, for he had seen</span>
<br/>
<span>The breasts of Pallas and the naked wonder of the Queen.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But when the herdsman called his straggling goats</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With whistling pipe across the rocky road,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the shard-beetle with its trumpet-notes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Boomed through the darkening woods, and seemed to bode</span>
<br/>
<span>Of coming storm, and the belated crane</span>
<br/>
<span>Passed homeward like a shadow, and the dull big drops of rain</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Fell on the pattering fig-leaves, up he rose,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And from the gloomy forest went his way</span>
<br/>
<span>Past sombre homestead and wet orchard-close,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And came at last unto a little quay,</span>
<br/>
<span>And called his mates aboard, and took his seat</span>
<br/>
<span>On the high poop, and pushed from land, and loosed the dripping sheet,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And steered across the bay, and when nine suns</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Passed down the long and laddered way of gold,</span>
<br/>
<span>And nine pale moons had breathed their orisons</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To the chaste stars their confessors, or told</span>
<br/>
<span>Their dearest secret to the downy moth</span>
<br/>
<span>That will not fly at noonday, through the foam and surging froth</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Came a great owl with yellow sulphurous eyes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And lit upon the ship, whose timbers creaked</span>
<br/>
<span>As though the lading of three argosies</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Were in the hold, and flapped its wings and shrieked,</span>
<br/>
<span>And darkness straightway stole across the deep,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sheathed was Orion’s sword, dread Mars himself fled down the steep,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And the moon hid behind a tawny mask</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of drifting cloud, and from the ocean’s marge</span>
<br/>
<span>Rose the red plume, the huge and hornèd casque,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The seven-cubit spear, the brazen targe!</span>
<br/>
<span>And clad in bright and burnished panoply</span>
<br/>
<span>Athena strode across the stretch of sick and shivering sea!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To the dull sailors’ sight her loosened looks</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Seemed like the jagged storm-rack, and her feet</span>
<br/>
<span>Only the spume that floats on hidden rocks,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And, marking how the rising waters beat</span>
<br/>
<span>Against the rolling ship, the pilot cried</span>
<br/>
<span>To the young helmsman at the stern to luff to windward side.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But he, the overbold adulterer,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A dear profaner of great mysteries,</span>
<br/>
<span>An ardent amorous idolater,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When he beheld those grand relentless eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>Laughed loud for joy, and crying out “I come”</span>
<br/>
<span>Leapt from the lofty poop into the chill and churning foam.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then fell from the high heaven one bright star,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">One dancer left the circling galaxy,</span>
<br/>
<span>And back to Athens on her clattering car</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In all the pride of venged divinity</span>
<br/>
<span>Pale Pallas swept with shrill and steely clank,</span>
<br/>
<span>And a few gurgling bubbles rose where her boy lover sank.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And the mast shuddered as the gaunt owl flew</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With mocking hoots after the wrathful Queen,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the old pilot bade the trembling crew</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hoist the big sail, and told how he had seen</span>
<br/>
<span>Close to the stern a dim and giant form,</span>
<br/>
<span>And like a dipping swallow the stout ship dashed through the storm.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And no man dared to speak of Charmides</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Deeming that he some evil thing had wrought,</span>
<br/>
<span>And when they reached the strait Symplegades</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">They beached their galley on the shore, and sought</span>
<br/>
<span>The toll-gate of the city hastily,</span>
<br/>
<span>And in the market showed their brown and pictured pottery.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="charmides-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span>But some good Triton-god had ruth, and bare</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The boy’s drowned body back to Grecian land,</span>
<br/>
<span>And mermaids combed his dank and dripping hair</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And smoothed his brow, and loosed his clenching hand;</span>
<br/>
<span>Some brought sweet spices from far Araby,</span>
<br/>
<span>And others bade the halcyon sing her softest lullaby.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And when he neared his old Athenian home,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A mighty billow rose up suddenly</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon whose oily back the clotted foam</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lay diapered in some strange fantasy,</span>
<br/>
<span>And clasping him unto its glassy breast</span>
<br/>
<span>Swept landward, like a white-maned steed upon a venturous quest!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Now where Colonos leans unto the sea</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">There lies a long and level stretch of lawn,</span>
<br/>
<span>The rabbit knows it, and the mountain bee</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For it deserts Hymettus, and the Faun</span>
<br/>
<span>Is not afraid, for never through the day</span>
<br/>
<span>Comes a cry ruder than the shout of shepherd lads at play.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But often from the thorny labyrinth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And tangled branches of the circling wood</span>
<br/>
<span>The stealthy hunter sees young Hyacinth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hurling the polished disk, and draws his hood</span>
<br/>
<span>Over his guilty gaze, and creeps away,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor dares to wind his horn, or⁠—else at the first break of day</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The Dryads come and throw the leathern ball</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Along the reedy shore, and circumvent</span>
<br/>
<span>Some goat-eared Pan to be their seneschal</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For fear of bold Poseidon’s ravishment,</span>
<br/>
<span>And loose their girdles, with shy timorous eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>Lest from the surf his azure arms and purple beard should rise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>On this side and on that a rocky cave,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hung with the yellow-belled laburnum, stands,</span>
<br/>
<span>Smooth is the beach, save where some ebbing wave</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Leaves its faint outline etched upon the sands,</span>
<br/>
<span>As though it feared to be too soon forgot</span>
<br/>
<span>By the green rush, its playfellow⁠—and yet, it is a spot</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So small, that the inconstant butterfly</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Could steal the hoarded money from each flower</span>
<br/>
<span>Ere it was noon, and still not satisfy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Its over-greedy love⁠—within an hour</span>
<br/>
<span>A sailor boy, were he but rude enow</span>
<br/>
<span>To land and pluck a garland for his galley’s painted prow,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Would almost leave the little meadow bare,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For it knows nothing of great pageantry,</span>
<br/>
<span>Only a few narcissi here and there</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Stand separate in sweet austerity,</span>
<br/>
<span>Dotting the unmown grass with silver stars,</span>
<br/>
<span>And here and there a daffodil waves tiny scimitars.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Hither the billow brought him, and was glad</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of such dear servitude, and where the land</span>
<br/>
<span>Was virgin of all waters laid the lad</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Upon the golden margent of the strand,</span>
<br/>
<span>And like a lingering lover oft returned</span>
<br/>
<span>To kiss those pallid limbs which once with intense fire burned,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ere the wet seas had quenched that holocaust,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That self-fed flame, that passionate lustihead,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ere grisly death with chill and nipping frost</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Had withered up those lilies white and red</span>
<br/>
<span>Which, while the boy would through the forest range,</span>
<br/>
<span>Answered each other in a sweet antiphonal counter-change.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And when at dawn the wood-nymphs, hand-in-hand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Threaded the bosky dell, their satyr spied</span>
<br/>
<span>The boy’s pale body stretched upon the sand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And feared Poseidon’s treachery, and cried,</span>
<br/>
<span>And like bright sunbeams flitting through a glade</span>
<br/>
<span>Each startled Dryad sought some safe and leafy ambuscade.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Save one white girl, who deemed it would not be</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So dread a thing to feel a sea-god’s arms</span>
<br/>
<span>Crushing her breasts in amorous tyranny,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And longed to listen to those subtle charms</span>
<br/>
<span>Insidious lovers weave when they would win</span>
<br/>
<span>Some fencèd fortress, and stole back again, nor thought it sin</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To yield her treasure unto one so fair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And lay beside him, thirsty with love’s drouth,</span>
<br/>
<span>Called him soft names, played with his tangled hair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And with hot lips made havoc of his mouth</span>
<br/>
<span>Afraid he might not wake, and then afraid</span>
<br/>
<span>Lest he might wake too soon, fled back, and then, fond renegade,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Returned to fresh assault, and all day long</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Sat at his side, and laughed at her new toy,</span>
<br/>
<span>And held his hand, and sang her sweetest song,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Then frowned to see how froward was the boy</span>
<br/>
<span>Who would not with her maidenhood entwine,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor knew that three days since his eyes had looked on Proserpine,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nor knew what sacrilege his lips had done,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But said, “He will awake, I know him well,</span>
<br/>
<span>He will awake at evening when the sun</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hangs his red shield on Corinth’s citadel,</span>
<br/>
<span>This sleep is but a cruel treachery</span>
<br/>
<span>To make me love him more, and in some cavern of the sea</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Deeper than ever falls the fisher’s line</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Already a huge Triton blows his horn,</span>
<br/>
<span>And weaves a garland from the crystalline</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And drifting ocean-tendrils to adorn</span>
<br/>
<span>The emerald pillars of our bridal bed,</span>
<br/>
<span>For sphered in foaming silver, and with coral-crownèd head,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>We two will sit upon a throne of pearl,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And a blue wave will be our canopy,</span>
<br/>
<span>And at our feet the water-snakes will curl</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In all their amethystine panoply</span>
<br/>
<span>Of diamonded mail, and we will mark</span>
<br/>
<span>The mullets swimming by the mast of some storm-foundered bark,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Vermilion-finned with eyes of bossy gold</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like flakes of crimson light, and the great deep</span>
<br/>
<span>His glassy-portaled chamber will unfold,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And we will see the painted dolphins sleep</span>
<br/>
<span>Cradled by murmuring halcyons on the rocks</span>
<br/>
<span>Where Proteus in quaint suit of green pastures his monstrous flocks.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And tremulous opal-hued anemones</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Will wave their purple fringes where we tread</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon the mirrored floor, and argosies</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of fishes flecked with tawny scales will thread</span>
<br/>
<span>The drifting cordage of the shattered wreck,</span>
<br/>
<span>And honey-coloured amber beads our twining limbs will deck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But when that baffled Lord of War the Sun</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With gaudy pennon flying passed away</span>
<br/>
<span>Into his brazen House, and one by one</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The little yellow stars began to stray</span>
<br/>
<span>Across the field of heaven, ah! then indeed</span>
<br/>
<span>She feared his lips upon her lips would never care to feed,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And cried, “Awake, already the pale moon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Washes the trees with silver, and the wave</span>
<br/>
<span>Creeps grey and chilly up this sandy dune,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The croaking frogs are out, and from the cave</span>
<br/>
<span>The nightjar shrieks, the fluttering bats repass,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the brown stoat with hollow flanks creeps through the dusky grass.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nay, though thou art a God, be not so coy,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For in yon stream there is a little reed</span>
<br/>
<span>That often whispers how a lovely boy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lay with her once upon a grassy mead,</span>
<br/>
<span>Who when his cruel pleasure he had done</span>
<br/>
<span>Spread wings of rustling gold and soared aloft into the sun.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Be not so coy, the laurel trembles still</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With great Apollo’s kisses, and the fir</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose clustering sisters fringe the seaward hill</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hath many a tale of that bold ravisher</span>
<br/>
<span>Whom men call Boreas, and I have seen</span>
<br/>
<span>The mocking eyes of Hermes through the poplar’s silvery sheen.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Even the jealous Naiads call me fair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And every morn a young and ruddy swain</span>
<br/>
<span>Woos me with apples and with locks of hair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And seeks to soothe my virginal disdain</span>
<br/>
<span>By all the gifts the gentle wood-nymphs love;</span>
<br/>
<span>But yesterday he brought to me an iris-plumaged dove</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With little crimson feet, which with its store</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of seven spotted eggs the cruel lad</span>
<br/>
<span>Had stolen from the lofty sycamore</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">At daybreak, when her amorous comrade had</span>
<br/>
<span>Flown off in search of berried juniper</span>
<br/>
<span>Which most they love; the fretful wasp, that earliest vintager</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Of the blue grapes, hath not persistency</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So constant as this simple shepherd-boy</span>
<br/>
<span>For my poor lips, his joyous purity</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And laughing sunny eyes might well decoy</span>
<br/>
<span>A Dryad from her oath to Artemis;</span>
<br/>
<span>For very beautiful is he, his mouth was made to kiss,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>His argent forehead, like a rising moon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Over the dusky hills of meeting brows,</span>
<br/>
<span>Is crescent shaped, the hot and Tyrian noon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Leads from the myrtle-grove no goodlier spouse</span>
<br/>
<span>For Cytheraea, the first silky down</span>
<br/>
<span>Fringes his blushing cheeks, and his young limbs are strong and brown:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And he is rich, and fat and fleecy herds</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of bleating sheep upon his meadows lie,</span>
<br/>
<span>And many an earthen bowl of yellow curds</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is in his homestead for the thievish fly</span>
<br/>
<span>To swim and drown in, the pink clover mead</span>
<br/>
<span>Keeps its sweet store for him, and he can pipe on oaten reed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And yet I love him not, it was for thee</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I kept my love, I knew that thou would’st come</span>
<br/>
<span>To rid me of this pallid chastity;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Thou fairest flower of the flowerless foam</span>
<br/>
<span>Of all the wide Aegean, brightest star</span>
<br/>
<span>Of ocean’s azure heavens where the mirrored planets are!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I knew that thou would’st come, for when at first</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The dry wood burgeoned, and the sap of spring</span>
<br/>
<span>Swelled in my green and tender bark or burst</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To myriad multitudinous blossoming</span>
<br/>
<span>Which mocked the midnight with its mimic moons</span>
<br/>
<span>That did not dread the dawn, and first the thrushes’ rapturous tunes</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Startled the squirrel from its granary,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And cuckoo flowers fringed the narrow lane,</span>
<br/>
<span>Through my young leaves a sensuous ecstasy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Crept like new wine, and every mossy vein</span>
<br/>
<span>Throbbed with the fitful pulse of amorous blood,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the wild winds of passion shook my slim stem’s maidenhood.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The trooping fawns at evening came and laid</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Their cool black noses on my lowest boughs,</span>
<br/>
<span>And on my topmost branch the blackbird made</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A little nest of grasses for his spouse,</span>
<br/>
<span>And now and then a twittering wren would light</span>
<br/>
<span>On a thin twig which hardly bare the weight of such delight.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I was the Attic shepherd’s trysting place,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Beneath my shadow Amaryllis lay,</span>
<br/>
<span>And round my trunk would laughing Daphnis chase</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The timorous girl, till tired out with play</span>
<br/>
<span>She felt his hot breath stir her tangled hair,</span>
<br/>
<span>And turned, and looked, and fled no more from such delightful snare.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then come away unto my ambuscade</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where clustering woodbine weaves a canopy</span>
<br/>
<span>For amorous pleasaunce, and the rustling shade</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of Paphian myrtles seems to sanctify</span>
<br/>
<span>The dearest rites of love; there in the cool</span>
<br/>
<span>And green recesses of its farthest depth there is a pool,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The ouzel’s haunt, the wild bee’s pasturage,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For round its rim great creamy lilies float</span>
<br/>
<span>Through their flat leaves in verdant anchorage,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Each cup a white-sailed golden-laden boat</span>
<br/>
<span>Steered by a dragon-fly⁠—be not afraid</span>
<br/>
<span>To leave this wan and wave-kissed shore, surely the place was made</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For lovers such as we; the Cyprian Queen,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">One arm around her boyish paramour,</span>
<br/>
<span>Strays often there at eve, and I have seen</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The moon strip off her misty vestiture</span>
<br/>
<span>For young Endymion’s eyes; be not afraid,</span>
<br/>
<span>The panther feet of Dian never tread that secret glade.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nay if thou will’st, back to the beating brine,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Back to the boisterous billow let us go,</span>
<br/>
<span>And walk all day beneath the hyaline</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Huge vault of Neptune’s watery portico,</span>
<br/>
<span>And watch the purple monsters of the deep</span>
<br/>
<span>Sport in ungainly play, and from his lair keen Xiphias leap.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For if my mistress find me lying here</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She will not ruth or gentle pity show,</span>
<br/>
<span>But lay her boar-spear down, and with austere</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Relentless fingers string the cornel bow,</span>
<br/>
<span>And draw the feathered notch against her breast,</span>
<br/>
<span>And loose the archèd cord; aye, even now upon the quest</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I hear her hurrying feet⁠—awake, awake,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Thou laggard in love’s battle! once at least</span>
<br/>
<span>Let me drink deep of passion’s wine, and slake</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My parchèd being with the nectarous feast</span>
<br/>
<span>Which even gods affect! O come, Love, come,</span>
<br/>
<span>Still we have time to reach the cavern of thine azure home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Scarce had she spoken when the shuddering trees</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Shook, and the leaves divided, and the air</span>
<br/>
<span>Grew conscious of a God, and the grey seas</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Crawled backward, and a long and dismal blare</span>
<br/>
<span>Blew from some tasselled horn, a sleuth-hound bayed,</span>
<br/>
<span>And like a flame a barbèd reed flew whizzing down the glade.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And where the little flowers of her breast</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Just brake into their milky blossoming,</span>
<br/>
<span>This murderous paramour, this unbidden guest,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Pierced and struck deep in horrid chambering,</span>
<br/>
<span>And ploughed a bloody furrow with its dart,</span>
<br/>
<span>And dug a long red road, and cleft with wingèd death her heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sobbing her life out with a bitter cry</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On the boy’s body fell the Dryad maid,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sobbing for incomplete virginity,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And raptures unenjoyed, and pleasures dead,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all the pain of things unsatisfied,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the bright drops of crimson youth crept down her throbbing side.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah! pitiful it was to hear her moan,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And very pitiful to see her die</span>
<br/>
<span>Ere she had yielded up her sweets, or known</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The joy of passion, that dread mystery</span>
<br/>
<span>Which not to know is not to live at all,</span>
<br/>
<span>And yet to know is to be held in death’s most deadly thrall.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But as it hapt the Queen of Cythere,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who with Adonis all night long had lain</span>
<br/>
<span>Within some shepherd’s hut in Arcady,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On team of silver doves and gilded wain</span>
<br/>
<span>Was journeying Paphos-ward, high up afar</span>
<br/>
<span>From mortal ken between the mountains and the morning star,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And when low down she spied the hapless pair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And heard the Oread’s faint despairing cry,</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose cadence seemed to play upon the air</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">As though it were a viol, hastily</span>
<br/>
<span>She bade her pigeons fold each straining plume,</span>
<br/>
<span>And dropt to earth, and reached the strand, and saw their dolorous doom.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For as a gardener turning back his head</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To catch the last notes of the linnet, mows</span>
<br/>
<span>With careless scythe too near some flower bed,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And cuts the thorny pillar of the rose,</span>
<br/>
<span>And with the flower’s loosened loneliness</span>
<br/>
<span>Strews the brown mould; or as some shepherd lad in wantonness</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Driving his little flock along the mead</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Treads down two daffodils, which side by aide</span>
<br/>
<span>Have lured the lady-bird with yellow brede</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And made the gaudy moth forget its pride,</span>
<br/>
<span>Treads down their brimming golden chalices</span>
<br/>
<span>Under light feet which were not made for such rude ravages,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Or as a schoolboy tired of his book</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Flings himself down upon the reedy grass</span>
<br/>
<span>And plucks two water-lilies from the brook,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And for a time forgets the hour glass,</span>
<br/>
<span>Then wearies of their sweets, and goes his way,</span>
<br/>
<span>And lets the hot sun kill them, even so these lovers lay.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And Venus cried, “It is dread Artemis</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whose bitter hand hath wrought this cruelty,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or else that mightier maid whose care it is</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To guard her strong and stainless majesty</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon the hill Athenian⁠—alas!</span>
<br/>
<span>That they who loved so well unloved into Death’s house should pass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So with soft hands she laid the boy and girl</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the great golden wagon tenderly,</span>
<br/>
<span>Her white throat whiter than a moony pearl</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Just threaded with a blue vein’s tapestry</span>
<br/>
<span>Had not yet ceased to throb, and still her breast</span>
<br/>
<span>Swayed like a wind-stirred lily in ambiguous unrest.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And then each pigeon spread its milky van,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The bright car soared into the dawning sky,</span>
<br/>
<span>And like a cloud the aerial caravan</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Passed over the Aegean silently,</span>
<br/>
<span>Till the faint air was troubled with the song</span>
<br/>
<span>From the wan mouths that call on bleeding Thammuz all night long.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But when the doves had reached their wonted goal</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where the wide stair of orbèd marble dips</span>
<br/>
<span>Its snows into the sea, her fluttering soul</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Just shook the trembling petals of her lips</span>
<br/>
<span>And passed into the void, and Venus knew</span>
<br/>
<span>That one fair maid the less would walk amid her retinue,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And bade her servants carve a cedar chest</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With all the wonder of this history,</span>
<br/>
<span>Within whose scented womb their limbs should rest</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where olive-trees make tender the blue sky</span>
<br/>
<span>On the low hills of Paphos, and the faun</span>
<br/>
<span>Pipes in the noonday, and the nightingale sings on till dawn.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nor failed they to obey her hest, and ere</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The morning bee had stung the daffodil</span>
<br/>
<span>With tiny fretful spear, or from its lair</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The waking stag had leapt across the rill</span>
<br/>
<span>And roused the ouzel, or the lizard crept</span>
<br/>
