Artemis to Actaeon, and Other Verses - Edith Wharton - E-Book

Artemis to Actaeon, and Other Verses E-Book

Edith Wharton

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DigiCat Publishing presents to you this special edition of "Artemis to Actaeon, and Other Verses" by Edith Wharton. DigiCat Publishing considers every written word to be a legacy of humankind. Every DigiCat book has been carefully reproduced for republishing in a new modern format. The books are available in print, as well as ebooks. DigiCat hopes you will treat this work with the acknowledgment and passion it deserves as a classic of world literature.

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Edith Wharton

Artemis to Actaeon, and Other Verses

 
EAN 8596547222262
DigiCat, 2022 Contact: [email protected]

Table of Contents

I
LIFE
MARGARET OF CORTONA
A TORCHBEARER
II
THE MORTAL LEASE
EXPERIENCE
GRIEF
CHARTRES
TWO BACKGROUNDS
II
THE TOMB OF ILARIA GIUNIGI
THE ONE GRIEF
THE EUMENIDES
III
AN AUTUMN SUNSET
MOONRISE OVER TYRINGHAM
ALL SOULS
ALL SAINTS
THE OLD POLE STAR
A GRAVE
NON DOLET!
A HUNTING-SONG
SURVIVAL
USES
A MEETING

Part I—

ARTEMIS TO ACTAEON LIFE VESALIUS IN ZANTE MARGARET OF CORTONA A TORCHBEARER
Part II—
THE MORTAL LEASE EXPERIENCE GRIEF CHARTRES TWO BACKGROUNDS THE TOMB OF ILARIA GIUNIGI THE ONE GRIEF THE EUMENIDES
Part III—
ORPHEUS AN AUTUMN SUNSET MOONRISE OVER TYRINGHAM ALL SOULS ALL SAINTS THE OLD POLE STAR A GRAVE NON DOLET! A HUNTING-SONG SURVIVAL USES A MEETING

I

Table of Contents
ARTEMIS TO ACTAEON

THOU couldst not look on me and live: so runs The mortal legend—thou that couldst not live Nor look on me (so the divine decree)! That saw'st me in the cloud, the wave, the bough, The clod commoved with April, and the shapes Lurking 'twixt lid and eye-ball in the dark. Mocked I thee not in every guise of life, Hid in girls' eyes, a naiad in her well, Wooed through their laughter, and like echo fled, Luring thee down the primal silences Where the heart hushes and the flesh is dumb? Nay, was not I the tide that drew thee out Relentlessly from the detaining shore, Forth from the home-lights and the hailing voices, Forth from the last faint headland's failing line, Till I enveloped thee from verge to verge And hid thee in the hollow of my being? And still, because between us hung the veil, The myriad-tinted veil of sense, thy feet Refused their rest, thy hands the gifts of life, Thy heart its losses, lest some lesser face Should blur mine image in thine upturned soul Ere death had stamped it there. This was thy thought. And mine?

The gods, they say, have all: not so! This have they—flocks on every hill, the blue Spirals of incense and the amber drip Of lucid honey-comb on sylvan shrines, First-chosen weanlings, doves immaculate, Twin-cooing in the osier-plaited cage, And ivy-garlands glaucous with the dew: Man's wealth, man's servitude, but not himself! And so they pale, for lack of warmth they wane, Freeze to the marble of their images, And, pinnacled on man's subserviency, Through the thick sacrificial haze discern Unheeding lives and loves, as some cold peak Through icy mists may enviously descry Warm vales unzoned to the all-fruitful sun. So they along an immortality Of endless-envistaed homage strain their gaze, If haply some rash votary, empty-urned, But light of foot, with all-adventuring hand, Break rank, fling past the people and the priest, Up the last step, on to the inmost shrine, And there, the sacred curtain in his clutch, Drop dead of seeing—while the others prayed! Yes, this we wait for, this renews us, this Incarnates us, pale people of your dreams, Who are but what you make us, wood or stone, Or cold chryselephantine hung with gems, Or else the beating purpose of your life, Your sword, your clay, the note your pipe pursues, The face that haunts your pillow, or the light Scarce visible over leagues of labouring sea!O thus through use to reign again, to drinkThe cup of peradventure to the lees,For one dear instant disimmortalisedIn giving immortality! So dream the gods upon their listless thrones. Yet sometimes, when the votary appears, With death-affronting forehead and glad eyes,Too young