The Project Gutenberg eBook ofCollected Poems: Volume OneThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Collected Poems: Volume OneAuthor: Alfred NoyesRelease date: November 19, 2009 [eBook #30501]Most recently updated: October 24, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Charles Aldarondo, Josephine Paolucci, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLLECTED POEMS: VOLUME ONE ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Collected Poems: Volume OneAuthor: Alfred NoyesRelease date: November 19, 2009 [eBook #30501]Most recently updated: October 24, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Charles Aldarondo, Josephine Paolucci, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Title: Collected Poems: Volume One
Author: Alfred Noyes
Author: Alfred Noyes
Release date: November 19, 2009 [eBook #30501]Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
Credits: E-text prepared by Charles Aldarondo, Josephine Paolucci, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLLECTED POEMS: VOLUME ONE ***
The Project Gutenberg eBook, Collected Poems, by Alfred Noyes
NEW YORKFREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANYPUBLISHERSCOPYRIGHT, 1913, BYFREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANYCOPYRIGHT, 1906, 1907, 1908, BYTHE MACMILLAN COMPANYCOPYRIGHT, 1909, 1910, 1911, BYFREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANYCOPYRIGHT, 1906, 1909, BYALFRED NOYES
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian. All dramatic and acting rights, both professional and amateur, are reserved. Application for the right of performing should be made to the publishersOctober, 1913
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian. All dramatic and acting rights, both professional and amateur, are reserved. Application for the right of performing should be made to the publishers
October, 1913
PageThe Loom of Years1In the Heart of the Woods2Art5Triolet8A Triple Ballad of Old Japan8The Symbolist10Haunted in Old Japan11Necromancy12The Mystic15The Flower of Old Japan17Apes and Ivory48A Song of Sherwood49The World's May-Queen50Pirates53A Song of England55The Old Sceptic57The Death of Chopin59Song62Butterflies62Song of the Wooden-Legged Fiddler66The Fisher-Girl67A Song of Two Burdens71Earth-Bound72Art, the Herald74The Optimist74A Post-Impression76The Barrel-Organ80The Litany of War85The Origin of Life86The Last Battle88The Paradox89The Progress of Love94The Forest of Wild Thyme123Forty Singing Seamen171The Empire Builders175Nelson's Year177In Time of War180Ode For the Seventieth Birthday of Swinburne186In Cloak of Grey188A Ride for the Queen189Song191The Highwayman192The Haunted Palace196The Sculptor200Summer201At Dawn204The Swimmer's Race206The Venus of Milo208The Net of Vulcan209Niobe209Orpheus and Eurydice211From the Shore220The Return222Remembrance223A Prayer224Love's Ghost224On a Railway Platform225Oxford Revisited226The Three Ships228Slumber-Songs of the Madonna230Enceladus235In the Cool of the Evening241A Roundhead's Rallying Song242Vicisti, Galilæe243Drake246
In the light of the silent stars that shine on the struggling sea,In the weary cry of the wind and the whisper of flower and tree,Under the breath of laughter, deep in the tide of tears,I hear the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.The leaves of the winter wither and sink in the forest mouldTo colour the flowers of April with purple and white and gold:Light and scent and music die and are born againIn the heart of a grey-haired woman who wakes in a world of pain.The hound, the fawn and the hawk, and the doves that croon and coo,We are all one woof of the weaving and the one warp threads us through,One flying cloud on the shuttle that carries our hopes and fearsAs it goes thro' the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.The crosiers of the fern, and the crown, the crown of the rose,Pass with our hearts to the Silence where the wings of music close,Pass and pass to the Timeless that never a moment mars,Pass and pass to the Darkness that made the suns and stars.Has the soul gone out in the Darkness? Is the dust sealed from sight?Ah, hush, for the woof of the ages returns thro' the warp of the night!Never that shuttle loses one thread of our hopes and fears,As It comes thro' the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.O, woven in one wide Loom thro' the throbbing weft of the whole,One in spirit and flesh, one in body and soul,The leaf on the winds of autumn, the bird in its hour to die,The heart in its muffled anguish, the sea in its mournful cry,One with the flower of a day, one with the withered moon,One with the granite mountains that melt into the noon,One with the dream that triumphs beyond the light of the spheres,We come from the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
In the light of the silent stars that shine on the struggling sea,In the weary cry of the wind and the whisper of flower and tree,Under the breath of laughter, deep in the tide of tears,I hear the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
The leaves of the winter wither and sink in the forest mouldTo colour the flowers of April with purple and white and gold:Light and scent and music die and are born againIn the heart of a grey-haired woman who wakes in a world of pain.
