DE S
I
AN
MA GI S T E
A N T H O L O GY
NE W Y ORK
A LBE RT A ND C HA RLE S
96 FIFTH A VE NUE
19 14
BO NI
S
C o p y ri g h t, 19 14
By
A l b e rt
an d
C h arle sB o n i
CONTENTS
R I C H A RD
ALD I N GT O N
C h o ri c
o
s
a Gre e k Marb l e
A u V i eu x J a rdi n
L esb ia
B eau ty T h o u Has t H u rt Me O vermuc h
A rg yri a
I n th e V i a S e sti na
T h e R i ver
B ro m i o s
To
T O A tth i s
H
.
D
.
S i ta lk a s
H erm e s
H erme s
Priapu s
Acon
o
f th e
o
f th e
W ay s
W ays
H e rm o n ax
Epi g ram
F S
.
.
FLI N T
II
Hal luci nat i on
III
IV
V
Th e Swan
I
II
S K I P W I T H C A N N E LL
N octu rne s
A M Y L O WE LL
I n a G a rd e n
WI LL IA M C AR L O S WI LL IA M S
Po stl u d e
J A M ES J OY C E
I H ea r a n Arm y
E ! RA P O U N D
Atb p ta
Th e Retu rn
Aft er Ch u Yu an
L i u Ch e
Fa n P i ec e fo r H e r I mp eri al L o rd
T s ai Ch i h
FO RD MADO ! H U E FE E R
I n th e L ittl e O ld M arket Pl ac e
A LL E N U P W A RD
Scented L ea v es from a Chinese J ar
K
T
T
O
H
N
C
O
U
RN
O
S
a
fte
r
E
M
A
I
E
R
J
T h e Ro s e
DOC U M E NT S
T o H ul m e ( T E ) an d Fi t z g eral d
Vate s t h e S ocial Refo rm er
Fragments Addressed by Clearchus H to Ald i
’
’
-
’
’
‘
-
.
.
.
,
.
Bi b li o g rap hy
C H ORI C OS
The ancient songs
Pass deathward mourn fully
.
Col d lips that sing no more and withered wreaths
Regretful eyes and dro oping breasts and wings
Sym bols o f anc i ent songs
Mou rn fully passing
Do w n to the great wh i te surges
Watched o f none
—
Save the frail s
e a b i rds
And the l ithe pale g i rls
Daughters o f Ok e an u s
,
,
,
,
.
And the songs pass
From the green land
Which l i es upon the wav es as a leaf
On the flowers of hyac i nth ;
And they pass from the waters
The man i fol d w inds and the d i m moon
And they come
S i lently wing i ng through soft K i m m e ri an dusk
To the qu i et level lands
That s
h e keeps for us all
That she wrought fo r us all for S leep
In the s i lver days o f the earth s dawning
Proserpina daughter o f ! eus
,
,
,
,
’
,
And we turn f rom the
.
K u p ri an
’
sbreasts
,
,
,
And we turn from thee
Pho i bos Apollon
And we turn from the music o f old
And the hills that we loved and the meads
And we turn f rom the fiery day
And the l ips that were o v e r sweet ;
For s i lently
B rushing the fields with red shod feet
With pu rple robe
S earing the flowers a swith a sudden flame
Death
Thou hast come upon us
,
,
,
,
-
,
,
,
.
And of all the ancient songs
Pass i ng to the swallow blue halls
B y the dark streams of Persephone
This only remains :
That we turn to thee
Death
That we turn to thee s i nging
One last song
-
,
,
,
,
.
O Death
Thou art an heal i ng w i nd
That b lo w e s
t over wh i te flo w ers
A tre m ble w i th de w ;
Thou art a wind flow i ng
Ove r dark leagu es o f l onely se a ;
Thou a rt the dusk and the fragran c e
Thou art the lips o f love mourn fully sm i ling ;
,
-
Thou art the pale pe ace o f one
Satiate with old desires ;
Thou art the silence o f beauty
And we look no more for the morn i ng
un
We yearn no more for the s
S i nce with thy wh i te hands
Death
Thou cro w nest us with the pallid C haplets
The S lim colourless popp i es
Which in thy garden alone
So ftly thou gatherest
,
‘
,
,
,
,
.
And sil ently
And with slow feet approaching
And with bowed head and unl i t eyes
We kneel before thee :
And thou leaning towards us
Caress i ngly layest upon u s
Flowers from thy thin cold hands
And smiling asa chaste woman
K nowing love in her heart
Thou sealest our eyes
And the illimitable quietude
Comes gently u pon us
,
,
,
,
,
,
,
,
.
