Class _JK:1-3^-S4- COPi'RIGHT DEPOSm RESURRECTING LIFE New Poetry: Spring 1921 IN AMERICAN by John V. A. Weaver UNACCUSTOMED AS I AM by Morrie Ryskind THE MYSTIC WARRIOR by James Oppenheim PUNCH: THE IMMORTAL LIAR by Conrad Aiken MEDALLIONS IN CLAY by Richard Aldington RESURRECTING LIFE MICHAEL STRANGE WITH DRAWINGS BY JOHN BARRYMORE " If you can love me for what I am, we shall be the happier. If you cannot, I will still seek to deserve that you should. I will not hide my tastes or aver- sions. I will so trust that what is deep is holy, that I will do strongly before the sun and moon whatever inly rejoices me, and the heart appoints." From Emerson, " Self-Reliance." NEW YORK ALFREDAKNOPF 1921 COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY ALFRED A. KNOPF, Inc. ©CU6146C8 JUN -4 1921 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA -Hr f Afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good fortune — I myself am good fortune; Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing. Strong and content, I travel the open road. " The Song of the Open Road." — Walt Whitman. CONTENTS Visionary I. 3 II. 6 III. 7 IV. 8 V. 9 VI. 10 VII. 11 VIII. 12 IX. 13 X. 14 XI. 16 XII. 19 XIII. 21 XIV. 23 XV. 25 XVI. 26 XVII. 27 XVIII. 29 XIX. 31 Emotional I. 35 II. 36 III. 37 IV. 38 V. 39 VI. 41 VII. 42 VIII. 44 IX. 45 X. 46 XL 48 XII. 49 XIII. 50 XIV. 51 XV. 52 XVI. 55 XVII. 56 XVIII. 58 XIX. 59 XX. 60 XXI. 61 XXII. 62 XXIII. 64 XXIV. 66 XXV. 68 XXVI. 69 XXVII. 70 Descriptive I- 75 n. 76 III. 77 IV. 78 V. 79 VI. 80 VII. 82 VIII. IX. 83 84 RESURRECTING LIFE VISIONARY I RESURRECTING LIFE It is midday and the wind ofT the desert Is choked, flattened down In a glaring pulse of heavily beating sunlight — And my angel sleeping beside the well, His grave brow half hidden In the curve of a mighty arm — Nor is there a sound. Since all grading energies are sucked into this yellow gape Of heavily pouring silence — Only I am restless — indeterminate — And feeling along my limbs for the birth of wings. Only I am turned aside From partaking in general consciousness — 1 And because of confusion shielding some dream I dare not remember — It is still — And the olive-trees stand like bereaved mothers Gnarled — intercessional — awaiting a Messiah. how still it is — And the whole sky is like an indrawn breath Oppressing my breast in azure vice — I am compelled to reduce this restlessness — To steal out from under the wing of my angel — And away from the crowned shades along his brow — [3] And powdered with jasmine — lute-haunted — Sandalled in myrrh — in eagerness — Go to you — there — reaching your listless length Significantly toward me — Through those close oval aisles of the olive-trees — To you there — stretching toward me in vague, half -awakened rhythms — let our kiss be conclusive — Let the spheres heave tides of anguished music Over us — And a swirl of volcanic spirits frown the air Into pelting storm — Until — until — those purple shields of terrible exhaustion Muttering down upon us — And painting across our swooning inward eye — Stars — suns — Medusa-haired — Aye, until I am free to stir — to detach — and arise Passing back into the presence of my angel — my love — For maybe he still is sleeping beside the well — His grave brow half hidden — In the curve of a mighty arm. Yet sadness — bleakness of satiety Making wilderness of the inner room — And my depths only unpinched in this inner room — 1 without sufficient weakness for rejecting my necessities — Or sufficient strength to spiritually profit through repletion — darkness — chaos of ice-worms c'oiling shut Over my fall between two mainstays — the wing — the claw — And both sighted perfectly — listlessness — And dizzy prick of divided paths under my feet — darkening and twisting — and languor against amending — Stupefying all reaction — into the calm of void. [4] Nevertheless approaching me now — such multitudes of exhal- ing lilies Sheafed under the surpliced arm — Beneath the laced slim arm of acolytes — They passing me by a long pale spray — Upon the thunder boom of chaunting — While behind them — outlined in violet dusk — And as some purple waterfall erupting from the moon's vague crescent The vast straight shadow of my pensive angel — And a white foam of delight Bursting the surface of my skin — And forming into patches of silken fleece Expanding into curves — dilating into plimies — Concurring — spreading — into pinions — wings — Soaring me up out of these long entangling earth grasses — Into ether — opalescent — faintly barred in gold — And finally toward the luminous breast of my angel — my love — Awaiting me — with such mightily outstretched arms — And the tender-breasted clouds Breaking from their weight of music — And pouring heaven-bright wine down into our ascending hearts — And a flashing wand of supreme melody — Furling back all space — Before the great vibrating entry Of our eternal union. [5] II THOUGHT How beautiful is thought Staining me with gusts of pulsating flushes — Even as the wind whipping up into towering descendant waves All garden fragrance. thought is beautiful — A jewel through which appearing to me in a most precious light All of humanity annexing — avoiding — toward inevitably spreading Into forms more vast — O thought — a various lover jetting into life Evermore our identity — And closing away the personal With kindly smile. So thought — a depth of extreme polish Ever expanding in circles And into which are reflected and measured exactly Our mortal reactions. For thought is a titan's rod thrown wide Hooking and hauling toward the surface — Those turgid coil-sprawled inmates of sea-bottom. And again thought is a hand flung up into paradise — For grasping those birds athunder Round the brow of God. [6] Ill For ever gathering among these tidal washes of my latest depth Waves — forming — rearing — thundering colossally down — Until finally extant upon the surface — Merely the edge of my meaning — and this — Hissing freshly — and toward the degree of your understanding With moist — fluctuating — fingers. [7] IV WALKING DOWN TO THE PACIFIC I, COMING to weave a lasting garland From the perfume of these trellised roses — And to preserve the effulgent glare of this summer noon- tide— So redolent of hay new-mown — so besought with the breath of clover — So slashed with cool salt rays Drifting up from the panting sea. I, coming to recall the smell of hot sand Draped with panelled sea-grass — And to review the flocked shadows of swooping gulls Above rushing patterns of foam — And to converse with the dabbling pout of tides Slipping wistfully backward into Pacific calm. While just beside me glittering — earth dunes — Garlanded with arrested waterfalls of purple flowers — While just behind these mountains — Their rhythmic mauve unfolding Sharply cutting the sky's humid azure In strange titanic profile. Ah these mountains — appearing — disappearing for me — Among their drifting symphonies of clouds So persuading me of peace — So pervading me with glances From that mysterious grail-like countenance Of eternal aspiration. [8] From where do I waken — from where — To be wrung by the breath of intimacies Just evaporating from before my pursuing arms — To be flattened back aghast from the swift streaking by Of forms in profile — poignantly akin — Clouded phosphorescent with grief — joy — And surely all lately fastened upon me In keenest various intercourse — Mother — lover — child — all go by — Leaving me the echo of a chord vast in pathos — For this morning my soul sheathed amongst tattered banners — (And the legend across sundered — scorched — From struggles invisible to memory — yet none the less pres- ent—) And shreds of these — blowing up into the day — titanic mist- ribbons Arresting — abstracting — encompassing me — Until my whole being growing aware of slanting mournfully