CAESAR AND ANTHONY.
AUGUSTUS CAESAR, aging by the sea,
Remembered, musingly, dead Anthony,
And wondered as he thought upon his days
Which had been better, laurel leaves or bays.
“Bays for the victor, when his fight is over,
But laurels” thought Augustus “for the lover.
That brown Egyptian woman, the fierce queen
Who with a serpent died—she came between
Him and the world’s dominion, whispering
‘Does empire burn so, has thy crown the sting
These lips have when they touch thee—thus and thus?
Choose then!’ ‘I choose!’ replied Antonius.”
“I wonder” thought Augustus as he lay
Watching the menial clouds of conquered day
Applaud with vehement reflection
The cold triumphant ending of the sun.
“The sun’s an emperor, and all the sky
Burns to a flame for his nativity,
And not less beautiful nor unattended
By conquered flocks of cloud he passes splendid,
Throwing his slaves this laminated gold.
Master in death, but in his death how cold!
But to have died astonished on a kiss
Had heat to the end and Anthony had this.”
THE DANCERS.
THIS was the way of it, or I forget
How visions end. The flaming sun was set
Or setting in a sky as green as grass,
Stained here and there like a window, where there was
A martyr-cloud with halo dipped in gold
Or red as the Sacred Heart is. From the old
Low house—a country house not built with hands
And of that country where the poplar stands
Whose leaves have shivered in our dreams—there came
With the rising moon the dancers to the same
Tune we have heard we scarce remember when,
Nor care so only that it sound again.
Each dancer wears a fancy for a dress,
This one with starlike tears is gemmed no less
Than that is crowned with roses as of lips
That kissed and do not kiss. There also trips
Pierrot, because we all have lost, and thin,
Cruelly swift, victorious Harlequin,
Because some find and keep, but both entwine,
Because she needs them both, with Columbine.
Then lanterns on the trees to radiant fruit
Burn till dawn plucks them, and the light pursuit
Of dancers on the lawn is done, and laughter
Of those who fled and those who followed after
Dies; to a little wind the darkened trees
Bend gravely and resume their silences.
BATTERSEA.
I HAVE always known just where the river ends
(Or seems to end) that I shall find my friends,
Who are my friends no longer, being dead,
And hear the ordinary things they said,
That now seem wonderful, some evening when
I take the Number Nineteen bus again
To Battersea. It will, I think, be clear
With stars behind the four great chimneys. Dear
In the moon, young and unchanging, they
Will cry me welcome in the boyish way
They had before they went to France, but I,
A boy no more, will greet them silently.
THE WOODCUTTERS OF HÜTTELDORF.
“The plan by which individual Viennese are allowed to obtain their own wood supplies has already been described by more than one observer. It will, however, in time to come appear so incredible, and it so completely sums up the misery of the people and the breakdown of civilization and administration, that no excuse is needed for placing it once more formally and definitely on record.
In the immediate neighbourhood of Vienna lies a forest known as the Wienerwald, the nearest point being on hills to the north, two or three miles from the centre of the city.
The two chief centres of wood collection are the suburbs of Hütteldorf and Dorhbach.