Victorian Poetry

Blackwell Essential Literature
Old and Middle English Poetry Poetry from Chaucer to Spenser Renaissance Poetry Restoration Comedy Poetry from 1660 to 1780 Romantic Poetry Victorian Poetry

Victorian Poetry Edited by Duncan Wu based on The Victorians: An Anthology of Poetry and Poetics edited by Valentine Cunningham .

    First published 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd    4   2007    Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data    Victorian poetry / edited by Duncan Wu.      cm.V53  2002    821’. Designs. without the  prior permission of the publisher. MA 02148‐      . Ltd.  ISBN 0‐631‐23075‐0 (alk.  Furthermore. mechanical.”  Includes bibliographical references and index. paper)    A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. paper)—ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23076‐2 (pbk.© 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd  Editorial matter. No part of this publication may be reproduced. photocopying.blackwellpublishing. Series  PR1223 . Victoria 3053.     III. visit our website:  www. Duncan. — (Blackwell essential literature)  “Based on The Victorians: an anthology of poetry and poetics.  p. Pondicherry. stored  in a retrieval system. selection and arrangement © 2002 by Duncan Wu and  Valentine Cunningham    BLACKWELL PUBLISHING  350 Main Street. Malden. and Patents Act 1988.   For further information on  Blackwell Publishing. USA  9600 Garsington Road. the publisher ensures that the text paper and cover board  used have met acceptable environmental accreditation standards. India  Printed and bound in Singapore  by Markono Print Media Pte Ltd    The publisher’s policy is to use permanent paper from mills that operate a  sustainable forestry policy.808—dc21    2002020878    ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23075‐5 (alk. English poetry—19th century.   I. Wu. Australia    All rights reserved. paper)—ISBN 0‐631‐23076‐9 (pbk. in any form or by any means. or transmitted. and which has been manufactured from pulp  processed using acid‐free and elementary chlorine‐free practices. Victorians. Carlton. recording or otherwise. except as  permitted by the UK Copyright. : alk. edited by  Valentine Cunningham.   II.  electronic. paper)  1. :  alk. UK  550 Swanston Street.    Set in 8/10 pt Galliard  by Kolam Information Services Pvt. Oxford OX4 2DQ.

The Charge of the Light Brigade From Maud I (`I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood') XXII (`Come into the garden. Maud') Crossing the Bar 17 19 23 24 31 31 33 55 57 59 61 Robert Browning (1812±1889) My Last Duchess The Lost Leader Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister Porphyria's Lover Home-Thoughts. from Abroad The Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church Meeting at Night Parting at Morning 63 64 65 67 68 69 72 72 . Break' From The Princess.Contents Series Editor's Preface Introduction Duncan Wu Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806±1861) Sonnets from the Portuguese (extracts) From Aurora Leigh: First Book ix 1 6 8 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson (1809±1892) Mariana The Lady of Shalott Ulysses Morte d'Arthur `Break. H. H. A Medley From In Memoriam A. Break.

vi Contents Love Among the Ruins Fra Lippo Lippi A Toccata of Galuppi's `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' Memorabilia Andrea del Sarto Two in the Campagna A Grammarian's Funeral Never the Time and the Place 72 75 83 85 90 91 97 98 102 È Emily (Jane) Bronte (1818±1848) `What winter floods. and A. Brenzaida') Julian M. what showers of spring' `Long neglect has worn away' `The night is darkening round me' `All hushed and still within the house' `O Dream. how happy! those are words' `Mild the mist upon the hill' `Come. walk with me' To Imagination Remembrance (`R. Rochelle (`The Prisoner') `No coward soul is mine' 103 103 103 104 104 104 105 106 107 108 109 113 Arthur Hugh Clough (1819±1861) Matthew Arnold (1822±1888) To Marguerite Self-Dependence Dover Beach The Scholar-Gipsy `Say not the struggle naught availeth' `That there are powers above us I admit' 114 114 116 116 117 118 Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828±1882) The Blessed Damozel From The House of Life: A Sonnet-Sequence Part I Youth and Change Sonnet VI: The Kiss Sonnet VII: Supreme Surrender 125 128 128 128 129 . G. where art thou now?' `How still. Alcona to J.

Contents vii Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture Sonnet LIII: Without Her Sonnet LIV: Love's Fatality Part II: Change and Fate Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty Sonnet LXXXI: Memorial Thresholds Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy Sonnet XCVII: A Superscription Sonnet CI: The One Hope Nuptial Sleep `Found' (For a Picture) 129 130 130 130 131 131 131 132 132 132 133 133 134 134 Christina G. Lord' 153 160 161 161 162 162 163 163 164 . Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Goblin Market 135 135 Thomas Hardy (1840±1928) Neutral Tones Nature's Questioning The Impercipient In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury `I look into my glass' A Broken Appointment The Darkling Thrush The Self-Unseeing 148 148 149 150 151 151 151 152 Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844±1889) The Wreck of the Deutschland God's Grandeur The Windhover Pied Beauty Binsey Poplars Felix Randal `As Kingfishers Catch Fire' Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves `Thou art indeed just.

Housman (1859±1936) From A Shropshire Lad From Last Poems 165 174 William Butler Yeats (1865±1939) The Stolen Child Down by the Salley Gardens The Rose of the World The Lake Isle of Innisfree When You Are Old Who Goes with Fergus? The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner The Song of Wandering Aengus He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Adam's Curse Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 175 176 176 177 177 177 178 178 179 179 180 181 Index of Titles and First Lines . E.viii Contents A.

Oxford . most of these volumes run to no more than 200 pages. these volumes comprise a crucial resource for anyone who reads or studies poetry. compactness and ease of use. The acknowledged virtues of the Blackwell Anthologies are range and variety. They will be particularly helpful to students hard-pressed for time. who need a digest of the poetry of each historical period. Based on correspondent volumes in the Blackwell Anthologies series.Series Editor's Preface The Blackwell Essential Literature series offers readers the chance to possess authoritative texts of key poems (and in one case drama) across the standard periods and movements. Each volume contains a general introduction designed to introduce the reader to those central works. those of the Essential Literature series are authoritative selection. Together. In selecting the contents of each volume particular attention has been given to major writers whose works are widely taught at most schools and universities. Duncan Wu St Catherine's College.

Ebenezer Elliot and William Barnes. W. leeks. doubt. Christina G. soap. poetry. E. railway lines and railway trains. cricket players. Pressure of space necessarily denies admission to many of those anthologized by Professor Cunningham ± James Thomson. The Victorians: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. a cabbage leaf. soup. Emily (Jane) Bronte. There are few better examples of the Victorian preoccupation with death and its aftermath. Gerard Manley Hopkins. dead dogs. Henley. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Jemima Luke. including anonymous street ballads. as well as rural writers like John Clare. `Dover Beach'. death. `Next to the Bible. poems. The implied claim is not that these are representative ± it would be virtually impossible to construct such a selection within a mere 180-odd pages ± but that they are essential reading for anyone with an interest in verse of the period. going to the dentist. God. This volume aims to do something different. paintings. It distills into a smaller space some of the most influential poetry of the period by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. It is on the one hand an intensely private poem about one man's 1 Valentine Cunningham. Psychical Research. which reflect the catholicity of interest within the period. fairies. as they are the major poets of the age. Missing Links. . should they desire even more. tobacco. including complete texts of `Fra Lippo Lippi'.Introduction Duncan Wu Recent anthologies of Victorian poetry and prose have provided readers with a remarkably diverse and wide-ranging body of work. In Memoriam is my comfort'. `The Scholar-Gipsy'. sado-masochism. No less than the queen remarked to Tennyson that. Valentine Cunningham's invaluable The Victorians ranges from the late works of Wordsworth and Leigh Hunt at one end of the century to Yeats. The diversity is highlighted by Professor Cunningham in his introduction: So here are poems about cod-liver oil. faith. Tennyson and Browning predominate. `Goblin Market' and `The Wreck of the Deutschland'. onions. Housman and Kipling at the other. `The Prisoner'. Housman and William Butler Yeats. Rossetti. What this selection lacks in range it makes up for in depth. Alfred È (Lord) Tennyson. A. Robert Browning. George Meredith. chairs. other anthologies of Victorian writing. Thomas Hardy. poverty. snow. `The Blessed Damozel'. to name a few. Arthur Hugh Clough. poets. introduction. science. love. Robert Louis Stevenson. Matthew Arnold. the poetry of women poets such as Caroline Norton. war. Eliza Cook and Dora Greenwell. booze. Grimm's Law. genitalia. Fanny Kemble. New Women. Lewis Carroll. weather in the suburbs. William Morris. omnibuses. 2000).1 For range readers will require The Victorians ± and. E. pain. xxxv. p. In between he offers a rich selection of verse.

pp. the most successful long poem of its day. And when the speaker of `A Toccata of Galuppi's' tells us that he feels `chilly and grown old'. Tennyson's preoccupation with states of mind looks back to Wordsworth. In such sonnets as `Surprised by joy' Wordsworth had attempted the same kind of investigation. `red in tooth and claw'.7 2 W. In this sense In Memoriam.6 By the time Wordsworth died in 1850 Tennyson was in his early forties and Browning in his late thirties. 1983). Herbert Tucker (Oxford: Blackwell. H. E. the same year as In Memoriam. 3 See in particular In Memoriam lv and lvi. comprehending moral failings with a clarity not always vouchsafed in life. . and welcomed an acquaintance with their author. 7 See for instance Pound's `Piere Vidal Old' and Eliot's `Prufrock'. 4 In Memoriam lvi 15.4 the product of a cosmos lacking a benevolent deity. p. a growing scepticism that was to find fuller expression in the poetry of Hardy and Housman later in the century. 311±13. 6 See Robert Bernard Martin. Wordsworth's most extensive examination of psychological process. and is found in shorter poems such as `Tears. which concerns the uncontrollable emotions that run deeply in the human heart. The influence of the Romantics was felt throughout the century. Forewords and Afterwords ed. There were precedents in the Romantic period ± all `big six' poets had tried their hand at writing plays ± but the achievement of Browning and Tennyson was to adapt the form so as to bring the science of disclosure through verbal nuance to a fine art.2 The fruit of nearly 17 years' labour. idle tears'. Edward Mendelson (London: Faber. on a level beyond the verbal. Warwick Slinn helpfully contextualizes In Memoriam in his essay on Victorian poetry in A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture ed. 1999). which it is for us to infer. to seek.5 For his part.3 The natural world of In Memoriam is not invariably. Tennyson: The Unquiet Heart (London: Faber. was not published until 1850. besides much else. the divinely appointed one of Wordsworth. but their reign had ended: Tennyson and Browning were remaking the art. something rather important has happened. it doubtless has its faults ± it is relentless in its subjectivity. through the dramatic monologue. from the very moment that the speaker of Browning's `My Last Duchess' notes that the portrait of his former wife looks `as if she were alive' we Á know that this is no mere compliment to the painter. and not to yield' may not be the sort of sea-captain with whom we should set sail. Fra Pandolf ± there is something darker at work. As readers of such poetry we are in a privileged position. Its potential would be further championed in the modern period by Eliot and Pound. Browning's major contribution. 5 The Prelude. in common with that of Tennyson. almost oppressively so ± but it transcends the personal in addressing the anxieties arising from the nineteenth-century confrontation with evolutionary theories Tennyson had encountered in Robert Chambers's Vestiges of Creation and Charles Lyell's Principles of Geology. Tennyson and Browning exploited the form aware that our knowing so much more than their speakers. pp.2 Introduction grief for another. 226. is a product of the zeitgeist. Wordsworth possessed a copy of Tennyson's important 1842 Poems. therefore. Auden. exemplifying Auden's contention that Tennyson's gift was for expressing feelings of `lonely terror and desire for death'. was to develop a new kind of psychological poetry ± one that explored the human mind from within. The Ulysses who in Tennyson's poem declares his desire `To strive. was the key to a new poetic. 289±91. and on the other a work that speaks of the innermost anxieties of the age. to find. it can be. 1973). rather.

and it is easiest to think of the group as one of visual artists. and this often meant introducing `real' people into the work. Rochelle' (known in other versions as `The Prisoner') is a different kind of poem. as experienced by women. they wanted realism. 1108±9. which allows us to consider È Bronte as a mystic writer. begins this process with a kind of self-portrait written in a reflective. at the centre of which is a moment. Rochelle's vision shortly prior to expected death. pp. The pretence of translation sets up a bluff that allows Barrett Browning to explore her theme without anxiety. her subjects are love. This is particularly evident in such lyrics as `No coward soul is mine' and `Cold in the earth'. moving easily from that of poet-lover to that of beloved. particularly `That there are powers above us I admit'. In that context their aim was to introduce the qualities of Italian medieval painting. Where their subject was biblical or historical. The extract from the First Book. it contrasts the `sick hurry' of the world with the comparative calm of the landscape. Taking its lead (and diction) from Keats. formed in 1848. Romanticism: An Anthology. using the colours of nature as they were. È Emily Bronte is best known as the author of Wuthering Heights (1847). working directly from the natural object in situ.8 Her Sonnets from the Portuguese (1850) are a remarkable series of love poems which further exploit some of the techniques arising from her husband's dramatic monologues. in which he seeks for hope in a `Sea of Faith'. but the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. In fact. She began her creative life as a Romantic poet ± publishing poems in national newspapers during the 1820s. an experimental (and partly autobiographical) verse-novel that describes the integration of love and work. `Julian M. 2nd edn. Clough's agnosticism comes into sharp focus in the two poems presented here. Elizabeth Barrett. only to turn to human love when faced by a world `Where ignorant armies clash by night'. was. `The Scholar-Gipsy' is one of the great Victorian Oxford poems which tells us a great deal about how important were notions of pastoral at the time. The Victorians were not in themselves a movement. 9 Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology ed. hatred. Its fascination lies partly in its brooding melancholy and the sense that its author lives in the shadow of some terrible grief in the recent past or anticipation of death to come. has long been the subject of myth. This is evident from `Dover Beach'. quite directly ± `active sexual demands and dangers'. they are not `from the Portuguese' at all. below (see pp. but less so as the author of some of the most compelling poetry of the period. suffering and fortitude. they were less coherent and unified than they would have liked. Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton (Oxford: Blackwell. p. and to choose subjects from contemporary life. In Aurora Leigh (1856). 8 . perhaps Arnold's greatest work.Introduction 3 Browning's wife.9 That freedom also licenses her to experiment with different roles. Of course. 9±17). like most movements. any more than the Romantics. 1995). 2000). engaging blank verse that in large measure accounts for the resurgence of this work's popularity in recent years. sometimes approaching the subject of romantic passion. The emotional charge of the poetry is intense and often extreme. she set out to challenge more directly the gender discrimination of the day in an effort to formulate a feminist poetic. G. Duncan Wu (Oxford: Blackwell. and are often considered as poets of doubt. and A. they are original poems that are in some sense autobiographical. and reproducing in See for instance `Stanzas on the Death of Lord Byron'. Clough and Arnold knew each other from Oxford days. ed. 65.

which during his subsequent painful experience has become a permanently meaningful impression. its `philological and rhetorical passion'12 and concentration on the inner workings of the soul is pre-eminently a product of the nineteenth. Dante Gabriel and Christina Rossetti looked back to the Coleridge of `Christabel' and the Keats of `Isabella'. as in both `Neutral Tones' and `The Darkling Thrush'. so that in 1995 Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton could confirm her place as `one of the greatest poets of the nineteenth century'. and capable of blind indifference to human mortality. As poets. 13 Tom Paulin. decay and desolation.13 Not only is there no evidence of religious faith in Hardy's poetry. nature is bleak.11 She is now one of the most widely studied of the Pre-Raphaelites. have in the last two decades given her work an added resonance. a sensitivity to sensory detail. The same cannot be said of the poetry of Hardy. where the blessed damozel weeps in frustrated longing to join her lover (rather than God) `is not even remotely Christian'. Arthur Pollard (London: Sphere Books. an `involute' or charged combination of emotion and concrete objects. 85. In Housman nature is `heartless. which is why it is easy to regard as a product of the twentieth century. The Victorians ed.10 Dante Gabriel was to make an art out of the decorativeness and elaboration of his verse. 1988). p. published in Satires of Circumstance (1914) and Moments of Vision (1917). In fact. indeed. 31. In matters of style they sought a simplicity of manner. 438. The poems included here are among the best of his Victorian period. and one also finds a frequent use of religious language for evocation (rather than its real meanings). p. a self-consciousness which can sometimes produce startlingly good poetry. his concept of `inscape' referring to the interior perception into the being of the object. Thomas Hardy: The Poetry of Perception (London: Macmillan. Unlike some of the Romantics. `The Blessed Damozel' (1850) was intended as a companion piece to Poe's `The Raven' (1845). stripped of all the redemptive power with which the Romantics had imbued it. his sister Christina is far less preoccupied with appearances. Hopkins is insistently religious in his understanding: God is the inscape of the created world. 12 Seamus Heaney. stripped of the religious significance it possessed for such poets as Hopkins. 10 `The Rossettis and Other Contemporary Poets'. In this sense it is not fanciful to consider Hardy and Housman alongside each other. it can be found in Tennyson's `Mariana' and some of the sonnets in Dante Gabriel Rossetti's House of Life sequence. 355. He is essentially a visionary writer. except that Housman's vision is if anything even more lacking in hope than Hardy's. and the intense morbidity of her writing finds expression even in the fairy-tale `Goblin Market' (1862). James Sambrook notes that Rossetti's conception of the afterlife. Gerard Manley Hopkins's collected verse appeared only in 1918. Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology. 1975). 11 Reynolds and Leighton.4 Introduction minute detail the features of the natural world. who is also thought of as a twentieth-century writer. Tom Paulin has noted how in `Neutral Tones' the poem culminates in a total picture. In mood they cultivated a love of the morbid ± listlessness. which may have deterred some readers in earlier times. Her poetry is full of depression and denial. 1980). witless'. p. a selfconscious medievalism and a highly developed taste in decoration. most of his best poetry was written after 1900. Preoccupations: Selected Prose 1968±1978 (London: Faber. nearly 30 years after his death. There is in all this a deliberation. p. Those feelings. .

which would produce its finest fruits in the next century. to the outright desolation of Housman and Hardy. Walter E. Margaret and Leighton. but can't be eliminated from the human soul. (1957) The Victorian Frame of Mind. and anyone with a serious interest in this poetry should turn to his anthology. B.) Tucker. Irish fairy traditionalism. Raine writes of Yeats's place within a fugitive intellectual tradition of metaphysical and mystic thought.) (2000) The Victorians: An Anthology of Poetry and Poetics (Oxford: Blackwell. to trace a course from the sublime hopes of Wordsworth.) Houghton.14 Never less than exalted in his imaginative ambitions. B. as episodes in the `history of ideas' but because he was tracing a continuous tradition of knowledge. then. . Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (1999). CT: Yale University Press. but in truth the Romantic urge to unify and idealize had never really evaporated. for fuller scholarly treatment. `The Lake Isle of Innisfree' seems like an unexpected way to end a century characterized by increasing doubt and despondency. Valentine (ed.Introduction 5 This collection of essential poetry of the nineteenth century would appear. (ed. Swedenborg. 76. B. It underpins the medievalism of Tennyson and the Pre-Raphaelites. 1830±1870 (New Haven. but I can't think of a better short guide than Kathleen Raine's W. Plotinus. There have been many fine books about this great writer. its truth lies in experiences and disciplines of the mind itself and in the testimony (unanimous and worldwide) of `revelation'. Angela (eds) (1995) Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. the kabbalistic and spiritualist worthies with whom he consorted. uncovering the traces of that `vast generalization' he discerned in the fragmentary portions he assembled. Yeats's poetry combines the influences of the Pre-Raphaelites. And in no one was it more vigorously evident than in the work of W. This knowledge is none the less exact and verifiable for being immeasurable. was founded on an unquenchable aspiration. the French symbolists. and a longing for it even informs the `ecstatic sound' of Hardy's darkling thrush (which recalls the `darkling' experience of Keats's famous ode). Belief may be questioned.) (1999) A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture (Oxford: Blackwell. Further Reading Cunningham. listed below.) Reynolds. and nationalist politics in a heady cocktail unlike anything else. Herbert F.) 14 Kathleen Raine. through the scepticism of Clough. W. Yeats's great poetry. 1999). Yeats. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (Ipswich: Golgonooza Press. Swedenborg and Blake. the immortal longings with which the 1800s had begun. Except that it doesn't. a pantheon that includes Thomas Taylor the Platonist. can be heard beneath the `tremulous cadence' of the sea in `Dover Beach'. p. and the author of the Upanishads: Yeats did not study Plato and Plotinus. I am much indebted to Valentine Cunningham in what follows.

the mark of tears. I cannot teach My hand to hold my spirit so far off From myself . let the silence of my womanhood Commend my woman-love to thy belief. By a most dauntless. Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief. of love hid in me out of reach. It only may Now shade on two pale cheeks. Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside Through sorrow's trick. except this to thee. Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully I ring out to the full brown length and say `Take it. . to cast light on each! ± I drop it at thy feet. Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree. Dearest. that I should bring thee proof In words. . . XXIV Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife. As girls do. Between our faces. . finding words enough. in brief. however wooed. XVIII I never gave a lock of hair away To a man. And hold the torch out.Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806±1861) Sonnets from the Portuguese (extracts) XIII And wilt thou have me fashion into speech The love I bear thee. but Love is justified: Take it. while the winds are rough. . And rend the garment of my life. finding pure. Nay.' My day of youth went yesterday. thou. me . The kiss my mother left here when she died. I thought the funeral-shears Would take this first. voiceless fortitude. . from all those years. . ± Seeing that I stand unwon. Shut in upon itself and do no harm 5 10 5 10 . any more. My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee.

my own. without alarm. Sonnets from the Portuguese 7 In this close hand of Love. . on the hill. Growing straight. I love thee purely. I shall but love thee better after death. I have been proud and said. God only. as men strive for Right. . out of man's reach. did precede. can make us poor. and half missed. Smiles. And ever since it grew more clean and white. if God choose. Half falling on the hair. all the summer through 5 10 5 10 5 10 . when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. O beyond meed! That was the chrism of love. quick with its `Oh. he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write. thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden. now soft and warm. and sought the forehead. Slow to world-greetings . and with my childhood's faith.' XLII How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. XLIII Beloved. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs. list. `My Love. . With sanctifying sweetness.' When the angels speak. Than that first kiss. And feel as safe as guarded by a charm. And let us hear no sound of human strife. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach. tears. After the click of the shutting. Dear. which love's own crown. upon my lips. . Very whitely still The lilies of our lives may reassure Their blossoms from their roots! accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer. The second passed in height The first. was folded down In perfect. Life to life ± I lean upon thee. I love thee freely. Against the stab of worldlings who if rife Are weak to injure. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need. ± I love thee with the breath. purple state! since when.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. XXXVIII First time he kissed me. The third. as they turn from Praise. indeed. by sun and candlelight. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here plainer to my sight. who made us rich. . I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. of all my life! ± and.

October 17. and it seemed as if they grew In this close room. Take back these thoughts. Indeed. B. gratitude. So. through my various efforts in literature and steps in life. those beds and bowers Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue. just To hold together what he was and is. writing thus. the last pages of which have been finished under the hospitality of your roof. I venture to leave in your hands this book. as I used to do Thy flowers. will write now for mine. ± Will write my story for my better self. in the like name of that love of ours. am still what men call young. and affection. in a sense of less equality and greater disinterestedness than `Romney''s. and keep them where they shall not pine: Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true. Devonshire Place. Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it Long after he has ceased to love you. far beyond the common uses of mere relationship or sympathy of mind. my own dearest cousin and friend. B. And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses. in sight of the public. 5 10 From Aurora Leigh Dedication to John Kenyon. so you may kindly accept. which here unfolded too. And wait thy weeding: yet here's eglantine. As when you paint your portrait for a friend. their roots are left in mine. Ending. From Aurora Leigh And winter. the most mature of my works. from your unforgetting E. and been generous to me. I. this poor sign of esteem. And which on warm and cold days I withdrew From my heart's ground. And tell thy soul. The words `cousin' and `friend' are constantly recurring in this poem. 39. and preparing once more to quit England. therefore.8 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. you have believed in me. borne with me. ± cousin and friend. Here's ivy! ± take them. and the one into which my highest convictions upon Life and Art have entered: that as. nor missed the sun and showers. I have not so far left the coasts of life 5 10 . Esq. 1856 First Book Of writing many books there is no end.

And feels out blind at first. books! I had found the secret of a garret-room Piled high with cases in my father's name. haste. hush ± here's too much noise!' while her sweet eyes Leap forward. And hear Assunta's daily jest (she knew He liked it better than a better jest) Inquire how many golden scudi went To make such ringlets. Then. . when she had left us both. . be obedient. but the man Is born in ignorance of his element. `Hush. A palimpsest. Stroke out my childish curls across his knee. be reverent. not so far. . Piled high. books. that I cannot hear That murmur of the outer Infinite Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep When wondered at for smiling. Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon. In heats of terror. we may discern perhaps Some fair. . 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . Books. press the child's head closer to thy knee! I'm still too young. creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past. ± For those dumb motions of imperfect life Are oracles of vital Deity Attesting the Hereafter. O my father's hand Stroke the poor hair down. by a Longus! poring on Which obscene text. fine trace of what was written once. Still I sit and feel My father's slow hand. mark. disorganised By sin i' the blood. victorious joy.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. with finger up. [. But still I catch my mother at her post Beside the nursery-door. I write . taking part against her word In the child's riot. . ± The apocalypse. pulling through the gap. packed large. ± where.] The cygnet finds the water. Sonnets from the Portuguese 9 To travel inland. too young. to sit alone. ± Draw. Some upstroke of an alpha and omega Expressing the old scripture. erased and covered by a monk's. Presently We feel it quicken in the dark sometimes. ± his spirit-insight dulled And crossed by his sensations. I nibbled here and there At this or that box. a prophet's holograph Defiled.' rather say. Let who says `The soul's a clean white paper. stroke it heavily.

Here's God down on us! what are you about?' How all those workers start amid their work. a moment's space. when the internal fires Have reached and pricked her heart. Convicted of the great eternities Before two worlds. Exaggerators of the sun and moon. . This is life. dine. And that's the measure of an angel. That thus I love you. throwing flat The marts and temples. and feel. And temporal truths. comparative. My own best poets. Ay. am I one with you. reap. That carpet-dusting. sublime. ± or but one through love? Does all this smell of thyme about my feet 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . And how I felt it beat Under my pillow. Let go conventions and sprang up surprised. and not laugh? Those virtuous liars. and. . An hour before the sun would let me read! My books! At last. Look round. gauge railroads. Opposed to relative. As the earth Plunges in fury. To find man's veritable stature out. because the time was ripe.10 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I chanced upon the poets. Is not the imperative labour after all. What's this. this word is being said in heaven. the triumphal gates And towers of observation. and while your common men Build pyramids. Erect. The only teachers who instruct mankind. dreamers after dark. `This is soul. And soothsayers in a teacup? I write so Of the only truth-tellers. The poet suddenly will catch them up With his voice like a thunder . through conventional grey glooms. From Aurora Leigh The first book first. ± the measure of a man. ± The only speakers of essential truth. Aurora Leigh. From just a shadow on a charnel-wall. You write so of the poets. though a pretty trade. or our senators. clears herself To elemental freedom ± thus. the only holders by His sun-skirts. says The apostle. look up. reign. And dust the flaunty carpets of the world For kings to walk on. in the morning's dark. now left to God. At poetry's divine first finger-touch. my soul.

and dogs. ± My eagle. a familiar thing Become divine i' the utterance! while for him The poet. with their eyes! How those gods look! Enough so. sheep. Half drunk across the beaker. you did not blow. ± poetry.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. shakes the heart Of all the men and women in the world. The palpitating angel in his flesh Thrills inly with consenting fellowship To those innumerous spirits who sun themselves Outside of time.' A little human hope of that or this. O life. for a cup-bearer. he expands with joy. ± I. Would no sound come? or is the music mine. Inbreathed by the Life-breather? There's a doubt For cloudy seasons! But the sun was high When first I felt my pulses set themselves For concords. ± and if. As wind upon the alders. who has ravished me Away from all the shepherds. We shall not bear above a round or two ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 . with both grappling feet still hot From Zeus's thunder. do you play on me. O delight And triumph of the poet. To keep the mouths of all the godheads moist For everlasting laughters. when the rhythmic turbulence Of blood and brain swept outward upon words. the speaker. or but testify The rustling of your vesture through my dreams With influent odours? When my joy and pain. And set me in the Olympian roar and round Of luminous faces. O poetry. myself. ± who would say A man's mere `yes. My pipers. my life. As if one came back from the dead and spoke. My thought and aspiration. sooth. With eyes too happy. like the stops Of pipe or flute. blanching them By turning up their under-natures till They trembled in dilation. are absolutely dumb If not melodious. And says the word so that it burns you through With a special revelation.' a woman's common `no. Ganymede. ± passionate for truth Beyond these senses. Sonnets from the Portuguese 11 Conclude my visit to your holy hill In personal presence. ± Which means life in life! cognisant of life Beyond this blood-beat. As a man's voice or breath is called his own.

