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HERE IS MUSIC: RESPICIT ARCHITECTUS, by                    
First Line: A summer's night
Last Line: Symphonic songs in stone.
Subject(s): Pride; Self-gratification; Self-esteem; Self-respect


A SUMMER'S night.
A Dance—for which each wore
What fancy might
Decree. Two girls—one more
Than slender, with sad eyes which seemed to cry
For comforting; the other, foolishly
Vain of her person: over-plump, fulfilled
With pride; scalp-huntress skilled.

Two men. The one
In cricket-flannels clad,
(Poor simpleton!)
He who in sorry, mad
Emprise, romantic, fatuous, fond essay,
Had woo'd and wed where stark hysteria lay.
The other, strutting, as great Caesar drest,
Imperial ... yet possest!

I was the first
Of those twin triple fools
Enmesh'd, accurst
By him who ruthless rules
Each stricken target rent with riddling darts,
Lord of men's lives, misleader of most hearts. ...
He was the second—not of my compeers,
And younger by ten years.

I had one thought
Alone. One sole, strong aim,
Impassioned, taut,
Intense, filled all my frame,
Made strong my spirit, sent my soul a-fire,
Throbbed through each heart-beat, heightened high desire,
Burned up my being, bade me no more heed
Fair dreams, but concrete deed.

I was, men said,
An artist born, not made,
In whom inbred
Gifts homed. Yet renegade
To Art I lived, since one sole task informed
My blood, my being ... stood as star and warmed,
Hour-long my heart, beacon'd me, beckon'd on,
Like silken gonfalcon.

Yes, one sole thought,
Task, purpose, high desire.
I nothing sought
Save but to earn my hire,
And, serving steadfastly, to set my gain
Before the feet of her whose bolt and chain
I wore ... to heal, to charm away distress,
To bring her happiness.

Friends asked in grief
What road I walked and why
I paid no more fair fief
To abstract Beauty, high
Aim had relinquished, lofty effort left,
Art's idle servant, went with woof unweft?
My answer met them: "That my sweetest She
Shall know no poverty"

Thus, then, I strove
To set, each day, glad gains
Before my love.
She mocked me for my pains,
Sneered at my sacrifice, called me mundane
And mercenary, took the golden grain
I reaped—and spent it—flung me, for my fee,
Plaint and perversity.

I kept my course
Unchanged, held firm, fast way,
Hoping, perforce,
'Gainst Hope; to hear, each day,
Her I so cared for cruelly impute
Vile motives, name me hireling, prostitute,
Say that I lived, thought, dreamed alone of pelf,
Consumed with love of self.

But most the gibe
That brought me deepest smart,
Stung, galled my kibe,
Hurt, tore and rent my heart,
Was one which called that Caesar of the Dance
(He whom her cousin kept in governance)
The properer man, Love's much-lov'd chamberlain,
True knight who knew no stain.

He, stripling still,
Lived Life on loftiest plane,
His pride, his will,
To plan, to lead campaign
Against the class he sprang from, with mad speed
To vilify it, break it, ruthless bleed
It white and barren, bloodless to the bone. ...
So come into his own.

His own—and hers—
Who held him firm and fast—
Twin cavillers
At Present and at Past,
Who deemed the whole World dwelt in triple Night
Save their twin selves, predestined to bring light
And spiritual salvation—so set free
Enchained humanity.

With specious speech,
Insinuation base,
Full subtly each
Spew'd and spill'd out dispraise,
Worked on a wife's hysteria, found it food,
Gave it rich nourishment, increased, renewed
It flagging, walked their glad, destructive way
By morning, night and day.

So found success.
Theirs, then, the victory.
In crazedness
And ignorant cruelty
They broke my home, they consummated crime,
Shattered a marriage; self-esteemed sublime,
Crusading Great-hearts, true to type, took joy
To loose, dissolve, destroy.

And I? Oh, I—
Broken, but not un-manned,
Gazed impotently
On wrack and wreckage, scanned
Dead débris, dazed and weak with double toil,
Disloyalty, long intestine turmoil,
Sought to reconstitute my home again,
(Fortunate fool!) in vain.

The odds too great,
Ill-counsel all too strong,
I bowed to Fate
And, fighting, forged ere long
Fresh way of life, followed an inner voice,
In full fidelity pursued my choice,
Risked all I had in happy recklessness,
Passionate, penniless,

Risked all, and won—
If real victory
Be to have done
With lust for fee,
With hunger for material reward
And worldly wealth, to have lived stern, lived hard,
Succoured the striving, for the Thing Itself
Passioned ... and not for pelf.

Risked all, and won—
If real victory
Be to have bowed to none
In spirit, lived the free
Life of an artist, ranged the world and roamed,
Built for the sake of Beauty, drawn the domed
Palace, cathedral, college, watched them rise
To witch the applauding skies.

Risked all, and won—
If real victory
Be to have known
Love, friendship, kindness, see
Bread on the waters flung in barren hours
Come back, bring increase past all hope, my pow'rs
Heighten an hundredfold, turn old-time tears
To plaudits from true peers.

And he? Oh, he—
The intrusive wretch who sought,
Self-righteously
To bring my life to naught,
Whose mission was to save the human race,
(And win, in saving it, to pow'r and place!)
You ask his fate? The wheel full circle found. ...
And broke him on its round.

Fatuous, febrile,
In editorial chair
He sat awhile,
Imperial of air,
Caesar of sawdust, ass in lion's skin,
Outward Olympian, inward manikin,
Void of true spirit, for strong spirits yearned. ...
And thereto weakly turned.

His fuddled brain
First brought upon the rag
He ruled, stress, strain
Of libel, saw him sag
Forth from his throne, discountenanced, disgraced.
Friends found for him, awhile, fresh opening, placed
Him once again in pow'r. A second time
He brought them shame and slime.

Then downward ho!
At horrid pace he sank
Where such men go,
And in due season drank
Himself to death, watched by his wife, erst-while
Huntress of scalps, who once would fain beguile
My heart and, failing, nevermore forgave
Me—ne'er, thank God! her slave.

But as for me,
Who never wished him ill,
Where'er he be—
Mouldered in dust, or still
The mock and meat and mating-place of turms
Of blind and bloodless, writhing, battening worms,
Or deep and damned in legendary Hell,
I pardon, wish him well.

For did not he
(He and his envious wife!)
Befriend and free
Me, give me glorious life,
Fling spacious gates of Heaven-on-Earth full wide,
Since surely four glad decades over-ride
Five years of suff'ring: e'en I owe him breath
And long respite from death.

Death physical
Beneath unceasing strain,
Death spiritual,
My whole life lived in vain,
My talent napkin-hid, my body wrung,
My soul imprison'd and my dreams unsung:
Those dreams which brought, and bring, me to my own. ...
Symphonic songs in stone.





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