No More Learning

VENUS AND THE FOOL.


How admirable the day! The vast park swoons beneath the burning eye of
the sun, as youth beneath the lordship of love.

There is no rumour of the universal ecstasy of all things. The waters
themselves are as though drifting into sleep. Very different from the
festivals of humanity, here is a silent revel.

It seems as though an ever-waning light makes all objects glimmer more
and more, as though the excited flowers burn with a desire to rival the
blue of the sky by the vividness of their colours; as though the heat,
making perfumes visible, drives them in vapour towards their star.

Yet, in the midst of this universal joy, I have perceived one afflicted
thing.

At the feet of a colossal Venus, one of those motley fools, those
willing clowns whose business it is to bring laughter upon kings when
weariness or remorse possesses them, lies wrapped in his gaudy and
ridiculous garments, coined with his cap and bells, huddled against the
pedestal, and raises towards the goddess his eyes filled with tears.

And his eyes say: "I am the last and most alone of all mortals, inferior
to the meanest of animals in that I am denied either love or friendship.
Yet I am made, even I, for the understanding and enjoyment of immortal
Beauty. O Goddess, have pity upon my sadness and my frenzy. "

The implacable Venus gazed into I know not what distances with her
marble eyes.




INTOXICATION.


One must be for ever drunken: that is the sole question of importance.
If you would not feel the horrible burden of Time that bruises your
shoulders and bends you to the earth, you must be drunken without cease.
But how? With wine, with poetry, with virtue, with what you please. But
be drunken. And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace, on the green
grass by a moat, or in the dull loneliness of your chamber, you should
waken up, your intoxication already lessened or gone, ask of the wind,
of the wave, of the star, of the bird, of the timepiece; ask of all that
flees, all that sighs, all that revolves, all that sings, all that
speaks, ask of these the hour; and wind and wave and star and bird and
timepiece will answer you: "It is the hour to be drunken! Lest you be
the martyred slaves of Time, intoxicate yourselves, be drunken without
cease! With wine, with poetry, with virtue, or with what you will. "




THE GIFTS OF THE MOON.


The Moon, who is caprice itself, looked in at the window as you slept in
your cradle, and said to herself: "I am well pleased with this child. "

And she softly descended her stairway of clouds and passed through the
window-pane without noise. She bent over you with the supple tenderness
of a mother and laid her colours upon your face. Therefrom your eyes
have remained green and your cheeks extraordinarily pale. From
contemplation of your visitor your eyes are so strangely wide; and she
so tenderly wounded you upon the breast that you have ever kept a
certain readiness to tears.

In the amplitude of her joy, the Moon filled all your chamber as with a
phosphorescent air, a luminous poison; and all this living radiance
thought and said: "You shall be for ever under the influence of my kiss.
You shall love all that loves me and that I love: clouds, and silence,
and night; the vast green sea; the unformed and multitudinous waters;
the place where you are not; the lover you will never know; monstrous
flowers, and perfumes that bring madness; cats that stretch themselves
swooning upon the piano and lament with the sweet, hoarse voices of
women.

"And you shall be loved of my lovers, courted of my courtesans.