The hound, the fawn and the hawk, and the doves that croon and coo,We are all one woof of the weaving and the one warp threads us through,One flying cloud on the shuttle that carries our hopes and fearsAs it goes thro' the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
The crosiers of the fern, and the crown, the crown of the rose,Pass with our hearts to the Silence where the wings of music close,Pass and pass to the Timeless that never a moment mars,Pass and pass to the Darkness that made the suns and stars.
Has the soul gone out in the Darkness? Is the dust sealed from sight?Ah, hush, for the woof of the ages returns thro' the warp of the night!Never that shuttle loses one thread of our hopes and fears,As It comes thro' the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
O, woven in one wide Loom thro' the throbbing weft of the whole,One in spirit and flesh, one in body and soul,The leaf on the winds of autumn, the bird in its hour to die,The heart in its muffled anguish, the sea in its mournful cry,
One with the flower of a day, one with the withered moon,One with the granite mountains that melt into the noon,One with the dream that triumphs beyond the light of the spheres,We come from the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
IThe Heart of the woods, I hear it, beating, beating afar,In the glamour and gloom of the night, in the light of the rosy star,In the cold sweet voice of the bird, in the throb of the flower-soft sea!...For the Heart of the woods is the Heart of the world and the Heart of Eternity,Ay, and the burning passionate Heart of the heart in you and me.Love of my heart, love of the world, linking the golden moonWith the flowery moths that flutter thro' the scented leaves of June,And the mind of man with beauty, and youth with the dreaming nightOf stars and flowers and waters and breasts of glimmering white,And streaming hair of fragrant dusk and flying limbs of lovely light;Life of me, life of me, shining in sun and cloud and wind,In the dark eyes of the fawn and the eyes of the hound behind,In the leaves that lie in the seed unsown, and the dream of the babe unborn,O, flaming tides of my blood, as you flow thro' flower and root and thorn,I feel you burning the boughs of night to kindle the fires of morn.Soul of me, soul of me, yearning wherever a lavrock sings,Or the crimson gloom is winnowed by the whirr of wood-doves' wings,Or the spray of the foam-bow rustles in the white dawn of the moon,And mournful billows moan aloud,Come soon, soon, soon,Come soon, O Death with the Heart of love and the secret of the rune.Heart of me, heart of me, heart of me, beating, beating afar,In the green gloom of the night, in the light of the rosy star,In the cold sweet voice of the bird, in the throb of the flower-soft sea!...O, the Heart of the woods is the Heart of the world and the Heart of Eternity,Ay, and the burning passionate Heart of the heart in you and me.IIO, Death will never find us in the heart of the wood,The song is in my blood, night and day:We will pluck a scented petal from the Rose upon the RoodWhere Love lies bleeding on the way.We will listen to the linnet and watch the waters leap,When the clouds go dreaming by,And under the wild roses and the stars we will sleep,And wander on together, you and I.We shall understand the mystery that none has understood,We shall know why the leafy gloom is green.O, Death will never find us in the heart of the woodWhen we see what the stars have seen!We have heard the hidden song of the soft dews fallingAt the end of the last dark sky,Where all the sorrows of the world are calling,We must wander on together, you and I.They are calling, calling,Away, come away!And we know not whence they call;For the song is in our hearts, we hear it night and day,As the deep tides rise and fall:O, Death will never find us in the heart of the wood,While the hours and the years roll by!We have heard it, we have heard it, but we have not understood,We must wander on together, you and I.The wind may beat upon us, the rain may blind our eyes,The leaves may fall beneath the winter's wing;But we shall hear the music of the dream that never dies,And we shall know the secret of the Spring.We shall know how all the blossoms of evil and of goodAre mingled in the meadows of the sky;And then—if Death can find us in the heart of the wood—We shall wander on together, you and I.
