Canzoni & Ripostes Part 4

"Being no longer human why should I Pretend humanity or don the frail attire?

Men have I known, and men, but never one Was grown so free an essence, or become So simply element as what I am.

The mist goes from the mirror and I see!

Behold! the world of forms is swept beneath-- Turmoil grown visible beneath our peace, And we, that are grown formless, rise above-- Fluids intangible that have been men, We seem as statues round whose high-risen base Some overflowing river is run mad, In us alone the element of calm!"

DE AEGYPTO

I even I, am he who knoweth the roads Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.

I have beheld the Lady of Life, I, even I, who fly with the swallows.

Green and gray is her raiment, Trailing along the wind.

I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.

Ma.n.u.s animam pinxit, My pen is in my hand

To write the acceptable word....

My mouth to chant the pure singing!

Who hath the mouth to receive it, The song of the Lotus of k.u.mi?

I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.

I am flame that riseth in the sun, I, even I, who fly with the swallows.

The moon is upon my forehead, The winds are under my lips.

The moon is a great pearl in the waters of sapphire, Cool to my fingers the flowing waters.

I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.

I will return to the halls of the flowing, Of the truth of the children of Ashu.

I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads Of the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.

LI BEL CHASTEUS

That castle stands the highest in the land Far seen and mighty. Of the great hewn stones What shall I say? And deep foss way That far beneath us bore of old A swelling turbid sea Hill-born and tumultuous Unto the fields below, where Staunch villein and Burgher held the land and tilled Long labouring for gold of wheat grain And to see the beards come forth For barley's even time.

But arched high above the curl of life We dwelt amid the ancient boulders, G.o.ds had hewn and druids turned Unto that birth most wondrous, that had grown A mighty fortress while the world had slept, And we awaited in the shadows there When mighty hands had laboured sightlessly And shaped this wonder 'bove the ways of men.

Me seems we could not see the great green waves Nor rocky sh.o.r.e by Tintagoel From this our hold, But came faint murmuring as undersong, E'en as the burghers' hum arose And died as faint wind melody Beneath our gates.

PRAYER FOR HIS LADY'S LIFE

FROM PROPERTIUS, ELEGIAE, LIB. III, 26

Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm, Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness.

So many thousand beauties are gone down to Avernus Ye might let one remain above with us.

With you is Iope, with you the white-gleaming Tyro, With you is Europa and the shameless Pasiphae, And all the fair from Troy and all from Achaia, From the sundered realms, of Thebes and of aged Priamus; And all the maidens of Rome, as many as they were, They died and the greed of your flame consumes them.

_Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm,_ _Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness._ _So many thousand fair are gone down to Avernus,_ _Ye might let one remain above with us._

SPEECH FOR PSYCHE IN THE GOLDEN BOOK OF APULEIUS

All night, and as the wind lieth among The cypress trees, he lay, Nor held me save as air that brusheth by one Close, and as the petals of flowers in falling Waver and seem not drawn to earth, so he Seemed over me to hover light as leaves And closer me than air, And music flowing through me seemed to open Mine eyes upon new colours.

O winds, what wind can match the weight of him!

"BLANDULA, TENULLA, VAGULA."

What hast thou, O my soul, with paradise?

Will we not rather, when our freedom's won, Get us to some clear place wherein the sun Lets drift in on us through the olive leaves A liquid glory? If at Sirmio My soul, I meet thee, when this life's outrun, Will we not find some headland consecrated By aery apostles of terrene delight, Will not our cult be founded on the waves, Clear sapphire, cobalt, cyanine, On triune azures, the impalpable Mirrors unstill of the eternal change?

Soul, if She meet us there, will any rumour Of havens more high and courts desirable Lure us beyond the cloudy peak of Riva?

ERAT HORA

"Thank you, whatever comes." And then she turned And, as the ray of sun on hanging flowers Fades when the wind hath lifted them aside, Went swiftly from me. Nay, whatever comes One hour was sunlit and the most high G.o.ds May not make boast of any better thing Than to have watched that hour as it pa.s.sed.

EPIGRAMS

I

O ivory, delicate hands!

O face that hovers Between "To-come" and "Was,"

Ivory thou wast, A rose thou wilt be.

II