<span>Athwart the sunny rock, beneath the grass their bodies slept.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And when day brake, within that silver shrine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Fed by the flames of cressets tremulous,</span>
<br/>
<span>Queen Venus knelt and prayed to Proserpine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That she whose beauty made Death amorous</span>
<br/>
<span>Should beg a guerdon from her pallid Lord,</span>
<br/>
<span>And let Desire pass across dread Charon’s icy ford.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="charmides-3" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>
<p>
<span>In melancholy moonless Acheron,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Farm for the goodly earth and joyous day,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where no spring ever buds, nor ripening sun</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Weighs down the apple trees, nor flowery May</span>
<br/>
<span>Chequers with chestnut blooms the grassy floor,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where thrushes never sing, and piping linnets mate no more,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There by a dim and dark Lethaean well</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Young Charmides was lying; wearily</span>
<br/>
<span>He plucked the blossoms from the asphodel,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And with its little rifled treasury</span>
<br/>
<span>Strewed the dull waters of the dusky stream,</span>
<br/>
<span>And watched the white stars founder, and the land was like a dream,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>When as he gazed into the watery glass</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And through his brown hair’s curly tangles scanned</span>
<br/>
<span>His own wan face, a shadow seemed to pass</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Across the mirror, and a little hand</span>
<br/>
<span>Stole into his, and warm lips timidly</span>
<br/>
<span>Brushed his pale cheeks, and breathed their secret forth into a sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then turned he round his weary eyes and saw,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And ever nigher still their faces came,</span>
<br/>
<span>And nigher ever did their young mouths draw</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Until they seemed one perfect rose of flame,</span>
<br/>
<span>And longing arms around her neck he cast,</span>
<br/>
<span>And felt her throbbing bosom, and his breath came hot and fast,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And all his hoarded sweets were hers to kiss,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And all her maidenhood was his to slay,</span>
<br/>
<span>And limb to limb in long and rapturous bliss</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Their passion waxed and waned⁠—O why essay</span>
<br/>
<span>To pipe again of love, too venturous reed!</span>
<br/>
<span>Enough, enough that Eros laughed upon that flowerless mead.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Too venturous poesy, O why essay</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To pipe again of passion! fold thy wings</span>
<br/>
<span>O’er daring Icarus and bid thy lay</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Sleep hidden in the lyre’s silent strings</span>
<br/>
<span>Till thou hast found the old Castalian rill,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or from the Lesbian waters plucked drowned Sappho’s golden quill!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Enough, enough that he whose life had been</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A fiery pulse of sin, a splendid shame,</span>
<br/>
<span>Could in the loveless land of Hades glean</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">One scorching harvest from those fields of flame</span>
<br/>
<span>Where passion walks with naked unshod feet</span>
<br/>
<span>And is not wounded⁠—ah! enough that once their lips could meet</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>In that wild throb when all existences</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Seemed narrowed to one single ecstasy</span>
<br/>
<span>Which dies through its own sweetness and the stress</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of too much pleasure, ere Persephone</span>
<br/>
<span>Had bade them serve her by the ebon throne</span>
<br/>
<span>Of the pale God who in the fields of Enna loosed her zone.</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<section id="flowers-of-gold" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Flowers of Gold</h2>
<section id="impressions-1" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">Impressions</h3>
<article id="impressions-1-1-les-silhouettes" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h4 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h4>
<p lang="fr" epub:type="title" xml:lang="fr">Les Silhouettes</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span class="i1">The sea is flecked with bars of grey,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The dull dead wind is out of tune,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And like a withered leaf the moon</span>
<br/>
<span>Is blown across the stormy bay.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Etched clear upon the pallid sand</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lies the black boat: a sailor boy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Clambers aboard in careless joy</span>
<br/>
<span>With laughing face and gleaming hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">And overhead the curlews cry,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where through the dusky upland grass</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The young brown-throated reapers pass,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like silhouettes against the sky.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="impressions-1-2-la-fuite-de-la-lune" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h4 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h4>
<p lang="fr" epub:type="title" xml:lang="fr">La Fuite de la Lune</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span class="i1">To outer senses there is peace,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A dreamy peace on either hand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Deep silence in the shadowy land,</span>
<br/>
<span>Deep silence where the shadows cease.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Save for a cry that echoes shrill</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From some lone bird disconsolate;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A corncrake calling to its mate;</span>
<br/>
<span>The answer from the misty hill.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">And suddenly the moon withdraws</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Her sickle from the lightening skies,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And to her sombre cavern flies,</span>
<br/>
<span>Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.</span>
</p>
</article>
</section>
<article id="the-grave-of-keats" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">The Grave of Keats</h3>
<p>
<span>Rid of the world’s injustice, and his pain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">He rests at last beneath God’s veil of blue:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Taken from life when life and love were new</span>
<br/>
<span>The youngest of the martyrs here is lain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fair as Sebastian, and as early slain.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">No cypress shades his grave, no funeral yew,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But gentle violets weeping with the dew</span>
<br/>
<span>Weave on his bones an ever-blossoming chain.</span>
<br/>
<span>O proudest heart that broke for misery!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O sweetest lips since those of Mitylene!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O poet-painter of our English Land!</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy name was writ in water⁠—it shall stand:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And tears like mine will keep thy memory green,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">As Isabella did her Basil-tree.</span>
</p>
<footer>
<p>Rome.</p>
</footer>
</article>
<article id="theocritus-a-villanelle" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="title">Theocritus</h3>
<p epub:type="subtitle">A Villanelle</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>O singer of Persephone!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the dim meadows desolate</span>
<br/>
<span>Dost thou remember Sicily?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Still through the ivy flits the bee</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where Amaryllis lies in state;</span>
<br/>
<span>O Singer of Persephone!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Simaetha calls on Hecate</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And hears the wild dogs at the gate;</span>
<br/>
<span>Dost thou remember Sicily?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Still by the light and laughing sea</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Poor Polypheme bemoans his fate;</span>
<br/>
<span>O Singer of Persephone!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And still in boyish rivalry</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Young Daphnis challenges his mate;</span>
<br/>
<span>Dost thou remember Sicily?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Slim Lacon keeps a goat for thee,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For thee the jocund shepherds wait;</span>
<br/>
<span>O Singer of Persephone!</span>
<br/>
<span>Dost thou remember Sicily?</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="in-the-gold-room-a-harmony" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="title">In the Gold Room</h3>
<p epub:type="subtitle">A Harmony</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>Her ivory hands on the ivory keys</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Strayed in a fitful fantasy,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like the silver gleam when the poplar trees</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Rustle their pale leaves listlessly,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or the drifting foam of a restless sea</span>
<br/>
<span>When the waves show their teeth in the flying breeze.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Her gold hair fell on the wall of gold</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like the delicate gossamer tangles spun</span>
<br/>
<span>On the burnished disk of the marigold,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or the sunflower turning to meet the sun</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When the gloom of the dark blue night is done,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the spear of the lily is aureoled.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Burned like the ruby fire set</span>
<br/>
<span>In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet</span>
<br/>
<span>With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="ballade-de-marguerite" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 lang="fr" epub:type="title" xml:lang="fr">Ballade de Marguerite</h3>
<p lang="fr" epub:type="subtitle" xml:lang="fr">(Normande)</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>I am weary of lying within the chase</span>
<br/>
<span>When the knights are meeting in market-place.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed town</span>
<br/>
<span>Lest the hoofs of the war-horse tread thee down.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But I would not go where the Squires ride,</span>
<br/>
<span>I would only walk by my Lady’s side.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Alack! and alack! thou art overbold,</span>
<br/>
<span>A Forester’s son may not eat off gold.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Will she love me the less that my Father is seen</span>
<br/>
<span>Each Martinmas day in a doublet green?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Perchance she is sewing at tapestrie,</span>
<br/>
<span>Spindle and loom are not meet for thee.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah, if she is working the arras bright</span>
<br/>
<span>I might ravel the threads by the fire-light.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Perchance she is hunting of the deer,</span>
<br/>
<span>How could you follow o’er hill and mere?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah, if she is riding with the court,</span>
<br/>
<span>I might run beside her and wind the morte.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Perchance she is kneeling in <abbr>St.</abbr> Denys,</span>
<br/>
<span>(On her soul may our Lady have gramercy!)</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah, if she is praying in lone chapelle,</span>
<br/>
<span>I might swing the censer and ring the bell.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Come in, my son, for you look sae pale,</span>
<br/>
<span>The father shall fill thee a stoup of ale.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But who are these knights in bright array?</span>
<br/>
<span>Is it a pageant the rich folks play?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>’Tis the King of England from over sea,</span>
<br/>
<span>Who has come unto visit our fair countrie.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But why does the curfew toll sae low?</span>
<br/>
<span>And why do the mourners walk a-row?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O ’tis Hugh of Amiens my sister’s son</span>
<br/>
<span>Who is lying stark, for his day is done.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nay, nay, for I see white lilies clear,</span>
<br/>
<span>It is no strong man who lies on the bier.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O ’tis old Dame Jeannette that kept the hall,</span>
<br/>
<span>I knew she would die at the autumn fall.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Dame Jeannette had not that gold-brown hair,</span>
<br/>
<span>Old Jeannette was not a maiden fair.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O ’tis none of our kith and none of our kin,</span>
<br/>
<span>(Her soul may our Lady assoil from sin!)</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But I hear the boy’s voice chaunting sweet,</span>
<br/>
<span>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Elle est morte, la Marguerite.</i>”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Come in, my son, and lie on the bed,</span>
<br/>
<span>And let the dead folk bury their dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O mother, you know I loved her true:</span>
<br/>
<span>O mother, hath one grave room for two?</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-dole-of-the-kings-daughter" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="title">The Dole of the King’s Daughter</h3>
<p epub:type="subtitle">(Breton)</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>Seven stars in the still water,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And seven in the sky;</span>
<br/>
<span>Seven sins on the King’s daughter,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Deep in her soul to lie.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Red roses are at her feet,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(Roses are red in her red-gold hair)</span>
<br/>
<span>And O where her bosom and girdle meet</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Red roses are hidden there.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Fair is the knight who lieth slain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Amid the rush and reed,</span>
<br/>
<span>See the lean fishes that are fain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Upon dead men to feed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sweet is the page that lieth there,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(Cloth of gold is goodly prey,)</span>
<br/>
<span>See the black ravens in the air,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Black, O black as the night are they.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>What do they there so stark and dead?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(There is blood upon her hand)</span>
<br/>
<span>Why are the lilies flecked with red?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(There is blood on the river sand.)</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There are two that ride from the south and east,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And two from the north and west,</span>
<br/>
<span>For the black raven a goodly feast,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For the King’s daughter rest.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There is one man who loves her true,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(Red, O red, is the stain of gore!)</span>
<br/>
<span>He hath duggen a grave by the darksome yew,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(One grave will do for four.)</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>No moon in the still heaven,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the black water none,</span>
<br/>
<span>The sins on her soul are seven,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The sin upon his is one.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="amor-intellectualis" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">Amor Intellectualis</h3>
<p>
<span>Oft have we trod the vales of Castaly</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And heard sweet notes of sylvan music blown</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From antique reeds to common folk unknown:</span>
<br/>
<span>And often launched our bark upon that sea</span>
<br/>
<span>Which the nine Muses hold in empery,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And ploughed free furrows through the wave and foam,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nor spread reluctant sail for more safe home</span>
<br/>
<span>Till we had freighted well our argosy.</span>
<br/>
<span>Of which despoilèd treasures these remain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Sordello’s passion, and the honeyed line</span>
<br/>
<span>Of young Endymion, lordly Tamburlaine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Driving his pampered jades, and more than these,</span>
<br/>
<span>The seven-fold vision of the Florentine,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And grave-browed Milton’s solemn harmonies.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="santa-decca" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="co" epub:type="title" xml:lang="co">Santa Decca</h3>
<p>
<span>The Gods are dead: no longer do we bring</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Demeter’s child no more hath tithe of sheaves,</span>
<br/>
<span>And in the noon the careless shepherds sing,</span>
<br/>
<span>For Pan is dead, and all the wantoning</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By secret glade and devious haunt is o’er:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Young Hylas seeks the water-springs no more;</span>
<br/>
<span>Great Pan is dead, and Mary’s son is King.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And yet⁠—perchance in this sea-trancèd isle,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Chewing the bitter fruit of memory,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Some God lies hidden in the asphodel.</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah Love! if such there be, then it were well</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For us to fly his anger: nay, but see,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The leaves are stirring: let us watch awhile.</span>
</p>
<footer>
<p>Corfu.</p>
</footer>
</article>
<article id="a-vision" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">A Vision</h3>
<p>
<span>Two crownèd Kings, and One that stood alone</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With no green weight of laurels round his head,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But with sad eyes as one uncomforted,</span>
<br/>
<span>And wearied with man’s never-ceasing moan</span>
<br/>
<span>For sins no bleating victim can atone,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And sweet long lips with tears and kisses fed.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Girt was he in a garment black and red,</span>
<br/>
<span>And at his feet I marked a broken stone</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which sent up lilies, dove-like, to his knees.</span>
<br/>
<span>Now at their sight, my heart being lit with flame,</span>
<br/>
<span>I cried to Beatricé, “Who are these?”</span>
<br/>
<span>And she made answer, knowing well each name,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">“Aeschylos first, the second Sophokles,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And last (wide stream of tears!) Euripides.”</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="impression-de-voyage" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="fr" epub:type="title" xml:lang="fr">Impression de Voyage</h3>
<p>
<span>The sea was sapphire coloured, and the sky</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Burned like a heated opal through the air;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We hoisted sail; the wind was blowing fair</span>
<br/>
<span>For the blue lands that to the eastward lie.</span>
<br/>
<span>From the steep prow I marked with quickening eye</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Zakynthos, every olive grove and creek,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ithaca’s cliff, Lycaon’s snowy peak,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all the flower-strewn hills of Arcady.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The flapping of the sail against the mast,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The ripple of the water on the side,</span>
<br/>
<span>The ripple of girls’ laughter at the stern,</span>
<br/>
<span>The only sounds:⁠—when ’gan the West to burn,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And a red sun upon the seas to ride,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I stood upon the soil of Greece at last!</span>
</p>
<footer>
<p>Katakolo.</p>
</footer>
</article>
<article id="the-grave-of-shelley" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">The Grave of Shelley</h3>
<p>
<span>Like burnt-out torches by a sick man’s bed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Here doth the little night-owl make her throne,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the slight lizard show his jewelled head.</span>
<br/>
<span>And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the still chamber of yon pyramid</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid,</span>
<br/>
<span>Grim warder of this pleasaunce of the dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of Earth, great mother of eternal sleep,</span>
<br/>
<span>But sweeter far for thee a restless tomb</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the blue cavern of an echoing deep,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or where the tall ships founder in the gloom</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep.</span>
</p>
<footer>
<p>Rome.</p>
</footer>
</article>
<article id="by-the-arno" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">By the Arno</h3>
<p>
<span class="i1">The oleander on the wall</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Grows crimson in the dawning light,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Though the grey shadows of the night</span>
<br/>
<span>Lie yet on Florence like a pall.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">The dew is bright upon the hill,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And bright the blossoms overhead,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But ah! the grasshoppers have fled,</span>
<br/>
<span>The little Attic song is still.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Only the leaves are gently stirred</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By the soft breathing of the gale,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And in the almond-scented vale</span>
<br/>
<span>The lonely nightingale is heard.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">The day will make thee silent soon,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O nightingale sing on for love!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">While yet upon the shadowy grove</span>
<br/>
<span>Splinter the arrows of the moon.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Before across the silent lawn</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In sea-green vest the morning steals,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And to love’s frightened eyes reveals</span>
<br/>
<span>The long white fingers of the dawn</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Fast climbing up the eastern sky</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To grasp and slay the shuddering night,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">All careless of my heart’s delight,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or if the nightingale should die.</span>
</p>
</article>
</section>
<section id="impressions-de-théâtre" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 lang="fr" epub:type="title" xml:lang="fr">Impressions de Théâtre</h2>
<article id="fabien-dei-franchi" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="title">Fabien Dei Franchi</h3>
<p epub:type="dedication">To My Friend Henry Irving</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>The silent room, the heavy creeping shade,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The dead that travel fast, the opening door,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The murdered brother rising through the floor,</span>
<br/>
<span>The ghost’s white fingers on thy shoulders laid,</span>
<br/>
<span>And then the lonely duel in the glade,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The broken swords, the stifled scream, the gore,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Thy grand revengeful eyes when all is o’er⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>These things are well enough⁠—but thou wert made</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For more august creation! frenzied Lear</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Should at thy bidding wander on the heath</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With the shrill fool to mock him, Romeo</span>
<br/>
<span>For thee should lure his love, and desperate fear</span>
<br/>
<span>Pluck Richard’s recreant dagger from its sheath⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Thou trumpet set for Shakespeare’s lips to blow!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="phèdre" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="title">Phèdre</h3>
<p epub:type="dedication">To Sarah Bernhardt</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>How vain and dull this common world must seem</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To such a One as thou, who should’st have talked</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">At Florence with Mirandola, or walked</span>
<br/>
<span>Through the cool olives of the Academe:</span>
<br/>
<span>Thou should’st have gathered reeds from a green stream</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For Goat-foot Pan’s shrill piping, and have played</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With the white girls in that Phaeacian glade</span>
<br/>
<span>Where grave Odysseus wakened from his dream.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah! surely once some urn of Attic clay</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Held thy wan dust, and thou hast come again</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Back to this common world so dull and vain,</span>
<br/>
<span>For thou wert weary of the sunless day,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The heavy fields of scentless asphodel,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The loveless lips with which men kiss in Hell.</span>
</p>
</article>
<section id="written-at-the-lyceum-theatre" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">Written at the Lyceum Theatre</h3>
<article id="written-at-the-lyceum-theatre-1-portia" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h4 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h4>
<p epub:type="title">Portia</p>
<p epub:type="dedication">To Ellen Terry</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>I marvel not Bassanio was so bold</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To peril all he had upon the lead,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or that proud Aragon bent low his head</span>
<br/>
<span>Or that Morocco’s fiery heart grew cold:</span>
<br/>
<span>For in that gorgeous dress of beaten gold</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which is more golden than the golden sun</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">No woman Veronesé looked upon</span>
<br/>
<span>Was half so fair as thou whom I behold.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet fairer when with wisdom as your shield</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The sober-suited lawyer’s gown you donned,</span>
<br/>
<span>And would not let the laws of Venice yield</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Antonio’s heart to that accursèd Jew⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O Portia! take my heart: it is thy due:</span>
<br/>
<span>I think I will not quarrel with the Bond.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="written-at-the-lyceum-theatre-2-queen-henrietta-maria" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h4 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h4>
<p epub:type="title">Queen Henrietta Maria</p>
<p epub:type="dedication">To Ellen Terry</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>In the lone tent, waiting for victory,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She stands with eyes marred by the mists of pain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like some wan lily overdrenched with rain:</span>
<br/>
<span>The clamorous clang of arms, the ensanguined sky,</span>
<br/>
<span>War’s ruin, and the wreck of chivalry</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To her proud soul no common fear can bring:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Bravely she tarrieth for her Lord the King,</span>
<br/>
<span>Her soul a-flame with passionate ecstasy.</span>
<br/>
<span>O Hair of Gold! O Crimson Lips! O Face</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Made for the luring and the love of man!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With thee I do forget the toil and stress,</span>
