Scant majesty of stars prevails
across the uncreated night,
and fate is in the wind that wails
or clamours on the lonely height.

The hollow crystal of my winter dream
and silences, where thought for worship, white,
shimmer'd within the icy mirror-gleam,
vanishes down the flood of broader light.

The royal weft of arduous device
and starr'd with strangest gems, my shadowy pride
and ritual of illusive artifice
is shed away, leaving the naked side.

No more is set within the secret shrine.
a wonder wherein day nor night has part;
my passing makes the ways of earth divine
with the wild splendours of a mortal heart.

A whisper thrills the living fringe of green

D.M. STÉPHANE MALLARMÉ

DEAD IN VALVINS

Red autumn in Valvins around thy bed
was watchful flame or yet thy spirit induced
might vanish away in magic gold diffused
and kingdom o'er the dreaming forest shed.

What god now claims thee priest, O chosen head,
most humble here that wast, for that thou knew'st
thro' what waste nights thy lucid gaze was used
to spell our glory in blazon'd ether spread?

Silence alone, that o'er the lonely song
impends, old night, or, known to thee and near,

This cloak that on Sequanian looms was born,
A gift right welcome on a winter's morn,
I send you now; in Sparta it is famed,
Though it be rough, and endromis is named.
Whether well-oiled you wrestle in the lists,
Or punch the light-stuffed ball with eager fists,

Or in the dust the flying bladder chase,
Or seek to conquer Athas in the race,
'Twill serve to keep the cold from heated limbs
And save you from the rainstorm's sudden whims.
Your Tyrian muslins are but shelter vain;
Clad in this gift you'll laugh at wind and rain.

XXXI.

His kindest words their doubts remove,
Confirm their wavering faith;
He bids them teach the world his love,
Salvation by his death.

XXXII.

Triumphant he ascends on high,
The glorious work compleat;
Sin, death, and hell, low vanquish'd lie
Beneath his awful feet.

XXXIII.

There with eternal glory crown'd,
The Lord, the conqueror reigns;
His praise the heavenly choirs resound,

XXI.

Patient, the cruel scourge he bore:
The innocent, the kind!
Then to the rabble's lawless power
And rudest taunts consign'd.

XXII.

With thorns they crown that awful brow,
Whose srown can shake the globe;
And on their king in scorn bestow
The reed and purple robe.

XXIII.

Ah! see the fatal cross appears,
Heart-wounding, dreadful scene!
His sacred flesh rude iron tears,

XI.

What blessings on a thankless race,
His bounteous hand bestow'd?
And from his tongue what wonderous grace,
What rich instruction flow'd?

XII.

The dumb, the deaf, the lame, the blind
Consess'd his healing power;
Disease and death their prey resign'd,
And grief complain'd no more.

XIII.

Infernal legions trembling fled,
Aw'd by his powerful word:
And winds and seas his voice obey'd,

I.

Come heavenly love, inspire my song
With thy immortal flame,
And teach my heart, and teach my tongue
The Saviour's lovely name.

II.

The Saviour! O what endless charms
Dwell in the blissful sound!
Its influence every fear disarms,
And spreads sweet comfort round.

III.

Here pardon, life, and joys divine
In rich effusion flow,
For guilty rebels lost in sin,

I SAID TO THE ROSE .

I SAID to the Rose,
" Thy Palace close,
For the Summer is gone before! "
I said to the Lark,
" The Night is dark,
And the Morning will come no more! "

But behold, behold,
From the Misty Fold,
That beautiful Image seems,
With lifted veil,
To give me " Hail, "
And to beckon me Home in dreams!

THE VOICE .

A SAINTLY Voice fell on my ear
Out of the dewy atmosphere:
" O hush, dear Bird of Night, be mute;
Be still, O throbbing heart and lute! "
The Night-Bird shook the sparkling dew
Upon me as he ruffed and flew;
My heart was still, almost as soon,
My lute as silent as the moon:
I hushed my heart, and held my breath.
And would have died the death of death.
To hear, — but just once more, — to hear
That Voice within the atmosphere.

Again The Voice fell on my ear,
Out of the dewy atmosphere!