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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 .
paper) 1. Duncan. Victorians.V53 2002 821’. paper)—ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23076‐2 (pbk. mechanical. stored in a retrieval system. MA 02148‐5020.808—dc21 2002020878 ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23075‐5 (alk. English poetry—19th century. Victoria 3053. edited by Valentine Cunningham. visit our website: www. II. ISBN 0‐631‐23075‐0 (alk. USA 9600 Garsington Road. without the prior permission of the publisher. Malden. Series PR1223 . Carlton.com . cm. No part of this publication may be reproduced. Pondicherry. or transmitted. Oxford OX4 2DQ. p. Furthermore. Set in 8/10 pt Galliard by Kolam Information Services Pvt. — (Blackwell essential literature) “Based on The Victorians: an anthology of poetry and poetics. 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. UK 550 Swanston Street. Designs. Wu. and which has been manufactured from pulp processed using acid‐free and elementary chlorine‐free practices. First published 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd 4 2007 Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data Victorian poetry / edited by Duncan Wu. Ltd.blackwellpublishing. III. except as permitted by the UK Copyright. For further information on Blackwell Publishing. electronic.” Includes bibliographical references and index. the publisher ensures that the text paper and cover board used have met acceptable environmental accreditation standards. photocopying. : alk. paper)—ISBN 0‐631‐23076‐9 (pbk. in any form or by any means. Australia All rights reserved. selection and arrangement © 2002 by Duncan Wu and Valentine Cunningham BLACKWELL PUBLISHING 350 Main Street. : alk. paper) A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. and Patents Act 1988. recording or otherwise.© 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd Editorial matter. I.
Break' From The Princess. H. 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. A Medley From In Memoriam A.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. 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.
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 . and A. G. Brenzaida') Julian M. Alcona to J. where art thou now?' `How still.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. what showers of spring' `Long neglect has worn away' `The night is darkening round me' `All hushed and still within the house' `O Dream. walk with me' To Imagination Remembrance (`R. how happy! those are words' `Mild the mist upon the hill' `Come.
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 .viii Contents A. E.
The acknowledged virtues of the Blackwell Anthologies are range and variety. these volumes comprise a crucial resource for anyone who reads or studies poetry. compactness and ease of use. They will be particularly helpful to students hard-pressed for time. Each volume contains a general introduction designed to introduce the reader to those central works. 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. Together. those of the Essential Literature series are authoritative selection.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. who need a digest of the poetry of each historical period. Based on correspondent volumes in the Blackwell Anthologies series. Duncan Wu St Catherine's College. most of these volumes run to no more than 200 pages. Oxford .
which reflect the catholicity of interest within the period. In between he offers a rich selection of verse. Ebenezer Elliot and William Barnes. Alfred È (Lord) Tennyson. Missing Links. xxxv. leeks. poverty. What this selection lacks in range it makes up for in depth. faith. including complete texts of `Fra Lippo Lippi'. 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. love. Grimm's Law. science. railway lines and railway trains. Matthew Arnold. William Morris. genitalia. This volume aims to do something different. death. pain. Christina G. other anthologies of Victorian writing. poets. `The Scholar-Gipsy'. Fanny Kemble. p. Arthur Hugh Clough. Psychical Research. . Pressure of space necessarily denies admission to many of those anthologized by Professor Cunningham ± James Thomson. Robert Louis Stevenson. soup. Gerard Manley Hopkins. the poetry of women poets such as Caroline Norton. a cabbage leaf. paintings. including anonymous street ballads. introduction. W. In Memoriam is my comfort'.1 For range readers will require The Victorians ± and. `Dover Beach'. `The Prisoner'. should they desire even more. Jemima Luke. onions. omnibuses. tobacco. chairs. The diversity is highlighted by Professor Cunningham in his introduction: So here are poems about cod-liver oil. Tennyson and Browning predominate. war.Introduction Duncan Wu Recent anthologies of Victorian poetry and prose have provided readers with a remarkably diverse and wide-ranging body of work. `Next to the Bible. E. soap. Henley. booze. Robert Browning. 2000). Emily (Jane) Bronte. The Victorians: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. Housman and William Butler Yeats. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. E. Rossetti. fairies. George Meredith. cricket players. poetry. going to the dentist. Lewis Carroll. Housman and Kipling at the other. There are few better examples of the Victorian preoccupation with death and its aftermath. God. Thomas Hardy. dead dogs. sado-masochism. as they are the major poets of the age. as well as rural writers like John Clare. weather in the suburbs. snow. Eliza Cook and Dora Greenwell. to name a few. `Goblin Market' and `The Wreck of the Deutschland'. New Women. It is on the one hand an intensely private poem about one man's 1 Valentine Cunningham. doubt. poems. Valentine Cunningham's invaluable The Victorians ranges from the late works of Wordsworth and Leigh Hunt at one end of the century to Yeats. No less than the queen remarked to Tennyson that. It distills into a smaller space some of the most influential poetry of the period by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. A. `The Blessed Damozel'.