<br/>
<span>The loveless road that knows no resting place,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Time’s straitened pulse, the soul’s dread weariness,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My freedom, and my life republican!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="written-at-the-lyceum-theatre-3-camma" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h4 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h4>
<p epub:type="title">Camma</p>
<p epub:type="dedication">To Ellen Terry</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>As one who poring on a Grecian urn</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Scans the fair shapes some Attic hand hath made,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">God with slim goddess, goodly man with maid,</span>
<br/>
<span>And for their beauty’s sake is loth to turn</span>
<br/>
<span>And face the obvious day, must I not yearn</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For many a secret moon of indolent bliss,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When in midmost shrine of Artemis</span>
<br/>
<span>I see thee standing, antique-limbed, and stern?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And yet⁠—methinks I’d rather see thee play</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That serpent of old Nile, whose witchery</span>
<br/>
<span>Made Emperors drunken⁠—come, great Egypt, shake</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Our stage with all thy mimic pageants! Nay,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I am grown sick of unreal passions, make</span>
<br/>
<span>The world thine Actium, me thine Anthony!</span>
</p>
</article>
</section>
</section>
<article id="panthea" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 lang="grc-Latn" epub:type="title" xml:lang="grc-Latn">Panthea</h2>
<p>
<span>Nay, let us walk from fire unto fire,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From passionate pain to deadlier delight⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>I am too young to live without desire,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Too young art thou to waste this summer night</span>
<br/>
<span>Asking those idle questions which of old</span>
<br/>
<span>Man sought of seer and oracle, and no reply was told.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For, sweet, to feel is better than to know,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And wisdom is a childless heritage,</span>
<br/>
<span>One pulse of passion⁠—youth’s first fiery glow⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Are worth the hoarded proverbs of the sage:</span>
<br/>
<span>Vex not thy soul with dead philosophy,</span>
<br/>
<span>Have we not lips to kiss with, hearts to love and eyes to see!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Dost thou not hear the murmuring nightingale,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like water bubbling from a silver jar,</span>
<br/>
<span>So soft she sings the envious moon is pale,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That high in heaven she is hung so far</span>
<br/>
<span>She cannot hear that love-enraptured tune⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Mark how she wreathes each horn with mist, yon late and labouring moon.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>White lilies, in whose cups the gold bees dream,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The fallen snow of petals where the breeze</span>
<br/>
<span>Scatters the chestnut blossom, or the gleam</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of boyish limbs in water⁠—are not these</span>
<br/>
<span>Enough for thee, dost thou desire more?</span>
<br/>
<span>Alas! the Gods will give nought else from their eternal store.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For our high Gods have sick and wearied grown</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of all our endless sins, our vain endeavour</span>
<br/>
<span>For wasted days of youth to make atone</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By pain or prayer or priest, and never, never,</span>
<br/>
<span>Hearken they now to either good or ill,</span>
<br/>
<span>But send their rain upon the just and the unjust at will.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>They sit at ease, our Gods they sit at ease,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Strewing with leaves of rose their scented wine,</span>
<br/>
<span>They sleep, they sleep, beneath the rocking trees</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where asphodel and yellow lotus twine,</span>
<br/>
<span>Mourning the old glad days before they knew</span>
<br/>
<span>What evil things the heart of man could dream, and dreaming do.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And far beneath the brazen floor they see</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like swarming flies the crowd of little men,</span>
<br/>
<span>The bustle of small lives, then wearily</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Back to their lotus-haunts they turn again</span>
<br/>
<span>Kissing each others’ mouths, and mix more deep</span>
<br/>
<span>The poppy-seeded draught which brings soft purple-lidded sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There all day long the golden-vestured sun,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Their torch-bearer, stands with his torch ablaze,</span>
<br/>
<span>And, when the gaudy web of noon is spun</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By its twelve maidens, through the crimson haze</span>
<br/>
<span>Fresh from Endymion’s arms comes forth the moon,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the immortal Gods in toils of mortal passions swoon.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There walks Queen Juno through some dewy mead,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Her grand white feet flecked with the saffron dust</span>
<br/>
<span>Of wind-stirred lilies, while young Ganymede</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Leaps in the hot and amber-foaming must,</span>
<br/>
<span>His curls all tossed, as when the eagle bare</span>
<br/>
<span>The frightened boy from Ida through the blue Ionian air.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There in the green heart of some garden close</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Queen Venus with the shepherd at her side,</span>
<br/>
<span>Her warm soft body like the briar rose</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which would be white yet blushes at its pride,</span>
<br/>
<span>Laughs low for love, till jealous Salmacis</span>
<br/>
<span>Peers through the myrtle-leaves and sighs for pain of lonely bliss.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There never does that dreary north-wind blow</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which leaves our English forests bleak and bare,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor ever falls the swift white-feathered snow,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nor ever doth the red-toothed lightning dare</span>
<br/>
<span>To wake them in the silver-fretted night</span>
<br/>
<span>When we lie weeping for some sweet sad sin, some dead delight.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Alas! they know the far Lethaean spring,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The violet-hidden waters well they know,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where one whose feet with tired wandering</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Are faint and broken may take heart and go,</span>
<br/>
<span>And from those dark depths cool and crystalline</span>
<br/>
<span>Drink, and draw balm, and sleep for sleepless souls, and anodyne.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But we oppress our natures, God or Fate</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is our enemy, we starve and feed</span>
<br/>
<span>On vain repentance⁠—O we are born too late!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">What balm for us in bruisèd poppy seed</span>
<br/>
<span>Who crowd into one finite pulse of time</span>
<br/>
<span>The joy of infinite love and the fierce pain of infinite crime.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O we are wearied of this sense of guilt,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wearied of pleasure’s paramour despair,</span>
<br/>
<span>Wearied of every temple we have built,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wearied of every right, unanswered prayer,</span>
<br/>
<span>For man is weak; God sleeps: and heaven is high:</span>
<br/>
<span>One fiery-coloured moment: one great love; and lo! we die.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah! but no ferry-man with labouring pole</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nears his black shallop to the flowerless strand,</span>
<br/>
<span>No little coin of bronze can bring the soul</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Over Death’s river to the sunless land,</span>
<br/>
<span>Victim and wine and vow are all in vain,</span>
<br/>
<span>The tomb is sealed; the soldiers watch; the dead rise not again.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>We are resolved into the supreme air,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We are made one with what we touch and see,</span>
<br/>
<span>With our heart’s blood each crimson sun is fair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With our young lives each spring-impassioned tree</span>
<br/>
<span>Flames into green, the wildest beasts that range</span>
<br/>
<span>The moor our kinsmen are, all life is one, and all is change.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With beat of systole and of diastole</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">One grand great life throbs through earth’s giant heart,</span>
<br/>
<span>And mighty waves of single Being roll</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From nerveless germ to man, for we are part</span>
<br/>
<span>Of every rock and bird and beast and hill,</span>
<br/>
<span>One with the things that prey on us, and one with what we kill.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>From lower cells of waking life we pass</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To full perfection; thus the world grows old:</span>
<br/>
<span>We who are godlike now were once a mass</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of quivering purple flecked with bars of gold,</span>
<br/>
<span>Unsentient or of joy or misery,</span>
<br/>
<span>And tossed in terrible tangles of some wild and wind-swept sea.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>This hot hard flame with which our bodies burn</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Will make some meadow blaze with daffodil,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ay! and those argent breasts of thine will turn</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To water-lilies; the brown fields men till</span>
<br/>
<span>Will be more fruitful for our love to-night,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nothing is lost in nature, all things live in Death’s despite.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The boy’s first kiss, the hyacinth’s first bell,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The man’s last passion, and the last red spear</span>
<br/>
<span>That from the lily leaps, the asphodel</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which will not let its blossoms blow for fear</span>
<br/>
<span>Of too much beauty, and the timid shame</span>
<br/>
<span>Of the young bridegroom at his lover’s eyes⁠—these with the same</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>One sacrament are consecrate, the earth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Not we alone hath passions hymeneal,</span>
<br/>
<span>The yellow buttercups that shake for mirth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">At daybreak know a pleasure not less real</span>
<br/>
<span>Than we do, when in some fresh-blossoming wood,</span>
<br/>
<span>We draw the spring into our hearts, and feel that life is good.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So when men bury us beneath the yew</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Thy crimson-stainèd mouth a rose will be,</span>
<br/>
<span>And thy soft eyes lush bluebells dimmed with dew,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And when the white narcissus wantonly</span>
<br/>
<span>Kisses the wind its playmate some faint joy</span>
<br/>
<span>Will thrill our dust, and we will be again fond maid and boy.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And thus without life’s conscious torturing pain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In some sweet flower we will feel the sun,</span>
<br/>
<span>And from the linnet’s throat will sing again,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And as two gorgeous-mailèd snakes will run</span>
<br/>
<span>Over our graves, or as two tigers creep</span>
<br/>
<span>Through the hot jungle where the yellow-eyed huge lions sleep</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And give them battle! How my heart leaps up</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To think of that grand living after death</span>
<br/>
<span>In beast and bird and flower, when this cup,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Being filled too full of spirit, bursts for breath,</span>
<br/>
<span>And with the pale leaves of some autumn day</span>
<br/>
<span>The soul earth’s earliest conqueror becomes earth’s last great prey.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O think of it! We shall inform ourselves</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Into all sensuous life, the goat-foot Faun,</span>
<br/>
<span>The Centaur, or the merry bright-eyed Elves</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That leave their dancing rings to spite the dawn</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon the meadows, shall not be more near</span>
<br/>
<span>Than you and I to nature’s mysteries, for we shall hear</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The thrush’s heart beat, and the daisies grow,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the wan snowdrop sighing for the sun</span>
<br/>
<span>On sunless days in winter, we shall know</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By whom the silver gossamer is spun,</span>
<br/>
<span>Who paints the diapered fritillaries,</span>
<br/>
<span>On what wide wings from shivering pine to pine the eagle flies.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ay! had we never loved at all, who knows</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">If yonder daffodil had lured the bee</span>
<br/>
<span>Into its gilded womb, or any rose</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Had hung with crimson lamps its little tree!</span>
<br/>
<span>Methinks no leaf would ever bud in spring,</span>
<br/>
<span>But for the lovers’ lips that kiss, the poets’ lips that sing.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Is the light vanished from our golden sun,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or is this daedal-fashioned earth less fair,</span>
<br/>
<span>That we are nature’s heritors, and one</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With every pulse of life that beats the air?</span>
<br/>
<span>Rather new suns across the sky shall pass,</span>
<br/>
<span>New splendour come unto the flower, new glory to the grass.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And we two lovers shall not sit afar,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Critics of nature, but the joyous sea</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall be our raiment, and the bearded star</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Shoot arrows at our pleasure! We shall be</span>
<br/>
<span>Part of the mighty universal whole,</span>
<br/>
<span>And through all aeons mix and mingle with the Kosmic Soul!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>We shall be notes in that great Symphony</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whose cadence circles through the rhythmic spheres,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all the live World’s throbbing heart shall be</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">One with our heart, the stealthy creeping years</span>
<br/>
<span>Have lost their terrors now, we shall not die,</span>
<br/>
<span>The Universe itself shall be our Immortality!</span>
</p>
</article>
<section id="the-fourth-movement" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Fourth Movement</h2>
<article id="impression-le-réveillon" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="title">Impression</h3>
<p lang="fr" epub:type="subtitle" xml:lang="fr">Le Réveillon</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span class="i1">The sky is laced with fitful red,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The circling mists and shadows flee,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The dawn is rising from the sea,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like a white lady from her bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">And jagged brazen arrows fall</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Athwart the feathers of the night,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And a long wave of yellow light</span>
<br/>
<span>Breaks silently on tower and hall,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">And spreading wide across the wold</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wakes into flight some fluttering bird,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And all the chestnut tops are stirred,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all the branches streaked with gold.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="at-verona" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">At Verona</h3>
<p>
<span>How steep the stairs within Kings’ houses are</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And O how salt and bitter is the bread</span>
<br/>
<span>Which falls from this Hound’s table⁠—better far</span>
<br/>
<span>That I had died in the red ways of war,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Than to live thus, by all things comraded</span>
<br/>
<span>Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Curse God and die: what better hope than this?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of his gold city, and eternal day”⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Nay peace: behind my prison’s blinded bars</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I do possess what none can take away,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My love, and all the glory of the stars.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="apologia" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">Apologia</h3>
<p>
<span>Is it thy will that I should wax and wane,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Barter my cloth of gold for hodden grey,</span>
<br/>
<span>And at thy pleasure weave that web of pain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whose brightest threads are each a wasted day?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Is it thy will⁠—Love that I love so well⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That my Soul’s House should be a tortured spot</span>
<br/>
<span>Wherein, like evil paramours, must dwell</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The quenchless flame, the worm that dieth not?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nay, if it be thy will I shall endure,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And sell ambition at the common mart,</span>
<br/>
<span>And let dull failure be my vestiture,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And sorrow dig its grave within my heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Perchance it may be better so⁠—at least</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I have not made my heart a heart of stone,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor starved my boyhood of its goodly feast,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nor walked where Beauty is a thing unknown.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Many a man hath done so; sought to fence</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In straitened bonds the soul that should be free,</span>
<br/>
<span>Trodden the dusty road of common sense,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">While all the forest sang of liberty,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Not marking how the spotted hawk in flight</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Passed on wide pinion through the lofty air,</span>
<br/>
<span>To where some steep untrodden mountain height</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Caught the last tresses of the Sun God’s hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Or how the little flower he trod upon,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The daisy, that white-feathered shield of gold,</span>
<br/>
<span>Followed with wistful eyes the wandering sun</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Content if once its leaves were aureoled.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But surely it is something to have been</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The best belovèd for a little while,</span>
<br/>
<span>To have walked hand in hand with Love, and seen</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">His purple wings flit once across thy smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ay! though the gorgèd asp of passion feed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On my boy’s heart, yet have I burst the bars,</span>
<br/>
<span>Stood face to face with Beauty, known indeed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Love which moves the Sun and all the stars!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="quia-multum-amavi" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">Quia Multum Amavi</h3>
<p>
<span>Dear Heart, I think the young impassioned priest</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When first he takes from out the hidden shrine</span>
<br/>
<span>His God imprisoned in the Eucharist,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And eats the bread, and drinks the dreadful wine,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Feels not such awful wonder as I felt</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When first my smitten eyes beat full on thee,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all night long before thy feet I knelt</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Till thou wert wearied of Idolatry.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah! hadst thou liked me less and loved me more,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Through all those summer days of joy and rain,</span>
<br/>
<span>I had not now been sorrow’s heritor,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or stood a lackey in the House of Pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Yet, though remorse, youth’s white-faced seneschal,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Tread on my heels with all his retinue,</span>
<br/>
<span>I am most glad I loved thee⁠—think of all</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The suns that go to make one speedwell blue!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="silentium-amoris" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">Silentium Amoris</h3>
<p>
<span>As often-times the too resplendent sun</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon</span>
<br/>
<span>Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A single ballad from the nightingale,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all my sweetest singing out of tune.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And as at dawn across the level mead</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On wings impetuous some wind will come,</span>
<br/>
<span>And with its too harsh kisses break the reed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which was its only instrument of song,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So my too stormy passions work me wrong,</span>
<br/>
<span>And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;</span>
<br/>
<span>Else it were better we should part, and go,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And I to nurse the barren memory</span>
<br/>
<span>Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="her-voice" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">Her Voice</h3>
<p>
<span>The wild bee reels from bough to bough</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With his furry coat and his gauzy wing,</span>
<br/>
<span>Now in a lily-cup, and now</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Setting a jacinth bell a-swing,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">In his wandering;</span>
<br/>
<span>Sit closer love: it was here I trow</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">I made that vow,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Swore that two lives should be like one</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">As long as the sea-gull loved the sea,</span>
<br/>
<span>As long as the sunflower sought the sun⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">It shall be, I said, for eternity</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">’Twixt you and me!</span>
<br/>
<span>Dear friend, those times are over and done;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Love’s web is spun.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Look upward where the poplar trees</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Sway and sway in the summer air,</span>
<br/>
<span>Here in the valley never a breeze</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Scatters the thistledown, but there</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Great winds blow fair</span>
<br/>
<span>From the mighty murmuring mystical seas,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">And the wave-lashed leas.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Look upward where the white gull screams,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">What does it see that we do not see?</span>
<br/>
<span>Is that a star? or the lamp that gleams</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On some outward voyaging argosy⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Ah! can it be</span>
<br/>
<span>We have lived our lives in a land of dreams!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">How sad it seems.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sweet, there is nothing left to say</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But this, that love is never lost,</span>
<br/>
<span>Keen winter stabs the breasts of May</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whose crimson roses burst his frost,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Ships tempest-tossed</span>
<br/>
<span>Will find a harbour in some bay,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">And so we may.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And there is nothing left to do</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But to kiss once again, and part,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nay, there is nothing we should rue,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I have my beauty⁠—you your Art,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Nay, do not start,</span>
<br/>
<span>One world was not enough for two</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Like me and you.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="my-voice" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 epub:type="title">My Voice</h3>
<p>
<span>Within this restless, hurried, modern world</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We took our hearts’ full pleasure⁠—You and I,</span>
<br/>
<span>And now the white sails of our ship are furled,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And spent the lading of our argosy.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For very weeping is my gladness fled,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sorrow has paled my young mouth’s vermilion,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But all this crowded life has been to thee</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell</span>
<br/>
<span>Of viols, or the music of the sea</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="taedium-vitae" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<h3 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">Taedium Vitae</h3>
<p>
<span>To stab my youth with desperate knives, to wear</span>
<br/>
<span>This paltry age’s gaudy livery,</span>
<br/>
<span>To let each base hand filch my treasury,</span>
<br/>
<span>To mesh my soul within a woman’s hair,</span>
<br/>
<span>And be mere Fortune’s lackeyed groom⁠—I swear</span>
<br/>
<span>I love it not! these things are less to me</span>
<br/>
<span>Than the thin foam that frets upon the sea,</span>
<br/>
<span>Less than the thistledown of summer air</span>
<br/>
<span>Which hath no seed: better to stand aloof</span>
<br/>
<span>Far from these slanderous fools who mock my life</span>
<br/>
<span>Knowing me not, better the lowliest roof</span>
<br/>
<span>Fit for the meanest hind to sojourn in,</span>
<br/>
<span>Than to go back to that hoarse cave of strife</span>
<br/>
<span>Where my white soul first kissed the mouth of sin.</span>
</p>
</article>
</section>
<article id="humanitad" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">Humanitad</h2>
<p>
<span>It is full winter now: the trees are bare,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Save where the cattle huddle from the cold</span>
<br/>
<span>Beneath the pine, for it doth never wear</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The autumn’s gaudy livery whose gold</span>
<br/>
<span>Her jealous brother pilfers, but is true</span>
<br/>
<span>To the green doublet; bitter is the wind, as though it blew</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>From Saturn’s cave; a few thin wisps of hay</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lie on the sharp black hedges, where the wain</span>
<br/>
<span>Dragged the sweet pillage of a summer’s day</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From the low meadows up the narrow lane;</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon the half-thawed snow the bleating sheep</span>
<br/>
<span>Press close against the hurdles, and the shivering house-dogs creep</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>From the shut stable to the frozen stream</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And back again disconsolate, and miss</span>
<br/>
<span>The bawling shepherds and the noisy team;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And overhead in circling listlessness</span>
<br/>
