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(Italian Campagna 1309, the open road)

"Bah! I have sung women in three cities,

But it is all the same;

And I will sing of the sun.

Lips, words, and you snare them,

Dreams, words, and they are as jewels,

Strange spells of old deity,

Ravens, nights, allurement:

And they are not;

Having become the souls of song.

Eyes, dreams, lips, and the night goes.

Being upon the road once more,

They are not.

Forgetful in their towers of our tuneing

Once for wind-runeing

They dream us-toward and

Sighing, say, "Would Cino,

"Passionate Cino, of the wrinkling eyes,

"Gay Cino, of quick laughter,

"Cino, of the dare, the jibe.

"Frail Cino, strongest of his tribe

"That tramp old ways beneath the sun-light,

"Would Cino of the Luth were here!

Once, twice a year—-

Vaguely thus word they:

"Cino?" "Oh, eh, Cino Polnesi

"The singer is't you mean?"

"Ah yes, passed once our way,

"A saucy fellow, but . . .

"(Oh they are all one these vagabonds),

"Peste! 'tis his own songs?

"Or some other's that he sings?

"But you, My Lord, how with your city?"

My you "My Lord," God's pity!

And all I knew were out, My Lord, you

Were Lack-land Cino, e'en as I am,

O Sinistro.

I have sung women in three cities.

But it is all one.

I will sing of the sun.

. . . eh? . . . they mostly had grey eyes,

But it is all one, I will sing of the sun.

"'Pollo Phoibee, old tin pan, you

Glory to Zeus' aegis-day,

Shield o' steel-blue, th' heaven o'er us

Hath for boss thy lustre gay!

"'Pollo Phoibee, to our way-fare

Make thy laugh our wander-lied;

Bid thy 'flugence bear away care.

Cloud and rain-tears pass they fleet!

Seeking e'er the new-laid rast-way

To the gardens of the sun . . .

* * *

I have sung women in three cities

But it is all one.

I will sing of the white birds

In the blue waters of heaven,

The clouds that are spray to its sea.

Hugh Selwyn Mauberley
There died a myriad

And of the best, among them,

For an old bitch gone in the teeth,

For a botched civilization,

Charm, smiling at the good mouth,

Quick eyes gone under earth's lid,

For two gross of broken statues,

For a few thousand battered books
And the days are not full enough

And the nights are not full enough

And life slips by like a field mouse

Not shaking the grass

La Regina Avrillouse

Lady of rich allure,

Queen of the spring's embrace,

Your arms are long like boughs of ash,

Mid laugh-broken streams, spirit of rain unsure,

Breath of the poppy flower,

All the wood thy bower

And the hills thy dwelling-place.

This will I no more dream;

Warm is thy arm's allure,

Warm is the gust of breath

That ere thy lips meet mine

Kisseth my cheek and saith:

"This is the joy of earth,

Here is the wine of mirth

Drain ye one goblet sure,

Take ye the honey cup

The honied song raise up,

Drink of the spring's allure,

April and dew and rain;

Brown of the earth sing sure,

Cheeks and lips and hair

And soft breath that kisseth where

Thy lips have come not yet to drink."

Moss and the mold of earth,

These be thy couch of mirth,

Long arms thy boughs of shade

April-alluring, as the blade

Of grass doth catch the dew

And make it crown to hold the sun.

Banner be you

Above my head,

Glory to all wold display'd,

April-alluring, glory-bold.

The Garret

Come, let us pity those who are better off than we are.

Come, my friend, and remember

that the rich have butlers and no friends,

And we have friends and no butlers.

Come, let us pity the married and the unmarried.

Dawn enters with little feet

like a gilded Pavlova

And I am near my desire.

Nor has life in it aught better

Than this hour of clear coolness

the hour of waking together.

The Garden

En robe de parade. Samain

Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall

She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,

And she is dying piece-meal

of a sort of emotional anaemia.

And round about there is a rabble

Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.

They shall inherit the earth.

In her is the end of breeding.

Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.

She would like some one to speak to her,

And is almost afraid that I

will commit that indiscretion.


These tales of old disguisings, are they not

Strange myths of souls that found themselves among

Unwonted folk that spake an hostile tongue,

Some soul from all the rest who'd not forgot

The star-span acres of a former lot

Where boundless mid the clouds his course he swung,

Or carnate with his elder brothers sung

Ere ballad-makers lisped of Camelot?

Old singers half-forgetful of their tunes,

Old painters color-blind come back once more,

Old poets skill-less in the wind-heart runes,

Old wizards lacking in their wonder-lore:

All they that with strange sadness in their eyes

Ponder in silence o'er earth's queynt devyse?


The light became her grace and dwelt among
Blind eyes and shadows that are formed as men;
Lo, how the light doth melt us into song:

The broken sunlight for a healm she beareth
Who has my heart in jurisdiction.
In wild-wood never fawn nor allow fareth
So silent light; no gossamer is spun
So delicate as she is, when the sun
Drives the clear emeralds from the bended grasses
Lest they should parch too swiftly, where she passes


GO, my songs, to the lonely and the unsatisfied,

Go also to the nerve-wracked, go to the enslaved-by-convention,

Bear to them my contempt for their oppressors.

Go as a great wave of cool water,

Bear my contempt of oppressors.

Speak against unconscious oppression,

Speak against the tyranny of the unimaginative,

Speak against bonds.

Go to the bourgeoise who is dying of her ennuis,

Go to the women in suburbs.
Go to the hideously wedded,

Go to them whose failure is concealed,

Go to the unluckily mated,

Go to the bought wife,

Go to the woman entailed.

Go to those who have delicate lust,

Go to those whose delicate desires are thwarted,

Go like a blight upon the dulness of the world;

Go with your edge against this,

Strengthen the subtle cords,

Bring confidence upon the algae and the tentacles of the soul.

Go in a friendly manner,

Go with an open speech.

Be eager to find new evils and new good,

Be against all forms of oppression.

Go to those who are thickened with middle age,

To those who have lost their interest.

Go to the adolescent who are smothered in family—

Oh how hideous it is

To see three generations of one house gathered together!

It is like an old tree with shoots,

And with some branches rotted and falling.

Go out and defy opinion,

Go against this vegetable bondage of the blood.

Speak for the free kinship of the mind and spirit

Go, against all forms of oppression.