Luminous Decay

Remorse

Remorse -- is Memory -- awake --
Her Parties all astir --
A Presence of Departed Acts --
At window -- and at Door --

Its Past -- set down before the Soul
And lighted with a Match --
Perusal -- to facilitate --
And help Belief to stretch --

Remorse is cureless -- the Disease
Not even God -- can heal --
For 'tis His institution -- and
The Adequate of Hell -- 

On the Morning of Christ's Nativity

THIS is the month, and this the happy morn
Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the holy sages once did sing	5
That He our deadly forfeit should release,
And with His Father work us a perpetual peace.
That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty
Wherewith He wont at Heaven's high council-table	10
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,
He laid aside; and, here with us to be,
Forsook the courts of everlasting day,
And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.
Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein	15
Afford a present to the Infant God?
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain
To welcome Him to this His new abode,
Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod,
Hath took no print of the approaching light,	20
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?
See how from far, upon the eastern road,
The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet:
O run, prevent them with thy humble ode
And lay it lowly at His blessed feet;	25
Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,
And join thy voice unto the Angel quire
From out His secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire.
THE HYMN It was the winter wild
While the heaven-born Child	30
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;
Nature in awe to Him
Had doff'd her gaudy trim,
With her great Master so to sympathize:
It was no season then for her	35
To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.
Only with speeches fair
She woos the gentle air
To hide her guilty front with innocent snow;
And on her naked shame,	40
Pollute with sinful blame,
The saintly veil of maiden white to throw;
Confounded, that her Maker's eyes
Should look so near upon her foul deformities.
But He, her fears to cease,	45
Sent down the meek-eyed Peace;
She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding
Down through the turning sphere,
His ready harbinger,
With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;	50
And waving wide her myrtle wand,
She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.
No war, or battle's sound
Was heard the world around:
The idle spear and shield were high uphung;	55
The hookèd chariot stood
Unstain'd with hostile blood;
The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng;
And kings sat still with awful eye,
As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.	60
But peaceful was the night
Wherein the Prince of Light
His reign of peace upon the earth began:
The winds, with wonder whist,
Smoothly the waters kist	65
Whispering new joys to the mild oceàn—
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave.
The stars, with deep amaze,
Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze,	70
Bending one way their precious influence;
And will not take their flight
For all the morning light,
Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence;
But in their glimmering orbs did glow	75
Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go.
And though the shady gloom
Had given day her room,
The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,
And hid his head for shame,	80
As his inferior flame
The new-enlighten'd world no more should need;
He saw a greater Sun appear
Than his bright throne, or burning axle-tree could bear.
The shepherds on the lawn	85
Or ere the point of dawn
Sate simply chatting in a rustic row;
Full little thought they than
That the mighty Pan
Was kindly come to live with them below;	90
Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep:—
When such music sweet
Their hearts and ears did greet
As never was by mortal finger strook—	95
Divinely-warbled voice
Answering the stringèd noise,
As all their souls in blissful rapture took:
The air, such pleasure loth to lose,
With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.	100
Nature, that heard such sound
Beneath the hollow round
Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling,
Now was almost won
To think her part was done,	105
And that her reign had here its last fulfilling;
She knew such harmony alone
Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union.
At last surrounds their sight
A globe of circular light	110
That with long beams the shamefaced night array'd;
The helmèd Cherubim
And sworded Seraphim
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd,
Harping in loud and solemn quire	115
With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir.
Such music (as 'tis said)
Before was never made
But when of old the Sons of Morning sung,
While the Creator great	120
His constellations set
And the well-balanced world on hinges hung;
And cast the dark foundations deep,
And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.
Ring out, ye crystal spheres!	125
Once bless our human ears,
If ye have power to touch our senses so;
And let your silver chime
Move in melodious time;
And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow;	130
And with your ninefold harmony
Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
For if such holy song
Enwrap our fancy long,
Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold;	135
And speckled Vanity
Will sicken soon and die,
And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould;
And Hell itself will pass away,
And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.	140
Yea, Truth and Justice then
Will down return to men,
Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing,
Mercy will sit between
Throned in celestial sheen,	145
With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering;
And Heaven, as at some festival,
Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall.
But wisest Fate says No;
This must not yet be so;	150
The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy
That on the bitter cross
Must redeem our loss;
So both Himself and us to glorify:
Yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep	155
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep;
With such a horrid clang
As on Mount Sinai rang
While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake:
The aged Earth aghast	160
With terror of that blast
Shall from the surface to the centre shake,
When, at the world's last sessiòn,
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread His throne.
And then at last our bliss	165
Full and perfect is,
But now begins; for from this happy day
The old Dragon under ground,
In straiter limits bound,
Not half so far casts his usurpèd sway;	170
And, wroth to see his kingdom fail,
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
The Oracles are dumb;
No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the archèd roof in words deceiving.	175
Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine,
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving:
No nightly trance or breathèd spell
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.	180
The lonely mountains o'er
And the resounding shore
A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;
From haunted spring and dale
Edged with poplar pale	185
The parting Genius is with sighing sent;
With flower-inwoven tresses torn
The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
In consecrated earth
And on the holy hearth	190
The Lars and Lemurès moan with midnight plaint;
In urns, and altars round
A drear and dying sound
Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint;
And the chill marble seems to sweat,	195
While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat.
Peor and Baalim
Forsake their temples dim,
With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine;
And moonèd Ashtaroth	200
Heaven's queen and mother both,
Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine;
The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn:
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.
And sullen Moloch, fled,	205
Hath left in shadows dread
His burning idol all of blackest hue;
In vain with cymbals' ring
They call the grisly king,
In dismal dance about the furnace blue;	210
The brutish gods of Nile as fast,
Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.
Nor is Osiris seen
In Memphian grove, or green,
Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud:	215
Nor can he be at rest
Within his sacred chest;
Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud;
In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark
The sable-stolèd sorcerers bear his worshipt ark.	220
He feels from Juda's land
The dreaded Infant's hand;
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;
Nor all the gods beside
Longer dare abide,	225
Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:
Our Babe, to show His Godhead true,
Can in His swaddling bands control the damnèd crew.
So, when the sun in bed
Curtain'd with cloudy red	230
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
The flocking shadows pale
Troop to the infernal jail,
Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave;
And the yellow-skirted fays	235
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.
But see! the Virgin blest
Hath laid her Babe to rest;
Time is, our tedious song should here have ending:
Heaven's youngest-teemèd star	240
Hath fix'd her polish'd car,
Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending:
And all about the courtly stable
Bright-harness'd Angels sit in order serviceable. William Blake - On the Morning of Christ's Nativity