R I C H ARD A LD I N GTO N
G REE K
TO A
Hé c w cx
'
,
MAR B L E
wé t v z a
Wh i te grave goddess
Pity my sadness
O S ilence o f Pa ros
,
,
.
am not o f these about thy f ee t
These garments and decorum ;
I am thy brothe r
Thy love r o f a foretime crying to thee
And thou hearest me not
I
,
,
,
.
have wh i spe red thee i n thy solitudes
O f ou r l oves in Phryg ia
The far ecstasy o f burning noons
When the fragil e pipes
Ceased in the cypress sha d e
And the brown fingers o f the shepher d
Moved ove r sl im shoul ders ;
And only the cicada sang
I
,
,
.
have tol d thee o f the hills
And the l isp o f reeds
And the s
u n upon thy breasts
I
And thou hearest me not
Ilé m
'
a,
,
,
W ta ,
11
:6
'
Thou hearest me not
.
R I C H A RD
ALD I N GTO N
A U V I E U!
J
A R DI N
have s
at here happy in the gar d ens
Watch i ng the sti l l pool and the reeds
And the dark clouds
Wh i ch the wind o f the up p e r air
Tore like the green leafy boughs
O f the d i ve rs —
hued trees o f late summer ;
B ut though I greatly del i ght
In these and the w ater l i l i es
That which sets me nighest to weeping
I S the rose and white colou r of the smooth flag stones
And the pale yellow grasses
Among them
R I C H AR D A L D I N GTO N
I
,
,
-
.
II
,
L ES B IA
U se
no more speech now ;
L et the s i lence spread gol d hair above
Fold on delicate fold ;
You had the ivory o f my li fe to carv e
U se no mo re speech
.
.
And Picus o f M i ran dola i sdead ;
And all the gods they dreamed and fabled o f
Hermes and Thoth and Christ are rotten now
Rotten and dank
,
,
,
,
,
.
And through it all I s
e e your pale G reek face ;
Tende rness makes me as eager as a little child
To lo v e you
’
You mo rsel left hal f cold on Caesar s plate
.
R I C H ARD A L D I N GTON
12
B EA U TY
THO U HA ST H U RT
The light i s a wound to me
The soft notes
Feed upon the wound
OVERM U CH
.
.
Where we rt thou born
O thou w oe
That c o n s
u mes
t my life !
Whithe r comest thou !
Toothed wind o f the seas
No man knows thy beginning
As a bird with strong claws
Thou w o u nd e s
t me
O beauti ful s o rrow
,
.
,
.
RI C H ARD A LDI N G I ON
’
‘
AR G YRIA
O you
O you most fair
Swayer of reeds whisperer
Among the flowering rushes
You have hidden you r hands
Beneath the p oplar leaves
You have given them to the white waters
,
,
,
,
,
.
Swall o w fl e e t
Sea child col d from waves
Slight reed that sang s
o blithely in
White cloud the white s
u n kisse d
Pan mourns for you
-
,
-
,
.
White limbs white song
Pan mourns for you
,
,
.
R I C H ARD
14
ALDI N GTO N
IN
TH E V I A S ESTI NA
O daughter o f Isis
Thou standest beside the wet highway
O f th i s decayed Rome
A mani fest harlot
,
,
.
Straight and slim art thou
A sa marble phal lus ;
Thy face is the face o f Isis
Car v en
h e i scarven in basalt
As s
And my heart stops with awe
At the presence of the gods
.
,
There beside thee on the sta l l o f images
I sthe head o f Osiris
Thy lord
.
RI C H A RD
ALDI N GTO N
TH E
RIV ER
I
dr i fted along the rive r
U ntil I moored my boat
B y these crossed trunks
I
.
He re the m i st moves
Ove r fragile leaves and rushes
Colou rless w aters and brown fad i ng hills
,
She has come f rom beneath the trees
M oving within the mist
A fl o ating leaf
.
,
,
.
II
O blue flowe r o f the e v ening
You have touched my face
With your leaves o f silver
,
.
L ov e
me for
I
must depart
.
R I C H AR D
16
ALDI N GTO N
B ROMIO S
The withered bonds are broken
The w a x ed reeds an d the double p i pe
Clamour about m e ;
The hot w i nd swirls
Th rough the red pine trunks
.
.
Io ! the fauns and the satyrs
The touch o f the i r shagged curled fur
And blunt horns !
.
They have w i ne i n heavy craters
Pa i nted black and red ;
W i ne to splash on her wh i te body
Io !
She shrinks from the cold sho w er
A fraid afraid
.
,
L et
the M aenads break through the myrtles
And the boughs o f the ro h o d o d ap h n ai
L et them tear the quick deers flesh
Ah the cruel e x qu i s i te finge rs !
.
’
.
,
,
IO !