backwards For a last look — at what — at what — Until I am contorted from desiring to step away Out of my own proceeding step — Away from this alien day and so catching up at last With that mystic swirl envisaging — chaunting — The History of Me Along spherical alley-ways of unspoken age. [9] VI KEENLY aware this morning of my Inward God — And sense emanating from Him — A bristling halo of irradiant paths — And placing my feet trustingly amongst these Yet behold — how they scorch — confuse me — Folding up — disappearing — before my already started step — Aye leaving me nauseate — dangling over chaos — And with a vast burden pressing out through me — While a voice chilling my fear-scaled skin — and proclaiming For what other purpose your perpetual Recurrence — Save to become further impregnate with Spirit — And toward a Birth for ever more fatal — To the flesh. [10] VII So much of me still turning back and dancing In that red glare of promiscuous praise — So much of me still eloquent with bitterness Against my oppressors — Yet so much of me vigil-haunted Arrested in outstretching worshipping attitude Toward welcoming some radiance — Some lustre vastly forming in contour divinely familiar Against the horizon — Some splendour — inclining — stepping down — Saluting — enfolding — To ascend with me again. fii] VIII VISION I WILL follow the inward chime Back through empurpling cups of concave hills — Back through a swaying clot of drowned faces — (All fastened and by nightmare pain into the sedge of memory) Back beyond those negative rivers stilled past egress — And out at last among brightening grasses — Grasses rushing up into hills — peaks ■ — And up from these through a fume of clouds — aye at last into ether — Ether — bright with those silver tracks of planet-visiting angels — And austerely fragrant from the trailing of their doom-lined scarves — Aye — out into ether himiming from the dart of stars Shaken by a choral thunder — Until at last appearing among arching naves — These ascending in architectural jet — And arrested in vast foaming coils of livid lace — And where — enlarging at the farthest end of distance — The Eucharist — chromatic-rayed And holding forth its Mystic Tenant — Of Transfigured Rest. [12] IX THOSE vast limbs containing in the chrysalis of me — this titanic aerial being so fettered yet In the slime of my defective understanding — This God with spheres nestling in His palm Asleep in me yet — And veiled in the stupor of my fear of things Concerning this one tiny world. this God with His crown of stars And breath reminiscent of heavenly gardens — And eyes closed over unearthly clarities — And eyes closed in considerate love for me — Comprehending I am unable to meet so far His open look. Yet it is a weight — an ever-present significance — A wing upon my one shoulder already — This feeling myself pregnant With such dim horizon stretching form — Such form — Flinging up before me like a tent pole And lowering down the clouds in festoons around it- Such form one day springing out of me — out of you And sheaved in the hauteur of an image We have worshipped through centuries. [13] Death, I am secretly in love with you — For will you not be that arm about me Embracing — sustaining — my long desiring to lean back — will there not be across your face a fused glow of resem- blance To all the beloveds lost — searched for — Along those mighty roads of the ages — will you not hold between your hands A deific forge beaten cup of luminous wine — For acclaiming the victory of great quests — between your hands — gentle as the hushed flutter of wings — Will you not bear this wine — And brought from its source a holy fount Over which the image of the sun perpetually rising — shed- ding down — And at the very end of flashing ranks of angels triumphal Whose helmets for ever turning to mirror — This diff'using — rearing Grail of pouring iridescence — Death, will you not fill me with Love again — With Love in its resonant morning mood — With Love once more for all those For whom I have lost love in anguish — shall not those blasted holes of my wounds With their stark-twisted clumps of raw nerve — [14] Be filled in — be pleated down With joyous sprays of blossom acutely fragrant — and by you — O Death, I am secretly in love with you — Your motions suggesting — undulating — receding for me — Like a ribbon of birds fading across the sky — Your motions touching — evaporating — over me — Like the poignancy of invisible flowers through evening mists — your movements are absorbing to watch — And exhaling a vastly fresh perfume — Like moon-glossed rushes and water-lilies floating — wavering scarcely — Along the dreaming stir of the tides. [15] XI At dawn You will give me a robe wet from the spring of heaven For keeping me refreshed going up — Yet maybe it will be cold against me at first — Blown around by those sharp slurring winds Cutting so acutely at the slender thread between body and soul — During half lights — maybe I shall be very cold until the sun rising And sucking the moisture off my garment into roseate smoke- wreaths — Ere the risen sun swathing in flames of definite glory My celestial mantle — Yet already Your eyes pouring shafts of insistent beckoning light From behind the rifted fleece of storm-hurried clouds — Already Your voice breathing up through the rhythmic boom of invisible seas — Already benediction drifting down towards me — a recessional choir tone Through the groined shadows of these cathedral trees — And all this drawing me invincibly — inexorably — after — Your eternal passing beyond. Yet — yet — let me rest longer among these great candles Cataracting their wax like an avalanche of leprous bones — [16] Among these subtle glasses blown from the cold honey-breath of stars — Among these rapture-tilted angels clawing their lutes In passion-haunted reverie — Among these rare velvets that are like sin caught naked at sunrise — That are like the twitching blush of a bride under her gilded veil (At the horned caress of some unholy thought.) Yet — yet — let me rest longer — Near my love coming — going — with his singing limbs — His solicitous leaning over me — His feather-gentle etching across my heart with flame — His abrupt dimness of breathless drawing away — Ere the dazzling swim of our blinded gesture towards one an- other — Ere the flooding anguish of our eyes meeting in a divine tide Whispering — breaking against demand for release from desire — we so terribly locked — yet with feet growing ever more transparent In this black swarm of receding sensuous necessity — our lips already bathed in a staggering vapour of bending clouds — a curious chill seeming to spray our blood Like effusion of glittering snow silence — And all of these phenomena merely chiming Your approach — Your advent — And down Your sturdy stair of hyacinth twilight-hued — And in Your wistful robes of tenderest invitation. Ah who could deny Your pure essence Beckoning toward the gleam of a rest final — [17] And I — I turning swiftly to depart from my love To disentangle me from the minute pressure of his hands — To cut my glance away from his half smile flickering up (Echoes humming from summer dreams perhaps) But my love is so fast asleep Nor can I depart from him while he is still sleeping — I charge You tarry a little for me until he wsikens So that I may come to You unharassed — And after directing the widely-open eyes of my love Toward that point where I shall cease to adhere — And pass — acclaiming in the lure of Your upward streak. [18] *'0 through what unperceived and monster doorway And out unto the airy porticos of my youth Could there have stepped a shape so Titan as this melancholy- XII The paths of my spirit are darkened, Lord. They are moiled with infernal thmiders — They are drowned in poisonous rains — They are divided and turned aside from a veiled