Chapter M: CM IX

_I 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

"_amicitiae longaevitate_"

I have to thank the Editors of the _English Review_ and the
_Evening Standard_ and _St. James's Gazette_ for permission to
include in this volume certain poems which originally appeared in
those papers.

CONTENTS

GUIDO INVITES YOU THUS
NIGHT LITANY
SANDALPHON
SESTINA: ALTAFORTE
PIERE VIDAL OLD
BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE
HYMN III FROM THE LATIN OF FLAMINIUS
SESTINA FOR YSOLT
PORTRAIT (FROM "LA MÈRE INCONNUE")
FAIR HELENA
LAUDANTES DECEM
AUX BELLES DE LONDRES
FRANCESCA
GREEK EPIGRAM
COLUMBUS' EPITAPH
PLOTINUS
ON HIS OWN FACE IN A GLASS
HISTRION
THE EYES
DEFIANCE
SONG
NEL BIANCHEGGIAR
NILS LYKKE
A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER
PLANH FOR THE YOUNG ENGLISH KING
ALBA INNOMINATA
PLANH

EXULTATIONS

Guido invites you thus[1]

"Lappo I leave behind and Dante too,
Lo, I would sail the seas with thee alone!
Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry,
Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise,
All the blind earth knows not th' emprise
Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call.

Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams,
Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire;
Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams
Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire!

Lo, thou hast voyaged not! The ship is mine."

[Footnote 1: The reference is to Dante's sonnet "Guido vorrei...."]

Night Litany

O Dieu, purifiez nos cœurs!
purifiez nos cœurs!

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 cœurs,
Purifiez nos cœurs,
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

Upon the shadow of the waters
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 cœurs,
Purifiez nos cœurs,
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 cœurs_
_O God of the silence,_
_Purifiez nos cœurs_
_O God of waters._

Sandalphon

The angel of prayer according to the Talmud stands unmoved among
the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is finished,
also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his hands.

And these about me die,
Because the pain of the infinite singing
Slayeth them.
Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's
age-long crusading,
Ye know somewhat the strain,
the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing.
And therefore ye know after what fashion
This singing hath power destroying.

Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage
Unto the Mover of Circles,
Die for the might of their praising,
And the autumn of their marcescent wings
Maketh ever new loam for my forest;
And these grey ash trees hold within them
All the secrets of whatso things
They dreamed before their praises,
And in this grove my flowers,
Fruit of prayerful powers,
Have first their thought of life
And then their being.

Ye marvel that I die not! _forsitan_!
Thinking me kin with such as may not weep,
Thinking me part of them that die for praising
--yea, tho' it be praising,
past the power of man's mortality to
dream or name its phases,
--yea, tho' it chant and paean
past the might of earth-dwelt
soul to think on,
--yea, tho' it be praising
as these the winged ones die of.

Ye think me one insensate
else die I also
Sith these about me die,
And if I, watching

Ever the multiplex jewel, of beryl and jasper and sapphire
Make of these prayers of earth ever new flowers;
Marvel and wonder!
Marvel and wonder even as I,
Giving to prayer new language
And causing the works to speak
Of the earth-horde's age-lasting longing,
Even as I marvel and wonder, and know not,
Yet keep my watch in the ash wood.

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 (Cœur de Lion).

I

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.

II

In hot summer have I great rejoicing
When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace,
And the light'nings from black heav'n flash crimson,
And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing,
And through all the riven skies God's swords clash.

III

Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing,
Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!
Better one hour's stour than a year's peace
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.

V

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!"