12 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Young men. ± and. in a flush Of individual life. As children. And wrote because I lived ± unlicensed else: My heart beat in my brain. Howbeit I dare not: 'tis too easy to go mad. Alas. earliest. While the dogs bark. through seeing the light. We know not if the forests move or we. `What's come now to the youth?' Such ups and downs Have poets. ± with imposthumes And manias usual to the race. ± and find ourselves Face-down among the pine-cones. near all the birds Will sing at dawn. I lived. and your eyelids wink And drop before the wonder of't. you miss The form. and to sign it like a queen. And ape a Bourbon in a crown of straws. ay. like most young poets. those days. what mattered? It is so in youth. In those days. Am I such indeed? The name Is royal. In full front sun-face. cold with dew. who would strike steel on steel If steel had offered. And so. Which mine. So. With sense of power and ache. The love within us and the love without Are mixed. Many tender souls Have strung their losses on a rhyming thread. All analysis comes late. We scarce distinguish. with other power. cowslips: ± the more pains they take. The work more withers. Being acted on and acting seem the same: In that first onrush of life's chariot-wheels. Is what I dare not. confounded. The thing's too common. in a restless heat Of doing something. and maids. which my neighbour's field. if we are loved or love. From Aurora Leigh  We drop the golden cup at Here's foot And swoon back to the earth. You catch a sight of Nature. I never analysed Myself even. Life's violent flood Abolished bounds. ± and yet we do not take The chaffering swallow for the holy lark. Before they sit down under their own vine And live for use. though. We play at leap-frog over the god Term. Too often sow their wild oats in tame verse. and many a shepherd scoffs. ± though some royal blood Would seem to tingle in me now and then. I poured myself 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 . Many fervent souls Strike rhyme on rhyme.

Weak for art only. Will crack even. ± (the life of a long life. With so much earnest! what effete results. Such have not settled long and deep enough In trance. Oft. And made the living answer for the dead. and achieved Mere lifeless imitations of live verse. . driven Against the heels of what the master said. From such white heats! ± bucolics. And died. to make his mother laugh. Spare the old bottles! ± spill not the new wine. Like cast-off nosegays picked up on the road. now and then. And counterfeiting epics. The worse for being warm: all these things. 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 .Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Profaning nature. who write young: We beat the phorminx till we hurt our thumbs. the man who never stepped In gradual progress like another man.' ± we're too legal. with a morning heart. `Touch not. We call the Muse . and hard to understand. I count it strange. where the cows Would scare the writer if they splashed the mud In lashing off the flies. Ensphered himself in twenty perfect years. What make-believe. That leaps for love. start between the boughs As often as a stag's. in carrying the young blood. shrill with trumps A babe might blow between two straining cheeks Of bubbled rose. to attain to clairvoyance. and songs of love. The wine-skins. And works it turbid. turning grandly on his central self. Sonnets from the Portuguese 13 Along the veins of others. spoils. And elegiac griefs. That nearly all young poets should write old. Distilled to a mere drop. falling like a tear Upon the world's cold cheek to make it burn For ever. `O Muse. as the new wine gurgles in. benignant Muse!' ± As if we had seen her purple-braided head With the eyes in it. But. . Nor handle. And beardless Byron academical. do not taste. perhaps. ± and still The memory mixes with the vision. That Pope was sexagenarian at sixteen. And so with others. a little warped. ± didactics. not young. is active for resolve. writ On happy mornings. As if still ignorant of counterpoint. By Keats's soul. the ancient forms Will thrill. indeed. It may be.) by that strong excepted soul. From virile efforts! what cold wire-drawn odes.

as before. sad. The inner life informed the outer life. ± For me. Before the rain has got into my barn And set the grains a-sprouting. I know I have not ground you down enough To flatten and bake you to a wholesome crust For household duties and properties. In vortices of glory and blue air. I was not. peradventure. Reduced the irregular blood to settled rhythms. That souls were dangerous things to carry straight Through all the spilt saltpetre of the world. Behind you. have you done Your task this morning? ± have you read that book? And are you ready for the crochet here?' ± As if she said. ± and demurred. `Would she hear my task. `Aurora. through forced work and spontaneous work. and thought them true. struck a colour up the cheeks. She could not say I had no business with a sort of soul. In order to discover the Muse-Sphinx. Then I sate and teased The patient needle till it split the thread.14 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Made cool the forehead with fresh-sprinkling dreams. 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 . They saw a light at a window now and then. as safe from harm As sings the lark when sucked up out of sight. Because myself was true in writing them. She said sometimes. They had not set there. again. like the rest. And. . you're green With out-door impudence? you almost grow?' To which I answered. My soul was singing at a work apart Behind the wall of sense. `I know there's something wrong. And verify my abstract of the book? And should I sit down to the crochet work? Was such her pleasure?' . . But I could not hide My quickening inner life from those at watch. have writ true ones since With less complacence. Who had set it there? My father's sister started when she caught My soul agaze in my eyes. And so. What. From Aurora Leigh Or perhaps. Which oozed off from it in meandering lace From hour to hour. therefore. The melancholy desert must sweep round. But plainly she objected. rounding to the spheric soul the thin Pined body. I wrote False poems. I.

. Ofter we walked only two. And said. or wander. at last Escaped. as bee-bonneted. And open pastures. I learnt to love that England. as it chanced: We were not lovers. like The grand first Master. Such nooks of valleys. A ripple of land. Before the day was born. lined with orchises. shivering with the fear And passion of the course. ± at intervals The mythic oaks and elm-trees standing out Self-poised upon their prodigy of shade. (As if God's finger touched but did not press In making England!) such an up and down Of verdure. as a hunted stag Will take the waters. . I dared to rest. will love true love. ± so many a green slope built on slope Betwixt me and the enemy's house behind. I clenched my brows across My blue eyes greatening in the looking-glass. Vincent Carrington. `When I was last in Italy' . . Aurora! we'll be strong. paint a body well You paint a soul by implication. ± And view the ground's most gentle dimplement. Whom men judge hardly. . Sonnets from the Portuguese 15 Though somewhat faint. And when. It sounded as an instrument that's played Too far off for the tune ± and yet it's fine To listen. ± I thought my father's land was worthy too Of being my Shakspeare's. ± like a rest Made sweeter for the step upon the grass. The dogs are on us ± but we will not die. ± nothing too much up or down. where you scarcely tell White daisies from white dew. Pleasant walks! for if He said . such little hills. We read. Fed full of noises by invisible streams. or quarrelled. the sky Can stoop to tenderly and the wheatfields climb. If cousin Romney pleased to walk with me. Very oft. or otherwise Through secret windings of the afternoons. 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 . I threw my hunters off and plunged myself Among the deep hills. Unlicensed. nor even friends well matched ± Say rather. Because he holds that.' Whoever lives true life. scholars upon different tracks. or talked. Very oft alone.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. `We'll live. not unfrequently with leave To walk the third with Romney and his friend The rising painter.

haply. as he related. ± At which word His brow would soften. Confused with smell of orchards. ± And then I turned. not unkind. doubled up among the hills. it is writ. carrying gold. ± and he bore with me In melancholy patience. While.16 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. The evil is upon us while we speak: Deliver us from evil. `See. And shook my pulses and the elms' new leaves. From Aurora Leigh And thinkers disagreed. And cottage chimneys smoking from the woods. Farms. And bade him mark that. ± The tangled hedgerows. the skies. . 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 . In the beginning when God called all good. and held my finger up. And clapped my hands. let us pray. I flattered all the beauteous country round. he. And cattle grazing in the watered vales. howsoe'er the world Went ill. netted in a silver mist. As poets use . overbold For what might be. breaking into voluble ecstasy. `And see! is God not with us on the earth? And shall we put Him down by aught we do? Who says there's nothing for the poor and vile Save poverty and wickedness? behold!' And ankle-deep in English grass I leaped. the fields. the clouds. . woods. and I. The happy violets hiding from the roads The primroses run down to. overfull Of what is. And cottage gardens smelling everywhere. who call things good and fair. and called all very fair. indeed. Even then was evil near us. vales. But we. certainly The thrushes still sang in it.' I said. ± Hills. ± hedgerows all alive With birds and gnats and large white butterflies Which look as if the May-flower had caught life And palpitated forth upon the wind. where the cows push out Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths 'Twixt dripping ash-boughs. But then the thrushes sang. granges.

The broken sheds looked sad and strange. 5 10 15 20 25 . aweary. She could not look on the sweet heaven. The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the peach to the garden-wall. She only said `The night is dreary. He cometh not.' she said: She said `I am aweary. aweary. When thickest dark did trance the sky. And glanced athwart the glooming flats. Either at morn or eventide. Waking she heard the night-fowl crow: The cock sung out an hour ere light: From the dark fen the oxen's low Came to her: without hope of change.' she said. I would that I were dead!' II Her tears fell with the dews at even. She said `I am aweary. He cometh not. one and all.' ± Measure for Measure I With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted. After the flitting of the bats. She only said `My life is dreary.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson (1809±1892) Mariana `Mariana in the moated grange. I would that I were dead!' III Upon the middle of the night. Her tears fell ere the dews were dried. Unlifted was the clinking latch. Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She drew her casement-curtain by.

`The day is dreary.' she said. aweary. She only said. aweary. She only said. `My life is dreary.' she said. The blue fly sung i' the pane. `I am aweary. But when the moon was very low. And o'er it many. across her brow. Old voices called her from without. She said. The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed. She said. `My life is dreary.18 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. She said. I would that I were dead!' 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . Mariana In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn.' she said. All silver-green with gnarled bark. He cometh not. the rounding gray. I would that I were dead!' V And ever when the moon was low. The doors upon their hinges creaked. She saw the gusty shadow sway. He cometh not. Old footsteps trod the upper floors.' she said. She said. round and small. In the white curtain. aweary. The clustered marish-mosses crept. Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. aweary. `I am aweary. I would that I were dead!' VI All day within the dreamy house. She only said. I would that I were dead!' IV About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blackened waters slept. Old faces glimmered thro' the doors. He cometh not. `I am aweary. Hard by a poplar shook alway. to and fro. And the shrill winds were up and away. Or from the crevice peered about. the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked. And wild winds bound within their cell. For leagues no other tree did dark The level waste. She only said. `The night is dreary. He cometh not. `I am aweary.

Overlook a space of flowers. She wept. That clothe the wold and meet the sky. Then. but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers. and four gray towers. did all confound Her sense. that I were dead!' 75 80 The Lady of Shalott Part I On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The Lady of Shalott 19 VII The sparrow's chirrup on the roof. The Lady of Shalott? 5 10 15 20 25 . Oh God. By the margin. and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. The island of Shalott. said she. `I am aweary. and unhailed The shallop flitteth silken-sailed Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land. He will not come. aspens quiver. Four gray walls. Slide the heavy barges trailed By slow horses. The slow clock ticking. Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. And up and down the people go. `I am very dreary. And thro' the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot.' she said. aweary. and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made. Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below. willow-veiled. Willows whiten. And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.

Piling sheaves in uplands airy. She knows not what the curse may be. went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead. Down to towered Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary. And little other care hath she. For often thro' the silent nights A funeral. reaping early In among the bearded barley. Came two young lovers lately wed. An abbot on an ambling pad. And there the surly village-churls. Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights. And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls. with plumes and lights And music. She has heard a whisper say. The Lady of Shalott. Or long-haired page in crimson clad. Pass onward from Shalott. Shadows of the world appear. And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true. whispers `'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott. The Lady of Shalott. Goes by to towered Camelot. A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. And so she weaveth steadily. 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . Sometimes a troop of damsels glad.' Part II There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. Listening.20 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly. And the red cloaks of market-girls. The Lady of Shalott Only reapers.

Below the starry clusters bright. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . She looked down to Camelot. As he rode down to Camelot. The Lady of Shalott 21 `I am half-sick of shadows. trailing light. Moves over still Shalott.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. As often thro' the purple night. And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. Some bearded meteor. The bridle-bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazoned baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung. From underneath his helmet flowed His coal-black curls as on he rode. Beside remote Shalott. And as he rode his armour rung.' by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. She made three paces thro' the room. Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves. The gemmy bridle glittered free. As he rode down to Camelot. Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves. The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned like one burning flame together. That sparkled on the yellow field. On burnished hooves his war-horse trode. She left the web. She saw the water-lily bloom. she left the loom. From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror.' said The Lady of Shalott. Beside remote Shalott. His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed. `Tirra lirra. He rode between the barley-sheaves. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather. She saw the helmet and the plume. A redcross knight for ever kneeled To a lady in his shield.

And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain. Lying. Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat.22 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. chanted lowly. mournful. robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right ± The leaves upon her falling light ± Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among. And down the river's dim expanse ± Like some bold seer in a trance. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . They heard her singing her last song. Chanted loudly. The Lady of Shalott Out flew the web and floated wide. And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. The Lady of Shalott. Singing in her song she died. The Lady of Shalott. And her eyes were darkened wholly. The Lady of Shalott. A gleaming shape she floated by. By garden-wall and gallery. Under tower and balcony. `The curse is come upon me. The broad stream in his banks complaining. holy. The mirror cracked from side to side. Turned to towered Camelot. The broad stream bore her far away. Heard a carol. Till her blood was frozen slowly. Seeing all his own mischance ± With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. Heavily the low sky raining Over towered Camelot.' cried The Lady of Shalott. Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining. The pale yellow woods were waning. and down she lay. For ere she reached upon the tide The first house by the water-side.

cities of men And manners. That hoard. And round the prow they read her name. something more. climates. lord and dame.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space. not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life. Ulysses 23 A corse between the houses high. I am become a name. governments. The Lady of Shalott.' 160 165 170 Ulysses It little profits that an idle king. whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. God in his mercy lend her grace. Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravelled world. A bringer of new things. And they crossed themselves for fear. and know not me. and alone. I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race. and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea. and sleep. Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer. He said. to make an end. and vile it were 5 10 15 20 25 . on shore. I am a part of all that I have met. Matched with an aged wife. councils. How dull it is to pause. Myself not least. but honoured of them all. have suffered greatly. For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known. Knight and burgher. To rust unburnished. both with those That loved me. among these barren crags. Out upon the wharfs they came. Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly. and feed. Silent into Camelot. And drunk delight of battle with my peers. and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence. Life piled on life Were all too little. Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. `She has a lovely face. I cannot rest from travel: I will drink. By this still hearth. The Lady of Shalott.

smite The sounding furrows. There lies the port. To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle ± Well-loved of me. . and the baths Of all the western stars. but strong in will To strive. my friends. Morte d'Arthur For some three suns to store and hoard myself. to find. by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people. One equal temper of heroic hearts. I mine. discerning to fulfil This labour. And see the great Achilles. He works his work. Push off. Made weak by time and fate. we are. Old age hath yet his honour and his toil. When I am gone. much abides. Tho' much is taken. Souls that have toiled. Some work of noble note. Most blameless is he. and not to yield. that which we are. and pay Meet adoration to my household gods.24 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven. My mariners. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. and thought with me ± That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine. mine own Telemachus. to seek. sitting well in order. Come. until I die. and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. and opposed Free hearts. and wrought. centred in the sphere Of common duties. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles. whom we knew. Death closes all: but something ere the end. may yet be done. This is my son. for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset. 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 Morte d'Arthur So all day long the noise of battle rolled Among the mountains by the winter sea. And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star. decent not to fail In offices of tenderness. the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. free foreheads ± you and I are old. and.

Morte d'Arthur 25 Until King Arthur's table. He. at any future time. Sir King. Watch what I see. wonderful. stepping down By zigzag paths. and lightly bring thee word. Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. man by man. from the ruined shrine he stepped. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur. King Arthur: then. as in the days that were. Had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord. Clothed in white samite. and smitten through the helm. A broken chancel with a broken cross. Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot. and on one Lay a great water. Old knights. ± Though Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more ± but let what will be. Sir Bedivere. wheresoever I am sung or told In aftertime. A little thing may harm a wounded man.' To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: `It is not meet. be. the last of all his knights. Such a sleep They sleep ± the men I loved. And fling him far into the middle meer: Watch what thou seest.' So saying. I perish by this people which I made. one summer noon. Yet I thy hest will all perform at full. 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . and the moon was full. with flakes of foam. and lightly bring me word. alone. That stood on a dark strait of barren land.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. and have worn it. I think that we Shall nevermore. this also shall be known: But now delay not: take Excalibur. On one side lay the Ocean. to leave thee thus. Holding the sword ± and how I rowed across And took it. Aidless. and juts of pointed rock. I am so deeply smitten through the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake. chill. The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: `The sequel of today unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. And in the moon athwart the place of tombs. mystic. Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days. because his wound was deep. like a king: And. And bore him to a chapel nigh the field. and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill.

Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: `Hast thou performed my mission which I gave? What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: `I heard the ripple washing in the reeds. the winter moon. he smote His palms together. But when he saw the wonder of the hilt. `And if indeed I cast the brand away.' To whom replied King Arthur. quickly go again As thou art lief and dear. That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. either hand. if a king demand An act unprofitable. or else a motion of the meer. against himself ? The King is sick. I charge thee. Morte d'Arthur Came on the shining levels of the lake. What record. And the wild water lapping on the crag. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur. And o'er him. fixed in thought. drawing it. In act to throw: but at the last it seemed Better to leave Excalibur concealed There in the many-knotted waterflags. Myriads of topaz-lights. ran forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt: For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks. Or voice. Surely a precious thing. if this were done? What harm. Counting the dewy pebbles. and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled. watch. but empty breath 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . How curiously and strangely chased. and lightly bring me word'. Should thus be lost for ever from the earth. Brightening the skirts of a long cloud. and do the thing I bad thee. Then went Sir Bedivere the second time. as beseemed È Thy fealty. one worthy note. undone? deep harm to disobey. This way and that dividing the swift mind. and knows not what he does.26 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Not rendering true answer. as he stood. Were it well to obey then. This is a shameful thing for men to lie. faint and pale: `Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name. What good should follow this. nor like a noble knight: For surer sign had followed. Yet now. and he cried aloud. or what relic of my lord Should be to aftertime. So strode he back slow to the wounded King.

Morte d'Arthur 27 And rumours of a doubt? but were this kept. I will arise and slay thee with my hands. for a man may fail in duty twice. and drew him under in the meer. Nine years she wrought it. wonderful. leaping down the ridges lightly. In whom should meet the offices of all. And caught him by the hilt. sitting in the deeps Upon the hidden bases of the hills. And strongly wheeled and threw it. 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 .' To whom replied King Arthur. Shot like a streamer of the northern morn.' So might some old man speak in the aftertime To all the people. plunged Among the bulrush-beds. miserable and unkind. Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt. Then spoke King Arthur. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon. or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. Laid widowed of the power in his eye That bowed the will. And. Some one might show it at a joust of arms. Saying. mystic. And so strode back slow to the wounded King. Unknightly. and ran. `King Arthur's sword. much in wrath: `Ah. traitor-hearted! Woe is me! Authority forgets a dying king. clouded with his own conceit. And the long ripple washing in the reeds. Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night. get thee hence: But. And hid Excalibur the second time. breathing heavily: `What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: `I heard the water lapping on the crag. And the third time may prosper. So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur: But ere he dipt the surface. Excalibur. and brandished him Three times.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and clutched the sword. And lightly went the other to the King.' So spake he. the latest-left of all my knights. rose an arm Clothed in white samite. But now much honour and much fame were lost. And flashing round and round. and whirled in an arch.' Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere. Yet. untrue. with noises of the northern sea. I see thee what thou art. Either from lust of gold. if thou spare to fling Excalibur. winning reverence. Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings. For thou.

But. with pain. as he walked. quick! I fear it is too late. reclining on his arm. Not though I live three lives of mortal men. And bear me to the margin. here or elsewhere. Muttering and murmuring at his ear. I closed mine eyelids. and descending they were ware 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 . or seen?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: `Sir King. but he found not words.' And answer made King Arthur. Then with both hands I flung him. And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. from the pavement he half rose. So sighed the King.' So saying. for I never saw. as he walked. Slowly. wonderful. And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes As in a picture. Clothed with his breath. That caught him by the hilt. `Quick. Beneath them. 'tis time that I were gone. as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels ± And on a sudden. Him Sir Bedivere Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears. lo! the level lake. Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge. Nor shall see. yet I fear My wound hath taken cold. King Arthur panted hard. drawing thicker breath: `Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. and I shall die. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight. breathing hard: `My end draws nigh. Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern.' But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge. till I die. and a cry Before. O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands. Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms. and looking. Larger than human on the frozen hills. But when I looked again. wheeling him. And would have spoken. and drew him under in the meer. mystic. and all to left and right The bare black cliff clanged round him. and I shall die. He heard the deep behind him. and brandished him Three times. behold an arm. Speak out: what is it thou hast heard. and kneeling on one knee. lest the gems Should blind my purpose. His own thought drove him like a goad. Then took with care. Clothed in white samite. So great a miracle as yonder hilt.28 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And the long glories of the winter moon. Morte d'Arthur Then spoke King Arthur.

Alfred (Lord) Tennyson, Morte d'Arthur 29 That all the decks were dense with stately forms Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream ± by these Three Queens with crowns of gold ± and from them rose A cry that shivered to the tingling stars, And, as it were one voice, an agony Of lamentation, like a wind, that shrills All night in a waste land, where no one comes, Or hath come, since the making of the world. Then murmured Arthur, `Place me in the barge,' And to the barge they came. There those three Queens Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept. But she, that rose the tallest of them all And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, And loosed the shattered casque, and chafed his hands, And called him by his name, complaining loud, And dropping bitter tears against his brow Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white And colourless, and like the withered moon Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east; And all his greaves and cuisses dashed with drops Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls ± That made his forehead like a rising sun High from the dais-throne ± were parched with dust; Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, Mixed with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. So like a shattered column lay the King; Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest, From spur to plume a star of tournament, Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere, `Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go? Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? For now I see the true old times are dead, When every morning brought a noble chance, And every chance brought out a noble knight. Such times have been not since the light that led The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved Which was an image of the mighty world; And I, the last, go forth companionless, And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.' And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: `The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils Himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?










30 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson, Morte d'Arthur I have lived my life, and that which I have done May He within Himself make pure! but thou ± If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seest ± if indeed I go ± (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) To the island-valley of Avilion; Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard-lawns And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.' So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere Revolving many memories, till the hull Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn, And on the meer the wailing died away. Here ended Hall, and our last light, that long Had winked and threatened darkness, flared and fell: At which the Parson, sent to sleep with sound, And waked with silence, grunted `Good!' but we Sat rapt: it was the tone with which he read ± Perhaps some modern touches here and there Redeemed it from the charge of nothingness ± Or else we loved the man, and prized his work; I know not: but we sitting, as I said, The cock crew loud; as at that time of year The lusty bird takes every hour for dawn: Then Francis, muttering, like a man ill-used, `There now ± that's nothing!' drew a little back, And drove his heel into the smouldered log, That sent a blast of sparkles up the flue: And so to bed; where yet in sleep I seemed To sail with Arthur under looming shores, Point after point; till on to dawn, when dreams










Alfred (Lord) Tennyson, From: The Princess; A Medley 31 Begin to feel the truth and stir of day, To me, methought, who waited with a crowd, There came a bark that, blowing forward, bore King Arthur, like a modern gentleman Of stateliest port; and all the people cried, `Arthur is come again: he cannot die.' Then those that stood upon the hills behind Repeated ± `Come again, and thrice as fair;' And, further inland, voices echoed ± `Come With all good things, and war shall be no more.' At this a hundred bells began to peal, That with the sound I woke, and heard indeed The clear church-bells ring in the Christmas-morn.



`Break, Break, Break'
Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.



From: The Princess; A Medley
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld,


Now slides the silent meteor on. so fresh. To sit a star upon the sparkling spire. by the happy threshold.. And come. and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me. and leaves A shining furrow. È Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars. Now folds the lily all her sweetness up. Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk. O maid. Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice. the days that are no more. Or foxlike in the vine. Now sleeps the crimson petal. Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me. and wild with all regret. Or red with spirted purple of the vats. Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost. Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize. So sad. From: The Princess. For Love is of the valley. 10 15 20 5 10 5 10 15 . as thy thoughts in me. And all thy heart lies open unto me. O Death in Life. And slips into the bosom of the lake: So fold thyself. from yonder mountain height: What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) In height and cold. come. come thou down And find him.32 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. the days that are no more. Deep as first love. and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine. sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears. . he. thou. nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the Silver Horns... Come down. So sad. my dearest. the days that are no more.. Ah.. deep as love. now the white. for Love is of the valley. when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square.. . Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine. so strange. And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others. Dear as remembered kisses after death. the splendour of the hills? But cease to move so near the Heavens. A Medley Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge.

holiest manhood. art more than they. let the wild Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone. The moan of doves in immemorial elms. and spill Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke. Our wills are ours. we know not how. Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: Thou madest man. H. and I Thy shepherd pipe. H. Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn. the children call. Our little systems have their day. for all the vales Await thee. and leave The monstrous ledges there to slope. H. Thine are these orbs of light and shade. And thou. They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of thee. embrace. And yet we trust it comes from thee. Believing where we cannot prove. and faith alone. to make them thine. and sweet is every sound. Thou seemest human and divine. that have not seen thy face. 5 10 15 20 . The highest. Strong Son of God. O Lord. Whom we. but come. Sweeter thy voice. For knowledge is of things we see. he knows not why. immortal Love. Thou madest Death. And thou hast made him: thou art just. H. thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made. 33 That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: But follow. That like a broken purpose waste in air: So waste not thou. but every sound is sweet. 20 25 30 From In Memoriam A. By faith. We have but faith: we cannot know. and lo. And murmuring of innumerable bees. He thinks he was not made to die. From In Memoriam A. azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee. thou: Our wills are ours. Thou madest Life in man and brute.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. A beam in darkness: let it grow. let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley.

Forgive them where they fail in truth. We mock thee when we do not fear: But help thy foolish ones to bear.34 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. To dance with death. What seemed my worth since I began. Forgive my grief for one removed. For merit lives from man to man. Forgive these wild and wandering cries. But who shall so forecast the years And find in loss a gain to match? Or reach a hand thro' time to catch The far-off interest of tears? Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drowned. O Lord. Let darkness keep her raven gloss: Ah! sweeter to be drunk with loss. In Memoriam Let knowledge grow from more to more. 1849 25 30 35 40 In Memoriam A. 5 10 . to thee. May make one music as before. with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones. That mind and soul. Thy creature. And in thy wisdom make me wise. H. to beat the ground. But more of reverence in us dwell. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII I I held it truth. according well. Confusions of a wasted youth. and there I find him worthier to be loved. And not from man. Forgive what seemed my sin in me. I trust he lives in thee. We are fools and slight. whom I found so fair. But vaster. H. That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.

' And shall I take a thing so blind. I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee. O! not for thee the glow. Upon the threshold of the mind? 5 5 15 10 15 10 15 . Embrace her as my natural good. And in the dusk of thee. A hollow echo of my own. In Memoriam 35 Than that the victor Hours should scorn The long result of love. stands ± With all the music in her tone. And murmurs from the dying sun: `And all the phantom. But all he was is overworn. like a vice of blood.' II Old Yew. Or crush her. The seasons bring the flower again.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And bring the firstling to the flock. the clock Beats out the little lives of men. ± A hollow form with empty hands. From out waste places comes a cry. Thy fibres net the dreamless head. Nature. which graspest at the stones That name the under-lying dead. and boast: `Behold the man that loved and lost. III O Sorrow. Sick for thy stubborn hardihood. And gazing on the sullen tree. Who changest not in any gale! Nor branding summer suns avail To touch thy thousand years of gloom. What whispers from thy lying lip? `The stars. the bloom. A web is woven across the sky. `blindly run. cruel fellowship! O Priestess in the vaults of Death! O sweet and bitter in a breath. Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.' she whispers.

that `Other friends remain. `What is it makes me beat so low?' Something it is which thou hast lost.' V I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel. The sad mechanic exercise.' That `Loss is common to the race' ± And common is the commonplace. Break. how fares it with thee now. Like coarsest clothes against the cold. In words. And vacant chaff well meant for grain. And with my heart I muse and say: O heart. But. That thou should'st fail from thy desire. thou deep vase of chilling tears. VI One writes. That loss is common would not make My own less bitter. like weeds. numbing pain. `Thou shalt not be the fool of loss. My will is bondsman to the dark. But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more. I sit within a helmless bark. That grief hath shaken into frost! Such clouds of nameless trouble cross All night below the darkened eyes. for the unquiet heart and brain. I'll wrap me o'er. like nature. Who scarcely darest to inquire. and cries. A use in measured language lies. Some pleasure from thine early years. With morning wakes the will. half reveal And half conceal the Soul within. but some heart did break. For words. In Memoriam IV To Sleep I give my powers away. rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening. Like dull narcotics.36 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 5 5 5 10 15 10 .

Or killed in falling from his horse. meek. And.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. even when she turned. waiting for a hand. praying God will save Thy sailor. here today. Doors. In Memoriam 37 O father. That sittest ranging golden hair. And. And unto me no second friend. Poor child. by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street. For he will see them on to-night.' She takes a riband or a rose. where my heart was used to beat So quickly. ± while thy head is bowed. And with the thought her colour burns. ere half thy draught be done Hath stilled the life that beat from thee. she turns Once more to set a ringlet right. A shot. Or here tomorrow will he come. thinking. that waitest for thy love! For now her father's chimney glows In expectation of a guest. Ye know no more than I who wrought At that last hour to please him well. And thinking `this will please him best. And ever met him on his way With wishes. something thought. perpetual maidenhood. wheresoe'er thou be. Who mused on all I had to tell. O mother. 25 10 15 20 30 35 40 . O. His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud Drops in his vast and wandering grave. And something written. And glad to find thyself so fair. That pledgest now thy gallant son. the curse Had fallen. unconscious dove. VII Dark house. and her future Lord Was drowned in passing thro' the ford. having left the glass. Expecting still his advent home. O! somewhere. what to her shall be the end? And what to me remains of good? To her.

That if it can it there may bloom. VIII A happy lover who has come To look on her that loves him well. For all is dark where thou art not. And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day. He is not here. that from the Italian shore Sailest the placid ocean-plains With my lost Arthur's loved remains. But since it pleased a vanished eye. Yet as that other. And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door. a favourable speed 5 5 5 10 10 15 20 . but far away The noise of life begins again. I go to plant it on his tomb. may find A flower beat with rain and wind.38 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. So find I every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet. O my forsaken heart. And all the place is dark. all the magic light Dies off at once from bower and hall. there at least may die. So seems it in my deep regret. IX Fair ship. Spread thy full wings. the chamber and the street. In Memoriam A hand that can be clasped no more ± Behold me. wandering there In those deserted walks. He saddens. Or dying. And learns her gone and far from home. So draw him home to those that mourn In vain. and waft him o'er. Who lights and rings the gateway bell. Which once she fostered up with care. with thee And this poor flower of poesy Which little cared for fades not yet. and all The chambers emptied of delight. for I cannot sleep. The field.