I
The Heart of the woods, I hear it, beating, beating afar,In the glamour and gloom of the night, in the light of the rosy star,In the cold sweet voice of the bird, in the throb of the flower-soft sea!...For the Heart of the woods is the Heart of the world and the Heart of Eternity,Ay, and the burning passionate Heart of the heart in you and me.
Love of my heart, love of the world, linking the golden moonWith the flowery moths that flutter thro' the scented leaves of June,And the mind of man with beauty, and youth with the dreaming nightOf stars and flowers and waters and breasts of glimmering white,And streaming hair of fragrant dusk and flying limbs of lovely light;
Life of me, life of me, shining in sun and cloud and wind,In the dark eyes of the fawn and the eyes of the hound behind,In the leaves that lie in the seed unsown, and the dream of the babe unborn,O, flaming tides of my blood, as you flow thro' flower and root and thorn,I feel you burning the boughs of night to kindle the fires of morn.
Soul of me, soul of me, yearning wherever a lavrock sings,Or the crimson gloom is winnowed by the whirr of wood-doves' wings,Or the spray of the foam-bow rustles in the white dawn of the moon,And mournful billows moan aloud,Come soon, soon, soon,Come soon, O Death with the Heart of love and the secret of the rune.
Heart of me, heart of me, heart of me, beating, beating afar,In the green gloom of the night, in the light of the rosy star,In the cold sweet voice of the bird, in the throb of the flower-soft sea!...O, the Heart of the woods is the Heart of the world and the Heart of Eternity,Ay, and the burning passionate Heart of the heart in you and me.
II
O, Death will never find us in the heart of the wood,The song is in my blood, night and day:We will pluck a scented petal from the Rose upon the RoodWhere Love lies bleeding on the way.We will listen to the linnet and watch the waters leap,When the clouds go dreaming by,And under the wild roses and the stars we will sleep,And wander on together, you and I.
We shall understand the mystery that none has understood,We shall know why the leafy gloom is green.O, Death will never find us in the heart of the woodWhen we see what the stars have seen!We have heard the hidden song of the soft dews fallingAt the end of the last dark sky,Where all the sorrows of the world are calling,We must wander on together, you and I.
They are calling, calling,Away, come away!And we know not whence they call;For the song is in our hearts, we hear it night and day,As the deep tides rise and fall:O, Death will never find us in the heart of the wood,While the hours and the years roll by!We have heard it, we have heard it, but we have not understood,We must wander on together, you and I.
The wind may beat upon us, the rain may blind our eyes,The leaves may fall beneath the winter's wing;But we shall hear the music of the dream that never dies,And we shall know the secret of the Spring.We shall know how all the blossoms of evil and of goodAre mingled in the meadows of the sky;And then—if Death can find us in the heart of the wood—We shall wander on together, you and I.