centre — Somewhere was a white hird once And singing upon a golden bough — Nevertheless have I lost the last ray from its glittering, Yea even have I mislaid the direction From whence came its shrill sweet voice — The ways of my spirit are darkened, Lord. The clairvoyant shadows of all purpose are waylaid — mur- dered — In these iron fists of numbness — through what unperceived and monster doorway And out unto the airy porticos of my youth — Could there have stepped a shape so Titan as this melan- choly — Through what hideous gash at the sea's limpid base Could there have swollen up such raw sinews of ice — And rending the belly of my ship — And spilling her entrails in blotchy tracks through the water — And crunching her dancing gallantry of masts Into a rusty mess of spars — Aye directing — pushing her entire bulk of wreckage Against those jagged rotting coasts of fruitlessness — decay — Despair — horrible — animal — because unclassified. The ways of my spirit are darkened, Lord, And my loneliness — my ignorance crying out [19] Like a child who is being struck in his sleep — And just when he was commencing to dream of the door opening Onto blue celestial — (And framing those entwined figures of the divine fairy- tale ~) Since only lately measuring the twisted slant of my own recum- bent spirit — Since only lately the humility — clarity — of self -knowing Kissing back those austere lashes of my spirit Into a tender sidelong glancing at me — And, how swiftly — greedily I basked in the shine of that regard — Unknowing where there is hurry there is pretence — Unknowing the manner of receiving a thing Changes it — Unknowing there are myriad convictions of right Rumours of peace — That can suddenly silence — like a sparrow's singing through thunder Along this devious road toward invincible rest — This road so continually made — so continually washed away — By storm floods of sand rearing — showering down — By winds of dust and ashes erupting — From that mysterious desert of What Has Been. it is long now since there was a white bird And singing upon a golden bough • — For the paths of my spirit are darkened, Lord — They are moiled with infernal thunders — They are drowned in poisonous rains — They are divided and turned aside from a veiled centre. [20] XIII My life flowing out into new channels — I feel the farewell jar of the old wharves Against the sides of this newly launching boat — the shock of these listing giving wharves thumping my heart As well as the lithe gleaming flanks Of this vigorous eager ship of mine — Faces deeply familiar dimming there on the shore — Never mind I both fear — desire — They shall become eternally polished — distinct — arrested — In that shattering glare of memory — my ship was growing for a long time — Builded stalwart and curious by invisible labor — Nor could her vast swelling lines submit any longer to dry- dock — Nor be kept from flinging out their robustness Across the undulant body of the sea — Nor her gilded beak be prevented from plunging — tangling deeply In the f oam-mained throat of the storm — And now standing for ever inseparable to her deck — Watching her strike at the shining gums of the sea — To be spewed back again — Upon the twisting celestial-white teeth of the ocean — 1 — becoming so close interwoven with visible wonders (Throbbing salt air [21] Vibrating with the festive shriek of sun-drunken gulls — Or these cloud battalions forming into monstrous ramparts Thinning into recumbent gods — Shredding out into children's pin-wheels — ) That somehow the invisible blurring into gradual plainness Like a sublime dream appearing From around those abysmal curvings of night — Onto the plain of day. [22] XIV It is Your thirst after my righteousness Calling up to me in that most remote tower where I sit — And combing out my hair toward the rising moon — And musing upon my page — Who makes answer unto my glance with a tightening of his fingers Across the harp — it is Your great voice small with a yearning Rushing up — ceasing abruptly — and at the very folds of my silver hangings Like one who running to a door yet hesitates to enter — From excessive wish — And a wanness falling between me and my page Through which the burn of his glance is put out — And a drooping passing over these banks of blue delphinium Like a sudden sheet of silence falling across water — illumined, I am convinced You are near — already Your whispers commencing to drop in eddies of dazzle about me — Infinite — golden — as the breeze-rippled drifts of sun and moon shine Fencing in dazzling chains those gentle boundaries of para- dise — already Your words causing an aching — twitching clamour in my heart — [23] As upon regarding some infant's hand leaning over his cradle And clutching the air at dusk. You say — make way for yourself to follow me For I have need of your following — In order to be that which you search so relentlessly — But in all things beautiful trembling upon the edge of celestial adventure are You — In the swaying masts of outgoing ships at dusk — In the suddenly loosened peal of the organ shooting up through nave — vaults And bringing down at my feet a quarry of scarlet-blue sun motes — From the rose-windows high — beyond — And in the milk-pure breath of the morning moist over the land — above all in the clover damp breath of the morning beading the earth And I aware of Your beckoning — And of Your loosening back toward my oncoming arms A flock of doves interpreters of rare caresses between us — For a while — only for a while. indeed, You are that regard inseparable — prophetic of me Wheref rom I am refreshed — reminded Of my infinite expansion — affiliation with all — And it is because I know You are close — ever closer to me — That everything shall be awarded and again forsaken And for the scent of your shadow — Drifting back — reassuring — through enormous conflicting shades — Shades — that are strung a wilful ornament Upon Your invisible Sword of Light Eternal. [24] XV THE setting moonlight is floating in a globe Across this wavering lake-water — It is like a chinese lantern — Poked by the languid fingers of a ghost — And far beyond a spray of moonlight — wreathing the water And that is like scintillant rifts Commencing in some sky — About to be furled completely backward and away — Before the blazing Advent Of a Promised God. [25] XVI MY spirit, longing for that moment When the songs of the flesh are subdued eternally — My spirit straining after the dawn — After those pale tapering fingers Aslant and beckoning in the sky And suggesting a hand — prodigal of star-runged ladders — my fragile spirit, stretching — yearning Towards this luminous gash spreading among the cloud-banks (Just as in autumn young birds shuddering — lifting their wings — Toward an orange flare of southern gardens — ) Aye, I am weary — weary of this bronze berry-pelted carnival of health — youth — Through which my spirit so incessantly wandering — And for ever clipping those purple shadows — Quilting my amorous exuberance — With a sudden downfall of disturbing azure light. [26] XVII TO WALT WHITMAN Do you stand by me, my brother — Educating beyond impatience insolence or violence Toward the multitude, — So far from — but ever straining after winged heels — Do you impale within my tongue Those dagger flutes cutting melodiously Towards the soul's most vivid source — Through which the unslaked night — The dawn deflowering towards sunrise — And the replete noon then pouring themselves completely out. let no shyest attitude of remote flower Fail to reflect a beautiful future through me — Nor any murmuring glance of men Leave me unshivered with responsive song — For who leaning Across the toe mark of the race's end — With pliant arms flung out toward those darting arrivals (Momentarily so exhausted from whispers Scorching — exigent — revelatory — of