Auden. Its potential would be further championed in the modern period by Eliot and Pound. was not published until 1850. Wordsworth possessed a copy of Tennyson's important 1842 Poems. E. In such sonnets as `Surprised by joy' Wordsworth had attempted the same kind of investigation. 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. was to develop a new kind of psychological poetry ± one that explored the human mind from within. 6 See Robert Bernard Martin. to find. Browning's major contribution. And when the speaker of `A Toccata of Galuppi's' tells us that he feels `chilly and grown old'. on a level beyond the verbal. something rather important has happened. In this sense In Memoriam.2 The fruit of nearly 17 years' labour. and on the other a work that speaks of the innermost anxieties of the age. Forewords and Afterwords ed. but their reign had ended: Tennyson and Browning were remaking the art. comprehending moral failings with a clarity not always vouchsafed in life. 4 In Memoriam lvi 15. As readers of such poetry we are in a privileged position. Tennyson's preoccupation with states of mind looks back to Wordsworth. in common with that of Tennyson. and is found in shorter poems such as `Tears. through the dramatic monologue. The Ulysses who in Tennyson's poem declares his desire `To strive.2 Introduction grief for another. therefore. 7 See for instance Pound's `Piere Vidal Old' and Eliot's `Prufrock'. Edward Mendelson (London: Faber. p. is a product of the zeitgeist.7 2 W. 226. 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. besides much else. the most successful long poem of its day. the divinely appointed one of Wordsworth. The influence of the Romantics was felt throughout the century. H. the same year as In Memoriam. it can be.5 For his part. pp. idle tears'.4 the product of a cosmos lacking a benevolent deity. 3 See in particular In Memoriam lv and lvi. 5 The Prelude.6 By the time Wordsworth died in 1850 Tennyson was in his early forties and Browning in his late thirties. Fra Pandolf ± there is something darker at work. . Herbert Tucker (Oxford: Blackwell. to seek. exemplifying Auden's contention that Tennyson's gift was for expressing feelings of `lonely terror and desire for death'.3 The natural world of In Memoriam is not invariably. Wordsworth's most extensive examination of psychological process. and not to yield' may not be the sort of sea-captain with whom we should set sail. which it is for us to infer. 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. and welcomed an acquaintance with their author. 1999). 1983). 311±13. Tennyson and Browning exploited the form aware that our knowing so much more than their speakers. 1973). pp. `red in tooth and claw'. which concerns the uncontrollable emotions that run deeply in the human heart. it doubtless has its faults ± it is relentless in its subjectivity. Warwick Slinn helpfully contextualizes In Memoriam in his essay on Victorian poetry in A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture ed. 289±91. a growing scepticism that was to find fuller expression in the poetry of Hardy and Housman later in the century. rather. was the key to a new poetic. Tennyson: The Unquiet Heart (London: Faber.