<span>The cawing rooks whirl round the frosted stack,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or crowd the dripping boughs; and in the fen the ice-pools crack</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Where the gaunt bittern stalks among the reeds</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And flaps his wings, and stretches back his neck,</span>
<br/>
<span>And hoots to see the moon; across the meads</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Limps the poor frightened hare, a little speck;</span>
<br/>
<span>And a stray seamew with its fretful cry</span>
<br/>
<span>Flits like a sudden drift of snow against the dull grey sky.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Full winter: and the lusty goodman brings</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">His load of faggots from the chilly byre,</span>
<br/>
<span>And stamps his feet upon the hearth, and flings</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The sappy billets on the waning fire,</span>
<br/>
<span>And laughs to see the sudden lightening scare</span>
<br/>
<span>His children at their play, and yet⁠—the Spring is in the air;</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Already the slim crocus stirs the snow,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And soon yon blanchèd fields will bloom again</span>
<br/>
<span>With nodding cowslips for some lad to mow,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For with the first warm kisses of the rain</span>
<br/>
<span>The winter’s icy sorrow breaks to tears,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the brown thrushes mate, and with bright eyes the rabbit peers</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>From the dark warren where the fir-cones lie,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And treads one snowdrop under foot, and runs</span>
<br/>
<span>Over the mossy knoll, and blackbirds fly</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Across our path at evening, and the suns</span>
<br/>
<span>Stay longer with us; ah! how good to see</span>
<br/>
<span>Grass-girdled spring in all her joy of laughing greenery</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Dance through the hedges till the early rose,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(That sweet repentance of the thorny briar!)</span>
<br/>
<span>Burst from its sheathèd emerald and disclose</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The little quivering disk of golden fire</span>
<br/>
<span>Which the bees know so well, for with it come</span>
<br/>
<span>Pale boy’s-love, sops-in-wine, and daffadillies all in bloom.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then up and down the field the sower goes,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">While close behind the laughing younker scares</span>
<br/>
<span>With shrilly whoop the black and thievish crows,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And then the chestnut-tree its glory wears,</span>
<br/>
<span>And on the grass the creamy blossom falls</span>
<br/>
<span>In odorous excess, and faint half-whispered madrigals</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Steal from the bluebells’ nodding carillons</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Each breezy morn, and then white jessamine,</span>
<br/>
<span>That star of its own heaven, snap-dragons</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With lolling crimson tongues, and eglantine</span>
<br/>
<span>In dusty velvets clad usurp the bed</span>
<br/>
<span>And woodland empery, and when the lingering rose hath shed</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Red leaf by leaf its folded panoply,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And pansies closed their purple-lidded eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>Chrysanthemums from gilded argosy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Unload their gaudy scentless merchandise,</span>
<br/>
<span>And violets getting overbold withdraw</span>
<br/>
<span>From their shy nooks, and scarlet berries dot the leafless haw.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O happy field! and O thrice happy tree!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Soon will your queen in daisy-flowered smock</span>
<br/>
<span>And crown of flower-de-luce trip down the lea,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Soon will the lazy shepherds drive their flock</span>
<br/>
<span>Back to the pasture by the pool, and soon</span>
<br/>
<span>Through the green leaves will float the hum of murmuring bees at noon.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Soon will the glade be bright with bellamour,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The flower which wantons love, and those sweet nuns</span>
<br/>
<span>Vale-lilies in their snowy vestiture</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Will tell their beaded pearls, and carnations</span>
<br/>
<span>With mitred dusky leaves will scent the wind,</span>
<br/>
<span>And straggling traveller’s-joy each hedge with yellow stars will bind.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Dear Bride of Nature and most bounteous spring,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That canst give increase to the sweet-breath’d kine,</span>
<br/>
<span>And to the kid its little horns, and bring</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The soft and silky blossoms to the vine,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where is that old nepenthe which of yore</span>
<br/>
<span>Man got from poppy root and glossy-berried mandragore!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There was a time when any common bird</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Could make me sing in unison, a time</span>
<br/>
<span>When all the strings of boyish life were stirred</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To quick response or more melodious rhyme</span>
<br/>
<span>By every forest idyll;⁠—do I change?</span>
<br/>
<span>Or rather doth some evil thing through thy fair pleasaunce range?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nay, nay, thou art the same: ’tis I who seek</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To vex with sighs thy simple solitude,</span>
<br/>
<span>And because fruitless tears bedew my cheek</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Would have thee weep with me in brotherhood;</span>
<br/>
<span>Fool! shall each wronged and restless spirit dare</span>
<br/>
<span>To taint such wine with the salt poison of his own despair!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Thou art the same: ’tis I whose wretched soul</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Takes discontent to be its paramour,</span>
<br/>
<span>And gives its kingdom to the rude control</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of what should be its servitor⁠—for sure</span>
<br/>
<span>Wisdom is somewhere, though the stormy sea</span>
<br/>
<span>Contain it not, and the huge deep answer “ ’Tis not in me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To burn with one clear flame, to stand erect</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In natural honour, not to bend the knee</span>
<br/>
<span>In profitless prostrations whose effect</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is by itself condemned, what alchemy</span>
<br/>
<span>Can teach me this? what herb Medea brewed</span>
<br/>
<span>Will bring the unexultant peace of essence not subdued?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The minor chord which ends the harmony,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And for its answering brother waits in vain</span>
<br/>
<span>Sobbing for incompleted melody,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Dies a swan’s death; but I the heir of pain,</span>
<br/>
<span>A silent Memnon with blank lidless eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>Wait for the light and music of those suns which never rise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The quenched-out torch, the lonely cypress-gloom,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The little dust stored in the narrow urn,</span>
<br/>
<span>The gentle <i lang="grc" xml:lang="grc">ΧΑΙΡΕ</i> of the Attic tomb⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Were not these better far than to return</span>
<br/>
<span>To my old fitful restless malady,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or spend my days within the voiceless cave of misery?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nay! for perchance that poppy-crownèd god</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is like the watcher by a sick man’s bed</span>
<br/>
<span>Who talks of sleep but gives it not; his rod</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hath lost its virtue, and, when all is said,</span>
<br/>
<span>Death is too rude, too obvious a key</span>
<br/>
<span>To solve one single secret in a life’s philosophy.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And Love! that noble madness, whose august</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And inextinguishable might can slay</span>
<br/>
<span>The soul with honeyed drugs⁠—alas! I must</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From such sweet ruin play the runaway,</span>
<br/>
<span>Although too constant memory never can</span>
<br/>
<span>Forget the archèd splendour of those brows Olympian</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Which for a little season made my youth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So soft a swoon of exquisite indolence</span>
<br/>
<span>That all the chiding of more prudent Truth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Seemed the thin voice of jealousy⁠—O Hence</span>
<br/>
<span>Thou huntress deadlier than Artemis!</span>
<br/>
<span>Go seek some other quarry! for of thy too perilous bliss</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>My lips have drunk enough⁠—no more, no more⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Though Love himself should turn his gilded prow</span>
<br/>
<span>Back to the troubled waters of this shore</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where I am wrecked and stranded, even now</span>
<br/>
<span>The chariot wheels of passion sweep too near,</span>
<br/>
<span>Hence! Hence! I pass unto a life more barren, more austere.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>More barren⁠—ay, those arms will never lean</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Down through the trellised vines and draw my soul</span>
<br/>
<span>In sweet reluctance through the tangled green;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Some other head must wear that aureole,</span>
<br/>
<span>For I am hers who loves not any man</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose white and stainless bosom bears the sign Gorgonian.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Let Venus go and chuck her dainty page,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And kiss his mouth, and toss his curly hair,</span>
<br/>
<span>With net and spear and hunting equipage</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Let young Adonis to his tryst repair,</span>
<br/>
<span>But me her fond and subtle-fashioned spell</span>
<br/>
<span>Delights no more, though I could win her dearest citadel.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ay, though I were that laughing shepherd boy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who from Mount Ida saw the little cloud</span>
<br/>
<span>Pass over Tenedos and lofty Troy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And knew the coming of the Queen, and bowed</span>
<br/>
<span>In wonder at her feet, not for the sake</span>
<br/>
<span>Of a new Helen would I bid her hand the apple take.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then rise supreme Athena argent-limbed!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And, if my lips be music-less, inspire</span>
<br/>
<span>At least my life: was not thy glory hymned</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By One who gave to thee his sword and lyre</span>
<br/>
<span>Like Aeschylos at well-fought Marathon,</span>
<br/>
<span>And died to show that Milton’s England still could bear a son!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And yet I cannot tread the Portico</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And live without desire, fear and pain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or nurture that wise calm which long ago</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The grave Athenian master taught to men,</span>
<br/>
<span>Self-poised, self-centred, and self-comforted,</span>
<br/>
<span>To watch the world’s vain fantasies go by with unbowed head.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Alas! that serene brow, those eloquent lips,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Those eyes that mirrored all eternity,</span>
<br/>
<span>Rest in their own Colonos, an eclipse</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hath come on Wisdom, and Mnemosyne</span>
<br/>
<span>Is childless; in the night which she had made</span>
<br/>
<span>For lofty secure flight Athena’s owl itself hath strayed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nor much with Science do I care to climb,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Although by strange and subtle witchery</span>
<br/>
<span>She drew the moon from heaven: the Muse of Time</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Unrolls her gorgeous-coloured tapestry</span>
<br/>
<span>To no less eager eyes; often indeed</span>
<br/>
<span>In the great epic of Polymnia’s scroll I love to read</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>How Asia sent her myriad hosts to war</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Against a little town, and panoplied</span>
<br/>
<span>In gilded mail with jewelled scimitar,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">White-shielded, purple-crested, rode the Mede</span>
<br/>
<span>Between the waving poplars and the sea</span>
<br/>
<span>Which men call Artemisium, till he saw Thermopylae</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Its steep ravine spanned by a narrow wall,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And on the nearer side a little brood</span>
<br/>
<span>Of careless lions holding festival!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And stood amazèd at such hardihood,</span>
<br/>
<span>And pitched his tent upon the reedy shore,</span>
<br/>
<span>And stayed two days to wonder, and then crept at midnight o’er</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Some unfrequented height, and coming down</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The autumn forests treacherously slew</span>
<br/>
<span>What Sparta held most dear and was the crown</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of far Eurotas, and passed on, nor knew</span>
<br/>
<span>How God had staked an evil net for him</span>
<br/>
<span>In the small bay at Salamis⁠—and yet, the page grows dim,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Its cadenced Greek delights me not, I feel</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With such a goodly time too out of tune</span>
<br/>
<span>To love it much: for like the Dial’s wheel</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That from its blinded darkness strikes the noon</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet never sees the sun, so do my eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>Restlessly follow that which from my cheated vision flies.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O for one grand unselfish simple life</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To teach us what is Wisdom! speak ye hills</span>
<br/>
<span>Of lone Helvellyn, for this note of strife</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Shunned your untroubled crags and crystal rills,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where is that Spirit which living blamelessly</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet dared to kiss the smitten mouth of his own century!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Speak ye Rydalian laurels! where is He</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whose gentle head ye sheltered, that pure soul</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose gracious days of uncrowned majesty</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Through lowliest conduct touched the lofty goal</span>
<br/>
<span>Where love and duty mingle! Him at least</span>
<br/>
<span>The most high Laws were glad of, He had sat at Wisdom’s feast,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But we are Learning’s changelings, know by rote</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The clarion watchword of each Grecian school</span>
<br/>
<span>And follow none, the flawless sword which smote</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The pagan Hydra is an effete tool</span>
<br/>
<span>Which we ourselves have blunted, what man now</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall scale the august ancient heights and to old Reverence bow?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>One such indeed I saw, but, Ichabod!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Gone is that last dear son of Italy,</span>
<br/>
<span>Who being man died for the sake of God,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And whose unrisen bones sleep peacefully,</span>
<br/>
<span>O guard him, guard him well, my Giotto’s tower,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thou marble lily of the lily town! let not the lour</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Of the rude tempest vex his slumber, or</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Arno with its tawny troubled gold</span>
<br/>
<span>O’er-leap its marge, no mightier conqueror</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Clomb the high Capitol in the days of old</span>
<br/>
<span>When Rome was indeed Rome, for Liberty</span>
<br/>
<span>Walked like a bride beside him, at which sight pale Mystery</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Fled shrieking to her farthest sombrest cell</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With an old man who grabbled rusty keys,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fled shuddering, for that immemorial knell</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With which oblivion buries dynasties</span>
<br/>
<span>Swept like a wounded eagle on the blast,</span>
<br/>
<span>As to the holy heart of Rome the great triumvir passed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He knew the holiest heart and heights of Rome,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">He drave the base wolf from the lion’s lair,</span>
<br/>
<span>And now lies dead by that empyreal dome</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which overtops Valdarno hung in air</span>
<br/>
<span>By Brunelleschi⁠—O Melpomene</span>
<br/>
<span>Breathe through thy melancholy pipe thy sweetest threnody!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Breathe through the tragic stops such melodies</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That Joy’s self may grow jealous, and the Nine</span>
<br/>
<span>Forget awhile their discreet emperies,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Mourning for him who on Rome’s lordliest shrine</span>
<br/>
<span>Lit for men’s lives the light of Marathon,</span>
<br/>
<span>And bare to sun-forgotten fields the fire of the sun!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O guard him, guard him well, my Giotto’s tower,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Let some young Florentine each eventide</span>
<br/>
<span>Bring coronals of that enchanted flower</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which the dim woods of Vallombrosa hide,</span>
<br/>
<span>And deck the marble tomb wherein he lies</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose soul is as some mighty orb unseen of mortal eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Some mighty orb whose cycled wanderings,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Being tempest-driven to the farthest rim</span>
<br/>
<span>Where Chaos meets Creation and the wings</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of the eternal chanting Cherubim</span>
<br/>
<span>Are pavilioned on Nothing, passed away</span>
<br/>
<span>Into a moonless void⁠—and yet, though he is dust and clay,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He is not dead, the immemorial Fates</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Forbid it, and the closing shears refrain.</span>
<br/>
<span>Lift up your heads ye everlasting gates!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ye argent clarions, sound a loftier strain</span>
<br/>
<span>For the vile thing he hated lurks within</span>
<br/>
<span>Its sombre house, alone with God and memories of sin.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Still what avails it that she sought her cave</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That murderous mother of red harlotries?</span>
<br/>
<span>At Munich on the marble architrave</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Grecian boys die smiling, but the seas</span>
<br/>
<span>Which wash Aegina fret in loneliness</span>
<br/>
<span>Not mirroring their beauty; so our lives grow colourless</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For lack of our ideals, if one star</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Flame torch-like in the heavens the unjust</span>
<br/>
<span>Swift daylight kills it, and no trump of war</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Can wake to passionate voice the silent dust</span>
<br/>
<span>Which was Mazzini once! rich Niobe</span>
<br/>
<span>For all her stony sorrows hath her sons; but Italy!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>What Easter Day shall make her children rise,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who were not Gods yet suffered? what sure feet</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall find their grave-clothes folded? what clear eyes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Shall see them bodily? O it were meet</span>
<br/>
<span>To roll the stone from off the sepulchre</span>
<br/>
<span>And kiss the bleeding roses of their wounds, in love of Her,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Our Italy! our mother visible!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Most blessed among nations and most sad,</span>
<br/>
<span>For whose dear sake the young Calabrian fell</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That day at Aspromonte and was glad</span>
<br/>
<span>That in an age when God was bought and sold</span>
<br/>
<span>One man could die for Liberty! but we, burnt out and cold,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>See Honour smitten on the cheek and gyves</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Bind the sweet feet of Mercy: Poverty</span>
<br/>
<span>Creeps through our sunless lanes and with sharp knives</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Cuts the warm throats of children stealthily,</span>
<br/>
<span>And no word said:⁠—O we are wretched men</span>
<br/>
<span>Unworthy of our great inheritance! where is the pen</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Of austere Milton? where the mighty sword</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which slew its master righteously? the years</span>
<br/>
<span>Have lost their ancient leader, and no word</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Breaks from the voiceless tripod on our ears:</span>
<br/>
<span>While as a ruined mother in some spasm</span>
<br/>
<span>Bears a base child and loathes it, so our best enthusiasm</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Genders unlawful children, Anarchy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Freedom’s own Judas, the vile prodigal</span>
<br/>
<span>Licence who steals the gold of Liberty</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And yet has nothing, Ignorance the real</span>
<br/>
<span>One Fraticide since Cain, Envy the asp</span>
<br/>
<span>That stings itself to anguish, Avarice whose palsied grasp</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Is in its extent stiffened, moneyed Greed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For whose dull appetite men waste away</span>
<br/>
<span>Amid the whirr of wheels and are the seed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of things which slay their sower, these each day</span>
<br/>
<span>Sees rife in England, and the gentle feet</span>
<br/>
<span>Of Beauty tread no more the stones of each unlovely street.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>What even Cromwell spared is desecrated</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By weed and worm, left to the stormy play</span>
<br/>
<span>Of wind and beating snow, or renovated</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By more destructful hands: Time’s worst decay</span>
<br/>
<span>Will wreathe its ruins with some loveliness,</span>
<br/>
<span>But these new Vandals can but make a rainproof barrenness.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Where is that Art which bade the Angels sing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Through Lincoln’s lofty choir, till the air</span>
<br/>
<span>Seems from such marble harmonies to ring</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With sweeter song than common lips can dare</span>
<br/>
<span>To draw from actual reed? ah! where is now</span>
<br/>
<span>The cunning hand which made the flowering hawthorn branches bow</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For Southwell’s arch, and carved the House of One</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who loved the lilies of the field with all</span>
<br/>
<span>Our dearest English flowers? the same sun</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Rises for us: the seasons natural</span>
<br/>
<span>Weave the same tapestry of green and grey:</span>
<br/>
<span>The unchanged hills are with us: but that Spirit hath passed away.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And yet perchance it may be better so,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For Tyranny is an incestuous Queen,</span>
<br/>
<span>Murder her brother is her bedfellow,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the Plague chambers with her: in obscene</span>
<br/>
<span>And bloody paths her treacherous feet are set;</span>
<br/>
<span>Better the empty desert and a soul inviolate!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For gentle brotherhood, the harmony</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of living in the healthful air, the swift</span>
<br/>
<span>Clean beauty of strong limbs when men are free</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And women chaste, these are the things which lift</span>
<br/>
<span>Our souls up more than even Agnolo’s</span>
<br/>
<span>Gaunt blinded Sibyl poring o’er the scroll of human woes,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Or Titian’s little maiden on the stair</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">White as her own sweet lily and as tall,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or Mona Lisa smiling through her hair⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ah! somehow life is bigger after all</span>
<br/>
<span>Than any painted angel could we see</span>
<br/>
<span>The God that is within us! The old Greek serenity</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Which curbs the passion of that level line</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of marble youths, who with untroubled eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>And chastened limbs ride round Athena’s shrine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And mirror her divine economies,</span>
<br/>
<span>And balanced symmetry of what in man</span>
<br/>
<span>Would else wage ceaseless warfare⁠—this at least within the span</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Between our mother’s kisses and the grave</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Might so inform our lives, that we could win</span>
<br/>
<span>Such mighty empires that from her cave</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Temptation would grow hoarse, and pallid Sin</span>
<br/>
<span>Would walk ashamed of his adulteries,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Passion creep from out the House of Lust with startled eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To make the Body and the Spirit one</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With all right things, till no thing live in vain</span>
<br/>
<span>From morn to noon, but in sweet unison</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With every pulse of flesh and throb of brain</span>
<br/>
<span>The soul in flawless essence high enthroned,</span>
<br/>
<span>Against all outer vain attack invincibly bastioned,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Mark with serene impartiality</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The strife of things, and yet be comforted,</span>
<br/>
<span>Knowing that by the chain causality</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">All separate existences are wed</span>
<br/>
<span>Into one supreme whole, whose utterance</span>
<br/>
<span>Is joy, or holier praise! ah! surely this were governance</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Of Life in most august omnipresence,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Through which the rational intellect would find</span>
<br/>
<span>In passion its expression, and mere sense,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ignoble else, lend fire to the mind,</span>
<br/>
<span>And being joined with it in harmony</span>
<br/>
<span>More mystical than that which binds the stars planetary,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Strike from their several tones one octave chord</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whose cadence being measureless would fly</span>
<br/>
<span>Through all the circling spheres, then to its Lord</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Return refreshed with its new empery</span>
<br/>
<span>And more exultant power⁠—this indeed</span>
<br/>
<span>Could we but reach it were to find the last, the perfect creed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah! it was easy when the world was young</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To keep one’s life free and inviolate,</span>
<br/>
<span>From our sad lips another song is rung,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By our own hands our heads are desecrate,</span>
<br/>
<span>Wanderers in drear exile, and dispossessed</span>
<br/>
<span>Of what should be our own, we can but feed on wild unrest.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Somehow the grace, the bloom of things has flown,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And of all men we are most wretched who</span>
<br/>