I have brought you the bro w n clusters
The ivy boughs and pine cones
-
-
.
Your breasts are col d s
e a ripples
B ut they smell o f the warm grasses
-
,
.
,
Throw wide the chiton and the peplum
Maidens o f the Dew
B eaut i ful are your bodies O Maenads
B eauti ful the sudden folds
The vanishing cur v es o f the white linen
About you
,
.
,
,
,
.
Io !
Hear the r i ch laughter o f the forest
The cymbals
The trampling o f the panisks and the centau rs
,
,
R I C H ARD
18
.
ALDI N GTO N
.
S I TA L K A S
Thou art come at length
More beauti ful
Than any cool god
In a chamber under
Ly c i a sfar c oast
Than any h i gh god
Who touches us not
He re in the seeded grass
Ay e than Argestes
Scattering the broken leaves
’
,
.
,
.
H D
.
.
HERM E S OF THE WAYS
I
'
The hard sand break s
And the grains o f it
Are clear as wine
,
.
Far off over the leagues o f it
The wind
Playing on the w i de shore
Piles little r i dges
And the great waves
B reak over it
,
,
,
,
.
B ut
more than the many fo amed
O f the sea
I know h im
O f the triple path ways
He rmes
Who aw ai te th
-
,
-
,
,
.
Dubious
Facing three ways
\Ve lc o m i ng wayfarers
He whom the sea orchard
Shelters from the west
From the east
Weathers sea wind ;
Fronts the great dunes
,
,
,
-
,
-
.
Wind rushes
Ove r the dunes
And the coarse salt crusted grass
Answers
,
-
,
.
Heu
It whips round my ankles !
,
II
Small is
This white stream
Flowing below gro und
From the poplar shade d hill
But the water is sweet
,
-
,
.
Ap p les on the small trees
A re har d
Too smal l
Too late ri pene d
By a d esperate sun
That struggles through sea mist
,
,
-
.
The boughs of the trees
Are twisted
By m any b afli i ng s;
Twisted are
The smal l l eafed boughs
But the shadow o f them
I S not the shadow o f the mast head
N or o f the torn sails
-
.
.
o am e d ,
h about me ;
ed
'
ai t
,
tangles with
H D
.
.
PRIA P U S
K e e p er
-
o
f
-
Orc h ard s
I saw the first pear
A sit fell
—
The honey seeking gol den banded
The yellow swarm
Was not more fleet than I
!
Spare
us
from
lovel
i
ness
(
)
And I fell pro strate
Crying
Thou hast flayed u swith thy blossoms ;
Spare us the beauty
O f f ruit trees !
.
-
,
,
,
,
,
-
The honey seeking
Paused not
The air thundered thei r song
And I alone was p rostrate
-
,
,
.
O rough hewn
God of the orchard
I bring thee an o ff er i ng ;
Do thou alone unbeaut i ful
o
d
S
on
of
the
g
)
(
Spare us from lovel i ness
-
,
,
,
.
The fallen hazel nuts
Str i pped late of the i r green sheaths
-
,
,
pes red p u rple
e rri e s
g with wine
anates al ready broken
runken fig
i nc e suntouched
thee as o ff e ring
-
,
,
,
,
,
.
H D
.
.
ACON
(A fte r J
o ann e
sB ap ti sm A m althe a s
)
I
B ear me to Dictae n s
An d to the steep slopes ;
To the river E rymanthus
,
.
I choose sp ray o f dittany
C yp e ru m fra i l o f flower
Buds of m y rrh
All healing herbs
Close pressed in c alathe s
,
,
-
,
.
For s
h e lies panting
D rawing S ha rp breath
B roken with harsh s obs
She Hy e lla
Whom no go d pitieth
,
,
,
,
,
.
II
D rya d s
Haunting the gro v e s
Nerei d s
Who dwel l in wet cav es
For all the whitish l eaves o f oli v e b ranch
And early roses
And i v y w reathes wo v en gol d ber ries
Which she once brought to you r altars
,
,
,
,
-
,
,
,
,
26
,
H E R MONA !
Gods of the s
ea ;
Ino
L eav i ng warm meads
Fo r the green grey green fastnesses
O f the great deeps
And Palemon
B r i ght str i ke r o f s
e a shaft
Hear me
,
-
,
,
-
,
.
L et
all w hom the sea loveth
Come to i tsaltar front
And I
Who can o ff er no othe r sacrifice to
B ring this
,
,
.
B roken by great waves
The wavelets flung it here
This sea gl i ding creature
This strange creature l i ke a weed
Covered with salt foam
Torn from the hillo c ks
O f rock
,
-
,
,
.
I H e rm o n ax
Caster o f nets
Risking chance
Fly i ng the s
e a cra ft
Came on it
,
,
,
.