sometimes approaching the subject of romantic passion. She began her creative life as a Romantic poet ± publishing poems in national newspapers during the 1820s. `Julian M. Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton (Oxford: Blackwell. and it is easiest to think of the group as one of visual artists. particularly `That there are powers above us I admit'. `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. they are original poems that are in some sense autobiographical. using the colours of nature as they were. This is particularly evident in such lyrics as `No coward soul is mine' and `Cold in the earth'. Clough and Arnold knew each other from Oxford days. G. perhaps Arnold's greatest work. like most movements. 2000). but the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Rochelle's vision shortly prior to expected death. In Aurora Leigh (1856). they wanted realism. they are not `from the Portuguese' at all. begins this process with a kind of self-portrait written in a reflective. and to choose subjects from contemporary life.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. Taking its lead (and diction) from Keats. any more than the Romantics. they were less coherent and unified than they would have liked. was. and A. which allows us to consider È Bronte as a mystic writer. suffering and fortitude. her subjects are love. Clough's agnosticism comes into sharp focus in the two poems presented here. 8 . The extract from the First Book. ed. The Victorians were not in themselves a movement. as experienced by women. p. formed in 1848. The emotional charge of the poetry is intense and often extreme. This is evident from `Dover Beach'. it contrasts the `sick hurry' of the world with the comparative calm of the landscape. she set out to challenge more directly the gender discrimination of the day in an effort to formulate a feminist poetic.Introduction 3 Browning's wife. In that context their aim was to introduce the qualities of Italian medieval painting. The pretence of translation sets up a bluff that allows Barrett Browning to explore her theme without anxiety. Duncan Wu (Oxford: Blackwell. Rochelle' (known in other versions as `The Prisoner') is a different kind of poem. working directly from the natural object in situ. only to turn to human love when faced by a world `Where ignorant armies clash by night'. at the centre of which is a moment. 2nd edn. below (see pp. Elizabeth Barrett. and reproducing in See for instance `Stanzas on the Death of Lord Byron'. and this often meant introducing `real' people into the work. engaging blank verse that in large measure accounts for the resurgence of this work's popularity in recent years. quite directly ± `active sexual demands and dangers'. has long been the subject of myth. 9 Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology ed. in which he seeks for hope in a `Sea of Faith'. Of course. In fact. 1995). 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. and are often considered as poets of doubt. 65. 1108±9. 9±17). hatred. Romanticism: An Anthology.9 That freedom also licenses her to experiment with different roles. an experimental (and partly autobiographical) verse-novel that describes the integration of love and work. pp. È Emily Bronte is best known as the author of Wuthering Heights (1847). moving easily from that of poet-lover to that of beloved. Where their subject was biblical or historical. but less so as the author of some of the most compelling poetry of the period.
his concept of `inscape' referring to the interior perception into the being of the object. a sensitivity to sensory detail. In Housman nature is `heartless. his sister Christina is far less preoccupied with appearances.10 Dante Gabriel was to make an art out of the decorativeness and elaboration of his verse. He is essentially a visionary writer. 31. indeed. witless'. and capable of blind indifference to human mortality. nature is bleak. 12 Seamus Heaney. its `philological and rhetorical passion'12 and concentration on the inner workings of the soul is pre-eminently a product of the nineteenth. Those feelings. Arthur Pollard (London: Sphere Books. The same cannot be said of the poetry of Hardy. p. Gerard Manley Hopkins's collected verse appeared only in 1918. 1980). 85. Her poetry is full of depression and denial. . decay and desolation. 1975). stripped of the religious significance it possessed for such poets as Hopkins. Preoccupations: Selected Prose 1968±1978 (London: Faber. p. There is in all this a deliberation. In this sense it is not fanciful to consider Hardy and Housman alongside each other. In fact. The poems included here are among the best of his Victorian period. which is why it is easy to regard as a product of the twentieth century.13 Not only is there no evidence of religious faith in Hardy's poetry. a selfconscious medievalism and a highly developed taste in decoration. who is also thought of as a twentieth-century writer. stripped of all the redemptive power with which the Romantics had imbued it. p. most of his best poetry was written after 1900. In matters of style they sought a simplicity of manner. 