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…tued pose the rhythm is sealed That all who are human dance to evermore. Before this ecstasy all ages yield: Eternity breaks foamless on time’s shore. And I, because of this delight in me, Am one in substance with eternity. Oo”
…Her secret wonders grow and glow, limned in the luminous patine. Worship, the sculptor’s, clean forgot in worship of her body lithe, And time forgotten with his scythe, and thought, the Witenagemot. Confused in rapture: peace is culled a flower from the arboreal root, The vision dulled, the singer mute, shattered the lute, the song annulled. 41 G
…an! the little centuries drop back, Back from the contemplation. Stand and span With one great grip his cup, the Zodiac! Distil from all time’s art his wine, the truth! Drink, drink the mighty health—an age’s youth— Salut, Auguste Rodin! Here is a man. 11
…Greece, as Nature glows, Simple and sacred, with no thought of sin, Yet born to trouble us, to fascinate. Here we are, back i’ th’ springtime of the earth; God above man; and above God, dire fate. Ancient cosmogony of peace and mirth! Careless, we careless, do invoke thy rime Of the ancient rapture of the olden time. 48
… is cast, Pallid with death-in-life achieved. O force Of murder animal in the dead embrace! The implacable ardour, unavenged remorse For time’s insulting loss, quickens the pace Unto its prey that gathers, like a storm Shrouding invisibly the crater’s rim Whence fury yet shall wake, and fire inform The inane basalt and coruscations dim Of smouldering infamy. Bow down in awe! It is enough. The Gods are at feast. Withdraw! 49 H
LAGE D’AIRAIN RESH in the savage vigour of the time, The golden youth stands in the golden prime, Erect, acute, astrain. We look and long For those bronze lips to blossom into song. He is silent. We reflect. Ourselves grown old Yearn somewhat toward that sensuous glow of gold. All this is folly. Rodin made him so, Evoked the strength, the goodliness, the glow. The form is little: in the mind there dwells Force to avail the childish heart that swells With aught that is. The golden prime is past— Aye! but a nobler gain is ours at last Who see man…
…abit, and not ours that flee The intimate touch of love and think to sleuth By intellect all the scent of being, whirled In the wheel of time—roll back, slow years, and be A monument, a memory for me; That I may in their passion have a part, And feel their glory glow within my heart! II This holy rapture is the eternal spring, Here in the love that tunes the untrammelled feet, Here in the ardour of the arms that cling, The alluring amber-touch of sweet to sweet, The ageless awe of the new love revealed, The reverence of the new love hovering ni…
… Toil. Below be miners fashioned fair, And all that labour in the sea Sepulchred from the ambient air, A fatal weird of dole to dree. No time to be, no light to live, Earth’s need to these hath hope to give. Above be various shapes of labour, The bodily strength, the manual skill; They shape the anvil and the sabre, The ploughshare and the bolt; they fill The myriad will of brains that boil: Their fame be thine, O Tower of Toil! 16
…! Rodin discerned. We see the eagle-eyed Glory of echoing kisses; hear the sound Of glutted raptures break in the profound, The abyss of time: upsurge the dead. Why hide Thy sorrowful god’s brow, O sculptor, mage, Child of eternity, father of an age? 34
… and so on, day after day, till Z. comes round and recognizes it for Balzac. Rodin shakes him warmly by both hands: Balzac it is for all time—and one ceases to wonder that it was rejected! Now, of course, this paper pellet is in any case very wide of its mark. Rodin can easily sculp himself a tabernacle and go in with Whistler—and even drag in Velasquez: but here am I illustrating, however feebly, the Works, eootry: and poetry cannot, unfortunately, ever be pure technique. I have long wished to write “A Sonnet in W. and P.” (with Whip as the ke…