IYes! Beauty still rebels!Our dreams like clouds disperse:She dwellsIn agate, marble, verse.No false constraint be thine!But, for right walking, chooseThe fine,The strict cothurnus, Muse.Vainly ye seek to escapeThe toil! The yielding phraseYe shapeIs clay, not chrysoprase.And all in vain ye scornThat seeming ease which ne'erWas bornOf aught but love and care.Take up the sculptor's tool!Recall the gods that dieTo ruleIn Parian o'er the sky.For Beauty still rebels!Our dreams like clouds disperse:She dwellsIn agate, marble, verse.IIWhen Beauty from the sea,With breasts of whiter roseThan weBehold on earth, arose.Naked thro' Time returnedThe Bliss of Heaven that day,And burnedThe dross of earth away.Kings at her splendour quailed.For all his triple steelShe haledWar at her chariot-wheel.The rose and lily bowedTo cast, of odour sweetA cloudBefore her wandering feet.And from her radiant eyesThere shone on soul and senseThe skies'Divine indifference.O, mortal memory fond!Slowly she passed awayBeyondThe curling clouds of day.Return, we cry,return,Till in the sadder lightWe learnThat she was infinite.The Dream that from the seaWith breasts of whiter roseThan weBehold on earth, arose.IIITake up the sculptor's tool!Becall the dreams that dieTo ruleIn Parian o'er the sky;And kings that not endureIn bronze to re-ascendSecureUntil the world shall end.Poet, let passion sleepTill with the cosmic rhymeYou keepEternal tone and time,By rule of hour and flower,By strength of stern restraintAnd powerTo fail and not to faint.The task is hard to learnWhile all the songs of SpringReturnAlong the blood and sing.Yet hear—from her deep skies,How Art, for all your pain,Still criesYe must be born again!Reject the wreath of rose,Take up the crown of thornThat showsTo-night a child is born.The far immortal faceIn chosen onyx fineEnchase,Delicate line by line.Strive with Carrara, fightWith Parian, till there stealTo lightApollo's pure profile.Set the great lucid formFree from its marble tombTo stormThe heights of death and doom.Take up the sculptor's tool!Recall the gods that dieTo ruleIn Parian o'er the sky,
I
Yes! Beauty still rebels!Our dreams like clouds disperse:She dwellsIn agate, marble, verse.
No false constraint be thine!But, for right walking, chooseThe fine,The strict cothurnus, Muse.
Vainly ye seek to escapeThe toil! The yielding phraseYe shapeIs clay, not chrysoprase.
And all in vain ye scornThat seeming ease which ne'erWas bornOf aught but love and care.
Take up the sculptor's tool!Recall the gods that dieTo ruleIn Parian o'er the sky.
For Beauty still rebels!Our dreams like clouds disperse:She dwellsIn agate, marble, verse.
II
When Beauty from the sea,With breasts of whiter roseThan weBehold on earth, arose.
Naked thro' Time returnedThe Bliss of Heaven that day,And burnedThe dross of earth away.
Kings at her splendour quailed.For all his triple steelShe haledWar at her chariot-wheel.
The rose and lily bowedTo cast, of odour sweetA cloudBefore her wandering feet.
And from her radiant eyesThere shone on soul and senseThe skies'Divine indifference.
O, mortal memory fond!Slowly she passed awayBeyondThe curling clouds of day.
Return, we cry,return,Till in the sadder lightWe learnThat she was infinite.
The Dream that from the seaWith breasts of whiter roseThan weBehold on earth, arose.
III
Take up the sculptor's tool!Becall the dreams that dieTo ruleIn Parian o'er the sky;And kings that not endureIn bronze to re-ascendSecureUntil the world shall end.
Poet, let passion sleepTill with the cosmic rhymeYou keepEternal tone and time,
By rule of hour and flower,By strength of stern restraintAnd powerTo fail and not to faint.
The task is hard to learnWhile all the songs of SpringReturnAlong the blood and sing.
Yet hear—from her deep skies,How Art, for all your pain,Still criesYe must be born again!
Reject the wreath of rose,Take up the crown of thornThat showsTo-night a child is born.
The far immortal faceIn chosen onyx fineEnchase,Delicate line by line.
Strive with Carrara, fightWith Parian, till there stealTo lightApollo's pure profile.
Set the great lucid formFree from its marble tombTo stormThe heights of death and doom.
Take up the sculptor's tool!Recall the gods that dieTo ruleIn Parian o'er the sky,
Love, awake! Ah, let thine eyesOpen, clouded with thy dreams.Now the shy sweet rosy skies,Love, awake. Ah, let thine eyesDawn before the last star dies.O'er thy breast the rose-light gleams:Love, awake! Ah, let thine eyesOpen, clouded with thy dreams.
Love, awake! Ah, let thine eyesOpen, clouded with thy dreams.Now the shy sweet rosy skies,Love, awake. Ah, let thine eyesDawn before the last star dies.O'er thy breast the rose-light gleams:Love, awake! Ah, let thine eyesOpen, clouded with thy dreams.