10 `The Rossettis and Other Contemporary Poets'.11 She is now one of the most widely studied of the Pre-Raphaelites. it can be found in Tennyson's `Mariana' and some of the sonnets in Dante Gabriel Rossetti's House of Life sequence. 13 Tom Paulin. `The Blessed Damozel' (1850) was intended as a companion piece to Poe's `The Raven' (1845). 11 Reynolds and Leighton. 355. and one also finds a frequent use of religious language for evocation (rather than its real meanings). which may have deterred some readers in earlier times. an `involute' or charged combination of emotion and concrete objects. a self-consciousness which can sometimes produce startlingly good poetry. Thomas Hardy: The Poetry of Perception (London: Macmillan. As poets. Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology. In mood they cultivated a love of the morbid ± listlessness. except that Housman's vision is if anything even more lacking in hope than Hardy's. 438. nearly 30 years after his death.4 Introduction minute detail the features of the natural world. 1988). Dante Gabriel and Christina Rossetti looked back to the Coleridge of `Christabel' and the Keats of `Isabella'. and the intense morbidity of her writing finds expression even in the fairy-tale `Goblin Market' (1862). Unlike some of the Romantics. so that in 1995 Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton could confirm her place as `one of the greatest poets of the nineteenth century'. James Sambrook notes that Rossetti's conception of the afterlife. Tom Paulin has noted how in `Neutral Tones' the poem culminates in a total picture. which during his subsequent painful experience has become a permanently meaningful impression. have in the last two decades given her work an added resonance. where the blessed damozel weeps in frustrated longing to join her lover (rather than God) `is not even remotely Christian'. as in both `Neutral Tones' and `The Darkling Thrush'. Hopkins is insistently religious in his understanding: God is the inscape of the created world. The Victorians ed. published in Satires of Circumstance (1914) and Moments of Vision (1917). p.
the French symbolists. a pantheon that includes Thomas Taylor the Platonist. B. can be heard beneath the `tremulous cadence' of the sea in `Dover Beach'. listed below. And in no one was it more vigorously evident than in the work of W. then. Raine writes of Yeats's place within a fugitive intellectual tradition of metaphysical and mystic thought. for fuller scholarly treatment.) Reynolds. (ed. Walter E. to trace a course from the sublime hopes of Wordsworth. uncovering the traces of that `vast generalization' he discerned in the fragmentary portions he assembled. Yeats's great poetry. This knowledge is none the less exact and verifiable for being immeasurable. Swedenborg. Irish fairy traditionalism. There have been many fine books about this great writer. . and the author of the Upanishads: Yeats did not study Plato and Plotinus.) (2000) The Victorians: An Anthology of Poetry and Poetics (Oxford: Blackwell. Herbert F. Further Reading Cunningham. but in truth the Romantic urge to unify and idealize had never really evaporated. Valentine (ed.Introduction 5 This collection of essential poetry of the nineteenth century would appear.) Houghton. Except that it doesn't. Yeats's poetry combines the influences of the Pre-Raphaelites. the kabbalistic and spiritualist worthies with whom he consorted. and nationalist politics in a heady cocktail unlike anything else. through the scepticism of Clough. B. (1957) The Victorian Frame of Mind. 1999). It underpins the medievalism of Tennyson and the Pre-Raphaelites. 1830±1870 (New Haven.14 Never less than exalted in his imaginative ambitions. Angela (eds) (1995) Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. was founded on an unquenchable aspiration. Swedenborg and Blake. Belief may be questioned. 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). Yeats. p. which would produce its finest fruits in the next century.) Tucker. I am much indebted to Valentine Cunningham in what follows. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (Ipswich: Golgonooza Press. CT: Yale University Press. but can't be eliminated from the human soul. Plotinus. Margaret and Leighton. `The Lake Isle of Innisfree' seems like an unexpected way to end a century characterized by increasing doubt and despondency. its truth lies in experiences and disciplines of the mind itself and in the testimony (unanimous and worldwide) of `revelation'.) 14 Kathleen Raine. 76. but I can't think of a better short guide than Kathleen Raine's W. and anyone with a serious interest in this poetry should turn to his anthology. as episodes in the `history of ideas' but because he was tracing a continuous tradition of knowledge. B. the immortal longings with which the 1800s had begun. to the outright desolation of Housman and Hardy.) (1999) A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture (Oxford: Blackwell. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (1999). W.