The Three Witches

All the moon-shed nights are over, And the days of gray and dun; There is neither may nor clover, And the day and night are one. Not an hamlet, not a city Meets our strained and tearless eyes; In the plain without a pity, Where the wan grass droops and dies. We shall wander through the meaning Of a day and see no light, For our lichened arms are leaning On the ends of endless night. We, the children of Astarte, Dear abortions of the moon, In a gay and silent party, We are riding to you soon. Burning ramparts, ever burning! To the flame which never dies We are yearning, yearning, yearning, With our gay and tearless eyes. In the plain without a pity, (Not an hamlet, not a city) Where the wan grass droops and dies.  Johann Henry Fuseli - Three Witches

                        THE APOTHECARY'S 

•  Its red and emerald beacons from the night

  Draw human moths in melancholy flight,

  With beams whose gaudy glories point the way

  To safety or destruction--choose who may!

  Crystal and powder, oils or tincture clear,

  Such the dim sight of man beholds, but here

  Await, indisputable in their pow'r,

  Great Presences, abiding each his hour;

  And for a little price rash man attains

  This council of the perils and the pains--

  This parliament of death, and brotherhood

  Omnipotent for evil and for good.

   

  Venoms of vision, myrrh of splendid swoons,

  They wait us past the green and scarlet moons.

  Here prisoned rest the tender hands of Peace,

  And there an angel at whose bidding cease

  The clamors of the tortured sense, the strife

  Of nerves confounded in the war of life.

