ALDINGTON IMAGES OLD AND NEW University Southern _ Library THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES IMAGES OLD AND NEW THE CONTEMPORARY SERIES UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME LAODICE AND DANAE Play in Verse By Gordon Bottomley IMAGES OLD AND NEW Poems By Richard Aldington THE ENGLISH TONGUE AND OTHER POEMS By Lewis Worthington Smith FIVE MEN AND POMPEY Dramatic Portraits By Stephen Vincent Benet HORIZONS Poems By Robert Alden Sanborn THE TRAGEDY A Fantasy in Verse By Gilbert Moyle IMAGES OLD AND NEW BOSTON THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY 1916 Copyright, 1916, by THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY THE FOUR SEAS PRESS BOSTON AND NORWOOD CONTENTS To A GREEK MARBLE 9 ARGYRIA 10 THE RIVER n NEW LOVE 12 "BEAUTY, THOU HAST HURT ME OVERMUCH" 13 STELE 14 OCTOBER 15 LESBIA 16 IN THE OLD GARDEN 17 JUNE RAIN 18 IN THE VIA SISTINA 19 CHORICOS 21 A GIRL 23 IMAGES 24 HYELLA 26 THE FAUN SEES SNOW FOR THE FIRST TIME 27 AT MITYLENE 28 LEMURES 29 AMALFI 30 HERMES, LEADER OF THE DEAD 31 SUMMER 32 AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM 33 SCENTS 34 NIGHT PIECE 35 DAWN 36 AT NIGHTS 37 EVENING 39 CHURCH WALK, KENSINGTON 40 547726 LISRARf ST. MARY'S, KENSINGTON 41 IN THE TUBE 42 CINEMA EXIT 43 INTERLUDE 44 A NEW HOUSE 45 HAMPSTEAD HEATH 46 LONDON 47 NOTE The editors and publishers concerned have kindly given me perimission to reprint many of the poems in this book which appeared originally in Poetry (Chicago), The Egoist (London), the New Age (Lon- don), Poetry and Drama (London), Greenwich Village (New York), Others (New York), The Little Review (Chicago), The Poetry Journal (Boston), the first Imagist anthology ( New York : A. & C. Boni. London : Poetry Bookshop), the second Imagist anthology (Some Imagist Poets. Boston : Houghton, Mifflin Co. London: Constable & Co.) IMAGES OLD AND NEW TO A GREEK MARBLE 7TOTVIO, White grave goddess, Pity my sadness, silence of Pares. 1 am not of these about thy feet, These garments and decorum; I am thy brother, Thy lover of aforetime crying to thee, And thou hearest me not. I have whispered thee in thy solitudes Of our loves in Phrygia, The far ecstasy of burning noons When the fragile pipes Ceased in the cypress shade, And the brown fingers of the shepherd Moved over slim shoulders; And only the cicada sang. I have told thee of the hills And the lisp of reeds And the sun upon thy breasts, And thou hearest me not, IIoTVia, iroTvia, Thou hearest me not. [91 ARGYRIA O you, O you most fair, Swayer of reeds, whisperer Among the flowering rushes, You have hidden away your hands Beneath the poplar leaves ; You have given them to the white waters. Swallow-fleet, Sea-child cold from waves ; Slight reed that sang so blithely in the wind ; White cloud the white sun kissed into the air ; Pan mourns for you. White limbs, white song, Pan mourns for you. [10] THE RIVER I I have drifted along the river Until I moored my boat By these crossed trunks. Here the mist moves Over fragile leaves and rushes, Colourless waters and brown fading hills. You have come from beneath the trees And move within the mist, A floating leaf. II O blue flower of the evening, You have touched my face With your leaves of silver. Love me, for I must depart. ["I NEW LOVE She has new leaves After her dead flowers, Like the little almond tree Which the frost hurt. [12] "BEAUTY, THOU HAST HURT ME OVERMUCH" The light is a wound to me. The soft notes Feed upon the wound. Where wert thou born O thou woe That consumest my life? Whither comest thou? Toothed wind of the seas, No man knows thy beginning. As a bird with strong claws Thou woundest me, O beautiful sorrow. STELE Pan, O Pan, The oread weeps in the stony olive-garden On the hill side. There bloom the fragile Blue-purple wind-flowers, There the wild fragant narcissus Bends by the grey stones. But Pan, O Pan, The oread weeps in the stony olive-garden ; She heeds not the moss-coloured lizards And crocus-yellow butterflies. For her reed pipe That was the crying of the wind, Her pipe that was the singing Wind of the mountain, Her pipe is broken. Pan, O Pan, As you rush