IDOLS BY WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG - 1916 -- CONTENTS -- CLOUDS FOR FORMS THAT ARE FREE VOYAGE A LINFINI DIRGE THE VOICE OF ONE DEAD JUNE TO THE GATHERER AT DAYBREAK AUTOBIOGRAPHIC STATUES THE NIGHT OF ARIADNE HUMAN THE DIVINE. COMEDY AU QUATRI ME RUE DES COLES LANDSCAPE AND FIGURES DIALOGUE TO A DESERTED TEMPLE AT PBSTUM CRYSTALS PORTRAIT JOHN DAVIDSON L 7 1 TO HASEKAWA SONG OF THE SOULS SET FREE AN OLD GAME AFTER-THOUGHT FALLING ASLEEP CONSIDER THE LILIES TO A POET TO A GARDEN IN APRIL THE INNER SIGNIFICANCE OF THE STATUES SEATED OUTSIDE THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY A DYING SERVANT FOR THE SAKE OF PEACE TO THE NECROPHILE AM TAG INFINITE MERCY TO LOUVAIN THE WAR LORD INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE SUBMARINE THAT SANK THE LUSITANIA TO BELGIUM NEUTRALITY TRANSLATIONS THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN FIFTH CANTO OF THE INFERNO CLOUDS I D O L S CLOUDS FOR FORMS THAT ARE FREE LOOSE th N e web, Arachne, and we will waltz. Loosen, Arachne, The spider-web that has ensnared The feet in such a struggling bergamask. VOYAGE A LINFINI THE swan existing Is like a song with an accompaniment Imaginary. Across the glassy lake, Across the lake to the shadow of the willows, It is accompanied by an image, - As by Debussys ReJetr danr Peau. The swan that is Reflects Upon the solitary water - breast to breast With the duplicity The other one And breast to breast it is confused. 0 visionary wedding 0 stateliness of the procession It is accompanied by the image of itself Alone. At night The lake is a wide silence, Without imagination. DIRGE MAKE of the moon a motion, You Who are laid to rest, Make of the moon about the eaves of space, You who upon the earth Are doing nothing, The circles of the swallow In the twilight, You who have left above the empty house The night In suspense. THE VOICE OF ONE DEAD OF the relented limbs and the braid, 0 lady, Bound up in haste at parting, The secret is kept. JUNE THES b E re aking buds, These buds in a nest of leaves . . . What wings have covered them, And the warmth of what brooding mother, That the roses, The roses themselves, Come out The roses are trying their petals . . . Fly away, roses, after the wind.