  Within this vial pallid Sleep is caught,

  In that, the sleep eternal. Here are sought

  Such webs as in their agonizing mesh

  Draw back from doom the half-reluctant flesh.

  There beck the traitor joys to him who buys,

  And Death sits panoplied in gorgeous guise.

   

  The dusts of hell, the dews of heavenly sods,

  Water of Lethe or the wine of gods,

  Purchase who will, but, ere his task begin,

  Beware the service that you set the djinn!

  Each hath his mercy, each his certain law,

  And each his Lord behind the veil of awe;

  But ponder well the ministry you crave,

  Lest he be final master, you the slave.

  Each hath a price, and each a tribute gives

  To him who turns from life and him who lives.

  If so you win from Pain a swift release,

  His face shall haunt you in the house of Peace;

  If so from Pain you scorn an anodyne,

  Peace shall repay you with a draft divine.

  Tho' toil and time be now by them surpast,

  Exact the recompense they take at last--

  These genii of the vials, wreaking still

  Their sorceries on human sense and will.

  

  Eugene Isabey - Interior of an Alchemists Study

ELIMINATION OF A PICTURE & ITS SUBJECT - CALLED THE FELLER'S MASTER STROKE 

Half twelve, that's six, 't'is more Perhaps, exact that's gone before Behoves not
here to say, How many years away Have welled up and flowed on Slow passing
till they're gone. But some such time has fled Since regular business led To
where a canvas glowed With fays, a leafy node Encircling wild about. Their
differences they let out About an Indian boy, Whom for a toy, To while the time
Or teach to mime Or verse in fairy tricks, A mighty King his eyes did fix Upon
with covetous regard When met upon the sward Near Athens' learned seat His
Queen had set her feet Thrice happy green

business Led, an official person to this sight Who with the picture pleased As
't'were a jewel bright, His mind of burden eased, To have the like Of which did
strike At fancy's shrine well meant. If 't'was not so, then I may say 'T'wast his
perhaps, that west away Some friend he had, who wrote in verse About the
fairies, sense as terse As poets jam into a measured line And gives such extra
value I opine To Heliconian jet so of his rhymes Possessed, he wished to see A
little sketch, slight as may be To illustrate the same Some stanzas showed as
game Or point from which to throw

Sees nothing clearly as his has Blackly impositive and soon Makes it a clear as
sunny noon That he has not

Waiting this heavenly gift I though on nought – a shift As good perhaps as
thinking hard, Fancy was not to be evoked From her ethereal realms Or if so,
then her purpose cloaked And nuzzling the cloth, on which The cloudy shades
not rich, Indefinite almost unseen Lay vacant entities of chance, Lent forms unto
my careless glance Without intent, pure fancy ‘t’is I mean Design and
composition thus – Now minus and just here perhaps – plus - Grew in this way –
and so – or thus, That fairly wrought they stand in view A fairy band, much as I
say, just so ‘tis true. Part from the shades designed Part a vain fancy, all inclined
A common end to gain Of nothing something still To stand before, she sight to
fill Something we have, having, we Yet have not Be it so or may, why care a jot?
But there they are - and now They stand a theme a field to plough And silent
reap what any choose Judiciously or not to loose. All, the significance may give
They surely think in this doth live. As Nature's Pages open spread By erudite or
fools are read, To this one seems the world a den While that a paradise in it doth
ten In the same place, 't'is lore Preacquisite, the wise man's store Gives off a
value rich & full To that sprung from a sense so dull It does not half appreciate
Upon the which it doth dilate Dilatory, dull, absorbing, rapt In the sort of a kind
of a - something mapped While struggling reason roams away Not will in such
dull fetters stay But leaves the author out of himself To make his fame or gain
his pelf If so he may or can - But to the common mind The meaning thus, let’s
find – For idle pastime hither led Fays, gnomes, and elves and suchlike fled To
fix some dubious point to fairies only Known to exit, or to the lonely Thoughtful
man recluse Of power a potent spell to loose Which bind the better slave to
worse Swindles soul, body, goods & purse T’unlock the secret cells of dark
abyss The power which never doth its victim miss
But may egorge when truth appears When fail or guns or swords or spears For
some such end we may suppose They’ve met since day hath made its close
Night's moon time haply extra bright By fairie power made all so light Doubtful
if night or day might reign To certain he in mind revolve again And say that
common nature is not true. Precisely to what fairie opes to view Comme ça for
the effect, if you should doubt If you've not been there, perhaps you mought
Make a fresh bend; we'll now advance These folk displayed as in a trance Have
not the dexter object here But the same might be sinister For saintly doubtless it
is rare To call a goblin elf, the lair He loves, or any thing or sprite That in the
name of fairy doth delight Or eén the land itself Laden with unimpossible wealth
To the mutton says Monsieur Crapaud This meet unto the Patriarch owed Say its
conclave - and here to show His triple crown of subtle might Weird in its form &
shining bright An arch magician whose large little club Of some hard heavy
wood is but a stuff And might be loaded in its larger butt Force to add when to
use 't'is put But even without no fairy skull Resist it might however thick or dull
A little bit of wood just a mere twig For which a plodding mortal less than a fig
Cares - but to an elf it has A power as fatal as the Upas. If on a sudden it
descends On fairy sconce, its revel ends And then you know poor little fart Unto
another private realm he will depart. "Don't want to hurt poor little fa-er-ee"
Appeals the rogue unto the power that be The arch-fiend sees no dodge illicit
'Bout younker caught! - is not explicit Or he might say "Don't let me catch You
here again Or perhaps you'll meet with far too Much sharp pain And stunning
effects the same to Follow - which will not leave you time to hollow!"