from the peaks With the wood-girls and flower-girls And the shouting fauns, Unawares you have broken her little reed With your stamping hoofs. And she weeps in the olive -garden. [14] OCTOBER The beech-leaves are silver For lack of the tree's blood ; At your kiss my lips Became like the silver beech-leaves. [15] LESBIA Grow weary if you will, let me be sad. Use no more speech now; Let the silence spread gold hair above us, Fold on delicate fold. Use no more speech; You had the ivory of my life to carve .... And Picus of Mirandola is dead ; And all the gods they dreamed and fabled of, Hermes and Thoth and Christ are rotten now, Rotten and dank . . . And through it all I see your pale Greek face ; Tenderness Makes me as eager as a little child to love you, You morsel left half cold on Caesar's plate. [16] IN THE OLD GARDEN I have sat here happy in the gardens, Watching the still pool and the reeds And the dark clouds Which the wind of the upper air Tore like the green leafy boughs Of the divers-hued trees of late summer; But though I greatly delight In these and the water-lilies, That which sets me nighest to weeping Is the rose and white colour of the smooth flag-stones, And the pale yellow grasses Among them. [17] JUNE RAIN Hot, a griffin's mouth of flame, The sun rasped with his golden tongue The city streets, till men and walls shrivelled ; The dusty air stagnated. At the third noon a wind rippled, A wide sea silently breaking; A thick veil of rain-drops Hid the sun and the hard blue. A grey garment of rain, Cold as hoar frost in April, Enwrapped us. [18] IN THE VIA SISTINA O daughter of Isis, Thou standest beside the wet highway Of this decayed Rome, A manifest harlot. Straight and slim art thou As a marble phallus; Thy face is the face of Isis Carven As she is carven in basalt. And my heart stops with awe At the presence of gods, For there beside thee on the stall of images Is the head of Osiris Thy lord. CHORICOS The ancient songs Pass deathward mournfully. Cold lips that sing no more, and withered wreaths, Regretful eyes, and drooping breasts and wings Symbols of ancient songs, Mournfully passing Down to the great white surges, Watched of none Save the frail sea-birds And the lithe pale girls, Daughters of Okeanos. And the songs pass. From the green land Which lies upon the waves as a leaf On the flowers of hyacinth ; And they pass from the waters, The manifold winds and the dim moon, And they come, Silently winging through soft Kimmerian dusk, To the quiet level lands That she keeps for us all, That she wrought for us all for sleep In the silver days of the earth's dawning Proserpina, daughter of Zeus. And we turn from the Kyprian's breasts, And we turn from thee, [20] Phoibos Apollon, And we turn from the music of old, And the hills that we loved and the meads, And we turn from the fiery day, And the lips that were over-sweet ; For silently Brushing the fields with red-shod feet, With purple robe Searing the grass as with a sudden flame, Death, Thou hast come upon us. And of all the ancient songs Passing to the swallow-blue halls By the dark streams of Persephone, This only remains That in the end we turn to thee, Death, We turn to thee, singing One last song. O Death, Thou art an healing wind That blowest over white flowers A-tremble with dew; Thou art a wind flowing Over far leagues of lonely sea; Thou art the dusk and the fragrance ; Thou art the lips of love mournfully smiling; Thou art the sad peace of one [21] Satiate with old desires ; Thou art the silence of beauty, And we look no more for the morning We yearn no more for the sun Since with thy white hands, Death, Thou crownest us with the pallid chaplets, The slim colourless poppies Which in thy garden alone Softly thou gatherest. And silently; And with slow feet approaching; And with bowed head and unlit eyes, We kneel before thee : And thou, leaning toward us, Caressingly layest upon us Flowers from thy thin cold hands, And, smiling as a chaste woman Knowing love in her heart, Thou seelest our eyes And the illimitable quietude Comes gently upon us. [22] A GIRL You were that clear Sicilian fluting That pains our thought