In old Japan, by creek and bay,The blue plum-blossoms blow,Where birds with sea-blue plumage gayThro' sea-blue branches go:Dragons are coiling down belowLike dragons on a fan;And pig-tailed sailors lurching slowThro' streets of old Japan.There, in the dim blue death of dayWhere white tea-roses grow,Petals and scents are strewn astrayTill night be sweet enow,Then lovers wander whispering lowAs lovers only can,Where rosy paper lanterns glowThro' streets of old Japan.From Wonderland to Yea-or-NayThe junks of Weal-and-WoeDream on the purple water-wayNor ever meet a foe;Though still, with stiff mustachioAnd crookéd ataghan,Their pirates guard with pomp and showThe ships of old Japan.That land is very far away,We lost it long ago!No fairies ride the cherry spray,No witches mop and mow,The violet wells have ceased to flow;And O, how faint and wanThe dawn on Fusiyama's snow,The peak of old Japan.Half smilingly, our hearts delay,Half mournfully foregoThe blue fantastic twisted dayWhen faithful Konojo,For small white Lily Hasu-koKnelt in the Butsudan,And her tomb opened to bestrowLilies thro' old Japan.There was a game they used to playI' the San-ju-san-jen Dō,They filled a little lacquer trayWith powders in a row,Dry dust of flowers from TashiroTo Mount Daimugenzan,Dry little heaps of dust, but OThey breathed of old Japan.Then knights in blue and gold arrayWould on their thumbs bestowA pinch from every heap and say,With many ahumandho,What blossoms, nodding to and froFor joy of maid or man,Conceived the scents that puzzled soThe brains of old Japan.The hundred ghosts have ceased to affrayThe dust of Kyotó,Ah yet, what phantom blooms a-swayMurmur, a-loft, a-low,In dells no scythe of death can mow,No power of reason scan,O, what Samúrai singers knowThe Flower of old Japan?Dry dust of blossoms, dim and gray,Lost on the wind? Ah, no,Hark, from yon clump of English may,A cherub's mocking crow,A sudden twang, a sweet, swift throe,As Daisy trips by Dan,And careless Cupid drops his bowAnd laughs—from old Japan.There, in the dim blue death of dayWhere white tea-roses grow,Petals and scents are strewn astrayTill night be sweet enow,Then lovers wander, whispering low,As lovers only can,Where rosy paper lanterns glowThro' streets of old Japan.
In old Japan, by creek and bay,The blue plum-blossoms blow,Where birds with sea-blue plumage gayThro' sea-blue branches go:Dragons are coiling down belowLike dragons on a fan;And pig-tailed sailors lurching slowThro' streets of old Japan.
There, in the dim blue death of dayWhere white tea-roses grow,Petals and scents are strewn astrayTill night be sweet enow,Then lovers wander whispering lowAs lovers only can,Where rosy paper lanterns glowThro' streets of old Japan.
From Wonderland to Yea-or-NayThe junks of Weal-and-WoeDream on the purple water-wayNor ever meet a foe;Though still, with stiff mustachioAnd crookéd ataghan,Their pirates guard with pomp and showThe ships of old Japan.
That land is very far away,We lost it long ago!No fairies ride the cherry spray,No witches mop and mow,The violet wells have ceased to flow;And O, how faint and wanThe dawn on Fusiyama's snow,The peak of old Japan.
Half smilingly, our hearts delay,Half mournfully foregoThe blue fantastic twisted dayWhen faithful Konojo,For small white Lily Hasu-koKnelt in the Butsudan,And her tomb opened to bestrowLilies thro' old Japan.
There was a game they used to playI' the San-ju-san-jen Dō,They filled a little lacquer trayWith powders in a row,Dry dust of flowers from TashiroTo Mount Daimugenzan,Dry little heaps of dust, but OThey breathed of old Japan.
Then knights in blue and gold arrayWould on their thumbs bestowA pinch from every heap and say,With many ahumandho,What blossoms, nodding to and froFor joy of maid or man,Conceived the scents that puzzled soThe brains of old Japan.
The hundred ghosts have ceased to affrayThe dust of Kyotó,Ah yet, what phantom blooms a-swayMurmur, a-loft, a-low,In dells no scythe of death can mow,No power of reason scan,O, what Samúrai singers knowThe Flower of old Japan?
