Provenca 
 
 J 
 
 of 
 
 Ezra Pound 
 
University of California Berkeley 
 
PROVEN9A 
 
PRO VENCA 
 
 POEMS 
 
 SELECTED FROM PERSONAE, EXULTATIONS, AND 
 CANZONIERE 
 
 OF 
 
 EZRA POUND 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, 1910, 
 BY EZRA POUND 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PERSONAE 
 
 LA FRAISNE 5 
 
 CINO 7 
 
 NA AUDIART 9 
 
 VILLON AUD FOR THIS YULE II 
 A VILLONAUD, BALLAD OF THE GIBBET 12 
 
 MESMERISM 14 
 
 FAMAM LIBROSQUE CANO IS 
 
 IN TEMPORE SENECTUTIS 17 
 
 CAMARADERIE 1 8 
 
 FOR E. McC. 19 
 
 BALLAD FOR GLOOM 2O 
 
 AT THE HEART O ? ME 21 
 
 THE TREE 22 
 
 AN IDYL FOR GLAUCUS 22 
 
 MARVOIL 26 
 
 IN THE OLD AGE OF THE SOUL 28 
 REVOLT AGAINST THE CREPUSCULAR 
 
 SPIRIT IN MODERN POETRY 28 
 
 AND THUS IN NINEVEH 30 
 
 THE WHITE STAG 31 
 
 PICCADILLY 31 
 
 EXULTATIONS 
 
 NIGHT LITANY 37 
 
 SESTINA: ALTAFORTE 39 
 
 BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE 41 
 
 PORTRAIT 43 
 
 THE EYES 43 
 
 NILS LYKKE 44 
 
 "FAIR HELENA" BY RACKHAM 45 
 
 GREEK EPIGRAM 45 
 
 HISTRION 46 
 
 PARACELSUS IN EXCELSIS 46 
 
 A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER 47 
 
EXULTATIONS, continued 
 
 SONG 
 
 PLANH FOR THE YOUNG ENGLISH KING 
 
 ALBA INNOMINATA 
 
 LAUDANTES 
 
 PLANH 
 CANZONIERE 
 
 OCTAVE 
 
 SONNET IN TENZONE 
 
 SONNET 
 
 CANZON: THE YEARLY SLAIN 
 
 CANZON: THE SPEAR 
 
 CANZON 
 
 CANZON: OF INCENSE 
 
 CANZONE : OF ANGELS 
 
 SONNET: CHI E QUESTA? 
 
 OF GRACE 
 
 CANZON: THE VISION 
 
 TO OUR LADY OF VICARIOUS ATONEMENT 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 NOTES 
 
PERSONAE 
 
"Make-strong old dreams lest this our world Lose heart" 
 
TO MARY MOORE 
 
LA FRAISNE 1 
 
 SCENE : The Ash Wood of Malvern. 
 
 FOR I was a gaunt, grave councillor 
 Being in all things wise, and very old, 
 But I have put aside this folly and the cold 
 That old age weareth for a cloak. 
 
 I was quite strong at least they said so 
 The young men at the sword-play; 
 But I have put aside this folly, being gay 
 In another fashion that more suiteth me. 
 
 I have curled mid the boles of the ash wood, 
 I have hidden my face where the oak 
 Spread his leaves over me, and the yoke 
 Of the old ways of men have I cast aside. 
 
 By the still pool of Mar-nan-otha 
 Have I found me a bride 
 That was a dog-wood tree some syne. 
 She hath called me from mine old ways, 
 She hath hushed my rancour of council, 
 Bidding me praise 
 
 Naught but the wind that flutters in the leaves. 
 
 She hath drawn me from mine old ways, 
 
 Till men say that I am mad; 
 
 But I have seen the sorrow of men, and am glad, 
 
 For I know that the wailing and bitterness are a folly. 
 
 And I ? I have put aside all folly and all grief. 
 
 1 Prefatory note at end of the volume. 
 
LaFraisnel wrapped my tears in an ellum leaf 
 And left them under a stone, 
 And now men call me mad because I have thrown 
 All folly from me, putting it aside 
 To leave the old barren ways of men, 
 Because my bride 
 Is a pool of the wood, and 
 Though all men say that I am mad 
 It is only that I am glad, 
 
 Very glad, for my bride hath toward me a great love 
 Which is sweeter than the love of women 
 That plague and burn and drive one away. 
 
 Aie-e ! 'T is true that I am gay, 
 
 Quite gay, for I have her alone here 
 And no man troubleth us. 
 
 Once when I was among the young men .... 
 And they said I was quite strong, among the young 
 
 men. 
 
 Once there was a woman .... 
 .... but I forget .... she was .... 
 .... I hope she will not come again. 
 
 .... I do not remember .... 
 I think she hurt me once, but .... 
 That was very long ago. 
 
 I do not like to remember things any more. 
 
 I like one little band of winds that blow 
 In the ash trees here: 
 For we are quite alone 
 Here amid the ash trees. 
 6 
 
CINO 
 
 ITALIAN CAMPAGNA 1309, THE OPEN-ROAD 
 
 AH ! I have sung women in three cities, 
 
 B' 
 
 But it is all the same; 
 And I will sing of the sun. 
 
 Lips, words, and you snare them, 
 
 Dreams, words, and they are as jewels, 
 
 Strange spells of old deity, 
 
 Ravens, nights, allurement: 
 
 And they are not; 
 
 Having become the souls of song. 
 
 Eyes, dreams, lips, and the night goes. 
 
 Being upon the road once more, 
 
 They are not. 
 
 Forgetful in their towers of our tuneing 
 
 Once for Wind-runeing 
 
 They dream us-toward and 
 
 Sighing, say, " Would Cino, 
 
 Passionate Cino, of the wrinkling eyes, 
 
 Gay Cino, of quick laughter, 
 
 Cino, of the dare, the jibe, 
 
 Frail Cino, strongest of his tribe 
 
 That tramp old ways beneath the sun -light, 
 
 Would Cino of the Luth were here!" 
 
 Once, twice, a year 
 Vaguely thus word they: 
 
 "Cino?" "Oh, eh, Cino Polnesi 
 
 The singer is 't you mean?" 
 
 "Ah yes, passed once our way, 
 
 A saucy fellow, but .... 
 7 
 
Cino (Oh, they are all one, these vagabonds), 
 
 Peste ! 't is his own songs ? 
 Or some other's that he sings? 
 But you, My Lord, how with your city? 
 
 But you "My Lord," God's pity! 
 
 And all I knew were out, My Lord, you 
 
 Were Lack-land Cino, e'en as I am, 
 
 Sinistro. 
 
 1 have sung women in three cities. 
 But it is all one. 
 
 I will sing of the sun. 
 
 .... eh? .... they mostly had grey eyes, 
 
 But it is all one, I will sing of the sun. 
 
 "Tollo Phoibee, old tin pan, you 
 Glory to Zeus' aegis-day, 
 Shield o' steel-blue, th' heaven o'er us 
 Hath for boss thy lustre gay ! 
 
 Tollo Phoibee, to our way-fare 
 Make thy laugh our wander-lied; 
 Bid thy 'fulgence bear away care. 
 Cloud and rain -tears pass they fleet I 
 
 Seeking e'er the new-laid rast-way 
 To the gardens of the sun 
 
 I have sung women in three cities 
 But it is all one. 
 
 I will sing of the white birds 
 In the blue waters of heaven, 
 The clouds that are spray to its sea. 
 8 
 
NA AUDIART 
 
 "QUE BE-M VOLS MAL" 
 
 Any one who has read anything of the troubadours knows 
 well the tale of Bertran of Born and My Lady Maent of Mon- 
 taignac, and knows also the song he made when she would none 
 
 her love-lit glance, of Aelis her speech free-running, of the Vicomp- 
 tess of Chales her throat and her two hands, at Roacoart of 
 Anhes her hair golden as Iseult's ; and even in this fashion of Lady 
 Audiart, " although she would that ill come unto him" he sought 
 and praised the lineaments of the torse. And all this to make 
 " Una dompna soiseubuda " a borrowed lady or, as the Italians 
 translated it, " Una donna ideale." 
 
 THOUGH thou well dost wish me ill," 
 Audiart, Audiart, 
 Where thy bodice laces start 
 As ivy fingers clutching through 
 Its crevices, 
 
 Audiart, Audiart, 
 Stately, tall and lovely tender 
 Who shall render, 
 
 Audiart, Audiart, 
 Praises meet unto thy fashion? 
 Here a word kiss ! 
 
 Pass I on 
 
 Unto Lady "Miels-de-Ben," 
 Having praised thy girdle's scope, 
 How the stays ply back from it; 
 I breathe no hope 
 That thou shouldst .... 
 
 Nay, no whit 
 
 Bespeak thyself for anything. 
 Just a word in thy praise, girl, 
 Just for the swirl 
 
 9 
 
Na Thy satins make upon the stair, 
 
 Audiart > Cause never a flaw was there 
 
 Where thy torse and limbs are met: 
 Though thou hate me, read it set 
 In rose and gold. 1 
 
 \ Or when the minstrel, tale half told, 
 Shall burst to lilting at the phrase 
 
 "Audiart, Audiart" 
 
 Bertrans, master of his lays, 
 
 Bertrans of Aultaforte thy praise 
 
 Sets forth, and though thou hate me well, 
 
 Yea, though thou wish me ill, 
 
 Audiart, Audiart 
 Thy loveliness is here writ till, 
 
 Audiart, 
 
 Oh, till thou come again. 2 
 And being bent and wrinkled, in a form 
 That hath no perfect limning, when the warm 
 Youth dew is cold 
 Upon thy hands, and thy old soul, 
 Scorning a new, wry'd casement, 
 Churlish at seemed misplacement, 
 Finds the earth as bitter 
 As now seems it sweet, 
 Being so young and fair 
 As then only in dreams 
 Being then young and wry'd, 
 Broken of ancient pride, 
 Thou shalt then soften, 
 
 1 7. e. in illumed manuscript. 2 Reincarnate. 
 