Sleep. gentle heavens. Calm as to suit a calmer grief. I hear the bell struck in the night: I see the cabin-window bright. .). In Memoriam 39 Ruffle thy mirrored mast. and lead Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn. above. sweeter seems To rest beneath the clover sod. Sphere all your lights around. And travelled men from foreign lands. thy dark freight. Than if with thee the roaring wells Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine. Sleep.). All night no ruder air perplex Thy sliding keel. as he sleeps now. the brother of my love. a vanished life. gentle winds. The fools of habit. So bring him: we have idle dreams: This look of quiet flatters thus Our home-bred fancies: O to us. X I hear the noise about thy keel. Or where the kneeling hamlet drains The chalice of the grapes of God. My Arthur. More than my brothers are to me. And. before the prow. till Phosphor. XI Calm is the morn without a sound. My friend. And letters unto trembling hands.1 bright As our pure love. Dear as the mother to the son. `oar-weed' (T. whom I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. 1 2 10 15 20 5 10 15 20 `star of dawn' (T. Thou bringest the sailor to his wife. I see the sailor at the wheel.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And hands so often clasped in mine. thro' early light Shall glimmer on the dewy decks. That takes the sunshine and the rains. Should toss with tangle2 and with shells.

Like her I go. XII Lo! as a dove when up she springs To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe. If any calm. And all the silvery gossamers That twinkle into green and gold: Calm and still light on yon great plain That sweeps with all its autumn bowers. These leaves that redden to the fall. And leave the cliffs. and haste away O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large. And waves that sway themselves in rest. my friend? Is this the end of all my care?' And circle moaning in the air: `Is this the end? Is this the end?' And forward dart again. and learn That I have been an hour away. A weight of nerves without a mind. And on these dews that drench the furze. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . and silver sleep. and play About the prow. And linger weeping on the marge. To mingle with the bounding main: Calm and deep peace in this wide air.40 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. In Memoriam And only thro' the faded leaf The chestnut pattering to the ground: Calm and deep peace on this high wold. and back return To where the body sits. And in my heart. I leave this mortal ark behind. And crowded farms and lessening towers. a calm despair: Calm on the seas. And saying. And reach the glow of southern skies. And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep. Some dolorous message knit below The wild pulsation of her wings. I cannot stay. `Comes he thus. if calm at all. And see the sails at distance rise.

when he sees A late-lost form that sleep reveals. And found thee lying in the port. Should strike a sudden hand in mine. A void where heart on heart reposed. and feels Her place is empty. and teach me. I do not suffer in a dream. Silence. And he should sorrow o'er my state And marvel what possessed my brain. Which weep a loss for ever new. And if along with these should come The man I held as half-divine. For now so strange do these things seem. And I should tell him all my pain. many years. Which weep the comrade of my choice. In Memoriam 41 XIII Tears of the widower. where warm hands have prest and closed.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Mine eyes have leisure for their tears. a life removed. And glance about the approaching sails. A spirit. My fancies time to rise on wing. That thou hadst touched the land today. And moves his doubtful arms. And ask a thousand things of home. And how my life had dropped of late. The human-hearted man I loved. Should see thy passengers in rank Come stepping lightly down the plank. As tho' they brought but merchants' bales. fall like these. Come Time. And I went down unto the quay. muffled round with woe. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 . An awful thought. And standing. And beckoning unto those they know. And. not a breathing voice. till I be silent too. XIV If one should bring me this report. And not the burthen that they bring.

But knows no more of transient form In her deep self. Or sorrow such a changeling be? Or doth she only seem to take The touch of change in calm or storm. which aver That all thy motions gently pass Athwart a plane of molten glass. But found him all in all the same. And wildly dashed on tower and tree The sunbeam strikes along the world: And but for fancies. than some dead lake That holds the shadow of a lark Hung in the shadow of a heaven? Or has the shock. The cattle huddled on the lea. XV To-night the winds begin to rise And roar from yonder dropping day: The last red leaf is whirled away. The wild unrest that lives in woe Would dote and pore on yonder cloud That rises upward always higher. In Memoriam And I perceived no touch of change. The rooks are blown about the skies. so harshly given. And staggers blindly ere she sink? 5 5 20 10 15 20 10 . No hint of death in all his frame. the waters curled. XVI What words are these have fallen from me? Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast. And onward drags a labouring breast. I scarce could brook the strain and stir That makes the barren branches loud. I should not feel it to be strange. Confused me like the unhappy bark That strikes by night a craggy shelf. And topples round the dreary west.42 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. A looming bastion fringed with fire. The forest cracked. And but for fear it is not so.

and my prayer Was as the whisper of an air To breathe thee over lonely seas. spare thee. And like a beacon guards thee home. And made me that delirious man Whose fancy fuses old and new. whatever loves to weep. 'Tis little. And balmy drops in summer dark Slide from the bosom of the stars. pure hands. XVIII 'Tis well. Come then. like a line of light. And come. thou bringest all I love. Is on the waters day and night. and bear the head That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep. we may stand Where he in English earth is laid. And flashes into false and true. Such precious relics brought by thee. but it looks in truth As if the quiet bones were blest Among familiar names to rest And in the places of his youth. In Memoriam 43 And stunned me from my power to think And all my knowledge of myself. Week after week: the days go by: Come quick. So may whatever tempest mars Mid-ocean. wherever thou may'st roam. So kind an office hath been done. My blessing. 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 10 . And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land. For I in spirit saw thee move Thro' circles of the bounding sky. much wept for: such a breeze Compelled thy canvas. And mingles all without a plan? XVII Thou comest.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 'tis something. Henceforth. sacred bark. The dust of him I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. And hear the ritual of the dead.

falling on his faithful heart. but endures with pain. I brim with sorrow drowning song. Would breathing thro' his lips impart The life that almost dies in me: That dies not. Are but as servants in a house Where lies the master newly dead. . XIX The Danube to the Severn gave The darkened heart that beat no more.' they say. even yet. And hushes half the babbling Wye. And I can speak a little then. XX The lesser griefs that may be said. Treasuring the look it cannot find.' My lighter moods are like to these. And hushed my deepest grief of all. The tide flows down.). `to find Another service such as this. if this might be. Who speak their feeling as it is. The Wye is hushed nor moved along. And tears that at their fountain freeze.44 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The salt sea-water passes by. And slowly forms the firmer mind. There twice a day the Severn fills.3 They laid him by the pleasant shore. When filled with tears that cannot fall. 3 15 20 5 10 15 5 10 `He died at Vienna and was brought to Clevedon to be buried' (T. And in the hearing of the wave. The words that are not heard again. That out of words a comfort win. I. And weep the fulness from the mind: `It will be hard. But there are other griefs within. And makes a silence in the hills. the wave again Is vocal in its wooded walls: My deeper anguish also falls. In Memoriam Ah! yet. That breathe a thousand tender vows.

And. And one unto her note is changed. When more and more the people throng The chairs and thrones of civil power? `A time to sicken and to swoon. 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . For now her little ones have ranged. and charms Her secret from the latest moon?' Behold. He loves to make parade of pain. And sometimes harshly will he speak. Which led by tracts that pleased us well. And melt the waxen hearts of men. `How good! how kind! and he is gone. And scarce endure to draw the breath.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.' A third is wroth: `Is this an hour For private sorrow's barren song. `Let him be. since the grasses round me wave. When science reaches forth her arms To feel from world to world. And make them pipes whereon to blow. `This fellow would make weakness weak. The traveller hears me now and then.' XXI I sing to him that rests below. ye speak an idle thing: Ye never knew the sacred dust: I do but sing because I must. and think. I take the grasses of the grave.' Another answers. Because her brood is stol'n away. In Memoriam 45 For by the hearth the children sit Cold in that atmosphere of Death. That with his piping he may gain The praise that comes to constancy. And pipe but as the linnets sing: And one unto her note is gay. So much the vital spirits sink To see the vacant chair. XXII The path by which we twain did go. Or like to noiseless phantoms flit: But open converse is there none.

As we descended following Hope. And crowned with all the season lent. The Shadow cloaked from head to foot Who keeps the keys of all the creeds. And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought. And all we met was fair and good. Alone. And spread his mantle dark and cold. Or on to where the pathway leads. The Shadow sits and waits for me. Or breaking into song by fits. And bore thee where I could not see Nor follow. to where he sits. And crying. There sat the Shadow feared of man. From April on to April went. But all the lavish hills would hum The murmur of a happy Pan: When each by turns was guide to each. alone. And think that. tho' I walk in haste. In Memoriam Thro' four sweet years arose and fell. And all the secret of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood: 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . sometimes in my sorrow shut. I wander. And glad at heart from May to May: But where the path we walked began To slant the fifth autumnal slope. And Fancy light from Fancy caught. how changed from where it ran Thro' lands where not a leaf was dumb. And looking back to whence I came. Who broke our fair companionship. Ere thought could wed itself with Speech. And wrapt thee formless in the fold. XXIII Now. From flower to flower.46 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And dulled the murmur on thy lip. somewhere in the waste. often falling lame. from snow to snow: And we with singing cheered the way. And all was good that Time could bring.

Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. That sets the past in this relief ? Or that the past will always win A glory from its being far. as now. I loved the weight I had to bear. Whatever fickle tongues may say. I with it. heart or limb. ± the track Whereon with equal feet we fared. XXVI Still onward winds the dreary way. and hath power to see 5 5 5 10 15 10 . In Memoriam 47 And many an old philosophy On Argive heights divinely sang. This earth had been the Paradise It never looked to human eyes Since Adam left his garden yet. for I long to prove No lapse of moons can canker Love. And is it that the haze of grief Hath stretched my former joy so great? The lowness of the present state. When mighty Love would cleave in twain The lading of a single pain. If all was good and fair we met. giving half to him. And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady. when we moved therein? XXV I know that this was Life. And part it. And if that eye which watches guilt And goodness. XXIV And was the day of my delight As pure and perfect as I say? The very source and fount of Day Is dashed with wandering isles of night. And orb into the perfect star We saw not. Because it needed help of Love: Nor could I weary. And then. But this it was that made me move As light as carrier-birds in air. the day prepared The daily burden for the back.

Nor. Unfettered by the sense of crime. Nor any want-begotten rest. when I sorrow most. here upon the ground. The linnet born within the cage That never knew the summer woods: I envy not the beast that takes His license in the field of time. As flies the lighter thro' the gross. But thou art turned to something strange. XXVII I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage. whate'er befall. That Shadow waiting with the keys. XLI Thy spirit ere our fatal loss Did ever rise from high to higher. No more partaker of thy change. To whom a conscience never wakes. As mounts the heavenward altar-fire. what may count itself as blest. ere yet the morn Breaks hither over Indian seas. I hold it true. In Memoriam Within the green the mouldered tree. The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth. to thee: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . And I have lost the links that bound Thy changes. And towers fallen as soon as built ± Oh. And flash at once. Deep folly! yet that this could be ± That I could wing my will with might To leap the grades of life and light. 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. I feel it. my friend. if indeed that eye foresee Or see (in Him is no before) In more of life true life no more And Love the indifference to be. To cloak me from my proper scorn.48 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. So might I find.

Were taken to be such as closed Grave doubts and answers here proposed.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. XLVIII If these brief lays. Then these were such as men might scorn: Her care is not to part and prove. But rather loosens from the lip Short swallow-flights of song. A spectral doubt which makes me cold. She takes. And holds it sin and shame to draw The deepest measure from the chords: Nor dare she trust a larger lay. when harsher moods remit. indeed. and skim away. from the schools. But evermore a life behind. The slightest air of song shall breathe To make the sullen surface crisp. that dip Their wings in tears. That I shall be thy mate no more. Yet oft when sundown skirts the moor An inner trouble I behold. and go thy way. Thro' all the secular to be. Tho' following with an upward mind The wonders that have come to thee. What slender shade of doubt may flit. Nor shudders at the gulfs beneath. of Sorrow born. In Memoriam 49 For though my nature rarely yields To that vague fear implied in death. The fancy's tenderest eddy wreathe. but blame not thou the winds that make 5 5 15 20 10 15 10 . And makes it vassal unto love: And hence. XLIX From art. she sports with words. But better serves a wholesome law. Let random influences glance. Like light in many a shivered lance That breaks about the dappled pools: The lightest wave of thought shall lisp. And look thy look. The howlings from forgotten fields. from nature.

So runs my dream: but what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry. considering everywhere Her secret meaning in her deeds. To pangs of nature. That not a moth with vain desire Is shriveled in a fruitless fire. In Memoriam The seeming-wanton ripple break. Or cast as rubbish to the void. to all. That not one life shall be destroyed. Behold! we know not anything. Defects of doubt. Beneath all fancied hopes and fears Ay me! the sorrow deepens down. That not a worm is cloven in vain. And finding that of fifty seeds She often brings but one to bear. The tender-pencilled shadow play. That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems. Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife. And every winter change to spring. Whose muffled motions blindly drown The bases of my life in tears. that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave.50 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. When God hath made the pile complete. I can but trust that good shall fall At last ± far off ± at last. That nothing walks with aimless feet. That I. and taints of blood. So careless of the single life. Or but subserves another's gain. sins of will. LIV Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill. 5 5 15 10 15 20 10 . LV The wish.

`A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing. Be blown about the desert dust. shrieked against his creed ± Who loved. who suffered countless ills. shall he. who seemed so fair. And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God. her last work. I stretch lame hands of faith.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Or sealed within the iron hills? No more? A monster then. A discord. I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more. come away: the song of woe Is after all an earthly song: 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . In Memoriam 51 I falter where I firmly trod. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries. O life as futile. as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless! What hope of answer. Man. Dragons of the prime. And gather dust and chaff. or redress? Behind the veil. and grope. Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life. That tare each other in their slime. Who battled for the True. Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer. red in tooth and claw With ravine. Were mellow music matched with him. behind the veil. a dream. all shall go.' And he. then. Such splendid purpose in his eyes. LVII Peace. Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law ± Tho' Nature. and call To what I feel is Lord of all. Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies. And faintly trust the larger hope. LVI `So careful of the type?' but no. the Just.

52 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. `Adieu. That rollest from the gorgeous gloom Of evening over brake and bloom And meadow.4 Yet in these ears till hearing dies. And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples. though it spake and made appeal To chances where our lots were cast Together in the days behind. Yea. 5 5 5 10 15 10 15 4 `The poet speaks of these poems. adieu' for evermore! LXXXVI Sweet after showers. Eternal greetings to the dead. I might count it vain As but the canker of the brain. and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame. Ill brethren. Come. To where in yonder orient star A hundred spirits whisper `Peace. and rapt below Thro' all the dewy-tasselled wood. Ave. fan my brows and blow The fever from my cheek. But half my life I leave behind. One set slow bell will seem to toll The passing of the sweetest soul That ever looked with human eyes. Methinks my friend is richly shrined.' said. my work will fail. till Doubt and Death. slowly breathing bare The round of space. ambrosial air. But I shall pass. And `Ave. . let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas On leagues of odour streaming far.).' XCII If any vision should reveal Thy likeness. Methinks I have built a rich shrine to my friend. your cheeks are pale. and o'er and o'er. come away: we do him wrong To sing so wildly: let us go. let us go. In Memoriam Peace. Ave. but it will not last' (T. I hear it now.

XCIII I shall not see thee. O. Dare I say No spirit ever brake the band That stays him from the native land Where first he walked when claspt in clay? No visual shade of some one lost. I hear a wind Of memory murmuring the past. and touch. Imaginations calm and fair. or any. They might not seem thy prophecies. tho' it spake and bared to view A fact within the coming year. Yea. They haunt the silence of the breast. from the distance of the abyss Of tenfold-complicated change. therefore from thy sightless range With gods in unconjectured bliss. revolving near. thou too canst say. And tho' the months. O. The memory like a cloudless air. like them. But spiritual presentiments. Descend. Spirit to Spirit. Ghost to Ghost. In Memoriam 53 I might but say. That in this blindness of the frame My Ghost may feel that thine is near. My spirit is at peace with all. The conscience as a sea at rest: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . Should prove the phantom-warning true. hear The wish too strong for words to name. Except. the Spirit himself. XCIV How pure at heart and sound in head. and enter. call The spirits from their golden day.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. may come Where all the nerve of sense is numb. In vain shalt thou. But he. And such refraction of events As often rises ere they rise. With what divine affections bold Should be the man whose thought would hold An hour's communion with the dead.

CXIX Doors. 5 5 15 10 15 10 . And doubt beside the portal waits. CVIII I will not shut me from my kind. so near in woe and weal. lest I stiffen into stone. I'll rather take what fruit may be Of sorrow under human skies: 'Tis held that sorrow makes us wise. my lost desire. not as one that weeps I come once more. And think of early days and thee. But mine own phantom chanting hymns? And on the depths of death there swims The reflex of a human face. I hear a chirp of birds. tho' with might To scale the heaven's highest height. where my heart was used to beat So quickly. And. far off. They can but listen at the gates. when most I feel There is a lower and a higher. I see Betwixt the black fronts long-withdrawn A light-blue lane of early dawn. Nor feed with sighs a passing wind: What profit lies in barren faith. And bright the friendship of thine eye. for thy lips are bland. O loved the most. I smell the meadow in the street. Or dive below the wells of Death? What find I in the highest place. And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh I take the pressure of thine hand. So far. Whatever wisdom sleep with thee. And bless thee.54 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And vacant yearning. And hear the household jar within. the city sleeps. CXXIX Dear friend. In Memoriam But when the heart is full of din. I will not eat my heart alone.

CXXX Thy voice is on the rolling air. `Forward. I seem to love thee more and more. II `Forward. 5 5 10 10 15 The Charge of the Light Brigade I Half a league. present. What art thou then? I cannot guess. ever mine! Strange friend. And mingle all the world with thee. And in the setting thou art fair. the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!' he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Mine.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Thou standest in the rising sun. divine! Sweet human hand and lips and eye. My love is vaster passion now. but ever night. for ever. Tho' mixed with God and Nature thou. circled with thy voice. and to be. Loved deeplier. But tho' I seem in star and flower To feel thee. I prosper. mine. past. some diffusive power. Behold I dream a dream of good. I hear thee where the waters run. darklier understood. Dear heavenly friend that canst not die. I have thee still. The Charge of the Light Brigade 55 Known and unknown. and I rejoice. human. half a league. All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. I shall not lose thee though I die. Far off thou art. Half a league onward. the Light Brigade!' Was there a man dismayed? Not tho' the soldier knew 5 10 . I do not therefore love thee less: My love involves the love before.

while All the world wondered: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke. Their's not to reason why. Cannon to left of them. They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death. IV Flashed all their sabres bare.56 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Cannon to left of them. Left of six hundred. Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered. but not Not the six hundred. Stormed at with shot and shell. Boldly they rode and well. Into the jaws of Death. Charging an army. All that was left of them. Flashed as they turned in air Sabring the gunners there. III Cannon to right of them. While horse and hero fell. Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered. VI When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. The Charge of the Light Brigade Some one had blundered: Their's not to make reply. Stormed at with shot and shell. Their's but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre-stroke Shattered and sundered. V Cannon to right of them. Then they rode back. Back from the mouth of Hell.

now lord of the broad estate and the Hall. 3 Did he fling himself down? who knows? for a vast speculation had failed. His who had given me life ± O father! O God! was it well? ± Mangled. and ever wanned with despair. Noble six hundred! 55 From: Maud I 1 I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood. Pickpockets. When who but a fool would have faith in a tradesman's ware or his word? 5 10 15 20 25 . in the spirit of Cain. 6 Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? we have made them a curse. and dinted into the ground: There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he fell. whatever is asked her. Dropt off gorged from a scheme that had left us flaccid and drained.' 2 For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was found. From: Maud 57 All the world wondered. Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-red heath. answers `Death. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade. and flattened. is it better or worse Than the heart of the citizen hissing in war on his own hearthstone? 7 But these are the days of advance. 4 I remember the time. The red-ribbed ledges drip with a silent horror of blood. by a dead weight trailed. for the roots of my hair were stirred By a shuffled step. And Echo there. each hand lusting for all that is not its own. Not he: his honest fame should at least by me be maintained: But that old man. the works of the men of mind. by a whispered fright. we are villains all. And lust of gain. and crushed. And the flying gold of the ruined woodlands drove thro' the air. 5 Villainy somewhere! whose? One says.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And ever he muttered and maddened. And out he walked when the wind like a broken worldling wailed. And my pulses closed their gates with a shock on my heart as I heard The shrill-edged shriek of a mother divide the shuddering night.

13 For I trust if an enemy's fleet came yonder round by the hill. 11 And Sleep must lie down armed. if he could. That the smoothfaced snubnosed rogue would leap from his counter and till. May make my heart as a millstone. And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the foam. 8 Sooner or later I too may passively take the print Of the golden age ± why not? I have neither hope nor trust. 9 Peace sitting under her olive. Is it peace or war? better. not openly bearing the sword. and die: who knows? we are ashes and dust. and when only not all men lie. 12 When a Mammonite mother kills her babe for a burial fee. When the poor are hovelled and hustled together. nevermore to brood On a horror of shattered limbs and a wretched swindler's lie? 30 35 40 45 50 55 . as he sits To pestle a poisoned poison behind his crimson lights. When only the ledger lives. ± 14 What! am I raging alone as my father raged in his mood? Must I too creep to the hollow and dash myself down and die Rather than hold by the law that I made. From: Maud Is it peace or war? Civil war. And chalk and alum and plaster are sold to the poor for bread. and shaking a hundred thrones. each sex. home. war! loud war by land and by sea. like swine. and that of a kind The viler. Peace in her vineyard ± yes! ± but a company forges the wine. as I think. War with a thousand battles. were it but with his cheating yardwand. And strike. as underhand. While another is cheating the sick of a few last gasps. And Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of children's bones. for the villainous centre-bits Grind on the wakeful ear in the hush of the moonless nights. Cheat and be cheated. set my face as a flint. 10 And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffian's head. and slurring the days gone by.58 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Till the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the trampled wife. And the spirit of murder works in the very means of life.

And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. as I saw him. Maud the beloved of my mother. Maud. for the fiend best knows whether woman or man be the worse. I know not whence. Why should I stay? can a sweeter chance ever come to me here? O. the moon-faced darling of all. I will bury myself in myself. I played with the girl when a child. Thanks. having the nerves of motion as well as the nerves of pain. From: Maud 59 15 Would there be sorrow for me? there was love in the passionate shriek. the ringing joy of the Hall. And the planet of Love is on high. 60 65 70 75 5 10 . ah God. XXII 1 Come into the garden. ± 19 What is she now? My dreams are bad. as he used to rave. Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky. Were it not wise if I fled from the place and the pit and the fear? 17 There are workmen up at the Hall: they are coming back from abroad. Maud the delight of the village. Maud. and thought he would rise and speak And rave at the lie and the liar. has flown. she will let me alone. No. she promised then to be fair. of the singular beauty of Maud. I am here at the gate alone. And the musk of the rose is blown. She may bring me a curse. 2 For a breeze of morning moves. The dark old place will be gilt by the touch of a millionaire: I have heard. Maud with her sweet purse-mouth when my father dangled the grapes. For the black bat. I am sick of the moor and the main. there is fatter game on the moor. 18 Maud with her venturous climbings and tumbles and childish escapes. and the Devil may pipe to his own. Come into the garden. 16 I am sick of the Hall and the hill. night. Love for the silent thing that had made false haste to the grave ± Wrapt in a cloak.

As the music clashed in the hall. And a hush with the setting moon. 3 All night have the roses heard The flute. O young lord-lover. To faint in his light. From: Maud To faint in the light of the sun she loves. 5 I said to the rose. 4 I said to the lily.60 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance and play. Till a silence fell with the waking bird. For one that will never be thine? But mine. bassoon. Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away. violin. but mine. And long by the garden lake I stood. And half to the rising day. mine. 7 From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes. what sighs are those. To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise. Our wood. All night has the casement jessamine stirred To the dancers dancing in tune. that is dearer than all. and to die. `There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . `For ever and ever.' so I sware to the rose.' 6 And the soul of the rose went into my blood. 8 The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree.' Now half to the setting moon are gone. For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood. `The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine.

Queen lily and rose in one. But the rose was awake all night for your sake. and be their sun. `I wait. my dove. Come hither. My heart would hear her and beat. my own. She is coming.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.' 11 She is coming. When I put out to sea. She is coming. `She is late. My dust would hear her and beat. 9 Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls. Knowing your promise to me. Were it earth in an earthy bed. my dear. Too full for sound and foam. To the flowers. And blossom in purple and red. And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar. little head. 5 . she is near.' And the lily whispers. Would start and tremble under her feet. Had I lain for a century dead. sunning over with curls. Shine out. 10 There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate.' And the white rose weeps. They sighed for the dawn and thee. 61 50 55 60 65 70 Crossing the Bar Sunset and evening star. But such a tide as moving seems asleep. my life. `I hear. Crossing the Bar The white lake-blossom fell into the lake As the pimpernel dozed on the lea. I hear. my fate. When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. my sweet.' The larkspur listens. the dances are done. Were it ever so airy a tread. `She is near. The lilies and roses were all awake. In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls. The red rose cries.

I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. .62 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell. When I embark. For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far. Crossing the Bar Twilight and evening bell.

Robert Browning (1812±1889) My Last Duchess Ferrara That's my last Duchess painted on the wall. How such a glance came there. She thanked men. but I) And seemed as they would ask me. for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance. but thanked Somehow. such stuff Was courtesy. But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you. Or blush. she thought. Looking as if she were alive. Too easily impressed. The dropping of the daylight in the West. The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her.' or `Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat'. called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say `Her mantle laps Over my lady's wrist too much. at least. ± good. she liked whate'er She looked on. . She had A heart . 'twas not Her husband's presence only. Who'd stoop to blame 5 10 15 20 25 30 . the white mule She rode with round the terrace ± all and each Would draw from her alike the forward speech. Sir. Sir. 'twas all one! My favour at her breast. The depth and passion of its earnest glance. .I know not how. and there she stands. . how shall I say? . I call That piece a wonder. . . as if she ranked My gift of a nine hundred years old name With anybody's gift. and her looks went everywhere. if they durst. . Will't please you sit and look at her? I said `Fra Pandolf' by design. now: Fra Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day. and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. too soon made glad. so not the first Are you to turn and ask thus.

Deeds will be done. Taming a sea-horse. ± He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! II We shall march prospering. I repeat. Whene'er I passed her. she smiled. The Lost Leader This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech ± (which I have not) ± to make your will Quite clear to such an one. They. were with us. no doubt. Nay. Though his fair daughter's self. and say. Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me. ± they watch from their graves! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen. ± while he boasts his quiescence. Lived in his mild and magnificent eye. doled him out silver. ± not thro' his presence. and I chuse Never to stoop. is my object. Songs may excite us. `Just this Or that in you disgusts me. Just for a ribband to stick in his coat ± Got the one gift of which fortune bereft us. Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us. Sir. nor plainly set Her wits to yours. Oh.64 Robert Browning. ± not from his lyre. Milton was for us. Shelley. The Count your Master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed. we'll go Together down. with the gold to give. Will't please you rise? We'll meet The company below then. Burns. here you miss. So much was their's who so little allowed: How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags ± were they purple. 35 40 45 50 55 The Lost Leader I Just for a handful of silver he left us. Lost all the others she lets us devote. thought a rarity. and made excuse. forsooth. tho'. Then all smiles stopped together. honoured him. 5 10 15 . his heart had been proud! We that had loved him so. as I avowed At starting. ± E'en then would be some stooping. I gave commands. Sir! Notice Neptune. caught his clear accents. but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew. followed him. Or there exceed the mark' ± and if she let Herself be lessoned so. There she stands As if alive. Learned his great language.

Pardoned in Heaven. Then let him get the new knowledge and wait us. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister 65 Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire: Blot out his name. then. do! If hate killed men. ± come gallantly. One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels. God's blood. would not mine kill you! What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming? Oh. one more insult to God! Life's night begins: let him never come back to us! There would be doubt. hesitation and pain. Strike our face hard ere we shatter his own. And a goblet for ourself. Rinsed like something sacrificial Ere 'tis fit to touch our chaps ± Marked with L. Sort of season. one footpath untrod. One task unaccepted. Forced praise on our part ± the glimmer of twilight. Brother Lawrence. for we taught him. Laid with care on our own shelf ! With a fire-new spoon we're furnished. time of year: Not a plenteous cork-crop: scarcely Dare we hope oak-galls. ± record one lost soul more. for our initial! (He-he! There his lily snaps!) 5 10 15 20 . One wrong more to man. that rose has prior claims ± Needs its leaden vase filled brimming? Hell dry you up with its flames! II At the meal we sit together: Salve tibi! I must hear Wise talk of the kind of weather. my heart's abhorrence! Water your damned flower-pots. Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well.Robert Browning. the first by the throne! 20 25 30 Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister I GR-R-R ± there go. I doubt: What's the Latin name for `parsley'? What's the Greek name for Swine's Snout? III Phew! We'll have our platter burnished.

if another fails: If I trip him just a-dying. All of us get each a slice. Blue-black. forsooth! While brown Dolores Squats outside the Convent bank With Sanchicha. Steeping tresses in the tank. lustrous. to my recollection. Once you trip on it. How go on your flowers? None double? Not one fruit-sort can you spy? Strange! ± And I. thick like horsehairs. Spin him round and send him flying Off to hell a Manichee? VIII Or. One sure. entails Twenty-nine distinct damnations. Bright as 'twere a Barbary corsair's? That is. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister IV Saint. Knife and fork across he lays Never. so nice! One goes to the Abbot's table. too. I. As do I. telling stories. In three sips the Arian frustrate. If I double down its pages At the woeful sixteenth print.66 Robert Browning. ± Can't I see his dead eye grow. Keep 'em close-nipped on the sly! VII There's a great text in Galatians. While he drains his at one gulp! VI Oh. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 . if he'd let it show! V When he finishes refection. my scrofulous French novel On grey paper with blunt type! Simply glance at it. those melons? If he's able We're to have a feast. Sure of Heaven as sure can be. you grovel Hand and foot in Belial's gripe. in Jesu's praise. the Trinity illustrate. Drinking watered orange-pulp. at such trouble.

