Nephelidia NEPHELIDIA 459 FROM the depth of the dreamy decline of the dawn through a notable nimbus of nebulous moonshine, Pallid and pink as the palm of the flag-flower that flickers with fear of the flies as they float, Are they looks of our lovers that lustrously lean from a marvel of mystic miraculous moonshine, These that we feel in the blood of our blushes that thicken and threaten with throbs through the throat? Thicken and thrill as a theatre thronged at appeal of an actor's appalled agitation, Fainter with fear of the fires of the future than pale with the promise of pride in the past; Flushed with the famishing fulness of fever that reddens with radiance of rathe recreation, Gaunt as the ghastliest of glimpses that gleam through the gloom of the gloaming when ghosts go aghast? Nay, for the nick of the tick of the time is a tremulous touch on the temples of terror, Strained as the sinews yet strenuous with strife of the dead who is dumb as the dust-heaps of death; Surely no soul is it, sweet as the spasm of erotic emotional exquisite error, Bathed in the balms of beatified bliss, beatific itself by beatitude's breath. Surely no spirit or sense of a soul that was soft to the spirit and soul of our senses Sweetens the stress of surprising suspicion that sobs in the semblance and sound of a sigh; Only this oracle opens Olympian, in mystical moods and triangular tenses, "Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn of the day when we die." Mild is the mirk and monotonous music of memory, melodiously mute as it may be, While the hope in the heart of a hero is bruised by the breach of men's rapiers, resigned to the rod; Made meek as a mother whose bosom-beats bound with the bliss-bringing bulk of a balm-breathing baby, As they grope through the grave-yard of creeds, under skies growing green at a groan for the grimness of God. Blank is the book of his bounty beholden of old, and its binding is blacker than bluer: Out of blue into black is the scheme of the skies, and their dews are the wine of the bloodshed of things: Till the darkling desire of delight shall be free as a fawn that is freed from the fangs that pursue her, Till the heart-beats of hell shall be hushed by a hymn from the hunt that has harried the kennel of kings. Algernon Charles Swinburne. UP THE SPOUT I HI! Just you drop that! Stop, I say! 2 Shirk work, think slink off, twist friend's wrist? Where that spined sand's lined band's the bay- II For the sea's debt leaves wet the sand; Burst worst fate's weight's in one burst gun? III I'm blest if I do. Sigh? be blowed! Love's doves make break life's ropes, eh? Tropes! Faith's brig, baulked, sides caulked, rides at road; Hope's gropes befogged, storm-dogged and bogged— Clogged, water-logged, her load! Up the Spout IV Stowed, by Jove, right and tight, away. Sea sprinkles wrinkles, tinkles light VI See, fore and aft, life's craft undone! Crank plank, split spritsail-mark, sea's lark! That gray cold sea's old sprees, begun When men lay dark i' the ark, no spark, All water-just God's fun! 461 VII Not bright, at best, his jest to these Seemed screamed, shrieked, wreaked on kin for sin! When for mirth's yell earth's knell seemed please Some dumb new grim great whim in him Made Jews take chalk for cheese. VIII Could God's rods bruise God's Jews? Their jowls This hookiest-beaked of owls? IX Well, I suppose God knows-I don't. Time's crimes mark dark men's types, in stripes Broad as fen's lands men's hands were wont Leave grieve unploughed, though proud and loud With birds' words-No! he won't! X One never should think good impossible. ΧΙ But gold bells chime in time there, coined Gold! Old Sphinx winks there "Read my screed!" Doctrine Jews learn, use, burn for, joined (Through new craft's stealth) with health and wealth At once all three purloined! XII I rose with dawn, to pawn, no doubt, (Miss this chance, glance untried aside?) John's shirt, my-no! Ay, so the lout! Let yet the door gape, store on floor And not a soul about? XIII Such men lay traps, perhaps—and I'm But theft, I doubt, my lout calls crime. Shrink? Think! Love's dawn in pawn-you spawn Of Jewry! Just in time! Algernon Charles Swinburne. Lucy Lake IN IMMEMORIAM WE seek to know, and knowing seek; We ask too much, we seek too oft, A something comes from out the gloom; And more than this world would presume. Meseems, a circling void I fill, And I, unchanged where all is changed; I hear the ocean's surging tide, O Sea! whose ancient ripples lie O Voices all! like ye I die! LUCY LAKE POOR Lucy Lake was overgrown, 463 Cuthbert Bede. |