 IO 
 
Knowing I know not how Na 
 
 Thou wert once she, Audiart 
 
 Audiart, Audiart, 
 For whose fairness one forgave, 
 
 Audiart, Audiart 
 Que be-m vols mal. 
 
 VILLONAUD FOR THIS YULE 
 
 HTO WARDS the Noel that morte saison 
 -L (Christ make the shepherds' homage dear!) 
 Then when the grey wolves everychone 
 Drink of the winds their chill small-beer 
 And lap o' the snows food's gueredon, 
 Then maketh my heart his yule-tide cheer 
 (Skoal ! with the dregs if the clear be gone !) 
 Wincing the ghosts of yester-year. 
 
 Ask ye what ghosts I dream upon? 
 (What of the magians' scented gear?) 
 The ghosts of dead loves everyone 
 That make the stark winds reek with fear 
 Lest love return with the foison sun 
 And slay the memories that me cheer 
 (Such as I drink to mine fashion) 
 Wincing the ghosts of yester-year. 
 
 Where are the joys my heart had won? 
 (Saturn and Mars to Zeus drawn near!) 1 
 Where are the lips mine lay upon, 
 
 1 Signum Nativitatis* 
 II 
 
Vittonaud Aye ! where are the glances feat and clear 
 J Y u ie That bade m y heart his valour don? 
 I skoal to the eyes as grey-blown mere 
 (Who knows whose was that paragon?) 
 Wincing the ghosts of yester-year. 
 
 Prince: ask me not what I have done, 
 Nor what God hath that can me cheer, 
 But ye ask first where the winds are gone 
 Wincing the ghosts of yester-year. 
 
 A VILLONAUD, BALLAD OF THE GIBBET 
 
 OR, THE SONG OF THE SIXTH COMPANION 
 
 SCENE: "En cest bourdel ou tenoms nostr estat." 
 
 It being remembered that there were six of us with Master Villon, 
 when that expecting presently to be hanged he writ a ballad 
 whereof ye know : 
 
 " Frtres humftins qui aprls nous vivez" 
 
 DRINK ye a skoal for the gallows tree ! 
 Francois and Margot and thee and me, 
 Drink we the comrades merrily 
 Who said us, "Till then" for the gallows tree! 
 
 Fat Pierre with the hook gauche-main, 
 Thomas Larron "Ear-the-less," 
 Tybalde and that armouress 
 Who gave this poignard its premier stain 
 Pinning the Guise that had been fain 
 To make him a mate of the "Haulte Noblesse" 
 And bade her be out with ill address 
 As a fool that mocketh his drue's disdeign. 
 
Drink we a skoal for the gallows tree ! A Vitton- 
 
 Francoi-s and Margot and thee and me, fjf % 
 
 T^ i . TVT TT-J i lad of the 
 
 Drink we to Manenne Ydole, Gibbet 
 
 That hell brenn not her o'er cruelly. 
 
 Drink we the lusty robbers twain, 
 Black is the pitch o' their wedding dress, 1 
 Lips shrunk back for the wind's caress 
 As lips shrink back when we feel the strain 
 Of love that loveth in hell's disdeign 
 And sense the teeth through the lips that press 
 'Gainst our lips for the soul's distress 
 That striveth to ours across the pain. 
 
 Drink we skoal to the gallows tree! 
 Francois and Margot and thee and me, 
 For Jehan and Raoul de Vallerie 
 Whose frames have the night and its winds in fee 
 
 Maturin, Guillaume, Jacques d'Allmain, 
 Culdou, lacking a coat to bless 
 One lean moiety of his nakedness, 
 That plundered St. Hubert back o' the fane: 
 Aie ! the lean bare tree is widowed again 
 For Michault le Borgne that would confess 
 In "faith and troth" to a traitor ess, 
 "Which of his brothers had he slain?" 
 
 But drink we skoal to the gallows tree ! 
 Francois and Margot and thee and me: 
 
 1 Certain gibbeted corpses used to be coated with tar as a pre- 
 servative ; thus one scarecrow served as warning for considerable 
 time. See Hugo, " L'Homme qui Rit." 
 
 13 
 
A Villon- These that we loved shall God love less 
 fadoftfie ^ nc * sm * te a l wav at their feebleness? 
 Gibbet 
 
 Skoal ! 1 to the Gallows ! and then pray we: 
 
 God damn his hell out speedily 
 
 And bring their souls to his High City. 
 
 MESMERISM 
 
 "And a cat 's in the water-butt." ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 YE, you 're a man that ! ye old mesmerizer ! 
 
 Tyin' your meanin' in seventy swadelin's, 
 One must of needs be a hang'd early riser 
 To catch you at worm turning. Holy Odd's 
 bodykins ! 
 
 "Cat 's i' the water-butt!" Thought 's in your 
 
 verse-barrel, 
 
 Tell us this thing rather, then we '11 believe you, 
 You, Master Bob Browning, spite your apparel 
 Jump to your sense and give praise as we 'd lief do. 
 
 You wheeze as a head-cold long-tonsilled Calliope, 
 But, God ! what a sight you ha' got o' our in'ards, 
 Mad as a hatter but surely no Myope, 
 Broad as all ocean and leanin' mankin'ards. 
 
 Heart that was big as the bowels of Vesuvius, 
 Words that were wing'd as her sparks in eruption^ 
 Eagled and thundered as Jupiter Pluvius, 
 Sound in your wind past all signs o' corruption. 
 14 
 
Here 's to you, Old Hippety-hop o' the accents, Mesmer- 
 True to the Truth's sake and crafty dissector, ism 
 
 You grabbed at the gold sure; had no need to pack 
 
 cents 
 Into your versicles. 
 
 Clear sight's elector ! 
 
 FAMAM LIBROSQUE CANO 
 
 YOUR songs? 
 Oh ! The little mothers 
 Will sing them in the twilight, 
 And when the night 
 Shrinketh the kiss of the dawn 
 That loves and kills, 
 What time the swallow fills 
 Her note, the little rabbit folk 
 That some call children, 
 Such as are up and wide 
 Will laugh your verses to each other, 
 Pulling on their shoes for the day's business, 
 Serious child business that the world 
 Laughs at, and grows stale; 
 Such is the tale 
 Part of it of thy song-life. 
 
 Mine? 
 
 A book is known by them that read 
 That same. Thy public in my screed 
 Is listed. Well ! Some score years hence 
 Behold mine audience, 
 As we had seen him yesterday. 
 15 
 
Famam Scrawny, be-spectacled, out at heels, 
 
 Such an one as the wor ! d feels 
 A sort of curse against its guzzling 
 
 And its age-lasting wallow for red greed 
 
 And yet, full speed 
 
 Though it should run for its own getting, 
 
 Will turn aside to sneer at 
 
 'Cause he hath 
 
 No coin, no will to snatch the aftermath 
 
 Of Mammon. 
 
 Such an one as women draw away from 
 
 For the tobacco ashes scattered on his coat 
 
 And sith his throat 
 
 Show razor's unfamiliarity 
 
 And three days' beard: 
 
 Such an one picking a ragged 
 Backless copy from the stall, 
 Too cheap for cataloguing, 
 Loquitur, 
 
 "Ah-eh! the strange rare name . . . 
 Ah-eh ! He must be rare if even / have not 
 And lost mid -page 
 Such age 
 
 As his pardons the habit, 
 He analyzes form and thought to see 
 How I 'scaped immortality. 
 
 16 
 
TEMPORE SENECTUTIS 
 
 OR we are old 
 And the earth passion dieth; 
 We have watched him die a thousand times, 
 When he wanes an old wind crieth, 
 
 For we are old 
 
 And passion hath died for us a thousand times 
 But we grew never weary. 
 
 Memory faileth, as the lotus-loved chimes 
 Sink into fluttering of wind, 
 But we grow never weary 
 For we are old. 
 
 The strange night-wonder of your eyes 
 Dies not, though passion flieth 
 
 Along the star fields of Arcturus 
 And is no more unto our hands; 
 
 My lips are cold 
 
 And yet we twain are never weary, 
 And the strange night-wonder is upon us, 
 The leaves hold our wonder in their flutterings, 
 The wind fills our mouths with strange words 
 For our wonder that grows not old. 
 
 The moth-hour of our day is upon us 
 
 Holding the dawn; 
 
 There is strange Night-wonder in our eyes 
 Because the Moth-Hour leadeth the dawn 
 As a maiden, holding her fingers, 
 The rosy, slender fingers of the dawn." 
 17 
 
In Tem- He saith: "Red spears bore the warrior dawn 
 
 Of old 
 nectutis. OA , T , **: 
 
 Strange! Love, hast thou forgotten 
 
 The red spears of the dawn, 
 The pennants of the morning?" 
 
 She saith: "Nay, I remember, but now 
 
 Cometh the Dawn, and the Moth-Hour 
 Together with him ; softly 
 For we are old." 
 
 CAMARADERIE 
 
 " E tuttogite to fosse a la cantpagnia di molti, quanta alia vista" 
 
 SOMETIMES I feel thy cheek against my face 
 Close-pressing, soft as is the South's first breath 
 That all the subtle earth-things summoneth 
 To spring in wood-land and in meadow space. 
 
 Yea sometimes in a bustling man -filled place 
 Meseemeth some-wise thy hair wandereth 
 Across mine eyes, as mist that halloweth 
 The air awhile and giveth all things grace. 
 
 Or on still evenings when the rain falls close 
 There comes a tremor in the drops, and fast 
 My pulses run, knowing thy thought hath passed 
 That beareth thee as doth the wind a rose. 
 18 
 
FOR E. McC. 
 
 THAT WAS MY COUNTER-BLADE UNDER LEONARDO 
 TERRONE, MASTER OF FENCE 
 
 i~* ONE while your tastes were keen to you, 
 \J Gone where the grey winds call to you, 
 By that high fencer, even Death, 
 Struck of the blade that no man parrieth; 
 Such is your fence, one saith, 
 
 One that hath known you. 
 Drew you your sword most gallantly, 
 Made you your pass most valiantly 
 
 'Gainst that grey fencer, even Death. 
 