Dry dust of blossoms, dim and gray,Lost on the wind? Ah, no,Hark, from yon clump of English may,A cherub's mocking crow,A sudden twang, a sweet, swift throe,As Daisy trips by Dan,And careless Cupid drops his bowAnd laughs—from old Japan.
There, in the dim blue death of dayWhere white tea-roses grow,Petals and scents are strewn astrayTill night be sweet enow,Then lovers wander, whispering low,As lovers only can,Where rosy paper lanterns glowThro' streets of old Japan.
Help me to seek that unknown land!I kneel before the shrine.Help me to feel the hidden handThat ever holdeth mine.I kneel before the Word, I kneelBefore the Cross of flameI cry, as thro' the gloom I steal,The glory of the Name.Help me to mourn, and I shall love;What grief is like to mine?Crown me with thorn, the stars aboveShall in the circlet shine!The Temple opens wide: none seesThe love, the dream, the light!O, blind and finite, are not theseBlinding and infinite?The veil, the veil is rent: the skiesAre white with wings of fire,Where victim souls triumphant riseIn torment of desire.Help me to seek: I would not find,For when I find I knowI shall have clasped the hollow windAnd built a house of snow.
Help me to seek that unknown land!I kneel before the shrine.Help me to feel the hidden handThat ever holdeth mine.
I kneel before the Word, I kneelBefore the Cross of flameI cry, as thro' the gloom I steal,The glory of the Name.
Help me to mourn, and I shall love;What grief is like to mine?Crown me with thorn, the stars aboveShall in the circlet shine!
The Temple opens wide: none seesThe love, the dream, the light!O, blind and finite, are not theseBlinding and infinite?
The veil, the veil is rent: the skiesAre white with wings of fire,Where victim souls triumphant riseIn torment of desire.
Help me to seek: I would not find,For when I find I knowI shall have clasped the hollow windAnd built a house of snow.
Music of the star-shine shimmering o'er the seaMirror me no longer in the dusk of memory:Dim and white the rose-leaves drift along the shore.Wind among the roses, blow no more!All along the purple creek, lit with silver foam,Silent, silent voices, cry no more of home!Soft beyond the cherry-trees, o'er the dim lagoon,Dawns the crimson lantern of the large low moon.We that loved in April, we that turned awayLaughing ere the wood-dove crooned across the May,Watch the withered rose-leaves drift along the shore.Wind among the roses, blow no more!We the Sons of Reason, we that chose to brideKnowledge, and rejected the Dream that we denied,We that chose the Wisdom that triumphs for an hour,We that let the young love perish like a flower....We that hurt the kind heart, we that went astray,We that in the darkness idly dreamed of day....... Ah! The dreary rose-leaves drift along the shore.Wind among the roses, blow no more!Lonely starry faces, wonderful and white,Yearning with a cry across the dim sweet night,All our dreams are blown a-drift as flowers before a fan,All our hearts are haunted in the heart of old Japan.Haunted, haunted, haunted—we that mocked and sinnedHear the vanished voices wailing down the wind,Watch the ruined rose-leaves drift along the shore.Wind among the roses, blow no more!All along the purple creek, lit with silver foam,Sobbing, sobbing voices, cry no more of home!Soft beyond the cherry-trees, o'er the dim lagoon,Dawns the crimson lantern of the large low moon.
Music of the star-shine shimmering o'er the seaMirror me no longer in the dusk of memory:Dim and white the rose-leaves drift along the shore.Wind among the roses, blow no more!
All along the purple creek, lit with silver foam,Silent, silent voices, cry no more of home!Soft beyond the cherry-trees, o'er the dim lagoon,Dawns the crimson lantern of the large low moon.
We that loved in April, we that turned awayLaughing ere the wood-dove crooned across the May,Watch the withered rose-leaves drift along the shore.Wind among the roses, blow no more!
We the Sons of Reason, we that chose to brideKnowledge, and rejected the Dream that we denied,We that chose the Wisdom that triumphs for an hour,We that let the young love perish like a flower....
We that hurt the kind heart, we that went astray,We that in the darkness idly dreamed of day....... Ah! The dreary rose-leaves drift along the shore.Wind among the roses, blow no more!