passionate truth — ) If not ourselves, my brother — Nor who yearning — moving — out from their stars — And down those cryptic shimmering stairs [27] Bloom bannistered — With hosanna and blessing of petals And still down into that smouldering hush — Consuming depression — Of the eternal night valleys (And for searching after those of their kind) If not ourselves, my brother — We so excellently knowing how dreams may flutter away From hands gnawed too stark by the fangs of imaginary isolation — Nor how deadly cold becoming a man Left amidst the sudden silence of his brain — (Aye no more than a scarecrow form Turning rapidly shadow upon the waning moon-crescent — ) And we — we only — with ever sufficient vigor For beating the sunlight from our wings Behind such fearfully brooding brows — And we — we only — With voices sufficiently vigorous to penetrate — suffuse — And with clean-heard proclamation — announcing — That out of perpetual labour alone — Arriving that joy invulnerable Which asks of futurity no hostage. [28] XVIII DO not speak to me in the half voice of poetry For Your sonority ringing out only thinly through poetry And like an organ pealing under tides — And like some litany recited in a sublime voice — From far behind the choir stalls Deep within sanctuary. do not speak to me in the half tones of music — For only sad spirits stretching up their misty lengths in music — And from out those shadow-locked seas of my innumerable endings — And so garlanding in extremest melancholy My already drooping head. speak to me in prayer — Speak to me rather in a prayer — A prayer fusing those rhapsodies of my heart Into rocketing phrases — Phrases that are like eagles — spiral — fleet Pecking upon the tracks Of Your sun-stained heels. let a prayer shoot up Like a rocket of lilies sheathed in golden fire — And bursting a puff of rippling petals — And thus a mantle of supreme perfume cast down before You — [29] And You turning — mollified at last into sublime condescen- sion Toward my hot clamouring eyes — Since almost am I beyond loneliness — Inner Voice — And already a pity — a humour hammering — caressing my heart Demanding for a love to come out of it — Giving — giving — beyond returns — beyond loss of hope. I wonder, Inner Voice — Shall it be long now ere your outline Eternally blanching my shadow along this dusty road — Ere the sense and heavenly jar of you against me — Ere your lashes sweeping my cheek — And of your grave voice whispering to me higher — higher — Until swelling out of my art entirely — And into a vast draught of sound Blowing out from the blue-white open door Of paradise. [30] XIX Who could be near to me As this something I need so sharply During those long hours before dawn — I have laid aside my book — And reverie is smoothing back my hair With her mist-scented fingers — And her mysterious look Is clutching my eyes aloft toward her glance — infinite Vaulted with a million inscriptions of memory — Yet I gaze profoundly without discovering This clarity I am searching — It is not love since a lover is satisfied at best In finding lyric names for his appetites — And worst of all in falling asleep before laughing over him- self. It is not oblivion For after oblivion I am oppressed with a sense Of having neglected pain — Pain — then surely sending lethargy to waken me up And stare at me out of her waxen lids — And suffocate me with the maul Of her glutenous unkempt hands — [31] Nor is it madness — for madness reversing me all too soon Out from her conch of wine-soaked roses — Yet somewhere near — unmistakably — are waterfalls of music — Disgorging a fresh and solemn wildness through the air — And somewhere near — unmistakably — A blistering splendour of intensely flying robes — I am insatiably lonely for This Presence Just ahead of me — I long to come nearer to this Upholder Unfurling the standard of my very breath — To this Bearer of my future resemblance Turning back rarely — suddenly — and whitewashing my eyes With illumination — With a radiance throwing completely into shadow at last — That prowling lamp of my vast weariness — indeed I am insatiably lonely for This Presence Just ahead of me — indeed I long to come nearer to this Upholder Unfurling the standard of my very breath. [32] EMOTIONAL I I HAVE asked of you An almost invisible touch upon our mortal lives — And the comrade's eyes turned — wistful — humorous — Along with mine unto the sky — And back again to our dilemma of passions — I have asked of you To revel with me in solitude so that returning from widely apart directions We meet smiling — recounting at will our adventures of alone- ness — transcending without losing passion — Is indeed to be the singer and he who listens in one — Therefore I have asked of you To step out and away with me from repeating the history of love So dignifying — placing ourselves — in a new chapter. [35] II TO CLAUDE DEBUSSY'S LA GROTTE Your song As the hale of mysterious exotic intention Drifting in palpitating echoes O'er the pallid oval Of night-closed flowers — Your song As the increasing shimmer Of some exquisite nearness — Clad in those steel-dark foils Of sinister fancy — And once more your song As the moaning hush of a human soul Receding — from the Divine Moment. [36] in THE cool fragrant breathing of this night Savouring my breast — And becoming the caress of my bridegroom's Ivory and scented fingers — the moon's blue veined oval Remote — melancholy — Even as my lover's so delicate face Dreaming — half turned away — these wavering blades of moonlight Whipping out their pallid brilliance From scabbards of the breeze — They are like the scintillant attenuate limbs of my lover Flashing upon me. [37] IV Your face — so beautiful — And all celestial arias Rising — humming throughout me — And like some mist of harping angels Upon regarding you — Your limbs — so beautiful — The muscular uncoiling of a snake — The drawn-back gums — the spring of rending frenzy Aye the tormented postures of inordinate demand Are about them — Your hands so curiously marvellous They are languid — brutal — Yet tentative with wonder — with worship — As the hands of a young child While timidly parting back those rainbow curtains — Between himself and fairyland. [38] They say he is dead who is my beloved — Yet I know he has need of his rest only — And that his wakening glory Shall tear my lashes wide with obeisant hail And through innumerable epoch — But I am desolate — I am desolate — Who am not yet near enough to death To be enthralled by its splendour — Nor likely to find any footpath toward life Through such wreckage of weeping — For they say he is dead who is my beloved — Yet I know he searches a dream for strength To stir — waken — and springing from his couch So meet my attendance among those carven shadows Of the endless gates — For I am my beloved's of yesterday — of to-morrow ■ But to-day is a rusty door I cannot shake open — my grief and I are strangers yet Too unfamiliar for perpetual gazing — Nor aware of each other Save through sudden furtive stabs of sore — my sorrow exactly like an abrupt series of shrieks Reverberating through nightmare — And awakening into a more terrible reality — For they say he is dead who is my beloved — Yet I know he is only nimbly renewing himself — And in order to stride more vigorously a radiance [39] Rearing across countless horizons — And sweeping him in galloping majesty Toward my eternal surrender — So let me approach swiftly unto my love Yearning down toward him — And flushing his ivory mask with vivid whispers Concerning our future tryst — And fingering his gentle hair So soft — so limp — as the pinions Of a wounded bird — And smoothing my cheek along his breathless breast Toward appointing with his heart Our bridal hour — And cease lathering the air with sighs Around this stone laced couch Where my chiselled young