,
,
s
e a wrack
o ff e r it
on
.
H D
.
.
EPI GRAM
r
h
r
e
k
A
t
e
t
e
e
G
( f
)
The golden one i sgone from the banquets ;
She beloved o f A ti m e tu s
The swall ow the bright H o m o no e a
G one the dear chatte re r
,
,
,
.
H D
.
0
3
.
L ondon ,
my beauti ful
it is not the sunset
nor the pale gree nS ky
shimme ring through the curtain
o f the s i lver birch
nor the quietness ;
it is not the hopping
o f birds
Up on the lawn
no r the d arkness
steal i ng ove r all things
that mo v es me
,
,
,
.
But asthe moon creeps slowl y
ove r the tree tops
among the stars
I think of her
and the glow her passing
sheds on men
-
,
.
L ondon
my beauti ful
I will climb
into the branches
to the moonl it tree tops
that my blood may be coo l ed
by the win d
,
,
-
,
.
F S
.
31
.
F LI NT
II
H A LL U C I NA T I ON
I know this room
and the re are corridors
the pictures I have seen be fore ;
the statues and those gems i n cases
I have wandered by be fore
stood there S ilent and lonely
in a dream o f years ago
,
,
,
.
I know the dark o f night i sall around me ;
my eyes a re closed and I am hal f asleep
My wi fe breathes gently at my s i de
,
.
.
once again th i s ol d dream i sw i th i n me
and I am on the threshold wait i ng
wonde ring pleased and fearful
Where do those do o rs l ead
what rooms l i e beyond them !
I venture
B ut
,
,
,
,
.
,
.
B ut
my baby moves and tosses
from s i de to S ide
and he r need calls me to he r
,
.
Now I stand awak e unseeing
i n the dark
and I move towards he r c o t
I shall not reach he r
There i s no direction
I shall walk 0 11
F S FL I N T
,
,
,
.
.
.
.
2
3
III
Immortal
No
they c annot be these people
no r I
!
,
,
,
.
Tired faces
eyes that have ne v e r seen the world
bod i es that have never l ived in air
lips that have never minted speech
they are the clippe d and garbled
blocking the highway
They s w arm and eddy
between the banks of glowing shops
towards the red meat
the potherbs
the cheap ! acks
or surge in
before the swift rush
o f the clanging trams
piti ful ugly mean
encumbering
,
,
,
,
.
,
,
,
,
,
,
,
.
Immortal !
In a wood
watching the sha d ow o f a bird
leap from fron d to frond o f bracken
I am immo rtal
,
,
.
But these !
F S
.
33
.
F L I NT
IV
The grass is beneath my head ;
an d I gaze
at the thronging stars
in the night
.
They fall
they fa l l
I am overwhe l me d
and afraid
.
,
.
Each l ea f o f the aspen
is caressed by the wind
and each is crying
,
.
And the perfume
o f invisible roses
deepens the anguish
.
L et
a strong mesh o f roots
feed the crimson o f roses
u p on my heart ;
an d then fol d ove r the h o ll ow
where a ll the pain w as
.
F S
.
34
.
F L I NT
N O CT U RNES
I
Thy feet
That are l ike little S ilve r birds
Thou hast s
e t upon pleasant ways ;
Therefore I wil l foll ow thee
Thou Dove o f the Golden Eyes
U pon any path will I follow thee
For the l i ght o f thy beauty
Shines befo re me like a to rch
,
,
,
,
,
,
.
II
Thy feet are white
U pon the foam o f the sea ;
H old me fast thou bright Swan
L est I stumble
And into dee p waters
,
,
,
.
III
L ong
hav e I been
But the S inger beneath thy Casement
And n o w I am weary
I am sick with l onging
O my Be l o ved
There fore bear me with thee
Swiftl y
U pon ou r road
.
,
.
,
IV
With the net o f thy hair
Thou hast fished in the s
ea
And a strange fish
Hast thou caught in thy net ;
Fo r thy hai r
Belov ed
Holdeth my heart
Within i ts web o f gold
,
,
,
.
V
I am weary with l ove and
—
Are night born p o p i e s
Give me there fore thy lips
That I may know S leep
,
.
.
VI
I am weary with longing
I am faint with love ;
For upon my head has the moonlight
Fallen
As a sword
S K I PWIT H
,
.
37
C A N N EL L
IN
A
G ARDE N
G ushing
from the mouths o f stone men
To S pread at ease under the s
ky
In granite lippe d basins
Where iris dabble thei r feet
And rust l e to a passing wind
The water fills the garden with its rushing
In the midst o f the quiet o f close clipped lawns
-
,
,
,
-
Damp smel l the ferns in tunnels of stone
Where trickle and plash the fountains
Marble fountains yellowed with much water
.
