  “Qu’est ce qu’ils savent de l’amour, et qu’est ce qu’ils peuvent comprendre? S’ils ne comprennent pas la poÈsie, s’ils ne sentent pas la musique, qu’est ce qu’ils peuvent comprendre de cette passion en comparaison avec laquelle la rose est grossiÈre et le parfum des violettes un tonnerre?” CAID ALI For three years, diabolus in the scale, He drank ambrosia, All passes, ANANGKE prevails, Came end, at last, to that Arcadia. He had moved amid her phantasmagoria, Amid her galaxies, NUKTIS AGALMA . . . . . . . . . . Drifted ... drifted precipitate, Asking time to be rid of.... Of his bewilderment; to designate His new found orchid.... To be certain ... certain ... (Amid Ærial flowers) ... time for arrangements— Drifted on To the final estrangement; To sift TO AGATHON from the chaff Until he found his seive.... Ultimately, his seismograph: —Given that is his “fundamental passion” This urge to convey the relation Of eye-lid and cheek-bone By verbal manifestations; To present the series Of curious heads in medallion— He had passed, inconscient, full gaze, The wide-banded irises And botticellian sprays implied In their diastasis; Which anÆsthesis, noted a year late, And weighed, revealed his great affect, (Orchid), mandate Of Eros, a retrospect. . . . Mouths biting empty air, The still stone dogs, Caught in metamorphosis, were Left him as epilogues. |
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