Lonely starry faces, wonderful and white,Yearning with a cry across the dim sweet night,All our dreams are blown a-drift as flowers before a fan,All our hearts are haunted in the heart of old Japan.
Haunted, haunted, haunted—we that mocked and sinnedHear the vanished voices wailing down the wind,Watch the ruined rose-leaves drift along the shore.Wind among the roses, blow no more!
All along the purple creek, lit with silver foam,Sobbing, sobbing voices, cry no more of home!Soft beyond the cherry-trees, o'er the dim lagoon,Dawns the crimson lantern of the large low moon.
This necromantic palace, dim and rich,Dim as a dream, rich as a reverie,I knew it all of old, surely I knewThis floating twilight tinged with rose and blue,This moon-soft carven nicheWhence the calm marble, wan as memory,Slopes to the wine-brimmed bath of cold dark firePerfumed with old regret and dead desire.There the soul, slumbering in the purple wavesOf indolence, dreams of the phantom years,Dreams of the wild sweet flower of red young lipsMeeting and murmuring in the dark eclipseOf joy, where pain still cravesOne tear of love to mingle with their tears,One passionate welcome ere the wild farewell,One flash of heaven across the fires of hell.* * * *Queen of my dreams, queen of my pitiless dreams,Dim idol, moulded of the wild white rose,Coiled like a panther in that silken gloomOf scented cushions, where the rich hushed roomBreaks into soft warm gleams,As from her slumbrous clouds Queen Venus glows,Slowly thine arms up-lift to me, thine eyesMeet mine, without communion or surmise.Here, at thy feet, I watched, I watched all dayNight floating in thine eyes, then with my handsCovered my face from that dumb cry of pain:And when at last I dared to look againMy heart was far away,Wrapt in the fragrant gloom of Eastern lands,Under the flower-white stars of tropic skiesWhere soft black floating flowers turned to ... thine eyes.I breathe, I breathe the perfume of thine hair:Bury in thy deep hair my fevered face,Till as to men athirst in desert dreamsThe savour and colour and sound of cool dark streamsFloat round me everywhere,And memories float from some forgotten place,Fulfilling hopeless eyes with hopeless tearsAnd fleeting light of unforgotten years.Dim clouds of music in the dim rich hoursFloat to me thro' the twilight of thine hair,And sails like blossoms float o'er purple seas,And under dark green skies the soft warm breezeWashes dark fruit, dark flowers,Dark tropic maidens in some island lairCouched on the warm sand nigh the creaming foamTo dream and sing their tawny lovers home.Lost in the magic ocean of thine hairI find the haven of the heart of song:There tired ships rest against the pale red sky!And yet again there comes a thin sad cryAnd all the shining airFades, where the tall dark singing seamen throngFrom many generations, many climes,Fades, fades, as it has faded many times.I hear the sweet cool whisper of the waves!Drowned in the slumbrous billows of thine hair,I dream as one that sinks thro' passionate hoursIn a strange ship's wild fraughtage of dark flowersCulled for pale poets' graves;And opiate odours load the empurpled airThat flows and droops, a dark resplendent pallUnder the floating wreaths funereal.Under the heavy midnight of thine hairAn altar flames with spices of the southBurning my flesh and spirit in the flame;Till, looking tow'rds the land from whence I cameI find no comfort there,And all the darkness to my thirsty mouthIs fire, but always and in every placeBlossoms the secret wonder of thy face.* * * *The walls, the very walls are woven of dreams,All undefined by blasphemies of art!Here, pure from finite hues the very nightConceives the mystic harmonies of light,Delicious glooms and gleams;And sorrow falls in rose-leaves on the heart,And pain that yearns upon the passing hourIs but a perfume haunting a dead flower.Hark, as a hammer on a coffin fallsA knock upon the door! The colours wane,The dreams vanish! And leave that foul white scar,Tattoo'd with dreadful marks, the old calendarBlotching the blistered walls!The winter whistles thro' a shivered pane,And scatters on the bare boards at my feetThese poor soiled manuscripts, torn, incomplete...The scent of opium floats about my breath;But Time resumes his dark and hideous reign;And, with him, hideous memories troop, I know.Hark, how the battered clock ticks, to and fro,—Life, Death—Life, Death—Life, Death—O fool to cry! O slave to bow to pain,Coward to live thus tortured with desireBy demon nerves in hells of sensual fire.
