  Ah, what I wrote on board and wall With foolish heart, in foolish scrawl, I meant but for their decoration! Yet say you, "Fools' abomination! Both board and wall require purgation, And let no trace our eyes appal!" Well, I will help you, as I can, For sponge and broom are my vocation, As critic and as waterman. But when the finished work I scan, I'm glad to see each learned owl With "wisdom" board and wall defoul. RIMUS REMEDIUM
(or a Consolation to Sick Poets). From thy moist lips, O Time, thou witch, beslavering me, Hour upon hour too slowly drips In vain—I cry, in frenzy's fit, "A curse upon that yawning pit, A curse upon Eternity!" The world's of brass, A fiery bullock, deaf to wail: Pain's dagger pierces my cuirass, WingÉd, and writes upon my bone: "Bowels and heart the world hath none, Why scourge her sins with anger's flail?" Pour poppies now, Pour venom, Fever, on my brain! Too long you test my hand and brow: What ask you? "What—reward is paid?" A malediction on you, jade, And your disdain! No, I retract, 'Tis cold—I hear the rain importune— Fever, I'll soften, show my tact: Here's gold—a coin—see it gleam! Shall I with blessings on you beam, Call you "good fortune"? The door opes wide, And raindrops on my bed are scattered, The light's blown out—woes multiplied! He that hath not an hundred rhymes, I'll wager, in these dolorous times We'd see him shattered! MY BLISS. Once more, St Mark, thy pigeons meet my gaze, The Square lies still, in slumbering morning mood: In soft, cool air I fashion idle lays, Speeding them skyward like a pigeon's brood: And then recall my minions To tie fresh rhymes upon their willing pinions. My bliss! My bliss! Calm heavenly roof of azure silkiness, Guarding with shimmering haze yon house divine! Thee, house, I love, fear—envy, I'll confess, And gladly would suck out that soul of thine! "Should I give back the prize?" Ask not, great pasture-ground for human eyes! My bliss! My bliss! Stern belfry, rising as with lion's leap Sheer from the soil in easy victory, That fill'st the Square with peal resounding, deep, Wert thou in French that Square's "accent aigu"? Were I for ages set In earth like thee, I know what silk-meshed net.... My bliss! My bliss! Hence, music! First let darker shadows come, And grow, and merge into brown, mellow night! 'Tis early for your pealing, ere the dome Sparkle in roseate glory, gold-bedight While yet 'tis day, there's time For strolling, lonely muttering, forging rhyme— My bliss! My bliss! COLUMBUS REDIVIVUS. Thither I'll travel, that's my notion, I'll trust myself, my grip, Where opens wide and blue the ocean I'll ply my Genoa ship. New things on new the world unfolds me, Time, space with noonday die: Alone thy monstrous eye beholds me, Awful Infinity! SILS-MARIA. Here sat I waiting, waiting, but for naught! Beyond all good and evil—now by light wrought To joy, now by dark shadows—all was leisure, All lake, all noon, all time sans aim, sans measure. Then one, dear friend, was swiftly changed to twain, And Zarathustra left my teeming brain.... A DANCING SONG TO THE MISTRAL
WIND.[17] Wildly rushing, clouds outleaping, Care-destroying, Heaven sweeping, Mistral wind, thou art my friend! Surely 'twas one womb did bear us, Surely 'twas one fate did pair us, Fellows for a common end. From the crags I gaily greet you, Running fast I come to meet you, Dancing while you pipe and sing. How you bound across the ocean, Unimpeded, free in motion, Swifter than with boat or wing! Through my dreams your whistle sounded, Down the rocky stairs I bounded To the golden ocean wall; Saw you hasten, swift and glorious, Like a river, strong, victorious, Tumbling in a waterfall. Saw you rushing over Heaven, With your steeds so wildly driven, Saw the car in which you flew; Saw the lash that wheeled and quivered, While the hand that held it shivered, Urging on the steeds anew. Saw you from your chariot swinging, So that swifter downward springing Like an arrow you might go Straight into the deep abysses, As a sunbeam falls and kisses Roses in the morning glow. Dance, oh! dance on all the edges, Wave-crests, cliffs and mountain ledges, Ever finding dances new! Let our knowledge be our gladness, Let our art be sport and madness, All that's joyful shall be true! Let us snatch from every bower, As we pass, the fairest flower, With some leaves to make a crown; Then, like minstrels gaily dancing, Saint and witch together prancing, Let us foot it up and down. Those who come must move as quickly As the wind—we'll have no sickly, Crippled, withered, in our crew; Off with hypocrites and preachers, Proper folk and prosy teachers, Sweep them from our heaven blue. Sweep away all sad grimaces, Whirl the dust into the faces |
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