sung,
And in my hands a golden censer swung.




PARFAIT AMOUR


It is not that thy face is fair
As dying sunsets are,
Nor that thy lovely eyelids wear
The splendour of a star;
Tis the deep sadness of thine eyes
Hath my heart captive led,
And that within thy soul I prize
The calmness of the dead.

O holy love, O fair white face,
O sweet lost soul of thine!
Thy bosom is an altar-place,
Thy kisses holy wine;
Sweet incense offer'd for my bliss
Is thy corrupted breath,
And on thy stained lips I kiss
The holy lips of Death!

Wherefore because thy heart is all
Fill'd full of mournfulness,
And thy gold head as with a pall
Hung o'er with sinfulness;
Because thy soul is utterly
Sinful unto the core—
Therefore my heart is bound to thee,
Dear love, forevermore!




OPIUM

Naught is more sweet than gently to let dream
The pallid flower of life asleep alway;
Where the dim censer sends up far from day
Unceasingly its still-ascending stream,

O where the air winds its myrrh-scented steam
About thy naked body's disarray,
Shall not today's gold to thy shut eyes seem
Born and forgot in the dead ages gray?

Sunk from life's mournful loud processional,
For thee shall not with high uplifted urn
The Night pour out dreams that awake and say,

—We were, O pallid maiden vesperal,
Before the world; we also in our turn
By the vain morning gold scatter'd away.




SOMBRE SONNET


I love all sombre and autumnal things,
Regal and mournful and funereal,
Things strange and curious and majestical,
Whereto a solemn savor of death clings:

Coerulian serpents mark'd with azure rings;
Awful cathedrals where rich shadows fall;
Hoarse symphonies sepulchral as a pall;
Mad crimes adorn'd with bestial blazonings.

Therefore I love thee more than aught that dies,
Within whose subtile beauty slumbereth
The twain solemnity of life and death;

Therefore I sit beside thee far from day
And look into thy holy eyes alway,
Thy desolate eyes, thine unillumin'd eyes.




LANGUOR


Although thy face be whiter than the dawn,
Fairer than aught the dawning hath descried,
Hast thou not now, O dear love deified,
Enough of kisses upon thy forehead wan?

The days and nights, like beads to pray upon,
Pass by before our eyes and not abide,
And so these things shall be till we have died,
Until our bodies to the earth are gone.

I think how pleasant such a thing must be,
That all thy lovely limbs should fall away,
And drop to nothing in their soft decay.

Then may thy buried body turn to me,
With new love on thy changed lips like fire,
And kiss me with a kiss that shall not tire.




ENNUI


I sat in tall Gomorrah on a day,
Boring myself with solitude and dreams,
When, like strange priests, with sacerdotal tread,
The seven mortal sins, in rich array,

Came in and knelt: one old, and weak, and gray,
One that was shrouded like a person dead,
And one whose robes cast reddish-purple gleams
Upon her scornful face at peace alway.

They swung before me amschirs of strange gold,
And one most beautiful began to pray,
Dreamily garmented in pallid blue.

But I said only—I have dream'd of you.
Naught really is; all things are very old,
And very foolish. Please to go away.




LITANY


All the authors that there are bore Me;
All the philosophies bore Me;
All the statues and all the temples bore Me;

—All the authors that there are bore Thee;
All the philosophies bore Thee;
All the statues and all the temples bore Thee.

All the women of the earth weary Me;
The fruit of the vine wearieth Me;
All the symphonies weary Me.

—All the women of the earth weary Thee;
The fruit of the vine wearieth Thee;
All the symphonies weary Thee.

Victory and defeat fatigue Me;
Gladness and sorrowing fatigue Me;
Life and death fatigue Me.

—Victory and defeat fatigue Thee;
Gladness and sorrowing fatigue Thee;
Life and death fatigue Thee.

The earth and the heavens weary Me;
The sun by day and the moon by night weary Me;
All the great stars of heaven weary Me.

—The earth and the heavens weary Thee;
The sun by day and the moon by night weary Thee;
All the great stars of heaven weary Thee.