love sleeps so beautifully — For I would listen to the tale of his ascension — Descending frigidly toward me — Through those vaporous beam-raining meadows between us I would hear how the stars look now so near And sparkling down toward his hand — As a necklace of rockets may be — And of how the seas seem caught to the earth — Perhaps like pallid drops glittering upon a leaf — And more than all, if my name beats around him As a tumult of wings — Above — in that silence beyond the winds — For you say he is dead who is my beloved — But I tell you what is loved in the soul may only increase And death but a cup of water along carnal roads Restoring — reanimate — Toward a more perfect competence — for deeper reunion. [40] VI You two — loving me — tending me — And leaning toward one another — And across my sick-bed at twilight — United in joy for my various recovery — I feel in this certain hour — Through this blue surge of retreating light — Your two figures to be caught and also retreating — That your dimming faces- — Your contours fingered — covered — by the ascending dusk To be expressing some omen of vast change assuming between us — On this certain night — beneath the smooth hum of evening — And despite the tranquil lighting of our house. [41] VII My foot is often started upon the mountain — In that pungent pine-tangle at the base of the mountain — With the damp breath of wild fern and spice of laurel Exhaling over me — With a gleam from the heights trickling down through the branches Pertinent — transparent — urging — elating me — When suddenly the flutter of wings — you come to me on wings — there is the insidious part — And your clutch hovering abruptly over me sheathed in fleece — That is your disarming side — And your eyes fastening upon mine with that depth of ques- tioning That is spiritually extraneous — So holding us for ever strangers — Then a hunger rising between us never to be satisfied — I think — Until we can turn away — Then blasphemy granting some strange vitality to each — And a brief madness behaving so like joy — When relief arriving conspicuously without peace — And somehow like a wan grief -stricken face We have insulted — [42] Yet these questions for ever continuing beyond response of passion or relief — is it not our souls asking of one another — When shall there be a loosening — a parting between us — And a lifting up toward that divine convergence — Where possession ceases to torture Since all is shared by all. [43] VIII OUR love is a moist white gleaming — As the limbs of fountainal figures That are laved by the intermingling of moonlight and water — our love has a foaming stem of wan effulgent perfume — That is like those heavy wet stalks of marsh-grown orchids — our love spreading a deadly coolness along our lips — Just as perfume from the stamen of a certain orchid Reminding — warning the traveller and suddenly — That he is in a place of death — our love has hair like a shower of coins — Heels the wind follows — And a face eternally oval — running the scale of aspect. Since now diademed in joy — Now trailing into that ashen yawn of dissolution — Now brightening under the glaze of reassurance — Benediction — long-sought — And again our love has those little clutching hands of for- gotten children — In dark wind-swept rooms. [44] IX TO MY MUSE The worst loneliness When your oracular voice Drawing no patterns in the wind — Nor stringing into pertinent fanfares The trumpetings of sunlight — Nor sighing up joyously Through some crescendo of passionate desire — Nay between me and life nothing whatever in common Save when you — stirring my reactions with sparkling hints Interpret the invisible — So causing me to effervesce into expression Momentarily bringing events parallel — With fancy. [45] I WISH you well — I wish you well — Dear once-beloved — I have hewn myself apart from you Wounding you unto death where you stood there Smiling — unsuspecting — Yet you cannot think how blasted my hand From hurling the spear — Nor how blinded my eyes From tearing back the curtain before yours — your pain from me sinking down and out of you And falling away — Like mist ribbons unchaining the morning — But I shall not be there to slur my ache In the lull and limpidness fanning invisibly back Shadows before light — [46] Nor freshen — reassure — straighten myself again — In that ever further prevailing brightness — Since for ever I shall see the descending blow — With something tolling frantically About your height springing up to meet me — Since eternally I shall perceive the swaying — tottering Of something in your eyes — And crashing — filling across your familiar features of anguish In gulfs — in streaks of leaden pour — Of agony bubbling hotly — gathering in clots along your dear face — And lividly brightening — accentuating your likeness — Somehow like a man seen to be panting out his life In a column of flame — once beloved, this grief — That I have hammered so pitilessly in Through the tender white skin of your temples — It will haunt me for ever — And as a child moaning out in the snow After my retreating steps — And as the dim sound of hands listlessly falling apart — Exhausted from pleading — toward my averted eyes. [47] XI During the night-tide my departed love illumining beside me And his words like the hiss of approaching flood Across droughted places — And his embrace washing my fatigue As a draught of orchard perfume Stealing through dishevelled city curvage — the splendour of his dream-felt touch Sweeping me with fanfare of rainbows — the splendour of our contact irradiating me With arpeggios of colour — As my love so delicately erasing my tears With the plumed sweep of his caressing lash — As my love so tenderly dwelling against me And praying over our inseparable future — Until amongst those flashing corners of his winged mouth My sorrow drowning for ever. [48] XII NEURASTHENIA Even through these chaotic fumes lit — fed — By hours spent reversing from affinity — Even through this tepid catastrophic blur Brewed from continual insincerity — Aye, despite the grinding gash of scruples Exploding inversely to the fore — Despite the bleating din of appalling infirmities arraigned Against the inquisitorial frown of ascending conscience — Aye, despite all this am I aware of a cherished voice whispering That joy — joy — Shall be for ever enclosing — sustaining — producing me — Out of her mystic heart. [49] XIII Those times when all affections becoming too pressing — All rooms too stifling — And each obligation crushing further Beneath disordered lassitude — Ah then the mellow invitation of lonely roads — So inflated by endless currents of reviving freshness — Ah then the mauve-blue tidal wrap of twilight — Descendant — beckoning — From across those collapsing shoulders of a weary day — And then throughout this delicate relaxing silence — Assurance — permeating — incontestable — as the spread of dawn — Reassurance that in all life a future — Continually developing in beauty and toward beginnings Forever more sublime. [50] XIV That I should call from you The thirst unquenchable — Loosening between us a secret To be eternally approached — touched — Yet receded from unknown — And after all familiarities — Since forever from me toward you A coquetry beckoning — alluring — leading you — And as the beautiful walking — just ahead — Of some strange figure through semi-darkness — Imbuing you — pensive pursuer With accruing tenderness — sadness of desire — indeed I will hide forever from you, my beloved, And in a smile glittering up from this absorbing mystery That I am to myself. [51] XV Ascendant upon the mountain with a lighted candle Just before dawn Since I had heard the sluring roar of Your voice (Afar — yet indubitably toward me — ) And the push of Your vast descendant draperies — (Like an avalanche sounding momentously different