even now. You were the notes Of cold fantastic grief Some few found beautiful. [23] IMAGES Like a gondola of green scented fruits Drifting along the dank canals of Venice, You, O exquisite one, Have entered into my desolate city. II The blue smoke leaps Like swirling clouds of birds vanishing. So my love leaps forth toward you, Vanishes and is renewed. Ill A rose-yellow moon in a pale sky When the sunset is faint vermilion In the mist among the tree-boughs Art thou to me, my beloved. IV A young beech tree on the edge of the forest Stands still in the evening, Yet shudders through all its leaves in the light air And seems to fear the stars So are you still and so tremble. The red deer are high on the mountain, They are beyond the last pine-trees. And my desires have run with them. VI The flower which the wind has shaken Is soon filled again with rain ; So does my heart fill slowly with tears, O Foam-Driver, Wind-of -the- Vineyards, Until you return. [25] HYELLA (Front "Aeon" written in Latin in the sixteenth century by the Italian, Giovanni-Battista Amalteo.) See the maiden, the maiden is dying; And now the glory withers from her rose-red face. As a dark blue hyacinth flower In a secret valley, Fed by the earth our mother, Received in her breast, Drawn up by her with dew and happy winds If once the heat of heaven or bitter Auster Fall upon it, straightway, Spoiled of the joyful pride of beauty, It droops and dies upon the parched grasses. Unwonted griefs are in the meadows And the hay-swathes are rotting ; Christ-thorns grow for violets and the bright lilies Wither on the drooping stem ; No berries colour the lush river-bank; Neither grass nor leaf springs in meadow and wood. [26] THE FAUN SEES SNOW FOR THE FIRST TIME Zeus, Brazen-thunder-hurler, Cloud-whirler, son-of-Kronos, Send vengeance on these Oreads Who strew White frozen flecks of mist and cloud Over the brown trees and the tufted grass Of the meadows, where the stream Runs black through shining banks Of bluish white. Zeus, Are the halls of heaven broken up That you flake down upon me Feather-strips of marble? Dis and Styx ! When I stamp my hoof The frozen-cloud-specks jam into the cleft So that I reel upon two slippery points .... Fool, to stand here cursing When I might be running! [27] AT MITYLENE O Artemis, Will you not leave the dark fastness And set your steel-white foot upon the foam, And come across the rustling sand Setting it a-drift with the wind of your raiment. For these women have laid out a purple cloth, And they have builded you an altar Of white shells for the honey. They have taken the sea grass for garlands And cleansed their lips with the sea. O Artemis, Girdle the gold about you, Set the silver upon your hair And remember us We, who have grown weary even of music, We, who would scream behind the wild dogs of Scythia. [28] LEMURES In Nineveh And beyond Nineveh In the dusk They were afraid. In Thebes of Egypt In the dusk They chanted of them to the dead. Jn my Lesbos and Achaia Where the God dwelt We knew them. Now men say "They are not"; But in the dusk Ere the white sun comes A gay child that bears a white candle,- I am afraid of their rustling, Of their terrible silence, The menace of their secrecy. [29] AMALFI We will come down to you, O very deep sea, And drift upon your pale green waves Like scattered petals. We will come down to you from the hills, From the scented lemon-groves, From the hot sun. We will come down, O Thalassa, And drift upon Your pale green waves Like petals. [30] HERMES, LEADER OF THE DEAD We, who loved thy lyre, Yet knew the end of all songs A lamentation and a mourning; We, who loved Eos That maiden whiter than Narcissus And loved the midday heat, the sea-winds Rustling across the vineyards; Now in the twilight Hold forth trembling hands To thee, Hermes, Leader of the Dead. Bear us upon thy winged flight Down the dark blue ways unto Orcus ; Make us stabile With thy imperishable hands, For our feet stumble, and age Loosens our knees ; Our wearied eyes Yearn for the heavy bowed gold blossoms Beneath the very grey sky Of Persephone. SUMMER A butterfly, Black and scarlet, Spotted with white, Fans