,
,
,
Splashing down moss tarnished steps
I t falls the water ;
An d the ai r is throbbing with it ;
With its gurgling and running ;
With i tsleap i ng and deep cool murm u r
.
-
,
,
,
.
An d I wishe d for night an d you
I wanted to see you in the sw i mming poo l
White and sh i ning in the silve r fl e c k e d water
While the m o on rode o v er the garden
High in the a rch o f night
And the scent o f the lilacs was heavy with st i llness
.
-
,
-
.
,
,
N ight
and the water
bathing !
,
.
and you in you r whiteness
A M Y LOWELL
,
PO ST LUD E
N ow
that I ha v e coo l ed to you
L et there be g o ld o f tarn i shed mason ry
Temples soothed b y the s
u n to ruin
That sleep utterly
Give me hand for the da nc e s
Ripples at Phil ae i n and out
And l ips my L esbian
Wall flowers that once were fl ame
.
,
.
,
,
,
,
,
.
You r hair is my Carthage
And my arms the bow
And our wo rds arrows
To shoot the stars
Who from that misty sea
Swarm to destroy us
But you re there besi d e me
Oh how shall I de fy you
Who wound me in the ni ght
With breasts shining
L ike Venus an d l ike M ars !
The night that is shout i ng J ason
When the loud eaves rattle
As with waves above me
B lue at the p row o f my desire !
O prayers in the dark !
O incense to Posei d on !
Calm in At l antis
WI LL IA M
,
.
’
,
.
39
C ARLOS
WI LLI A M S
I HEAR AN ARMY
I hear an army charging upon the land
And the thun d er o f ho rses plung i ng ; foam about the i r
knees :
Arrogant in black armour behind them stan d
Disdaining the ra i ns with fluttering whips the Char
i o te e rs
,
,
,
,
,
,
.
They cry into the night thei r battle name
I moan in S leep w hen I hear a far their wh i rl ing
laughte r
They cleave the gloom o f dreams a blinding flame
Clanging clang i ng upon the heart as upon an anv i l
.
,
,
.
,
They come shaking in tr i umph their long grey hair
They come out o f the sea and run shouting by the
shore
My hea rt have you no w isdom thus to despair !
My love my love my love why have you le ft me
a l one
S
A
M
E
C
E
O
Y
J
J
.
,
,
,
,
40
'
A QP I A
in me asthe ete rna l moods
o f the bleak wind and not
As tran sient th i ngs are
gaiety of flowers
Have me in the strong loneliness
o f sun l ess cli ff s
And o f grey waters
L et the gods speak so ftly o f us
In days hereafter
The shadowy flowers o f O rcus
Remember Thee
E ! RA
Be
,
.
.
,
.
41
P O U ND
THE RET U R N
See they return ; ah see the tentative
M ovements and the slow feet
The trouble in the pace and the unce rtain
W av er i ng !
,
,
,
,
See they return one and by one
With fear as hal f awakened ;
A S i f the snow should hesitate
And murmu r in the wind
and hal f turn back ;
These w ere the Wi ng d with Awe
Inviolable
,
,
,
,
-
,
’
-
!
-
,
.
G ods
o f the winged shoe !
With them the sil v e r houn d s
sni ffing the trace o f ai r !
Haie ! Haie !
These were the swi ft to harry ;
These th e keen scented ;
These we re the souls o f bloo d
-
.
Slow on the leash
,
pallid the leas h men !
-
E!
2
4
RA P OU N D
LIU
’
CH E
The rustling of the s i lk is discontinued
Dust dri fts ov e r the courtyard
There i s no sound o f foot fall and the leaves
Scu rry into heaps and l i e still
And s
h e the re ! oice r of the heart is beneath them
,
,
,
,
A wet lea f that clings to the th reshold
.
E!
RA
POU ND
.
FAN P I ECE FOR H ER I MP E R I A L
-
L ORD
O fan o f white silk
cle ar as frost on the grass blade
You als o are laid aside
E! RA
,
-
,
.
POU N D
’
’
TS AI CH I H
The petal s fall in the fountain
the orange coloured rose leaves
Their och re clings to the stone
E ! RA P O U N D
,
-
,
.
.
I N TH E
( To the
L I TT L E
Me m o ry o f
O L D MAR K ET P L ACE
-
A
.
V
.
)
s
It rains it rain
From gutters and dra i ns
And gargoyles and gables
It drips from the tables
That tel l us the tolls upon grains
O x en asses sheep turkeys and fowls
Set into the rain soaked wal l
O f the old Town Ha ll
,
,
,
,
,
,
-
.