<span>Must live each other’s lives and not our own</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For very pity’s sake and then undo</span>
<br/>
<span>All that we lived for⁠—it was otherwise</span>
<br/>
<span>When soul and body seemed to blend in mystic symphonies.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But we have left those gentle haunts to pass</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With weary feet to the new Calvary,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where we behold, as one who in a glass</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Sees his own face, self-slain Humanity,</span>
<br/>
<span>And in the dumb reproach of that sad gaze</span>
<br/>
<span>Learn what an awful phantom the red hand of man can raise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O smitten mouth! O forehead crowned with thorn!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O chalice of all common miseries!</span>
<br/>
<span>Thou for our sakes that loved thee not hast borne</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">An agony of endless centuries,</span>
<br/>
<span>And we were vain and ignorant nor knew</span>
<br/>
<span>That when we stabbed thy heart it was our own real hearts we slew.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Being ourselves the sowers and the seeds,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The night that covers and the lights that fade,</span>
<br/>
<span>The spear that pierces and the side that bleeds,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The lips betraying and the life betrayed;</span>
<br/>
<span>The deep hath calm: the moon hath rest: but we</span>
<br/>
<span>Lords of the natural world are yet our own dread enemy.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Is this the end of all that primal force</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which, in its changes being still the same,</span>
<br/>
<span>From eyeless Chaos cleft its upward course,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Through ravenous seas and whirling rocks and flame,</span>
<br/>
<span>Till the suns met in heaven and began</span>
<br/>
<span>Their cycles, and the morning stars sang, and the Word was Man!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nay, nay, we are but crucified, and though</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The bloody sweat falls from our brows like rain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Loosen the nails⁠—we shall come down I know,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Staunch the red wounds⁠—we shall be whole again,</span>
<br/>
<span>No need have we of hyssop-laden rod,</span>
<br/>
<span>That which is purely human, that is Godlike, that is God.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="flower-of-love" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">Flower of Love</h2>
<p lang="grc" epub:type="subtitle" xml:lang="grc">Γλυκύπικροϛ Ερωϛ</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clay</span>
<br/>
<span>I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song,</span>
<br/>
<span>Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed,</span>
<br/>
<span>You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled mead.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without name,</span>
<br/>
<span>And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of Fame.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre’s strings are ever strung.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine,</span>
<br/>
<span>With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in mine.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the dove,</span>
<br/>
<span>Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart,</span>
<br/>
<span>Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth,</span>
<br/>
<span>And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Yet I am not sorry that I loved you⁠—ah! what else had I a boy to do⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is past,</span>
<br/>
<span>Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And within the grave there is no pleasure, for the blindworm battens on the root,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah! what else had I to do but love you, God’s own mother was less dear to me,</span>
<br/>
<span>And less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I have made my choice, have lived my poems, and, though youth is gone in wasted days,</span>
<br/>
<span>I have found the lover’s crown of myrtle better than the poet’s crown of bays.</span>
</p>
</article>
<section id="impressions-2" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Impressions</h2>
<br/>
<article id="impressions-2-1-le-jardin" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p lang="fr" epub:type="title" xml:lang="fr">Le Jardin</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>The lily’s withered chalice falls</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Around its rod of dusty gold,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And from the beech-trees on the wold</span>
<br/>
<span>The last wood-pigeon coos and calls.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The gaudy leonine sunflower</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hangs black and barren on its stalk,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And down the windy garden walk</span>
<br/>
<span>The dead leaves scatter⁠—hour by hour.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Pale privet-petals white as milk</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Are blown into a snowy mass:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The roses lie upon the grass</span>
<br/>
<span>Like little shreds of crimson silk.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="impressions-2-2-la-mer" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p lang="fr" epub:type="title" xml:lang="fr">La Mer</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>A white mist drifts across the shrouds,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A wild moon in this wintry sky</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Gleams like an angry lion’s eye</span>
<br/>
<span>Out of a mane of tawny clouds.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The muffled steersman at the wheel</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is but a shadow in the gloom;⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And in the throbbing engine-room</span>
<br/>
<span>Leap the long rods of polished steel.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The shattered storm has left its trace</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Upon this huge and heaving dome,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For the thin threads of yellow foam</span>
<br/>
<span>Float on the waves like ravelled lace.</span>
</p>
</article>
</section>
<article id="under-the-balcony" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Under the Balcony</h2>
<p>
<span>O beautiful star with the crimson mouth!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O moon with the brows of gold!</span>
<br/>
<span>Rise up, rise up, from the odorous south!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And light for my love her way,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Lest her little feet should stray</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On the windy hill and the wold!</span>
<br/>
<span>O beautiful star with the crimson mouth!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O moon with the brows of gold!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O ship that shakes on the desolate sea!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O ship with the wet, white sail!</span>
<br/>
<span>Put in, put in, to the port to me!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">For my love and I would go</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">To the land where the daffodils blow</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the heart of a violet dale!</span>
<br/>
<span>O ship that shakes on the desolate sea!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O ship with the wet, white sail!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O bird that sits on the spray!</span>
<br/>
<span>Sing on, sing on, from your soft brown throat!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And my love in her little bed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Will listen, and lift her head</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From the pillow, and come my way!</span>
<br/>
<span>O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O bird that sits on the spray!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O blossom that hangs in the tremulous air!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O blossom with lips of snow!</span>
<br/>
<span>Come down, come down, for my love to wear!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">You will die on her head in a crown,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">You will die in a fold of her gown,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To her little light heart you will go!</span>
<br/>
<span>O blossom that hangs in the tremulous air!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O blossom with lips of snow!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-harlots-house" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Harlot’s House</h2>
<p>
<span>We caught the tread of dancing feet,</span>
<br/>
<span>We loitered down the moonlit street,</span>
<br/>
<span>And stopped beneath the harlot’s house.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Inside, above the din and fray,</span>
<br/>
<span>We heard the loud musicians play</span>
<br/>
<span>The “<i lang="de" xml:lang="de">Treues Liebes Herz</i>” of Strauss.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Like strange mechanical grotesques,</span>
<br/>
<span>Making fantastic arabesques,</span>
<br/>
<span>The shadows raced across the blind.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>We watched the ghostly dancers spin</span>
<br/>
<span>To sound of horn and violin,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Like wire-pulled automatons,</span>
<br/>
<span>Slim silhouetted skeletons</span>
<br/>
<span>Went sidling through the slow quadrille,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then took each other by the hand,</span>
<br/>
<span>And danced a stately saraband;</span>
<br/>
<span>Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed</span>
<br/>
<span>A phantom lover to her breast,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sometimes a horrible marionette</span>
<br/>
<span>Came out, and smoked its cigarette</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon the steps like a live thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then, turning to my love, I said,</span>
<br/>
<span>“The dead are dancing with the dead,</span>
<br/>
<span>The dust is whirling with the dust.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But she⁠—she heard the violin,</span>
<br/>
<span>And left my side, and entered in:</span>
<br/>
<span>Love passed into the house of lust.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then suddenly the tune went false,</span>
<br/>
<span>The dancers wearied of the waltz,</span>
<br/>
<span>The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And down the long and silent street,</span>
<br/>
<span>The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,</span>
<br/>
<span>Crept like a frightened girl.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="le-jardin-des-tuileries" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 lang="fr" epub:type="title" xml:lang="fr">Le Jardin des Tuileries</h2>
<p>
<span>This winter air is keen and cold,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And keen and cold this winter sun,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But round my chair the children run</span>
<br/>
<span>Like little things of dancing gold.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sometimes about the painted kiosk</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The mimic soldiers strut and stride,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Sometimes the blue-eyed brigands hide</span>
<br/>
<span>In the bleak tangles of the bosk.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And sometimes, while the old nurse cons</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Her book, they steal across the square,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And launch their paper navies where</span>
<br/>
<span>Huge Triton writhes in greenish bronze.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And now in mimic flight they flee,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And now they rush, a boisterous band⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And, tiny hand on tiny hand,</span>
<br/>
<span>Climb up the black and leafless tree.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah! cruel tree! if I were you,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And children climbed me, for their sake</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Though it be winter I would break</span>
<br/>
<span>Into spring blossoms white and blue!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="on-the-sale-by-auction-of-keats-love-letters" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">On the Sale by Auction of Keats’ Love Letters</h2>
<p>
<span>These are the letters which Endymion wrote</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To one he loved in secret, and apart.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And now the brawlers of the auction mart</span>
<br/>
<span>Bargain and bid for each poor blotted note,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ay! for each separate pulse of passion quote</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The merchant’s price. I think they love not art</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who break the crystal of a poet’s heart</span>
<br/>
<span>That small and sickly eyes may glare and gloat.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Is it not said that many years ago,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In a far Eastern town, some soldiers ran</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With torches through the midnight, and began</span>
<br/>
<span>To wrangle for mean raiment, and to throw</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Dice for the garments of a wretched man,</span>
<br/>
<span>Not knowing the God’s wonder, or His woe?</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-new-remorse" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The New Remorse</h2>
<p>
<span>The sin was mine; I did not understand.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So now is music prisoned in her cave,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Save where some ebbing desultory wave</span>
<br/>
<span>Frets with its restless whirls this meagre strand.</span>
<br/>
<span>And in the withered hollow of this land</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hath Summer dug herself so deep a grave,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That hardly can the leaden willow crave</span>
<br/>
<span>One silver blossom from keen Winter’s hand.</span>
<br/>
<span>But who is this who cometh by the shore?</span>
<br/>
<span>(Nay, love, look up and wonder!) Who is this</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who cometh in dyed garments from the South?</span>
<br/>
<span>It is thy new-found Lord, and he shall kiss</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The yet unravished roses of thy mouth,</span>
<br/>
<span>And I shall weep and worship, as before.</span>
</p>
</article>
<section id="fantaisies-décoratives" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 lang="fr" epub:type="title" xml:lang="fr">Fantaisies Décoratives</h2>
<article id="fantaisies-décoratives-1-le-panneau" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p lang="fr" epub:type="title" xml:lang="fr">Le Panneau</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>Under the rose-tree’s dancing shade</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">There stands a little ivory girl,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl</span>
<br/>
<span>With pale green nails of polished jade.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The red leaves fall upon the mould,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The white leaves flutter, one by one,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Down to a blue bowl where the sun,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like a great dragon, writhes in gold.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The white leaves float upon the air,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The red leaves flutter idly down,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Some fall upon her yellow gown,</span>
<br/>
<span>And some upon her raven hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>She takes an amber lute and sings,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And as she sings a silver crane</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Begins his scarlet neck to strain,</span>
<br/>
<span>And flap his burnished metal wings.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>She takes a lute of amber bright,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And from the thicket where he lies</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Her lover, with his almond eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>Watches her movements in delight.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And now she gives a cry of fear,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And tiny tears begin to start:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A thorn has wounded with its dart</span>
<br/>
<span>The pink-veined sea-shell of her ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And now she laughs a merry note:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">There has fallen a petal of the rose</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Just where the yellow satin shows</span>
<br/>
<span>The blue-veined flower of her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With pale green nails of polished jade,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">There stands a little ivory girl</span>
<br/>
<span>Under the rose-tree’s dancing shade.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="fantaisies-décoratives-2-les-ballons" epub:type="z3998:poem">
<hgroup>
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p lang="fr" epub:type="title" xml:lang="fr">Les Ballons</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>Against these turbid turquoise skies</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The light and luminous balloons</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Dip and drift like satin moons,</span>
<br/>
<span>Drift like silken butterflies;</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Reel with every windy gust,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Rise and reel like dancing girls,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Float like strange transparent pearls,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fall and float like silver dust.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Now to the low leaves they cling,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Each with coy fantastic pose,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Each a petal of a rose</span>
<br/>
<span>Straining at a gossamer string.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then to the tall trees they climb,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like thin globes of amethyst,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wandering opals keeping tryst</span>
<br/>
<span>With the rubies of the lime.</span>
</p>
</article>
</section>
<article id="canzonet" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Canzonet</h2>
<p>
<span class="i1">I have no store</span>
<br/>
<span>Of gryphon-guarded gold;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Now, as before,</span>
<br/>
<span>Bare is the shepherd’s fold.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Rubies nor pearls</span>
<br/>
<span>Have I to gem thy throat;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Yet woodland girls</span>
<br/>
<span>Have loved the shepherd’s note.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Then, pluck a reed</span>
<br/>
<span>And bid me sing to thee,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For I would feed</span>
<br/>
<span>Thine ears with melody,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who art more fair</span>
<br/>
<span>Than fairest fleur-de-lys,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">More sweet and rare</span>
<br/>
<span>Than sweetest ambergris.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">What dost thou fear?</span>
<br/>
<span>Young Hyacinth is slain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Pan is not here,</span>
<br/>
<span>And will not come again.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">No hornèd Faun</span>
<br/>
<span>Treads down the yellow leas,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">No God at dawn</span>
<br/>
<span>Steals through the olive trees.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Hylas is dead,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor will he e’er divine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Those little red</span>
<br/>
<span>Rose-petalled lips of thine.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On the high hill</span>
<br/>
<span>No ivory dryads play,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Silver and still</span>
<br/>
<span>Sinks the sad autumn day.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="symphony-in-yellow" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Symphony in Yellow</h2>
<p>
<span>An omnibus across the bridge</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Crawls like a yellow butterfly,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And, here and there, a passer-by</span>
<br/>
<span>Shows like a little restless midge.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Big barges full of yellow hay</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Are moored against the shadowy wharf,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And, like a yellow silken scarf,</span>
<br/>
<span>The thick fog hangs along the quay.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The yellow leaves begin to fade</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And flutter from the Temple elms,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And at my feet the pale green Thames</span>
<br/>
<span>Lies like a rod of rippled jade.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="in-the-forest" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">In the Forest</h2>
<p>
<span>Out of the mid-wood’s twilight</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Into the meadow’s dawn,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ivory limbed and brown-eyed,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Flashes my Faun!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He skips through the copses singing,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And his shadow dances along,</span>
<br/>
<span>And I know not which I should follow,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Shadow or song!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O Hunter, snare me his shadow!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O Nightingale, catch me his strain!</span>
<br/>
<span>Else moonstruck with music and madness</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I track him in vain!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="to-my-wife-with-a-copy-of-my-poems" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">To My Wife</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">With a Copy of My Poems</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>I can write no stately proem</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">As a prelude to my lay;</span>
<br/>
<span>From a poet to a poem</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I would dare to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For if of these fallen petals</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">One to you seem fair,</span>
<br/>
<span>Love will waft it till it settles</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On your hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And when wind and winter harden</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">All the loveless land,</span>
<br/>
<span>It will whisper of the garden,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">You will understand.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="with-a-copy-of-a-house-of-pomegranates" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">With a Copy of <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">A House of Pomegranates</i></h2>
<p>
<span class="i1">Go, little book,</span>
<br/>
<span>To him who, on a lute with horns of pearl,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sang of the white feet of the Golden Girl:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And bid him look</span>
<br/>
<span>Into thy pages: it may hap that he</span>
<br/>
<span>May find that golden maidens dance through thee.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="roses-and-rue" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">Roses and Rue</h2>
<p epub:type="dedication">To L. L.</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>Could we dig up this long-buried treasure,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Were it worth the pleasure,</span>
<br/>
<span>We never could learn love’s song,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We are parted too long.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Could the passionate past that is fled</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Call back its dead,</span>
<br/>
<span>Could we live it all over again,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Were it worth the pain!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I remember we used to meet</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By an ivied seat,</span>
<br/>
<span>And you warbled each pretty word</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With the air of a bird;</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And your voice had a quaver in it,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Just like a linnet,</span>
<br/>
<span>And shook, as the blackbird’s throat</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With its last big note;</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And your eyes, they were green and grey</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like an April day,</span>
<br/>
<span>But lit into amethyst</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When I stooped and kissed;</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And your mouth, it would never smile</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For a long, long while,</span>
<br/>
<span>Then it rippled all over with laughter</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Five minutes after.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>You were always afraid of a shower,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Just like a flower:</span>
<br/>
<span>I remember you started and ran</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When the rain began.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I remember I never could catch you,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For no one could match you,</span>
<br/>
<span>You had wonderful, luminous, fleet,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Little wings to your feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I remember your hair⁠—did I tie it?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For it always ran riot⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Like a tangled sunbeam of gold:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">These things are old.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I remember so well the room,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the lilac bloom</span>
<br/>
<span>That beat at the dripping pane</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the warm June rain;</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And the colour of your gown,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">It was amber-brown,</span>
<br/>
<span>And two yellow satin bows</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From your shoulders rose.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And the handkerchief of French lace</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which you held to your face⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Had a small tear left a stain?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or was it the rain?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>On your hand as it waved adieu</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">There were veins of blue;</span>
<br/>
<span>In your voice as it said good-bye</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Was a petulant cry,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“You have only wasted your life.”</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(Ah, that was the knife!)</span>
<br/>
<span>When I rushed through the garden gate</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">It was all too late.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Could we live it over again,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Were it worth the pain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Could the passionate past that is fled</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Call back its dead!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Well, if my heart must break,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Dear love, for your sake,</span>
<br/>
<span>It will break in music, I know,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Poets’ hearts break so.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But strange that I was not told</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That the brain can hold</span>
<br/>
<span>In a tiny ivory cell</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">God’s heaven and hell.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="désespoir" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 lang="fr" epub:type="title" xml:lang="fr">Désespoir</h2>
<p>
<span>The seasons send their ruin as they go,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For in the spring the narciss shows its head</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nor withers till the rose has flamed to red,</span>
<br/>
<span>And in the autumn purple violets blow,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the slim crocus stirs the winter snow;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wherefore yon leafless trees will bloom again</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And this grey land grow green with summer rain</span>