The glorious company of the Apostles tireth Me;
The goodly fellowship of the Prophets tireth Me;
The noble army of Martyrs tireth Me.

—The glorious company of the Apostles tireth Thee
The goodly fellowship of the Prophets tireth Thee;
The noble army of Martyrs tireth Thee.

All the race of men weary Me;
The Cherubim and the Seraphim weary Me;
Myself wearieth Me.

—All the race of men weary Thee;
The Cherubim and the Seraphim weary Thee;
Thyself wearieth Thee.




HARVARD

ON HIS TWENTY-FIRST YEAR


Tired Muse, put faded roses on thy brow,
Put thy bare arms about the harp, and sing:
—I am a little bor'd with everything.
Past the clos'd jalousies the mlengkas go;

They are not beautiful; no Greek they know;
They go about and howl and make a fuss;
I gaze through sâd-shap'd eyelids languorous,
Far off from Ispahân where roses blow.

Professors sit on lofty stools upcurl'd,
Through Yankee noses drooling all day long;
I find all these things quite ridiculous.

Before despis'd old age comes over us,
Let us step into the great world ere long.
We shall be very grand in the great world!




PRIDE


They come and go, they pass before my soul,
Desire and Love, weak Anguish and Distress,
Shame and Despair: in phantom crowds they press,
Life's poor processional, Time's lowly dole.

Mournful their voices as slow bells that toll,
Voices of them that curse and do not bless;
Ineffable things wrapp'd round with loathsomeness,
The deeds that I have done in Fate's control.

They leer and moan, they shriek and threat and lower,
Ignoble faces that the sky do mar;
My changeless soul from her high pride of power

Looks down unmov'd. So the calm evening star
Upon the wallowing peaceless sea looks down,
Set far aloft within the heaven's crown.




SONG OF GOLDEN YOUTH


Quelle bêtise! O Muse, no longer lappt in sadness let us lie,
Bring the jars of old Falernum, bring the roses ere they die!
I love laughter, I love kisses, I love Lili, I love love,
But these dingy funeral dirges ennuyer us by-and-by;
Fellows, disinvoltamente, when the lords of life depart,
Lift the wine-cup to your haughty lips, and sing, Good-bye, goodbye!
We have laughter on our lips, and in our hearts the laughing spring,
Nothing greatly can afflict us, nor our spirits mortify;
All the laws and regulations under scornful feet we tread,
We laugh loud at all the virtues underneath the shining sky;
I have heard, when haughty Tarquin did his horrid deed of sin,
That Lucretia's lily fingers slapp'd his face vivaciously;
Though of all my life dear Lili make a gay dégringolade,
Yet to my ennuis doth Lili sing an endless lullaby;
We are Greeks and we are Tartars, we know all the languages,
To the girls of Persia, India, China, we know how to sigh;
If the heartless heart of Lili tediously cruel prove,
Go and dance the tarantella with the girls of Hôkusai!
In the golden-citied world from Paris unto Tokiô
We are quite at home, we saunter languidly through tall Shanghai;
Chairete! the shaw of rosy Persia is a gentleman,
Charming people in Benares where the Ganges loiters by;
Allah akbar! O great world, O golden-tower'd cities gay,
Into all your gates with laughter and with roses enter I!

Kalliste, your Persian ghazal cease to sing: the sun is low,
And the sacred hour of absinthe now is very very nigh.




MAIS MOI JE VIS LA VIE EN ROUGE


Your soul is like a purple flower,
Mary, whose eyes are amethyst,
Whose lips are like red wine when kist,
With sweet life and sweet death for dower;
There are who will have none of these,
Who walk in peace all day upright,
And in the night pray on their knees—
The pleasures of the life in white.

All cloth'd with virtues manifold
Are these—their souls are like white snow;
Fair love, around thy heart I know
My heart is bound with chains of gold.
Sweet youths whose life is in the spring,
The water is all wine they drink,
They sorrow not at anything—
The pleasures of the life in pink.

Your gold hair's like an aureole,
Your lips are gold wine bought and sold,
Pure golden kisses bought for gold;
Each breast is like a golden bowl.