Blasted lay that rose-acacia We're so proud of ! Hy. and all the cottage warm. Which done. Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her. Murmuring how she loved me. Zy. she Too weak. Porphyria's Lover 67 When he gathers his greengages. She put my arm about her waist. To set its struggling passion free From pride. stooping. And she was come through wind and rain. And made her smooth white shoulder bare. and vainer ties dissever. last. there's Vespers! Plena gratia Ave. straight She shut the cold out and the storm. very proud. It tore the elm-tops down for spite. When glided in Porphyria. at last I knew 5 10 15 20 25 30 . and all in vain. And. And did its worst to vex the lake. the Devil! ± one might venture Pledge one's soul yet slily leave Such a flaw in the indenture As he'd miss till. And. past retrieve. And all her yellow hair displaced. Be sure I looked up at her eyes Proud. When no voice replied. for all her heart's endeavour. And laid her soiled gloves by.Robert Browning. untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall. Virgo! Gr-r-r ± you swine! 65 70 Porphyria's Lover The rain set early in tonight. she sat down by my side And called me. The sullen wind was soon awake. And spread o'er all her yellow hair. she rose. And give herself to me for ever: But passion sometimes would prevail. Ope a sieve and slip it in't? IX Or. And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up. made my cheek lie there. . I listened with heart fit to break. and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl. . Ã St. Hine .

and all the swallows ± Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops ± at the bent spray's edge ± 5 10 . And I. unaware. her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before. While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England ± now! II And after April. some morning. again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. surprise Made my heart swell. and still it grew While I debated what to do. That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. Only. That moment she was mine. As a shut bud that holds a bee I warily oped her lids. its love. which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head. And thus we sit together now. Home-Thoughts. And the whitethroat builds. I am quite sure she felt no pain. And I untightened next the tress About her neck. to be in England Now that April's there. fair. And whoever wakes in England Sees. am gained instead! Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. And yet God has not said a word! 35 40 45 50 55 60 Home-Thoughts. from Abroad Porphyria worshipped me. this time my shoulder bore Her head. Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do.68 Robert Browning. And all night long we have not stirred. So glad it has its utmost will. mine. And strangled her. when May follows. No pain felt she. from Abroad I Oh. and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around. That all it scorned at once is fled.

Robert Browning, The Bishop Orders His Tomb 69 That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower, ± Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!



The Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church
Rome, 15 Ð Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews ± sons mine . . . ah God, I know not! Well ± She, men would have to be your mother once, Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was! What's done is done, and she is dead beside, Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since, And as she died so must we die ourselves, And thence ye may perceive the world's a dream. Life, how and what is it? As here I lie In this state-chamber, dying by degrees, Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask `Do I live, am I dead?' Peace, peace seems all: St Praxed's ever was the church for peace; And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know: ± Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care; Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South He graced his carrion with, God curse the same! Yet still my niche is not so cramped but thence One sees the pulpit o' the epistle-side, And somewhat of the choir, those silent seats, And up into the aery dome where live The angels, and a sunbeam's sure to lurk: And I shall fill my slab of basalt there, And 'neath my tabernacle take my rest With those nine columns round me, two and two, The odd one at my feet where Anselm stands: Peach-blossom marble all, the rare, the ripe As fresh-poured red wine of a mighty pulse. ± Old Gandolf with his paltry onion-stone, Put me where I may look at him! True peach, Rosy and flawless: how I earned the prize! Draw close: that conflagration of my church







70 Robert Browning, The Bishop Orders His Tomb ± What then? So much was saved if aught were missed! My sons, ye would not be my death? Go dig The white-grape vineyard where the oil-press stood, Drop water gently till the surface sinks, And if ye find . . . Ah, God, I know not, I! . . . Bedded in store of rotten figleaves soft, And corded up in a tight olive-frail, Some lump, ah God, of lapis lazuli, Big as a Jew's head cut off at the nape, Blue as a vein o'er the Madonna's breast . . . Sons, all have I bequeathed you, villas, all, That brave Frascati villa with its bath, So let the blue lump poise between my knees, Like God the Father's globe on both his hands Ye worship in the Jesu Church so gay, For Gandolf shall not choose but see and burst! Swift as a weaver's shuttle fleet our years: Man goeth to the grave, and where is he? Did I say basalt for my slab, sons? Black ± 'Twas ever antique-black I meant! How else Shall ye contrast my frieze to come beneath? The bas-relief in bronze ye promised me, Those Pans and Nymphs ye wot of, and perchance Some tripod, thyrsus, with a vase or so, The Saviour at his sermon on the mount, St Praxed in a glory, and one Pan Ready to twitch the Nymph's last garment off, And Moses with the tables . . . but I know Ye mark me not! What do they whisper thee, Child of my bowels, Anselm? Ah, ye hope To revel down my villas while I gasp Bricked o'er with beggar's mouldy travertine Which Gandolf from his tomb-top chuckles at! Nay, boys, ye love me ± all of jasper, then! 'Tis jasper ye stand pledged to, lest I grieve My bath must needs be left behind, alas! One block, pure green as a pistachio-nut, There's plenty jasper somewhere in the world ± And have I not St Praxed's ear to pray Horses for ye, and brown Greek manuscripts, And mistresses with great smooth marbly limbs? ± That's if ye carve my epitaph aright, Choice Latin, picked phrase, Tully's every word, No gaudy ware like Gandolf's second line ± Tully, my masters? Ulpian serves his need! And then how I shall lie through centuries,










Robert Browning, The Bishop Orders His Tomb 71 And hear the blessed mutter of the mass, And see God made and eaten all day long, And feel the steady candle-flame, and taste Good strong thick stupifying incense-smoke! For as I lie here, hours of the dead night, Dying in state and by such slow degrees, I fold my arms as if they clasped a crook, And stretch my feet forth straight as stone can point, And let the bedclothes for a mortcloth drop Into great laps and folds of sculptor's-work: And as yon tapers dwindle, and strange thoughts Grow, with a certain humming in my ears, About the life before this life I lived, And this life too, Popes, Cardinals and Priests, St Praxed at his sermon on the mount, Your tall pale mother with her talking eyes, And new-found agate urns as fresh as day, And marble's language, Latin pure, discreet, ± Aha, ELUCESCEBAT quoth our friend? No Tully, said I, Ulpian at the best! Evil and brief hath been my pilgrimage, All lapis, all, sons! Else I give the Pope My villas: will ye ever eat my heart? Ever your eyes were as a lizard's quick, They glitter like your mother's for my soul, Or ye would heighten my impoverished frieze, Piece out its starved design, and fill my vase With grapes, and add a vizor and a Term, And to the tripod ye would tie a lynx That in his struggle throws the thyrsus down, To comfort me on my entablature Whereon I am to lie till I must ask `Do I live, am I dead?' There, leave me, there! For ye have stabbed me with ingratitude To death ± ye wish it ± God, ye wish it! Stone ± Gritstone, a-crumble! Clammy squares which sweat As if the corpse they keep were oozing through ± And no more lapis to delight the world! Well go! I bless ye. Fewer tapers there, But in a row: and, going, turn your backs ± Ay, like departing altar-ministrants, And leave me in my church, the church for peace, That I may watch at leisure if he leers ± Old Gandolf, at me, from his onion-stone, As still he envied me, so fair she was!










(So they say) Of our country's very capital. gathered councils. stray or stop As they crop ± 2 Was the site once of a city great and gay. And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep. wielding far Peace or war. And the yellow half-moon large and low. its prince Ages since Held his court in. A tap at the pane. And the need of a world of men for me. Love Among the Ruins 1 Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles. the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match. Three fields to cross till a farm appears. And the sun looked over the mountain's rim ± And straight was a path of gold for him. Than the two hearts beating each to each! 5 10 Parting at Morning Round the cape of a sudden came the sea. Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward thro' the twilight.72 Robert Browning. And quench its speed in the slushy sand. And a voice less loud. II Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach. 5 10 . thro' its joys and fears. As I gain the cove with pushing prow. Meeting at Night Meeting at Night I The grey sea and the long black land.

Made of marble. o'erspreads And embeds Every vestige of the city. Twelve abreast. While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks Through the chinks ± 8 Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time Sprang sublime. dread of shame Struck them tame. see. the chariots traced As they raced. this summer-time. ± the single little turret that remains On the plains.Robert Browning. 4 Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all. guessed alone. By the caper over-rooted. 7 Now. men might march on nor be pressed. And that glory and that shame alike. by the gourd Overscored. the gold Bought and sold. certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to (else they run Into one). of grass Never was! Such a carpet as. To distinguish slopes of verdure. And a burning ring all round. As you see. 5 And such plenty and perfection. Lust of glory pricked their hearts up. Love Among the Ruins 73 3 Now ± the country does not even boast a tree. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . Stock or stone ± 6 Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Long ago.

ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each. blood that burns! Earth's returns For whole centuries of folly. bridges. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 . heart! oh. aqueducts. All the men! 12 When I do come. When the king looked. breathless. give her eyes the first embrace Of my face. And they built their gods a brazen pillar high As the sky. Far and wide. 11 But he looked upon the city. of course. Either hand On my shoulder. And the slopes and rills in undistinguished grey Melt away ± 10 That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair Waits me there In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul For the goal. she will stand. while thus the quiet-coloured eve Smiles to leave to their folding. she will speak not. where she looks now. Ere we rush. all our many-tinkling fleece In such peace. dumb Till I come. 13 In one year they sent a million fighters forth South and North. ± and then. noise and sin! Shut them in. All the mountains topped with temples. All the causeys.74 Robert Browning. 9 And I know. all the glades' Colonnades. Love Among the Ruins And the monarch and his minions and his dames Viewed the games. Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force ± Gold. every side. 14 Oh. blood that freezes.

How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! But you. Lord. there. lads! more beside!) And all's come square again. since you style me so. you make amends. now. Fra Lippo Lippi I am poor brother Lippo. Weke. if you must show your zeal. the day you're hanged. I'm the painter. elbowing on his comrade in the door With the pike and lantern. up and down. Who am I? Why. The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up. . sir. haps on his wrong hole. And here you catch me at an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar. And nip each softling of a wee white mouse. Boh! you were best! Remember and tell me. it concerns you that your knaves Pick up a manner nor discredit you. ± harry out. . What. by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. A wood-coal or the like? or you should see! Yes. . you know your betters! Then. Fra Lippo Lippi 75 With their triumphs and their glories and the rest! Love is best. it's past midnight. Zooks. And please to know me likewise. I'm not angry! Bid your hangdogs go Drink out this quarter-florin to the health Of the munificent House that harbours me (And many more beside. I' the house that caps the corner. sir. ± for the slave that holds John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair With one hand (`Look you. that's crept to keep him company! Aha. that man is! Just such a face! why.' as who should say) And his weapon in the other.Robert Browning. you'll take Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat. how d'ye call? Master ± a . Whatever rat. one. what's to blame? you think you see a monk! What. Do. weke. sir. who is lodging with a friend Three streets off ± he's a certain . Zooks. yet unwiped! It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk. brother Lippo's doings. are we pilchards. I'd like his face ± His. You know them and they take you? like enough! I saw the proper twinkle in your eye ± 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 . Cosimo of the Medici. that they sweep the streets And count fair prize what comes into their net? He's Judas to a tittle. and you go the rounds. .

Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight. over the bridge. ± three slim shapes ± And a face that looked up . ± Flower o' the rose. If I've been merry. I see! Though your eye twinkles still. My stomach being empty as your hat. Let's sit and set things straight now. scrambling somehow. And after them. you shake your head ± Mine's shaved. I starved there. and our earth is a tomb! Flower o' the quince. and what good's in life since? Flower o' the thyme ± and so on. . now! I was a baby when my mother died And father died and left me in the street. You snap me of the sudden. and the nights one makes up bands To roam the town and sing out carnival. Mum's the word naturally. Here's spring come. well met. The wind doubled me up and down I went. Round they went. and so dropped. ± a monk. 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . I could not paint all night ± Ouf ! I leaned out of window for fresh air. That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went. laughs. Ah.76 Robert Browning. and whifts of song. sir. There came a hurry of feet and little feet. you say ± the sting's in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself. Fra Lippo Lippi 'Tell you I liked your looks at very first. And I've been three weeks shut within my mew. God knows how. what matter who knows? And so as I was stealing back again To get to bed and have a bit of sleep Ere I rise up tomorrow and go work On Jerome knocking at his poor old breast With his great round stone to subdue the flesh. One fine frosty day. Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand. All the bed-furniture ± a dozen knots. A-painting for the great man. but a monk! Come. Take away love. I let Lisa go. melon-parings. saints and saints And saints again. hip to haunch. ± Flower o' the broom. . hail fellow. what am I a beast for? tell us. There was a ladder! down I let myself. flesh and blood. a year or two On fig-skins. I came up with the fun Hard by Saint Laurence. (Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) And so along the wall. zooks. Hands and feet. rinds and shucks. Curtain and counterpane and coverlet. A sweep of lute-strings. Refuse and rubbish.

I did renounce the world. Lord. Found eyes and nose and chin for A. The monks looked black. villa. I must confess. when a boy starves in the streets Eight years together. ± How say I? ± nay. Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge. Which. turned to use: I drew men's faces on my copy-books. as my fortune was. On the wall. they'd have taught me Latin in pure waste! Flower o' the clove.Robert Browning. be sure.s and B. Trash.s. Holding a candle to the Sacrament. which lets drop His bone from the heap of offal in the street! ± The soul and sense of him grow sharp alike. While I stood munching my first bread that month: `So. the door. Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped. The warm serge and the rope that goes all round. . Palace. which dog bites.' quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth. All the Latin I construe is. Lose a crow and catch a lark. Watching folk's faces to know who will fling The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires. And day-long blessed idleness beside! `Let's see what the urchin's fit for' ± that came next.' quoth the Prior. And who will curse or kick him for his pains ± Which gentleman processional and fine. d'ye say? In no wise. Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes. 'twas refection-time. mind you. Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch The droppings of the wax to sell again. the mouthful of bread? thought I. they made a monk of me. `amo' I love! But. `turn him out. And made a string of pictures of the world Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun. 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . the bench. boy. Six words. Well. . I found in time. you're minded. Such a to-do! they tried me with their books. 'Twas not for nothing ± the good bellyful. shop and banking-house. `Nay. Not overmuch their way. its pride and greed. Fra Lippo Lippi 77 By the straight cut to the convent. By no means! Brief. farm. after I found leisure. He learns the look of things. and none the less For admonitions from the hunger-pinch. such as these poor devils of Medici Have given their hearts to ± all at eight years old. there. sir. What if at last we get our man of parts. you may be sure. ± `To quit this very miserable world? Will you renounce' . I had a store of such remarks.

From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of barrel-droppings. Never was such prompt disemburdening. and then was gone. . the black and white. folk at church. every sort of monk. . Your business is to paint the souls of men ± Man's soul. fat and lean: then. And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall. prayed. The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked. smoke . Signing himself with the other because of Christ (Whose sad face on the cross sees only this After the passion of a thousand years) Till some poor girl.78 Robert Browning. ± To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot. arms. came at eve On tip-toe. First. half for his beard and half For that white anger of his victim's son Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm. legs and bodies like the true As much as pea and pea! it's devil's-game! Your business is not to catch men with show. candle-ends. to do our church up fine And put the front on it that ought to be!' And hereupon he bade me daub away. then cried `'tis ask and have ± Choose. dropped in a loaf. her apron o'er her head Which the intense eyes looked through. I drew them. Make them forget there's such a thing as flesh. . . and it's a fire. bless us all! Faces. Thank you! my head being crammed. (taught what to see and not to see. Being simple bodies) `that's the very man! Look at the boy who stoops to pat the dog! That woman's like the Prior's niece who comes To care about his asthma: it's the life!' But there my triumph's straw-fire flared and funked. Her pair of earrings and a bunch of flowers The brute took growling. With homage to the perishable clay. their walls a ignore it all. It's vapour done up like a new-born babe ± (In that shape when you die it leaves your mouth) 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 . Their betters took their turn to see and say: The Prior and the learned pulled a face And stopped all that in no time. like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars. But lift them over it. it's not. Fresh from his murder. I painted all. Fra Lippo Lippi We Carmelites. safe and sitting there With the little children round him in a row Of admiration. for more's ready!' ± laid the ladder flat. said a word. `How? what's here? Quite from the mark of painting.

paint now as I please ± Having a friend. my son! You're not of the true painters. go a double step. is this sense. the eye can't stop there. Both in their order? Take the prettiest face. . and what not? Paint the soul. in the Corner-house! Lord. great and old: 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . you see. what matters talking. And any sort of meaning looks intense When all beside itself means and looks nought. . never mind the legs and arms! Rub all out. Left foot and right foot. that white smallish female with the breasts. Fra Lippo Lippi 79 It's. . ± why not stop with him? Why put all thoughts of praise out of our heads With wonder at lines. Herodias. Make his flesh liker and his soul more like. I'm grown a man no doubt. or tie up a horse! And yet the old schooling sticks. patron-saint ± is it so pretty You can't discover if it means hope. She's just my niece . And so the thing has gone on ever since. And you'll find the soul you have missed. . The heads shake still ± `It's Art's decline. Oh. The Prior's niece . Why can't a painter lift each foot in turn. well. in short. yellow does for white When what you put for yellow's simply black.Robert Browning. by painting body So ill. I would say. it's fast holding by the rings in front ± Those great rings serve more purposes than just To plant a flag in. fear. the old grave eyes Are peeping o'er my shoulder as I work. well. And then add soul and heighten them threefold? Or say there's beauty with no soul at all ± (I never saw it ± put the case the same ±) If you get simple beauty and nought else. . ± Who went and danced and got men's heads cut off ! Have it all out!' Now. You get about the best thing God invents. with his Saint a-praising God. That sets us praising. try at it a second time. colours. I've broken bounds ± You should not take a fellow eight years old And make him swear to never kiss the girls ± I'm my own master. ± That's somewhat. . there's my life. it's the soul! Give us no more of body than shows soul! Here's Giotto. Sorrow or joy? won't beauty go with these? Suppose I've made her eyes all right and blue. when you return Him thanks! `Rub all out!' well. Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash. Within yourself. I ask? A fine way to paint soul. must go further And can't fare worse! Thus.

and I'll stick to mine! I'm not the third. They. my lesson learned. You do like what. You tell too many lies and hurt yourself. Clench my teeth. I swallow my rage. he lets them talk ± He picks my practice up ± he'll paint apace. now ± why. with their Latin? so. The value and significance of flesh. I always see the Garden and God there A-making man's wife ± and. studies what I do. Death for us all. Slouches and stares and lets no atom drop ± His name is Guidi ± he'll not mind the monks ± They call him Hulking Tom.80 Robert Browning. The world and life's too big to pass for a dream. I know what's sure to follow. I hope so ± though I never live so long. you're my man. You be judge! You speak no Latin more than I. they must know! Don't you think they're the likeliest to know. the business of the world ± (Flower o' the peach. throws up his stiff heels so. And I do these wild things in sheer despite. In pure rage! the old mill-horse. For. you've seen the world 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 . the cup runs o'er. And play the fooleries you catch me at. a cry. For me. What would men have? Do they like grass or no ± May they or mayn't they? all I want's the thing Settled for ever one way: as it is. I see as certainly As that the morning-star's about to shine. . doing most. . I know. and his own life for each!) And my whole soul revolves. I can't unlearn ten minutes afterwards. you'll find: Brother Lorenzo stands his single peer. You don't like what you only like too much. and paint To please them ± sometimes do and sometimes don't. out at grass After hard years. We've a youngster here Comes to our convent. You understand me: I'm a beast. Although the miller does not preach to him The only good of grass is to make chaff. suck my lips in tight. You find abundantly detestable. there's pretty sure to come A turn ± some warm eve finds me at my saints ± A laugh. What will hap some day. belike ± However. You keep your mistr. Fag on at flesh. manners. But see. I think I speak as I was taught. then: bless us. if given you at your word. Fra Lippo Lippi Brother Angelico's the man. you'll never make the third!' Flower o' the pine.

For this fair town's face. you say. does as well. things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see. Your cullion's hanging face? A bit of chalk. painted ± better to us. what's best. ± and God made it all! ± For what? do you feel thankful. Much more the figures of man. then. splashed the fresco in fine style. But why not do as well as say. The shapes of things. ± paint these Just as they are.Robert Browning. I painted a St Laurence six months since At Prato. Have you noticed. Lending our minds out. nature is complete: Suppose you reproduce her ± (which you can't) There's no advantage! you must beat her. Two bits of stick nailed crosswise. child. or. despised? or dwelt upon. but you don't so instigate to prayer' Strikes in the Prior! `when your meaning's plain It does not say to folk ± remember matins ± Or. woman. mind you fast next Friday!' Why. It makes me mad to see what men shall do And we in our graves! This world's no blot for us.' For. for this What need of art at all? A skull and bones. now the scaffold's down?' I ask a brother: `Hugely. The mountain round it and the sky above. their colours. now. `Ay.' he returns ± `Already not one phiz of your three slaves Who turn the Deacon off his toasted side. Which is the same thing. careless what comes of it? God's works ± paint anyone. Interpret God to all of you! oh. `How looks my painting. Don't object. though! How much more. A bell to chime the hour with. Art was given for that ± God uses us to help each other so. yonder river's line. this last of course. If I drew higher things with the same truth! That were to take the Prior's pulpit-place. `His works Are here already. lights and shades. oh. And trust me but you should. And so they are better. ay or no. Nor blank ± it means intensely. don't you mark? we're made so that we love First when we see them painted. Wondered at? oh. But's scratched and prodded to our heart's content. The pious people have so eased their own 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 . These are the frame to? What's it all about? To be passed o'er. and means good: To find its meaning is my meat and drink. surprises. Fra Lippo Lippi 81 ± The beauty and the wonder and the power. and count it crime To let a truth slip. Changes.

And then in the front. motionless and moon-struck ± I'm the man! Back I shrink ± what is this I see and hear? I. see Something in Sant' Ambrogio's! (bless the nuns! They want a cast of my office). . now! It's natural a poor monk out of bounds Should have his apt word to excuse himself: And hearken how I plot to make amends. in this presence. sweet As puff on puff of grated orris-root When ladies crowd to Church at midsummer. We get on fast to see the bricks beneath. There's for you! Give me six months. puts out a soft palm ± `Not so fast!' ± Addresses the celestial presence.82 Robert Browning. Well. flowery angel-brood. because he saves the Florentines. where's a corner for escape? Then steps a sweet angelic slip of a thing Forward. Fra Lippo Lippi With coming to say prayers there in a rage. Tasting the air this spicy night which turns The unaccustomed head like Chianti wine! Oh. `nay ± He made you and devised you. who but Lippo! I! ± Mazed. draw ± His camel-hair make up a painting-brush? We come to brother Lippo for all that. The man of Uz (and Us without the z. Saint Ambrose. caught up with my monk's-things by mistake. after all. who puts down in black and white The convent's friends and gives them a long day. then go. of course a saint or two ± Saint John. Expect another job this time next year. Painters who need his patience). up shall come Out of a corner when you least expect. Ringed by a bowery. all these Secured at their devotions. Lilies and vestments and white faces. Though he's none of you! Could Saint John there. the church knows! don't misreport me. . I. And Job. Madonna and her babe. For pity and religion grow i' the crowd ± Your painting serves its purpose!' Hang the fools! ± That is ± you'll not mistake an idle word Spoke in a huff by a poor monk. Iste perfecit opus! So. As one by a dark stair into a great light Music and talking. I shall paint God in the midst. Got wot. all smile ± 335 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 375 . this pure company! Where's a hole. I must have him there past mistake. My old serge gown and rope that goes all round. I have bethought me: I shall paint a piece .

it would prove me deaf and blind. to bite her mask's black velvet. because the sea's the street there. A Toccata of Galuppi's 83 I shuffle sideways with my blushing face Under the cover of a hundred wings Thrown like a spread of kirtles when you're gay And play hot cockles. . . like a bell-flower on its bed. When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow. stately at the clavichord? 5 10 15 . . . do you say? 5 Was a lady such a lady. O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might base his head? 6 Well. Shylock's bridge with houses on it. I would say. burning ever to midday. 'tis with such a heavy mind! 2 Here you come with your old music. this is very sad to find! I can hardly misconceive you. Zooks! 380 385 390 A Toccata of Galuppi's 1 Oh Galuppi. Till. Saint Lucy. And so all's saved for me. (and it was graceful of them) they'd break talk off and afford ± She. Go. and 'tis arched by . While you sat and played Toccatas. Baldassaro. where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings? 3 Ay. wholly unexpected. six months hence! Your hand. Where Saint Mark's is. where they kept the carnival! I was never out of England ± it's as if I saw it all. What. . all the doors being shut. what you call . 4 Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May? Balls and masks begun at midnight. Like the Prior's niece . and for the church A pretty picture gained. sir. cheeks so round and lips so red. not letting go The palm of her. and here's all the good it brings. they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were the kings. no lights! The street's hushed. But although I take your meaning. he to finger on his sword.Robert Browning. . ± On her neck the small face buoyant. the little lily thing That spoke the good word for me in the nick. in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off To some safe bench behind. and I know my own way back ± Don't fear me! There's the grey beginning. and good bye: no lights.

it cannot be! 14 `As for Venice and its people. is immortal ± where a soul can be discerned.' 10 Then they left you for their pleasure: till in due time. creaking where a house was burned ± `Dust and ashes. I dare say! `Brave Galuppi! that was music! good alike at grave and gay! I can always leave off talking when I hear a master play. till it must be answered to! 9 So an octave struck the answer. I wonder. Venice spent what Venice earned. with such hair. those solutions ± `Must we die?' Those commiserating sevenths ± `Life might last! we can but try!' 8 `Were you happy?' ± `Yes. Some with lives that came to nothing. merely born to bloom and drop. Butterflies may dread extinction. A Toccata of Galuppi's 7 What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive. In you come with your cold music till I creep thro' every nerve. when the kissing had to stop? 15 `Dust and ashes!' So you creak it. Here on earth they bore their fruitage. one by one. sigh on sigh. Told them something? Those suspensions. and I want the heart to scold. some with deeds as well undone. ± think to take my stand nor swerve. Dear dead women. Death stepped tacitly and took them where they never see the sun.84 Robert Browning. something of geology. you. doubtless. like a ghostly cricket. they praised you. 13 `Yours for instance: you know physics. souls shall rise in their degree. ± you'll not die. Oh. dead and done with. more kisses' ± `Did I stop them. What of soul was left. too ± what's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old. Mathematics are your pastime. sixths diminished. The soul. While I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close reserve. mirth and folly were the crop. 20 25 30 35 40 45 . 11 But when I sit down to reason. when a million seemed so few?' Hark ± the dominant's persistence. 12 Yes.' ± `And are you still as happy?' ± `Yes ± And you?' ± `Then.

draw breath Freelier outside. with his staff ? What. and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend. 3 If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which. `And the blow fallen no grieving can amend') 5 10 15 20 25 30 . he lied in every word. Hides the Dark Tower. 4 For.' he saith. ± I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made. what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare.Robert Browning. What with my search drawn out thro' years. with malicious eye Askance to watch the working of his lie On mine. So much as gladness that some end might be. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 85 `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' (See Edgar's song in `Lear') 1 My first thought was. and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee that pursed and scored Its edge at one more victim gained thereby. That hoary cripple. finding failure in its scope. 5 As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed. Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed: neither pride Nor hope rekindling at the end descried. save to waylay with his lies. what with my whole world-wide wandering. my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring. ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there. 2 What else should he be set for. And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break. (`since all is o'er. And hears one bid the other go. all agree.

Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free. inertness and grimace. The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed Their steps ± that just to fail as they. Than pausing to throw backward a last view O'er the safe road. and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away. That hateful cripple. `See Or shut your eyes' ± said Nature peevishly ± `It nothing skills: I cannot help my case: The Last Judgment's fire alone can cure this place. You'd think. All the day Had been a dreary one at best. been writ So many times among `The Band' ± to wit. I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature. out of his highway Into the path he pointed. spurge. according to their law Might propagate their kind. and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay. nothing throve: For flowers ± as well expect a cedar grove! But cockle. ± And still the man hears all. scarves and staves. 9 For mark! no sooner was I fairly found Pledged to the plain. after a pace or two. 8 So. 11 No! penury. I might go on. and dim Was settling to its close.86 Robert Browning. were the land's portion. In some strange sort. a burr had been a treasure-trove. 'twas gone! grey plain all round! Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. And all the doubt was now ± should I be fit. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 6 While some discuss if near the other graves Be room enough for this. 10 So on I went. 7 Thus. Heard failure prophesied so oft.' 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . seemed best. with none to awe. With care about the banners. I had so long suffered in this quest. yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. I turned from him. quiet as despair. naught else remained to do.

Dear fellow. As a man calls for wine before he fights. 13 As for the grass. 17 Giles. the head was chopped ± the bents Were jealous else. Good ± but the scene shifts ± faugh! what hangman's hands Pin to his breast a parchment? his own bands Read it. What honest man should dare (he said) he durst. 16 Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face Beneath its garniture of curly gold. Think first. till I almost felt him fold An arm in mine to fix me to the place. Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe: I never saw a brute I hated so ± He must be wicked to deserve such pain.Robert Browning. then. 15 I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. the soul of honour ± there he stands Frank as ten years ago when knighted first. Stood stupefied. I asked one draught of earlier. with a brute's intents. however he came there ± Thrust out past service from the devil's stud! 14 Alive? he might be dead for aught I know. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 87 12 If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates. fight afterwards ± the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights. One stiff blind horse. it grew as scant as hair In leprosy ± thin dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood. And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane. happier sights. his every bone a-stare. Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. What made those holes and rents In the dock's harsh swarth leaves ± bruised as to baulk All hope of greenness? 'tis a brute must walk Pashing their life out. Alas! one night's disgrace! Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold. Poor traitor. With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain. That way he used. spit upon and curst! 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 .