Beneath his wide spread crown He casts a glance adown Dim vistãs of the
pregnant coming bustle To note if there is ought to stay or hustle The incident
peculiar here Including edgE incising clear Or so to do. His right hand raised,
seems to declare "Except I tell you when, strike if you dare - For all the powers
of skill or chance Fairies can use before my glance - are bare". ‘Tis so – no
doubt, but even Almighty Power Suffers defeat each day & every hour As
unforeseen some little trifling thing Cheats of a stave, another song we sing His
glance means likely too If t'other is not much ado He wish one blow, another
turn will serve If from the aim's intent it doth not swerve. Left to its time & how
to do To split for Mab perchance a chariot new T'is all the skill there is for such
a deed Happen, happening in faerie for fairy's need See - 't'is fay woodman holds
aloft the axe Whose double edge virtue now they tax To do it single & make
single double Teatly and neatly - equal without trouble 'T'is not yet done - yet
there he stands Try if he'll do it, for your own command He knows the axe to use
on fairy trees And fairy common sense embodies if you please If that your fancy
you can strain so far. As to suppose the same & yet not mar Your mental method
and decorum Where all things shew them quasi corame He's clothed in leather
note from top to toe. All of one colour you may mark also. The colour of his
money you might say. Good or bad adding lack-a-day. How can I tell? - Splitting
is either good or bad For not the same terms are had. And that's his money so to
speak Merely tho'tis about to freak. As to the colour this well add T'is warm
enough for fairy mad But fairy leather comes from Victims small. Tho' if they're
cattle fed in Field or stall. I know not - or bat's wings dyed to snit the taste But to
the next one let us haste. The ostler from the fairy inn Knowing his air, the
curate of the trim Hands to his knees and body bent On the nut's so tiny is all
intent With well spurred heel can ride amain Stirrup or saddle reeks not to
maintain His seat the which so well he knows Secure the menage that around
him grows That is a look of mastery as t'were to say There is no dodge to me
doth lay Concealed where osses dogs or warmint he, I am a doctor veterinaree
They call me might or morn as't eve Tom - price - I know full well of beasts & in
a trice Your servant Sir your ass I'll groom And show you to the fairy inn's best
room. What are you at there? Heady ho!!! -Do you think his gaze will help the
blow. - Next a dwarf monk with shaven crown On the bank's brink hath cast
adown. His wide sleeved arms & rests his chin Partly his face his hands conceal
- I put him in - For why? because I may reply Monks beatific mount they say on
high. But as historians do over About their manners some demur Checks the free
access unto Heaven And then, of that to speak to leaven Of circumspection, unto
a nether region they adhere. Not holding on to it very tight I fear. And where
there is but little wine or beer. T’at wondering habits also tis well known Led the
same blades aout from town To town And this with inns it sotlers too Familiarly
acquainted grew. Says he’s a rogue & to the next, T’is varhma’s ploughman
claims The text. He has a twinkle in his eye Bespeaks good humor you’ll decry
Of cows & sheep & crops can talk Quite wonderful & see him walk With
lounging stride across the fields Just turned afresh to raise the crop That yields.
Ample return for all his Labour. That wants no sound of pipe & tabour. His
doubtful speech he hath Addressed. To Waggoner Will beside Him lest. The
sage remark quite loot Should be. But how indifferent Will Is – see! Come
hither! Woah is more To him. Than such a speculative whim Above Clod
-hopper sits and like the Sod – He’s brown in colour also he’s Well shod. A
satyr’s head has, Buckles in his shoes. Nurses one foot Upon his knee amuse
with him Yourself he’s modern fay. So gives His garb & decent sylvan he. Is not
Stark naked & so proud might be. A foot and not a hoof to own. But Can he put
a hat upon his crown? His horns forbid – say that is slid From off his pate & fell
Where! He nor I can tell! There let it lie