The mountains being s
o tall
And forcing the town on the river
The market s so small
That with the wet cobbles dark arches and a l l
The owls
For
in
dark
rainy
weather
the
owls
fly
out
(
o the owls
Well be f o re four ) s
In the gloo m
Ha v e too little roo m
And brush by the saint on the fountain
In v eering about
,
’
,
,
,
.
The poor saint on the founta i n !
Supported by plaques o f the giver
To whom we re behol den ;
His name was de Sa l es
And h i swi fe s name von Mange !
’
’
.
47
,
!
o
N
w
is
he
a
saint
or
a
rchangel
(
)
He stan ds on a d ragon
O n a ball on a column
Gaz i ng up at the v i nes on the mountain
And his falchion is golden
And his wings are all gol den
He bears golden scales
And in spite o f the coils o f h i s dragon
o f ala rm or i nvective
L o oks up at the mists on the mountain
,
.
w ithout
h i nt
.
Now
what
saint
or
archa
gel
n
(
Stands winged on a dragon
B earing golden scales and a broad bladed sword all
golden !
Alas my know l edge
O f all the saints o f the college
O f al l these glimmering olden
S acred and misty stories
O f angels and saints an d old glories
Is sa dl y d e fecti v e )
The p o or saint on the fountain
,
,
,
,
.
On top o f his co l umn
G azes up sad an d solemn
But is it towards the top of the mountain
t
i
n
r
i
f
Where the s
haze
is
d
y
p
That he gazes !
Or is it into the casement
!
Where th e girl S its sewing
There s no knowing
.
’
.
48
Hear it rain !
And f rom e i ght leaden pipes i n the ball he stands on
That has eight leaden and C opper bands on
There gu rgle and drain
Eight driblets of water down into the bas i n
,
.
And he st ands on hi sdragon
And the girl s i ts sewing
High very high in her casement
And be fore her are many geraniums in a p ark e t
All grow i ng and blowing
In b o x upon b o x
From the gables right down to the basement
With fresc o es and carvings and paint
,
The poor saint !
It rains and it rains
In the market there isn t an o x
And in all the empl acement
Fo r waggons there isn t a waggon
Not a stall for a grape o r a raisin
Not a soul in the market
Save the saint on his dragon
With the ra i n d ri bbling down in the basin
And the maiden that sews in the casement
,
’
,
’
,
,
,
.
They are still and alone
Mu tte rse e le m alone
And the rain dribbles down from his hee l s and his
crown
,
,
,
49
From wet stone to wet stone
I t sgrey as at dawn
And the owls grey and fa w n
Cal l from the l ittle town ha l l
With its arch in the w all
Whe re the fi re hooks are stored
.
’
,
,
,
,
-
.
From behind the flowers O f her casement
That s all gay with the carvings an d paint
The maiden gi v es a great yawn
But the poor saint
No doubt he sas bored !
Stands sti l l on his co l u mn
U pli fting his swo r d
With neve r the ease o f a yawn
Fro m w e t d aw n to we t d aw n
’
,
,
’
FORD
MA Do x H U E FF ER
TH E
M ER M A I D
The sailor boy wh o leant over the side o f the J unk
o f Many Pearls and combed the green tresses o f the
s
e a with h i sivory finge rs believ i ng that he had heard
the voice o f a mermaid cast his b o dy down between
the waves
,
,
,
.
TH E
M I DD L E
K I N GDO M
The emperors o f fourteen dynast i es clad in robes o f
yellow silk embroidered with the Dragon wear i ng gold
d i adems s
e t w i th pearls and rub i es
and seated on
thrones o f incomparable ivo ry have ruled over the
M i ddle K ingdom fo r four thousand years
,
,
,
,
.
TH E
M I L K Y WA Y
My mothe r taught me that eve ry n i ght a procession
o f ! unks carrying lanterns moves silently across the
s
ky and the water sprinkled f rom thei r paddles falls
to the earth in the form o f dew I no longer believe
that the stars are ! unks carry i ng lanterns no l onger
that the dew is S haken from their oars
,
.
,
.
TH E
SE A S H E LL
-
To the passionate lover whose sighs come back to
him on every bree z e all the world is like a murmuring
sea shell
,
,
-
.
TH E
S W A LL O W TOWER
Am i d a landscape fl i ckering w i th poplars and netted
by a silver stream the S w allow To w er stands i n the
haunts of the s
The w i nds out of the four quarters
un
of heaven c ome to s i gh around i t the clouds forsake
the z enith to bathe i t w i th continuous k i sses Against
e a o f orchards breaks in white
i ts s
u n worn walls a s
foam ; and from the battlements the b i rds that flit
below are seen l i ke fishes in a green moat The win
dows o f the Tower stand open day and night ; the
w i nged G uests come when they please and hol d com
m u n i c ati o n w ith the unknown K eeper o f the Tower
,
,
.