20 So petty yet so spiteful! All along. a suicidal throng: The river which had done them all the wrong. Each step. as it frothed by. Will the night send a howlet or a bat? I asked: when something on the dismal flat Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train. Now for a better country. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 18 Better this present than a past like that ± Back therefore to my darkening path again. 22 Glad was I when I reached the other bank. ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek. no doubt. ± good saints. Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage ± 23 The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque. rolled by. tangled in his hair or beard! ± It may have been a water-rat I speared. No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms ± This. or feel the spear I thrust to seek For hollows. 19 A sudden little river crossed my path As unexpected as a serpent comes. while I forded. Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit Of mute despair. Christians against Jews. what war did they wage. deterred no whit. But. Whate'er that was. with all the plain to choose? No footprint leading to that horrid mews.88 Robert Browning. 21 Which. no sight as far as eye could strain. might have been a bath For the fiend's glowing hoof ± to see the wrath Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes. No sound. 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . how I feared To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek. Vain presage! Who were the strugglers. Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank Soil to a plash? toads in a poisoned tank. like galley-slaves the Turk Pits for his pastime. None out of it: mad brewage set to work Their brains. Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it. What penned them there.

on earth left unaware. then. Sailed past. sand and stark black dearth. and now mere earth Desperate and done with. in the very nick Of giving up. 27 And just as far as ever from the end! Naught in the distance but the evening. one time more. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 89 24 And more than that ± a furlong on ± why. God knows when ± In a bad dream perhaps. aware I somehow grew. ± solve it. it would seem. Apollyon's bosom-friend.Robert Browning. the plain had given place All round to mountains ± with such name to grace Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view. you! How to get from them was no plain case. A great black bird. nought To point my footstep further! At the thought. looking up. not wheel ± that harrow fit to reel Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air Of Tophet's tool. clay and rubble. that wheel. Now patches where some leanness of the soil's Broke into moss or substances like boils. 25 Then came a bit of stubbed ground. (so a fool finds mirth. a cleft in him Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim Gaping at death. 29 Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick Of mischief happened to me. and dies while it recoils. Next a marsh. Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel. Progress this way. 28 For. Then came some palsied oak. 'Spite of the dusk. Makes a thing and then mars it. When. there! What bad use was that engine for. once a wood. coloured gay and grim. How thus they had surprised me. 26 Now blotches rankling. Or brake. nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned That brushed my cap ± perchance the guide I sought. Here ended. till his mood Changes and off he goes!) within a rood ± Bog. came a click As when a trap shuts ± you're inside the den! 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 .

Dunce. ranged along the hillsides ± met To view the last of me. Memorabilia 30 Burningly it came on me all at once. to see the game at bay. Fool. a living frame For one more picture! in a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all. The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: The hills. day ± Came back again for that! before it left. . Built of brown stone. only when the timbers start. without a counterpart In the whole world. ± `Now stab and end the creature ± to the heft!' 33 Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled Increasing like a bell. lay ± Chin upon hand. And did he stop and speak to you? And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems. And such was fortunate. Names in my ears. yet each of old Lost. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came. Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight ± While to the left. After a life spent training for the sight! 31 What in the midst lay but the Tower itself ? The round squat turret. 32 Not see? because of night perhaps? ± Why. lost! one moment knelled the woe of years. This was the place! those two hills on the right. And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set. ± How such a one was strong. 34 There they stood. and such was bold. The tempest's mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on. Of all the lost adventures my peers. . blind as the fool's heart. a tall scalped mountain . did you once see Shelley plain.90 Robert Browning. and new! .' 175 180 185 190 195 200 Memorabilia 1 Ah. And blew. to be dozing at the very nonce. like giants at a hunting.

You turn your face. Quietly. And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside.Robert Browning. how you shall be glad for this! Your soft hand is a woman of itself. either. Andrea del Sarto 91 2 But you were living before that. Treat his own subject after his own way. as married people use. bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. ± but tomorrow. my Lucrezia. I forget the rest. Don't count the time lost. never fear. I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. an eagle-feather ± Well. accept too his own price. And also you are living after. This evening more than usual. I'll content him. To-morrow. No. you must serve For each of the five pictures we require ± 5 10 15 20 . And the memory I started at ± My starting moves your laughter! 3 I crossed a moor with a name of its own And a certain use in the world no doubt. Both of one mind. Will it? tenderly? Oh. And shut the money into this small hand When next it takes mine. Let us try. 5 10 15 Andrea del Sarto (Called `The Faultless Painter') But do not let us quarrel any more. and it seems As if ± forgive now ± should you let me sit Here by the window with your hand in mine And look a half-hour forth on Fiesole. quietly the evening through. Love! I often am much wearier than you think. Fix his own time. Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone 'Mid the blank miles round about ± 4 For there I picked up on the heather And there I put inside my breast A moulted feather. but does it bring your heart? I'll work then for your friend's friend.

being all toned down To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. Which everybody looks on and calls his. There's what we painters call our harmony! A common greyness silvers everything. And fail in doing. But you can hear at least when people speak. How strange now. While she looks ± no one's: very dear. I suppose. at the point of your first pride in me (That's gone you know). Who listened to the Legate's talk last week. There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top. I can do with my pencil what I know. no studies. you and I alike ± You. My youth. too ± when I say perfectly I do not boast. my everybody's moon. so sweet ± My face. Even to put the pearl there! oh. I could count twenty such On twice your fingers. at every point.92 Robert Browning. At any rate 'tis easy. Love! so such things should be ± Behold Madonna. looks the life he makes us lead! So free we seem. my moon. And. The last monk leaves the garden. and agonise to do. if I ever wish so deep ± Do easily. my art. my hope. what at bottom of my heart I wish for. huddled more inside. is looked on by in turn. And autumn grows. rounds on rounds! ± How could you ever prick those perfect ears. No sketches first. ± but I. That length of convent-wall across the way Holds the trees safer. autumn in everything. Andrea del Sarto It saves a model. So! keep looking so ± My serpentining beauty. I am bold to say. that's long past ± I do what many dream of all their lives ± Dream? strive to do. all of it. days decrease. A twilight-piece. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . What I see. there's my picture ready made. no less! You smile? why. perhaps: yourself are judge. the second from the door ± It is the thing. Eh? the whole seems to fall into a shape As if I saw alike my work and self And all that I was born to be and do. and not leave this town. ± All in a twilight. we are in God's hand. And that cartoon. And just as much they used to say in France. so fettered fast we are: I feel he laid the fetter: let it lie! This chamber for example ± turn your head ± All that's behind us! you don't understand Nor care to understand about my art. Love.

George Vasari sent it me. no matter) so much less! Well. painting from myself and to myself. by many times. Its body. ('Tis copied. Nay. than goes on to prompt This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine. His hue mistaken. He means right ± that. Yonder's a work now. I can fancy how he did it all. Know what I do. But all the play. but themselves. I think ± More than I merit.Robert Browning. My works are nearer heaven. Our head would have o'erlooked the world!' No doubt. beating stuffed and stopped-up brain. that Heaven might so replenish him. what of that? or else. Love. Pouring his soul. given me soul. the insight and the stretch ± Out of me! out of me! And wherefore out? Had you enjoined them on me.) Well. I know. it boils too. Rightly traced and well ordered. Yet do much less. but I sit here. Still. We might have risen to Rafael. Heart. a child may understand. with kings and popes to see. of that famous youth The Urbinate who died five years ago. or blame them. but a man's reach should exceed his grasp. (I know his name. That arm is wrongly put ± and there again ± A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines. less is more. Their works drop groundward. I and you. yes. Lucrezia! I am judged. The sudden blood of these men! at a word ± Praise them. you did give all I asked. to sigh `Had I been two. Somebody remarks Morello's outline there is wrongly traced. Or what's a Heaven for? All is silver-grey Placid and perfect with my art ± the worse! I know both what I want and what might gain ± And yet how profitless to know. In their vexed. what of that? Ah. so much less. or whate'er else. Andrea del Sarto 93 Who strive ± you don't know how the others strive To paint a little thing like that you smeared Carelessly passing with your robes afloat. Though they come back and cannot tell the world. Enter and take their place there sure enough. it boils. There burns a truer light of God in them. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 . Above and through his art ± for it gives way. some one says. another and myself. am unmoved by men's blame Or their praise either. Reaching. Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me. I. what an arm! and I could alter it. so to speak! its soul is right.

But they speak sometimes. cannot. Rafael's daily wear.94 Robert Browning. incentives come from the soul's self. all three!' I might have done it for you. The present by the future. that first time. ± And. best of all. this face beyond. 'Tis safer for me. to speak the truth. my instinct said. And the low voice my soul hears. I dared not. this. this. 'twas right. compensates. waiting on my work. and more than perfect mouth. despised. with these the same. I conclude. Andrea del Sarto But had you ± oh. and such a fire of souls Profuse. Poor this long while. who can do a thing. golden and not grey ± And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 . leave home all day. as a bird The fowler's pipe. Beside. ± One finger in his beard or twisted curl Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile. the power ± And thus we half-men struggle. do you know. One arm about my shoulder. what is that? Live for fame. So it seems ± Perhaps not. my kingly days? And had you not grown restless ± but I know ± 'Tis done and past. or has Angelo? In this world. All his court round him. too. if the award be strict. with the same perfect brow. punishes. The jingle of his gold chain in my ear. In that humane great monarch's golden look. To crown the issue with a last reward! A good time. and follows to the snare ± Had you. but brought a mind! Some women do so. That I am something underrated here. was it not. round my neck. For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. Put on the glory. my hand kept plying by those hearts. The best is when they pass and look aside. This in the background. Why do I need you? What wife had Rafael. will not ± And who would do it. Had the mouth there urged `God and the glory! never care for gain. All is as God over-rules. I must bear it all. Too live the life grew. The rest avail not. seeing with his eyes. And that long festal year at Fontainebleau! I surely then could sometimes leave the ground. Well may they speak! That Francis. I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat ± somewhat. Such frank French eyes. At the end. God. side by side with Angelo ± Rafael is waiting: up to God. And perfect eyes. You painting proudly with his breath on me.

Too lifted up in heart because of it) `Friend. I am glad to judge Both pictures in your presence. brick from brick Distinct. Well. Is. The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. let me think so. all I care for. thus the line should go! Ay. The triumph was to have ended there ± then if I reached it ere the triumph. The Roman's is the better when you pray. so lost. I hardly dare ± yet. eyes tired out. See. 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 . . King Francis may forgive me. there's a certain sorry little scrub Goes up and down our Florence. How could it end in any other way? You called me. . Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!' To Rafael's! ± And indeed the arm is wrong. at last. (When the young man was flaming out his thoughts Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see. God is just. his very self. clearer grows My better fortune. the watch-lights show the wall. .Robert Browning. Who. I have known it all these years . Love. instead of mortar fierce bright gold. (What he? why. as God lives. . Give the chalk here ± quick. who but Michel Angelo? Do you forget already words like those?) If really there was such a chance. give you more. For. Come from the window. and I came home to your heart. Andrea del Sarto 95 Out of the grange whose four walls make his world. none cares how. I resolve to think. Said one day Angelo. Inside the melancholy little house We built to be so gay with. The walls become illumined. Morello's gone. do you comprehend? I mean that I should earn more. Oft at nights When I look up from painting. were he set to plan and execute As you are pricked on by your popes and kings. To Rafael . what is lost? Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold. Lucrezia. You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! `Rafael did this. whether you're ± not grateful ± but more pleased. but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out! Still. And you smile indeed! This hour has been an hour! Another smile? If you would sit thus by me every night I should work better. Andrea painted that. only you to see. there's a star. it is settled dusk now. ± come in. if he spoke the truth. do you know. But still the other's Virgin was his wife ±' Men will excuse me.

and poor they died: And I have laboured somewhat in my time And not been paid profusely. You loved me quite enough. And throw him in another thing or two If he demurs. Must you go? That Cousin here again? he waits outside? Must see you ± you. Some good son Paint my two hundred pictures ± let him try! No doubt. Not yours this time! I want you at my side To hear them ± that is. They were born poor. and not with me? Those loans! More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? Well. Angelo and me To cover ± the three first without a wife. one more chance ± Four great walls in the New Jerusalem. Since there my past life lies. there. perhaps. Beside. satisfy your friend. What would one have? In heaven. Idle. Yes. Meted on each side by the angel's reed. new chances. Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff ! Love. Finish the portrait out of hand ± there. the whole should prove enough To pay for this same Cousin's freak. Only let me sit The grey remainder of the evening out. and what's it worth? I'll pay my fancy. and all is said. What's better and what's all I care about. but what does he. you call it. just one more ± the Virgin's face. it seems to-night. For Leonard. The Cousin! what does he to please you more? I am grown peaceful as old age tonight. 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 . Rafael. was tempted and complied. This must suffice me here. does that please you? Ah. there's something strikes a balance. I take the subjects for his corridor. Well. had I riches of my own? you see How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. One picture. why alter it? The very wrong to Francis! it is true I took his coin. My father and my mother died of want. And built this house and sinned. Will you? Tomorrow. let smiles buy me! have you more to spend? While hand and eye and something of a heart Are left me. Michel Angelo ± Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. lived poor. work's my ware. I regret little. I would change still less. were I but back in France. and muse perfectly How I could paint. Andrea del Sarto That gold of his I did cement them with! Let us but love each other.96 Robert Browning.

± and last Everywhere on the grassy slope I traced it. (Like turns of thread the spiders throw Mocking across our path) for rhymes To catch at and let go. Some old tomb's ruin: yonder weed Took up the floating weft. ± blind and green they grope Among the honey-meal. Has tantalised me many times. to stray In spirit better through the land. run to seed There. hand in hand. Two in the Campagna 97 While I have mine! So ± still they overcome Because there's still Lucrezia. ± as I choose. through such lengths of hours. An everlasting wash of air ± Rome's ghost since her decease. 6 Such life there. Again the Cousin's whistle! Go. 265 Two in the Campagna 1 I wonder do you feel today As I have felt. Such primal naked forms of flowers. This morn of Rome and May? 2 For me. 4 Where one small orange cup amassed Five beetles. Hold it fast! 5 The champaign with its endless fleece Of feathery grasses everywhere! Silence and passion. Such miracles performed in play. We sat down on the grass. 3 Help me to hold it: first it left The yellowing fennel. since. I touched a thought. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . my Love.Robert Browning. joy and peace. branching from the brickwork's cleft. I know. Such letting Nature have her way While Heaven looks from its towers.

10 No. and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn. whenever light winds blow. As earth lies bare to heaven above. A Grammarian's Funeral 7 How say you? Let us.98 Robert Browning. nor mine. for good and ill. ± I pluck the rose And love it more than tongue can speak ± Then the good minute goes. ± your part my part In life. Catch your soul's warmth. . Singing together. no bar. since wound must be? 9 I would I could adopt your will. I yearn upward ± touch you close. ± nor slave nor free! Where does the fault lie? what the core Of the wound. Let us be unashamed of soul. Then stand away. You that are just so much. Fixed by no friendly star? 12 Just when I seemed about to learn! Where is the thread now? Off again! The old trick! Only I discern ± Infinite passion. Onward. 11 Already how am I so far Out of that minute? Must I go Still like the thistle-ball. O my dove. 35 40 45 50 55 60 A Grammarian's Funeral Time ± Shortly after the Revival of Learning in Europe Let us begin and carry up this corpse. How is it under our control To love or not to love? 8 I would that you were all to me. I kiss your cheek. and set my heart Beating by yours. See with your eyes. and drink my fill At your soul's springs. no more ± Nor yours.

`thou keepest furled? Show me their shaping. A Grammarian's Funeral 99 Leave we the common crofts. the bard and sage. Lyric Apollo! Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note Winter would follow? Till lo. Clouds overcome it. and youth was gone! Cramped and diminished. intenser. crop and herd! sleep. Safe from the weather! He. who most studied man. famous calm and dead. Left play for work. Borne on our shoulders. ± 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . 'Ware the beholders! This is our master. the vulgar thorpes Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain. Seek we sepulture On a tall mountain. Chafes in the censer. `New measures. as it ought. whom we convoy to his grave aloft. the little touch. Moaned he. square chests. erect each head. Make for the city. darkling thorpe and croft. Self-gathered for an outbreak. Theirs. Singing together. yonder sparkle is the citadel's Circling its summit! Thither our path lies ± wind we up the heights ± Wait ye the warning? Our low life was the level's and the night's.Robert Browning. He was a man born with thy face and throat. but one the rest excels. Rarer. He's for the morning! Step to a tune.' quoth he. citied to the top. Crowded with culture! All the peaks soar. Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop. man's thought. and stepped on with pride Over men's pity. and grappled with the world Bent on escaping: `What's in the scroll. that's the world's way! (keep the mountainside. Sleep. other feet anon! My dance is finished?' No. No. Cared-for till cock-crow: Look out if yonder be not day again Rimming the rock-row! That's the appropriate country ± there.) He knew the signal.

When he had gathered all books had to give. we found him! Yea. Ay. this in him was the peculiar grace (Hearten our chorus) Still before living he'd learn how to live ± No end to learning. `Now. Ere mortar dab brick! (Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market-place Gaping before us.) Yea. Still there's the comment. he spurned it! Image the whole. Sooner. When he had learned it. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . ere steel strike fire from quartz. Accents uncertain: `Time to taste life. fresher than at first. Earn the means first ± God surely will contrive Use for our earning. `What's Time? leave Now for dogs and apes! Man has For ever. nor feel queasy!' Oh. take a little rest!' ± not he! (Caution redoubled! Step two a-breast. such a life as he resolved to live. he gowned him. but we found him bald too ± eyes like lead. Prate not of most or least. Painful or easy: Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast. Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon. the way winds narrowly. Let me know all. Others mistrust and say ± `But time escapes.' Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head: Calculus racked him: Leaden before. A Grammarian's Funeral Give!' ± So. `Actual life comes next? Patience a moment! Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text. his eyes grew dross of lead: Tussis attacked him.' another would have said. ± Live now or never!' He said. Master. then execute the parts ± Fancy the fabric Quite. Straight got by heart that book to its last page: Learned.) Not a whit troubled Back to his studies.100 Robert Browning. `Up with the curtain!' This man said rather. ere you build.

here's the proper place: Hail to your purlieus All ye highfliers of the feathered race. or earth's failure: `Wilt thou trust death or not?' he answered `Yes. through the rattle. Still. if we draw a circle premature. clouds form. A Grammarian's Funeral 101 Oh. there. Greedy for quick returns of profit. His hundred's soon hit: This high man. with a great thing to pursue. So. shew clear Just what it all meant? He would not discount life. where meteors shoot. has the world here ± should he need the next. Heedless of far gain.Robert Browning. Swallows and curlews! Here's the top-peak! the multitude below Live. throws himself on God. Ground he at grammar. While he could stammer He settled Hoti's business ± let it be! ± Properly based Oun ± Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De. That. and unperplext Seeking shall find Him. `Hence with life's pale lure!' That low man seeks a little thing to do. Dead from the waist down. Dies ere he knows it. here's the platform. Misses an unit. sure Bad is our bargain! Was it not great? did not he throw on God. Let the world mind him! This. with the throttling hands of Death at strife. as fools do here. That low man goes on adding one to one. Well. Lightnings are loosened. Stars come and gol let joy break with the storm ± Peace let the dew send! 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 . for they can. This man decided not to Live but Know ± Bury this man there? Here ± here's his place. Sees it and does it: This high man. parts of speech were rife. (He loves the burthen) ± God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen? Did not he magnify the mind. aiming at a million. Paid by instalment! He ventured neck or nothing ± heaven's success Found.

Leave him ± still loftier than the world suspects. warm sleep I and she. outside. each sign! O enemy sly and serpentine. With a malice that marks each word. if I strive to speak. Outside are the storms and strangers: we ± Oh. ± I and she! 5 10 15 20 . Uncoil thee from the waking man! Do I hold the Past Thus firm and fast Yet doubt if the Future hold I can? This path so soft to pace shall lead Thro' the magic of May to herself indeed! Or narrow if needs the house must be. With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek. 145 Never the Time and the Place Never the time and the place And the loved one all together! This path ± how soft to pace! This May ± what magic weather! Where is the loved one's face? In a dream that loved one's face meets mine. But the house is narrow. Never the Time and the Place Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying. the place is bleak Where. safe. Living and dying.102 Robert Browning. rain and wind combine With a furtive ear. close.

Emily (Jane) Bronte È (1818±1848) `What winter floods. what showers of spring' What winter floods. what showers of spring Have drenched the grass by night and day And yet beneath that spectre ring Unmoved and undiscovered lay A mute remembrancer of crime Long lost concealed forgot for years It comes at last to cancel time And waken unavailing tears 5 `Long neglect has worn away' Long neglect has worn away Half the sweet enchanting smile Time has turned the bloom to grey Mould and damp the face defile But that lock of silky hair Still beneath the picture twined Tells what once those features were Paints their image on the mind Fair the hand that traced that line `Dearest ever deem me true' Swiftly flew the fingers fine When the pen that motto drew 5 10 `The night is darkening round me' The night is darkening round me The wild winds coldly blow But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot. cannot go .

The summer-eve divine. where art thou now?' O Dream. how happy! those are words' How still. how happy! those are words That once would scarce agree together .104 Emily (Jane) Bronte. I will not. where art thou now? Long years have passed away Since last from off thine angel brow I saw the light decay ± Alas. Wastes beyond wastes below. cannot go 5 10 `All hushed and still within the house' All hushed and still within the house Without ± all wind and driving rain But something whispers to my mind Through rain and [through the] wailing wind ± Never again Never again? Why not again? Memory has power as real as thine 5 `O Dream. The silent night of solemn calm. The full moon's cloudless shine Were once entwined with thee But now. But nothing drear can move me. 5 10 15 `How still. alas for me Thou wert so bright and fair I could not think thy memory Would yield me nought but care! The sun-beam and the storm. `All hushed and still within the house' È The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow And the storm is fast descending And yet I cannot go Clouds beyond cloud above me. with weary pain ± Lost vision! 'tis enough for me ± Thou canst not shine again.

soothing. More than smooth seas and cloudless skies And solemn. softened airs That in the forest woke no sighs And from the green spray shook no tears How still.Emily (Jane) Bronte. `Mild the mist upon the hill' 105 È I loved the plashing of the surge ± The changing heaven. how happy! now I feel Where silence dwells is sweeter far Than laughing mirth's most joyous swell However pure its raptures are Come sit down on this sunny stone 'Tis wintery light o'er flowerless moors ± But sit ± for we are all alone And clear expand heaven's breathless shores I could think in the withered grass Spring's budding wreaths we might discern The violet's eye might shyly flash And young leaves shoot among the fern It is but thought ± full many a night The snow shall clothe those hills afar And storms shall add a drearier blight And winds shall wage a wilder war Before the lark may herald in Fresh foliage twined with blossoms fair And summer days again begin Their glory-haloed crown to wear Yet my heart loves December's smile As much as July's golden beam Then let us sit and watch the while The blue ice curdling on the stream ± 25 5 10 15 20 30 `Mild the mist upon the hill' Mild the mist upon the hill Telling not of storms tomorrow No. the breezy weather. the day has wept its fill Spent its store of silent sorrow Oh I'm gone back to the days of youth I am a child once more 5 .

walk with me. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . We were not once so few But Death has stolen our company As sunshine steals the dew ± He took them one by one and we Are left the only two. Can we not woo back old delights? The clouds rush dark and wild They fleck with shade our mountain heights The same as long ago And on the horizon rest at last In looming masses piled. So closer would my feelings twine Because they have no stay but thine ± `Nay call me not ± it may not be Is human love so true? Can Friendship's flower droop on for years And then revive anew? No. walk with me' Come. How fair soe'er it grew The vital sap once perished Will never flow again And surer than that dwelling dread. `Come. While moonbeams flash and fly so fast We scarce can say they smiled ± Come walk with me. sweet mists of summer pall The horizon's mountain chain The damp stands on the long green grass As thick as morning's tears And dreamy scents of fragrance pass That breathe of other years 10 15 `Come. come walk with me. though the soil be wet with tears.106 Emily (Jane) Bronte. There's only thee To bless my spirit now ± We used to love on winter nights To wander through the snow. walk with me' È And 'neath my father's sheltering roof And near the old hall door I watch this cloudy evening fall After a day of rain Blue mists.

my true friend! I am not lone. when hope despairs! 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 . and guilt. still. And sweeter hope. in evening's quiet hour. thou art ever there. as bright as thine. indeed. Warm with ten thousand mingled rays Of suns that know no winter days? Reason. Sure solacer of human cares. where guile. The world within I doubly prize. Where thou. to bring The hovering vision back. Danger. And earthly change from pain to pain.Emily (Jane) Bronte. and Liberty. untroubled sky. and breathe New glories o'er the blighted spring And call a lovelier Life from Death. may oft complain For Nature's sad reality And tell the suffering heart how vain Its cherished dreams must always be. and hate. and darkness lie. Benignant Power. I trust not to thy phantom bliss. Thy world. Yet. What matters it. And whisper. that. And cold suspicion never rise. Thy kind voice calls me back again: Oh. Have undisputed sovereignty. newly-blown: But. With never-failing thankfulness. I welcome thee. If but within our bosom's bound We hold a bright. And Truth may rudely trample down The flowers of Fancy. And lost and ready to despair. Of real worlds. To Imagination 107 È The narrow dungeon of the dead Time parts the hearts of men ±' To Imagination When weary with the long day's care. all around. and I. with a voice divine. While thou canst speak with such a tone! So hopeless is the world without. and doubt.

All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given ± All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. Strengthened and fed without the aid of joy. No second morn has ever shone for me. But when the days of golden dreams had perished And even Despair was powerless to destroy. No later light has lightened up my heaven.108 Emily (Jane) Bronte. far removed. Then did I learn how existence could be cherished. to love thee. when alone. Brenzaida') Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee! Far. Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine! And even yet. forgive if I forget thee While the World's tide is bearing me along: Other desires and other Hopes beset me. Hopes which obscure but cannot do thee wrong. Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover That noble heart for ever. How could I seek the empty world again? 25 5 10 15 20 30 . and fifteen wild Decembers From those brown hills have melted into spring ± Faithful indeed is the spirit that remembers After such years of change and suffering! Sweet Love of youth. Remembrance È Remembrance (also known as `R. do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains on Angora's shore. Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish. Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? Now. cold in the dreary grave: Have I forgot. Alcona to J. I dare not let it languish. my only Love. Then did I check the tears of useless passion. Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine. ever more? Cold in the earth. Dare not indulge in Memory's rapturous pain.

it was so sweet and fair Pain could not trace a line nor grief a shadow there! The captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow: `I have been struck. That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?' The captive raised her face. darkly lodged enough!' returned my sullen guide. your bolts and irons strong. its rays shoot strong and far: I trim it well to be the Wanderer's guiding-star. God forgive my youth. `Draw the ponderous bars. my angry Dame. soft the matted floor. The little lamp burns straight. In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray Reckless of the lives wasting there away. Rochelle 109 È Julian M. Frown. my haughty Sire. It was so soft and mild. and A. dreading every breeze That whirls the 'wildering drifts and bends the groaning trees. Rochelle (also known as `The Prisoner') Silent is the House ± all are laid asleep. forgive my careless tongue! I scoffed as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung. `Aye. alone.Emily (Jane) Bronte. One. Set your slaves to spy. art thou so much to fear. G. `and I am suffering now. it was as soft and mild As sculptured marble saint or slumbering. nor prying serf shall know What angel nightly tracks that waste of winter snow. Yet these are little worth. Watching every cloud.' I whispered gazing through The vault whose grated eye showed heaven more grey than blue (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride). `Confined in triple walls. open Warder stern!' He dare not say me nay ± the hinges harshly turn. But neither sire nor dame. and A. Then.' 25 5 10 15 20 30 . looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep. `Our guests are darkly lodged. chide. threaten me with shame. Cheerful is the hearth. Julian M. unweaned child.' she said. G. Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door. And were they forged in steel they could not hold me long.

Winds take a pensive tone and stars a tender fire. And offers. tell them. And visions rise and change which kill me with desire ± 65 45 35 40 50 55 60 70 . Friend. before!' Her head sank on her hands. never. not more rough to see Than is the hidden ghost which has its home in me!' About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn: `My friend. Julian M. parted back the floating golden cloud. his aspect bland and kind. How memory mirrored then the prisoner's joyous morn ± Too blithe. Julian. `Shall I be won to hear. When you my parents' lives ± my lost life can restore. too loving Child. `Is she so near to death?' I murmured. remember me? Nay start not at my words. With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. Dost think fond. But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind: And I am rough and rude. and A.110 Emily (Jane) Bronte. eternal liberty. wildly gay! Was that the wintry close of thy celestial May? She knew me and she sighed. And insult and contempt I lightly brook from you. alone. yet. Alas. Of all my playmates. Rochelle È Hoarse laughed the jailor grim. how former days upon my heart were borne. The dungeon seemed to swim in strange confusion round. wilt melt my master's heart with groans? Ah sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones! My master's voice is low. can it be. `you have not heard me mourn. A messenger of Hope comes every night to me. too warmly. you. half aloud. And kneeling. dreaming wretch that I shall grant thy prayer? Or better still. Then may I weep and sue ± but. a once familiar name ± I can not wonder now at ought the world will do. Since those who vowed away their souls to win my love Around this living grave like utter strangers move: Nor has one voice been raised to plead that I might die Not buried under earth but in the open sky. He comes with western winds. with evening's wandering airs. `Lord Julian. G.' she gently said. unless you deem it shame To own from conquered foe. By ball or speedy knife or headsman's skilful blow ± A quick and welcome pang instead of lingering woe! Yet. I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom and desolate despair. for short life. all. its fair curls swept the ground.