 Gone as a gust of breath 
 
 Faith ! no man tarrieth, 
 
 "Se il cor ti manca" but it failed thee not! 
 
 "Non tifidar" it is the sword that speaks 
 
 "In me." 1 
 
 Thou trusted'st in thyself and met the blade 
 Thout mask or gauntlet, and art laid 
 As memorable broken blades that be 
 Kept as bold trophies of old pageantry. 
 As old Toledos past their days of war 
 Are kept mnemonic of the strokes they bore, 
 So art thou with us, being good to keep 
 In our heart's sword-rack, though thy sword-arm 
 sleep. 
 
 ENVOI 
 
 Struck of the blade that no man parrieth, 
 Pierced of the point that toucheth lastly all, 
 'Gainst that grey fencer, even Death, 
 Behold the shield ! He shall not take thee all. 
 
 1 Sword-rune, " If thy heart fail thee trust not in me." 
 19 
 
BALLAD FOR GLOOM 
 
 FOR God, our God, is a gallant foe 
 That playeth behind the veil. 
 
 I have loved my God as a child at heart 
 That seeketh deep bosoms for rest, 
 I have loved my God as maid to man, 
 But lo, this thing is best: 
 
 To love your God as a gallant foe 
 
 that plays behind the veil, 
 
 To meet your God as the night winds meet 
 beyond Arcturus' pale. 
 
 I have played with God for a woman, 
 I have staked with my God for truth, 
 I have lost to my God as a man, clear eyed; 
 His dice be not of ruth. 
 
 For I am made as a naked blade, 
 But hear ye this thing in sooth : 
 
 Who loseth to God as man to man 
 Shall win at the turn of the game. 
 
 I have drawn my blade where the lightnings meet 
 
 But the ending is the same: 
 
 Who loseth to God as the sword blades lose 
 Shall win at the end of the game. 
 
 For God, our God, is a gallant foe 
 
 that playeth behind the veil, 
 
 Whom God deigns not to overthrow 
 
 hath need of triple mail. 
 20 
 
AT THE HEART O' ME 
 A.D. 751 
 
 WITH ever one fear at the heart o j me 
 Long by still sea-coasts 
 
 coursed my Grey-Falcon, 
 And the twin delights 
 
 of shore and sea were mine, 
 Sapphire and emerald with 
 fine pearls between. 
 
 Through the pale courses of 
 
 the land-caressing in-streams 
 Glided my barge and 
 
 the kindly strange peoples 
 Gave to me laugh for laugh, 
 
 and wine for my tales of wandering. 
 And the cities gave me welcome 
 
 and the fields free passage, 
 With ever one fear 
 
 at the heart o j me. 
 
 An thou should'st grow weary 
 
 ere my returning, 
 An "they" should call to thee 
 
 from out the borderland, 
 What should avail me 
 
 booty of whale-ways? 
 What should avail me 
 
 gold rings or the chain-mail? 
 What should avail me 
 
 the many-twined bracelets? 
 What should avail me, 
 
 O my beloved, 
 
 21 
 
At the Here in this "Middan-gard" * 
 ^ g |j what should avail me 
 
 Out of the booty and 
 
 gain of my goings? 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 From " A Lume Spento." 
 
 T STOOD still and was a tree amid the wood, 
 A Knowing the truth of things unseen before; 
 Of Daphne and the laurel bow 
 And that god-feasting couple old 
 That grew elm-oak amid the wold. 
 'T was not until the gods had been 
 Kindly entreated, and been brought within 
 Unto the hearth of their heart's home 
 That they might do this wonder thing; 
 Nathless I have been a tree amid the wood 
 And many a new thing understood 
 That was rank folly to my head before. 
 
 AN IDYL FOR GLAUCUS 
 
 Nel suo aspetto tal dentro mifei 
 
 gualsife"* Glauco nel gustar del? erba 
 he ilfe* consorto in mar degli altri dei* 
 PARADISO, i, 67-9. 
 
 "As Glaucus tasting the grass that made 
 hint sea-fellow with the other gods." 
 
 I 
 
 WHITHER he went I may not follow him. 
 His eyes 
 
 Were strange to-day. They always were, 
 After their fashion, kindred of the sea. 
 
 i Anglo-Saxon, "Earth." 
 22 
 
To-day I found him. It was very long An Idyl 
 
 That I had sought among the nets, and when I 
 
 asked 
 
 The fishermen, they laughed at me. 
 I sought long days amid the cliffs thinking to find 
 The body-house of him, and then 
 There at the blue cave-mouth my joy 
 Grew pain for suddenness, to see him 'live. 
 Whither he went I may not come, it seems 
 He is become estranged from all the rest, 
 And all the sea is now his wonder-house. 
 And he may sink unto strange depths, he tells me of, 
 That have no light as we it deem. 
 E'en now he speaks strange words. I did not know 
 One half the substance of his speech with me. 
 And then when I saw naught he sudden leaped, 
 And shot, a gleam of silver, down, away. 
 And I have spent three days upon this rock 
 And yet he comes no more. 
 He did not even seem to know 
 I watched him gliding through the vitreous deep. 
 
 n 
 
 They chide me that the skein I used to spin 
 
 Holds not my interest now, 
 
 They mock me at the route. Well, I have come 
 
 again. 
 
 Last night I saw three white forms move, 
 Out past the utmost wave that bears the white foam 
 
 crest. 
 
 I somehow knew that he was one of them. 
 23 
 
An Idyl Oime, Oime! I think each time they come 
 
 ^Glaucus ^P * rom t ^ ie sea ^ eart to our rea ^ m f a* 1 " 
 They are more far-removed from the shore. 
 
 When first I found him here, he slept 
 
 E'en as he might after a long night's taking on the 
 
 deep, 
 
 And when he woke some whit the old kind smile 
 Dwelt round his lips and held him near to me. 
 But then strange gleams shot through the grey-deep 
 
 eyes 
 
 As though he saw beyond and saw not me, 
 And when he moved to speak it troubled him. 
 And then he plucked at grass and bade me eat. 
 And then forgot me for the sea its charm 
 And leapt him in the wave and so was gone. 
 
 in 
 
 I wonder why he mocked me with the grass. 
 I know not any more how long it is 
 Since I have dwelt not in my mother's house. 
 I know they think me mad, for all night long 
 I haunt the sea-marge, thinking I may find 
 Some day the herb he offered unto me. 
 Perhaps he did not jest ; they say some simples have 
 More wide-spanned power than old wives draw 
 
 from them. 
 
 Perhaps, found I this grass, he 'd come again. 
 Perhaps 't is some strange charm to draw him here, 
 'Thout which he may not leave his new-found crew 
 That ride the two-foot coursers of the deep, 
 And laugh in storms and break the fishers' nets. 
 Oime, Oime! 
 
 24 
 
SONG An Idyl 
 
 for 
 Voices in the Wind. Glaucus 
 
 We have worn the blue and vair, 
 
 And all the sea-caves 
 
 Know us of old, and know our new-found mate. 
 
 There 's many a secret stair 
 
 The sea-folk climb . . . 
 
 Out of the Wind. 
 Oime, Oime ! 
 
 I wonder why the wind, even the wind doth seem 
 
 To mock me now, all night, all night, and 
 
 I have strayed among the cliffs here. 
 
 They say, some day I '11 fall 
 
 Down through the sea-bit fissures, and no more 
 
 Know the warm cloak of sun, or bathe 
 
 The dew across my tired eyes to comfort them. 
 
 They try to keep me hid within four walls. 
 
 I will not stay ! 
 
 Oime! 
 And the wind saith, " Oime ! " 
 
 I am quite tired now. 
 
 I know the grass 
 
 Must grow somewhere along this Thracian coast, 
 If only he would come some little while and find 
 it me. 
 
 ENDETH THE LAMENT FOR GLAUCUS 
 25 
 
MARVOIL 1 
 
 A POOR clerk I, "Arnaut the less" they call me, 
 And because I have small mind to sit 
 Day long, long day cooped on a stool t 
 
 A-jumbling o' figures for Maitre Jacques Polin, 
 I ha' taken to rambling the South here. 
 
 The Vicomte of Beziers 's not such a bad lot. 
 
 I made rimes to his lady this three year: 
 
 Vers and canzone, till that damn'd son of Aragon, 
 
 Alfonso the half-bald, took to hanging 
 
 His helmet at Beziers. 
 
 Then came what might come, to wit: three men and 
 
 one woman, 
 
 Beziers off at Mont-Ausier, I and his lady 
 Singing the stars in the turrets of Beziers, 
 And one lean Aragonese cursing the seneschal 
 To the end that you see, friends: 
 
 Aragon cursing in Aragon, Beziers busy at Beziers 
 
 Bored to an inch of extinction, 
 
 Tibors all tongue and temper at Mont-Ausier, 
 
 Me ! in this damn'd inn of Avignon, 
 
 Stringing long verse for the Burlatz; 
 
 All for one half-bald, knock-knee'd king of the 
 
 Aragonese, 
 Alfonso, Quatro, poke-nose. 
 
 And if when I am dead 
 They take the trouble to tear out this wall here, 
 They '11 know more of Arnaut of Marvoil 
 Than half his canzoni say of him. 
 
 1 See note at end of volume. 
 26 
 
As for will and testament I leave none, Marvoil 
 
 Save this: "Vers and canzone to the Countess of 
 
 Beziers 
 
 In return for the first kiss she gave me." 
 May her eyes and her cheek be fair 
 To all men except the King of Aragon, 
 And may I come speedily to Beziers 
 Whither my desire and my dream have preceded 
 
 me. 
 
