Chapter I: Preface

When empires lay riven apart, Fared Goethe at battle time's thunder To fragrant oases of art, To weave his _Divan_ into wonder.

Leaving Shakespeare, he pondered the note Of Nisami, and heard in his leisure The hoopoe's weird monody float, And set it to soft Orient measure.

As Goethe at Weimar delayed And dreamed in the fair garden closes, And, questing in sun or in shade, With Hafiz plucked redolent roses,--

I, closed from the tempest that shook My window with fury impassioned, Sat dreaming, and, safe in my nook, Enamels and Cameos fashioned.

AFFINITY A PANTHEISTIC MADRIGAL

On an ancient temple gleaming, Two great blocks of marble high Thrice a thousand years lay dreaming Dreams against an Attic sky.

Set within one silver whiteness, Two wave-tears for Venus shed, Two fair pearls of orient brightness, Through the waste of water sped.

In the Generalife's fresh closes, By a Moorish light illumed, Two delicious, tender roses By a fountain met and bloomed.

In the balm of May's bright weather, Where the domes of Venice rise, Lighted on Love's nest together Two pale doves from azure skies.

All things vanish into wonder, Marble, pearl, dove, rose on tree, Pearl shall melt and marble sunder, Flower shall fade and bird shall flee!

Not a smallest part but lowly Through the crucible must pass, Where all shapes are molten slowly In the universal mass.

Then as gradual Time discloses Marbles melt to whitest skin, Roses red to lips of roses, And anew the lives begin.

And again the doves are plighted In the hearts of lovers, while Ocean pearls are reunited, Set within a coral smile.

Thus affinity comes welling; By its beauty everywhere Soul a sister-soul foretelling, All awakened and aware.

Quickened by a zephyr sunny, Or a perfume, subtlewise, As the bee unto the honey, Atom unto atom flies.

And remembered are the hours In the temple, down the blue, And the talks amid the flowers, Near the fount of crystal dew,

Kisses warm, and on the royal Golden domes the wings that beat; For the atoms all are loyal, And again must love and greet.

Love forgotten wakes imperious, For the past is never dead, And the rose with joy delirious Breathes again from lips of red.

Marble on the flesh of maiden Feels its own white bloom, and faint Knows the dove a murmur laden With the echo of its plaint,

Till resistance giveth over, And the barriers fall undone, And the stranger is the lover, And affinity hath won!

You before whose face I tremble, Say--what past we know not of Called our fates to reassemble,-- Pearl or marble, rose or dove?

THE POEM OF WOMAN MARBLE OF PAROS

Unto the dreamer once whose heart she had, As she was showing forth her treasures rare, Minded she was to read a poem fair, The poem of her form with beauty glad.

First stately and superb she swept before His gazing eyes, with high, Infanta mien, Trailing behind her all the splendid sheen Of nacarat floods of velvet that she wore.

Thus at the opera had he watched her bend From out her box, her body one bright flame, When all the air was ringing with her name, And every song made her fair praise ascend.

Then had her art another way, for look! The weighty velvet dropped, and in its place A pale and cloudy fabric proved the grace Of every line her glowing body took;

Till softly from her shoulder marble-sweet The veil diaphanous fell, the folds whereof Came fluttering downward like a snowy dove, To nestle in the wonder of her feet.

She posed as for Apelles pridefully, A lovely flesh and marble womanhood:-- Anadyomene, she upright stood Naked upon the margent of the sea.

Fairer than any foam-drops crystalline, Great pearls of Venice lay upon her breast, Jewels of milky wonder lightly pressed Upon the cool, fresh satin of her skin.

Exhaustless as the waves that kiss the brim, Under the gleaming moon of many moods, Were all the strophes of her attitudes. What fascination sang her beauty's hymn!

But soon, grown weary of an art antique, Of Phidias and of Venus, lo! again Within another new and plastic strain She grouped her charms unveiled and unique.

Upon a cashmere opulently spread, Sultana of Seraglio then she lay, Laughing unto her little mirror gay, That laughed again with lips of coral red;

The indolent, soft Georgian, posturing With her long, supple narghile at lip, Showing the glorious fashion of her hip, One foot upon the other languishing.

And, like to Ingres' Odalisque, supine, Defying prurient modesty turned she, Displaying in her beauty candidly Wonder of curve and purity of line.

But hence, thou idle Odalisque! for life Hath now its own fair picture to display-- The diamond in its rare effulgent ray,-- Beauty in Love hath reached its blossom rife.

She sways her body, bendeth back her head. Her breathing comes more subtle and more fast. Rocked in her dream's alluring arms, at last Down hath she fallen upon her costly bed.

Her eyelids beat like fluttering pinions lit Upon the darkened silver of her eyes. Her bright, voluptuous glances upward rise Into the vague and nacreous infinite.

Deck her with sweet, lush violets, instead Of death-flowers with their every pearl a tear; Scatter their purple clusters on her bier, Who of her being's ecstasy lies dead.

And bear her very gently to her tomb-- Her bed of white. There let the poet stay, Long hours upon his bended knees to pray, When night shall close around the funeral room.

A STUDY OF HANDS