<br/>
<span>And send up cowslips for some boy to mow.</span>
<br/>
<span>But what of life whose bitter hungry sea</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Flows at our heels, and gloom of sunless night</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Covers the days which never more return?</span>
<br/>
<span>Ambition, love and all the thoughts that burn</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We lose too soon, and only find delight</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In withered husks of some dead memory.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="pan" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">Pan</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">Double Villanelle</p>
</hgroup>
<section id="pan-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span>O goat-foot God of Arcady!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">This modern world is grey and old,</span>
<br/>
<span>And what remains to us of thee?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>No more the shepherd lads in glee</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Throw apples at thy wattled fold,</span>
<br/>
<span>O goat-foot God of Arcady!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nor through the laurels can one see</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Thy soft brown limbs, thy beard of gold,</span>
<br/>
<span>And what remains to us of thee?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And dull and dead our Thames would be,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For here the winds are chill and cold,</span>
<br/>
<span>O goat-foot God of Arcady!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then keep the tomb of Helicé,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Thine olive-woods, thy vine-clad wold,</span>
<br/>
<span>And what remains to us of thee?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Though many an unsung elegy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Sleeps in the reeds our rivers hold,</span>
<br/>
<span>O goat-foot God of Arcady!</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, what remains to us of thee?</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="pan-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span>Ah, leave the hills of Arcady,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Thy satyrs and their wanton play,</span>
<br/>
<span>This modern world hath need of thee.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>No nymph or Faun indeed have we,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For Faun and nymph are old and grey,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>This is the land where liberty</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lit grave-browed Milton on his way,</span>
<br/>
<span>This modern world hath need of thee!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A land of ancient chivalry</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where gentle Sidney saw the day,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>This fierce sea-lion of the sea,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">This England lacks some stronger lay,</span>
<br/>
<span>This modern world hath need of thee!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then blow some trumpet loud and free,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And give thine oaten pipe away,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!</span>
<br/>
<span>This modern world hath need of thee!</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="the-sphinx" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<header>
<h2 epub:type="title">The Sphinx</h2>
<p epub:type="dedication">To Marcel Schwob in Friendship and in Admiration</p>
</header>
<section id="the-sphinx-1" epub:type="chapter">
<p>
<span>In a dim corner of my room for longer than my fancy thinks</span>
<br/>
<span>A beautiful and silent Sphinx has watched me through the shifting gloom.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Inviolate and immobile she does not rise she does not stir</span>
<br/>
<span>For silver moons are naught to her and naught to her the suns that reel.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Red follows grey across the air, the waves of moonlight ebb and flow</span>
<br/>
<span>But with the Dawn she does not go and in the night-time she is there.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Dawn follows Dawn and Nights grow old and all the while this curious cat</span>
<br/>
<span>Lies couching on the Chinese mat with eyes of satin rimmed with gold.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Upon the mat she lies and leers and on the tawny throat of her</span>
<br/>
<span>Flutters the soft and silky fur or ripples to her pointed ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Come forth, my lovely seneschal! so somnolent, so statuesque!</span>
<br/>
<span>Come forth you exquisite grotesque! half woman and half animal!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Come forth my lovely languorous Sphinx! and put your head upon my knee!</span>
<br/>
<span>And let me stroke your throat and see your body spotted like the Lynx!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And let me touch those curving claws of yellow ivory and grasp</span>
<br/>
<span>The tail that like a monstrous Asp coils round your heavy velvet paws!</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-sphinx-2" epub:type="chapter">
<p>
<span>A thousand weary centuries are thine while I have hardly seen</span>
<br/>
<span>Some twenty summers cast their green for Autumn’s gaudy liveries.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But you can read the Hieroglyphs on the great sandstone obelisks,</span>
<br/>
<span>And you have talked with Basilisks, and you have looked on Hippogriffs.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O tell me, were you standing by when Isis to Osiris knelt?</span>
<br/>
<span>And did you watch the Egyptian melt her union for Antony</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And drink the jewel-drunken wine and bend her head in mimic awe</span>
<br/>
<span>To see the huge proconsul draw the salted tunny from the brine?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And did you mark the Cyprian kiss white Adon on his catafalque?</span>
<br/>
<span>And did you follow Amenalk, the God of Heliopolis?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And did you talk with Thoth, and did you hear the moon-horned Io weep?</span>
<br/>
<span>And know the painted kings who sleep beneath the wedge-shaped Pyramid?</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-sphinx-3" epub:type="chapter">
<p>
<span>Lift up your large black satin eyes which are like cushions where one sinks!</span>
<br/>
<span>Fawn at my feet, fantastic Sphinx! and sing me all your memories!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sing to me of the Jewish maid who wandered with the Holy Child,</span>
<br/>
<span>And how you led them through the wild, and how they slept beneath your shade.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sing to me of that odorous green eve when crouching by the marge</span>
<br/>
<span>You heard from Adrian’s gilded barge the laughter of Antinous</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And lapped the stream and fed your drouth and watched with hot and hungry stare</span>
<br/>
<span>The ivory body of that rare young slave with his pomegranate mouth!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sing to me of the Labyrinth in which the twi-formed bull was stalled!</span>
<br/>
<span>Sing to me of the night you crawled across the temple’s granite plinth</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>When through the purple corridors the screaming scarlet Ibis flew</span>
<br/>
<span>In terror, and a horrid dew dripped from the moaning Mandragores,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And the great torpid crocodile within the tank shed slimy tears,</span>
<br/>
<span>And tare the jewels from his ears and staggered back into the Nile,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And the priests cursed you with shrill psalms as in your claws you seized their snake</span>
<br/>
<span>And crept away with it to slake your passion by the shuddering palms.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-sphinx-4" epub:type="chapter">
<p>
<span>Who were your lovers? who were they who wrestled for you in the dust?</span>
<br/>
<span>Which was the vessel of your Lust? What Leman had you, every day?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Did giant Lizards come and crouch before you on the reedy banks?</span>
<br/>
<span>Did Gryphons with great metal flanks leap on you in your trampled couch?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Did monstrous hippopotami come sidling toward you in the mist?</span>
<br/>
<span>Did gilt-scaled dragons writhe and twist with passion as you passed them by?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And from the brick-built Lycian tomb what horrible Chimera came</span>
<br/>
<span>With fearful heads and fearful flame to breed new wonders from your womb?</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-sphinx-5" epub:type="chapter">
<p>
<span>Or had you shameful secret quests and did you harry to your home</span>
<br/>
<span>Some Nereid coiled in amber foam with curious rock crystal breasts?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Or did you treading through the froth call to the brown Sidonian</span>
<br/>
<span>For tidings of Leviathan, Leviathan or Behemoth?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Or did you when the sun was set climb up the cactus-covered slope</span>
<br/>
<span>To meet your swarthy Ethiop whose body was of polished jet?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Or did you while the earthen skiffs dropped down the grey Nilotic flats</span>
<br/>
<span>At twilight and the flickering bats flew round the temple’s triple glyphs</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Steal to the border of the bar and swim across the silent lake</span>
<br/>
<span>And slink into the vault and make the Pyramid your lúpanar</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Till from each black sarcophagus rose up the painted swathèd dead?</span>
<br/>
<span>Or did you lure unto your bed the ivory-horned Tragelaphos?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Or did you love the god of flies who plagued the Hebrews and was splashed</span>
<br/>
<span>With wine unto the waist? or Pasht, who had green beryls for her eyes?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Or that young god, the Tyrian, who was more amorous than the dove</span>
<br/>
<span>Of Ashtaroth? or did you love the god of the Assyrian</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Whose wings, like strange transparent talc, rose high above his hawk-faced head,</span>
<br/>
<span>Painted with silver and with red and ribbed with rods of Oreichalch?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Or did huge Apis from his car leap down and lay before your feet</span>
<br/>
<span>Big blossoms of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured nenuphar?</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-sphinx-6" epub:type="chapter">
<p>
<span>How subtle-secret is your smile! Did you love none then? Nay, I know</span>
<br/>
<span>Great Ammon was your bedfellow! He lay with you beside the Nile!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The river-horses in the slime trumpeted when they saw him come</span>
<br/>
<span>Odorous with Syrian galbanum and smeared with spikenard and with thyme.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He came along the river bank like some tall galley argent-sailed,</span>
<br/>
<span>He strode across the waters, mailed in beauty, and the waters sank.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He strode across the desert sand: he reached the valley where you lay:</span>
<br/>
<span>He waited till the dawn of day: then touched your black breasts with his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>You kissed his mouth with mouths of flame: you made the hornèd god your own:</span>
<br/>
<span>You stood behind him on his throne: you called him by his secret name.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>You whispered monstrous oracles into the caverns of his ears:</span>
<br/>
<span>With blood of goats and blood of steers you taught him monstrous miracles.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>White Ammon was your bedfellow! Your chamber was the steaming Nile!</span>
<br/>
<span>And with your curved archaic smile you watched his passion come and go.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-sphinx-7" epub:type="chapter">
<p>
<span>With Syrian oils his brows were bright: and wide-spread as a tent at noon</span>
<br/>
<span>His marble limbs made pale the moon and lent the day a larger light.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>His long hair was nine cubits’ span and coloured like that yellow gem</span>
<br/>
<span>Which hidden in their garment’s hem the merchants bring from Kurdistan.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>His face was as the must that lies upon a vat of new-made wine:</span>
<br/>
<span>The seas could not insapphirine the perfect azure of his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>His thick soft throat was white as milk and threaded with thin veins of blue:</span>
<br/>
<span>And curious pearls like frozen dew were broidered on his flowing silk.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-sphinx-8" epub:type="chapter">
<p>
<span>On pearl and porphyry pedestalled he was too bright to look upon:</span>
<br/>
<span>For on his ivory breast there shone the wondrous ocean-emerald,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>That mystic moonlit jewel which some diver of the Colchian caves</span>
<br/>
<span>Had found beneath the blackening waves and carried to the Colchian witch.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Before his gilded galiot ran naked vine-wreathed corybants,</span>
<br/>
<span>And lines of swaying elephants knelt down to draw his chariot,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And lines of swarthy Nubians bare up his litter as he rode</span>
<br/>
<span>Down the great granite-paven road between the nodding peacock-fans.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The merchants brought him steatite from Sidon in their painted ships:</span>
<br/>
<span>The meanest cup that touched his lips was fashioned from a chrysolite.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The merchants brought him cedar chests of rich apparel bound with cords:</span>
<br/>
<span>His train was borne by Memphian lords: young kings were glad to be his guests.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ten hundred shaven priests did bow to Ammon’s altar day and night,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ten hundred lamps did wave their light through Ammon’s carven house⁠—and now</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Foul snake and speckled adder with their young ones crawl from stone to stone</span>
<br/>
<span>For ruined is the house and prone the great rose-marble monolith!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Wild ass or trotting jackal comes and couches in the mouldering gates:</span>
<br/>
<span>Wild satyrs call unto their mates across the fallen fluted drums.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And on the summit of the pile the blue-faced ape of Horus sits</span>
<br/>
<span>And gibbers while the fig-tree splits the pillars of the peristyle.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-sphinx-9" epub:type="chapter">
<p>
<span>The god is scattered here and there: deep hidden in the windy sand</span>
<br/>
<span>I saw his giant granite hand still clenched in impotent despair.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And many a wandering caravan of stately Negroes silken-shawled,</span>
<br/>
<span>Crossing the desert, halts appalled before the neck that none can span.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And many a bearded Bedouin draws back his yellow-striped burnous</span>
<br/>
<span>To gaze upon the Titan thews of him who was thy paladin.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-sphinx-10" epub:type="chapter">
<p>
<span>Go, seek his fragments on the moor and wash them in the evening dew,</span>
<br/>
<span>And from their pieces make anew thy mutilated paramour!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Go, seek them where they lie alone and from their broken pieces make</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy bruisèd bedfellow! And wake mad passions in the senseless stone!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Charm his dull ear with Syrian hymns! he loved your body! oh, be kind,</span>
<br/>
<span>Pour spikenard on his hair, and wind soft rolls of linen round his limbs!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Wind round his head the figured coins! stain with red fruits those pallid lips!</span>
<br/>
<span>Weave purple for his shrunken hips! and purple for his barren loins!</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-sphinx-11" epub:type="chapter">
<p>
<span>Away to Egypt! Have no fear. Only one God has ever died.</span>
<br/>
<span>Only one God has let His side be wounded by a soldier’s spear.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But these, thy lovers, are not dead. Still by the hundred-cubit gate</span>
<br/>
<span>Dog-faced Anubis sits in state with lotus-lilies for thy head.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Still from his chair of porphyry gaunt Memnon strains his lidless eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>Across the empty land, and cries each yellow morning unto thee.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And Nilus with his broken horn lies in his black and oozy bed</span>
<br/>
<span>And till thy coming will not spread his waters on the withering corn.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Your lovers are not dead, I know. They will rise up and hear your voice</span>
<br/>
<span>And clash their cymbals and rejoice and run to kiss your mouth! And so,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Set wings upon your argosies! Set horses to your ebon car!</span>
<br/>
<span>Back to your Nile! Or if you are grown sick of dead divinities</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Follow some roving lion’s spoor across the copper-coloured plain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Reach out and hale him by the mane and bid him be your paramour!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Couch by his side upon the grass and set your white teeth in his throat</span>
<br/>
<span>And when you hear his dying note lash your long flanks of polished brass</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And take a tiger for your mate, whose amber sides are flecked with black,</span>
<br/>
<span>And ride upon his gilded back in triumph through the Theban gate,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And toy with him in amorous jests, and when he turns, and snarls, and gnaws,</span>
<br/>
<span>O smite him with your jasper claws! and bruise him with your agate breasts!</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-sphinx-12" epub:type="chapter">
<p>
<span>Why are you tarrying? Get hence! I weary of your sullen ways,</span>
<br/>
<span>I weary of your steadfast gaze, your somnolent magnificence.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Your horrible and heavy breath makes the light flicker in the lamp,</span>
<br/>
<span>And on my brow I feel the damp and dreadful dews of night and death.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Your eyes are like fantastic moons that shiver in some stagnant lake,</span>
<br/>
<span>Your tongue is like a scarlet snake that dances to fantastic tunes,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Your pulse makes poisonous melodies, and your black throat is like the hole</span>
<br/>
<span>Left by some torch or burning coal on Saracenic tapestries.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Away! The sulphur-coloured stars are hurrying through the Western gate!</span>
<br/>
<span>Away! Or it may be too late to climb their silent silver cars!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>See, the dawn shivers round the grey gilt-dialled towers, and the rain</span>
<br/>
<span>Streams down each diamonded pane and blurs with tears the wannish day.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>What snake-tressed fury fresh from Hell, with uncouth gestures and unclean,</span>
<br/>
<span>Stole from the poppy-drowsy queen and led you to a student’s cell?</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-sphinx-13" epub:type="chapter">
<p>
<span>What songless tongueless ghost of sin crept through the curtains of the night,</span>
<br/>
<span>And saw my taper burning bright, and knocked, and bade you enter in?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Are there not others more accursed, whiter with leprosies than I?</span>
<br/>
<span>Are Abana and Pharphar dry that you come here to slake your thirst?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Get hence, you loathsome mystery! Hideous animal, get hence!</span>
<br/>
<span>You wake in me each bestial sense, you make me what I would not be.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>You make my creed a barren sham, you wake foul dreams of sensual life,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Atys with his blood-stained knife were better than the thing I am.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>False Sphinx! False Sphinx! By reedy Styx old Charon, leaning on his oar,</span>
<br/>
<span>Waits for my coin. Go thou before, and leave me to my crucifix,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Whose pallid burden, sick with pain, watches the world with wearied eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>And weeps for every soul that dies, and weeps for every soul in vain.</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<section id="poems-in-prose" epub:type="z3998:fiction bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Poems in Prose</h2>
<article id="poems-in-prose-the-artist" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="title">The Artist</h3>
<p>One evening there came into his soul the desire to fashion an image of <b>The Pleasure that abideth for a Moment</b>. And he went forth into the world to look for bronze. For he could think only in bronze.</p>
<p>But all the bronze of the whole world had disappeared, nor anywhere in the whole world was there any bronze to be found, save only the bronze of the image of <b>The Sorrow that endureth for Ever</b>.</p>
<p>Now this image he had himself, and with his own hands, fashioned, and had set it on the tomb of the one thing he had loved in life. On the tomb of the dead thing he had most loved had he set this image of his own fashioning, that it might serve as a sign of the love of man that dieth not, and a symbol of the sorrow of man that endureth forever. And in the whole world there was no other bronze save the bronze of this image.</p>
<p>And he took the image he had fashioned, and set it in a great furnace, and gave it to the fire.</p>
<p>And out of the bronze of the image of <b>The Sorrow that endureth for Ever</b> he fashioned an image of <b>The Pleasure that abideth for a Moment</b>.</p>
</article>
<article id="poems-in-prose-the-doer-of-good" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="title">The Doer of Good</h3>
<p>It was night-time and He was alone.</p>
<p>And He saw afar-off the walls of a round city and went towards the city.</p>
<p>And when He came near He heard within the city the tread of the feet of joy, and the laughter of the mouth of gladness and the loud noise of many lutes. And He knocked at the gate and certain of the gate-keepers opened to Him.</p>
<p>And He beheld a house that was of marble and had fair pillars of marble before it. The pillars were hung with garlands, and within and without there were torches of cedar. And He entered the house.</p>
<p>And when He had passed through the hall of chalcedony and the hall of jasper, and reached the long hall of feasting, He saw lying on a couch of sea-purple one whose hair was crowned with red roses and whose lips were red with wine.</p>
<p>And He went behind him and touched him on the shoulder and said to him, “Why do you live like this?”</p>
<p>And the young man turned round and recognised Him, and made answer and said, “But I was a leper once, and you healed me. How else should I live?”</p>
<p>And He passed out of the house and went again into the street.</p>
<p>And after a little while He saw one whose face and raiment were painted and whose feet were shod with pearls. And behind her came, slowly as a hunter, a young man who wore a cloak of two colours. Now the face of the woman was as the fair face of an idol, and the eyes of the young man were bright with lust.</p>
<p>And He followed swiftly and touched the hand of the young man and said to him, “Why do you look at this woman and in such wise?”</p>
<p>And the young man turned round and recognised Him and said, “But I was blind once, and you gave me sight. At what else should I look?”</p>
<p>And He ran forward and touched the painted raiment of the woman and said to her, “Is there no other way in which to walk save the way of sin?”</p>
<p>And the woman turned round and recognised Him, and laughed and said, “But you forgave me my sins, and the way is a pleasant way.”</p>
<p>And He passed out of the city.</p>
<p>And when He had passed out of the city He saw seated by the roadside a young man who was weeping.</p>
<p>And He went towards him and touched the long locks of his hair and said to him, “Why are you weeping?”</p>
<p>And the young man looked up and recognised Him and made answer, “But I was dead once, and you raised me from the dead. What else should I do but weep?”</p>
</article>
<article id="poems-in-prose-the-disciple" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="title">The Disciple</h3>
<p>When Narcissus died the pool of his pleasure changed from a cup of sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, and the Oreads came weeping through the woodland that they might sing to the pool and give it comfort.</p>
<p>And when they saw that the pool had changed from a cup of sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, they loosened the green tresses of their hair and cried to the pool and said, “We do not wonder that you should mourn in this manner for Narcissus, so beautiful was he.”</p>
<p>“But was Narcissus beautiful?” said the pool.</p>
<p>“Who should know that better than you?” answered the Oreads. “Us did he ever pass by, but you he sought for, and would lie on your banks and look down at you, and in the mirror of your waters he would mirror his own beauty.”</p>
<p>And the pool answered, “But I loved Narcissus because, as he lay on my banks and looked down at me, in the mirror of his eyes I saw ever my own beauty mirrored.”</p>
</article>
<article id="poems-in-prose-the-master" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="title">The Master</h3>
<p>Now when the darkness came over the earth Joseph of Arimathea, having lighted a torch of pinewood, passed down from the hill into the valley. For he had business in his own home.</p>
<p>And kneeling on the flint stones of the Valley of Desolation he saw a young man who was naked and weeping. His hair was the colour of honey, and his body was as a white flower, but he had wounded his body with thorns and on his hair had he set ashes as a crown.</p>
<p>And he who had great possessions said to the young man who was naked and weeping, “I do not wonder that your sorrow is so great, for surely He was a just man.”</p>
<p>And the young man answered, “It is not for Him that I am weeping, but for myself. I too have changed water into wine, and I have healed the leper and given sight to the blind. I have walked upon the waters, and from the dwellers in the tombs I have cast out devils. I have fed the hungry in the desert where there was no food, and I have raised the dead from their narrow houses, and at my bidding, and before a great multitude of people, a barren fig-tree withered away. All things that this man has done I have done also. And yet they have not crucified me.”</p>
</article>
<article id="poems-in-prose-the-house-of-judgment" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="title">The House of Judgment</h3>
<p>And there was silence in the House of Judgment, and the Man came naked before God.</p>
<p>And God opened the Book of the Life of the Man.</p>
<p>And God said to the Man, “Thy life hath been evil, and thou hast shown cruelty to those who were in need of succour, and to those who lacked help thou hast been bitter and hard of heart. The poor called to thee and thou didst not hearken, and thine ears were closed to the cry of My afflicted. The inheritance of the fatherless thou didst take unto thyself, and thou didst send the foxes into the vineyard of thy neighbour’s field. Thou didst take the bread of the children and give it to the dogs to eat, and My lepers who lived in the marshes, and were at peace and praised Me, thou didst drive forth on to the highways, and on Mine earth out of which I made thee thou didst spill innocent blood.”</p>
<p>And the Man made answer and said, “Even so did I.”</p>
<p>And again God opened the Book of the Life of the Man.</p>
<p>And God said to the Man, “Thy life hath been evil, and the Beauty I have shown thou hast sought for, and the Good I have hidden thou didst pass by. The walls of thy chamber were painted with images, and from the bed of thine abominations thou didst rise up to the sound of flutes. Thou didst build seven altars to the sins I have suffered, and didst eat of the thing that may not be eaten, and the purple of thy raiment was broidered with the three signs of shame. Thine idols were neither of gold nor of silver that endure, but of flesh that dieth. Thou didst stain their hair with perfumes and put pomegranates in their hands. Thou didst stain their feet with saffron and spread carpets before them. With antimony thou didst stain their eyelids and their bodies thou didst smear with myrrh. Thou didst bow thyself to the ground before them, and the thrones of thine idols were set in the sun. Thou didst show to the sun thy shame and to the moon thy madness.”</p>
<p>And the Man made answer and said, “Even so did I.”</p>
<p>And a third time God opened the Book of the Life of the Man.</p>
<p>And God said to the Man, “Evil hath been thy life, and with evil didst thou requite good, and with wrongdoing kindness. The hands that fed thee thou didst wound, and the breasts that gave thee suck thou didst despise. He who came to thee with water went away thirsting, and the outlawed men who hid thee in their tents at night thou didst betray before dawn. Thine enemy who spared thee thou didst snare in an ambush, and the friend who walked with thee thou didst sell for a price, and to those who brought thee Love thou didst ever give Lust in thy turn.”</p>
<p>And the Man made answer and said, “Even so did I.”</p>