Earth's hope was not so dead. its home. When. to and fro. Measuring the gulf it stoops and dares the final bound! O. unanswering. Not daring now to touch one lock of silken hair ± As I had knelt in scorn. The keeper. G. Lord Julian. I knew not whence they came. But first a hush of peace. The soul to feel the flesh and the flesh to feel the chain! Yet I would lose no sting. I marked that he did rave Of air that froze his blood and moisture like the grave ± `We have been two hours good!' he muttered peevishly. if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm. a soundless calm descends. I saw. heaven's home was not so dear: I read it in that flash of longing quelled by fear. I'd leave this badge of mine with you Not doubting that you'd prove a jailor stern and true. My fingers in the links of that iron hard and chill. the brain to think again. loosing off his belt the rusty dungeon key. on the dank floor I knelt still. from sun or thunderstorm. the captive's drooping lid Beneath its shady lash a sudden lightning hid.' She ceased to speak and I. Rochelle 111 È Desire for nothing known in my maturer years When joy grew mad with awe at counting future tears. 105 85 75 80 90 95 100 110 . or bright with heavenly shine If it but herald Death. `You may be pleased. But duty will not let me linger here all day. The more that anguish racks the earlier it will bless: And robed in fires of Hell. paced by the bolted door And shivered as he walked and as he shivered.Emily (Jane) Bronte. the flagstones damp and foul. and A. my inward essence feels ± Its wings are almost free. Julian M. When the pulse begins to throb. still to stay. If I might go. I heard and yet heard not the surly keeper growl. the Unseen its truth reveals. swore ± While my cheek glowed in flame. its harbour found. yet did not see.' I took the proffered charge. Then dawns the Invisible. dreadful is the check ± intense the agony When the ear begins to hear and the eye begins to see. Then. My outward sense is gone. would wish no torture less. The struggle of distress and fierce impatience ends. watched her there. He said. the vision is divine. Mute music soothes my breast ± unuttered harmony That I could never dream till earth was lost to me.

with calm mind. Then oft with taunting smile. While foes were prowling near and Death gazed greedily And only Hope remained a faithful friend to me. to scorn a coward's fear ± I held my peace like one whose conscience keeps him dumb And saw my kinsmen go ± and lingered still at home. Through thirteen anxious weeks of terror-blent delight I guarded her by day and guarded her by night. Rochelle È Then like a tender child whose hand did just enfold Safe in its eager grasp a bird it wept to hold. I was over-blest by the warm unasked embrace ± By the smile of grateful joy that lit her angel face! And I was over-blest ± aye. Another hand than mine my rightful banner held And gathered my renown on Freedom's crimson field. the dungeons teem with foes to gorge our hate ± Thou art too young to die by such a bitter fate!' With hurried blow on blow I struck the fetters through Regardless how that deed my after hours might rue. G. Oh. Short strife! what rest could soothe ± what peace could visit me While she lay pining there for Death to set her free? `Rochelle. By never-doubting love. If I should break the chain I felt my bird would go.112 Emily (Jane) Bronte. And by the patient strength that could that world defy. Yet I must break the chain or seal the prisoner's woe. I earned at last an equal love from thee! 145 125 115 120 130 135 140 150 . Julian M. who am so quick to answer sneer with sneer. the battle-standard wave But Julian had no heart to fill a patriot's grave. she turned aside from noon's unwonted beam. When though the cage was wide ± the heaven around it lay ± Its pinion would not waft my wounded dove away. By suffering. faint.' And I. Yet I had no desire the glorious prize to gain ± It needed braver nerve to face the world's disdain. I heard my kindred tell `How Julian loved his hearth and sheltering rooftree well. So ready to condemn. How the trumpet's voice might call. When pierced with one wild glance from the troubled hazel eye It gushes into tears and lets its treasure fly. unswerving constancy. contempt and calumny. more than I could dream ± When. Rochelle. Thus ruth and selfish love together striving tore The heart all newly taught to pity and adore. and A.

Changes.Emily (Jane) Bronte. `No coward soul is mine' 113 È `No coward soul is mine' No coward soul is mine No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere I see Heaven's glories shine And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear O God within my breast Almighty ever-present Deity Life. dissolves. Worthless as withered weeds Or idlest froth amid the boundless main To waken doubt in one Holding so fast by thy infinity So surely anchored on The steadfast rock of Immortality With wide-embracing love Thy Spirit animates eternal years Pervades and broods above. that in me hast rest As I Undying Life. creates and rears Though Earth and moon were gone And suns and universes ceased to be And thou wert left alone Every Existence would exist in thee There is not room for Death Nor atom that his might could render void Since thou are Being and Breath And what thou art may never be destroyed 25 5 10 15 20 . have power in thee Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts. sustains. unutterably vain.

Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers. There are who walk beside us. Seem here no painful inch to gain. The enemy faints not nor faileth. flooding in. That when we see the o'ertopping waves advance. And not by eastern windows only. The labor and the wounds are vain. 5 10 . The `Help us or we perish. and whispers in our ear. Far back through creeks and inlets making Comes silent. If hopes were dupes. It may be. An evanescent spectrum of disease. the main. 5 10 15 `That there are powers above us I admit' That there are powers above us I admit. look! the land is bright. When daylight comes. comes in the light. But westward. things remain.Arthur Hugh Clough (1819±1861) `Say not the struggle naught availeth' Say not the struggle naught availeth.' is not nought. A hand that is not ours upstays our steps. but for you. It may be that in deed and not in fancy. In front the sun climbs slow. And. possess the field. Commands the waves. A voice that is not ours commands the waves. It may be true too That while we walk the troublous tossing sea. in yon smoke concealed. how slowly. fears may be liars. and the cry That rises so spontaneous to the lips. For while the tired waves vainly breaking. And as things have been. And when [we] feel our feet beneath us sink.

15 . And when we lift up holy hands of prayer.Arthur Hugh Clough. I will not say they will not give us aid. I believe. `That there are powers above us I admit' 115 O thou of little faith. why didst thou doubt? At any rate ± That there are beings above us.

and what I ought to be. Dotting the shoreless watery wild. ± For surely once. salt. on starry nights. as soon as kindled. from shore to shore. that their longing's fire Should be. The islands feel the enclasping flow. But when the moon their hollows lights. Across the sounds and channels pour. Oh then a longing like despair Is to their farthest caverns sent. With echoing straits between us thrown. At this vessel's prow I stand. And in their glens. We mortal millions live alone. we were Parts of a single continent. estranging sea. Now round us spreads the watery plain ± Oh might our marges meet again! Who ordered. which bears me Forwards. o'er the starlit sea. And they are swept by balms of spring. And lovely notes. cooled? Who renders vain their deep desire? A God. forwards. they feel. The nightingales divinely sing. .Matthew Arnold (1822±1888) To Marguerite In Returning a Volume of the Letters of Ortis Yes: in the sea of life enisled. 5 10 15 20 Self-Dependence Weary of myself. And then their endless bounds they know. and sick of asking What I am. a God their severance ruled! And bade betwixt their shores to be The unplumbed.

nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul. still let me. `And with joy the stars perform their shining. Feel my soul becoming vast like you. `Ah. severely clear. the light Gleams. `ye Stars. 5 10 . Dover Beach 117 And a look of passionate desire O'er the sea and to the stars I send: `Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me. the cliffs of England stand. These demand not that the things without them Yield them love. And the sea its long moon-silvered roll. A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear. from the long line of spray Where the ebb meets the moon-blanched land. star-sown vault of heaven. the moon lies fair Upon the Straits. Come to the window. On my heart your mighty charm renew: Still. sympathy. Glimmering and vast. In the rustling night-air came the answer ± `Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they. as I gaze upon you. ye Waters. Calm me.' O air-born Voice! long since. Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves suck back. and know that he. In their own tasks all their powers pouring. once more. For alone they live. and fling. clear. compose me to the end. `Resolve to be thyself. loses his misery!' 25 5 10 15 20 30 Dover Beach The sea is calm tonight. ah.' I cried. and unobservant In what state God's other works may be. `Bounded by themselves. on the French coast.Matthew Arnold. Who finds himself. sweet is the night air! Only. `Unaffrighted by the silence round them. These attain the mighty life you see. and is gone. The tide is full. out in the tranquil bay. Undistracted by the sights they see. Over the lit sea's unquiet way.' From the intense. amusement.

And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight. love. and cease. we Find also in the sound a thought. which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams. up the high strand. at the full. nor light. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the ágean. who had formerly been of his acquaintance. who was by his poverty forced to leave his studies there. But now I only hear Its melancholy. After he had been a pretty while well exercised in the trade. Ah. 1661.' ± Glanvil's Vanity of Dogmatizing. too. With tremulous cadence slow. to leave their company. he intended. down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. nor help for pain. there chanced to ride by a couple of scholars. Among these extravagant people. The sea of faith Was once. let us be true To one another! for the world. and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery.118 Matthew Arnold. Retreating to the breath Of the night-wind. Begin. and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. and give the world an account of what he had learned. The Scholar-Gipsy At their return. So various. and bring The eternal note of sadness in. by the insinuating subtilty of his carriage. nor love. long withdrawing roar. so new. and he gave them an account of the necessity which drove him to that kind of life. their fancy binding that of others: that himself had learned much of their art. nor peace. Nor certitude. and when he had compassed the whole secret. he quickly got so much of their love and esteem as that they discovered to him their mystery. Hearing it by this distant northern sea. and at last to join himself to a company of vagabond gipsies. . and told them that the people he went with were not such impostors as they were taken for. and then again begin. but that they had a traditional kind of learning among them. he said. so beautiful. Hath really neither joy. Where ignorant armies clash by night. and could do wonders by the power of imagination. They quickly spied out their old friend among the gipsies. 15 20 25 30 35 The Scholar-Gipsy `There was very lately a lad in the University of Oxford.

And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves. at noon. from the hill. comes back his stores to use. And only the white sheep are sometimes seen Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanched green. Here will I sit and wait. Nor the cropped herbage shoot another head. Here. With distant cries of reapers in the corn ± All the live murmur of a summer's day. The Scholar-Gipsy 119 Go. And here till sun-down. And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers. Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats. In this high field's dark corner. that the Gipsy crew. let me read the oft-read tale again. to little good. Through the thick corn the scarlet poppies peep And round green roots and yellowing stalks I see Pale pink convolvulus in tendrils creep: And air-swept lindens yield Their scent. Who. and again renew the quest. While to my ear from uplands far away The bleating of the folded flocks is borne. Screened is this nook o'er the high. as most men deemed. and untie the wattled cotes: No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed. Shepherd. Shepherd. tired of knocking at Preferment's door. But came to Oxford and his friends no more. in the country lanes Two scholars. Shepherd. and his earthen cruise. Whereat he answered. years after. half-reaped field. his basket. for they call you. and of his way of life enquired. and rustle down their perfumed showers Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid. Come. The story of the Oxford scholar poor Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain. And roamed the world with that wild brotherhood. had arts to rule as they desired 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 .Matthew Arnold. whom at college erst he knew Met him. One summer morn forsook His friends. Shepherd. And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's book ± Come. Then here. But when the fields are still. And came. His mates. And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest. And bower me from the August sun with shade. where he leaves His coat. will I be. But once. and went to learn the Gipsy lore. where the reaper was at work of late. Go.

But. Oxford riders blithe. white anemone ± Dark bluebells drenched with dews of summer eves ± And purple orchises with spotted leaves ± But none hath words she can report of thee. As the slow punt swings round: And leaning backward in a pensive dream. on thy trace.' he said. Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills. Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers ± the frail-leafed. Wanderer.120 Matthew Arnold. Or cross a stile into the public way. and thou art seen no more. And watch the warm green muffled Cumnor hills. `the secret of their art. That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray. will to the world impart: But it needs happy moments for this skill. Thee. the smock-frocked boors Had found him seated at their entering. at the ferry. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring. And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream And then they land.' This said. The same the Gipsies wore. he left them. pensive and tongue-tied. I know. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . But rumours hung about the countryside. and cloak of grey. At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors. When fully learned. Maidens. Seen by rare glimpses. The Scholar-Gipsy The workings of men's brains. And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place. For most. have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe. mid their drink and clatter. Returning home on summer nights. And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers Plucked in shy fields and distant woodland bowers. And put the shepherds. Or in my boat I lie Moored to the cool bank in the summer heats. thou lov'st retired ground. he would fly: And I myself seem half to know thy looks. Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam. On the warm ingle bench. And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. And they can bind them to what thoughts they will: `And I. who from the distant hamlets come To dance around the Fyfield elm in May. Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet. In hat of antique shape. and returned no more.

when they came from bathing. when haytime's here In June. Have often passed thee near Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown: Marked thy outlandish garb. above Godstow Bridge. Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow. And waiting for the spark from Heaven to fall. At some lone homestead in the Cumnor hills. Thou hast been seen. or hanging on a gate To watch the threshers in the mossy barns. while thick the snowflakes fall. And gained the white brow of the Cumnor range. who early range these slopes and late For cresses from the rills. in winter. Thy face towards Hinksey and its wintry ridge? And thou hast climbed the hill. twirling in thy hand a withered spray. thou wert gone. The Scholar-Gipsy 121 And. and many a scythe in sunshine flames. Children. on the skirts of Bagley Wood Where most the Gipsies by the turf-edged way Pitch their smoked tents. So often has he known thee past him stray Rapt. Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass Where black-winged swallows haunt the glittering Thames. and soft abstracted air. And the grave Glanvil did the tale inscribe That thou wert wandered from the studious walls 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . Have known thee watching. The springing pastures and the feeding kine. And once. Through the long dewy grass move slow away. But. The line of festal light in Christ-Church hall ± Then sought thy straw in some sequestered grange. Where at her open door the housewife darns. And marked thee. on the causeway chill Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go. Above the forest ground called Thessaly ± The blackbird picking food Sees thee. and every bush you see With scarlet patches tagged and shreds of grey. In Autumn. nor stops his meal. Turned once to watch.Matthew Arnold. when the stars come out and shine. To bathe in the abandoned lasher pass. all an April day. Have I not passed thee on the wooden bridge. thy figure spare. But what ± I dream! Two hundred years are flown Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls. Thy dark vague eyes. nor fears at all.

so? Thou hadst one aim. Under a dark. red-fruited yew-tree's shade. not spent on other things. nor knows for what he strives. Till having used our nerves with bliss and teen. but not. Who wait like thee. alas. And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit. Thou waitest for the spark from Heaven and we. nor clearly willed. And we ourselves shall go. like other men. brings. And we imagine thee exempt from age And living as thou liv'st on Glanvil's page. one desire: Else wert thou long since numbered with the dead ± Else hadst thou spent. Who never deeply felt. no. And each half lives a hundred different lives. ± No. 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 . where o'er thy unknown grave Tall grasses and white flowering nettles wave. Which much to have tried. and are ± what we have been. in much been baffled. one business. The Scholar-Gipsy To learn strange arts. in hope. Because thou hadst ± what we. undiverted to the world without. Light half-believers of our casual creeds. Exhaust the energy of strongest souls. And numb the elastic powers. Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds. Thou hast not lived. have not. O life unlike to ours! Who fluctuate idly without term or scope. To the just-pausing Genius we remit Our worn-out life. Firm to their mark. again. Of whom each strives. Free from the sick fatigue. with powers Fresh. why should'st thou perish. But thou possessest an immortal lot. thou hast not felt the lapse of hours. For early didst thou leave the world. and join a Gipsy tribe: And thou from earth art gone Long since. Who hesitate and falter life away. disappointments new. The generations of thy peers are fled. thy fire. For whom each year we see Breeds new beginnings. For what wears out the life of mortal men? 'Tis that from change to change their being rolls: 'Tis that repeated shocks.122 Matthew Arnold. Some country nook. and in some quiet churchyard laid. like thee. the languid doubt. Whose vague resolves never have been fulfilled. again.

and keep thy solitude! Still nursing the unconquerable hope. our contact fear! Still fly. And how the breast was soothed. Freshen thy flowers. Who most has suffered. as in former years. Still clutching the inviolable shade.Matthew Arnold. Its heads o'ertaxed. plunge deeper in the bowering wood! Averse. And wish the long unhappy dream would end. we await it. The Scholar-Gipsy 123 And lose tomorrow the ground won today ± Ah! do not we. await it too? Yes. And all his store of sad experience he Lays bare of wretched days. And then we suffer and amongst us One. Wanderer. And how the dying spark of hope was fed. as Dido did with gesture stern From her false friend's approach in Hades turn. too near neighbour to Despair: But none has hope like thine. its divided aims. O born in days when wits were fresh and clear. Sad Patience. 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 . And waive all claim to bliss. By night. or listen with enchanted ears. but it still delays. takes dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne. And all his hourly varied anodynes. Wave us away. Thou through the fields and through the woods dost stray. its palsied hearts. was rife ± Fly hence. This for our wisest: and we others pine. With its sick hurry. the silvered branches of the glade ± Far on the forest skirts. And every doubt long blown by time away. Roaming the country side. With dew. Tells us his misery's birth and growth and signs. Before this strange disease of modern life. With a free onward impulse brushing through. where none pursue. a truant boy. And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames. to the nightingales. On some mild pastoral slope Emerge. Nursing thy project in unclouded joy. and how the head. and try to bear With close-lipped Patience for our only friend. and resting on the moonlit pales. From the dark dingles.

the dark Iberians come. Then fly our greetings. The Scholar-Gipsy But fly our paths. and unfixed thy powers. And day and night held on indignantly O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale. and grow old at last and die like ours. And knew the intruders on his ancient home. and tunnies steeped in brine. soon thy cheer would die. And snatched his rudder. where down cloudy cliffs. though it gives no bliss.124 Matthew Arnold. through sheets of foam. To where the Atlantic raves Outside the Western Straits. and shook out more sail. yet spoils for rest. our feverish contact fly! For strong the infection of our mental strife. Like us distracted. Shy traffickers. Thy hopes grow timorous. Descried at sunrise an emerging prow Lifting the cool-haired creepers stealthily. Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily. The fringes of a southward-facing brow Among the ágean isles. Green bursting figs. and like us unblest. 225 230 235 240 245 250 . The young light-hearted Masters of the waves. Soon. Freighted with amber grapes. and Chian wine. And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made: And then thy glad perennial youth would fade. And we should win thee from thy own fair life. Which. And on the beach undid his corded bales. from the sea. Fade. fly our speech and smiles! ± As some grave Tyrian trader. and unbent sails There. And saw the merry Grecian coaster come.

Her seemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers. Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves. . as a bridge. . her day Had counted as ten years. even. And her hair. The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers. No wrought flowers did adorn. Her robe. . . here in this place Surely she leaned o'er me. . It lies from Heaven across the flood Of ether. . But a white rose of Mary's gift On the neck meetly worn. . Was yellow like ripe corn. Albeit to them she left. . . ± her hair Fell all about my face . And the stars in her hair were seven. So high. . lying down her back. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . . Yet now. ± By God built over the sheer depth In which Space is begun. She had three lilies in her hand. that looking downward thence. The whole year sets apace.) It was the terrace of God's house That she was standing on. . She could scarce see the sun.Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828±1882) The Blessed Damozel The blessed Damozel leaned out From the gold bar of Heaven: Her blue grave eyes were deeper much Than a deep water. (To one it is ten years of years: . ungirt from clasp to hem.

Occult. as when The stars sang in their spheres. In that steep gulph. Spake. mounting up to God. From the fixt lull of heaven. and stooped Into the vast waste calm. I'll take his hand. withheld. no echo there. has he not prayed? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? `When round his head the aureole clings. with her. For no breeze may stir Along the steady flight Of seraphim. some of her new friends. the tides of day and night With flame and blackness ridge The void. untrod. Her gaze still strove. as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. Beyond all depth or height. But in those tracts. `I wish that he were come to me. Till her bosom's pressure must have made The bar she leaned on warm. to pierce The swarm: and then she spake. among themselves. like a pulse. And we will step down as to a stream And bathe there in God's sight. Went by her like thin flames. And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. And the souls. Playing at holy games. And he is clothed in white. shake fierce Through all the worlds. `We two will stand beside that shrine. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . gentle-mouthed. Heard hardly. she saw Time.' she said. and go with him To the deep wells of light.126 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Their virginal chaste names. For he will come. And still she bowed herself. The Blessed Damozel Beneath. it was The peace of utter light And silence. `Have I not prayed in solemn heaven? On earth.

. Alas for lonely Heaven! Alas For life wrung out alone! Alas. with bound locks And bosoms covered. Margaret. lying so. . ± The songs I sing here. To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born. Then I will lay my cheek 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 . `will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is. Gertrude.' she said. `We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Sometimes is felt to be.' (Alas! to her wise simple mind These things were all but known Before: they trembled on her sense. The Blessed Damozel 127 Whose lamps tremble continually With prayer sent up to God. white like flame. will teach to him ± I myself. Magdalen. revealed. though they would?) `We two. While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His name audibly. which his mouth Shall pause in. `He shall fear haply. Into the fine cloth. being dead. With her five handmaidens. Was thy part understood Or borne in trust? And for her sake Shall this too be found good? ± May the close lips that knew not prayer Praise ever. and be dumb. ± Her voice had caught their tone. whose names Are five sweet symphonies: ± Cecily. And where each need. Weaving the golden thread. hushed and slow. expects Its patient period. and though the end were reached? . and Rosalys. `And I myself.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Finding some knowledge at each pause And some new thing to know. `Circle-wise sit they.

and then said.128 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. We two will live at once.) But soon their flight Was vague 'mid the poised spheres. And laid her face between her hands. Her eyes prayed. one life.' She gazed. verily. meeting us. (I heard her tears. Not once abashed or weak: And the dear Mother will approve My pride. and she smiled. Yea. The light thrilled past her. And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers. Less sad of speech than mild: `All this is when he comes. and tell about our love. hand in hand. (I saw her smile. `Yea. verily. in strong level lapse. and listened. ± being as then At peace. and let me speak. shall sing To their citherns and citoles. And peace shall be with us. And wept. `Herself shall bring us. Part I Youth and Change To his. `There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me: ± To have more blessing than on earth In nowise.) 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 FROM: THE HOUSE OF LIFE: A SONNET-SEQUENCE Part I Youth and Change Sonnet VI: The Kiss What smouldering senses in death's sick delay Or seizure of malign vicissitude .' She ceased. To Him round whom all souls Kneel ± the unnumbered solemn heads Bowed with their aureoles: And Angels. when he is come We will do thus and thus: Till this my vigil seem quite strange And almost fabulous. filled With Angels. but to be As then we were.

± Oh let thy silent song disclose to me That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree Like married music in Love's answering air. 129 5 10 Sonnet VII: Supreme Surrender To all the spirits of Love that wander by Along his love-sown harvest-field of sleep My lady lies apparent. The bliss so long afar. even of her breath aware. the hand now warm around my neck Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo! Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow. 5 10 . even I and she. I was a child beneath her touch. First touched. till love's emulous ardours ran. Whereof the articulate throbs accompany The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair. Rests there attained. And her breast's secrets peered into her breast. ± A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood. ± A spirit when her spirit looked through me. at length so nigh. Fire within fire. or denude This soul of wedding-raiment worn today? For lo! even now my lady's lips did play With these my lips such consonant interlude As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay. ± Sweet fluttering sheet. 5 10 Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Warmed by her hand and shadowed by her hair As close she leaned and poured her heart through thee. Methinks proud Love must weep When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap The sacred hour for which the years did sigh. desire in deity.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Can rob this body of honour. Where one shorn tress long stirred the longing ache: And next the heart that trembled for its sake Lies the queen-heart in sovereign overthrow. Fain had I watched her when. ± a man When breast to breast we clung. and the deep Calls to the deep. Her bosom to the writing closelier pressed. at some fond thought. and no man sees but I.

Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture When. Sheds doubled darkness up the labouring hill. What of the heart without her? Nay. poor heart. Of thee what word remains ere speech be still? A wayfarer by barren ways and chill. attuned above All modulation of the deep-bowered dove. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love Life-thwarted. Her paths without her? Day's appointed sway Usurped by desolate night. the long wood's counterpart. Linked in gyves I saw them stand. And cold forgetfulness of night or day. Whose hand is like a sweet voice to control Those worn tired brows it hath the keeping of: ± What word can answer to thy word. her soul sought My soul. Even now. Her dress without her? The tossed empty space Of cloud-rack whence the moon has passed away. thou my love. whose voice. Her pillowed place Without her? Tears. ah me! for love's good grace. without her thou art.130 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Is like a hand laid softly on the soul. O lovely and beloved. hand to hand: . through eyes raised an instant. which now absorbs within its sphere My worshipping face. whose summoning eyes. Steep ways and weary. 5 10 Sonnet LIV: Love's Fatality Sweet Love. and from the sudden confluence caught The words that made her love the loveliest. O my love? 5 10 Sonnet LIII: Without Her What of her glass without her? The blank grey There where the pool is blind of the moon's face. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture Thou lovely and beloved. till I am mirrored there Light-circled in a heaven of deep-drawn rays? What clasp. Where the long cloud. Whose kiss seems still the first. as for our love-world's new sunrise. Love shackled with vain-longing. what kiss mine inmost heart can prove. ± what gaze To thine. Shed very dawn.

Terror and mystery. By sea or sky or woman. in chains grown tame. two writhen flakes of flame. ± Life's iron heart. Nor know. and though her gaze struck awe. This is that Lady Beauty. ± long known to thee 5 10 . Hers are the eyes which. But with a blessing every glade receives High salutation. ± Bound to thy body and soul. once born free: And I. ± which can draw. being foresters of old. while from hillock-eaves The deer gaze calling. Also his lips. the sun Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves. And here the lost hours the lost hours renew While I still lead my shadow o'er the grass. even Love's Fatality. As if. I saw Beauty enthroned. though bough with bough be overrun. in whose praise Thy voice and hand shake still. where love and death. 5 10 Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty Under the arch of Life. for longing. thy cowering self. over and beneath. thus leashed with me! Wing-footed thou. Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew. The sky and sea bend on thee. that which I should do. wing-shouldered. to one law. Till eve bring rest when other good things pass. even as in his whose wand Vainly all night with spell-wrought power has spanned The unyielding caves of some deep treasure-trove.' 5 10 Part II: Change and Fate Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness This sunlight shames November where he grieves In dead red leaves. Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty 131 And one was eyed as the blue vault above: But hope tempestuous like a fire-cloud hove I' the other's gaze. named with thy name. Made moan: `Alas O love. Here dawn today unveiled her magic glass. and will not let him shun The day. I drew it in as simply as my breath. The alloted bondman of her palm and wreath. dappled white and dun. guard her shrine.Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

O Lilith.132 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. for where Is he not found. The rose and poppy are her flowers. Till heart and body and life are in its hold. and left his straight neck bent And round his heart one strangling golden hair. with what alone I know. And still she sits. subtly of herself contemplative. how many ways and days! Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty Of Adam's first wife. Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty By flying hair and fluttering hem. it is told (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve. By some new Power reduplicate. and lo! This is the very place which to mine eyes Those mortal hours in vain immortalize. . must be Even yet my life-porch in eternity. Lilith. 'Mid hurrying crowds. ± what passion of surprise Like frost-bound fire-girt scenes of long ago? Lo! this is none but I this hour. ± though unrevealed snow With unimaginable fires arise At the earth's end.) That. young while the earth is old. of thine a single simple door. ± the beat Following her daily of thy heart and feet. How passionately and irretrievably. her sweet tongue could deceive. Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave. In what fond flight. pluck not. whom shed scent And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine. ere the snake's. Even with one presence filled. And her enchanted hair was the first gold. it is sweet and red. ± let the first fruit be: Even as thou sayest. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXI: Memorial Thresholds Á What place so strange. as once of yore: Or mocking winds whirl round a chaff-strown floor Thee and thy years and these my words and me. City. so went Thy spell through him. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy I said: `Nay. And.

And eat it from the branch and praise the tree?' I say: `Alas! our fruit hath wooed the sun Too long. What shall assuage the unforgotten pain And teach the unforgetful to forget? Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet. Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen Which had Life's form and Love's. ± 5 10 . 5 10 Sonnet CI: The One Hope When vain desire at last and vain regret Go hand in hand to death. The tree's bent head Sees in the stream its own fecundity And bides the day of fulness. ± Then shalt thou see me smile. but by my spell Is now a shaken shadow intolerable. Farewell. Shall not we At the sun's hour that day possess the shade. And claim our fruit before its ripeness fade. Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen. I am also called No-more. how still I am! But should there dart One moment through thy soul the soft surprise Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs. ± 'tis fallen and floats adown the stream. ere the gleam Of autumn set the year's pent sorrow free. and turn apart Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes. Lo. Mark me. Too-late. the last clusters! Pluck them every one. Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between.' 5 10 Sonnet XCVII: A Superscription Look in my face.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Sonnet CI: The One Hope 133 But let it ripen still. my name is Might-have-been. And let us sup with summer. And the woods wail like echoes from the sea. and all is vain. ± Or may the soul at once in a green plain Stoop through the spray of some sweet life-fountain And cull the dew-drenched flowering amulet? Ah! when the wan soul in that golden air Between the scriptured petals softly blown Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown.

But o'er the deadly blight Of Love deflowered and sorrow of none avail Which makes this man gasp and this woman quail. ± Not less nor more. And here. yet still their mouths. and slid away. burnt red. 5 10 `Found' (For a Picture) `There is a budding morrow in midnight:' ± So sang our Keats. Till from some wonder of new woods and streams He woke. ± but what part Can life now take? She cries in her locked heart. Fawned on each other where they lay apart. Their bosoms sundered. Slowly their souls swam up again. and wondered more: for there she lay. our English nightingale. but even that word alone. Under one mantle sheltered 'neath the hedge In gloaming courtship? And. with the opening start Of married flowers to either side outspread From the knit stem. Can day from darkness ever again take flight? Ah! gave not these two hearts their mutual pledge. Nuptial Sleep Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er But only the one Hope's one name be there. Dark breaks to dawn. And their dreams watched them sink.134 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. ± `Leave me ± I do not know you ± go away!' 5 10 . So singly flagged the pulses of each heart. through gleams Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day. Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams. as lamps across the bridge turn pale In London's smokeless resurrection-light. with sweet smart: And as the last slow sudden drops are shed From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled. Nuptial Sleep At length their long kiss severed. O God! today He only knows he holds her.