Above racketing glacier streams — ) Since drops of scent from Your fingers Had already feathered across me in a snow-lifting breeze — Together with complete assurance of Your Presence drifting out In a current of blinding refreshment — From the heart of adjacent pine- woods — Then — I — pricked with intrepid vigour — With desire for pressing upward — For sitting in the blue-white shadow of Your wings — For reading by the light of my own candle In this " Book of Why " spread widely open upon Your mas- sive knees — For reading — while below From the very centre of dawn's smoking uncoiling limbs — Recumbent darkness forming — rearing — straightening — clarifying Into transparent patches — golden-barred — [52] And these — awakening cities — (Strung along — spangling the shore as a necklace of rain- bows - — ) For reading — while the night glazing off into distance Until merely a pin-prick scratching the horizon with smoke — While from below a muffled stir of wakening birds — children — flowers — And of their sweet exhalations of rest Dampening into golden perfume inquisitive sun-bars — For reading till deriving a comfort to spread Over these wailing storming seas beneath daily thorough- fare — So bearing away perchance some device for enduring hour upon hour When no glorious conviction appearing unannounced Across the dim portals of reverie — Well I was ascending toward all this When abruptly you were there With your pallid darkness And glittering about you of an ailing light — your touch upon my hand was subtle with entreaty — You bent over running your mouth Throughout my hair Your kisses wove around my head a web Entangling — crushing — blurring away from me The transparent beckoning of my shrine — Ah then — then — a grotesque curtain fell between me — my temple — The archaic flute played — to the patter of hoofs — The air was a shower of scarves flung aside [53] With sobbing whining savage gesture — Until flower-sprayed grasses grew suddenly bruised — it is late — it is late now The rain is pouring heavily downward The rain has extinguished my candle — in this weight of wet darkness — In this gloom heavy as the upturned tear-soaked earth Of every tomb fresh-made — 1 feel that You have closed Your Book and risen up — ^be- yond — To greet those ardent ones Leaning out — awaiting You — Along the star-foaming tracks of higher spheres. [54] XVI My thoughts of you a hand Stealing across yours No matter where you shall go — My thoughts of you evoking in you An haunting sense of resemblance Between me and whatever you shall see — My thoughts of you Bursting the moon-locked surface Of your stillest dream — And figured in shrill carnival laughter And moving grotesquely forward Through a seething flare of balloons And to where you standing — Wearily straining yourself remote From all possible ties — Then my thoughts of you pressing upon your mouth Your evasive — flippant — tragic mouth A kiss — sharp — evanescent — And drawing you for ever after its insinuation That you should know yourself further — Upon tasting it again. [55] XVII COMRADE, in that strange illicit dialogue Of our perfectly matched fancy — my comrade, in that eager dual spurt upward Through the liquid pearl air of the dawn • — Upward — and hard upon those violet tracks Of the Divine Evasion — it is rare — terrible — to have once greeted anything So poignantly akin to me as you are — To have hailed one standing so intensely out from the rest — And with a shock of such appalling familiarity about him — your appearance like a shaft of lightning Framing the exact reverse likeness of my own accumulating image — (And against the slow-limbed thick-featured drifting past Of the half-awakened world-children — ) your face like a torch flashing the myriad interiors of my past — Showing the innumerable actualities of you and me between deaths — And ere the loss of great memories Filled us with gathering inexplicable sadness — it is rare — terrible — to have once greeted anything So poignantly akin to me as you are — You with that bewildering tragic beauty Of a blasphemously impatient spiritual yearning — [56] You — with that childish drooping at the corners Of your transparent lovely mouth — And with your frown distorting — conflicting — Most eloquently expressing through your eyes The frantic upward clamouring tangle of your mind — And again with your slender boyish body Fountaining a jet of gracious curves at every motion — glancing at you loosens me completely unto myself — your beauties strike me with an alertness Separating — classifying — making order — form — From the variously straining erupting angles of my own sub- lime vitality — comrade, in that strange illicit dialogue Of our perfectly matched fancy — my comrade, in that eager dual spurt upward Through the liquid pearl air of the dawn — Upward — and hard upon those violet tracks Of the Divine Evasion. [57] XVIII Lean your mouth well over into the moonlight So that I may kiss it full, chance — Press me into your pungent arms So jagged with nightmare — so rent with spasmodic glories — So pliant with momentary relaxing- — your arms so compact with variety — For now strident with triton freshness And glossed as if by spray shaken off a burst of godliness Out of glacier streams — And now slippery — darkened with that moulten calm Preceding some sinister extase — chance — stinging — refreshing Like a sudden rain of flowers across my being that is ever held So deliberately accessible — chance teasing with evasive glimpses of some further road Ever lightening towards breathless eventualities — Aye, for ever alternately veiling — disclosing — That face approximate of Heaven — and hell. [58] XIX I AM resting by the edge of the sea — But in my arm is a curve imperceptible For the weight of your head — lover — comrade — My feet are damp with the vigorous jet of the sea — My body is splashed in a sudden pour of sunlight Spreading down now in widening — blazing torrents — From behind the pushed-away clouds — Yet I long to be chilled — warmed — and surpassing these And by our limbs co-mingling lover — comrade. [59] XX I DO not care for the future — Knowing well my capacities to deal with it Are breeding up from the fulness of my response To this single hour — Therefore do not ask of me the future — beloved — And rather let us hold gently to one another — Courting — inviting ease — And sending one another away benignantly refreshed — Proud — befriended with the memory of an eternal moment. [60] XXI How cruel those steps pausing at the door — passing onward — When one is waiting • — How like knife thrusts those ordinary domestic sounds Through which a listening concentrates in vain — How often going to the window — back again — at the slightest excuse — As if motion could evoke a coming — Then gradually the soul becoming mortally wounded And by strokes of the clock — Irretrievably widening a distance — between one's self and hope. [61] XXII Thou art oppressed, my soul — In the chill sweet air Among the blurred grey grasses — Aye standing in the golden pour of sunrise — even Thou art oppressed — For the present is a cluttered maelstrom of yesterday — to- morrow — And tomorrow a vapid frost of rigid impasse — And yesterday a swim of troubled things Fatal during some unnoticed moment — from where erupting this army of agonies At whose outposts already thou art slain, my soul — Slain in such earliness — in such bright cool air smoking yet With the deep-shaded perfume of night — my love was a child — and mad — and he rent apart our ofF-shoot — [62] Our issue — so fair and grave with a mounting future — So gentle from memory — And so vastly akin to the moment as all youth is — And perceiving this to happen during inconsolable length — I slanted insensible toward numbness — indeed some dim weight has fallen across my innermost spring And my eyes are sealed