I thought the funeral-shears Would take this first. ± Seeing that I stand unwon. Nay. thou. My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee. Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief. however wooed. from all those years. . And hold the torch out. of love hid in me out of reach. finding words enough. As girls do. The kiss my mother left here when she died. Shut in upon itself and do no harm 5 10 5 10 . let the silence of my womanhood Commend my woman-love to thy belief. the mark of tears. XXIV Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife. Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree. except this to thee. while the winds are rough. . voiceless fortitude.Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806±1861) Sonnets from the Portuguese (extracts) XIII And wilt thou have me fashion into speech The love I bear thee. Between our faces. It only may Now shade on two pale cheeks. Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside Through sorrow's trick. to cast light on each! ± I drop it at thy feet.' My day of youth went yesterday. . . . Dearest. Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully I ring out to the full brown length and say `Take it. in brief. . that I should bring thee proof In words. XVIII I never gave a lock of hair away To a man. me . finding pure. . but Love is justified: Take it. And rend the garment of my life. By a most dauntless. I cannot teach My hand to hold my spirit so far off From myself . any more.
thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden. out of man's reach. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach. Half falling on the hair. was folded down In perfect. as they turn from Praise. O beyond meed! That was the chrism of love. . XXXVIII First time he kissed me. my own.' XLII How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. `My Love. Smiles. And let us hear no sound of human strife. as men strive for Right. Against the stab of worldlings who if rife Are weak to injure. 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. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs. . And feel as safe as guarded by a charm. XLIII Beloved. without alarm. Growing straight. on the hill. did precede. which love's own crown. when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. With sanctifying sweetness. . and with my childhood's faith. and sought the forehead. . . can make us poor. Than that first kiss. he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write. quick with its `Oh. and half missed. tears. all the summer through 5 10 5 10 5 10 . God only. Dear. indeed. The third. Slow to world-greetings . I love thee freely. The second passed in height The first. Life to life ± I lean upon thee. Sonnets from the Portuguese 7 In this close hand of Love. purple state! since when. I have been proud and said. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here plainer to my sight.' When the angels speak. if God choose. who made us rich. list. After the click of the shutting. And ever since it grew more clean and white. I shall but love thee better after death.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I love thee purely. by sun and candlelight. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. of all my life! ± and. ± I love thee with the breath. now soft and warm.
my own dearest cousin and friend. As when you paint your portrait for a friend. through my various efforts in literature and steps in life. ± Will write my story for my better self. this poor sign of esteem. and the one into which my highest convictions upon Life and Art have entered: that as. therefore. so you may kindly accept. and it seemed as if they grew In this close room. gratitude. So. just To hold together what he was and is. nor missed the sun and showers. from your unforgetting E. B. and affection. 1856 First Book Of writing many books there is no end. And which on warm and cold days I withdrew From my heart's ground. writing thus. and preparing once more to quit England. B.8 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. the most mature of my works. I have not so far left the coasts of life 5 10 . in the like name of that love of ours. Take back these thoughts. From Aurora Leigh And winter. Esq. And tell thy soul. will write now for mine. as I used to do Thy flowers. I. in a sense of less equality and greater disinterestedness than `Romney''s. and been generous to me. far beyond the common uses of mere relationship or sympathy of mind. ± cousin and friend. October 17. and keep them where they shall not pine: Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true. Ending. Here's ivy! ± take them. which here unfolded too. borne with me. in sight of the public. Devonshire Place. those beds and bowers Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue. their roots are left in mine. Indeed. I venture to leave in your hands this book. Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it Long after he has ceased to love you. you have believed in me. And wait thy weeding: yet here's eglantine. am still what men call young. 5 10 From Aurora Leigh Dedication to John Kenyon. The words `cousin' and `friend' are constantly recurring in this poem. And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses. 39. the last pages of which have been finished under the hospitality of your roof.