,
.
-
.
,
.
A LL E N U P W A RD
53
TH E RO S E
I remember a day when I stood on the sea shore at
Nice hold i ng a scarlet rose in my hands
The calm sea caressed by the s
u n was brightly
garmented i n blue ve i led in gold and v iolet verging
on silve r
G ently the wav es lappe d the shore and scatter
ing into pearls emeral ds and O pal s hastened towards
my feet with a monotonous rhythmical sound like the
prolonged note o f a s ingle harp str i ng
ky hung the great
H i gh in the clear blue golden s
burning disc o f the s
un
White seagulls hovered above the waves now
barely touching them with their snow white breasts
now ris i ng anew into the heights l ike butterflies ove r
the green mea d ows
Far in the east a ship trailing its smoke glided
S l owly f rom Si ght as though it had foundered in the
waste
I threw the rose int o the s
ea
and watched it
caught in the wa v e receding red on the snow white
foam paler on the emeral d wa v e
And the sea continued to return it to me again
and aga i n at last no longer a flower but strewn petals
on restless water
S o with the heart and with all proud things In
the end noth i ng remains but a hand ful o f petals o f
what was once a proud flower
E
T
A
I
E
R
M
s
K
H
N
a
fter
T
R
o
N
o
O
U
C
J
,
.
,
,
,
,
,
.
,
,
,
,
,
.
-
,
,
.
,
-
,
,
,
,
,
.
,
,
-
,
,
.
,
,
,
,
.
.
,
.
54
H U L M E (T E ) A ND F I T! GE R A L D
To
.
.
Is there fo r feckless poverty
That grins at ye; for a that !
A hired slave to none am I
B ut under fed for a that ;
For a that and a that
The toils I shun and a that
My name but mocks the gu i nea stamp
And Pound s dead broke fo r a that
’
,
’
-
’
’
,
’
,
,
’
’
.
Although my linen st i ll is clean
My socks fine s i lk and a that
Although I dine and drink goo d wine
Say twice a week and a that ;
For a that and a that
My t i nsel S hows and a that
These breeks 11 no last many w eeks
G ainst wear and tear and a that
,
’
,
’
,
,
’
’
,
’
,
’
’
’
.
Ye s
e e th i s bi rk i e ca ed a bard
Wi cryptic eyes and a that
Aesthetic ph rases by the yard ;
It s but E P for a that
For a that and a that
My verses books and a that
The man of independent means
He looks and la u ghs at a that
’
,
’
’
,
’
’
.
’
.
,
’
,
’
,
,
’
57
.
One man will make a novelette
And sell the same and a that
For verse nae man can s i ller get
Nae editor maun fa that
For a that and a that
Their royalt i es and a that
W i b time to loaf and will to write
I ll stick to rhyme for a that
’
.
,
’
.
’
’
,
’
,
’
’
.
And ye may pr i se and gang your ways
Wi p i ty sneers and a that
I know my trade and God has made
S ome men to rhyme and a that
For a that and a that
I maun gang on fo r a that
Wi verse to verse until the hearse
Carts o ff me wame and a that
’
’
,
,
’
,
’
’
,
’
’
’
.
WRITT E N
DU C T I O N
HULME
!
,
To
P
FOR
TH E
T H E C E NA C L E
CO M P
U B L I S H ED
L ET E
OF 1909 V I DE
P OET I C A
A T TH E E N D
L WOR K S
OF
“
I N TRO
OF
R I P O S TE S
!
.
T E
.
.
And chok i ng all the time with politics
Why then I s
ay I contemplated him
And ma rv eled ( God ! I marvele d
Write it i n prose dea r God Y e s in red i nk )
And marv eled as I sa i d
At the stupendous quantity of m i nd
And the amazing quality thereo f
,
,
,
.
,
,
.
,
.
Dear G od o f mine
It s really most ama z ing d o n c he rk n o w
B ut really G od I c an t get o ff the mark ;
L ook here you queer faced God
Th i s fellow makes me s ick with all his talk
H is ha penny gibes at Celtic bards
—
And followers o f Dante honest folk !
B ecause dear God the rotten beggar goes
And makes a Chinese blue stocking
From hal f di gested d reams o f Munich a i r
!
—
And then Go d why shoul d I write it down
But Rates and N ab o th
Aren t hal f such silly fools as he is ( God )
Fo r they are frankly asin i ne
While he p retends to sanity
M odernity ( dear G od dear G od )
,
’
,
,
’
,
,
-
,
,
,
’
,
,
-
-
-
.
,
’
,
,
.