in sleep — In a sleep concealing no further dream. " Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight; Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, Move my faint heart with grief, but with dehght No more — 0, never more ! " (From Shellefs " Lament*') [63] XXIII Another sun — another sky — another earth out of other tides — And we certainly quickening toward one another again — And once more the " Why " lost of myriad sighs — tears — During ensuing search of each other — And surely a vast pathos left over from this time Invisibly striking us — Like a harp sounding from some haunted room — And as now so then — justice co-ordinate — all-pervading — Minutely — spherically at work — Inexorably sucking out the pattern From what is drawn underneath. But now your figure is walking off there into the vast night With pain — age — death ahead of you — of you so familiar to me Who am nevertheless debarred from sharing these things with you — how will contrast be sustained Between orchards dusting the inclining spring sky With their pink foam — And my threadbare shivering past — Between music rippling out across the shoulders of dancers Reaching — inviting my excluded feet brightening into luminous shame The silence of my jaded instep — [64] Or when — or when — upon reading some loveliness beside the fire I look up already speaking — into your empty chair — for another sun — another sky — another earth out of other tides. [65] XXIV Sad, we must find each other — ourselves — life — out Through this impediment of love — (With its billion toe-stubbings along the Olympian track.) Pathetic we must exercise by falling out of the sky And chasing our own tails for awhile — Instead of feeling our manes tearing out behind us Along those freezing spiral vapours of The Continuous As- cension. You and I have stood poignantly close upon the edge of perilous slanting — And with sublime sunbeams bouncing from upturned face to face And measuring upon each utter equality of dazzle — you and I have leant fraternally together in a light Reducing to proportionate form at last — All those melancholy grotesques of conscious life — Yea and together heard a conclusive goodness afl&rming Through vast harp-sweet spaces — Then — then — the reverential swoon of our knees Before this momentary shining out of the beyond Has been cause for a touch between us — Ah what union in this accidental knocking of knees Before a Shared Presence — [66] When suddenly — suddenly — The thrown-back hood of vision clamping down precipitant, And a sadness in the air as of some Divine Retreat — » When my claw stirring — waking — reaching out — And in your answering motion a gracious shoot of reverberat- ing " yea " — Then your eyes becoming a liquid gale Importunate — parting — pressing aside my branches — And your mouth a distortion of fire skipping — falling — Clinging strangely among my blossoms — My blossoms opening — shedding for you in ghastly broad abandon — love — love — unequipped — unaware Of the subtle fatality in your own repletion. " Your Love to Woman and Woman's Love to Man, would that it was sympathy for suffering, and veiled deities, but gen- erally two animals light on one another." (Frederick Nietzsche — " Thus Spake Zarathustra.") [67] XXV Photograph of my mother Of lines so familiar — So intensely seen upon endless occasion — Now in particular recalling those feverish moments of child- hood Whilst the sheet plucked in twitching chilly hands — Whilst the coals in their grate rising into pinnacled Valhallas — Falling into burning cities — Whilst the blue shadow of a door noiselessly opening Against the white wall — And now the flowing taste of jellies — The moist sweet feathery caress of flowers — While always near the rhythmic gestures of my mother sew- ing— And of the peaceful sound of her work And of her gentle sigh toward me — So commiserate — so protecting — how sweet and warm and clear for the pavane of dreams Was my sick room — And now what pathos in this picture of my mother — Because she suffers more from me still than from any other — And I have come to pain — through so much else. [68] XXVI OUR love is like a rainbow Shooting up from chasms of incredibly scarlet glee — Yet illuminating suddenly the far blonde face of a placid star — our love is like a bridge fountaining its iridescent strength From across some chaos of claw-sprawling spaces — Yet toward a columned brightness of strangely perfected meas- ure — And again our love is like Death — Seeming ever to culminate in total cessation — As a beautiful dual merging — folding in behind shadows — To an increasing surge of song. [69] XXVII I SEE a splendid life opening out before us elected mate ever poignant for me And pressing unto my effulgent crescent The rest of the round — my circle — And amazing me with joyous entirety — 1 see a splendid life opening out before us — I smell the sturdy salt and pine of adventure Exhaling toward me at the thought of being lashed in flight To the storm-courting svelte rigging of your body — I see a splendid life opening out before us — Despite that cut-glass upon the bare foot of sudden anger — Despite those creeping melancholy fingers of sustained mis- understanding (With their lashes drooping over smouldering flames, With their staccato wrenchings away upon the pillow) And again despite that abrupt reversed scarlet scrawl of jeal- ousy Blurring my wifely hymn-book — [70] Aye, despite all these existent recesses jammed with past inhi- bitions — license — And self-love striving to love — And self-pity melting humour into a glue of hatred — Nevertheless and despite this whole tribe Taking on the role of risks and swarming up From our abused nuance during centuries — Nevertheless I affirm there to be a splendid life opening out before us And indeed a great future flinging along far — far ahead of us — And with its vast muttering unclassified yet Whether litanizing failure — Whether swelling to a note of sublime applause — I say who knows — who cares Who is competent to become inseparable from the moment — Who is worthy to enter in — react — and faithfully record the moment — And I loving you with that perfect freedom Which is replete expression of each one of my gifts — Must surely thus love you for ever — indeed I see a splendid life unfolding before us, Elected mate ever poignant for me • — And pressing unto my effulgent crescent The rest of the round — my circle — And amazing me with joyous entirety. [71] DESCRIPTIVE Sonata, Op. 54 — Omstein Muscular grotesques crowing to one another From moon-stained minarets — The mauve-rayed air of a classic dawn Breezing into legato motion — virginal draperies — When suddenly obscene juggleries With passions combative — tentative — Arabesque, G Major — Debussy A million pattering feet of ballet — The " jeux " of puppets — and with bubbles — And across nets made of shadows rimmed by lightning — Etude, D Flat Major. Ravel The lisping perfection of emasculated fancy Swerving into that self-saturated hush Of complaining silence — The Composer-Pianist Greek-browed — moist-eyed — sinuous — And about his brooding face That gloaming light of thought ever breaking into flames Kindling to warm into blossoming expressive — Those strange fruits of a curious reverie. [75] II THE ATLANTIC FROM MY WINDOW Watching the foam draping in hissing white garlands — This rearing coil of the waves — Watching the tails of fish Joyfully spouting up in sudden black dots — Along the blue shimmer — Watching the patterns of foam receding swiftly back — Mounting — streaking the unbroken waves — Like snow-spotted mountains — And becoming absorbed then — sucked down — Down through this rhythmic thunder — Down — down into those vastly stirring depths of my self. [76] Ill FRANCE — AUTUMNAL SAD spatter of rain — Echoing in the court below — And sounding somehow like the