<p>And God closed the Book of the Life of the Man, and said, “Surely I will send thee into Hell. Even into Hell will I send thee.”</p>
<p>And the Man cried out, “Thou canst not.”</p>
<p>And God said to the Man, “Wherefore can I not send thee to Hell, and for what reason?”</p>
<p>“Because in Hell have I always lived,” answered the Man.</p>
<p>And there was silence in the House of Judgment.</p>
<p>And after a space God spake, and said to the Man, “Seeing that I may not send thee into Hell, surely I will send thee unto Heaven. Even unto Heaven will I send thee.”</p>
<p>And the Man cried out, “Thou canst not.”</p>
<p>And God said to the Man, “Wherefore can I not send thee unto Heaven, and for what reason?”</p>
<p>“Because never, and in no place, have I been able to imagine it,” answered the Man.</p>
<p>And there was silence in the House of Judgment.</p>
</article>
<article id="poems-in-prose-the-teacher-of-wisdom" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="title">The Teacher of Wisdom</h3>
<p>From his childhood he had been as one filled with the perfect knowledge of God, and even while he was yet but a lad many of the saints, as well as certain holy women who dwelt in the free city of his birth, had been stirred to much wonder by the grave wisdom of his answers.</p>
<p>And when his parents had given him the robe and the ring of manhood he kissed them, and left them and went out into the world, that he might speak to the world about God. For there were at that time many in the world who either knew not God at all, or had but an incomplete knowledge of Him, or worshipped the false gods who dwell in groves and have no care of their worshippers.</p>
<p>And he set his face to the sun and journeyed, walking without sandals, as he had seen the saints walk, and carrying at his girdle a leathern wallet and a little water-bottle of burnt clay.</p>
<p>And as he walked along the highway he was full of the joy that comes from the perfect knowledge of God, and he sang praises unto God without ceasing; and after a time he reached a strange land in which there were many cities.</p>
<p>And he passed through eleven cities. And some of these cities were in valleys, and others were by the banks of great rivers, and others were set on hills. And in each city he found a disciple who loved him and followed him, and a great multitude also of people followed him from each city, and the knowledge of God spread in the whole land, and many of the rulers were converted, and the priests of the temples in which there were idols found that half of their gain was gone, and when they beat upon their drums at noon none, or but a few, came with peacocks and with offerings of flesh as had been the custom of the land before his coming.</p>
<p>Yet the more the people followed him, and the greater the number of his disciples, the greater became his sorrow. And he knew not why his sorrow was so great. For he spoke ever about God, and out of the fullness of that perfect knowledge of God which God had Himself given to him.</p>
<p>And one evening he passed out of the eleventh city, which was a city of Armenia, and his disciples and a great crowd of people followed after him; and he went up on to a mountain and sat down on a rock that was on the mountain, and his disciples stood round him, and the multitude knelt in the valley.</p>
<p>And he bowed his head on his hands and wept, and said to his Soul, “Why is it that I am full of sorrow and fear, and that each of my disciples is an enemy that walks in the noonday?” And his Soul answered him and said, “God filled thee with the perfect knowledge of Himself, and thou hast given this knowledge away to others. The pearl of great price thou hast divided, and the vesture without seam thou hast parted asunder. He who giveth away wisdom robbeth himself. He is as one who giveth his treasure to a robber. Is not God wiser than thou art? Who art thou to give away the secret that God hath told thee? I was rich once, and thou hast made me poor. Once I saw God, and now thou hast hidden Him from me.”</p>
<p>And he wept again, for he knew that his Soul spake truth to him, and that he had given to others the perfect knowledge of God, and that he was as one clinging to the skirts of God, and that his faith was leaving him by reason of the number of those who believed in him.</p>
<p>And he said to himself, “I will talk no more about God. He who giveth away wisdom robbeth himself.”</p>
<p>And after the space of some hours his disciples came near him and bowed themselves to the ground and said, “Master, talk to us about God, for thou hast the perfect knowledge of God, and no man save thee hath this knowledge.”</p>
<p>And he answered them and said, “I will talk to you about all other things that are in heaven and on earth, but about God I will not talk to you. Neither now, nor at any time, will I talk to you about God.”</p>
<p>And they were wroth with him and said to him, “Thou hast led us into the desert that we might hearken to thee. Wilt thou send us away hungry, and the great multitude that thou hast made to follow thee?”</p>
<p>And he answered them and said, “I will not talk to you about God.”</p>
<p>And the multitude murmured against him and said to him, “Thou hast led us into the desert, and hast given us no food to eat. Talk to us about God and it will suffice us.”</p>
<p>But he answered them not a word. For he knew that if he spake to them about God he would give away his treasure.</p>
<p>And his disciples went away sadly, and the multitude of people returned to their own homes. And many died on the way.</p>
<p>And when he was alone he rose up and set his face to the moon, and journeyed for seven moons, speaking to no man nor making any answer. And when the seventh moon had waned he reached that desert which is the desert of the Great River. And having found a cavern in which a Centaur had once dwelt, he took it for his place of dwelling, and made himself a mat of reeds on which to lie, and became a hermit. And every hour the Hermit praised God that He had suffered him to keep some knowledge of Him and of His wonderful greatness.</p>
<p>Now, one evening, as the Hermit was seated before the cavern in which he had made his place of dwelling, he beheld a young man of evil and beautiful face who passed by in mean apparel and with empty hands. Every evening with empty hands the young man passed by, and every morning he returned with his hands full of purple and pearls. He was a robber, and robbed the caravans of the merchants.</p>
<p>And the Hermit looked at him and pitied him. But he spoke not a word. For he knew that he who speaks a word loses his faith.</p>
<p>And one morning, as the young man returned with his hands full of purple and pearls, he stopped and frowned and stamped his foot upon the sand, and said to the Hermit: “Why do you look at me ever in this manner as I pass by? What is it that I see in your eyes? For no man has looked at me before in this manner. And the thing is a thorn and a trouble to me.”</p>
<p>And the Hermit answered him and said, “What you see in my eyes is pity. Pity is what looks out at you from my eyes.”</p>
<p>And the young man laughed with scorn, and cried to the Hermit in a bitter voice, and said to him, “I have purple and pearls in my hands, and you have but a mat of reeds on which to lie. What pity should you have for me? And for what reason have you this pity?”</p>
<p>“I have pity for you,” said the Hermit, “because you have no knowledge of God.”</p>
<p>“Is this knowledge of God a precious thing?” asked the young man, and he came close to the mouth of the cavern.</p>
<p>“It is more precious than all the purple and the pearls of the world,” answered the Hermit.</p>
<p>“And have you got it?” said the young Robber, and he came closer still.</p>
<p>“Once, indeed,” answered the Hermit, “I possessed the perfect knowledge of God. But in my foolishness I parted with it, and divided it amongst others. Yet even now is such knowledge as remains to me more precious than purple or pearls.”</p>
<p>And when the young Robber heard this he threw away the purple and the pearls that he was bearing in his hands, and drawing a sharp sword of curved steel he said to the Hermit, “Give me, forthwith this knowledge of God that you possess, or I will surely slay you. Wherefore should I not slay him who has a treasure greater than my treasure?”</p>
<p>And the Hermit spread out his arms and said, “Were it not better for me to go unto the uttermost courts of God and praise Him, than to live in the world and have no knowledge of Him? Slay me if that be your desire. But I will not give away my knowledge of God.”</p>
<p>And the young Robber knelt down and besought him, but the Hermit would not talk to him about God, nor give him his Treasure, and the young Robber rose up and said to the Hermit, “Be it as you will. As for myself, I will go to the City of the Seven Sins, that is but three days’ journey from this place, and for my purple they will give me pleasure, and for my pearls they will sell me joy.” And he took up the purple and the pearls and went swiftly away.</p>
<p>And the Hermit cried out and followed him and besought him. For the space of three days he followed the young Robber on the road and entreated him to return, nor to enter into the City of the Seven Sins.</p>
<p>And ever and anon the young Robber looked back at the Hermit and called to him, and said, “Will you give me this knowledge of God which is more precious than purple and pearls? If you will give me that, I will not enter the city.”</p>
<p>And ever did the Hermit answer, “All things that I have I will give thee, save that one thing only. For that thing it is not lawful for me to give away.”</p>
<p>And in the twilight of the third day they came nigh to the great scarlet gates of the City of the Seven Sins. And from the city there came the sound of much laughter.</p>
<p>And the young Robber laughed in answer, and sought to knock at the gate. And as he did so the Hermit ran forward and caught him by the skirts of his raiment, and said to him: “Stretch forth your hands, and set your arms around my neck, and put your ear close to my lips, and I will give you what remains to me of the knowledge of God.” And the young Robber stopped.</p>
<p>And when the Hermit had given away his knowledge of God, he fell upon the ground and wept, and a great darkness hid from him the city and the young Robber, so that he saw them no more.</p>
<p>And as he lay there weeping he was ware of One who was standing beside him; and He who was standing beside him had feet of brass and hair like fine wool. And He raised the Hermit up, and said to him: “Before this time thou hadst the perfect knowledge of God. Now thou shalt have the perfect love of God. Wherefore art thou weeping?” And he kissed him.</p>
</article>
</section>
<article id="the-ballad-of-reading-gaol" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<header>
<h2 epub:type="title">The Ballad of Reading Gaol</h2>
<p epub:type="dedication">In Memoriam <abbr epub:type="z3998:personal-name">C. T. W.</abbr>, Sometime Trooper of the Royal Horse Guards, Obiit <abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">H.M.</abbr> Prison, Reading, Berkshire, July 7, 1896</p>
</header>
<section id="the-ballad-of-reading-gaol-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span>He did not wear his scarlet coat,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For blood and wine are red,</span>
<br/>
<span>And blood and wine were on his hands</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When they found him with the dead,</span>
<br/>
<span>The poor dead woman whom he loved,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And murdered in her bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He walked amongst the Trial Men</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In a suit of shabby grey;</span>
<br/>
<span>A cricket cap was on his head,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And his step seemed light and gay;</span>
<br/>
<span>But I never saw a man who looked</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So wistfully at the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I never saw a man who looked</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With such a wistful eye</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon that little tent of blue</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which prisoners call the sky,</span>
<br/>
<span>And at every drifting cloud that went</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With sails of silver by.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I walked, with other souls in pain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Within another ring,</span>
<br/>
<span>And was wondering if the man had done</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A great or little thing,</span>
<br/>
<span>When a voice behind me whispered low,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">“<em>That fellow’s got to swing.</em>”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Dear Christ! the very prison walls</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Suddenly seemed to reel,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the sky above my head became</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like a casque of scorching steel;</span>
<br/>
<span>And, though I was a soul in pain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My pain I could not feel.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I only knew what hunted thought</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Quickened his step, and why</span>
<br/>
<span>He looked upon the garish day</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With such a wistful eye;</span>
<br/>
<span>The man had killed the thing he loved,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And so he had to die.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>Yet each man kills the thing he loves,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By each let this be heard,</span>
<br/>
<span>Some do it with a bitter look,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Some with a flattering word,</span>
<br/>
<span>The coward does it with a kiss,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The brave man with a sword!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Some kill their love when they are young,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And some when they are old;</span>
<br/>
<span>Some strangle with the hands of Lust,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Some with the hands of Gold:</span>
<br/>
<span>The kindest use a knife, because</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The dead so soon grow cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Some love too little, some too long,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Some sell, and others buy;</span>
<br/>
<span>Some do the deed with many tears,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And some without a sigh:</span>
<br/>
<span>For each man kills the thing he loves,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Yet each man does not die.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>He does not die a death of shame</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On a day of dark disgrace,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor have a noose about his neck,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nor a cloth upon his face,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor drop feet foremost through the floor</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Into an empty space.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He does not sit with silent men</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who watch him night and day;</span>
<br/>
<span>Who watch him when he tries to weep,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And when he tries to pray;</span>
<br/>
<span>Who watch him lest himself should rob</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The prison of its prey.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He does not wake at dawn to see</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Dread figures throng his room,</span>
<br/>
<span>The shivering Chaplain robed in white,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Sheriff stern with gloom,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the Governor all in shiny black,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With the yellow face of Doom.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He does not rise in piteous haste</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To put on convict-clothes,</span>
<br/>
<span>While some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and notes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Each new and nerve-twitched pose,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fingering a watch whose little ticks</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Are like horrible hammer-blows.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He does not know that sickening thirst</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That sands one’s throat, before</span>
<br/>
<span>The hangman with his gardener’s gloves</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Slips through the padded door,</span>
<br/>
<span>And binds one with three leathern thongs,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That the throat may thirst no more.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He does not bend his head to hear</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Burial Office read,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor, while the terror of his soul</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Tells him he is not dead,</span>
<br/>
<span>Cross his own coffin, as he moves</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Into the hideous shed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He does not stare upon the air</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Through a little roof of glass:</span>
<br/>
<span>He does not pray with lips of clay</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For his agony to pass;</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The kiss of Caiaphas.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-ballad-of-reading-gaol-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span>Six weeks our guardsman walked the yard,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the suit of shabby grey:</span>
<br/>
<span>His cricket cap was on his head,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And his step seemed light and gay,</span>
<br/>
<span>But I never saw a man who looked</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So wistfully at the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I never saw a man who looked</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With such a wistful eye</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon that little tent of blue</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which prisoners call the sky,</span>
<br/>
<span>And at every wandering cloud that trailed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Its ravelled fleeces by.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He did not wring his hands, as do</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Those witless men who dare</span>
<br/>
<span>To try to rear the changeling Hope</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the cave of black Despair:</span>
<br/>
<span>He only looked upon the sun,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And drank the morning air.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He did not wring his hands nor weep,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nor did he peek or pine,</span>
<br/>
<span>But he drank the air as though it held</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Some healthful anodyne;</span>
<br/>
<span>With open mouth he drank the sun</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">As though it had been wine!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And I and all the souls in pain,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who tramped the other ring,</span>
<br/>
<span>Forgot if we ourselves had done</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A great or little thing,</span>
<br/>
<span>And watched with gaze of dull amaze</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The man who had to swing.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And strange it was to see him pass</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With a step so light and gay,</span>
<br/>
<span>And strange it was to see him look</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So wistfully at the day,</span>
<br/>
<span>And strange it was to think that he</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Had such a debt to pay.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>For oak and elm have pleasant leaves</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That in the springtime shoot:</span>
<br/>
<span>But grim to see is the gallows-tree,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With its adder-bitten root,</span>
<br/>
<span>And, green or dry, a man must die</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Before it bears its fruit!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The loftiest place is that seat of grace</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For which all worldlings try:</span>
<br/>
<span>But who would stand in hempen band</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Upon a scaffold high,</span>
<br/>
<span>And through a murderer’s collar take</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">His last look at the sky?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>It is sweet to dance to violins</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When Love and Life are fair:</span>
<br/>
<span>To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is delicate and rare:</span>
<br/>
<span>But it is not sweet with nimble feet</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To dance upon the air!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So with curious eyes and sick surmise</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We watched him day by day,</span>
<br/>
<span>And wondered if each one of us</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Would end the self-same way,</span>
<br/>
<span>For none can tell to what red Hell</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">His sightless soul may stray.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>At last the dead man walked no more</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Amongst the Trial Men,</span>
<br/>
<span>And I knew that he was standing up</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the black dock’s dreadful pen,</span>
<br/>
<span>And that never would I see his face</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In God’s sweet world again.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Like two doomed ships that pass in storm</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We had crossed each other’s way:</span>
<br/>
<span>But we made no sign, we said no word,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We had no word to say;</span>
<br/>
<span>For we did not meet in the holy night,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But in the shameful day.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A prison wall was round us both,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Two outcast men we were:</span>
<br/>
<span>The world had thrust us from its heart,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And God from out His care:</span>
<br/>
<span>And the iron gin that waits for Sin</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Had caught us in its snare.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-ballad-of-reading-gaol-3" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>
<p>
<span>In Debtors’ Yard the stones are hard,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the dripping wall is high,</span>
<br/>
<span>So it was there he took the air</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Beneath the leaden sky,</span>
<br/>
<span>And by each side a Warder walked,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For fear the man might die.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Or else he sat with those who watched</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">His anguish night and day;</span>
<br/>
<span>Who watched him when he rose to weep,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And when he crouched to pray;</span>
<br/>
<span>Who watched him lest himself should rob</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Their scaffold of its prey.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The Governor was strong upon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Regulations Act:</span>
<br/>
<span>The Doctor said that Death was but</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A scientific fact:</span>
<br/>
<span>And twice a day the Chaplain called,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And left a little tract.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And twice a day he smoked his pipe,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And drank his quart of beer:</span>
<br/>
<span>His soul was resolute, and held</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">No hiding-place for fear;</span>
<br/>
<span>He often said that he was glad</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The hangman’s hands were near.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But why he said so strange a thing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">No Warder dared to ask:</span>
<br/>
<span>For he to whom a watcher’s doom</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is given as his task,</span>
<br/>
<span>Must set a lock upon his lips,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And make his face a mask.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Or else he might be moved, and try</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To comfort or console:</span>
<br/>
<span>And what should Human Pity do</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Pent up in Murderers’ Hole?</span>
<br/>
<span>What word of grace in such a place</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Could help a brother’s soul?</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>With slouch and swing around the ring</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We trod the Fools’ Parade!</span>
<br/>
<span>We did not care: we knew we were</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Devil’s Own Brigade:</span>
<br/>
<span>And shaven head and feet of lead</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Make a merry masquerade.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>We tore the tarry rope to shreds</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With blunt and bleeding nails;</span>
<br/>
<span>We rubbed the doors, and scrubbed the floors,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And cleaned the shining rails:</span>
<br/>
<span>And, rank by rank, we soaped the plank,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And clattered with the pails.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>We sewed the sacks, we broke the stones,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We turned the dusty drill:</span>
<br/>
<span>We banged the tins, and bawled the hymns,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And sweated on the mill:</span>
<br/>
<span>But in the heart of every man</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Terror was lying still.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So still it lay that every day</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Crawled like a weed-clogged wave:</span>
<br/>
<span>And we forgot the bitter lot</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That waits for fool and knave,</span>
<br/>
<span>Till once, as we tramped in from work,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We passed an open grave.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With yawning mouth the yellow hole</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Gaped for a living thing;</span>
<br/>
<span>The very mud cried out for blood</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To the thirsty asphalte ring:</span>
<br/>
<span>And we knew that ere one dawn grew fair</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Some prisoner had to swing.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Right in we went, with soul intent</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On Death and Dread and Doom:</span>
<br/>
<span>The hangman, with his little bag,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Went shuffling through the gloom:</span>
<br/>
<span>And each man trembled as he crept</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Into his numbered tomb.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>That night the empty corridors</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Were full of forms of Fear,</span>
<br/>
<span>And up and down the iron town</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Stole feet we could not hear,</span>
<br/>
<span>And through the bars that hide the stars</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">White faces seemed to peer.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He lay as one who lies and dreams</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In a pleasant meadow-land,</span>
<br/>
<span>The watchers watched him as he slept,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And could not understand</span>
<br/>
<span>How one could sleep so sweet a sleep</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With a hangman close at hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But there is no sleep when men must weep</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who never yet have wept:</span>
<br/>
<span>So we⁠—the fool, the fraud, the knave⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That endless vigil kept,</span>
<br/>
<span>And through each brain on hands of pain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Another’s terror crept.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>Alas! it is a fearful thing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To feel another’s guilt!</span>
<br/>
<span>For, right within, the sword of Sin</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Pierced to its poisoned hilt,</span>
<br/>
<span>And as molten lead were the tears we shed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For the blood we had not spilt.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The Warders with their shoes of felt</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Crept by each padlocked door,</span>
<br/>
<span>And peeped and saw, with eyes of awe,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Grey figures on the floor,</span>
<br/>
<span>And wondered why men knelt to pray</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who never prayed before.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>All through the night we knelt and prayed,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Mad mourners of a corse!</span>