its wings Over a privet flower. A thousand crimson foxgloves, Tall bloody pikes, Stand motionless in the gravel quarry ; The wind runs over them. A rose film over a pale sky Fantastically cut by dark chimneys ; Candles winking in the windows Across an old city-garden. [32] AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM I turn the page and read: "I dream of silent verses where the rhyme Glides noiseless as an oar." The heavy musty air, the black desks, The bent heads and the rustling noises In the great dome Vanish .... And The sun hangs in the cobalt-blue sky, The boat drifts over the lake shallows, The fishes skim like umber shades through the undulating weeds, The oleanders drop their rosy petals on the lawns, And the swallows dive and swirl and whistle About the cleft battlements of Can Grande's castle . [33] SCENTS (White Jonquils) Old cloisters where a hollow fountain drips And the brown church walls Are soft with winter sun. And the moist garden mould in March After the wind. (Yellow Jonquils) The moon Low down the hills Sorrento sees about her- The orange orchards sweet in May. Again the soft wet earth In English gardens When the rain and wind have passed. [34] NIGHT PIECE I lie awake and listen. The water drips musically in the large zinc tank; the little watch beside me ticks away the seconds of my life; at long intervals the bell of St. Mary Abbot's growls out huskily the quarters : ding ding, dang, dong ! Silence. The water drips slower and more musically ; the watch ticks more gently; the window-curtain rustles a little in the wind and a faint confused glow of moonlight slips into the room. Silence. I rise and draw the curtain. The white misty moonlight chequers the houses into blocks and lines and angles of watery silverish white and intense black shadows. There is no movement, no sound in the city. No sound ? A train whistle blows very faint and shrill and clear and far away clearer than bugles and as shrill as a night bird. A train is running out from Marylebone or Victoria. . . Very faint and shrill and far away the whistle sounds more like a wild bird than ever. And all my unsatis- fied desires and empty wishes and vague yearnings are set aching by the thin tremulous whistle the post-horn of the coach of Romance. * [35] DAWN It is night ; and silent. The mist is still beside the frozen dykes ; it lies on the stiff grass, about the poplar trunks. The last star goes out. The gulls are coming up from the sea, crying, and drifting across like pieces of mist, like fragments of white cloth. They turn their heads and peer as they pass. The sky low down glows deep purple. The plovers swirl and dart over the ploughed field be- yond; their screams are sorrowful and sharp. The purple drifts up the pale sky and grows redder. The mist stirs. The brass on the harness of the plough-horses jingles as they come into the field. The birds rise in scattered knots. The mist trembles, grows thinner, rises. The red and gold sky shines dully on the ice. The men shout across the thawing clods; the ploughs creak; the horses steam in the cold; the plovers gulls have gone ; the sparrows twitter. The sky is gold and blue, very faint and damp. It is day. [36] AT NIGHTS At nights I sit here, Shading my eyes, shutting them if you glance up, Pretending to doze, And watching you, Thinking. . . I think of when I first saw the beauty of things God knows I was poor enough and sad enough And humiliated enough But not all the slights and the poorness and the worry Could hide away the green of the poplar leaves, The ripples and light of the little stream, The patterns of the ducks' feathers Like a Japanese print The dawns I saw in the winter When I went shooting, The summer walks and the winter walks, The hot days with the cows coming down to the water, The flowers, Buttercups, meadowsweet, hog's parsley, And the larks singing in the morning And the thrushes singing at evening When I went out into the fields, muttering poetry. . . I looked at the world as God did When first He made it. I saw that it was good. [37] And now at nights, Now that everything has gone right somehow, And I have friends and