call Of ghostly swallows — Autumnal France This mournful yellow trellis Of your falling leaves Ever parted by Love — dual — Ice-white with a sense of ending — And for ever dropping The Diminutive Black Glove And as the living whole cloven in dead twain And flinging blindly apart — Then how small appearing this fading black glove - Through the immense-breeding mantle of darkness - how pitiably slight a human figure anyway Against the vast shadow-streaked horizon — Of a great gesture. [77] IV The dawn for me is like some still-born face Rising and reflecting a frustrated loveliness — Over shrouded landscapes. The dawn for me is like a silent radiance Of irrevocable spiritual decision — Perfuming the air with frigid splendour. The dawn for me is like the ripple of celestial voices Echoing away among opalescent cloud domes — And leaving the beholder childish from comfort — And more vulnerable far to the hot-footed hammering of a sunlit day — Ah then the accumulated wistfulness of memories — Tugging abruptly as starving children Whom one has forgotten to feed — Ah then the sore gathering — spreading upon a heart Congested with diverging affections — And pallidly passing into attenuate dismemberment Through conflicting impulse — For such a one — the dawn is like an arpeggio of harps — Luring — inviting — to pass backward from the day — and for ever Into those slurred violet and alabaster reveries — Of half -dreams. [78] V THE CIRCUS — MONTMARTRE Faces — circling in up-flung tiers Like livid streaks — And at the very top silhouettes crouched Knotted toward the pit — Like trees becoming almost all root In order to keep foothold against a wind Bending them for ever gulfward — And music jangling down From a high cage introduced through portieres of smoke — And holding in stiff bold rhythm The far below wound-up gestures and cries Of acrobats — conjurors — and lady equestrians — All appearing to me somehow through my half-shut eyes A strange mixture of wood — brass — and painted stripes — Yet one tragic-closed face standing out amongst them all — (And like a murder-stained arm Rearing starkly erect amidst a pile of cushions — ) Just so this one tragic face flaring its silent bleakness In through that midst of row upon row — tier upon tier — Of humour-quivered flesh — O exactly like a blasted vine scarring the very centre of hun- dreds Of breeze-tumbled roses — This one tragic-closed face standing out amongst them all. [79] VI VERBENA Verbena, reminding me of twittering childish feet — Of close curls sculpted to the head in moisture — Of the darting enthralled form of childhood Sublimely discovering — Through a blaze of August gardens — Verbena, reminding me of summer luncheons In a room cooled by lowered awnings — Of pyramidal blackberries — raspberries — peaches — Recalling in odour their blossoms — While without beyond screens Bees muttering avidly through melting heat From fluted cup to cup of mauve pale Canterbury bells — (These peeping in a fringe of gentle glory — across our sill — ) Verbena — so reminding me Of youth's humid eyes dazzling with fitful dreams — (As some deep pond is threaded suddenly with gems of glisten From a trout's skimming back touched by the sun — ) And so intensely recalling youth's tanned sprawled limbs Completely relaxed — (From lately spearing the surf with slim clear diving — ) And so revisioning for me youth's firm berry-stained mouth Scornful enpurpled as the lips of feasting classic warriors — [80] Verbena — Verbena — reminding me of summer luncheons In a room cooled by lowered awnings — Of pyramidal blackberries — raspberries — peaches — Recalling in odour their blossoms While before me now — and looking like a knob of city sun- shine — A bowl of lemon-coloured glass Quite filled with Verbena. [81] VII SNOW The snow is falling like feathers from the wings Of sky-bound virgins — Is descending as that quiescent hush Across shoulders lately brushed By the transparent flight of death towards life — The snow is becoming a pallid rhythmic trellis Shimmering between me and material contours — The snow is becoming a couch of stars freshly chiselled Inviting me to glitter back into oblivion — Ah this falling snow is erasing my tentative lost footsteps — Is blurring away memory beneath meadows crystalline — Whose surface once more commencing to be broken by the birth of lilies — Whose surface once more beginning to be crowded by a flare of angels — Preceding before that haloed loveliness Of Spiritual Awakening. [82] VIII ABRIGADA LOVELY house Of chaste lines and vast openings Unto wind-rippled grasses — lovely house Of unclad walls licked into strange patterns By furious storm-tongues — lovely house Of arched windows Framing — now a river draped through the land Trimming the green with silver — Now an oak forest quivering — flushing — Like a strand of rainbows Under the pouring glitter Of autumnal sunset — lovely house Of spacious dim hallways — Where happiness trailing so often her draperies Their dim hum hardly remarked — (Even as some person whose expression is habitually glad From the beauty of inward thought) lovely house — how sweet it would have been To have once been happy — Among your serene vague spaces. [83] IX THE DOORS OF NOTRE DAME UNEXPECTED, vast Saints towering — emerging out of col- umned frames Stained with the leprous salt of ageless weather — And crooking premonitory fingers — While now bells hammering the air like iron fists Beating all aware to that metallic command of religion — - tier upon tier of slender esthetes Frigidly fingering their intricate symbols Of a new " Voluptas " So aureoled in benignant calm — Yet — quite appropriately Their slim conforming feet Half -clutched amongst those wet jaws Of late and terrible misdemeanour — So arch upon arch — Medallion after medallion — Holding their virginal passivities erect — These same inclining still — the sidelong paramours of snakes — So row over row — Frieze above frieze — filled with demoniac-vestal mixture Of fang — of prayer — Glooming up — and now through the descendant night — From a bank of fleur-de-lys. [84] WALKING ROUND NOTRE DAME — EAST WING Gargoyles — with their sinister sheepish faces Of furtive lust — With their fat-coiled monkish-coiffed heads Thickening into demoniac limbs — (Just like a sausage bursting at the ends between its string) Gargoyles — with their lithe-stretched female-breasted Half-tiger and half-bird bodies — And again gargoyles Scale-skinned, carrion-winged, black-bellied — Coronetted with ecclesiastical respect. pinnacled, infinitely spiked heights Fluted by myriad galleries — Arabesque — meandering — tier upon tier of terraces Each the pedestal of innumerable buttresses Springing — rearing sturdily with poised upon each lace- strewn apex Its blasphemous tomb Of jeering slit-mouthed infernal — Nay, all the fiendish insight of man Into those slime-strewn lily-vaulted tendencies Of his becoming being — Erupting in dark heaven-odoured suggestions Along these fountainal intricacies of Notre Dame. [85] XI INSIDE NOTRE DAME Rainbowed ghosts single or in rows — Tossing up their fire-edged three-cornered balls — Enclosing countless zodiac designs Of star — of crescent — And now the sun setting Behind the rose window of Notre Dame — And casting a million opals steeped in blood Upon the surrounding greyness — While behind the opposite window night arising — Infusing these vigorous colours With a delicate deliberate insistent repression — Until gradually they assuming The pale grave candours of virginal splendour — (As a lover recalling them Upon his sable bed of death) And now — afar — through distant vaulted gloom A shower of arrested stars — Prayers — importunate — Humbly attempting to warm into noticing them Those narrow feet of the Mother of God — And into stepping down and granting — Their gentle flaming need. THE END [86]