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Page 1 of 11904 · PDF PAGE 84
… has touched with vivid truth The constant story of the eternal struggle Of age and sense with flatulence and youth. Now — see the venal poet start to juggle ! Young ladies, you desire to see a comedy ! The poet’s master pen shall twist the river Of song into a simple to-and-from eddy. And you shall laugh where once you feared to shiver. So listen to the happy termination Of this apparently so sad relation ! Twill suit your rosy dreams to admiration ! But, be the gatepost witness ! it is rot. Still, if I hide my face with due decorum Behind a s…
1904 · PDF PAGE 96
80 WHY JESUS WEPT Farewell ! A poet begs your alms, Will walk awhile among the palms. An honest love, a loyal kiss, Can show him better worlds than this ; Nor will he come again to yours While he knows champak-stars from sewers.
1904 · PDF PAGE 91
… G. Jobbs. They argue that it requires to be amplified, since the Marquis of Glenstrae must have had normal habits, other wise so pure a poet as Crowley would never have introduced him. This is true ; but Sir R. Burton has pointed out that the outcry against Greek Art comes chiefly from those who are personally incapable of it. Englishmen and Virgins are then like Alpine guides and mountains ; some can’t go, and the rest lose the way. Hence Mr. Kensit
1904 · PDF PAGE 17
…w as much muck as — those others ! Your modest homes are dull ; you need me ! Don’t let your husbands know ; but — read me ! SCENE I The Poet inducts his matter. I draw no picture of the Fates (Recitativo—rhyming 8s) Presiding over birth and so on. I leave the Gods alone, and go on. Sir Percival de Percivale Sat in his vast baronial hall
1904 · PDF PAGE 22
…s, or like a damned soul wailing ! (A word to bid you notice with what mastery Of technique that last stanza there was written. I risk a poet’s license on one cast, Ery ! (Pet name for thee, Eros !) The lines are smitten Into due harmony double-rhymed, well knitten. Wherefore, to show I can repeat the effort, This verse inserted like a playful kitten To usher in the youth’s c. d. e. f., ert Or inert as may be ; it can’t the lucky deaf hurt.) SCENE II SIR PERCY PERCIVALE, on a mountain summit. No higher ? No higher ? All hell is my portion. My m…
1904 · PDF PAGE 87
…description and no drama, and ought to satisfy Mr. Bernard Shaw’s idea of a dramatic scene. (The beau- tiful woman gets up and goes. The poet hastily follows her out.) SCENE XIV TEN MONTHS LATER Sir Percy de Percivale’s Ancestral Hall. SIR HERPES ZOSTER, M.D. SIR GRABSON JABBS, Q.C. SIR HERPES Z. Yes, indeed, a most fortunate event. The children weigh 46 lbs between the three of them. All boys ! I. Godly for “ are in love with one another ”.
1904 · PDF PAGE 94
78 WHY JESUS WEPT The poet concludes. Now I have written four-and-twenty hours Without a decent rest by Kandy Lake. I invoke the urgent elemental powers To bring all to an end for Buddha’s sake. I must bid all ye matrons fond farewell, Knowing your inmost thoughts ; that, had ye dared, Ye would be just as far en route for hell As Angela, the gentle Lady Baird ; And all ye youths, aware that Percy’s fall Is something to be envied of ye all ; And all ye parsons, seeing that ye pray Your Father for the Luck of Lord Glenstrae. Enough of this ! Insi…
1904 · PDF PAGE 67
…ung delight, The mazy music of virginity, Sun of the day, moon of the night, All, all to me ! Angela, angel ! Thou hast made me man, And poet over-man ! To thee, To thee I owe transfiguration, peace, The wide dominion of the wan Abyss of air. I can look out and see Beyond the stars, black seas Wherein no star may swim, Thence, far beyond the vast revolving spheres
1904 · PDF PAGE 19
… its eye ; Beneath its tongue are Hate and Misery ; Love in its coils is hidden, and its nature Is double everyway ; dost wonder why The poet worships every scaléd feature, And holds him lordliest yet of every kingly creature ? Sir Percival nor moved nor spoke ; awhile There is black silence in the ancient hall. Then cometh subtly with well-trainéd smile
1904 · PDF PAGE 27
… toward some destiny most high, most holy ! Some of those glories sung with awful skill By the loud brabble of the monster Crowley, That poet of the muck-heap ! Oh, enough ! The wind is harsh and vital on the hills. Forth let me fare ! I am other than the stuff