These things are for a scorn to those
That read great books both night and day,
That say, Joy dieth as the rose—
The pleasures of the life in gray.

Sweet youths, white ladies, scholars sour,
Rejoice, and hasten on your way;
Mary, whose skin is white as whey,
Your soul is like a purple flower.




LOUANGES D'ELLE


—O Muse of mine that sittest orientally
With a green emerald snake about the waist of thee,
With henna-tinted feet, and almond eyes that dream,
Put down the opium-pipe of jade and ivory,
For she that is most fair is fain to hear thy song:
Awake, O Muse, and sing her praises solemnly,
That to the laughing heart of California
Hath added all the grace of France and Italy;
She who, to put to sleep my pitiless ennuis
Is come from distant Paris and from Varsovie;
Athens is in her heart, and Paris in her eyes,
Dear European angel from beyond the sea!

—There is no use to sing; she is not to be sung;
What mortal praise can come unto her glory near?
And she hath quite forgot her natal English tongue;
She is too far, too high, thy languid praise to hear,
Too delicate, too strange, too wicked, too divine,
Too heavenly, too sweet, too bad, too fair, too dear!
'N'est-elle pas l'oasis où tu rêves et la gourde
Où tu humes à longs traits le vin du souvenir?'




HÉLAS


—Why sittest thou, O Muse, in grief enfolden?
—Thou hast me promis'd jewels rich and rare
To wear within my hair;
And for my slaves the kings of kingdoms olden;

And to abide in lofty castles golden,
Because I am most fair.
And lo, I have no sandals for my feet,
And little bread to eat.

Of that far golden Irem I am dreaming,
Whence for few kisses I did follow thee;
Fair is that spot to see,

With far-off waving palms and towers gleaming;
Great deserts round that isle of blissful seeming
Lie stretching endlessly.




SONNET


When I contemplate how my state is low,
And how my pride that had the earth for throne
In this dark city sitteth all alone,
My heart is fain for death to end its woe;

Then when I think how all the great below
Had only sorrow and grief through all their days,
I, that with these shall some time stand in place,
My fortune like their bitter fortune know.

Among whom also holy Baudelaire,
Though unto him the loftiest lot was given
To hear the blessed muses sing in heaven,

Past his few days in anguish and despair;
Yet did he not bow down his mournful head
Until Peace found him in his glory dead.

So thou in this low lair,
Although in sorrow and grief thou dost remain,
Though of all things whereof thy soul was fain
Remaineth only pain,
Yet be not thou, O soul, disconsolate:
Forget not thou thy far-exalted state.




SONNET


Be not cast down my heart, and be not sad,
That thou like common men must sorrow know;
Not only they that live and die below,
But ev'n the gods thy supreme sorrow had;

Not unto Tammuz was this fortune given,
Not to know grief; whom starry Ashtoreth
Sought through the seven-gated realm of death,
Far from the great moon and the stars of heaven.

Osiris also could not but to die;
He reigneth king among the perisht dead;
And Christ, when his long grief was finished,

Hid his great glory in the lowly ground.
All these had sorrow, that were great and high;
These also were august, these also crown'd.




RONDEAU


As shadows pass, in the misty night,
Over the wan and moonlit grass,
So passeth our glory out of sight,
As shadows pass.

A little darkness, a little light,
Sorrow and gladness, a weary mass,
Glimmer and falter and pass in blight.

So all our life, in waning flight,
Fadeth and faltereth, alas;
Passeth our sorrow and our delight,
As shadows pass.




AUTUMN SONG


Weep, far autumnal skies,
Shrouded in misty air;
Weep, for thy solemn dearth,
And for thy chill despair,
Earth.

O stricken forest-trees,
Dead leaves that falter down
Solemnly to your sleep,
Golden, and red, and brown,
Weep.




BALLAD


The lady rode 'neath the strange sky's pall
Through the leafy woods funereal,
And all the length of her moonlit way
Was wanly white as the light of day;
Solemnly rob'd she rode along,
Unmindful of their droning throng
That throng'd her shadowy path, alas,
As though to see her funeral pass;
So through the mournful