Like little shreds of
crimson silk.
Poem: La Mer
A white mist drifts across the shrouds,
A wild moon in this
wintry sky
Gleams like an angry lion's eye
Out of a mane of tawny clouds.
The muffled steersman at the wheel
Is but a shadow in the gloom; -
And in the throbbing engine-room
Leap the long rods of polished steel.
The shattered storm has left its trace
Upon this huge and heaving dome,
For the thin threads of yellow foam
Float on the waves like ravelled lace.
Poem: Under The Balcony
O beautiful star with the
crimson mouth!
O moon with the brows of gold!
Rise up, rise up, from the odorous south!
And light for my love her way,
Lest her little feet should stray
On the windy hill and the wold!
O beautiful star with the
crimson mouth!
O moon with the brows of gold!
O ship that shakes on the
desolate sea!
O ship with the wet, white sail!
Put in, put in, to the port to me!
For my love and I would go
To the land where the daffodils blow
In the heart of a
violet dale!
O ship that shakes on the
desolate sea!
O ship with the wet, white sail!
O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note!
O bird that sits on the spray!
Sing on, sing on, from your soft brown throat!
And my love in her little bed
Will listen, and lift her head
From the pillow, and come my way!
O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note!
O bird that sits on the spray!
O
blossom that hangs in the
tremulous air!
O
blossom with lips of snow!
Come down, come down, for my love to wear!
You will die on her head in a crown,
You will die in a fold of her gown,
To her little light heart you will go!
O
blossom that hangs in the
tremulous air!
O
blossom with lips of snow!
Poem: The Harlot's House
We caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the
moonlit street,
And stopped beneath the harlot's house.
Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play
The 'Treues Liebes Herz' of Strauss.
Like strange
mechanical grotesques,
Making
fantastic arabesques,
The shadows raced across the blind.
We watched the
ghostly dancers spin
To sound of horn and violin,
Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.
Like wire-pulled automatons,
Slim silhouetted skeletons
Went sidling through the slow quadrille,
Then took each other by the hand,
And danced a
stately saraband;
Their
laughter echoed thin and shrill.
Sometimes a clockwork
puppet pressed
A
phantom lover to her breast,
Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.
Sometimes a
horrible marionette
Came out, and smoked its cigarette
Upon the steps like a live thing.
Then, turning to my love, I said,
'The dead are dancing with the dead,
The dust is whirling with the dust.'
But she - she heard the violin,
And left my side, and entered in:
Love passed into the house of lust.
Then suddenly the tune went false,
The dancers wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.
And down the long and silent street,
The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
Crept like a frightened girl.
Poem: Le Jardin Des Tuileries
This winter air is keen and cold,
And keen and cold this winter sun,
But round my chair the children run
Like little things of dancing gold.
Sometimes about the painted kiosk
The mimic soldiers strut and stride,
Sometimes the blue-eyed brigands hide
In the bleak tangles of the bosk.
And sometimes, while the old nurse cons
Her book, they steal across the square,
And
launch their paper navies where
Huge Triton writhes in
greenish bronze.
And now in mimic
flight they flee,
And now they rush, a
boisterous band -
And, tiny hand on tiny hand,
Climb up the black and leafless tree.
Ah! cruel tree! if I were you,
And children climbed me, for their sake
Though it be winter I would break
Into spring
blossoms white and blue!
Poem: On The Sale By Auction Of Keats' Love Letters
These are the letters which Endymion wrote
To one he loved in secret, and apart.
And now the brawlers of the
auction mart
Bargain and bid for each poor blotted note,
Ay! for each separate pulse of
passion quote
The merchant's price. I think they love not art
Who break the
crystal of a poet's heart
That small and
sickly eyes may glare and gloat.
Is it not said that many years ago,
In a far Eastern town, some soldiers ran
With torches through the
midnight, and began
To
wrangle for mean
raiment, and to throw
Dice for the garments of a
wretched man,
Not
knowing the God's wonder, or His woe?
Poem: The New Remorse
The sin was mine; I did not understand.
So now is music prisoned in her cave,
Save where some ebbing desultory wave
Frets with its
restless whirls this meagre strand.
And in the withered hollow of this land
Hath Summer dug herself so deep a grave,
That hardly can the leaden
willow crave
One silver
blossom from keen Winter's hand.
But who is this who cometh by the shore?
(Nay, love, look up and wonder!) Who is this
Who cometh in dyed garments from the South?
It is thy new-found Lord, and he shall kiss
The yet unravished roses of thy mouth,
And I shall weep and
worship, as before.
Poem: Le Panneau
Under the rose-tree's dancing shade
There stands a little ivory girl,
Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl
With pale green nails of polished jade.
The red leaves fall upon the mould,
The white leaves
flutter, one by one,
Down to a blue bowl where the sun,
Like a great
dragon, writhes in gold.
The white leaves float upon the air,
The red leaves
flutter idly down,
Some fall upon her yellow gown,
And some upon her raven hair.
She takes an amber lute and sings,
And as she sings a silver crane
Begins his
scarlet neck to strain,
And flap his burnished metal wings.
She takes a lute of amber bright,
And from the
thicket where he lies
Her lover, with his
almond eyes,
Watches her movements in delight.
And now she gives a cry of fear,
And tiny tears begin to start:
A thorn has wounded with its dart
The pink-veined sea-shell of her ear.
And now she laughs a merry note:
There has fallen a petal of the rose
Just where the yellow satin shows
The blue-veined flower of her throat.
With pale green nails of polished jade,
Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl,
There stands a little ivory girl
Under the rose-tree's dancing shade.
Poem: Les Ballons
Against these turbid turquoise skies
The light and
luminous balloons
Dip and drift like satin moons,
Drift like
silken butterflies;
Reel with every windy gust,
Rise and reel like dancing girls,
Float like strange
transparent pearls,
Fall and float like silver dust.
Now to the low leaves they cling,
Each with coy
fantastic pose,
Each a petal of a rose
Straining at a gossamer string.
Then to the tall trees they climb,
Like thin globes of amethyst,
Wandering opals keeping tryst
With the rubies of the lime.
Poem: Canzonet
I have no store
Of gryphon-guarded gold;
Now, as before,
Bare is the shepherd's fold.
Rubies nor pearls
Have I to gem thy throat;
Yet
woodland girls
Have loved the shepherd's note.
Then pluck a reed
And bid me sing to thee,
For I would feed
Thine ears with melody,
Who art more fair
Than fairest fleur-de-lys,
More sweet and rare