The Aesthetic and Decadent Movement of the late 19th century spawned the idea of "Art for Art's Sake," challenged aesthetic standards and shocked the bourgeosie. From Walter Pater's study, "The Renaissance to Salome, the truly decadent collaboration between Oscar Wilde and Aubrey Beardsley, Karl Beckson has chosen a full spectrum of works that chronicle the British artistic achievement of the 1890s. In this revised edition of a classic anthology, "The Ballad of Reading Gaol" has been included in its entirety; the bibliography has been completely updated; Professor Beckson's notes and commentary have been expanded from the first edition published in 1966. The so-called Decadent or Aesthetic period remains one of the most interesting in the history of the arts. The poetry and prose of such writers as Yeats, Wilde, Symons, Johnson, Dowson, Barlas, Pater and others are included in this collection, along with sixteen of Aubrey Beardsley's drawings. "... this anthology has never been bettered....The selections are first-rate..." — Washington Post Karl Beckson wass editor or co-editor of three previous books on leading figures of the 1890's, most recently Max and Will: Max Beerbohm and William Rothenstein, their Friendship and Letters. Professor of English at Brooklyn College, CUNY, he took his BA at Arizona and his PhD at Columbia. He died in 2008. Aesthetes and Decadents of the 1890s An Anthology of British Poetry and Prose By Karl Beckson Chicago Review Press Incorporated Copyright © 1981 Karl Beckson All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-89733-044-2 Contents INTRODUCTION, John Barlas, Aubrey Beardsley, Max Beerbohm, Olive Custance (Lady Alfred Douglas), Lord Alfred Douglas, Ernest Dowson, Michael Field, John Gray, Lionel Johnson, Richard Le Gallienne, Arthur Symons, Oscar Wilde, Theodore Wratislaw, 'William Butler Yeats, APPENDIX, BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES, SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY, CHAPTER 1 John Barlas [1860–1914]      OBLIVION     Oblivion! is it not one name of death?     Nay, is not Lethe death's most dismal name,     Death growing hour by hour within our frame,     Death settling slowly in our brain, the breath     Of the soul ebbing, so that he who saith,     I am to-day as yesterday the same,     Lies, for his thoughts are fled like smoke from flame,     And like the dew his sorrow vanisheth.     Changed is the river, though the waves remain,     Which rocks of slowlier-changing circumstance     Plough up in every day of chafing foam.     Changed is the river, gone, gone to the main,     Yesterday's dream and last year's happy chance,     And the heart's thoughts again return not home.      THE MEMPHIAN TEMPLE     By the yellow Nile a temple of black marble,     Swart colossal columns on the fulvous Nile!     In the precinct palm-trees grow, and wild birds warble;     'Neath the gate-way basks the crocodile;     In the vista stalks the ibis flaunting     Feathers black and white;     From the shrine come songs of wild priests haunting All the night.     Mystery, Memphian gloom. The vast hawk-sphinxes slumber     Either side the portal, where, white-robed, the dark     Votaries, in procession, endless, without number,     Bear the sacred beetle in the ark,     To the waters of the sacred river,     Chanting in a row,     In the hoof-prints of the gold-horned heifer As they go.      THE DANCING GIRL     Gaudy painted hangings, fringed by many a tatter,     Daubed with bird or beast! Pipe, whistle and scream,     Flute and clarion, trump and drum, and clatter     Of the doll-musicians, blown by steam!     There before the screen a damsel tinkling     With a timbrel, timed by bell and gong,     Sashed with scarlet, blue, and tinsel twinkling,     Danced and leapt along.     With her shadow on the painted canvas dancing     Fitful cast by the jet's flickering glare,     Sinuous limbs, arms waving, quick feet glancing,     True to cymbal's clash and clarion's blare!     How the pure grace of her girlish motion     Made the vulgar show seem half divine,     Steeped my breast as with an opiate potion     Of enchanted wine!     But the shadow on the waving back-ground thrilled me,     For it seemed a skeleton on springs,     And its jerky leaps and gestures filled me     With a dream of hollow eyeless rings,     Bony shanks, and blackened teeth a-grinning,     Lurid damp-fires of sepulchral dew, —     Till my dizzy brain, betwixt them, spinning,     Wondered which was true.      BEAUTY'S ANADEMS     A dagger-hilt crusted with flaming gems:     A queen's rich girdle clasped with tiger's claws;     A lady's glove or a cat's velvet paws;     The whisper of a judge when he condemns;     Fierce night-shade berries purple on their stems     Among the rose's healthsome scarlet haws;     A rainbow-sheathed snake with jagged jaws:     Such are queen Beauty's sovran anadems.     For she caresses with a pois