] The cygnet finds the water. Stroke out my childish curls across his knee. [. ± Draw. to sit alone. . mark. press the child's head closer to thy knee! I'm still too young. Piled high. but the man Is born in ignorance of his element. when she had left us both. Presently We feel it quicken in the dark sometimes. A palimpsest. Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon. . hush ± here's too much noise!' while her sweet eyes Leap forward. by a Longus! poring on Which obscene text. ± where. pulling through the gap. Books. ± his spirit-insight dulled And crossed by his sensations.' rather say. stroke it heavily. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . . . be reverent. erased and covered by a monk's. O my father's hand Stroke the poor hair down. we may discern perhaps Some fair. In heats of terror. taking part against her word In the child's riot. disorganised By sin i' the blood. ± The apocalypse. Still I sit and feel My father's slow hand. that I cannot hear That murmur of the outer Infinite Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep When wondered at for smiling. fine trace of what was written once. with finger up. ± For those dumb motions of imperfect life Are oracles of vital Deity Attesting the Hereafter. I write . Let who says `The soul's a clean white paper. victorious joy. books. Then. packed large. Sonnets from the Portuguese 9 To travel inland. 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. haste.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past. I nibbled here and there At this or that box. . But still I catch my mother at her post Beside the nursery-door. too young. a prophet's holograph Defiled. books! I had found the secret of a garret-room Piled high with cases in my father's name. not so far. Some upstroke of an alpha and omega Expressing the old scripture. And feels out blind at first. be obedient. `Hush.
That carpet-dusting. Erect. Ay. From Aurora Leigh The first book first. ± The only speakers of essential truth. says The apostle. clears herself To elemental freedom ± thus. and while your common men Build pyramids. when the internal fires Have reached and pricked her heart. . ± or but one through love? Does all this smell of thyme about my feet 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . You write so of the poets. and feel. . because the time was ripe. through conventional grey glooms. Let go conventions and sprang up surprised. This is life. To find man's veritable stature out. As the earth Plunges in fury. Is not the imperative labour after all. Here's God down on us! what are you about?' How all those workers start amid their work. Opposed to relative. Exaggerators of the sun and moon. dine. ± the measure of a man. My own best poets. Convicted of the great eternities Before two worlds. am I one with you. comparative. And soothsayers in a teacup? I write so Of the only truth-tellers. now left to God. What's this. From just a shadow on a charnel-wall. this word is being said in heaven. and. And that's the measure of an angel. Aurora Leigh. throwing flat The marts and temples.10 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. An hour before the sun would let me read! My books! At last. my soul. the triumphal gates And towers of observation. reign. And how I felt it beat Under my pillow. though a pretty trade. and not laugh? Those virtuous liars. or our senators. And temporal truths. At poetry's divine first finger-touch. dreamers after dark. I chanced upon the poets. a moment's space. The poet suddenly will catch them up With his voice like a thunder . That thus I love you. in the morning's dark. And dust the flaunty carpets of the world For kings to walk on. sublime. gauge railroads. Look round. look up. the only holders by His sun-skirts. reap. The only teachers who instruct mankind. `This is soul.
my life. O delight And triumph of the poet. And set me in the Olympian roar and round Of luminous faces. who has ravished me Away from all the shepherds. My thought and aspiration. With eyes too happy. or but testify The rustling of your vesture through my dreams With influent odours? When my joy and pain. As wind upon the alders. for a cup-bearer. To keep the mouths of all the godheads moist For everlasting laughters.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. ± poetry. and dogs. are absolutely dumb If not melodious. do you play on me. We shall not bear above a round or two ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 .' a woman's common `no. you did not blow. ± who would say A man's mere `yes. with their eyes! How those gods look! Enough so. the speaker. with both grappling feet still hot From Zeus's thunder. ± Which means life in life! cognisant of life Beyond this blood-beat. ± My eagle. As if one came back from the dead and spoke. blanching them By turning up their under-natures till They trembled in dilation. a familiar thing Become divine i' the utterance! while for him The poet. shakes the heart Of all the men and women in the world. As a man's voice or breath is called his own. sooth. Sonnets from the Portuguese 11 Conclude my visit to your holy hill In personal presence. O poetry. sheep. 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. The palpitating angel in his flesh Thrills inly with consenting fellowship To those innumerous spirits who sun themselves Outside of time. myself. like the stops Of pipe or flute. Ganymede. when the rhythmic turbulence Of blood and brain swept outward upon words. Half drunk across the beaker. he expands with joy. ± and if. ± passionate for truth Beyond these senses. ± I. O life. And says the word so that it burns you through With a special revelation. My pipers.' A little human hope of that or this. Would no sound come? or is the music mine.
