PART II

CORNUCOPIA

Now music fills the night with moving shades; Its velvet darkness, veined like a grape, Obscures and falls round many a subtle shape --Figures that steal through cool tall colonnades, Vast minotaurian corridors of sleep; Rhythmic they pass us, splashed by red cascades Of wine, fierce-flashing fountains whose proud waves Shimmer awhile; plunge foaming over steep Age-polished rocks, into the dim cold caves Of starlit dusk below--then merge with night, Softly as children sinking into sleep.

But now more figures sway into our sight; Strong and bare-shouldered, pressed and laden down, Stagger across the terraces. They bear Great Cornucopia of summer fruit And heavy roses scented with the noon --Piled up with fruit and blossoms, all full blown, Crimson, or golden as the harvest moon-- Piled up and overflowing in a flood Of riches; brilliant-plumaged birds, that sing As the faint playing on a far sweet lute, Warble their tales of conquest and of love; Perch on each shoulder; sweep each rainbow wing Like light'ning through the breathless dark above. Heaped up in vases gems shine hard and bright; Sudden they flare out--gleaming red like blood-- For now the darkness turns to swelling light, Great torches gild each shadow, tear the sky, As drums tear through the silence of the night; Breaking its crystal quiet--making us cry Or catch our sobbing breath in sudden fear. A shadow stumbles, and the jewels shower On to the pavers with a sharp sweet sound. They mingle with the fountain drops that flower Up in a scarlet bloom above the ground, A beauteous changing blossom; then they rain On to the broad mysterious terraces, Where sea-gods rise to watch in cold disdain Before those vast vermillion palaces, --Watch where the slumbering coral gods of noon, Drunk with the sudden golden light and flare Of flaming torches, try to pluck and tear That wan enchanted lotus flower, the moon, Down from its calm still waters; thus they fall, Like flowing plumes, the fountains of our festival.

Slowly the torches die. They echo long, These last notes of a Bacchanalian song, Of drifting drowsy beauty, born of sleep, --Vast as the sea, as changing and as deep. In thanksgiving for shelt'ring summer skies Still, far away, a fervent red light glows. Small winds brush past against our lips and eyes, Caress them like a laughing summer rose, And rainbow moths flit by, in circling flight. A harp sobs out its crystal syruppings; Faintly it sounds, as the poor petal-wings, Fragile yet radiant, of a butterfly Beating against the barriers of night.

Then from the Ocean came the Syren song, Heavy with perfume, yet faint as a sigh, Kissing our minds, and changing right from wrong; Chaining our limbs; making our bodies seem Inert and spellbound, dead as in a dream.

* * * * *

Bound by the silver fetters of your voice To this new slavery of dreams, We, listening, rejoice. The magic strains Swell in this darkness star-devoid. The music streams Upon the world in patterns passionate yet clear, And stains Each soul. The mind, decoyed By thoughts that grind and tear Away old values, Is sent down other thoughts So subtly swift, That in their fleeting passage They can cut adrift our souls Upon a sea of wonder and of fear. Within the arid minds of men This music sounds but once, for then They hear no other song. In it, tumultuous rush of wings, The glamour of old lovely things In deserts buried long, The grace of beasts that bound and leap With movements blithe and strong --Of those that creep Away in hissing-reptile rage-- All these, all these are found. They hear The secrets, solved, of each dead age, Each mystery is clear. For in this music's flow, the din Of spheres that tear and speed and spin Through pulsing space is heard, And all things men have loved and feared Are mirror'd in each sound.

SONG

Our hidden voices, wreathed with love's soft flowers, Wind-toss'd thro' valleys, tremble across seas To turbann'd cities; touch tall lonely towers, Call to you thro' the sky, the wind, the trees.

