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by Richard Aldington |

Epilogue

 Che son contenti nel fuoco

We are of those that Dante saw
Glad, for love's sake, among the flames of hell,
Outdaring with a kiss all-powerful wrath;
For we have passed athwart a fiercer hell,
Through gloomier, more desperate circles
Than ever Dante dreamed:
And yet love kept us glad.


by Richard Aldington |

Daisy

 Plus quan se atque suos amavit omnes, 
nunc.
.
.
- Catullus You were my playmate by the sea.
We swam together.
Your girl's body had no breasts.
We found prawns among the rocks; We liked to feel the sun and to do nothing; In the evening we played games with the others.
It made me glad to be by you.
Sometimes I kissed you, And you were always glad to kiss me; But I was afraid - I was only fourteen.
And I had quite forgotten you, You and your name.
To-day I pass through the streets.
She who touches my arms and talks with me Is - who knows? - Helen of Sparta, Dryope, Laodamia .
.
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And there are you A whore in Oxford Street.


by Richard Aldington |

Lemures

 In Nineveh 
And beyond Nineveh 
In the dusk 
They were afraid.
In Thebes of Egypt In the dust They chanted of them to the dead.
In my Lesbos and Achaia Where the God dwelt We knew them.
Now men say "They are not": But in the dusk Ere the white sun comes - A gay child that bears a white candle - I am afraid of their rustling, Of their terrible silence, The menace of their secrecy.


by Richard Aldington |

Images

 I

Like a gondola of green scented fruits 
Drifting along the dark canals of Venice, 
You, O exquisite one, 
Have entered into my desolate city.
II The blue smoke leaps Like swirling clouds of birds vanishing.
So my love leaps forth toward you, Vanishes and is renewed.
III A rose-yellow moon in a pale sky When the sunset is faint vermilion In the mist among the tree-boughs Art thou to me, my beloved.
IV A young beech tree on the edge of the forest Stands still in the evening, Yet shudders through all its leaves in the light air And seems to fear the stars - So are you still and so tremble.
V The red deer are high on the mountain, They are beyond the last pine trees.
And my desires have run with them.
VI The flower which the wind has shaken Is soon filled again with rain; So does my heart fill slowly with tears, Until you return.


by Richard Aldington |

Round-Pond

 Water ruffled and speckled by galloping wind 
Which puffs and spurts it into tiny pashing breaks 
Dashed with lemon-yellow afternoon sunlight.
The shining of the sun upon the water Is like a scattering of gold crocus-petals In a long wavering irregular flight.
The water is cold to the eye As the wind to the cheek.
In the budding chestnuts Whose sticky buds glimmer and are half-burst open The starlings make their clitter-clatter; And the blackbirds in the grass Are getting as fat as the pigeons.
Too-hoo, this is brave; Even the cold wind is seeking a new mistress.


by Richard Aldington |

Prelude

 How could I love you more? 
I would give up 
Even that beauty I have loved too well 
That I might love you better.
Alas, how poor the gifts that lovers give I can but give you of my flesh and strength, I can but give you these few passing days And passionate words that, since our speech began, All lovers whisper in all ladies' ears.
I try to think of some one lovely gift No lover yet in all the world has found; I think: If the cold sombre gods Were hot with love as I am Could they not endow you with a star And fix bright youth for ever in your limbs? Could they not give you all things that I lack? You should have loved a god; I am but dust.
Yet no god loves as loves this poor frail dust.


by Richard Aldington |

The Poplar

 Why do you always stand there shivering 
Between the white stream and the road? 

The people pass through the dust 
On bicycles, in carts, in motor-cars; 
The waggoners go by at down; 
The lovers walk on the grass path at night.
Stir from your roots, walk, poplar! You are more beautiful than they are.
I know that the white wind loves you, Is always kissing you and turning up The white lining of your green petticoat.
The sky darts through you like blue rain, And the grey rain drips on your flanks And loves you.
And I have seen the moon Slip his silver penny into your pocket As you straightened your hair; And the white mist curling and hesitating Like a bashful lover about your knees.
I know you, poplar; I have watched you since I was ten.
But if you had a little real love, A little strength, You would leave your nonchalant idle lovers And go walking down the white road Behind the waggoners.
There are beautiful beeches down beyond the hill.
Will you always stand there shivering?


by Richard Aldington |

The Faun Sees Snow for the First Time

 Zeus, 
Brazen-thunder-hurler, 
Cloud-whirler, son-of-Kronos, 
Send vengeance on these Oreads 
Who strew 
White frozen flecks of mist and cloud 
Over the brown trees and the tufted grass 
Of the meadows, where the stream 
Runs black through shining banks 
Of bluish white.
Zeus, Are the halls of heaven broken up That you flake down upon me Feather-strips of marble? Dis and Styx! When I stamp my hoof The frozen-cloud-specks jam into the cleft So that I reel upon two slippery points .
.
.
Fool, to stand here cursing When I might be running!


by Richard Aldington |

Bombardment

 Four days the earth was rent and torn
By bursting steel,
The houses fell about us;
Three nights we dared not sleep,
Sweating, and listening for the imminent crash
Which meant our death.
The fourth night every man, Nerve-tortured, racked to exhaustion, Slept, muttering and twitching, While the shells crashed overhead.
The fifth day there came a hush; We left our holes And looked above the wreckage of the earth To where the white clouds moved in silent lines Across the untroubled blue.


by Richard Aldington |

At the British Museum

 I turn the page and read: 
"I dream of silent verses where the rhyme 
Glides noiseless as an oar.
" The heavy musty air, the black desks, The bent heads and the rustling noises In the great dome Vanish .
.
.
And The sun hangs in the cobalt-blue sky, The boat drifts over the lake shallows, The fishes skim like umber shades through the undulating weeds, The oleanders drop their rosy petals on the lawns, And the swallows dive and swirl and whistle About the cleft battlements of Can Grande's castle.
.
.