± and yet we do not take The chaffering swallow for the holy lark. if we are loved or love. Being acted on and acting seem the same: In that first onrush of life's chariot-wheels. I poured myself 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 . what mattered? It is so in youth. We know not if the forests move or we. Which mine. cold with dew. and maids. In full front sun-face. Life's violent flood Abolished bounds. With sense of power and ache. And so. though. ± with imposthumes And manias usual to the race. which my neighbour's field.12 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. through seeing the light. in a restless heat Of doing something. Am I such indeed? The name Is royal. ay. ± and. confounded. You catch a sight of Nature. All analysis comes late. Too often sow their wild oats in tame verse. who would strike steel on steel If steel had offered. and to sign it like a queen. And wrote because I lived ± unlicensed else: My heart beat in my brain. Is what I dare not. Many fervent souls Strike rhyme on rhyme. with other power. I lived. While the dogs bark. So. Alas. I never analysed Myself even. In those days. those days. ± and find ourselves Face-down among the pine-cones. The thing's too common. cowslips: ± the more pains they take. and many a shepherd scoffs. `What's come now to the youth?' Such ups and downs Have poets. We play at leap-frog over the god Term. in a flush Of individual life. and your eyelids wink And drop before the wonder of't. As children. From Aurora Leigh Â We drop the golden cup at Here's foot And swoon back to the earth. near all the birds Will sing at dawn. Howbeit I dare not: 'tis too easy to go mad. Young men. The work more withers. Before they sit down under their own vine And live for use. you miss The form. like most young poets. Many tender souls Have strung their losses on a rhyming thread. And ape a Bourbon in a crown of straws. earliest. The love within us and the love without Are mixed. ± though some royal blood Would seem to tingle in me now and then. We scarce distinguish.
Oft. spoils. where the cows Would scare the writer if they splashed the mud In lashing off the flies. writ On happy mornings. who write young: We beat the phorminx till we hurt our thumbs. ± (the life of a long life. As if still ignorant of counterpoint. Weak for art only. It may be. By Keats's soul. That leaps for love. falling like a tear Upon the world's cold cheek to make it burn For ever. That nearly all young poets should write old. And made the living answer for the dead.) by that strong excepted soul. Ensphered himself in twenty perfect years. Such have not settled long and deep enough In trance. indeed. That Pope was sexagenarian at sixteen. Distilled to a mere drop. `O Muse. Will crack even. a little warped. and achieved Mere lifeless imitations of live verse. in carrying the young blood. turning grandly on his central self. And beardless Byron academical. And died. the ancient forms Will thrill. to make his mother laugh. We call the Muse . And elegiac griefs.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. perhaps. ± didactics. and songs of love. with a morning heart. From virile efforts! what cold wire-drawn odes. Like cast-off nosegays picked up on the road. The worse for being warm: all these things. Nor handle. now and then. driven Against the heels of what the master said. 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . Sonnets from the Portuguese 13 Along the veins of others. . shrill with trumps A babe might blow between two straining cheeks Of bubbled rose. as the new wine gurgles in. Spare the old bottles! ± spill not the new wine. start between the boughs As often as a stag's. And works it turbid. The wine-skins. What make-believe.' ± we're too legal. and hard to understand. With so much earnest! what effete results. do not taste. to attain to clairvoyance. the man who never stepped In gradual progress like another man. Profaning nature. is active for resolve. not young. ± and still The memory mixes with the vision. But. `Touch not. I count it strange. And so with others. . benignant Muse!' ± As if we had seen her purple-braided head With the eyes in it. From such white heats! ± bucolics. And counterfeiting epics.
She could not say I had no business with a sort of soul. ± and demurred. But plainly she objected. and thought them true. In vortices of glory and blue air. They saw a light at a window now and then. They had not set there. Before the rain has got into my barn And set the grains a-sprouting. `I know there's something wrong. `Aurora. In order to discover the Muse-Sphinx. Which oozed off from it in meandering lace From hour to hour. ± For me. rounding to the spheric soul the thin Pined body. as safe from harm As sings the lark when sucked up out of sight. That souls were dangerous things to carry straight Through all the spilt saltpetre of the world. have writ true ones since With less complacence. From Aurora Leigh Or perhaps. I. Made cool the forehead with fresh-sprinkling dreams. She said sometimes. Who had set it there? My father's sister started when she caught My soul agaze in my eyes. My soul was singing at a work apart Behind the wall of sense. through forced work and spontaneous work. But I could not hide My quickening inner life from those at watch.14 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Reduced the irregular blood to settled rhythms. 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 . 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. The inner life informed the outer life. `Would she hear my task. again. And verify my abstract of the book? And should I sit down to the crochet work? Was such her pleasure?' . . What. you're green With out-door impudence? you almost grow?' To which I answered. The melancholy desert must sweep round. therefore. struck a colour up the cheeks. I know I have not ground you down enough To flatten and bake you to a wholesome crust For household duties and properties. I was not. Then I sate and teased The patient needle till it split the thread. . Behind you. like the rest. peradventure. And so. as before. I wrote False poems. Because myself was true in writing them. sad.