 O hole in the wall here ! be thou my jongleur 
 As ne'er had I other, and when the wind blows, 
 Sing thou the grace of the Lady of Beziers, 
 For even as thou art hollow before I fill thee with 
 
 this parchment, 
 
 So is my heart hollow when she filleth not mine eyes, 
 And so were my mind hollow, did she not fill utterly 
 
 my thought. 
 
 Wherefore, O hole in the wall here, 
 
 When the wind blows sigh thou for my sorrow 
 
 That I have not the Countess of Beziers 
 
 Close in my arms here. 
 
 Even as thou shalt soon have this parchment. 
 
 O hole in the wall here, be thou my jongleur, 
 And though thou sighest my sorrow in the wind, 
 Keep yet my secret in thy breast here; 
 Even as I keep her image in my heart here. 
 
 M ihi pergamena deest. 
 27 
 
i 
 
 IN THE OLD AGE OF THE SOUL 
 
 DO not choose to dream; there cometh on me 
 Some strange old lust for deeds. 
 As to the nerveless hand of some old warrior 
 The sword-hilt or the war-worn wonted helmet 
 Brings momentary life and long-fled cunning, 
 So to my soul grown old 
 Grown old with many a jousting, many a foray, 
 Grown old with many a hither-coming and hence- 
 going 
 
 Till now they send him dreams and no more deed ; 
 So doth he flame again with might for action, 
 Forgetful of the council of the elders, 
 Forgetful that who rules doth no more battle, 
 Forgetful that such might no more cleaves to him; 
 So doth he flame again toward valiant doing. 
 
 REVOLT 
 
 AGAINST THE CREPUSCULAR SPIRIT IN MODERN 
 POETRY 
 
 I WOULD shake off the lethargy of this our time, 
 and give 
 
 For shadows shapes of power, 
 For dreams men. 
 
 "It is better to dream than do?" 
 
 Aye! and, No! 
 28 
 
Aye ! if we dream great deeds, strong men, Revolt 
 
 Hearts hot, thoughts mighty. 
 
 No ! if we dream pale flowers, 
 Slow-moving pageantry of hours that languidly 
 Drop as o'er-ripened fruit from sallow trees. 
 If so we live and die not life but dreams, 
 Great God, grant life in dreams, 
 Not dalliance, but life ! 
 
 Let us be men that dream, 
 
 Not cowards, dabblers, waiters 
 
 For dead Time to reawaken and grant balm 
 
 For ills unnamed. 
 
 Great God, if we be damn'd to be not men but only 
 
 dreams, 
 Then tet us be such dreams the world shall tremble 
 
 at 
 
 And know we be its rulers though but dreams ! 
 Then let us be such shadows as the world shall 
 
 tremble at 
 And know we be its masters though but shadow ! 
 
 High God, if men are grown but pale sick 
 
 phantoms 
 That must live only in these mists and tempered 
 
 lights 
 
 And tremble for dim hours that knock o'er loud 
 Or tread too violent in passing them; 
 29 
 
Revolt Great God, if these thy sons are grown such thin 
 
 ephemera, 
 
 I bid thee grapple chaos and beget 
 Some new titanic spawn to pile the hills and stir 
 This earth again. 
 
 AND THUS IN NINEVEH 
 
 YE ! I am a poet and upon my tomb 
 
 Shall maidens scatter rose leaves 
 And men myrtles, ere the night 
 Slays day with her dark sword. 
 
 "Lo! this thing is not mine 
 
 Nor thine to hinder, 
 
 For the custom is full old, 
 
 And here in Nineveh have I beheld 
 
 Many a singer pass and take his place 
 
 In those dim halls where no man troubleth 
 
 His sleep or song. 
 
 And many a one hath sung his songs 
 
 More craftily, more subtle-souled than I; 
 
 And many a one now doth surpass 
 
 My wave-worn beauty with his wind of flowers, 
 
 Yet am I poet, and upon my tomb 
 
 Shall all men scatter rose leaves ere the night 
 
 Slay light with her blue sword. 
 
 "It is not, Raana, that my song rings highest 
 Or more sweet in tone than any, but that I 
 Am here a Poet, that doth drink of life 
 As lesser men drink wine." 
 30 
 
i 
 
 THE WHITE STAG 
 
 HA* seen them mid the clouds on the heather. 
 
 Lo! they pause not for love nor for sorrow, 
 Yet their eyes are as the eyes of a maid to her lover, 
 When the white hart breaks his cover 
 And the white wind breaks the morn. 
 
 " 'T is the white stag, Fame, we 're a-hunting, 
 Bid the world's hounds come to horn!" 
 
 PICCADILLY 
 
 BEAUTIFUL, tragical faces, 
 Ye that were whole, and are so sunken; 
 And, O ye vile, ye that might have been loved, 
 That are so sodden and drunken, 
 
 Who hath forgotten you? 
 
 O wistful, fragile faces, few out of many! 
 
 The gross, the coarse, the brazen, 
 
 God knows I cannot pity them, perhaps, as I should 
 
 do, 
 But, oh, ye delicate, wistful faces, 
 
 Who hath forgotten you? 
 
EXULTATIONS 
 
/ am an eternal spirit and the things I make are 
 but ephemera, yet I endure: 
 Yea, and the little earth crumbles beneath our feet 
 and we endure. 
 
TO CARLOS TRACY CHESTER 
 
NIGHT LITANY 
 
 o 
 
 DIEU, purifiez nos coeurs! 
 Purifiez nos coeurs! 
 
 Yea, the lines hast thou laid unto me 
 in pleasant places, 
 
 And the beauty of this thy Venice 
 
 hast thou shown unto me 
 
 Until is its loveliness become unto me 
 a thing of tears. 
 
 O God, what great kindness 
 
 have we done in times past 
 
 and forgotten it, 
 That thou givest this wonder unto us, 
 
 O God of waters? 
 
 O God of the night, 
 
 What great sorrow 
 Cometh unto us, 
 
 That thou thus repayest us 
 Before the time of its coming? 
 
 O God of silence, 
 
 Purifiez nos coeurs, 
 Purifiez nos coeurs, 
 For we have seen 
 The glory of the shadow of the 
 likeness of thine handmaid, 
 Yea, the glory of the shadow 
 of thy Beauty hath walked 
 37 
 
Night Upon the shadow of the waters 
 Litany In this thy Venice. 
 
 And before the holiness 
 Of the shadow of thy handmaid 
 Have I hidden mine eyes, 
 O God of waters. 
 
 O God of silence, 
 
 Purifiez nos coeurs, 
 
 Purifiez nos coeurs, 
 O God of waters, 
 
 make clean our hearts within us 
 And our lips to show forth thy praise, 
 
 For I have seen the 
 Shadow of this thy Venice 
 Floating upon the waters, 
 
 And thy stars 
 
 Have seen this thing, out of their far courses 
 Have they seen this thing, 
 
 O God of waters, 
 Even as are thy stars 
 Silent unto us in their far-coursing, 
 Even so is mine heart 
 
 become silent within me. 
 
 Purifiez nos cosurs, 
 O God of the silence, 
 
 Purifiez nos coeurs, 
 O God of waters. 
 
SESTINA: ALTAFORTE 
 
 LOQUITUR : En Bertrans de Born. 
 
 Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer-up 
 
 of strife. 
 
 Eccovi ! 
 
 Judge ye ! 
 
 Have I dug him up again ? 
 
 The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. " Papiols " is his jongleur. 
 
 The " Leopard," the device of Richard (Coeur de Lion). 
 
 DAMN it all ! all this our South stinks peace. 
 You whoreson dog, Papiols, come ! Let 's to 
 
 music! 
 
 I have no life save when the swords clash. 
 But ah ! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, 
 
 opposing 
 
 And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson, 
 Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing. 
 
 In hot summer have I great rejoicing 
 When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace, 
 And the lightnings from black heav'n flash crimson, 
 And the fierce thunders roar me their music 
 And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, op- 
 posing, 
 And through all the riven skies God's swords clash. 
 
 m 
 
 Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash ! 
 And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, 
 Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing/ 
 39 
 
Sestina: Better one hour's stour than a year's peace 
 Altaforte with fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music! 
 Bah ! there 's no wine like the blood's crimson ! 
 
 IV 
 
 And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson. 
 And I watch his spears through the dark clash 
 And it fills all my heart with rejoicing 
 And pries wide my mouth with fast music 
 When I see him so scorn and defy peace, 
 His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing. 
 
 The man who fears war and squats opposing 
 My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson, 
 But is fit only to rot in womanish peace 
 Far from where worth 's won and the swords clash 
 For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing; 
 Yea, I fill all the air with my music. 
 
 VI 
 
 Papiols, Papiols, to the music ! 
 
 There 's no sound like to swords swords opposing, 
 
 No cry like the battle's rejoicing 
 
 When our elbows and swords drip the crimson 
 
 And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush 
 
 clash. 
 May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace!" 
 
 vn 
 
 And let the music of the swords make them crimson ! 
 Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash ! 
 Hell blot black for alway the thought "Peace!" 
 40 
 
BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE 1 
 
 SIMON ZELOTES SPEAKETH IT SOMEWHILE AFTER 
 THE CRUCIFIXION 
 
 FA' we lost the goodliest fere o' all 
 
 L For the priests and the gallows tree? 
 
 Aye lover he was of brawny men, 
 O' ships and the open sea. 
 
 When they came wi' a host to take Our Man 
 His smile was good to see, 
 "First let these go!" quo' our Goodly Fere, 
 "Or I '11 see ye damned," says he. 
 
 Aye he sent us out through the crossed high spears 
 And the scorn of his laugh rang free, 
 "Why took ye not me when I walked about 
 Alone in the town?" says he. 
 
 Oh we drank his "Hale" in the good red wine 
 
 When we last made company, 
 
 No capon priest was the Goodly Fere, 
 
 But a man o' men was he. 
 
 I ha* seen him drive a hundred men 
 Wi' a bundle o j cords swung free, 
 That they took the high and holy house 
 For their pawn and treasury. 
 
 They '11 no' get him a' in a book, I think, 
 Though they write it cunningly; 
 No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere, 
 But aye loved the open sea. 
 
