1. |
The Joys Of Art
01:06
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THE JOYS OF ART
As a dancer dancing in a shower of roses before her King
Throws back her head like a wind-loved flower, and makes her cymbals ring;
As a fair white dancer strange of heart, and crowned and shod with gold,
My soul exults before the Art, the magian Art of old.
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2. |
A Cloak of Lead
01:56
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A CLOAK OF LEAD
She is lying out on the great brown Wold
Wrapt in a cloke of lead,
That was used to walk in cloth-of-gold
With pearls on her golden head.
Beneath the drift of low-hung skies,
Under the blasted oak,
The Queen of an earthly Paradise
Sleeps in a leaden cloke.
Soft hands like roses and like dew
They served the Loveliest :
But now a great red wound cleaves through
The beautiful tender breast.
Like a rainbow sprang her castle brave.
Love came through the archer-folk,
And led her out to a shallow grave
Under the blasted oak.
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3. |
The Question
01:44
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THE QUESTION
I saw the Son of God go by
Crowned with the crown of Thorn.
‘Was It not finished, Lord?’ I said,
‘And all the anguish borne?’
He turned on me His awful eyes:
‘Hast thou not understood?
Lo! Every soul is Calvary,
And every sin a Rood.’
Yeah, hast thou not understood?
Lo! Every soul is Calvary,
And every sin a Rood.
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4. |
The Wounds of Old
02:30
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THE WOUNDS OF OLD
My days are losing
Their leaves of gold.
Love's lips are bruising
The wounds of old:
The winds are musing
Through all my gold.
Black rain and cold
My vines are spoiling,
My paved path soiling;
And I remember
In dim November
The wounds of old.
Fierce pulses beat
In my hands and feet,
And in my side,
This Hallowtide.
As I remember
In dim November
The wounds of old.
Is Pain undying,
O Wind low-sighing
Through fallen gold,
That I remember
In dim November
The wounds of old ?
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5. |
Only Poppies
01:21
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ONLY POPPIES
I saw strong reapers going up
Unto the flowery Altar-stair.
Great golden sheaves above their heads
For God's first-fruits they bare.
(But I had only poppies,
My frail, soft-falling dreams.
I strewed them o'er the temple floor,
For I was a dreamer of dreams.)
I saw fair women going up
With maunds of apples in their hands,
And branches hung with amethyst,
And grapes on golden wands.
(But I had only poppies,
Vain, ruby-dropping dreams.
Yet with my store did I adore
The Dreamer of all the Dreams.)
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6. |
Pleasure's Crystal Pool
02:59
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Sing sorrow for the body fair
That faded like white flowers:
Sing sorrow for the perished Soul
That lost immortal hours.
(The Soul that was more beautiful
Lies drowned in pleasure's crystal pool.}
Now close the lucid mournful lids
Above the purple eyes.
Carved like the dreamy bridal-god
Weary Narcissus lies.
(The Soul that was more beautiful
Lies drowned in pleasure's crystal pool.)
Twine violets round his heavy hair.
Fair Fauns, about the spring
In brazen bowls, oh ! sweetly burn
The frank wood-spice ye bring.
(The Soul that was more beautiful
Lies drowned in pleasure's crystal pool.)
Mysterious victors o'er him drave
Their burning steeds. Alas!
The lilies of his beauty lay
Charmed in the fountain's glass.
(The Soul that was more beautiful
Lies drowned in pleasure's crystal pool.}
That beauty still shall linger here
As frail and wistful flowers;
But perished is the drowsy Soul
That lost immortal hours.
(Sing sorrow for the beautiful
Sad Soul that sank in pleasure's pool.)
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7. |
My Secret Pomegranate
04:58
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MY SECRET POMEGRANATE
A cloud-gold world serene and sweet,
All golden air and golden wheat,
And vintagers with stained feet
And bosoms garlanded!
Torch-lilies in the gardens all,
And drowsy sunflowers mystical,
While gracious apples globe and fall
In orchards gold and red.
For an October mother,
A song of fruition I sing!
The yellow moon a-ripening lies
Pavilioned soft in sunset skies,
And I in Love's dim Paradise,
Like a pomegranate-tree
Grown burning-rich and fragrant-fair,
Dream ever in the charmed air,
For in my breast sweet fruit I bear,
A beauty yet to be!
For an October mother,
A song of fruition I sing!
Oh! dear, most dear the tender Spring,
The thrilled strange days of flowering!
'Mid lilies, songs, and violing
The bridal-path I trod,
But now amid the autumn-peace
With vines and wheat I yield increase,
I yield amid the autumn-peace,
Oblation to my God.
For an October mother,
A song of fruition I sing!
When from the world serene and sweet
Is gathered in the golden wheat,
A vintager with pure still feet
I to the Temple-gate
With all the harvesters will go,
My delicate love-sheaf to show,
My little Cup of Wine aglow,
My secret Pomegranate.
For an October mother,
A song of fruition I sing!
That from delight may come delight
I wait through cloud-gold day and night,
Through vague mysterious pleasures, white
Irradiances of pain.
For to Oblation all things yearn,
As sunflowers to their sun-god turn,
As holy frankincense to burn
In altar-fire is fain.
For an October mother,
A song of fruition I sing!
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A Suggestive Inquiry England, UK
Fairly eclectic, so perhaps you will find something you like here. :)
For more about my music, check out my twitter twitter.com/asuggestiveinq where I chat about it as I make it. Or just listen, it's all free.
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