,
,
It s bad enough dear G od of mine
That you have s
e t me down in L ondon town
Endowed me w i th a tattered vel v et coat
S o ft collar and black hat and G reek ambitions ;
You might hav e le ft me there
’
,
,
,
,
.
60
But now you send
This vates here this sage social re fo rme r
( Y e s Go d yo u rotten Roman Catholic )
To put h i s hypothetical conceptions
O f w hat a poor young poetaster would think
Into hi sown damned S hape and then to attack it
To hi sown great contem p lative satis faction
What have I done O Go d
That so much b i tterness sh o uld flop on me !
Soc i al Re former ! That s the beggar s nam e
He d have me write bad novels like himsel f
“
!
,
,
,
’
,
.
,
,
’
’
.
’
.
Yes God I know i t safter closing time ;
And yes I know I ve smoked his c i garettes ;
B ut watch that sparro w on the fountain i n the rain
How hal f a do z en years ago
( Shut up you bl i ghted God and let me speak )
I should have hove my sport i ng air gun up
And bla z ed away and no w I let him g o
It sodd how one changes ;
Y e s that s High Germany
R A
’
,
,
’
,
.
,
,
,
-
-
’
’
,
.
.
61
.
FRAGM ENTS ADDRE S S ED
H TO A L DI
BY
C L EARCH U S
.
Hme r p te
Hp tx e
sfi
(p tcpr e e v
a y
71
2
.
I 6506
’
43
é p e éc p p z e i v (Lt oi p uxoz z p
1
(T é r v nflu g , 1tfH$ WJ BU§ )
Ga t xw y Be
c u
ll
(i sm 5
Ho u v B c c
’
Ge Ba p x éu p
t
u x (i sO
WB é cp p a Gi tp ou o e B do me
r o p e Am e at y p eev p ar T e B (1 8 0 g
(
6q> Ger
xo
Q éEv
fl sflg
u
1 607
Bur
’
’
Onc
I y p eoc r h
:
r im
e oi v B
61x
e
’
‘
s
,
Bel ty t e B
c
é flev ,
T oi l e t
,
u sv z p e c
‘
r w xe v
r
To
65 m
elm
)
m
4
p u flp (So (i sp a g e
.
o n e e xe g ,
o r ee xe g
.
NOTE S ( 1)
.
T u rk e y
'
'
’
E l a o c tx a k
E kl ev m
2
Os E Cp cz Oz o x é p g
o er g
Q OsOv c
B ai r
u é v é Y ti)
o
é
a
K
6
B
S
l
px g
(
i c; OS
A 9nv ozi o z )
v ee
(fi p oz ua v
w
er
;
m o ea
c
’
’
’
i l e c o n d u c ti ng p as
s
e n g e r s f ro m A t h e n s
th e c ap it al o f Gre e c e to th e t e m p l e o f th e w i n d s
u b u rb
t an d si n a re s
w hic h s
p e c t ab l e s
“
R e n d e re d b y B u tl e r
0 Go d ! O Mo n t re al !
A
v eh c
,
,
,
.
( 2)
(3 )
( 4) !
!
,
e no
p ho n
’
is
sA n ab as
.
F
.
M
.
H
.
B I B L IO G RA PHY
F S FL I N T— The Net o f the Stars
Publ ished by
Elkin Mathews 4 Cork S t L ondon W
“
.
.
.
.
,
E!
.
,
,
P OU N D—Collected Poems ( Personae E x ulta
tions Canzoni Ripostes )
Published by Elkin
Mathews
RA
,
.
,
,
.
TR A N S L A T I ON S
“
The S onnets and B allate o f Guido Cavalcanti
Published by Small Maynard Co B oston
.
.
,
The
.
Can z oni o f Arnaut Daniel R F Seymour
Fine Arts B l dg Chicago
Co
.
.
,
.
.
.
,
PR O S E
The Spirit o f Romance
A study o f
me di aeval poetry Dent
Sons L ondon
.
.
.
.
FORD MA Do x H U E FFE R
Collected Poems
Pub
li s
he d by Max G oschen 20 Gt Russel S t L on
don Forty volumes o f prose with various pub
li s
h e rs
.
,
.
.
,
.
.
A LL E N
—Author o f The
U P W A RD
Divine Mystery etc
“
The Scented L eaves
Septembe r 19 13
,
.
,
!
N ew
etc
appe ars in
Word
“
!
,
The
.
“
Po etry
for
.
WI LLIA M
li s
he d
C AR LO S
WI LL IA M S
The Tempers
by Elk i n M athews
Pub
.
.
A M Y LO WE LL— A
“
Dome o f Many Colou red
Published by Houghton Mitfli n B oston
,
63
.
G lass
.
.