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Fantasia, v. 1, issue 1, January 1941

Page 11

FANTASIA
11

i. Dawn

Scarce is the phantom herald's peal /
Fled trembling down the brittle dark /
When slumberous hills their brows unseal /
To watch the nodding grasses reel /
In serried ranks of warlike steel /
Fresh battle-stained, and listening, hark /
How silent thunders Eastward mark /
Emergence of the titan spark. /
Now lo! the Eastern bastions fling /
Their brazen gates awide; now hears /
The world the wild weird blasts that ring /
In homage to a Tartar king, /
Or, humble in the sunsets, wing /
From lofty minarets like tears; /
And lo! the cloistered Dawn appears, /
Baiting the dark with sanguine spears. /
Probing the frosty purple well, /
Now swiftly mounts the russet hue; /
Now Stygian tocsins boom the knell /
Of yet another shattered spell; /
Now falls the dusky citadel /
As Dawn's bright sabres slash the blue /
Where 'til the last a star or two, /
Night's gallant ensign, bravely flew.

ii Noon

The Sun's a raucous roaring hell /
Booming over the jungle crest; /
The sky's a rustling cobalt shell; /
The bronze horizons twist and swell; /
Like prisoned gnats within a bell, /
The frantic motes their dusty quest /
Pursue on air whose humming breast /
Heaves mutely breathless heat-oppressed. /
A raving Cyclops strides the sky /
Who scans a limitless domain /
With hot incendiary eye /
From summits of the zenith high, /
And leering, puts all shadow by; /
Else Phaeton's fiery steeds again /
Are ramping earthward, free of rein, /
With flashing orb and tossing mane. /
Now shattered stones that gauntly lean /
Where jungles fringe on swampy reeds /
Blaze whitely from the senseless green, /
As crusted bones projecting seen /
In desecrated plots; nor preen /
The tropic birds nor shrill their creeds /
But seek a silent shade; nor heeds /
The lizard but the sheltered weeds.

iii Dusk

It trumpets softly in the vale /
Ere day's last echoings have ceased; /
It tints the world through prisms pale /
Ere Luna, trapped in argent mail, /
Drifts up the void to haunt the trail /
Of drunken Sun, whose sodden feast /
Of crimson wine has lurid creased /
The skies where creeps the darkling East. /
The sleepy Sun breaks Western dune; /
Not far beyond there lurks the morn /
Of other climes -- but here the moon /
Is dusty silver to a tune /
Of twilight elves that cast the rune /
On ivory flowers newly born /
And chase a playful unicorn /
Who neighs and shakes his starry horn. /
Had but the world eternal dusk /
Alive with flickering faerie light! /
Wraithlike dissolves the mundane husk, /
And green-eyed gnomes by lamps of musk /
Dig for a buried Marid tusk /
Inlaid with gold and garnets bright, /
While hidden just beyond their sight /
A jealous goblin sneers in spite.

iv Midnight

Is this the darkest hour of tale? /
Is this the realm the Demon strides? /
In this brief time will phantoms wail? /
Will raven-hackled werewolves trail /
A bloody path to groves where fail /
The Whiter Arts, and Hell presides /
At altars damned with gory sides? /
Will clouds be torn by wild witch-rides? /
The dew is wet upon the grass; /
The moon is splendid on the heights, /
Arrayed austere in molten brass /
And saffron-haloed; on the glass /
Of cosmic ebony, the mass /
Of rarest gems, in twinkling lights, /
Is mirrored millionfold, and mights /
Of devils dwarfed to lesser nights. /
The lofty stars of dazzling sheen; /
The Pleiades sigh as Mars rolls by /
Through creamy snows that drift on high /
Lambent with chalky nebulae. /
Eternal promise! Now the scene /
Wheels West to where the new dawns wean; /
The stars look down -- aloof, serene.

Saving...

FANTASIA 11 i. Dawn Scarce is the phantom herald's peal / Fled trembling down the brittle dark / When slumberous hills their brows unseal / To watch the nodding grasses reel / In serried ranks of warlike steel / Fresh battle-stained, and listening, hark / How silent thunders Eastward mark / Emergence of the titan spark. / Now lo! the Eastern bastions fling / Their brazen gates awide; now hears / The world the wild weird blasts that ring / In homage to a Tartar king, / Or, humble in the sunsets, wing / From lofty minarets like tears; / And lo! the cloistered Dawn appears, / Baiting the dark with sanguine spears. / Probing the frosty purple well, / Now swiftly mounts the russet hue; / Now Stygian tocsins boom the knell / Of yet another shattered spell; / Now falls the dusky citadel / As Dawn's bright sabres slash the blue / Where 'til the last a star or two, / Night's gallant ensign, bravely flew. ii Noon The Sun's a raucous roaring hell / Booming over the jungle crest; / The sky's a rustling cobalt shell; / The bronze horizons twist and swell; / Like prisoned gnats within a bell, / The frantic motes their dusty quest / Pursue on air whose humming breast / Heaves mutely breathless heat-oppressed. / A raving Cyclops strides the sky / Who scans a limitless domain / With hot incendiary eye / From summits of the zenith high, / And leering, puts all shadow by; / Else Phaeton's fiery steeds again / Are ramping earthward, free of rein, / With flashing orb and tossing mane. / Now shattered stones that gauntly lean / Where jungles fringe on swampy reeds / Blaze whitely from the senseless green, / As crusted bones projecting seen / In desecrated plots; nor preen / The tropic birds nor shrill their creeds / But seek a silent shade; nor heeds / The lizard but the sheltered weeds. iii Dusk It trumpets softly in the vale / Ere day's last echoings have ceased; / It tints the world through prisms pale / Ere Luna, trapped in argent mail, / Drifts up the void to haunt the trail / Of drunken Sun, whose sodden feast / Of crimson wine has lurid creased / The skies where creeps the darkling East. / The sleepy Sun breaks Western dune; / Not far beyond there lurks the morn / Of other climes -- but here the moon / Is dusty silver to a tune / Of twilight elves that cast the rune / On ivory flowers newly born / And chase a playful unicorn / Who neighs and shakes his starry horn. / Had but the world eternal dusk / Alive with flickering faerie light! / Wraithlike dissolves the mundane husk, / And green-eyed gnomes by lamps of musk / Dig for a buried Marid tusk / Inlaid with gold and garnets bright, / While hidden just beyond their sight / A jealous goblin sneers in spite. iv Midnight Is this the darkest hour of tale? / Is this the realm the Demon strides? / In this brief time will phantoms wail? / Will raven-hackled werewolves trail / A bloody path to groves where fail / The Whiter Arts, and Hell presides / At altars damned with gory sides? / Will clouds be torn by wild witch-rides? / The dew is wet upon the grass; / The moon is splendid on the heights, / Arrayed austere in molten brass / And saffron-haloed; on the glass / Of cosmic ebony, the mass / Of rarest gems, in twinkling lights, / Is mirrored millionfold, and mights / Of devils dwarfed to lesser nights. / The lofty stars of dazzling sheen; / The Pleiades sigh as Mars rolls by / Through creamy snows that drift on high / Lambent with chalky nebulae. / Eternal promise! Now the scene / Wheels West to where the new dawns wean; / The stars look down -- aloof, serene.