Collected Works (Vol. III)

114 RODIN IN RIME As he loved her do I love you” ? So much they shall know, surely; never The truth, how lofty and fresh as dew Our love began, abode for ever: They cannot know us through and through. We have exceeded all the past. The future shall not build another. This is the climax, first and last. We stand upon the summit. Of ages, daughter of ages, cast Mother The fatal die, and turn to death ! Let evolution turn, involving As when the gray sun sickeneth— Ghostly September ! so dissolving Into the pale eternal breath. When all is done, shall this be said. When all is said, shall this be done, The zeon exhaust and finishéd, And slumber steal upon the sun, My dear, when you and I are dead. LA CASQUE D’OR. A NINA OLIVIER, You laughing little light of wickedness, low ripples round you love and coils And twists the Casque of Gold about the child-face with a child-caress. O glory of the tangled net! O subtle vase of scented oils! You laughing little light of wickedness ! Through all the misty wind of light that glamours round you, sorceress, Your face shines out with feline grace, exults, a tiger in the toils! They shall not hold your passion in: fling, fling your lips, my murderess, On mine that I may pass away, a vapour that your passion boils, A rose whose petals flutter down as cruel lips and fingers press. Hear one last careless laugh acclaim my corpse the latest of your spoils, You laughing little light of wickedness. LES BOURGEOIS DE CALAIS PERFECTLY sad and perfectly resolved, They are ready, ready to be hanged. They go (Forlorn ones!) against Calais’ overthrow ; And all their fate in Calais’ is involved Unto the utmost. Who will save his folk From vengeful ire of the tyrant? Six are these, Perfectly sad, and steady, and at ease. Self-slain, they shall save others from the yoke. Seven then are these found faithful unto death ; From Calais six ; and one from Nazareth. REVEIL D’ADONIS,! ADONIS, awake, it is day; it is spring! It is dawn on the lea, it is light on the lake! The fawn’s in the bush and the bird’s on the wing | Adonis, awake! Adonis, awake! We are colour and song And form, we are Muses most tender to take Thy life up to Art that was lost over long. Adonis, awake! Adonis, awake! thou hast risen above The fear in the forest, the brute in the brake. Thou art sacred to shrines that are higher than Love ! Adonis, awake ! 1 Properly the sequel to Mort d’Adonis on p. 122,