 1 Fere=s Mate, Companion. 
 41 
 
Ballad of If they think they ha' snared our Goodly Fere 
 the Goodly They are {QQ]B tQ ^ ^ degree 
 
 "I '11 go to the feast," quo' our Goodly Fere, 
 "Though I go to the gallows tree." 
 
 "Ye ha' seen me heal the lame and blind, 
 And wake the dead," says he, 
 "Ye shall see one thing to master all: 
 'T is how a brave man dies on the tree." 
 
 A son of God was the Goodly Fere 
 That bade us his brothers be. 
 I ha' seen him cow a thousand men. 
 I have seen him upon the tree. 
 
 He cried no cry when they drave the nails 
 And the blood gushed hot and free, 
 The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue 
 But never a cry cried he. 
 
 I ha' seen him cow a thousand men 
 
 On the hills o' Galilee, 
 
 They whined as he walked out calm between, 
 
 Wi' his eyes like the grey o' the sea. 
 
 Like the sea that brooks no voyaging 
 With the winds unleashed and free, 
 Like the sea that he cowed at Genseret 
 Wi' twey words spoke' suddently. 
 42 
 
A master of men was the Goodly Fere, Ballad of 
 
 A mate of the wind and sea, fere 
 
 If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere 
 They are fools eternally. 
 
 I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb 
 Sin' they nailed him to the tree. 
 
 PORTRAIT 
 
 From " La M&re Inconnue." 
 
 NOW would I weave her portrait out of all dim 
 splendour. 
 
 Of Provence and far halls of memory, 
 Lo, there come echoes, faint diversity 
 Of blended bells at even's end, or 
 As the distant seas should send her 
 The tribute of their trembling, ceaselessly 
 Resonant. Out of all dreams that be, 
 Say, shall I bid the deepest dreams attend her? 
 
 Nay ! For I have seen the purplest shadows stand 
 Alway with reverent chere that looked on her, 
 Silence himself is grown her worshipper 
 And ever doth attend her in that land 
 Wherein she reigneth, wherefore let there stir 
 Naught but the softest voices, praising her. 
 
 THE EYES 
 
 REST, Master, for we be a-weary, weary, 
 
 And would feel the fingers of the wind 
 Upon these lids that lie over us 
 Sodden and lead-heavy. 
 
 43 
 
The Eyes Rest, brother, for lo ! the dawn is without ! 
 The yellow flame paleth 
 And the wax runs low. 
 
 Free us, for without be goodly colours, 
 Green of the wood-moss and flower-colours, 
 And coolness beneath the trees. 
 
 Free us, for we perish 
 In this ever-flowing monotony 
 Of ugly print marks, black 
 Upon white parchment. 
 
 Free us, for there is one 
 Whose smile more availeth 
 Than all the age-old knowledge of thy books: 
 And we would look thereon. 
 
 NILS LYKKE 
 
 BEAUTIFUL, infinite memories 
 That are a-plucking at my heart, 
 Why will you be ever calling and a-calling, 
 And a-murmuring in the dark there? 
 And a-reaching out your long hands 
 Between me and my beloved? 
 
 " And why will you be ever a-casting 
 The black shadow of your beauty 
 On the white face of my beloved 
 And a-glinting in the pools of her eyes?" 
 44 
 
"FAIR HELENA" BY RACKHAM 
 
 "What I love best in all the world?" 
 
 WHEN the purple twilight is unbound, 
 To watch her slow, tall grace 
 
 and its wistful loveliness, 
 And to know her face 
 
 is in the shadow there, 
 Just by two stars beneath that cloud 
 The soft, dim cloud of her hair, 
 And to think my voice 
 
 can reach to her 
 
 As but the rumour of some tree-bound stream, 
 Heard just beyond the forest's edge, 
 Until she all forgets I am, 
 And knows of me 
 Naught but my dream's felicity. 
 
 GREEK EPIGRAM 
 
 DAY and night are never weary, 
 Nor yet is God of creating 
 For day and night their torch-bearers, 
 The aube and the crepuscule. 
 
 So, when I weary of praising the dawn and the sun- 
 set, 
 
 Let me be no more counted among the immortals; 
 But number me amid the wearying ones, 
 Let me be a man as the herd, 
 And as the slave that is given in barter. 
 45 
 
N: 
 
 HISTRION 
 
 r O man hath dared to write this thing as yet, 
 i And yet I know, how that the souls of all men 
 
 great 
 
 At times pass through us, 
 And we are melted into them, and are not 
 Save reflexions of their souls. 
 Thus am I Dante for a space and am 
 One Francois Villon, ballad-lord and thief 
 Or am such holy ones I may not write, 
 Lest blasphemy be writ against my name; 
 This for an instant and the flame is gone. 
 
 'T is as in midmost us there glows a sphere 
 Translucent, molten gold, that is the "I" 
 And into this some form projects itself: 
 Christus, or John, or eke the Florentine; 
 And as the clear space is not if a form 's 
 Imposed thereon, 
 
 So cease we from all being for the time, 
 And these, the Masters of the Soul, live on. 
 
 PARACELSUS IN EXCELSIS 
 
 " "DEING no longer human, why should I 
 
 -D Pretend humanity or don the frail attire? 
 Men have I known and men, but never one 
 Was grown so free an essence, or become 
 So simply element as what I am. 
 The mist goes from the mirror and I see ! 
 Behold ! the world of forms is swept beneath 
 46 
 
Turmoil grown visible beneath our peace, Paracel- 
 
 And we that are grown formless rise above, s s if f . 
 
 Fluids intangible that have been men, 
 
 We seem as statues round whose high risen base 
 
 Some overflowing river is run mad; 
 
 In us alone the element of calm ! 
 
 A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER 
 
 In "Los Pastores de Belen." 
 
 From the Spanish of Lope de Vega. 
 
 k S ye go through these palm-trees, 
 
 A s 
 
 O holy angels; 
 Sith sleepeth my child here 
 Still ye the branches. 
 
 O Bethlehem palm-trees 
 That move to the anger 
 Of winds in their fury, 
 Tempestuous voices, 
 Make ye no clamour, 
 Run ye less swiftly, 
 Sith sleepeth the child here 
 Still ye your branches. 
 
 He the divine child 
 
 Is here a-wearied 
 
 Of weeping the earth-pain, 
 
 Here for his rest would he 
 
 Cease from his mourning, 
 
 47 
 
A Song o/Only a little while, 
 **f V, ir8in Sith sleepeth this child here 
 Stay ye the branches. 
 
 Cold be the fierce winds, 
 Treacherous round him. 
 Ye see that I have not 
 Wherewith to guard him, 
 O angels, divine ones 
 That pass us a-flying, 
 Sith sleepeth my child here 
 Stay ye the branches. 
 
 Ya veis que no tengo 
 Con que guardarlo, 
 O angeles santos 
 Que vais volando 
 For que duerme mi nino 
 Tened los ramos! 
 
 SONG 
 
 LOVE thou thy dream 
 All base love scorning, 
 Love thou the wind 
 And here take warning 
 That dreams alone can truly be, 
 For 't is in dream I come to thee. 
 48 
 
PLANH FOR THE YOUNG ENGLISH KING 
 
 THAT IS, PRINCE HENRY PLANTAGENET, ELDER 
 BROTHER TO RICHARD "CCEUR DE LION " 
 
 From the Provengal of Bertrans de Born, " Si tuitli dolelhplor 
 elk marrimen" 
 
 IF all the grief and woe and bitterness, 
 All dolour, ill and every evil chance 
 That ever came upon this grieving world 
 Were set together, they would seem but light 
 Against the death of the young English King. 
 Worth lieth riven and Youth dolorous, 
 The world o'ershadowed, soiled and overcast, 
 Void of all joy and full of ire and sadness. 
 
 Grieving and sad and full of bitterness 
 
 Are left in teen the liegemen courteous, 
 
 The joglars supple and the troubadours. 
 
 O'er much hath ta'en Sir Death, that deadly warrior, 
 
 In taking from them the young English King, 
 
 Who made the freest hand seem covetous. 
 
 'Las ! Never was nor will be in this world 
 
 The balance for this loss in ire and sadness ! 
 
 O skilful Death and full of bitterness, 
 Well mayst thou boast that thou the best chevalier 
 That any folk e'er had, hast from us taken; 
 Sith nothing is that unto worth pertaineth 
 But had its life in the young English King, 
 And better were it, should God grant his pleasure 
 That he should live than many a living dastard 
 That doth but wound the good with ire and sadness. 
 49 
 
Planh for From this faint world, now full of bitterness 
 
 EnJlisT* Love takes his wa ^ and holds his J oy deceitful > 
 King Sith no thing is but turneth unto anguish 
 
 And each to-day Vails less than yestere'en, 
 Let each man visage this young English King 
 That was most valiant mid all worthiest men ! 
 Gone is his body fine and amorous, 
 Whence have we grief, discord and deepest sadness. 
 
 Him, whom it pleased for our great bitterness 
 To come to earth to draw us from misventure, 
 Who drank of death for our salvacioun, 
 Him do we pray as to a Lord most righteous 
 And humble eke, that the young English King 
 He please to pardon, as true pardon is, 
 And bid go in with honoured companions 
 There where there is no grief, nor shall be sadness. 
 
 ALBA INNOMINATA 
 
 From the Provencal. 
 
 FN a garden where the whitethorn spreads her 
 
 r 
 
 leaves 
 
 My lady hath her love lain close beside her, 
 Till the warder cries the dawn Ah dawn that 
 
 grieves ! 
 
 Ah God ! Ah God ! That dawn should come so 
 soon! 
 
 50 
 
" Please God that night, dear night, should never Alba In- 
 cease, nominata 
 
 Nor that my love should parted be from me, 
 
 Nor watch cry 'Dawn' Ah dawn that slayeth 
 peace! 
 
 Ah God ! Ah God ! That dawn should come so 
 soon! 
 