books And no more bitterness, I sit here, shading my eyes, Peeping at you, watching you, Thinking. [38] EVENING The chimneys, rank on rank, Cut the clear sky; The moon, With a rag of gauze about her loins Poses among them, an awkward Venus - And here am I looking wantonly at her Over the kitchen sink. [39] CHURCH WALK, KENSINGTON (Sunday Morning) The cripples are going to church. Their crutches beat upon the stones, And they have clumsy iron boots. Their clothes are black, their faces peaked and mean ; Their legs are withered Like dried bean pods. Their eyes are as stupid as frogs'. And the god, September, Has paused for a moment here Garlanded with crimson leaves. He held a branch of fruited oak. He smiled like Hermes the beautiful Cut in marble. [40] ST. MARY'S, KENSINGTON The orange plane-leaves Rest gently on the cracked grey slabs In the city churchyard. O pitiful dead, There is not one of those who pass by To remember you. But the trees do not forget ; Their severed tresses Are laid sadly above you. [41] IN THE TUBE The electric car jerks ; I stumble on the slats of the floor, Fall into a leather seat And look up. A row of advertisements, A row of windows, Set in brown woodwork pitted with brass nails, A row of hard faces, Immobile, In the swaying train, Rush across the flickering background of fluted dingy tunnel ; A row of eyes, Eyes of greed, of pitiful blankness, of plethoric com- placency, Immobile, Gaze, stare at one point, At my eyes. Antagonism, Disgust, Immediate antipathy, Cut my brain, as a dry sharp reed Cuts a finger. I surprise the same thought In the brasslike eyes : "What right have you to live." [42] CINEMA EXIT After the click and whirr Of the glimmering pictures, The dry feeling in the eyes As the sight follows the electric flickerings, The banal sentimentality of the films, The hushed concentration of the people, The tinkling piano Suddenly, A vast avalanch of greenish yellow light Pours over the threshold; White globes 'darting vertical rays spot the sombre buildings ; The violent gloom of the night Battles with the radiance; Swift figures, legs, skirts, white cheeks, hats Flicker in oblique rays of dark and light. Millions of human vermin Swarm sweating Along the night-arched cavernous roads. (Happily rapid chemical processes Will disintegrate them all.) [43] INTERLUDE Blow your tin squeals On your reedy whistle. How they come dancing, White girls, lithe girls, In linked dance From Attica. Gay girls dancing in the frozen street, Hair streaming, and white raiment Flying, Red lips that first were Red in Ephesus. Gone! You ? Red-nose, piping by the Red Lion, You! Did you bring them ? Here, take my pennies, Mon semblable, mon frere! [44] A NEW HOUSE Inside, A smell of mortar, Odours of plaster, sawn wood, damp, Hang in the hollow cold rooms And taint the breath in one's nostrils. Outside, Grey dirty scaffoldings tied with ropes, Red walls crusted with scum, Rise from the trampled soil Among felled trees and naked flowers. There is a silence, a truce; The old earth-gods retreat Sullen, beaten and disconsolate; London has beaten them, Swallowed, engulfed their territory, Crushing their flowers into mud. [45] HAMPSTEAD HEATH (Easter Monday, 1915) Dark clouds, torn into gaps of livid sky, Pierced through By a swift searchlight, a long white dagger. The black murmuring crowd Flows, eddies, stops, flows on Between the lights And the banks of noisy booths. [46J LONDON (May 1915) Glittering leaves Dance in a squall; Behind them bleak immoveable clouds. A church spire Holds up a little brass cock To peck at the blue wheat-fields. Roofs, conical spires, tapering chimneys, Livid with sunlight, lace the horizon. A pear-tree, a broken white pyramid In a dingy garden, troubles me With ecstasy. At night, the moon, a pregnant woman, Walks cautiously over the sHppery heavens. And I am tormented, Obessed, Among all this beauty, With a vision of ruins, Of walls crumbling into clay. [471 Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. IAR 2 2 1362 UnirsltyolCalHornla Return_ APR 12 2004 Li PLEACH DO NOT REMOVE THIS BOOK CARD=! a University Research Library iversitj Southei Librai