Thru the 12 Houses of heaven seeing the just and the unjust, tasting the sweet and the sorry, Pater Helios turning. “Mortal praise has no sound in her ears” (Fortuna’s) Θρηνοσ And who no longer make gods out of of beauty Θρηνοσ this is a dying Yet to walk with Mozart, Agassiz and Linnaeus ‘neath overhanging air under sun-beat Here take thy mind’s space And to this garden, Marcella, ever seeking by petal, by leaf-vein out of dark, and toward half-light And over Li Chiang, the snow range is turquoise Rock’s world that he saved us for memory a thin trace in high air And with them Paré (Ambroise) and the Men against Death Twedell, Donnelly, old Pumpelly crossed Gobi “no horse, no dog, and no goat.” “I’d eat his liver, told that son of... and now bigod I have done it” 17 Maggio, why not spirits? But for the sun and serenitas (19th May ’59) H.D. once said “serenitas" (Atthis, etc.) at Dieudonné’s in pre-history. No dog, no horse, and no goat, The long flank, the firm breast and to know beauty and death and despair and to think that what has been shall be, flowing, ever unstill, Then a partridge-shaped cloud over dust storm. The hells move in cycles, No man can see his own end. The Gods have not returned. “They have never left us.” They have not returned. Cloud’s processional and the air moves with their living. Pride, jealousy and possessiveness 3 pains of hell and a clear wind over garofani over Portofino 3 lights in triangulation Or apples from Hesperides fall in their lap from phantom trees. The old Countess remembered (say 1928) that ball in St. Petersburg and as to how Stef gout out of Poland... Sir Ian told ‘em help would come via the sea (the black one, the Black Sea) Pétain warned ‘em. And the road under apple-boughs mostly grass-covered And the olives to windward Kalenda Maja. Li Sao, Li Sao, for sorrow but there is something intelligent in the cherry-stone Canals, bridges, and house walls orange in sunlight But to hitch sensibility to efficiency? grass versus granite, For the little light and more harmony Oh God of all men, none excluded and howls for Schwundgeld in the Convention (our Constitutional 17...whichwhat) Nothing new but their ignorance, ever perennial Parsley used in the sacrifice and (calling Paul Peter) 12% does not mean one, oh, four, 104% Error of chaos. Justification is from kindness of heart and from her hands floweth mercy. As for who demand belief rather than justice. And the host of Egypt, the pyramid builder, waiting there to be born. No more the pseudo-gothic sprawled house out over the bridge there (Washington Bridge, N.Y.C.) but everything boxed for economy. That the body is inside the soul --- the lifting and folding brightness‘ the darkness shattered, the fragment, That Yeats noted the symbol over the portico (Paris) And the bull by the force that is in him --- not lord of it, mastered. And to know interest from usura (Sac. Cairoli, presso giusto) In this sphere is Giustizia. In mountain air the grass frozen emerald and with the mind set on that light saffron, emerald, seeping. “but that kind of ignorance” said the old priest to Yeats (in a railway train) “is spreading every day from the schools” - to say nothing of other varieties. Article X for example - put over, and 100 years to get back to the awareness of (what’s his name in that Convention) And in thy mind beauty, O, Artemis, As to sin, they invented it - eh? to implement domination eh? largely. There remain grumpiness, malvagità Sea, over roofs, but still the sea and headland. And in every woman, somewhere in the snarl is a tenderness. A blue light under stars. The ruined orchards, trees rotting. Empty frames at Limone. And for a little magnanimity somewhere, And to know the share from the charge (scala altrui) God’s eye art ‘ou, do not surrender perception. And in thy mind beauty, O Artemis Daphne afoot in vain speed. When the Syrian onyx is broken. Out of dark, thou, Father Helios, leadest, but the mind as Ixion, unstill, ever turning.