Journey with Dante

  Chapter V ‘Bosom’d high in tufted trees.’ It was breakfast time. As seen from the vicarage dining-room, which took a warm tone of light from the fire, the weather and scene outside seemed to have stereotyped themselves in unrelieved shades of gray. The long-armed trees and shrubs of juniper, cedar, and pine varieties, were grayish black; those of the broad-leaved sort, together with the herbage, were grayish-green; the eternal hills and tower behind them were grayish-brown; the sky, dropping behind all, gray of the purest melancholy. Yet in spite of this sombre artistic effect, the morning was not one which tended to lower the spirits. It was even cheering. For it did not rain, nor was rain likely to fall for many days to come. Elfride had turned from the table towards the fire and was idly elevating a hand-screen before her face, when she heard the click of a little gate outside. ‘Ah, here’s the postman!’ she said, as a shuffling, active man came through an opening in the ...

  Be joyous, Florence, you are great indeed, for over sea and land you beat your wings; through every part of Hell your name extends! Among the thieves I found five citizens of yours—and such, that shame has taken me; with them, you can ascend to no high honor. But if the dreams dreamt close to dawn are true, then little time will pass before you feel what Prato and the others crave for you. Were that already come, it would not be too soon—and let it come, since it must be! As I grow older, it will be more heavy. We left that deep and, by protruding stones that served as stairs for our descent before, my guide climbed up again and drew me forward; and as we took our solitary path among the ridge’s jagged spurs and rocks, our feet could not make way without our hands. It grieved me then and now grieves me again when I direct my mind to what I saw; and more than usual, I curb my talent, that it not run where virtue does not guide; so that, if my kind star or something better has give...

 Elif Mat ISTANBUL 1876   Sultan Abdul-Aziz woke up in Dolmabahce Palace as usual Crown Prince Mourad was in his own quarters with his family. All of a sudden they heard cannonballs.  Sultan Aziz said:  “ Oh! No. This is not good!  It’s a coup. They are going to kill me.” Prince Mourad didn’t know what to do. A letter came to the palace from the prime minister’s office informing the Sultan that he was overthrown. Although it was a fine morning there was panic within the palace. What will happen to Aziz and his family? Mourad was also unsure. If they dethrone his uncle then it will be his turn to ascend the throne His nerves were weak and he was not ready for the job. Not ready at all. When men came from the Ministry it was understood that Aziz was being taken to the Topkapi Palace with his family. They had to take a boat from the marvelous shores of the Bosporus. Mourad was instructed to get ready for his coronation. Politely of course.  Politely but firmly...

  It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea: I am become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known; cities of men And manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least, but honour'd of them all; And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades For ever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! As t...

    FOR EZRA POUND                                 IL MIGLIOR FABBRO                I. The Burial of the Dead   April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s, My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In...