"Non tifidar" it is the sword that speaks
1
Thou trusted'st in thyself and met the blade Thout mask or gauntlet, and art laid
As memorable broken blades that be
Kept as bold trophies of old pageantry.
1
Thou trusted'st in thyself and met the blade Thout mask or gauntlet, and art laid
As memorable broken blades that be
Kept as bold trophies of old pageantry.
Ezra-Pound-Provenca-English
"
17
? InTem- Hesaith:"Redspearsborethewarriordawn Of old
**: Strange! Love, hast thou forgotten
The red spears of the dawn, The pennants of the morning? "
She saith: "Nay, I remember, but now Cometh the Dawn, and the Moth-Hour
Together with him ; softly For we are old. "
CAMARADERIE
"Etuttogite tofossealacantpagniadimolti,quantaaliavista"
I feel thy cheek against my face
SOMETIMES soft as is the South's first breath Close-pressing,
That all the subtle earth-things summoneth To spring in wood-land and in meadow space.
Yea sometimes in a bustling man-filled place Meseemeth some-wise thy hair wandereth Across mine eyes, as mist that halloweth The air awhile and giveth all things grace.
Or on still evenings when the rain falls close There comes a tremor in the drops, and fast
My pulses run, knowing thy thought hath passed That beareth thee as doth the wind a rose.
18
nectutis. OA
,
T ,
? FOR E. McC.
THAT WAS MY COUNTER-BLADE UNDER LEONARDO TERRONE, MASTER OF FENCE
i~* ONE while your tastes were keen to you, \J Gone where the grey winds call to you,
By that high fencer, even Death,
Struck of the blade that no man parrieth;
Such is your fence, one saith, One that hath known you.
Drew you your sword most gallantly, Made you your pass most valiantly
'Gainst that grey fencer, even Death.
Gone as a gust of breath
Faith ! no man tarrieth,
"Se il cor ti manca" but it failed thee not!
"Non tifidar" it is the sword that speaks
1
Thou trusted'st in thyself and met the blade Thout mask or gauntlet, and art laid
As memorable broken blades that be
Kept as bold trophies of old pageantry.
As old Toledos past their days of war
Are kept mnemonic of the strokes they bore,
So art thou with us, being good to keep
In our heart's sword-rack, though thy sword-arm
sleep.
ENVOI
Struck of the blade that no man parrieth,
Pierced of the point that toucheth lastly all,
'Gainst that grey fencer, even Death,
Behold the shield ! He shall not take thee all.
1 Sword-rune, " If thy heart fail thee trust not in me. " 19
"In me. "
? BALLAD FOR GLOOM
God, our God, is a gallant foe FOTRhat playeth behind the veil.
I have loved my God as a child at heart That seeketh deep bosoms for rest,
I have loved my God as maid to man, But lo, this thing is best:
To love your God as a gallant foe
that plays behind the veil,
To meet your God as the night winds meet beyond Arcturus' pale.
I have played with God for a woman,
I have staked with my God for truth,
I have lost to my God as a man, clear eyed;
His dice be not of ruth.
For I am made as a naked blade, But hear ye this thing in sooth :
Who loseth to God as man to man Shall win at the turn of the game.
I have drawn my blade where the lightnings meet But the ending is the same:
Who loseth to God as the sword blades lose
Shall win at the end of the game.
For God, our God, is a gallant foe
that playeth behind the veil,
Whom God deigns not to overthrow
hath need of triple mail.
20
? AT THE HEART O' ME A. D.
17
? InTem- Hesaith:"Redspearsborethewarriordawn Of old
**: Strange! Love, hast thou forgotten
The red spears of the dawn, The pennants of the morning? "
She saith: "Nay, I remember, but now Cometh the Dawn, and the Moth-Hour
Together with him ; softly For we are old. "
CAMARADERIE
"Etuttogite tofossealacantpagniadimolti,quantaaliavista"
I feel thy cheek against my face
SOMETIMES soft as is the South's first breath Close-pressing,
That all the subtle earth-things summoneth To spring in wood-land and in meadow space.
Yea sometimes in a bustling man-filled place Meseemeth some-wise thy hair wandereth Across mine eyes, as mist that halloweth The air awhile and giveth all things grace.
Or on still evenings when the rain falls close There comes a tremor in the drops, and fast
My pulses run, knowing thy thought hath passed That beareth thee as doth the wind a rose.
18
nectutis. OA
,
T ,
? FOR E. McC.
THAT WAS MY COUNTER-BLADE UNDER LEONARDO TERRONE, MASTER OF FENCE
i~* ONE while your tastes were keen to you, \J Gone where the grey winds call to you,
By that high fencer, even Death,
Struck of the blade that no man parrieth;
Such is your fence, one saith, One that hath known you.
Drew you your sword most gallantly, Made you your pass most valiantly
'Gainst that grey fencer, even Death.
Gone as a gust of breath
Faith ! no man tarrieth,
"Se il cor ti manca" but it failed thee not!
"Non tifidar" it is the sword that speaks
1
Thou trusted'st in thyself and met the blade Thout mask or gauntlet, and art laid
As memorable broken blades that be
Kept as bold trophies of old pageantry.
As old Toledos past their days of war
Are kept mnemonic of the strokes they bore,
So art thou with us, being good to keep
In our heart's sword-rack, though thy sword-arm
sleep.
ENVOI
Struck of the blade that no man parrieth,
Pierced of the point that toucheth lastly all,
'Gainst that grey fencer, even Death,
Behold the shield ! He shall not take thee all.
1 Sword-rune, " If thy heart fail thee trust not in me. " 19
"In me. "
? BALLAD FOR GLOOM
God, our God, is a gallant foe FOTRhat playeth behind the veil.
I have loved my God as a child at heart That seeketh deep bosoms for rest,
I have loved my God as maid to man, But lo, this thing is best:
To love your God as a gallant foe
that plays behind the veil,
To meet your God as the night winds meet beyond Arcturus' pale.
I have played with God for a woman,
I have staked with my God for truth,
I have lost to my God as a man, clear eyed;
His dice be not of ruth.
For I am made as a naked blade, But hear ye this thing in sooth :
Who loseth to God as man to man Shall win at the turn of the game.
I have drawn my blade where the lightnings meet But the ending is the same:
Who loseth to God as the sword blades lose
Shall win at the end of the game.
For God, our God, is a gallant foe
that playeth behind the veil,
Whom God deigns not to overthrow
hath need of triple mail.
20
? AT THE HEART O' ME A. D.
