An Indian Ass

An Indian Ass

Title: An Indian Ass Author: Harold Acton Release Date: February 19, 2022 [EBook #67441] Language: English Original Publication: GB: , United Kingdom: Duckworth,1925. Credits: Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) Ha ha! ha ha! this world doth pass Most merrily, Ill be sworn; For many an honest Indian ass Goes for an Unicorn. Ty hye! ty hye! O sweet delight! He tickles this age that can Call Tullias ape a marmosyte And Ledas goose a swan. Ha ha! ha ha! this world doth pass Most merrily, Ill be sworn; For many an honest Indian ass Goes for an Unicorn. Ty hye! ty hye! O sweet delight! He tickles this age that can Call Tullias ape a marmosyte And Ledas goose a swan. NOW fogs enfold the sea And berries fall from eaves, The cats eyes glitter green into the dark. The sloping hills of myrrh, The trees with tender anise overweighed, The pointed flag-leaves stir Only to weep again, Only to sob and mourn Adonis dead. Throughout this dolorous night of cloudy jade Even the hornless dragon of the sea, The green and golden sequined basilisk, The water-scorpion and the python-king Like sad eclipses trail about the land. The crane, the ibis and the mango-bird, The jungle-fowl, the heron and the roc, The badger and three-footed tortoise join In pouring out their eyes. O Cypris violet-stoled, O wrapped in purple woof Arise and beat your azure-veined breasts! Small jewelled nipples, bleed! For I have seen you make that curved mouth A bed of balsam, bed of crisp lush flowers, Whose poor crushed frozen lips compactly closed Lie, flakes of ice, where once were flakes of fire, Their loveliness a thing of agony.{8} The moon has slanted off, and querulous ghosts Hover along the brink of treacherous voids And leap into this night of blinded eyes (Blind now to pleasures lapping ecstasies); This peacock-throated night whose stifling cries Shudder and crack: tis Misery who calls Woe to the black solemnities of sky For loveliest Adonishe is dead. Low on the hills he lies, the lovely bleeding one, His throat aflash with faint stunned strands of light. Low on the hills he lies and breathes his life away And from his thigh of milk-white agate gashed, Slit by the cruel tusk, The ruby blood drips down his skin of snow. Beneath his brows stars set in crystal deep (Once memories, hungers glinted in their pools), Are glazed dim, opaque and lustreless, The blue orbs burn no more beneath translucent lids. His locks are wet with the clear drops of night, The rose has fled his lip: the very kiss hangs dead, The kiss that Cypris never will forego. And when the bitter white wind breaks the morn, His gathered hounds bay gloom about his corpse, The green-haired Nereids of the marsh make moan, Frail flowers dabble pollened cheeks with tears, From vavicel to calyx petals weep....{9} Long spiral tufts of drooping galingale, The shadowy deer-grass and the swallow-wort Sob through their bats wing tissues tremulous, The poplars weeping amber in the vales, The orchises and sandal-trees, lament. But Aphrodite with unbraided hair And tragic thorn-pierced feet so delicate, Calls through the woodlands and again, again. O, more than musics many stringd charms, His lulling name reverberates afar Where faint sails clasp the ribbands of the sea. But round his navel leaps the thick dark blood, His chest is lapped in scarlet from the thighs, Now purpled are those limbs afore as white As veils of snow unflecked by merest breeze. Cypris was fair: whilst her Adonis lived The light would melt her body into song, But with Adonis has her beauty died, Died as a vaporous melody on a lute. Woe, woe, for Cypris! all the mountains call, The oak-trees answer: For Adonis, woe! For Aphrodite all the rivers weep, The wells bewail Adonis on the hills. Echo resounds Ai, ai ... Adonis dead ... Most beautiful Adonis ... he is dead. As Venus saw the wasting limbs, the wound{10} Gashed in the whiteness of her loved ones thighs, She clasped him to her, moaning supply warm Against his chilled inertness: Farewell, Adonis; once, as I was telling Deluding tales of happiness, the morrow, When I had thought that joy had come for dwelling, Came sorrow. The almoner of death, the silent creeper, Has snared my love, and I shall see him never, I, manacled in miseries, a weeper For ever. A widowed goddess with her beauty setting Like a gold sun to rise no longer, never, Whose love, with Acheron, is fast forgetting Her for ever. For each blood drop the Paphian sheds a tear, And tears and blood on earth are turned to flowers: The ruby blood brings forth the pursy rose, The tears bring forth the air-white wind-flower, For loveliest Adonishe is dead. No seemly couch, this lonely bed of leaves For dead Adonis: beautiful in death As one that stumbles on a slumber, falls On downy-wingd doze of braided air.{11} Your bed let him possess, O Cytherea, Lay him to sleep on couch of twisted gold, The couch that yearns for wan Adonis limbs. Cast on him drooping eyes of jasmine-flowers, Nay, all the flowers have faded in his death, As keen swift lovely murmurs drowned on breeze. Sprinkle his limbs with bakkaris and myrrh, Nay, perished all the perfumes in his death, All flushed soft legendary scents dissolve Disquieting erotic memories. The torches on the lintel all are quenched And Hymenus rends the bridal crown. No more the song is Hymen: a new song The Graces grieve like mournful Autumn boughs, The toneless sound that means a broken heart: Woe, for Adonis, son of Cinyrus! To him the Muses chant their starry music, And painted insects floating motionless At their weird sound, unconscious of the day, Bright feathered wings hung in the gloom of thought Mimic the melancholy atmosphere And dry words start and rattle in the throat, Shudder in sorrow; but he does not heed. The bending vault of stars, Of cool green quiet stars,{12} Where clouds but catch the palest tinge of day, Is tangled with the sea; The moonlight tossed and thrown by jostling waves Refrain from dirges, cease, O Cypris, your lament. Again you must bewail another year! {13} ......Buy Now (To Read More)

Product details

Ebook Number: 67441
Author: Acton, Harold
Release Date: Feb 19, 2022
Format: eBook
Language: English
Publisher: Duckworth
Publication Date: 1925
Publisher Country: United Kingdom