CONTENTS. I. THE BATTLE OF THE BAYS 1. A Song of Renunciation … . I 2. For the Albums of Crowned Heads . only 5 3. Marsyas in Hades … … n 4. The Rhyme of the Kipperling . .15 5. A Ballad of a Bun …… 22 6. A Vigo-Street Eclogue . .. . 27 7. An Ode to Spring in the Metropolis . 37 8. Yet … ., . .42 9. Elegi Musarum, …44 II. To MR. WILLIAM WATSON … .49 III. ENGLANDS ALFRED ABROAD … .53 IV. LlLITH LlBlFERA …. . -57 V. ARS POSTERA … …. 58 VI. A NEW BLUE BOOK … …61 VII. TO A BOY-POET OF THE DECADENCE . 64 IN SHOOTING TOGS … .66 VIII. To JUUA iv Contents. PAGE IX. THE LINKS OF LOVE 69 X. SWORDS AND PLOUGHSHARES … .71 XI. To THE LORD OF POTSDAM … .76 XII. FROM THE LORD OF POTSDAM … .80 XIII. THE SPACIOUS TIMES 83 I. THE BATTLE OF THE BAYS, i. A SONG OF RENUNCIATION. AFTER A. c. s. IN the days of my season of salad, When the down was as dew on my cheek, And for French I was bred on the ballad, For Greek on the writers of Greek, Then I sang of the rose that is ruddy, Of pleasure that winces and stings, Of white women and wine that is bloody, And similar things. Of Delight that is dear as Desi-er, And Desire that is dear as Delight Of the fangs of the flame that is fi-er, Of the bruises of kisses that bite i The Battle of the Bays. Of embraces that clasp and that sever, Of blushes that flutter and flee Round the limbs of Dolores, whoever Dolores may be. I sang of false faith that is fleeting As froth of the swallowing seas, Times curse that is fatal as Keating Is fatal to amorous fleas Of the wanness of woe that is whelp of The lust that is blind as a bat By the help of my Muse and the help of The relative THAT. Panatheist, bruiserand breaker Of kings and the creatures of kings, I shouted on Freedom to shake her Feet loose of the fetter that clings Far rolling my ravenous red eye, And lifting a mutinous lid, To all monarchs and matrons I said I Would shock them and did. The Battle of the Bays. Thee I sang, and thy loves, O Thalassian, O noble and nude and antique Unashamed in the fearless old fashion Ere washing was done by the week When the roses and rapture Were visions of delicate vice, that girt you And the lilies and languors of virtue Not nearly so nice. O delights of the time of my teething, Felise, Fragoletta, Yolande Foam-yeast of a youth in its seething On blasted and blithering sand Snake-crowned on your tresses and belted With blossoms that coil and decay, Ye are gone ye are lost ye Like ices in May. Hushed now is the bibulous bubble Of lithe and lascivious throats are melted Long stript and extinct is the stubble Of hoary and harvested oats