 "Fair friend and sweet, thy lips ! Our lips again 
 Lo, in the meadow there the birds give song ! 
 Ours be the love and Jealousy's the pain ! 
 Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so 
 soon! 
 
 "Sweet friend and fair, take we our joy again 
 Down in the garden, where the birds are loud, 
 Till the warder's reed astrain 
 Cry God! Ah God! That dawn should come so 
 soon! 
 
 " Of that sweet wind that comes from Far-Away 
 Have I drunk deep of my Beloved's breath, 
 Yea ! of my Love's that is so dear and gay. 
 Ah God ! Ah God ! That dawn should come so 
 soon!" 
 
 Envoi 
 
 Fair is this damsel and right courteous, 
 And many watch her beauty's gracious ways. 
 Her heart toward love is no wise traitorous. 
 Ah God! Ah God! That dawn should come so 
 soon! 
 
LAUD ANTES 
 
 w 
 
 HEN your beauty is grown old in all men's 
 
 And my poor words are lost amid that throng, 
 Then you will know the truth of my poor words, 
 And mayhap dreaming of the wistful throng 
 That hopeless sigh your praises in their songs, 
 You will think kindly then of these mad words. 
 
 I am torn, torn with thy beauty, 
 
 O Rose of the sharpest thorn ! 
 
 O Rose of the crimson beauty, 
 
 Why hast thou awakened the sleeper? 
 
 Why hast thou awakened the heart within me, 
 
 O Rose of the crimson thorn? 
 
 The unappeasable loveliness 
 
 is calling to me out of the wind, 
 And because your name 
 
 is written upon the ivory doors, 
 The wave in my heart is as a green wave, unconfined, 
 Tossing the white foam toward you; 
 And the lotus that pours 
 Her fragrance into the purple cup 
 Is more to be gained with the foam 
 Than are you with these words of mine. 
 52 
 
IV Laudantes 
 
 He speaks to the moonlight concerning the Beloved. 
 
 Pale hair that the moon has shaken 
 Down over the dark breast of the sea, 
 
 magic her beauty has shaken 
 About the heart of me; 
 
 Out of you have I woven a dream 
 That shall walk in the lonely vale 
 Betwixt the high hill and the low hill, 
 Until the pale stream 
 Of the souls of men quench and grow still. 
 
 v 
 
 Voices speaking to the sun. 
 
 Red leaf that art blown upward and out and over 
 
 The green sheaf of the world, 
 
 And through the dim forest and under 
 
 The shadowed arches and the aisles, 
 
 We, who are older than thou art, 
 
 Met and remembered when his eyes beheld her 
 
 In the garden of the peach-trees, 
 
 In the day of the blossoming. 
 
 VI 
 
 1 stood on the hill of Yrma 
 
 when the winds were a-hurrying, 
 With the grasses a-bending 
 
 I followed them, 
 Through the brown grasses of Ahva 
 
 unto the green of Asedon. 
 53 
 
Laudantes I have rested with the voices 
 
 in the gardens of Ahthor, 
 I have lain beneath the peach-trees 
 
 in the hour of the purple: 
 
 Because I had awaited in 
 
 the garden of the peach-trees, 
 Because I had feared not 
 
 in the forest of my mind, 
 Mine eyes beheld the vision of the blossom 
 There in the peach-gardens past Asedon. 
 
 winds of Yrma, let her again come unto me, 
 Whose hair ye held unbound in the gardens of 
 
 Ahthor! 
 
 vn 
 
 Because of the beautiful white shoulders and the 
 rounded breasts 
 
 1 can in no wise forget my beloved of the peach- 
 
 trees, 
 And the little winds that speak when the dawn is 
 
 unfurled 
 And the rose-colour in the grey oak-leaf's fold 
 
 When it first comes, and the glamour that rests 
 On the little streams in the evening; all of these 
 Call me to her, and all the loveliness in the world 
 Binds me to my beloved with strong chains of gold. 
 
 vm 
 
 If the rose-petals which have fallen upon my eyes 
 And if the perfect faces which I see at times 
 54 
 
When my eyes are closed Laudantei 
 
 Faces fragile, pale, yet flushed a little, like petals of 
 
 roses : 
 
 If these things have confused my memories of her 
 So that I could not draw her face 
 Even if I had skill and the colours, 
 Yet because her face is so like these things 
 They but draw me nearer unto her in my thought 
 And thoughts of her come upon my mind gently, 
 As dew upon the petals of roses. 
 
 DC 
 
 He speaks to the rain. 
 
 O pearls that hang on your little silver chains, 
 The innumerable voices that are whispering 
 Among you as you are drawn aside by the wind, 
 Have brought to my mind the soft and eager speech 
 Of one who hath great loveliness, 
 
 Which is subtle as the beauty of the rains 
 That hang low in the moonshine and bring 
 The May softly among us, and unbind 
 The streams and the crimson and white flowers and 
 
 reach 
 Deep down into the secret places. 
 
 x 
 
 The glamour of the soul hath come upon me, 
 And as the twilight comes upon the roses, 
 55 
 
Laudantes Walking silently among them, 
 
 So have the thoughts of my heart 
 Gone out slowly in the twilight 
 Toward my beloved, 
 Toward the crimson rose, the fairest. 
 
 PLANH 
 
 It is of the white thoughts that he saw in the Forest. 
 
 WHITE Poppy, heavy with dreams, 
 O White Poppy, who art wiser than love, 
 Though I am hungry for their lips 
 When I see them a-hiding 
 And a-passing out and in through the shadows 
 
 There in the pine wood it is, 
 And they are white, White Poppy, 
 
 They are white like the clouds in the forest of the 
 
 sky 
 Ere the stars arise to their hunting. 
 
 White Poppy, who art wiser than love, 
 
 1 am come for peace, yea from the hunting 
 Am I come to thee for peace. 
 
 Out of a new sorrow it is, 
 
 That my hunting hath brought me. 
 
 White Poppy, heavy with dreams, 
 Though I am hungry for their lips 
 When I see them a-hiding 
 And a-passing out and in through the shadows 
 
 And it is white they are 
 
 56 
 
But if one should look at me with the old hunger in Plank 
 
 her eyes, 
 How will I be answering her eyes? 
 
 For I have followed the white folk of the forest. 
 
 Aye ! It 's a long hunting 
 
 And it 's a deep hunger I have when I see them 
 
 a-gliding 
 And a-flickering there, where the trees stand apart. 
 
 But oh, it is sorrow and sorrow 
 When love dies-down in the heart. 
 
 57 
 
CANZONIERE 
 
 STUDIES IN FORM 
 i 
 
" Ma qui la morta poesi risurga." 
 
TO OLIVIA AND DOROTHY SHAKESPEAR 
 
OCTAVE 
 
 FINE songs, fair songs, these golden usuries 
 Her beauty earns as but just increment, 
 And they do speak with a most ill intent 
 Who say they give when they pay debtor's fees. 
 
 I call him bankrupt in the courts of song 
 Who hath her gold to eye and pays her not, 
 Defaulter do I call the knave who hath got 
 Her silver in his heart and doth her wrong. 
 
 SONNET IN TENZONE 
 
 LA MENTE 
 
 THOU mocked heart that cowerest by the door 
 And durst not honour hope with welcoming, 
 How shall one bid thee for her honour sing, 
 When song would but show forth thy sorrow's 
 
 store? 
 
 What things are gold and ivory unto thee? 
 Go forth, thou pauper fool ! Are these for naught? 
 Is heaven in lotus leaves ? What hast thou wrought, 
 Or brought, or sought wherewith to pay the fee?" 
 
 IL CUORE 
 
 "If naught I give, naught do I take return. 
 * Ronsard me celebroit! ' behold I give 
 The age-old, age-old fare to fairer fair 
 And I fare forth into more bitter air; 
 Though mocked I go, yet shall her beauty live 
 Till rimes unrime and Truth shall truth unlearn." 
 63 
 
: 
 
 SONNET 
 
 IF on the tally-board of wasted days 
 They daily write me for proud idleness, 
 Let high Hell summons me, and I confess, 
 No overt act the preferred charge allays. 
 
 To-day I thought what boots it what I thought? 
 Poppies and gold ! Why should I blurt it out? 
 Or hawk the magic of her name about 
 Deaf doors and dungeons where no truth is brought ? 
 
 Who calls me idle? I have thought of her. 
 Who calls me idle? By God's truth I 've seen 
 The arrowy sunlight in her golden snares. 
 
 Let him among you all stand summonser 
 
 Who hath done better things ! Let whoso hath been 
 
 With worthier works concerned, display his wares ! 
 
 CANZON: THE YEARLY SLAIN 
 
 (Written in reply to Manning's "Kor^k") .^9 ^-<-j ^-*? 
 " Et huiusmodi stantiae usus est fere in omnibus cantionibus suis 
 A rnaldus Danielis et nos eum. secut, sumus. 
 DANTE, De Vulgari Eloquio, II. 10.) 
 
 AH! red -leafed time hath driven out the rose 
 And crimson dew is fallen on the leaf 
 Ere ever yet the cold white wheat be sown 
 That hideth all earth's green and sere and red ; 
 64 
 
The Moon-flower 's fallen and the branch is bare, Canzon: 
 Holding no honey for the starry bees; Fear/y 
 
 The Maiden turns to her dark lord's demesne. slain 
 
 Fairer than Enna's field when Ceres sows 
 The stars of hyacinth and puts off grief, 
 Fairer than petals on May morning blown 
 Through apple-orchards where the sun hath shed 
 His brighter petals down to make them fair; 
 Fairer than these the Poppy-crowned One flees, 
 And Joy goes weeping in her scarlet train. 
 
 m 
 
 The faint damp wind that, ere the even, blows 
 Piling the west with many a tawny sheaf, 
 Then when the last glad wavering hours are mown 
 Sigheth and dies because the day is sped; 
 This wind is like her and the listless air 
 Wherewith she goeth by beneath the trees, 
 The trees that mock her with their scarlet stain. 
 