The Politician next, with senatorial pipe. For argument or his opinion ripe. A
First chop Englishman at that sort of chaff. To hear him talk, Lord! How
‘t’would make you laugh. For fairy politics differ so very wide From human
governments complete divide. He’s pondering matters now as if his vote, Ought
to be given ere ’t’is smote. The nut – I mean

Next him observe one Clad in green. An unknown character Some fairy dandy.
Making a break As sweet as candy. To faery nymph Like him so quaint. They
are poor Ones clearly and attaint. The present Case, because ‘t’is queer, And like
Themselves – yet no small beer. They deem of their own station.
Behind them elves quite wide awake Notes of the doings here to take And to
their fellows bye and bye Tell all without a word of a lie. Below a pedagogue
appears. A Critic up to sneers & jeers. And His faun-like ears he’s wild Untamed
himself, each fairy child He tames with many a look severe But if his glance is
there or here ‘T’is hard to say. He squints to note You may. But he’ll not meddle
With a work so sharp. Wash in suspense And doth not carp. His business Is to
teach to do. Do it himself? Oh’no! t’is you. Next come two Wenches rather
smart. From lady’s Chamber where each art. Of fairy Luxury they the care, At
madams Need can well prepare. This holds A mirror in her hand so tiny. A
Magic surface polished bright & Shiny. While that a broom to sweep Away. The
fairy rubbish lack-a day Holds in her left hand on her right A favourite hawk
moth doth alight. They’ve got good legs and feet so Small. Bavaria Flanders
Germany And all. Can shew no more fantastic Limb. Critics are severe ‘t’is
therefore that I beg. You’ll not inform that fay, that under the leg Of one of those
maids, behind his Back. A satyr peeps; at what it Doth not lack, An explanation.
At Such a book, His right to look, I care Not to dispute. Such secrets surely some
must know. All are not saints on earth below. Or if they are they know the same.
Or are shut out from natures game. Banished from natures book of life, Because
some angel in the strife, Had got the worser fate. And they close their eyes, that
gate – By which reminders enter. And in a paradise of fools contented live. Fays
also are not saints, so I must believe that this and similar frolics they achieve.
The truth is not far all you’ll say. But that eternal seal it bear, One might say nay.
Who are the victims of that cruel fate False secrecy, that sometimes ‘t’is too late.
To find – lost to their race for ever they In other spheres can understand the
Light of day

Next Lubin bending O’er his flame. Chloe or Phyllis hard To tame. With
wooden sabots round About she’ll clatter. Churn fairy butter Or some such
matter. As to the dairy Doth belong. Whiling and charming Time with song.
They’re rustic Lovers Rustic in manner. And Lubin happen Is a fairy tanner,
Tanned woodman’s Leather coat and cap, His leggings, all Their boots mayhap.
Except his sweethearts They are wood. He’d do them too to oblige Her if he
could. They are curious in this Business you see plainly