Misted and golden as the hanging moon, That like a summer fruit floats from the sky, Thrills out our distant age-enchanted tune, --Nor will it let you pass our beauty by. But if it should not reach to stir your mind, Then hold a summer rose against the ear, Till through its crimson sweetness you can hear The falling flow of rhythm--so designed That from this secret island, like a star Shining above a shrouded world, our song Cleaves through the darkest night and echoes long, Bidding you follow whether near or far. Come hither where the mermaids churn the foam, Lashing their tails across the calm, or dive To groves and gardens of bright flowers; then roam Beneath the shade of stone-branched trees, or drive Some slow sea-monster to its musselled home. Here, as a ladder, they climb up and down The rainbow's steep refracted steps of light, Till, when the dusk sends down its rippling frown, They quiver back to us in silver flight. The moon sails down once more; our mermaids bring Rich gifts of ocean fruit. Again we sing. Enchantment, love, vague fear, and memories That cling about us like the fumes of wine With myriad love-enhancing mysteries We pour out in one song--intense--divine, Down the deep moonlit chasms of the waves Our song floats on the opiate breeze. Why seek To goad your carven galleys, fast-bound slaves Who search each sweeping line of bay and creek, Only to stagger on a hidden rock, or find The limp dead sails swept off by sudden wind? Thus always you must search the cruel sea, For if you find us mankind shall be free!

But when you sleep we grasp you by the hand, And to the trickling honey of the flute We lead you to a distant shimmering land Where lotus-eaters munch their golden fruit, Then fall upon the fields of summer flowers In drunken sunlit slumber, while a fawn Prances and dances round them. Oh, those hours When through the crystal valleys of the dawn Down from the haunted forests of the night There dash the dew-drenched centaurs on their way, Mad with the sudden rush of golden light --Affright the lotus-eaters, as they sway Towards the woodlands in a stumbling flight. In these deep groves we follow through the cool Shadow of high columnar trees, to find The fallen sky within a forest pool That's faintly veiled and fretted by a wind, Lest our white flashing limbs should turn you blind.

* * * * *

As the sweet sound of bells that fall and fade In watery circles on the verge of night, So rounded ripples spread beneath the shade Of flowing branches dripping with green light.

Thus do we wander; but when day is spent We grope our way thro' vast tall palaces, Palaces sinister and somnolent, Where lurk dim fears and unknown menaces.

These high pale walls and this pale shining floor Seem built of bones, by ages planed and ground To a white smoothness. On this rock-bound shore The bodies of dead sailors oft are found.

These sombre arches pierce the sullen sky.

These pillars are the pillars of the night.

Of what avail your strife and agony? Why seek to search and struggle for the light? Our music chains you: binds your limbs from flight.

PROSPECT ROAD

Gigantic houses, tattered by all time, Raise their immense and ruined bulk and height In one unending universal street, Against a strange and sunken yellow sky --Like sunset trickling through into the sea, Down to the depths--yellow and grey and green. Blind windows face the interminable road; Innumerable those windows seem to stretch All smeared and stained and stamped with time and blood, --Stains that seem faces--horrid twitching masks Moving their lewd derisive lips and tongues, Spitting out treacheries with vampire lips-- Or eyes that gaze from far blank-stretching walls --The tortured eyes of those who see their death Approaching æon-by-æon along this road. Behind the walls sound voices whispering Of dire and hidden, carefully hidden, thoughts-- Cruel, wicked and unfathomable things That lie behind this infamy of stone. Then clamour, shrieking voices, or a pause That falls like lead through the suspended air; Broken by laughter--rending piercing sounds That seem to tear the fabric of our minds. Slinking along these wicked, stricken walls, I reached a shining distant point of light. And glory came--vast and unending light, Rays--flashing, writhing rays of light. And then the music sounded. Ah, that sound!

Cadences rose and fell unendingly-- Quivering, shining waves of sound and sight-- Sounds of the universe--the cries of space And planets tumbling wildly round our world --Showing the meaning of the meaningless. "God and eternity"--strange flashing sounds The whirl of time, "Melchisedec"--"Glory of God" And space--the universe--like framing words-- "Gog and Magog"--"Infinity"--the rush of waters And the sky comes down. Down with the splintering stars.

1916-1919.