 IV 
 
 Love that is born of Time and comes and goes ! 
 Love that doth hold all noble hearts in fief! 
 As red leaves follow where the wind hath flown, 
 So all men follow Love when Love is dead. 
 O Fate of Wind ! O Wind that cannot spare, 
 But drivest out the Maid, and pourest lees 
 Of all thy crimson on the wold again, 
 65 
 
Kore my heart is, let it stand sans gloze ! 
 Love's pain is long, and lo, love's joy is brief ! 
 My heart erst alway sweet is bitter grown; 
 As crimson ruleth in the good green's stead, 
 So grief hath taken all mine old joy's share 
 And driven forth my solace and all ease 
 Where pleasure bows to all -usurping pain. 
 
 VI 
 
 Crimson the hearth where one last ember glows ! 
 
 My heart's new winter hath no such relief, 
 
 Nor thought of Spring whose blossom he hath 
 
 known 
 
 Hath turned him back where Spring is banished. 
 Barren the heart and dead the fires there, 
 Blow! O ye ashes, where the winds shall please, 
 But cry, "Love also is the Yearly Slain." 
 
 vn 
 
 Be sped, my Canzon, through the bitter air ! 
 To him who speaketh words as fair as these, 
 Say that I also know the "Yearly Slain." 
 
 KORE 
 
 From the " Poems of Frederic Manning,'* published by John 
 Murray, with whose permission we here reprint it. 
 
 Yea, she hath passed hereby and blessed the sheaves 
 And the great garths and stacks and quiet farms, 
 And all the tawny and the crimson leaves, 
 Yea, she hath passed with poppies in her arms 
 Under the star of dusk through stealing mist _ 
 And blest the earth and gone while no man wist. 
 66 
 
With slow reluctant feet and weary eyes Kore 
 
 And eyelids heavy with the coming sleep, 
 
 With small breasts lifted up in stress of sighs, 
 
 She passed as shadows pass amid the sheep 
 
 While the earth dreamed and only I was ware 
 
 Of that faint fragrance blown from her soft hair. 
 
 The land lay steeped in peace of silent dreams, 
 There was no sound amid the sacred boughs 
 Nor any mournful music in her streams, 
 Only I saw the shadow on her brows, 
 Only I knew her for the Yearly Slain 
 And wept, and weep until she come again. 
 
 CANZON: THE SPEAR 
 
 [This fashion of stanza is used by Jaufre Rudel in the song "D'un 
 amor de lonh." The measure is to be sung rather than spoken.] 
 
 IS the clear light of love I praise 
 
 That steadfast gloweth o'er deep waters, 
 
 A clarity that gleams always. 
 
 Though man's soul pass through troubled waters, 
 
 Strange ways tp him are opened. 
 
 To shore the beaten ship is sped 
 
 If only love of light give aid. 
 
 ii 
 
 That fair far spear of light now lays 
 Its long gold shaft upon the waters. 
 Ah ! might I pass upon its rays 
 To where it gleams beyond the waters, 
 67 
 
Canzon: Or might my troubled heart be fed 
 
 Spear UpOn the frail clear light there shed > 
 Then were my pain at last allay'd. 
 
 ni 
 
 Although the clouded storm dismays 
 Many a heart upon these waters, 
 The thought of that far golden blaze 
 Giveth me heart upon the waters, 
 Thinking thereof my bark is led 
 To port wherein no storm I dread; 
 No tempest maketh me afraid. 
 
 IV 
 
 Yet when within my heart I gaze 
 
 Upon my fair beyond the waters, 
 
 Meseems my soul within me prays 
 
 To pass straightway beyond the waters. 
 
 Though I be alway banished 
 
 From ways and woods that she doth tread, 
 
 One thing there is that doth not fade, 
 
 Deep in my heart that spear-print stays, 
 That wound I gat beyond the waters, 
 Deeper with passage of the days 
 That pass as swift and bitter waters, 
 While a dull fire within my head 
 Moveth itself if word be said 
 Which hath concern with that far maid. 
 68 
 
VI Canzon: 
 
 My love is lovelier than the sprays spear 
 
 Of eglantine above clear waters, 
 
 Or whitest lilies that upraise 
 
 Their heads in midst of moated waters. 
 
 No poppy in the May-glad mead 
 
 Would match her quivering lips' red 
 
 If 'gainst her lips it should be laid. 
 
 VII 
 
 The light within her eyes, which slays 
 Base thoughts and stilleth troubled waters, 
 Is like the gold where sunlight plays 
 Upon the still overshadowed waters. 
 When anger is there mingled 
 There comes a keener gleam instead, 
 Like flame that burns beneath thin jade. 
 
 vni 
 
 Know by the words here mingled 
 
 What love hath made my heart his stead, 
 
 Glowing like flame beneath thin jade. 
 
 CANZON 
 
 TO BE SUNG BENEATH A WINDOW 
 I 
 
 HEART mine, art mine, whose embraces 
 Clasp but wind that past thee bloweth? 
 E'en this air so subtly gloweth, 
 Guerdoned by thy sun-gold traces 
 
Canzon That my heart is half afraid 
 For the fragrance on him laid; 
 Even so love's might amazes ! 
 
 Man's love follows many faces, 
 
 My love only one face knoweth; 
 
 Towards thee only my love floweth, 
 
 And outstrips the swift stream's paces. 
 
 Were this love well here displayed, 
 
 As flame flameth 'neath thin jade 
 
 Love should glow through these my phrases. 
 
 HI 
 
 Though I Ve roamed through many places, 
 None there is that my heart troweth 
 Fair as that wherein fair groweth 
 One whose land here interlaces 
 Tuneful words, that I Ve essayed. 
 Let this tune be gently played 
 Which my voice herward upraises. 
 
 IV 
 
 If my praise her grace effaces, 
 Then 't is not my heart that showeth, 
 But the skilless tongue that soweth 
 Words unworthy of her graces. 
 Tongue, that hath me so betrayed, 
 Were my heart but here displayed, 
 Then were sung her fitting praises. 
 
 NOTE. The form and measure are those of Piere Vidal's " Ab 
 Valen tir vas me Vaire" The song is fit only to be sung, and 
 is not to be spoken. 
 
 70 
 
CANZON: OF INCENSE 
 
 [To this form sings Arnault Daniel, with seven stanzas instead of five.] 
 
 THY gracious ways, 
 O Lady of my heart, have 
 O'er all my thought their golden glamour cast; 
 As amber torch-flames, where strange men-at-arms 
 Tread softly 'neath the damask shield of night, 
 Rise from the flowing steel in part reflected, 
 So on my mailed thought that with thee goeth, 
 Though dark the way, a golden glamour falleth. 
 
 H 
 
 The censer sways 
 
 And glowing coals some art have 
 To free what frankincense before held fast 
 Till all the summer of the eastern farms 
 Doth dim the sense, and dream up through the light, 
 As memory, by new-born love corrected 
 With savour such as only new love knoweth 
 Through swift dim ways the hidden pasts recalleth. 
 
 ra 
 
 On barren days, 
 
 At hours when I, apart, have 
 Bent low in thought of the great charm thou hast, 
 Behold with music's many stringed charms 
 The silence groweth thou. O rare delight ! 
 The melody upon clear strings inflected 
 Were dull when o'er taut sense thy presence floweth, 
 With quivering notes' accord that never palleth. 
 
Canzon: IV 
 
 Of In- r . . 
 
 cense The glowing rays 
 
 That from the low sun dart, have 
 Turned gold each tower and every towering mast; 
 The saffron flame, that flaming nothing harms 
 Hides Khadeeth's pearl and all the sapphire might 
 Of burnished waves, before her gates collected: 
 The cloak of graciousness, that round thee gloweth, 
 Doth hide the thing thou art, as here befalleth. 
 
 v 
 All things worth praise 
 
 That unto Khadeeth's mart have 
 From far been brought through perils over-passed, 
 All santal, myrrh, and spikenard that disarms 
 The pard's swift anger; these would weigh but light 
 'Gainst thy delights, my Khadeeth! Whence 
 
 protected 
 
 By naught save her great grace that in him showeth, 
 My song goes forth and on her mercy calleth. 
 
 VI 
 
 O censer of the thought that golden gloweth, 
 Be bright before her when the evening falleth. 
 
 vn 
 
 Fragrant be thou as a new field one moweth, 
 O song of mine that "Hers" her mercy calleth. 
 
 72 
 
CANZONE: OF ANGELS 
 
 HE that is Lord of all the realms of light 
 Hath unto me from His magnificence 
 Granted such vision as hath wrought my joy. 
 Moving my spirit past the last defence 
 That shieldeth mortal things from mightier sight, 
 Where freedom of the soul knows no alloy, 
 I saw what forms the lordly powers employ; 
 Three splendours, saw I, of high holiness, 
 From clarity to clarity ascending 
 Through all the roofless, tacit courts extending 
 In aether which such subtle light doth bless 
 As ne'er the candles of the stars hath wooed; 
 Know ye herefrom of their similitude. 
 
 II 
 
 Withdrawn within the cavern of his wings, 
 Grave with the joy of thoughts beneficent, 
 And finely wrought and durable and clear 
 If so his eyes showed forth the mind's content, 
 So sate the first to whom remembrance clings, 
 Tissued like bat's wings did his wings appear, 
 Not of that shadowy colouring and drear, 
 But as thin shells, pale saffron, luminous; 
 Alone, unlonely, whose calm glances shed 
 Friend's love to strangers though no word were 
 
 said, 
 
 Pensive his godly state he keepeth thus. 
 Not with his surfaces his power endeth, 
 But is as flame that from the gem extendeth. 
 73 
 
Canzone: HI 
 
 Of Angels 
 
 My second marvel stood not in such ease, 
 But he, the cloudy pinioned, winged him on 
 Then from my sight as now from memory, 
 The courier aquiline, so swiftly gone ! 
 The third most glorious of these majesties 
 Give aid, O sapphires of th' eternal see, 
 And by your light illume pure verity. 
 That azure feldspar hight the microcline, 
 Or, on its wing, the Menelaus weareth 
 Such subtlety of shimmering as beareth 
 This marvel onward through the crystalline, 
 A splendid calyx that about her gloweth, 
 Smiting the sunlight on whose ray she goeth. 
 