See also next Below, two dwarfs – ungainly? No For the sake of rhyme it fits so
well – We’ll write it down – and after tell That ‘t’is deformity approaches near
The truth about this couple here. A Fairy conjuror he who knows a trick Or two
at cards and in the nick-of Time, can well deceive. This, of your Reason you take
leave. Then ‘t’is that He will do the clever dodge. Which puzzles Many a
clownish varhma Hodge. You think perhaps you don’t do so. The prayer book so
affirms I know

Just now he offers out to let – ‘T’will or ‘t’will not be surely split. Some odds
Perhaps will give. What fairy coin is – True as I live. I can’t inform – nor if they
Betted, And if they did, the profits netted The spider near. His web hath left.
Drops down upon them from some cleft Where he spread his wide snare for
game One that detains yet doth not maim Perhaps he’s an offer when they have
Done. To supply with gossamer wells All, every one. A master weaver he in
Whose employ. The lesser spinners may Enjoy, Profits & learn to make account
Of those who wish aloft to mount. And Sail away upon the wind. From Europe
P’raps to furthest Ind. They’ve only Mind to ask for – ‘t’is the weather. That In
this case saves the expense of leather And pilgrimages

let’s make one To the opposite side – That is, objection If you’ve none – Two
braves we see – In gallantry – Who by their wits can Live – Can sing or play –
Fight, run away. Or entertainment give. Your fairy Man upon the town. That can
clean out A swell or clown. And if there’s need Can let you down – A peg or
two – so High they fly. Hawking while talking All my eye

Next to the Patriarch’s Crown attend. And mark the motes That there descend.
Dancing and singing There they go – With their fall al The rah and huy gee
wohe. The dress Is Spanish t’is in use, At present time If I abuse, not memory of
the source From which I borrowedit them of course Call cossagers, no bloods
are, these; As on a tight rope they to please. I represented – when in the play.
One is Dressed like to Duvernay. Balancing These on the other side. Queen Mab
In Car of state doth ride. Some Atomies the poet says did draw A gnat gives to
them coachman’s law I never saw the famed Queen Mab Or might. Had it been
so contributed Delight. The atomies are, no doubt, A dubious theme. Like tiny
female Centaurs here do seem. Half beast & Half a woman yoked are. With
wings To soar away in regions far. Under The coachman standing nigh. Two
Little pages you may spy. Cupid & Psyche they enact. Fairies no doubt Possess
the tact. To imitate like mortal Players. I know not if at theatres or Fairs. It needs
must be so

Fairies t’is said shun all display And most affect the pale moon’s ray Sol’s
potent ray soon drives them off He’d instant find whereat to spurn And scoff –
Just so it was with folk In olden time, Whose practices were Held to be a crime.
They fled the powers That held despotic sway – Poor little Fairies! Why not also
they? Fancy This pair aught else ‘t’will do, But Male and female they are plan to
view Next to the Queen you here behind may Count, some strapping fairy
footmen Mound and garde chemin no doubt They well do serve. Tiny in size but
Lusty in the nerve, As every footman Should be

Above in attitude of fondest love King Oberon & his Queen approve The sport
else why should they repair To this sequestered spot the same to share Merely
perhaps to note the way things Went. And how many chops were useless Made
anent. Pulling of straws out from A stack of wheat Is for a pastime not More
meet. And such the Old Lady in The Scarlet Cloak, might non-be fancying True
– no joke. Is it true for me or even You – true if you care not – this is true. Her
nose and chin will never crack The monster nuts & many a whack From club or
shining axe will want Ere the chance fatal lights upon’t Above the harridan some
whose names Serve schoolboys turn when at their games They of the future
calling prophecy With boisterous laugh and ecstasy. Of Childish mirth, nor want
they perhaps a Forced imposed belief. In soldier and Sailor, tinker or tailor
ploughboy Apothecary, thief. Counting their buttons Down the vest. A name to
each – the last Doth rest The fated trade – soon from The thoughts t’is laid Aside
and fairy Prophecy forgot. Here let me say my Let of this same lot

