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Arthur Symons - The Chimaera
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I dreamed that the Chimaera came, 
A wandering angel, white with flame 
From some cloud`s height or moonless deep, 
And bent above me in the sleep 
We dream in cradles, mused, and smiled 
Subtly, and said to me:  "O child, 
Born under Venus, to be love`s, 
Under the Moon, that whitely moves, 
Chaste and inconstant, over heaven; 
Child, who to Herschel has been given, 
The star of Strange desire, all these 
Are busy with your destinies. 
You shall desire immortal things, 
And, in too swift imaginings, 
Tire out desire, who has but wings. 
You shall desire love, you shall track 
The young God home; then, shrinking back, 
Like Psyche from his naked face, 
Desert him at the meeting-place. 
You shall desire fame, yet despise 
The bent knees, the insolent cries 
And loud hands of the multitude. 
You shall desire joy`s daily food 
And hope`s unalterable home, 
Yet refuse peace. And there shall come 
Every desire you have implored, 
And shall kneel down, saying Lord, Lord, 
And wait your pleasure. But you, tired
Of all desires you have desired, 
Shall say, I know you not, and thrust
Scornfully back into the dust 
These servitors importunate, 
Then, from the silence where I wait, 
A blind old madness shall return, 
And shall lay hold on you and burn 
Your veins with bitter life; for this 
Kings have lost kingdoms in a kiss, 
And wise men kingdoms of the mind, 
And have gone forth, naked and blind, 
With dancing and with insane mirth, 
Into the waste ways of the earth. 
You shall seek out the Cloven Hill, 
Where the wide gates are open Still, 
The tables set, nor have they ceased, 
The fearers feasting at the feast. 
Then shall that dusk of shadowy air 
(Because for you one light is there) 
Blossom in white-rose flame for you. 
And the old sun and air and dew 
And freshness of the world, and change 
Of seasons and cold Stars, grow Strange; 
Then, suddenly, you shall be hurled, 
Forth from thence, back into the world, 
Then shall your veins, remembering 
That sweet, intolerable thing 
Which shook their pulses with its breath, 
Desire the shadow of that death; 
And it shall not be given you back. 
Then shall you seek the hidden track 
A mist has covered from your eyes 
Since like a veil about you lies 
The bright imprisonment of day. 
Child-, child, you shall not find the way." 

Chimaera, I have been among 
The loving people, who yet throng 
The twilight about Tannhäuser; 
And I have seen the face of her 
Whose sorrow, older than that grace 
Which in her face is Beauty`s face, 
Fights in her battled soul for God. 
And the earth, knowing I have trod 
Ways not Its ways, those ways not meet, 
Sets all its Stones against my feet. 
Let me return, Chimaera! Still 
I seek for the accursed hill, 
The most fair gate of Hell. Some day, 
Chimaera, I shall find the way!
 
Ah, if I might but find it not! 
Are there not other ways forgot 
Which lead to other lands than this 
Of the immeasurable abyss? 
I would that I could one day close 
Mine eyes in some divine repose; 
That I could shape to my control 
A palace for my restless soul. 
With dreams of order I would build, 
My comely palace should be filled 
With dreams of colour and bright sound,
And twilight should enfold it round, 
Setting a veil against the sun. 
Then, like mute servants, one by one, 
Dreams should bring in to me, and lay 
Before my feet, and bear away, 
Beautiful things of earth, but changed, 
Made pallid, delicate, estranged 
From the gold light, the glittering air. 
There should my soul find refuge, there 
Life and my dream of life be one. 
Too late! The music has begun 
Which calls me in the air; there floats 
A sound of voices, the wild notes 
(Is it in air, is it from earth?) 
Which were the wine-song of our mirth. 
They call me if a moment`s peace 
Rock memory to sleep; then cease. 

Chimaera, I will Strive no more. 
All things, as they have been before, 
Shall be, until the end of days, 
Nor shall our crying change the ways 
Our feet must walk in. I will Strive 
No more, content to be alive, 
Hoping no hopes, accepting all, 
Quiet behind the prison-wall 
Which with thine own self shuts me in. 
Why Strive in vain? why not begin 
To make my prison fair to see, 
And half forget my slavery? 
Shall not the universal Stars 
Visit me through my prison-bars? 
But it is you, Chimaera, you, 
Whose low continual whisper through 
Those prison-bars the whole day long 
Comes to me, murmuring: "Up, be Strong 
Cast off your chains, come forth, behold 
A way of roses and of gold; 
Winter is over, and the spring 
In the world`s heart is blossoming; 
It is the time of lilies. Come!" 
O impotent voice abhorred, be dumb!
Why is it that I cannot find 
Bounds to my ardours unconfined, 
Why, empty of sin and void of grace, 
Do I behold only my face 
In the white mirror of the world, 
Vainly, and without respite, hurled 
Like the torn winds about the void; 
Why thirsting still for unenjoyed 
Delights and undiscovered springs, 
Desiring in all mortal things 
To hear and hold and taste and see 
Mortal impossibility? 
All men, not wholly drowned in life, 
Suffer the rapture and the Strife 
Of their Chimaera: some men chain 
That airy monster of the brain, 
And he is Ariel to them; some 
Endure his bondage. Yet there come, 
To all these, phantoms of release, 
Even these possess the secret peace
Which is both memory and hope. 
But I have rendered all things up; 
White angel, wandering from afar, 
I know you now, the thing you are, 
I know I am myself mine own 
Chimaera, chained, famished, alone, 
Whose anger, heartens him afresh 
To feed upon his very flesh, 
Till anguish bid delight to pause; 
And I must suffer him because 
Until the hour when God shall send 
Suddenly the reluctant end 
He with my breath must draw his breath. 
O bondslave, bondslave unto death, 
Might I but hope that death should free 
This self from its eternity!
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