 IV 
 
 The diver at Sorrento from beneath 
 
 The vitreous indigo, who swiftly riseth, 
 
 By will and not by action as it seemeth, 
 
 Moves not more smoothly, and no thought sur- 
 
 miseth 
 
 How she takes motion from the lustrous sheath 
 Which, as the trace behind the swimmer, gleameth 
 Yet presseth back the aether where it streameth. 
 To her whom it adorns this sheath imparteth 
 The living motion from the light surrounding; 
 And thus my nobler parts, to grief's confounding, 
 Impart into my heart a peace which starteth 
 From one round whom a graciousness is cast 
 Which clingeth in the air where she hath past. 
 74 
 
V. TORNATA Canzone: 
 
 Of Angels 
 
 Canzon, to her whose spirit seems in sooth 
 Akin unto the feldspar, since it is 
 So clear and subtle and azure, I send thee, saying: 
 That since I looked upon such potencies 
 And glories as are here inscribed in truth, 
 New boldness hath o'erthrown my long delaying, 
 And that thy words my new-born powers obeying 
 Voices at last to voice my heart's long mood 
 Are come to greet her in their amplitude. 
 
 NOTE. This form is not Provengal, but that of Dante's 
 matchless " Voi che intendendo z/ terzo ciel movete." IL 
 
 Italian. 
 
 SONNET: CHI E QUESTA? 
 
 WHO is she coming, that the roses bend 
 Their shameless heads to do her passing 
 
 honour ? 
 
 Who is she coming with a light upon her 
 Not born of suns that with the day's end end ? 
 Say, is it Love who hath chosen the nobler part? 
 Say, is it Love, that was divinity, 
 Who hath left his godhead that his home might be 
 The shameless rose of her unclouded heart? 
 
 If this be Love, where hath he won such grace? 
 If this be Love, how is the evil wrought, 
 That all men write against his darkened name? 
 75 
 
Sonnet: If this be Love, if this 
 
 O mind give place ! 
 
 What holy mystery e'er was noosed in thought? 
 Own that thou scan'st her not, nor count it shame ! 
 
 F 
 
 OF GRACE 
 
 (BALLATA, FRAGMENT) 
 ii 
 
 PULL well thou knowest, song, what grace I 
 mean, 
 
 E'en as thou know'st the sunlight I have lost. 
 Thou knowest the way of it and know'st the sheen 
 About her brows where the rays are bound and 
 
 crossed, 
 E'en as thou knowest joy and know'st joy's bitter 
 
 cost. 
 
 Thou know'st her grace in moving, 
 Thou dost her skill in loving, 
 Thou know'st what truth she proveth, 
 Thou knowest the heart she moveth, 
 O song where grief assoneth ! 
 
 CANZON: THE VISION 
 
 The form is that of Arnault Daniel's "Sols suique sailo sobra- 
 fan quern sortz." 
 
 WHEN first I saw thee 'neath the silver mist, 
 Ruling thy bark of painted sandal -wood, 
 Did any know thee? By the golden sails 
 76 
 
That clasped the ribbands of that azure sea, 
 Did any know thee save my heart alone? 
 O ivory woman with thy bands of gold, 
 Answer the song my luth and I have brought thee ! 
 
 n 
 
 Dream over golden dream that secret cist, 
 Thy heart, O heart of me, doth hold, and mood 
 On mood of silver, when the day's light fails, 
 Say who hath touched the secret heart of thee, 
 Or who hath known what my heart hath not 
 
 known ! 
 
 O slender pilot whom the mists enfold, 
 Answer the song my luth and I have wrought thee ! 
 
 m 
 
 When new love plucks the falcon from his wrist, 
 And cuts the gyve and casts the scarlet hood, 
 Where is the heron heart whom flight avails? 
 O quick to prize me Love, how suddenly 
 From out the tumult truth hath ta'en his own, 
 And in this vision is our past unrolled. 
 Lo ! With a hawk of light thy love hath caught 
 me. 
 
 IV 
 
 And I shall get no peace from eucharist, 
 Nor doling out strange prayers before the rood, 
 To match the peace that thine hands' touch entails; 
 77 
 
Canzon : Nor doth God's light match light shed over me 
 The rltfflftwjgga t hy caught sunlight is about me thrown, 
 Oh, for the very ruth thine eyes have told, 
 Answer the rune this love of thee hath taught me. 
 
 After an age of longing had we missed 
 
 Our meeting and the dream, what were the good 
 
 Of weaving cloth of words? Were jeweled tales 
 
 An opiate meet to quell the malady 
 
 Of life unlived? In untried monotone 
 
 Were not the earth as vain, and dry, and old, 
 
 For thee, O Perfect Light, had I not sought thee? 
 
 VI 
 
 Calais, in song where word and tone keep tryst 
 Behold my heart, and hear mine hardihood ! 
 Calais, the wind is come and heaven pales 
 And trembles for the love of day to be. 
 Calais, the words break and the dawn is shown. 
 Ah, but the stars set when thou wast first bold, 
 Turn! lest they say a lesser light distraught 
 thee. 
 
 VTI 
 
 O ivory thou, the golden scythe hath mown 
 Night's stubble and my joy. Ah, royal souled, 
 Favour the quest ! Lo, Truth and I have sought 
 thee ! 
 
 78 
 
TO OUR LADY OF VICARIOUS ATONEMENT 
 
 (BALLATA) 
 
 i 
 
 WHO are you that the whole world's song 
 Is shaken out beneath your feet 
 Leaving you comfortless, 
 Who, that, as wheat 
 Is garnered, gather in 
 The blades of man's sin 
 And bear that sheaf? 
 Lady of wrong and grief, 
 Blameless ! 
 
 All souls beneath the gloom 
 That pass with little flames, 
 All these till time be run 
 Pass one by one 
 As Christs to save, and die ; 
 What wrong one sowed, 
 Behold, another reaps! 
 Where lips awake our joy 
 The sad heart sleeps 
 Within. 
 
 No man doth bear his sin, 
 
 But many sins 
 
 Are gathered as a cloud about man's way. 
 
 79 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI 
 
 DANTE and I are come to learn of thee, 
 O Messire Guido, master of us all, 
 Love, who hath set his hand upon us three, 
 Bidding us twain upon thy glory call. 
 Harsh light hath rent from us the golden pall 
 Of that frail sleep, His first light seigniory, 
 And we are come through all the modes that fall 
 Unto their lot who meet him constantly. 
 Wherefore, by right, in this lord's name we greet 
 
 thee, 
 
 Seeing we labour at his labour daily. 
 Thou, who dost know what way swift words are 
 
 crossed 
 O thou, who hast sung + ; U none at song defeat 
 
 thee, 
 
 Grant ! by thy might and hers of San Michele, 
 Thy risen voice send flames this pentecost. 
 
 NOTE. This poem foreruns a translation of " The Sonnets and 
 Ballate of Guido " now in preparation E. p. 
 
 80 
 
NOTES 
 
NOTES 
 
 NOTE PRECEDENT TO "LA FRAISNE" 
 
 " When the soul is exhausted of fire, then doth the spirit return 
 unto its primal nature and there is upon it a peace great and of the 
 woodland 
 
 " magna pax et silvestrts." 
 
 Then becometh it kin to the faun and the dryad, a woodland- 
 dweller amid the rocks and streams 
 
 " consociis f aunts dryadisque inter saxa sylvarum" 
 
 Janus of Basel. 1 
 
 Also has Mr. Yeats in his "Celtic Twilight" treated of such, 
 and I because in such a mood, feeling myself divided between my- 
 self corporal and a self aetherial " a dweller by streams and in 
 woodland," eternal because simple in elements 
 "Aetemus quia simplex naturae." 
 
 Being freed of the weight of a soul " capable of salvation or 
 damnation," a grievous striving thing that after much straining 
 was mercifully taken from me ; as had one passed saying as one in 
 the Book of the Dead, 
 
 " I, lo I, am the assembler of souls," and had taken it with him, 
 leaving me thus simplex naturae, even so at peace and trans- 
 sentient as a wood pool I made it. 
 
 The Legend thus : " Miraut de Garzelas, after the pains he bore 
 a-loving Riels of Calidorn and that to none avail, ran mad in the 
 forest. 
 
 " Yea even as Peire Vidal ran as a wolf for her of Penautier 
 though some say that twas folly or as Garulf Bisclavret so ran 
 truly, till the King brought him respite (See 'Lais' Marie de 
 France), so was he ever by the Ash Tree." 
 
 Hear ye his speaking: (low, slowly he speaketh it, as one drawn 
 apart, reflecting) (egare"). 
 
 1 Referendum for contrast. " Daemonalitas " of the Rev. Father 
 Sinistrari of Ameno ( 1600 circ.). " A treatise wherein is shown that 
 there are in existence on earth rational creatures besides man, 
 endowed like him with a body and soul, that are born and die like 
 him, redeemed by our Lord Jesus Christ, and capable of receiving 
 salvation or damnation." Latin and English text, pub. Liseux, 
 Paris, 1879. 
 
 83 
 
MARVOIL Notes 
 
 The Personae arc : 
 
 Arnaut of Marvoil, a troubadour, date 1170-1200. 
 
 The Countess (in her own right) of Burlatz, and of Beziers, be- 
 ing the wife of 
 
 The Vicomte of Beziers. 
 
 Alfonso IV of Aragon. 
 
 Tibors of Mont-Ausier. For fuller mention of her see the 
 "razos" on Bertran of Born. She is contemporary with the 
 other persons, but I have no strict warrant for dragging her name 
 into this particular affair. 
 
\ 
 
 
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 .>6