<br/>
<span>The troubled plumes of midnight were</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The plumes upon a hearse:</span>
<br/>
<span>And bitter wine upon a sponge</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Was the savour of Remorse.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>The grey cock crew, the red cock crew,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But never came the day:</span>
<br/>
<span>And crooked shapes of Terror crouched,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the corners where we lay:</span>
<br/>
<span>And each evil sprite that walks by night</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Before us seemed to play.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>They glided past, they glided fast,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like travellers through a mist:</span>
<br/>
<span>They mocked the moon in a rigadoon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of delicate turn and twist,</span>
<br/>
<span>And with formal pace and loathsome grace</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The phantoms kept their tryst.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With mop and mow, we saw them go,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Slim shadows hand in hand:</span>
<br/>
<span>About, about, in ghostly rout</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">They trod a saraband:</span>
<br/>
<span>And the damned grotesques made arabesques,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like the wind upon the sand!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With the pirouettes of marionettes,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">They tripped on pointed tread:</span>
<br/>
<span>But with flutes of Fear they filled the ear,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">As their grisly masque they led,</span>
<br/>
<span>And loud they sang, and long they sang,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For they sang to wake the dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Oho!” they cried, “The world is wide,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But fettered limbs go lame!</span>
<br/>
<span>And once, or twice, to throw the dice</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is a gentlemanly game,</span>
<br/>
<span>But he does not win who plays with Sin</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the secret House of Shame.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>No things of air these antics were,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That frolicked with such glee:</span>
<br/>
<span>To men whose lives were held in gyves,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And whose feet might not go free,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah! wounds of Christ! they were living things,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Most terrible to see.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Around, around, they waltzed and wound;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Some wheeled in smirking pairs;</span>
<br/>
<span>With the mincing step of a demirep</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Some sidled up the stairs:</span>
<br/>
<span>And with subtle sneer, and fawning leer,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Each helped us at our prayers.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>The morning wind began to moan,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But still the night went on:</span>
<br/>
<span>Through its giant loom the web of gloom</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Crept till each thread was spun:</span>
<br/>
<span>And, as we prayed, we grew afraid</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of the Justice of the Sun.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The moaning wind went wandering round</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The weeping prison-wall:</span>
<br/>
<span>Till like a wheel of turning steel</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We felt the minutes crawl:</span>
<br/>
<span>O moaning wind! what had we done</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To have such a seneschal?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>At last I saw the shadowed bars,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like a lattice wrought in lead,</span>
<br/>
<span>Move right across the whitewashed wall</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That faced my three-plank bed,</span>
<br/>
<span>And I knew that somewhere in the world</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">God’s dreadful dawn was red.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>At six o’clock we cleaned our cells,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">At seven all was still,</span>
<br/>
<span>But the sough and swing of a mighty wing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The prison seemed to fill,</span>
<br/>
<span>For the Lord of Death with icy breath</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Had entered in to kill.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He did not pass in purple pomp,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nor ride a moon-white steed.</span>
<br/>
<span>Three yards of cord and a sliding board</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Are all the gallows’ need:</span>
<br/>
<span>So with rope of shame the Herald came</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To do the secret deed.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>We were as men who through a fen</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of filthy darkness grope:</span>
<br/>
<span>We did not dare to breathe a prayer,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or to give our anguish scope:</span>
<br/>
<span>Something was dead in each of us,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And what was dead was Hope.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For Man’s grim Justice goes its way,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And will not swerve aside:</span>
<br/>
<span>It slays the weak, it slays the strong,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">It has a deadly stride:</span>
<br/>
<span>With iron heel it slays the strong,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The monstrous parricide!</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>We waited for the stroke of eight:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Each tongue was thick with thirst:</span>
<br/>
<span>For the stroke of eight is the stroke of Fate</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That makes a man accursed,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Fate will use a running noose</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For the best man and the worst.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>We had no other thing to do,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Save to wait for the sign to come:</span>
<br/>
<span>So, like things of stone in a valley lone,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Quiet we sat and dumb:</span>
<br/>
<span>But each man’s heart beat thick and quick,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like a madman on a drum!</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>With sudden shock the prison-clock</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Smote on the shivering air,</span>
<br/>
<span>And from all the gaol rose up a wail</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of impotent despair,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like the sound that frightened marshes hear</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From some leper in his lair.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And as one sees most fearful things</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the crystal of a dream,</span>
<br/>
<span>We saw the greasy hempen rope</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Hooked to the blackened beam,</span>
<br/>
<span>And heard the prayer the hangman’s snare</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Strangled into a scream.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And all the woe that moved him so</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That he gave that bitter cry,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the wild regrets, and the bloody sweats,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">None knew so well as I:</span>
<br/>
<span>For he who lives more lives than one</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">More deaths than one must die.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-ballad-of-reading-gaol-4" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IV</h3>
<p>
<span>There is no chapel on the day</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On which they hang a man:</span>
<br/>
<span>The Chaplain’s heart is far too sick,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or his face is far too wan,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or there is that written in his eyes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Which none should look upon.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So they kept us close till nigh on noon,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And then they rang the bell,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the Warders with their jingling keys</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Opened each listening cell,</span>
<br/>
<span>And down the iron stair we tramped,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Each from his separate Hell.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Out into God’s sweet air we went,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But not in wonted way,</span>
<br/>
<span>For this man’s face was white with fear,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And that man’s face was grey,</span>
<br/>
<span>And I never saw sad men who looked</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So wistfully at the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I never saw sad men who looked</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With such a wistful eye</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon that little tent of blue</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We prisoners called the sky,</span>
<br/>
<span>And at every careless cloud that passed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In happy freedom by.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But there were those amongst us all</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Who walked with downcast head,</span>
<br/>
<span>And knew that, had each got his due,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">They should have died instead:</span>
<br/>
<span>He had but killed a thing that lived,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whilst they had killed the dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For he who sins a second time</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wakes a dead soul to pain,</span>
<br/>
<span>And draws it from its spotted shroud,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And makes it bleed again,</span>
<br/>
<span>And makes it bleed great gouts of blood,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And makes it bleed in vain!</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>Like ape or clown, in monstrous garb</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With crooked arrows starred,</span>
<br/>
<span>Silently we went round and round</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The slippery asphalte yard;</span>
<br/>
<span>Silently we went round and round,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And no man spoke a word.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Silently we went round and round,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And through each hollow mind</span>
<br/>
<span>The Memory of dreadful things</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Rushed like a dreadful wind,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Horror stalked before each man,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And Terror crept behind.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>The Warders strutted up and down,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And kept their herd of brutes,</span>
<br/>
<span>Their uniforms were spick and span,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And they wore their Sunday suits,</span>
<br/>
<span>But we knew the work they had been at,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By the quicklime on their boots.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For where a grave had opened wide,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">There was no grave at all:</span>
<br/>
<span>Only a stretch of mud and sand</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By the hideous prison-wall,</span>
<br/>
<span>And a little heap of burning lime,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That the man should have his pall.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For he has a pall, this wretched man,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Such as few men can claim:</span>
<br/>
<span>Deep down below a prison-yard,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Naked for greater shame,</span>
<br/>
<span>He lies, with fetters on each foot,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wrapt in a sheet of flame!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And all the while the burning lime</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Eats flesh and bone away,</span>
<br/>
<span>It eats the brittle bone by night,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the soft flesh by day,</span>
<br/>
<span>It eats the flesh and bone by turns,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But it eats the heart alway.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>For three long years they will not sow</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or root or seedling there:</span>
<br/>
<span>For three long years the unblessed spot</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Will sterile be and bare,</span>
<br/>
<span>And look upon the wondering sky</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With unreproachful stare.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>They think a murderer’s heart would taint</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Each simple seed they sow.</span>
<br/>
<span>It is not true! God’s kindly earth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is kindlier than men know,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the red rose would but blow more red,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The white rose whiter blow.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Out of his mouth a red, red rose!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Out of his heart a white!</span>
<br/>
<span>For who can say by what strange way,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Christ brings His will to light,</span>
<br/>
<span>Since the barren staff the pilgrim bore</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Bloomed in the great Pope’s sight?</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>But neither milk-white rose nor red</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">May bloom in prison-air;</span>
<br/>
<span>The shard, the pebble, and the flint,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Are what they give us there:</span>
<br/>
<span>For flowers have been known to heal</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A common man’s despair.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So never will wine-red rose or white,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Petal by petal, fall</span>
<br/>
<span>On that stretch of mud and sand that lies</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By the hideous prison-wall,</span>
<br/>
<span>To tell the men who tramp the yard</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That God’s Son died for all.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>Yet though the hideous prison-wall</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Still hems him round and round,</span>
<br/>
<span>And a spirit may not walk by night</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That is with fetters bound,</span>
<br/>
<span>And a spirit may but weep that lies</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In such unholy ground,</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He is at peace⁠—this wretched man⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">At peace, or will be soon:</span>
<br/>
<span>There is no thing to make him mad,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nor does Terror walk at noon,</span>
<br/>
<span>For the lampless Earth in which he lies</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Has neither Sun nor Moon.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>They hanged him as a beast is hanged:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">They did not even toll</span>
<br/>
<span>A requiem that might have brought</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Rest to his startled soul,</span>
<br/>
<span>But hurriedly they took him out,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And hid him in a hole.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>They stripped him of his canvas clothes,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And gave him to the flies:</span>
<br/>
<span>They mocked the swollen purple throat,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the stark and staring eyes:</span>
<br/>
<span>And with laughter loud they heaped the shroud</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In which their convict lies.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The Chaplain would not kneel to pray</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By his dishonoured grave:</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor mark it with that blessed Cross</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That Christ for sinners gave,</span>
<br/>
<span>Because the man was one of those</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whom Christ came down to save.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Yet all is well; he has but passed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To Life’s appointed bourne:</span>
<br/>
<span>And alien tears will fill for him</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Pity’s long-broken urn,</span>
<br/>
<span>For his mourners will be outcast men,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And outcasts always mourn.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-ballad-of-reading-gaol-5" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">V</h3>
<p>
<span>I know not whether Laws be right,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or whether Laws be wrong;</span>
<br/>
<span>All that we know who lie in gaol</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is that the wall is strong;</span>
<br/>
<span>And that each day is like a year,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A year whose days are long.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But this I know, that every Law</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That men have made for Man,</span>
<br/>
<span>Since first Man took his brother’s life,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the sad world began,</span>
<br/>
<span>But straws the wheat and saves the chaff</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With a most evil fan.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>This too I know⁠—and wise it were</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">If each could know the same⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>That every prison that men build</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is built with bricks of shame,</span>
<br/>
<span>And bound with bars lest Christ should see</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">How men their brothers maim.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With bars they blur the gracious moon,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And blind the goodly sun:</span>
<br/>
<span>And they do well to hide their Hell,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For in it things are done</span>
<br/>
<span>That Son of God nor son of Man</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ever should look upon!</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>The vilest deeds like poison weeds</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Bloom well in prison-air;</span>
<br/>
<span>It is only what is good in Man</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That wastes and withers there:</span>
<br/>
<span>Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the Warder is Despair.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For they starve the little frightened child</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Till it weeps both night and day:</span>
<br/>
<span>And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And gibe the old and grey,</span>
<br/>
<span>And some grow mad, and all grow bad,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And none a word may say.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Each narrow cell in which we dwell</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is a foul and dark latrine,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the fetid breath of living Death</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Chokes up each grated screen,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all, but Lust, is turned to dust</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In Humanity’s machine.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The brackish water that we drink</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Creeps with a loathsome slime,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the bitter bread they weigh in scales</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is full of chalk and lime,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Sleep will not lie down, but walks</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wild-eyed, and cries to Time.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>But though lean Hunger and green Thirst</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like asp with adder fight,</span>
<br/>
<span>We have little care of prison fare,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For what chills and kills outright</span>
<br/>
<span>Is that every stone one lifts by day</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Becomes one’s heart by night.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With midnight always in one’s heart,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And twilight in one’s cell,</span>
<br/>
<span>We turn the crank, or tear the rope,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Each in his separate Hell,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the silence is more awful far</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Than the sound of a brazen bell.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And never a human voice comes near</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To speak a gentle word:</span>
<br/>
<span>And the eye that watches through the door</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is pitiless and hard:</span>
<br/>
<span>And by all forgot, we rot and rot,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With soul and body marred.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And thus we rust Life’s iron chain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Degraded and alone:</span>
<br/>
<span>And some men curse, and some men weep,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And some men make no moan:</span>
<br/>
<span>But God’s eternal Laws are kind</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And break the heart of stone.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>And every human heart that breaks,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In prison-cell or yard,</span>
<br/>
<span>Is as that broken box that gave</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Its treasure to the Lord,</span>
<br/>
<span>And filled the unclean leper’s house</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With the scent of costliest nard.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah! happy they whose hearts can break</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And peace of pardon win!</span>
<br/>
<span>How else may man make straight his plan</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And cleanse his soul from Sin?</span>
<br/>
<span>How else but through a broken heart</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">May Lord Christ enter in?</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>And he of the swollen purple throat,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And the stark and staring eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>Waits for the holy hands that took</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Thief to Paradise;</span>
<br/>
<span>And a broken and a contrite heart</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Lord will not despise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The man in red who reads the Law</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Gave him three weeks of life,</span>
<br/>
<span>Three little weeks in which to heal</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">His soul of his soul’s strife,</span>
<br/>
<span>And cleanse from every blot of blood</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The hand that held the knife.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The hand that held the steel:</span>
<br/>
<span>For only blood can wipe out blood,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And only tears can heal:</span>
<br/>
<span>And the crimson stain that was of Cain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Became Christ’s snow-white seal.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-ballad-of-reading-gaol-6" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VI</h3>
<p>
<span>In Reading gaol by Reading town</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">There is a pit of shame,</span>
<br/>
<span>And in it lies a wretched man</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Eaten by teeth of flame,</span>
<br/>
<span>In a burning winding-sheet he lies,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And his grave has got no name.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And there, till Christ call forth the dead,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In silence let him lie:</span>
<br/>
<span>No need to waste the foolish tear,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or heave the windy sigh:</span>
<br/>
<span>The man had killed the thing he loved,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And so he had to die.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And all men kill the thing they love,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">By all let this be heard,</span>
<br/>
<span>Some do it with a bitter look,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Some with a flattering word,</span>
<br/>
<span>The coward does it with a kiss,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The brave man with a sword!</span>
</p>
<footer>
<p>C.3.3.</p>
</footer>
</section>
</article>
<section id="colophon" epub:type="colophon backmatter">
<header>
<h2 epub:type="title">Colophon</h2>
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epub:type="z3998:publisher-logo se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"/>
</header>
<p><i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Poetry</i><br/>
includes poems first published between <time>1875</time> and <time>1909</time> by<br/>
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oscar_Wilde">Oscar Wilde</a>.</p>
<p>This ebook was produced for<br/>
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/">Standard Ebooks</a><br/>
by<br/>
<b epub:type="z3998:personal-name">Christopher Hapka</b>,<br/>
and is based on transcriptions from<br/>
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/oscar-wilde/poetry#transcriptions">various sources</a><br/>
and on digital scans from<br/>
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/oscar-wilde/poetry#page-scans">various sources</a>.</p>
<p>The cover page is adapted from<br/>
<i epub:type="se:name.visual-art.painting">Birds</i>,<br/>
a painting completed in <time>1878</time> by<br/>
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albert_Joseph_Moore">Albert Joseph Moore</a>.<br/>
The cover and title pages feature the<br/>
<b epub:type="se:name.visual-art.typeface">League Spartan</b> and <b epub:type="se:name.visual-art.typeface">Sorts Mill Goudy</b><br/>
typefaces created in <time>2014</time> and <time>2009</time> by<br/>
<a href="https://www.theleagueofmoveabletype.com/">The League of Moveable Type</a>.</p>
<p>The first edition of this ebook was released on<br/>
<time datetime="2024-01-05T19:32:01Z">January 5, 2024, 7:32 <abbr class="eoc">p.m.</abbr></time><br/>
You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at<br/>
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/oscar-wilde/poetry">standardebooks.org/ebooks/oscar-wilde/poetry</a>.</p>
<p>The volunteer-driven Standard Ebooks project relies on readers like you to submit typos, corrections, and other improvements. Anyone can contribute at <a href="https://standardebooks.org/">standardebooks.org</a>.</p>
</section>
<section id="uncopyright" epub:type="copyright-page backmatter">
<h2 epub:type="title">Uncopyright</h2>
<blockquote epub:type="z3998:verse">
<p>
<span>May you do good and not evil.</span>
<br/>
<span>May you find forgiveness for yourself and forgive others.</span>
<br/>
<span>May you share freely, never taking more than you give.</span>
</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Copyright pages exist to tell you that you <em>can’t</em> do something. Unlike them, this Uncopyright page exists to tell you that the writing and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. The United States public domain represents our collective cultural heritage, and items in it are free for anyone in the United States to do almost anything at all with, without having to get permission.</p>
<p>Copyright laws are different all over the world, and the source text or artwork in this ebook may still be copyrighted in other countries. If you’re not located in the United States, you must check your local laws before using this ebook. Standard Ebooks makes no representations regarding the copyright status of the source text or artwork in this ebook in any country other than the United States.</p>
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</section>
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