Part 29

O goat-foot God of Arcady! This modern world is grey and old, And what remains to us of thee?

No more the shepherd lads in glee Throw apples at thy wattled fold, O goat-foot God of Arcady!

Nor through the laurels can one see Thy soft brown limbs, thy beard of gold, And what remains to us of thee?

And dull and dead our Thames would be, For here the winds are chill and cold, O goat-foot God of Arcady!

Then keep the tomb of Helice, Thine olive-woods, thy vine-clad wold, And what remains to us of thee?

Though many an unsung elegy Sleeps in the reeds our rivers hold, O goat-foot God of Arcady! Ah, what remains to us of thee?

Ah, leave the hills of Arcady, Thy satyrs and their wanton play, This modern world hath need of thee.

No nymph or Faun indeed have we, For Faun and nymph are old and grey, Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!

This is the land where liberty Lit grave-browed Milton on his way, This modern world hath need of thee!

A land of ancient chivalry Where gentle Sidney saw the day, Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!

This fierce sea-lion of the sea, This England lacks some stronger lay, This modern world hath need of thee!

Then blow some trumpet loud and free, And give thine oaten pipe away, Ah, leave the hills of Arcady! This modern world hath need of thee!

THE SPHINX

TO MARCEL SCHWOB IN FRIENDSHIP AND IN ADMIRATION

THE SPHINX

IN a dim corner of my room for longer than my fancy thinks A beautiful and silent Sphinx has watched me through the shifting gloom.

Inviolate and immobile she does not rise she does not stir For silver moons are naught to her and naught to her the suns that reel.

Red follows grey across the air, the waves of moonlight ebb and flow But with the Dawn she does not go and in the night-time she is there.

Dawn follows Dawn and Nights grow old and all the while this curious cat Lies couching on the Chinese mat with eyes of satin rimmed with gold.

Upon the mat she lies and leers and on the tawny throat of her Flutters the soft and silky fur or ripples to her pointed ears.

Come forth, my lovely seneschal! so somnolent, so statuesque! Come forth you exquisite grotesque! half woman and half animal!

Come forth my lovely languorous Sphinx! and put your head upon my knee! And let me stroke your throat and see your body spotted like the Lynx!

And let me touch those curving claws of yellow ivory and grasp The tail that like a monstrous Asp coils round your heavy velvet paws!

* * * * *

A THOUSAND weary centuries are thine while I have hardly seen Some twenty summers cast their green for Autumn’s gaudy liveries.

But you can read the Hieroglyphs on the great sandstone obelisks, And you have talked with Basilisks, and you have looked on Hippogriffs.

O tell me, were you standing by when Isis to Osiris knelt? And did you watch the Egyptian melt her union for Antony

And drink the jewel-drunken wine and bend her head in mimic awe To see the huge proconsul draw the salted tunny from the brine?