This necromantic palace, dim and rich,Dim as a dream, rich as a reverie,I knew it all of old, surely I knewThis floating twilight tinged with rose and blue,This moon-soft carven nicheWhence the calm marble, wan as memory,Slopes to the wine-brimmed bath of cold dark firePerfumed with old regret and dead desire.
There the soul, slumbering in the purple wavesOf indolence, dreams of the phantom years,Dreams of the wild sweet flower of red young lipsMeeting and murmuring in the dark eclipseOf joy, where pain still cravesOne tear of love to mingle with their tears,One passionate welcome ere the wild farewell,One flash of heaven across the fires of hell.
* * * *
Queen of my dreams, queen of my pitiless dreams,Dim idol, moulded of the wild white rose,Coiled like a panther in that silken gloomOf scented cushions, where the rich hushed roomBreaks into soft warm gleams,As from her slumbrous clouds Queen Venus glows,Slowly thine arms up-lift to me, thine eyesMeet mine, without communion or surmise.
Here, at thy feet, I watched, I watched all dayNight floating in thine eyes, then with my handsCovered my face from that dumb cry of pain:And when at last I dared to look againMy heart was far away,Wrapt in the fragrant gloom of Eastern lands,Under the flower-white stars of tropic skiesWhere soft black floating flowers turned to ... thine eyes.
I breathe, I breathe the perfume of thine hair:Bury in thy deep hair my fevered face,Till as to men athirst in desert dreamsThe savour and colour and sound of cool dark streamsFloat round me everywhere,And memories float from some forgotten place,Fulfilling hopeless eyes with hopeless tearsAnd fleeting light of unforgotten years.
Dim clouds of music in the dim rich hoursFloat to me thro' the twilight of thine hair,And sails like blossoms float o'er purple seas,And under dark green skies the soft warm breezeWashes dark fruit, dark flowers,Dark tropic maidens in some island lairCouched on the warm sand nigh the creaming foamTo dream and sing their tawny lovers home.
Lost in the magic ocean of thine hairI find the haven of the heart of song:There tired ships rest against the pale red sky!And yet again there comes a thin sad cryAnd all the shining airFades, where the tall dark singing seamen throngFrom many generations, many climes,Fades, fades, as it has faded many times.
I hear the sweet cool whisper of the waves!Drowned in the slumbrous billows of thine hair,I dream as one that sinks thro' passionate hoursIn a strange ship's wild fraughtage of dark flowersCulled for pale poets' graves;And opiate odours load the empurpled airThat flows and droops, a dark resplendent pallUnder the floating wreaths funereal.
Under the heavy midnight of thine hairAn altar flames with spices of the southBurning my flesh and spirit in the flame;Till, looking tow'rds the land from whence I cameI find no comfort there,And all the darkness to my thirsty mouthIs fire, but always and in every placeBlossoms the secret wonder of thy face.
* * * *
The walls, the very walls are woven of dreams,All undefined by blasphemies of art!Here, pure from finite hues the very nightConceives the mystic harmonies of light,Delicious glooms and gleams;And sorrow falls in rose-leaves on the heart,And pain that yearns upon the passing hourIs but a perfume haunting a dead flower.
Hark, as a hammer on a coffin fallsA knock upon the door! The colours wane,The dreams vanish! And leave that foul white scar,Tattoo'd with dreadful marks, the old calendarBlotching the blistered walls!The winter whistles thro' a shivered pane,And scatters on the bare boards at my feetThese poor soiled manuscripts, torn, incomplete...
The scent of opium floats about my breath;But Time resumes his dark and hideous reign;And, with him, hideous memories troop, I know.Hark, how the battered clock ticks, to and fro,—Life, Death—Life, Death—Life, Death—O fool to cry! O slave to bow to pain,Coward to live thus tortured with desireBy demon nerves in hells of sensual fire.