± Morns that pass by. strawberries. do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember. Pine-apples. Bloom-down-cheeked peaches. ± All ripe together In summer weather. Wild free-born cranberries. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me. Swart-headed mulberries. Crab-apples. Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. Plump unpecked cherries. Lemons and oranges. come buy: Apples and quinces. Gone far away into the silent land. Melons and raspberries. Come buy. Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Remember me when I am gone away.Christina G. dewberries. blackberries. 5 10 Goblin Market Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. 5 10 15 . When you can no more hold me by the hand. Apricots. Fair eves that fly.

And whispered like the restless brook: `Look. Goblin Market Come buy. no.' said Lizzie: `No. come buy. Damsons and bilberries.' Evening by evening Among the brookside rushes.' Lizzie covered up her eyes. Pomegranates full and fine. Down the glen tramp little men. Covered close lest they should look. `Lie close. Come buy. With tingling cheeks and finger tips. You should not peep at goblin men. Their offers should not charm us.' call the goblins Hobbling down the glen. Sweet to tongue and sound to eye. `Oh.' cried Lizzie. Lizzie. Bright-fire-like barberries. come buy: Our grapes fresh from the vine. Dates and sharp bullaces. Pricking up her golden head: `We must not look at goblin men.' `No. How fair the vine must grow Whose grapes are so luscious. Citrons from the South. Rare pears and greengages. no. Lizzie veiled her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather. How warm the wind must blow Through those fruit bushes. `Laura. Laura bowed her head to hear.' Laura said. look. Laura reared her glossy head. Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries.136 Christina G. Laura. We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?' `Come buy. Figs to fill your mouth. 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . Rossetti. One lugs a golden dish Of many pounds weight. One hauls a basket. Lizzie. One bears a plate. With clasping arms and cautioning lips.

The cat-faced purred. One set his basket down. Like a vessel at the launch When its last restraint is gone.' When they reached where Laura was They stood stock still upon the moss. Rossetti. Leering at each other. Laura stretched her gleaming neck Like a rush-imbedded swan. One reared his plate. Laura stared but did not stir. Brother with queer brother.' She thrust a dimpled finger In each ear. 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . One whisked a tail. Goblin Market 137 Their evil gifts would harm us. come buy. One had a cat's face. One heaved the golden weight Of dish and fruit to offer her: `Come buy. Signalling each other. With their shrill repeated cry. Backwards up the mossy glen Turned and trooped the goblin men. She heard a voice like voice of doves Cooing all together: They sounded kind and full of loves In the pleasant weather. One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry.' was still their cry. Like a moonlit poplar branch. leaves. Longed but had no money: The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste In tones as smooth as honey. The rat-paced spoke a word Of welcome. come buy. One tramped at a rat's pace. and rough nuts brown (Men sell not such in any town). and the snail-paced even was heard.Christina G. `Come buy. Like a lily from the beck. One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry. One crawled like a snail. shut eyes and ran: Curious Laura chose to linger Wondering at each merchant man. One began to weave a crown Of tendrils. Brother with sly brother.

How should it cloy with length of use? She sucked and sucked and sucked the more Fruits which that unknown orchard bore. She dropped a tear more rare than pearl. And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusty heather. Should not loiter in the glen In the haunts of goblin men. I have no coin.' She clipped a precious golden lock. Twilight is not good for maidens. Lizzie met her at the gate Full of wise upbraidings: `Dear.' They answered all together: `Buy from us with a golden curl. She never tasted such before. She sucked until her lips were sore. Found them no more but dwindled and grew grey. Then fell with the first snow. How she met them in the moonlight.138 Christina G. Goblin Market One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried `Pretty Goblin' still for `Pretty Polly. Took their gifts both choice and many. And knew not was it night or day As she turned home alone. I have no silver either. To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 .' `You have much gold upon your head. But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: `Good folk. Sought them by night and day. Rossetti. Do you not remember Jeanie. Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: Sweeter than honey from the rock. Then flung the emptied rinds away But gathered up one kernel-stone. Stronger than man-rejoicing wine. Clearer than water flowed that juice. Ate their fruits and wore their flowers Plucked from bowers Where summer ripens at all hours? But ever in the moonlight She pined and pined away. you should not stay so late.' ± One whistled like a bird.

milked the cows. 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 .' Golden head by golden head.Christina G. Rossetti. Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other's wings. They lay down in their curtained bed: Like two blossoms on one stem. I'll bring you plums to-morrow Fresh on their mother twigs. You cannot think what figs My teeth have met in. Like two wands of ivory Tipped with gold for awful kings. my sister: I ate and ate my fill. Early in the morning When the first cock crowed his warning. Not a bat flapped to and fro Round their nest: Cheek to cheek and breast to breast Locked together in one nest. hush. What peaches with a velvet nap. Neat like bees. Moon and stars gazed in at them.' said Laura: `Nay. Like two flakes of new-fallen snow. You should not loiter so. And sugar-sweet their sap. Lumbering owls forbore to fly. Goblin Market 139 While to this day no grass will grow Where she lies low: I planted daisies there a year ago That never blow. and pure the wave they drink With lilies at the brink. hush. Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetched in honey. Yet my mouth waters still. Cherries worth getting.' `Nay. Wind sang to them lullaby. To-morrow night I will Buy more:' and kissed her: `Have done with sorrow. What melons icy-cold Piled on a dish of gold Too huge for me to hold. Pellucid grapes without one seed: Odorous indeed must be the mead Whereon they grow. as sweet and busy.

One warbling for the mere bright day's delight.' With its iterated jingle Of sugar-baited words: Not for all her watching Once discerning even one goblin Racing. Laura in an absent dream. the moon bends her arc. One content. Of brisk fruit-merchant men. Laura. Let us get home before the night grows dark: 205 210 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 . Let alone the herds That used to tramp along the glen. Then turning homewards said: `The sunset flushes Those furthest loftiest crags. The stars rise. Next churned butter.140 Christina G.' But Laura loitered still among the rushes And said the bank was steep. Lizzie most placid in her look. but not catching The customary cry. Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat. come buy. one sick in part. tumbling. They drew the gurgling water from its deep. No wilful squirrel wags. At length slow evening came: They went with pitchers to the reedy brook. Cakes for dainty mouths to eat. sat and sewed. Come. Each glowworm winks her spark. hobbling. not another maiden lags. come. `O Laura. whisking. the wind not chill: Listening ever. Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags. I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look: You should not loiter longer at this brook: Come with me home. In groups or single. Goblin Market Aired and set to rights the house. `Come buy. Till Lizzie urged. And said the hour was early still. whipped up cream. The beasts and birds are fast asleep. The dew not fallen. Laura most like a leaping flame. Fed their poultry. Talked as modest maidens should: Lizzie with an open heart. One longing for the night. Rossetti.

Day after day.Christina G. Laura kept watch in vain In sullen silence of exceeding pain. come buy. But there came none. It never saw the sun.' Must she then buy no more such dainty fruits? Must she no more such succous pasture find. One day remembering her kernel-stone She set it by a wall that faced the south. Rossetti. and lay Silent till Lizzie slept. And gnashed her teeth for baulked desire. come buy. `Come buy our fruits. It never felt the trickling moisture run: While with sunk eyes and faded mouth She dreamed of melons. nought discerning. 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 . Put out the lights and drench us through. She dwindled.' ± She never spied the goblin men Hawking their fruits along the glen: But when the noon waxed bright Her hair grew thin and grey. Trudged home. So crept to bed. She never caught again the goblin cry: `Come buy. Gone deaf and blind? Her tree of life drooped from the root: She said not one word in her heart's sore ache. That goblin cry. night after night. her pitcher dripping all the way. Then if we lost our way what should we do?' Laura turned cold as stone To find her sister heard that cry alone. Then sat up in a passionate yearning. And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. Watched for a waxing shoot. as a traveller sees False waves in desert drouth With shade of leaf-crowned trees. hoped for a root. Goblin Market 141 For clouds may gather Though this is summer weather. and wept As if her heart would break. Dewed it with tears. as the fair full moon doth turn To swift decay and burn Her fire away. But peering thro' the dimness.

In earliest Winter time. She thought of Jeanie in her grave. Longed to buy fruit to comfort her. Flying. Brought water from the brook: But sat down listless in the chimney-nook And would not eat. Who should have been a bride.142 Christina G. 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 . Chuckling. But feared to pay too dear. Rossetti. Till Laura dwindling Seemed knocking at Death's door: Then Lizzie weighed no more Better and worse. Laughed every goblin When they spied her peeping: Came towards her hobbling. With the first glazing rime. Puffing and blowing. crowing. Tended the fowls or cows. come buy:' ± Beside the brook. along the glen. She night and morning Caught the goblins' cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. Fetched honey. kneaded cakes of wheat. The voice and stir Poor Laura could not hear. clapping. Come buy. Goblin Market She no more swept the house. Clucking and gobbling. But put a silver penny in her purse. crossed the heath with clumps of furze At twilight. Mopping and mowing. halted by the brook: And for the first time in her life Began to listen and look. Tender Lizzie could not bear To watch her sister's cankerous care Yet not to share. She heard the tramp of goblin men. leaping. running. Kissed Laura. But who for joys brides hope to have Fell sick and died In her gay prime. With the first snowfall of crisp Winter time. Full of airs and graces.

Christina G. Rossetti, Goblin Market 143 Pulling wry faces, Demure grimaces, Cat-like and rat-like, Ratel- and wombat-like, Snail-paced in a hurry, Parrot-voiced and whistler, Helter skelter, hurry skurry, Chattering like magpies, Fluttering like pigeons, Gliding like fishes, ± Hugged her and kissed her: Squeezed and caressed her: Stretched up their dishes, Panniers, and plates: `Look at our apples Russet and dun, Bob at our cherries, Bite at our peaches, Citrons and dates, Grapes for the asking, Pears red with basking Out in the sun, Plums on their twigs; Pluck them and suck them, Pomegranates, figs.' ± `Good folk,' said Lizzie, Mindful of Jeanie: `Give me much and many:' ± Held out her apron, Tossed them her penny. `Nay, take a seat with us, Honour and eat with us,' They answered grinning: `Our feast is but beginning. Night yet is early, Warm and dew-pearly, Wakeful and starry: Such fruits as these No man can carry; Half their bloom would fly, Half their dew would dry, Half their flavour would pass by. Sit down and feast with us, Be welcome guest with us, Cheer you and rest with us.' ± `Thank you,' said Lizzie: `But one waits At home alone for me:










144 Christina G. Rossetti, Goblin Market So without further parleying, If you will not sell me any Of your fruits though much and many, Give me back my silver penny I tossed you for a fee.' ± They began to scratch their pates, No longer wagging, purring, But visibly demurring, Grunting and snarling. One called her proud, Cross-grained, uncivil; Their tones waxed loud, Their looks were evil. Lashing their tails They trod and hustled her, Elbowed and jostled her, Clawed with their nails, Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking, Tore her gown and soiled her stocking, Twitched her hair out by the roots, Stamped upon her tender feet, Held her hands and squeezed their fruits Against her mouth to make her eat. White and golden Lizzie stood, Like a lily in a flood, ± Like a rock of blue-veined stone Lashed by tides obstreperously, ± Like a beacon left alone In a hoary roaring sea, Sending up a golden fire, ± Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree White with blossoms honey-sweet Sore beset by wasp and bee, ± Like a royal virgin town Topped with gilded dome and spire Close beleaguered by a fleet Mad to tug her standard down. One may lead a horse to water, Twenty cannot make him drink. Though the goblins cuffed and caught her, Coaxed and fought her, Bullied and besought her, Scratched her, pinched her black as ink, Kicked and knocked her, Mauled and mocked her, Lizzie uttered not a word;










Christina G. Rossetti, Goblin Market 145 Would not open lip from lip Lest they should cram a mouthful in: But laughed in heart to feel the drip Of juice that syrupped all her face, And lodged in dimples of her chin, And streaked her neck which quaked like curd. At last the evil people Worn out by her resistance Flung back her penny, kicked their fruit Along whichever road they took, Not leaving root or stone or shoot; Some writhed into the ground, Some dived into the brook With ring and ripple, Some scudded on the gale without a sound, Some vanished in the distance. In a smart, ache, tingle, Lizzie went her way; Knew not was it night or day; Sprang up the bank, tore thro' the furze, Threaded copse and dingle, And heard her penny jingle Bouncing in her purse, ± Its bounce was music to her ear. She ran and ran As if she feared some goblin man Dogged her with gibe or curse Or something worse: But not one goblin skurried after, Nor was she pricked by fear; The kind heart made her windy-paced That urged her home quite out of breath with haste And inward laughter. She cried `Laura,' up the garden, `Did you miss me? Come and kiss me. Never mind my bruises, Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices Squeezed from goblin fruits for you, Goblin pulp and goblin dew. Eat me, drink me, love me; Laura, make much of me: For your sake I have braved the glen And had to do with goblin merchant men.' Laura started from her chair, Flung her arms up in the air,










She loathed the feast: Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung. Like a wind-uprooted tree Spun about. Your young life like mine be wasted. Rent all her robe. Ah! fool. Or like an eagle when she stems the light Straight toward the sun. and pain. Undone in mine undoing And ruined in my ruin. Met the fire smouldering there And overbore its lesser flame. Swift fire spread through her veins. cankered.146 Christina G. That juice was wormwood to her tongue. Goblin Market Clutched her hair: `Lizzie. and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste. Thirsty. have you tasted For my sake the fruit forbidden? Must your light like mine be hidden. Kissed and kissed and kissed her: Tears once again Refreshed her shrunken eyes. knocked at her heart. She fell at last. Or like a caged thing freed. Rossetti. to choose such part Of soul-consuming care! Sense failed in the mortal strife: Like the watch-tower of a town Which an earthquake shatters down. She gorged on bitterness without a name. Lizzie. Her locks streamed like the torch Borne by a racer at full speed. 480 485 490 495 500 505 510 515 520 . Like a foam-topped waterspout Cast down headlong in the sea. Or like the mane of horses in their flight. Shaking with aguish fear. Or like a flying flag when armies run. And beat her breast. Dropping like rain After long sultry drouth. goblin-ridden?' ± She clung about her sister. Like a lightning-stricken mast. Her lips began to scorch. She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth.

Christina G. Rossetti, Goblin Market 147 Pleasure past and anguish past, Is it death or is it life? Life out of death. That night long Lizzie watched by her, Counted her pulse's flagging stir, Felt for her breath, Held water to her lips, and cooled her face With tears and fanning leaves: But when the first birds chirped about their eaves, And early reapers plodded to the place Of golden sheaves, And dew-wet grass Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass, And new buds with new day Opened of cup-like lilies on the stream, Laura awoke as from a dream, Laughed in the innocent old way, Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice; Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of grey, Her breath was sweet as May And light danced in her eyes. Days, weeks, months, years Afterwards, when both were wives With children of their own; Their mother-hearts beset with fears, Their lives bound up in tender lives; Laura would call the little ones And tell them of her early prime, Those pleasant days long gone Of not-returning time: Would talk about the haunted glen, The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men, Their fruits like honey to the throat But poison in the blood (Men sell not such in any town); Would tell them how her sister stood In deadly peril to do her good, And win the fiery antidote: Then joining hands to little hands Would bid them cling together, `For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands.'









Thomas Hardy (1840±1928)
Neutral Tones
We stood by a pond that winter day, And the sun was white, as though chidden of God, And a few leaves lay on the starving sod, ± They had fallen from an ash, and were gray. Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove Over tedious riddles of years ago; And some words played between us to and fro ± On which lost the more by our love. The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing Alive enough to have strength to die; And a grin of bitterness swept thereby Like an ominous bird a-wing. . . . Since then, keen lessons that love deceives, And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree, And a pond edged with grayish leaves.



Nature's Questioning
When I look forth at dawning, pool, Field, flock, and lonely tree, All seem to gaze at me Like chastened children sitting silent in a school; Their faces dulled, constrained, and worn, As though the master's way Through the long teaching day Had cowed them till their early zest was overborne. Upon them stirs in lippings mere (As if once clear in call, But now scarce breathed at all)Ð `We wonder, ever wonder, why we find us here!


Thomas Hardy, The Impercipient 149 `Has some Vast Imbecility, Mighty to build and blend, But impotent to tend, Framed us in jest, and left us now to hazardry? `Or come we of an Automaton Unconscious of our pains? . . . Or are we live remains Of Godhead dying downwards, brain and eye now gone? `Or is it that some high Plan betides, As yet not understood, Of Evil stormed by Good, We the Forlorn Hope over which Achievement strides?' Thus things around. No answerer I. . . . Meanwhile the winds, and rains, And Earth's old glooms and pains Are still the same, and Life and Death are neighbours nigh.



The Impercipient
(At a Cathedral Service)
That with this bright believing band I have no claim to be, That faiths by which my comrades stand Seem fantasies to me, And mirage-mists their Shining Land, Is a strange destiny. Why thus my soul should be consigned To infelicity, Why always I must feel as blind To sights my brethren see, Why joys they have found I cannot find, Abides a mystery. Since heart of mine knows not that ease Which they know; since it be That He who breathes All's Well to these Breathes no All's-Well to me, My lack might move their sympathies And Christian charity! I am like a gazer who should mark An inland company





I would laugh with her and sing. She would not balm the breeze By murmuring `Thine for ever!' As she did upon this leaze. O. Enough. 'tis but yon dark And wind-swept pine to me!' Yet I would bear my shortcomings With meet tranquillity. `Alas. I'd go the world with Beauty. Rest shall we. Still.. 1890. But she'd scorn my brave endeavour. As yet disquiet clings About us. Yet I note the little chisel Of never-napping Time Defacing wan and grizzel The blazon of my prime. `Hark! hark! The glorious distant sea!' And feel.150 Thomas Hardy.. with. I would shun divinest duty To resume her worshipping. and heaping Quaintest pains for by-and-by. 5 10 15 20 . In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury Standing upfingered.... 25 30 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury The years have gathered grayly Since I danced upon this leaze With one who kindled gaily Love's fitful ecstasies! But despite the term as teacher. doth a bird beshorn of wings Go earth-bound wilfully! . I remain what I was then In each essential feature Of the fantasies of men. When at night he thinks me sleeping I feel him boring sly Within my bones. But for the charge that blessed things I'd liefer not have be...

Thomas Hardy. And shakes this fragile frame at eve With throbbings of noontide. You love not me. `Would God it came to pass My heart had shrunk as thin!' For then. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres. lets part abide. And marching Time drew on.Ð Yet less for loss of your dear presence there Than that I thus found lacking in your make That high compassion which can overbear Reluctance for pure lovingkindness' sake Grieved I. But Time. But. came To soothe a time-torn man. And say. unto the store Of human deeds divine in all but name. You did not come. Part steals. 5 10 A Broken Appointment You did not come. a woman. Was it not worth a little hour or more To add yet this: Once you. 5 . I. And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. as the hope-hour stroked its sum. The Darkling Thrush 151 `I look into my glass' I look into my glass. Could lonely wait my endless rest With equanimity. And view my wasting skin. ÐI know and knew it. even though it be You love not me? 5 10 15 The Darkling Thrush I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray. and wore me numb. And love alone can lend you loyalty. undistrest By hearts grown cold to me. to make me grieve. when.

At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead In a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited. Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom. He who played stood there. Smiling into the fire. 31st December 1900 10 15 20 25 30 The Self-Unseeing Here is the ancient floor. She sat here in her chair. gaunt. The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry. The Self-Unseeing And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires. Footworn and hollowed and thin.152 Thomas Hardy. Everything glowed with a gleam. His crypt the cloudy canopy. So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around. frail. The wind his death-lament. Childlike. In blast-beruffled plume. Here was the former door Where the dead feet walked in. That I could think there trembled through His happy goodnight air Some blessed Hope. Bowing it higher and higher. Yet we were looking away! 5 10 . I danced in a dream. The land's sharp features seemed to be The Century's corpse outleant. And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I. and small. Blessings emblazoned that day. whereof he knew And I was unaware. An aged thrush.

Thou knowest the walls. My heart. Thou heardst me truer than tongue confess Thy terror. the hurtle of hell Behind. where. And after it almost unmade. fastened me flesh. altar and hour and night: The swoon of a heart that the sweep and the hurl of thee trod Hard down with a horror of height: And the midriff astrain with leaning of. 3 The frown of his face Before me. Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh? Over again I feel thy finger and find thee. 7th.Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844±1889) The Wreck of the Deutschland To the happy memory of five Franciscan nuns exiles by the Falck Laws drowned between midnight and morning of Dec. O God. 5 10 15 20 . Thou hast bound bones and veins in me. O Christ. 1875 Part the First 1 Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread. 2 I did say yes O at lightning and lashed rod. laced with fire of stress. Lord of living and dead. what with dread. but you were dovewinged. sway of the sea. World's strand. I can tell. where was a. where was a place? I whirled out wings that spell And fled with a fling of the heart to the heart of the Host.

there its swelling to be. lovely-asunder Starlight. I steady as a water in a well. hearts are flushed by and melt ± But it rides time like riding a river (And here the faithful waver. maiden's knee. a drift. The dense and the driven Passion. Christ's gift. 4 I am soft sift In an hourglass ± at the wall Fast. We lash with the best or worst Word last! How a lush-kept plush-capped sloe 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . but mined with a motion. 5 I kiss my hand To the stars. 8 Is out with it! Oh. Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey. though in high flood yet ± What none would have known of it. 7 It dates from day Of his going in Galilee. That guilt is hushed by. wafting him out of it. Manger. tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder. a vein Of the gospel proffer. To flash from the flame to the flame then. only the heart. the faithless fable and miss). and frightful sweat: Thence the discharge of it. stressed. always. tower from the grace to the grace. Kiss my hand to the dappled-with-damson west: Since. and bless when I understand. His mystery must be instressed. and Glow. to a pane. glory in thunder. But roped with. 6 Not out of his bliss Springs the stress felt Nor first from heaven (and few know this) Swings the stroke dealt ± Stroke and a stress that stars and storms deliver. a pressure.154 Gerard Manley Hopkins. The Wreck of the Deutschland Carrier-witted. being hard at bay. all the way down from the tall Fells or flanks of the voel. And it crowds and it combs to the fall. to a poise. I am bold to boast. For I greet him the days I meet him. a principle. Though felt before.

as once at a crash Paul. wanting it. the million of rounds of thy mercy not reeve even them in? 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . Yet did the dark side of the bay of thy blessing Not vault them. we. full! ± Hither then. Gush! ± flush the man. Two hundred souls in the round ± O Father. Beyond saying sweet. melt him but master him still: Whether at once. Thou art lightning and love. last or first. of a fourth the doom to be drowned. I found it. some The flange and the rail. And storms bugle his fame. or flood' goes Death on drum. a lingering-out sweet skõll. Á God. Christ's feet ± Never ask if meaning it. three-numbered form. American-outward-bound. Part the Second 11 `Some find me a sword. tell men with women. Make mercy in all of us. but be adored. 10 With an anvil-ding And with fire in him forge thy will Or rather. a winter and warm. Wring thy rebel. out of us all Mastery. past telling of tongue.Gerard Manley Hopkins. stealing as Spring Through him. flame. forget that there must The sour scythe cringe. Take settler and seamen. with wrecking and storm. 9 Be adored among men. sour or sweet. dogged in den. rather then. though our flower the same. Â Â Or as Austin. The Wreck of the Deutschland 155 Will. Fang. and the blear share come. warned of it ± men go. Brim. mouthed to flesh-burst. but be adored King. Man's malice. Â But we dream we are rooted in earth ± Dust! Flesh falls within sight of us. To hero of Calvary. in a flash. 12 On Saturday sailed from Bremen. Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung: Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then. the being with it. not under thy feathers nor ever as guessing The goal was a shoal. Wave with the meadow.

buck and the flood of the wave? 17 They fought with God's cold ± And they could not and fell to the deck (Crushed them) or water (and drowned them) or rolled With the sea-romp over the wreck. And canvas and compass. the whorl and the wheel Idle for ever to waft her or wind her with. For the infinite air is unkind. And frightful a nightfall folded rueful a day Nor rescue. carved with cares. shone. and so the sky keeps.156 Gerard Manley Hopkins. Hope had mourning on. Trenched with tears. 14 She drove in the dark to leeward. 16 One stirred from the rigging to save The wild woman-kind below. these she endured. Hope was twelve hours gone. black-backed in the regular blow. And the sea flint-flake. ± they shook in the hurling and horrible airs. in cursed quarter. with the heart-break hearing a heart-broke rabble. the wind. Night roared. What could he do With the burl of the fountains of air. Sitting Eastnortheast. on Sunday. Á Wiry and white-fiery and whirlwind-swivelled snow Spins to the widow-making unchilding unfathering deeps. With a rope's end round the man. 15 Hope had grown grey hairs. Hurling the haven behind. The breakers rolled on her beam with ruinous shock. only rocket and lightship. the crying of child without check ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . The woman's wailing. For all his dreadnought breast and braids of thew: They could tell him for hours. And she beat the bank down with her bows and the ride of her keel. And lives at last were washing away: To the shrouds they took. The Wreck of the Deutschland 13 Into the snows she sweeps. handy and brave ± He was pitched to his death at a blow. dandled the to and fro Through the cobbled foam-fleece. The Deutschland. She struck ± not a reef or a rock But the combs of a smother of sand: night drew her Dead to the Kentish Knock.

thou Orion of light. one. a virginal tongue told. Mark. and the call of the tall nun To the men in the tops and the tackle rode over the storm's brawling. such a melting. double a desperate name! O world wide of its good! But Gertrude. are two of a town. lily showers ± sweet heaven was astrew in them. A prophetess towered in the tumult. The Wreck of the Deutschland 157 Till a lioness arose breasting the babble. Banned by the land of their birth. The rash smart sloggering brine Blinds her. snow. Rhine refused them.Gerard Manley Hopkins. Have you! make words break from me here all alone. river and earth Gnashed: but thou art above. O unteachably after evil. Thy unchancelling poising palms were weighing the worth. Surf. 22 Five! the finding and sake And cipher of suffering Christ. her master and mine! ± And the inboard seas run swirling and hawling. 20 She was first of a five and came Á Of a coifed sisterhood. Christ's lily and beast of the waste wood: From life's dawn it is drawn down.) 21 Loathed for a love men knew in them. but uttering truth. lily. (O Deutschland. the mark is of man's make 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 . tears! is it? tears. a madrigal start! Never-eldering revel and river of youth. Do you! ± mother of being in me. What can it be. a sister calling A master. heart. this glee? the good you have there of your own? 19 Sister. but she that weather sees one thing. 18 Ah. Thou martyr-master: in thy sight Storm flakes were scroll-leaved flowers. Are you! turned for an exquisite smart. touched in your bower of bone. Why. Thames would ruin them. Has one fetch in her: she rears herself to divine Ears. and Luther. Abel is Cain's brother and breasts they have sucked the same.

the jay-blue heavens appearing Of pied and peeled May! Blue-beating and hoary-glow height. christens her wild-worst Best. The Wreck of the Deutschland And the word of it Sacrificed. Drawn to the Life that died. but it was not these. Is it love in her of the being as her lover had been? Breathe. On a pastoral forehead of Wales. 24 Away in the loveable west. signal. 210 . come quickly': The cross to her she calls Christ to her. With the gnarls of the nails in thee. And they the prey of the gales. Are sisterly sealed in wild waters. I was at rest. But he scores it in scarlet himself on his own bespoken. altogether.158 Gerard Manley Hopkins. Á Before-time-taken. Christ. The treasure never eyesight got. still higher. the men Woke thee with a We are perishing in the weather of Gennesareth. arch and original Breath. The keener to come at the comfort for feeling the combating keen? 175 180 185 190 195 200 26 For how to the heart's cheering The down-dugged ground-hugged grey Hovers off. or night. They were else-minded then. niche of the lance. father Francis. to breathe in his all-fire glances. She to the black-about air. to the throng that catches and quails Was calling `O Christ. to the breaker. The jading and jar of the cart. ruddying of the rose-flake. 25 The majesty! what did she mean? Breathe. his Lovescape crucified And seal of his seraph-arrival! and these thy daughters Á Á And five-lived and leaved favour and pride. dearest prized and priced ± Stigma. cinquefoil token For lettering of the lamb's fleece. I was under a roof here. nor was ever guessed what for the hearing? 27 No. 205 With belled fire and the moth-soft Milky Way. the thickly Falling flakes. body of lovely Death. 23 Joy fall to thee. To bathe in his fall-gold mercies. Or is it that she cried for the crown then. What by your measure is the heaven of desire.

ring of it. lord it with living and dead. 28 But how shall I . O of a feathery delicacy. come faster ± Strike you the sight of it? look at it loom there. then further it finds The appealing of the Passion is tenderer in prayer apart: Other. But here was heart-throe. 29 Ah! there was a heart right! There was single eye! Read the unshapeable shock night And knew the who and the why. 215 220 225 230 235 240 31 Well. electrical horror. . the breast of the Maiden could obey so. deal. the only one. worded by? ± The Simon Peter of a soul! to the blast È Tarpeõan-fast. The Wreck of the Deutschland 159 Time's tasking. birth of a brain. despatch and have done with his doom there. in wind's burly and beat of endragoned seas. go and bleed at a bitterer vein for the Comfortless unconfessed of them ± No not uncomforted: lovely-felicitous Providence 245 Finger of a tender of. Heaven and earth are word of. Á For so conceived. Head: He was to cure the extremity where he had cast her. There then! the Master. it is fathers that asking for ease Of the sodden-with-its-sorrowing heart. Thing that she . be a bell to. . does tempest carry the grain for thee? . Not danger. but a blown beacon of light. make me room there: Reach me a . heart's light. in his triumph. Do. Let him ride. What was the feast followed the night Thou hadst glory of this nun? ± Feast of the one woman without stain. Ipse. . and Startle the poor sheep back! is the shipwrack then a harvest. for the Patience. that heard and kept thee and uttered thee outright. Christ. she has thee for the pain. but pity of the rest of them! Heart. in measure her mind's Á Burden. Wording it how but by him that present and past. Jesu. her pride. Word. I gather. . maid's son.Gerard Manley Hopkins. . Fancy. . so to conceive thee is done. King. 30 Jesu.