The ragged soldier sure is mad. Made So by wounds, debauch and glad But Hard
earned victory. Being fay, I’ve not The history. I’ve made it so but not from
Spite Else he’d find reason to requite But ragamuffins to enlist. He’s a brave
Spirit to assist.
Knows when he does he’ll Be Commander The chief one or a Salamander. A
real fire eater like the Sun By his own bravery surely won. The sailor keeps a
pleasure yacht Has nought to do but live on what The smiling elements that
never grown Freely diselose as up and down For Pleasure merely roam about.
The fleets Of vessels of which he’ll take Entire command For the mation’s sake,
Nor cares He where to move or swim. Till death Commands to dowse the glim.
Some Other oceans then he’ll try, Rolling Eternal in the sky

The tinker next with barrow trig. Knows every wandering gypsy rig Where does
he lodge? T’is hard to say Whether a house or stack of hay Serves the poor
outcast for his rest He’s butt howe’er for many a zest Lives in a world of nether
pose Mysterious obscure, your senses lose Or cast aside as nothing worth Nor
length it has nor breadth or girth Just now he marks the filbert big Stript of its
natural russet wig How would he here his skill to prove? He’d grind it p’raps?
Not so by love Clumsily skilful though he be He knows too much for that d’ye
see Around the fairy villages he’ll stray Knives scissors to grind might bawl
Each day. Knows well the tailor reg’lar grinds His shears. Ah! That’s a tailor
brave that Knows no fears. Nine, fairy tailors would Not make a man The’they
might queer Him, you know well they can. But this One seems disposed to
queer. The ploughboy That is standing to him near Shews Him a coat neat made
and very strong T’would last the lad his fairy life time
Long. But while he doubts the same to Buy, The Thief his craft on him doth Try.
Loosens his handkerchief so gay. Too artful he to snatch away. The doctor In his
thoughts reserved. The trick Below hath not observed. But with His sounding
pestle beats, The drugs That he to fairy makes. His mortar would Not hold the
nut. Bit holds enough for Fairy gut. A nostrum or a panacea At any price we’ll
say. Not dear. Next to the Soldier on his right, a Dragon Fly exerts his skill &
might, Sounds the Long notes ‘long the long tube that wind And in the fairy
hollows echoes find. To assist This gandy long legged trumpeter A
tatteredemalion & a junketer Holiday folk that tendsupon, Like a Postilion if you
con Each blows his brazen tube no Doubt in tune with Dragon Fly that rests his
leg abune The jutting stone on which they sit Expecting company that soon will
flit slanting along the Lunar ray Like boys & girls come out to play – Alow
behind these last-named two An elfin takes a peeping view – Not at the nut but
the spectator Happen to mark if arbitrator He in slid remarkable fudge Or
humbug gives the fatal nudge. Peeper is wildest of the crew Cares nought for
them or I or you. You from his cap with me perchance agree Of the Chinese
small Fool Societee, He’s a small member. But if Confusius sent him Now I
can’t remember. Turn to the Patriarch & behold Long pendents from his crown
are rolled, In winding figures circle round The grass and such upon the mound,
They represent vagary wild And mental aberration clinging close Now wildly
out away they toss,
Like a cyclone uncontroll’d Sweeping around with chance-born fold Unto the
picture brings a grace Which else was wanting to its face But tied at length unto
a stem Shews or should do finitam rem

The size the nuts do here display Forgive – nor make me forfeit pay Having the
benefit of doubt Of what the fairies grow without The reach of human ken or
will And needs not now that I instil Into you mind. What here I’ve said from
fancy’s wing A sense supporting, at my need You may deny – say – no such
thing T’is all wrong every bit indeed. Well! To your judgment I must bow Freely
it’s exercise allow You perhaps to such are more inured. Your notions may be
more endured But whether it be or be not so You can afford to let this go For
nought as nothing it explains And nothing from nothing nothing gains.

Three new poems in Full of Crow:

http://www.fullofcrow.com/poetry/archives/justin-ehrlich-1011/

A Ballad of Sin

In dreams on a far-off shore I lay
(Dreams that were full of dread),
Where the purple clouds of a dying day
Shadowed a sea of red —
Shadowed a sea as red as the blood
Of one that was slain in his lustihood,
A sea as red as a lover's blood
Struck down in his amorous lustihood.

A silver shallop glides to and fro,
Over the ghostly crimson sea,
(Over the ghostly crimson sea
I watch its oars as they come and go);
The wavelets quiver and gleam:
No sounds are there that the silence break,
But astern in the shallop's silvery wake
Strange circles swirl in the stream.

The moon shines down on the ghostly night,
But pale and dim is its faint, far light,
And now to the island the boat draws near
(My veins run cold with fear!),
And the shadows spring to the magic shore —

For each has known of a bliss before,
A sinful, sorrowful bliss before,
Of God and of man forbidden;
And each is wrapped in a robe of state,
These in the moonlight that come so late
(Where the quivering, shivering moonbeams mate)
To their tryst on the island hidden.

Go further into the mystic shore
And see a castle rise,
A spirit-castle rise,
And a flood of light from the windows pour,
From all the shimmering windows pour,
And colour the moonlit skies;
And hark to the magic melodies
(The ringing, singing melodies)
That float o'er the waves as red as the blood
Of a lover slain in his lustihood.

The song goes deep to the inmost soul —
Its notes o'er the silent waters roll
In the heavy languorous pleading
Of a wanton will to which the grave
Never a moment of respite gave
And hearts that with love are bleeding.
(O ancient song of passionate dole,
Whose notes o'er the silent waters roll
In heavy languorous pleading!)

I am drawn by its might (there is none to save!)
To the midst of the castle hall;
And there, escaped from the cold, cold grave,
Sin holds its bacchanal
(Aye, there, escaped from the cold, cold grave,
Lust holds its bacchanal) —
And 'neath the flickering candle-light
The dance of the shadows has reached its height!

They must renew, as the midnight chimes,
The kisses that a thousand times,
A thousand times and in far-off climes,
Have died on their lips enchanted:
The flowers that gleam in their tossing hair
Are painted like flowers that otherwhere
(Thousand times and in far-off climes)
Long ages ago were planted.
Heaven had no hand in the pageantry
Of the wondrous scene that was shown to me!

With songs of pleasure they tread the measure,
That throng so pale and wan —
These that of old for sinful pleasure
Through the gates of hell have gone,
Yet tossed forever on passion's flood
Come sailing over the sea of blood.

The queen of Egypt there I saw,
Tiberius and Caligula,
In silks and purples flaunting;
Aholibah, Alaciel,
And she whose love came straight from hell
Were there, and boldly vaunting
Her skill in transport lubricous,
The shameless wife of Claudius.

With bliss that is bitter, pain that is sweet
Shudders each ghostly form,
And stirred alone by their flying feet
The scented air grows warm.
Madly the dancers revel and sway
In the dazzling colours that round them play.

The fire that heaven has kindled dies
When the joys of sight from the straining eyes
Death's endless night shall sever;
All vainly mounts the aspiring flame,
Each love that has a noble aim
Bears death at its heart forever;
And only the love that flaunts in red
Lives on when all things else are dead.

For only the love that flaunts in red
A shadow of bliss can save,
And here in the night, though life be sped,
Comes back from the cold, dark grave,
By sin's old tyrannous longings led
Comes back from the cold, dark grave —
O'er waves as red as a lover's blood
Struck down in his amorous lustihood!

O evil love in whose tossing hair
The fires of infamous longings glow,
We, too, shall not win sleep from care —
Where heaven's high army hears
The anthems of its spheres,
Nor where majestic Lucifer,
In burning vesture fronts his Foe —
Condemned like them, sans hopes and fears
Sans laughter or the gifts of tears,
Monotonously round to go
In endless pleasure's endless woe.

Used under creative commons license

The Kraken

Below the thunders of the upper deep;
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea, 
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides: above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height; 
And far away into the sickly light, 
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumbered and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages and will lie
Battening upon huge sea-worms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.