heart-fleshed. our thoughts' chivalry's throng's Lord. 250 255 33 With a mercy that outrides The all of water. 275 280 God's Grandeur The world is charged with the grandeur of God. as his reign rolls. The heaven-flung. pent in prison.160 Gerard Manley Hopkins. prince. be a crimson-cresseted east. new born to the world. 34 Now burn. throned behind Death with a sovereignty that heeds but hides. Of the Yore-flood. upon English souls! Let him easter in us. like shining from shook foil. Á Mid-numbered he in three of the thunder-throne! Not a dooms-day dazzle in his coming nor dark as he came. fetched in the storm of his strides. 260 A vein for the visiting of the past-prayer. the heaven-haven of the reward: Our King back. Oh. 265 Á Double-natured name. Ground of being. an ark For the listener. Pride. . not a lightning of fire hard-hurled. Our hearts' charity's hearth's fire. and granite of it: past all Grasp God. be a dayspring to the dimness of us. and among our shoals. of the year's fall. bodes but abides. let flash to the shire. at our door Drowned. A released shower. 35 Dame. The Christ of the Father compassionate. for the lingerer with a love glides Lower than death and the dark. 270 Kind. rose. The-last-breath penitent spirits ± the uttermost mark Á Our passion-plunged giant risen. Remember us in the roads. hero of us. It will flame out. Stanching. but royally reclaiming his own. The recurb and the recovery of the gulf's sides. More brightening her. high-priest. God's Grandeur 32 I admire thee. The girth of it and the wharf of it and the wall. quenching ocean of a motionable mind. rare-dear Britain. maiden-furled Miracle-in-Mary-of-flame. master of the tides.

nor can foot feel. here Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then. their gear and tackle and trim. Pied Beauty 161 It gathers to a greatness. As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding Rebuffed the big wind. how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off. Why do men then now not reck his rod? Generations have trod. ah my dear. spare. ± the achieve of. O my chevalier! Â Â No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine. off forth on swing. in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air. have trod. a billion Times told lovelier. being shod. dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon. and plough. kingdom of daylight's dauphin. 5 10 The Windhover To Christ our Lord I caught this morning morning's minion.Gerard Manley Hopkins. 5 10 Pied Beauty Glory be to God for dappled things ± For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow. have trod. pride. more dangerous. Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls. air. smeared with toil. And all is seared with trade. at the brown brink eastward. Fall. and striding High there. plume. All things counter. springs ± Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings. Â Â And all trades. bleared. gall themselves. the mastery of the thing! Brute beauty and valour and act. And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil Is bare now. strange. original. nature is never spent. morning. like the ooze of oil Crushed. and gash gold-vermilion. My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird. For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim. freckled (who knows how?) 5 . and blue-bleak embers. fallow. oh. And for all this. finches' wings. Landscape plotted and pieced ± fold. There lives the dearest freshness deep down things. Whatever is fickle. And though the last lights off the black West went Oh.

like this sleek and seeing ball But a prick will make no eye at all. Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun. Ah well. even where we mean To mend her we end her. Sweet especial rural scene. All felled. felled. all contended? Sickness broke him.162 Gerard Manley Hopkins. though a heavenlier heart began some Months earlier. dim. 10 Binsey Poplars Felled 1879 My aspens dear. her being so slender. are all felled. he cursed at first. pining. only ten or twelve  Strokes of havoc unselve The sweet especial scene. sweet. since I had our sweet reprieve and ransom Tendered to him. whose airy cages quelled. Of a fresh and following folded rank Not spared. 5 10 15 20 Felix Randal Felix Randal the farrier. When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. Who have watched his mould of man. but mended Being anointed and all. That. fleshed there. Where we. God rest him all road ever he offended! 5 . slow. Binsey Poplars With swift. big-boned and hardy-handsome Pining. O is he dead then? my duty all ended. O if we but knew what we do When we delve or hew ± Hack and rack the growing green! Since country is so tender  To touch. a rural scene. He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. sour. not one That dandled a sandalled Shadow that swam or sank On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank. till time when reason rambled in it and some Fatal four disorders. adazzle. Rural scene. Impatient. Ten or twelve.

. us too it endears. earlstars. dõsmembering | all now. Thy tears that touched my heart. Heart. overbend us. Crying What I do is me: for that I came. .  pack . and lovely in eyes not his To the Father through the features of men's faces. dragonflies draw flame. For Christ plays in ten thousand places. each hung bell's Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name. When thou at the random grim forge. My tongue had taught thee comfort. Felix. Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 This seeing the sick endears them to us. | self Ân self steeped and pashed õ  ± quite    Disremembering. all thy more boisterous years. How far from then forethought of. her dapple is at end.      Ever so black on it. black. her earliest stars. voluminous.Gerard Manley Hopkins. Lovely in limbs. O our oracle! | Let life. touch had quenched thy tears. powerful amidst peers. home-of-all. Selves ± goes itself. As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring. Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells. as5 Á  tray or aswarm. and will end us. Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is ±  Chrõst. poor Felix Randal. attuneable. . 5 10 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves Earnest. all on two spools. pen. | womb-of-all. waned. whelms.  I say more: the just man justices. you round me right   Âur    With: Our evening is over us.   Fõre-featuring heaven. o night | whelms. all through her. | vaulty. Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west. part. stupendous   Evening strains to be tõme's vast. | her wild hollow hoarlight hung to the height  Waste. earthless.   Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces. Only the beakleaved boughs dragonish | damask the tool-smooth bleak light. ah let life wind 10        Off her once skeined stained veined varõety | upon. like each tucked string tells. myself it speaks and spells. child. equal. in throngs. For earth | her being has unbound. Didst fettle for the great grey drayhorse his bright and battering sandal! 10 `As Kingfishers Catch Fire' As kingfishers catch fire. | stars principal. Our tale. hearse-of-all night.

and fresh wind shakes Them. ware of a world where bu these | two tell. sheathe-and shelterless. Why do sinners' ways prosper? and why must Disappointment all I endeavour end? Wert thou my enemy. than thou dost Defeat. but strain. banks and brakes Á Á Now. Lord'    Now her all in two flocks. õ `Thou art indeed just. leaved how thick! laced they are again With fretty chervil. but. Mine. thwart me? Oh. | right. Lord' Justus quidem tu es. I wonder. | thoughts agaõnst  thoughts Ân groans grõnd. See. look. Thou art indeed just. selfstrung. the sots and thralls of lust Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend. and not breed one work that wakes. two folds ± black. wrong. mind      Ât But these two. verumtamen justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c. Domine. 5 10 . each off the other. `Thou art indeed just. selfwrung. send my roots rain. reckon but. Time's eunuch. si disputem tecum. O thou my friend. of a rack   Where. no. white. birds build ± but not I build.164 Gerard Manley Hopkins. O thou lord of life. life upon thy cause. reck but. How wouldst thou worse. Lord. so what I plead is just. sir. if I contend With thee. Sir.

look right. Because 'tis fifty years tonight That God has saved the Queen. The dales are light between. The saviours come not home to-night: Themselves they could not save. `God save the Queen' we living sing. tombstones show And Shropshire names are read. From height to height 'tis heard.A. we'll remember friends of ours Who shared the work with God. E. And with the rest your voices ring. The shires have seen it plain. Look left. when the flame they watch not towers About the soil they trod. And the Nile spills his overflow Beside the Severn's dead. 25 5 10 15 20 . From north and south the sign returns And beacons burn again. It dawns in Asia. And fire the beacons up and down The land they perished for. Housman (1859±1936) From: A Shropshire Lad I 1887 From Clee to heaven the beacon burns. Lads. Lads of the Fifty-third. the hills are bright. To skies that knit their heartstrings right. Now. We pledge in peace by farm and town The Queen they served in war. To fields that bred them brave.

Up.166 A. And God will save the Queen. belfries call. Twenty will not come again. Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters. E. 'tis late for lying: Hear the drums of morning play. lad. Forelands beacon. fear you not: Be you the men you've been. Hark. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room. Up. Housman. the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough. Never lad that trod on leather Lived to feast his heart with all. II Loveliest of trees. It only leaves me fifty more. Get you the sons your fathers got. And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now. About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow. God will save her. Morns abed and daylight slumber Were not meant for man alive. lad: thews that lie and cumber Sunlit pallets never thrive. Trampled to the floor it spanned. And the tent of night in tatters Straws the sky-pavilioned land. And take from seventy springs a score. IV Reveille Wake: the silver dusk returning Up the beach of darkness brims. From: A Shropshire Lad Oh. And the ship of sunrise burning Strands upon the eastern rims. the empty highways crying `Who'll beyond the hills away?' Towns and countries woo together. up. 5 5 30 10 10 15 20 . of my threescore years and ten.

Breath's a ware that will not keep. There revenges are forgot. And set you at your threshold down. Let me mind the house of dust Where my sojourn shall be long. Shoulder-high we bring you home. XII When I watch the living meet. XVI It nods and curtseys and recovers When the wind blows above. the road all runners come. If the heats of hate and lust In the house of flesh are strong. And the moving pageant file Warm and breathing through the street Where I lodge a little while. E. but blood's a rover. The nettle on the graves of lovers That hanged themselves for love. 5 5 5 10 15 . Man and boy stood cheering by. the wind blows over. Lovers lying two and two Ask not whom they sleep beside.A. In the nation that is not Nothing stands that stood before. Up. And the hater hates no more. And the bridegroom all night through Never turns him to the bride. XIX To an Athlete Dying Young The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the marketplace. Today. From: A Shropshire Lad 167 Clay lies still. And home we brought you shoulder-high. The man. he does not move. lad: when the journey's over There'll be time enough to sleep. the lover That hanged himself for love. The nettle nods. The lover of the grave. Townsman of a stiller town. Housman.

168 A. From: A Shropshire Lad Smart lad. `Is my girl happy. XXVII `Is my team ploughing. Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut. So set. E. to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose. the keeper Stands up to keep the goal. No change though you lie under The land you used to plough. That I thought hard to leave. Housman. `Is football playing Along the river shore. She lies not down to weep: 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . she lies down lightly. Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. The harness jingles now. The fleet foot on the sill of shade. before its echoes fade. the horses trample. And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears: Now you will not swell the rout Of lads that wore their honours out. the ball is flying. That I was used to drive And hear the harness jingle When I was man alive?' Ay. Now I stand up no more?' Ay. The lads play heart and soul. And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup. The goal stands up. With lads to chase the leather. And has she tired of weeping As she lies down at eve?' Ay.

if truth were told. it plies the saplings double. they were there. And has he found to sleep in A better bed than mine?' Yes. Have willed more mischief than they durst: If in the breathless night I too Shiver now. my lad. Be still. Then. XXXI On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble. More than I. But from my grave across my brow Plays no wind of healing now. Never ask me whose. His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves. And fire and ice within me fight Beneath the suffocating night. The gale. the Roman At yonder heaving hill would stare: The blood that warms an English yeoman. 'tis nothing new. E. 'twas before my time. But then it threshed another wood. XXX Others. I cheer a dead man's sweetheart. 5 5 25 30 10 15 10 . Have stood and sweated hot and cold. Now I am thin and pine. From: A Shropshire Lad 169 Your girl is well contented. And thick on Severn snow the leaves. and sleep. lad. I lie easy. 'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger When Uricon the city stood: 'Tis the old wind in the old anger. The thoughts that hurt him. Housman. Agued once like me were they.A. And through their reins in ice and fire Fear contended with desire. I am not the first. `Is my friend hearty. I lie as lads would choose. But I like them shall win my way Lastly to the bed of mould Where there's neither heat nor cold.

that was brave: Yours was not an ill for mending. it plies the saplings double. I see it shining plain. Souls undone. ± Long time since the tale began. E. XLIV Shot? so quick. What spires. Right you guessed the rising morrow And scorned to tread the mire you must: Dust's your wages. And early wise and brave in season Put the pistol to your head. The happy highways where I went And cannot come again. you could reason. You would not live to wrong your brothers: Oh lad. Now to your grave shall friend and stranger With ruth and some with envy come: 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 .170 A. From: A Shropshire Lad There. so clean an ending? Oh that was right. son of sorrow. The soul that should not have been born. Oh soon. The tree of man was never quiet: Then 'twas the Roman. now 'tis I. what farms are those? That is the land of lost content. 'twill soon be gone: Today the Roman and his trouble Are ashes under Uricon. lad. you died as fits a man. undoing others. And saw your road and where it led. The gale. It blows so hard. Through him the gale of life blew high. But men may come to worse than dust. 'Twas best to take it to the grave. Oh you had forethought. You shot dead the household traitor. and better so than later After long disgrace and scorn. like the wind through woods in riot. Housman. XL Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills.

man. tears fell down. Or shrivelled flax. E. ± call to thought. my soul. for they were long. my soul. never two. Turn safe to rest. whose flower is blue A single season. and feel the sun. in this timeless grave to throw. Clean of guilt. and I muse for why and never find the reason. Break no rosemary. sombre on the snow. here's the wreath I've made: 'Tis not a gift that's worth the taking. be still. 5 25 5 10 15 20 10 . O soul. Snap not from the bitter yew His leaves that live December through. Or if one haulm whose year is o'er Shivers on the upland frore.A. clear of danger. Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry: Then it was well with me. no dreams. I pace the earth. No cypress. it is but for a reason: Let us endure an hour and see injustice done. ± Oh. Nor plod the winter land to look For willows in the icy brook To cast them leafless round him: bring No spray that ever buds in spring. XLVIII Be still. Men loved unkindness then. But if the Christmas field has kept Awns the last gleaner overstept. bright with rime And sparkling to the cruel clime. The days when we had rest. From: A Shropshire Lad 171 Undishonoured. Housman. Be still. XLVI Bring. no waking. pass hence and home. be still. Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and foundedstrong. in days ere I was born. but lightless in the quarry I slept and saw not. the arms you bear are brittle. But wear it and it will not fade. I did not mourn. if now you grieve a little. To give him comfort: he and those Shall bide eternal bedfellows Where low upon the couch he lies Whence he never shall arise. Think rather. and drink the air. bring from hill and stream and plain Whatever will not flower again. And here. Now.

'tis pleasant till 'tis past: The mischief is that 'twill not last. And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders. There can't be much amiss. Oh never fear. 'tis clear. And faith. ale's the stuff to drink For fellows whom it hurts to think: Look into the pewter pot To see the world as the world's not. Ale. lift your pack. Look not left nor right: In all the endless road you tread There's nothing but the night. LXII `Terence. Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse. Oh I have been to Ludlow fair And left my necktie God knows where. Housman. the verse you make. To see the rate you drink your beer. 'tis our turn now To hear such tunes as killed the cow. for what were hop-yards meant. And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough.' Why. But oh. And leave your friends and go. look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation. From: A Shropshire Lad Ay. pipe a tune to dance to. All thoughts to rive the heart are here.172 A. and all are vain: Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation ± Oh why did I awake? when shall I sleep again? LX Now hollow fires burn out to black. the horned head: We poor lads. 5 15 5 10 15 20 25 30 . man. It sleeps well. she is dead. It gives a chap the belly-ache. nought's to dread. Say. E. Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time Moping melancholy mad: Come. lad. if 'tis dancing you would be. The cow. There's brisker pipes than poetry. good Lord. man. the old cow.

seasoned sound. if I may. but trouble's sure. The world. smiling. I'd face it as a wise man would. the tale was all a lie. There was a king reigned in the East: There. my things were wet. And down in lovely muck I've lain. Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer: Then the world seemed none so bad. Sate the king when healths went round. I was I. From: A Shropshire Lad 173 And carried half way home. They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up: They shook. since the world has still Much good.A. thence to more. And train for ill and not for good. ± I tell the tale that I heard told. And I myself a sterling lad. And nothing now remained to do But begin the game anew. Housman. E. But take it: if the smack is sour. And I will friend you. they stared as white's their shirt: Them it was their poison hurt. Therefore. it was the old world yet. And easy. but much less good than ill. Then I saw the morning sky: Heigho. He gathered all that springs to birth From the many-venomed earth. when kings will sit to feast. 'Tis true. the stuff I bring for sale Is not so brisk a brew as ale: Out of a stem that scored the hand I wrung it in a weary land. Mithridates. They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat. It should do good to heart and head When your soul is in my soul's stead. he died old. or near. Happy till I woke again. And while the sun and moon endure Luck's a chance. In the dark and cloudy day. He sampled all her killing store. The better for the embittered hour. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 . They get their fill before they think With poisoned meat and poisoned drink. First a little.

Housman. Possess. And traveller's joy beguiles in autumn Hearts that have lost their own. The pine lets fall its cone. by waters idle. For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways. For nature. On russet floors. Or marshalled under moons of harvest Stand still all night the sheaves.174 A. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Nor ask amid the dews of morning If they are mine or no. The countries I resign. From: Last Poems From: Last Poems XL Tell me not here. Or beeches strip in storms for winter And stain the wind with leaves. heartless. On acres of the seeded grasses The changing burnish heaves. What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays. it needs not saying. Where over elmy plains the highway Would mount the hills and shine. as I possessed a season. The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing In leafy dells alone. Will neither care nor know What stranger's feet may find the meadow And trespass there and go. E. And full of shade the pillared forest Would murmur and be mine. witless nature.

Come away. Weaving olden dances. Come away. Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car. Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night. Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries. And of reddest stolen cherries. hand in hand. There we've hid our faery vats. Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light. To and fro we leap And chase the forthy bubbles. hand in hand. We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears 5 10 15 20 25 30 .William Butler Yeats (1865±1939) The Stolen Child Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water-rats. While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery.

as the leaves grow on the tree. For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand. foam of the sky. Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. with all their mournful pride. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. The solemn-eyed: He'll hear no more the lowing Of the calves on the warm hillside Or the kettle on the hob Sing peace into his breast. Come away. She bid me take love easy. Down by the Salley Gardens Give them unquiet dreams. 35 40 45 50 Down by the Salley Gardens Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet. To the waters and the wild With a faery. We and the labouring world are passing by: Amid men's souls. 5 The Rose of the World Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips. hand in hand. Mournful that no new wonder may betide. the human child. 5 10 . being young and foolish. and now am full of tears. that waver and give place Like the pale waters in their wintry race. For he comes. hand in hand. She bid me take life easy. Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam. Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams. In a field by the river my love and I did stand. But I was young and foolish. And Usna's children died. Lives on this lonely face. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.176 William Butler Yeats. Under the passing stars. as the grass grows on the weirs. She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. Away with us he's going. And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. But I. with her would not agree.

And a small cabin build there. of clay and wattles made: Nine bean rows will I have there. lift up your russet brow. archangels. And dance upon the level shore? Young man. And evening full of the linnet's wings. 15 The Lake Isle of Innisfree I will arise and go now. how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore. How many loved your moments of glad grace. . And live alone in the bee-loud glade. for peace comes dropping slow. or on the pavements grey. Who Goes with Fergus? 177 Bow down. And loved the sorrows of your changing face. And loved your beauty with love false or true. and of their shadows deep. a hive for the honey bee. or any hearts to beat. There midnight's all a glimmer. And bending down beside the glowing bars. While I stand on the roadway. take down this book. Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings. And pierce the deep wood's woven shade. and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once. I hear it in the deep heart's core. in your dim abode: Before you were. Weary and kind one lingered by His seat. I will arise and go now. 5 10 When You Are Old When you are old and grey and full of sleep. and noon a purple glow. Murmur. And slowly read. and go to Innisfree. He made the world to be a grassy road Before her wandering feet. And nodding by the fire. a little sadly.William Butler Yeats. But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you. And I shall have some peace there. 5 10 Who Goes with Fergus? Who will go drive with Fergus now.

5 10 15 The Song of Wandering Aengus I went out to the hazel wood. Ere Time transfigured me. I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me. Because a fire was in my head. 5 10 The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner Although I shelter from the rain Under a broken tree. And cut and peeled a hazel wand. My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics. And rules the shadows of the wood. And no more turn aside and brood Upon love's bitter mystery.178 William Butler Yeats. And the white breast of the dim sea And all dishevelled wandering stars. maid. And hooked a berry to a thread. Though lads are making pikes again For some conspiracy. 5 10 . The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner And lift your tender eyelids. There's not a woman turns her face Upon a broken tree. But something rustled on the floor. My contemplations are of Time That has transfigured me. And crazy rascals rage their fill At human tyranny. And brood on hopes and fear no more. And when white moths were on the wing. I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. And moth-like stars were flickering out. For Fergus rules the brazen cars. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame. And yet the beauties that I loved Are in my memory.

Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought. That beautiful mild woman. 15 20 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths. have only my dreams. 5 Adam's Curse We sat together at one summer's end. and talked of poetry. And kiss her lips and take her hands.' And thereupon That beautiful mild woman for whose sake 5 10 15 . and clergymen The martyrs call the world. in all kinds of weather. The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light. And you and I. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Enwrought with golden and silver light. Better go down upon your marrow-bones And scrub a kitchen pavement. and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers. Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. schoolmasters.William Butler Yeats. I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I. your close friend. The golden apples of the sun. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands. Adam's Curse 179 And some one called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. being poor. And walk among long dappled grass. I will find out where she has gone. or break stones Like an old pauper. `A line will take us hours maybe. For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these. And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. I said.

and yet we'd grown As weary-hearted as that hollow moon. `It's certain there is no fine thing Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring. But purer than a tall candle before the Holy Rood Is Cathleen.' I said. We saw the last embers of daylight die. `To be born woman is to know ± Although they do not talk of it at school ± That we must labour to be beautiful. Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies. the daughter of Houlihan. the daughter of Houlihan. But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes Of Cathleen. the daughter of Houlihan. worn as if it had been a shell Washed by time's waters as they rose and fell About the stars and broke in days and years. and that I strove To love you in the old high way of love. Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand. 5 10 15 .180 William Butler Yeats. That it had all seemed happy. The yellow pool has overflowed high up on Clooth-na-Bare. For the wet winds are blowing out of the clinging air. And in the trembling blue-green of the sky A moon. I had a thought for no one's but your ears: That you were beautiful. Like heavy flooded waters our bodies and our blood. There have been lovers who thought love should be So much compounded of high courtesy That they would sigh and quote with learned looks Precedents out of beautiful old books. But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet Of Cathleen. Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland There's many a one shall find out all heartache On finding that her voice is sweet and low Replied. 20 25 30 35 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland The old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. Yet now it seems an idle trade enough. The wind has bundled up the clouds high over Knocknarea. And thrown the thunder on the stones for all that Maeve can say.' We sat grown quiet at the name of love. Angers that are like noisy clouds have set our hearts abeat.

attuneable. The 55 Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came 85 `Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee!' `Come. in this timeless grave to throw' 171 Broken Appointment. The 69 `blessed Damozel leaned out. The 125 Body's Beauty 132 Break. stupendous' 163 Felix Randal 162 `First time he kissed me. thou hast brought me many flowers' 7 Binsey Poplars 162 Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church. the arms you bear are brittle' 171 `Beloved. equal. did you once see Shelley plain' 90 `All hushed and still within the house' 104 `Although I shelter from the rain' 178 `And wilt thou have me fashion into speech' 6 Andrea del Sarto 91 As Kingfishers Catch Fire 163 `As kingfishers catch fire. voluminous. earthless. Break. dragonflies draw flame' 163 `At length their long kiss severed. A 151 `But do not let us quarrel any more' 91 Charge of the Light Brigade. The' 125 Blessed Damozel.Index of Titles and First Lines Adam's Curse 179 `Ah. . . my soul. . | vaulty. with sweet smart' 134 Aurora Leigh 8 Autumn Idleness 131 `Be still. be still. The 151 Dover Beach 117 `Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet' Down by the Salley Gardens 176 108 176 `Earnest. walk with me' 106 Crossing the Bar 61 Darkling Thrush. he but only kissed' 7 . Break 31 `Bring.

from the hill' 119 Goblin Market 135 God's Grandeur 160 Grammarian's Funeral. A 98 `grey sea and the long black land. The 128 Lady of Shalott. and go to Innisfree' 177 `I wonder do you feel today' 97 Impercipient. The 178 `Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife' `Let us begin and carry up this corpse' 98 64 6 . for they call you. G. 33 `Into my heart an air that kills' 170 `Is my team ploughing' 168 `It little profits that an idle king' 23 `It nods and curtseys and recovers' 167 Julian M. Shepherd. The 19 Lake Isle of Innisfree. Rochelle 109 `Just for a handful of silver he left us' Kiss. The 128 `How do I love thee? Let me count the ways' 7 `How still. by your leave!' 75 `I caught this morning morning's minion' 161 `I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood' 57 `I leant upon a coppice gate' 151 `I look into my glass' 151 `I never gave a lock of hair away' 6 `I said: `Nay. ± let the first fruit be' 132 `I went out to the hazel wood' 178 `I will arise and go now. The 149 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury 150 In Memoriam A. from Abroad 68 House of Life: A Sonnet-Sequence. H. H. The' 72 `GR-R-R ± there go. The 177 Lamentation of the Old Pensioner. and A. my heart's abhorrence!' 65 `Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths' 179 `Half a league.182 Index of Titles and First Lines Found 134 Fra Lippo Lippi 75 `From Clee to heaven the beacon burns' 165 `Glory be to God for dappled things' 161 `Go. half a league' 55 `Here is the ancient floor' 152 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven 179 Hoarded Joy 132 Home-Thoughts. how happy! those are words' 104 `I am poor brother Lippo. pluck not.

The' 67 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 180 `Remember me when I am gone away' 135 Remember 135 Remembrance 108 133 180 . it is told' 132 `Of writing many books there is no end' 8 `Oh Galuppi. The 133 `Others. where art thou now?' 104 `Of Adam's first wife. my name is Might-have-been' Lost Leader. this is very sad to find!' 83 `Oh. he lied in every word' 85 My Last Duchess 63 Nature's Questioning 148 Neutral Tones 148 Never the Time and the Place 102 `night is darkening round me. whose airy cages quelled' 162 `My first thought was. Baldassaro. The 64 Love Among the Ruins 72 Love-Letter. I am not the first' 169 Parting at Morning 72 Pied Beauty 161 Porphyria's Lover 67 Princess. The 109 `rain set early in tonight. to be in England' 68 `old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. Lilith. The' `On either side the river lie' 19 `On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble' 169 One Hope. the cherry now' 166 Love's Fatality 130 Mariana 17 `Maud' 57 Meeting at Night 72 Memorabilia 90 Memorial Thresholds 132 Mid-Rapture 130 `Mild the mist upon the hill' 105 `Morning and evening' 135 Morte D'Arthur 24 `My aspens dear. A Medley. The' 103 `No coward soul is mine' 113 `Now hollow fires burn out to black' 172 Nuptial Sleep 134 `O Dream. The 31 Prisoner. The 129 `Loveliest of trees.Index of Titles and First Lines 183 `Long neglect has worn away' 103 `Look in my face.

this is stupid stuff ' 172 `That there are powers above us I admit' 114 `That with this bright believing band' 149 `That's my last Duchess painted on the wall' 63 `There is a budding morrow in midnight' 134 `This sunlight shames November where he grieves' 131 Thou art indeed just. immortal Love' 33 `Sunset and evening star' 61 Superscription. The 178 Sonnets from the Portuguese 6 Soul's Beauty 131 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 Stolen Child. I know not what they mean' 31 `Tell me not here. A 83 Two in the Campagna 97 Ulysses 23 `Under the arch of Life. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love' 130 `Tears. thou my love' 130 `Thou mastering me' 153 `time you won your town the race. Lord 164 `Thou lovely and beloved. A 133 Supreme Surrender 129 `Sweet Love. saith the preacher. The' 117 Self-Dependence 116 Self-Unseeing. The 152 `Shot? so quick. The 118 `sea is calm tonight. The' 167 `To all the spirits of Love that wander by' 129 To an Athlete Dying Young 167 To Imagination 107 To Marguerite 116 Toccata of Galuppi's.184 Index of Titles and First Lines Reveille 166 Rose of the World. vanity!' `Wake: the silver dusk returning' 69 166 131 . idle tears. where love and death' `Vanity. A 165 `Silent is the House ± all are laid asleep' 109 `So all day long the noise of battle roll'd' 24 Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister 65 Song of Wandering Aengus. The 176 `Round the cape of a sudden came the sea' 72 `Say not the struggle naught availeth' 114 Scholar-Gipsy. so clean an ending?' 170 Shropshire Lad. it needs not saying' 174 `Terence. The 175 `Strong Son of God.

The' 160 Wreck of the Deutschland. The' 150 `Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd' 116 `You did not come' 151 1887 165 . The 161 `With blackest moss the flower-plots' 17 Without Her 130 `world is charged with the grandeur of God. and sick of asking' 116 `What of her glass without her? The blank grey' 130 Á `What place so strange. The 153 `years have gathered grayly. ± though unrevealed snow' 132 `What smouldering senses in death's sick delay' 128 `What winter floods.Index of Titles and First Lines 185 `Warmed by her hand and shadowed by her hair' 129 `We sat together at one summer's end' 179 `We stood by a pond that winter day' 148 `Weary of myself. what showers of spring' 103 `When I look forth at dawning. pool' 148 `When I watch the living meet' 167 `When vain desire at last and vain regret' 133 `When weary with the long day's care' 107 `When you are old and grey and full of sleep' 177 When You Are Old 177 `Where dips the rocky highland' 175 `Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles' 72 `Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?' 176 Who Goes with Fergus? 177 `Who will go drive with Fergus now' 177 Windhover.