A ripple of land. lined with orchises.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. `We'll live. as bee-bonneted. ± at intervals The mythic oaks and elm-trees standing out Self-poised upon their prodigy of shade. or wander. Sonnets from the Portuguese 15 Though somewhat faint. . Because he holds that. Whom men judge hardly. . ± nothing too much up or down. where you scarcely tell White daisies from white dew. And when. or otherwise Through secret windings of the afternoons. nor even friends well matched ± Say rather. If cousin Romney pleased to walk with me. as it chanced: We were not lovers. Vincent Carrington. It sounded as an instrument that's played Too far off for the tune ± and yet it's fine To listen. Pleasant walks! for if He said . ± like a rest Made sweeter for the step upon the grass. Aurora! we'll be strong. ± I thought my father's land was worthy too Of being my Shakspeare's. the sky Can stoop to tenderly and the wheatfields climb. Such nooks of valleys. shivering with the fear And passion of the course. . I threw my hunters off and plunged myself Among the deep hills. We read. The dogs are on us ± but we will not die. or quarrelled. Very oft alone. Fed full of noises by invisible streams. Before the day was born. will love true love. And open pastures. (As if God's finger touched but did not press In making England!) such an up and down Of verdure. 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 . I clenched my brows across My blue eyes greatening in the looking-glass. Ofter we walked only two. or talked.' Whoever lives true life. as a hunted stag Will take the waters. And said. at last Escaped. like The grand first Master. ± so many a green slope built on slope Betwixt me and the enemy's house behind. ± And view the ground's most gentle dimplement. not unfrequently with leave To walk the third with Romney and his friend The rising painter. paint a body well You paint a soul by implication. . I learnt to love that England. I dared to rest. Unlicensed. such little hills. `When I was last in Italy' . scholars upon different tracks. Very oft.
and I. haply. overbold For what might be.' I said. And cattle grazing in the watered vales. In the beginning when God called all good. doubled up among the hills. he. Confused with smell of orchards. where the cows push out Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths 'Twixt dripping ash-boughs. and called all very fair. Farms. From Aurora Leigh And thinkers disagreed. The evil is upon us while we speak: Deliver us from evil. ± At which word His brow would soften. indeed. vales. And shook my pulses and the elms' new leaves. breaking into voluble ecstasy. carrying gold. And bade him mark that. Even then was evil near us. ± and he bore with me In melancholy patience. who call things good and fair. As poets use . overfull Of what is. And clapped my hands. 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 . granges. certainly The thrushes still sang in it. . But we.16 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. And cottage gardens smelling everywhere. the skies. And cottage chimneys smoking from the woods. ± And then I turned. woods. ± The tangled hedgerows. I flattered all the beauteous country round. But then the thrushes sang. . `See. as he related. netted in a silver mist. howsoe'er the world Went ill. it is writ. the fields. ± 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. While. and held my finger up. let us pray. not unkind. The happy violets hiding from the roads The primroses run down to. the clouds. ± Hills. `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.
And glanced athwart the glooming flats. 5 10 15 20 25 . The broken sheds looked sad and strange.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson (1809±1892) Mariana `Mariana in the moated grange. I would that I were dead!' III Upon the middle of the night. She only said `The night is dreary. aweary. She only said `My life is dreary. She could not look on the sweet heaven. aweary. She drew her casement-curtain by. I would that I were dead!' II Her tears fell with the dews at even. He cometh not. She said `I am aweary. Her tears fell ere the dews were dried. The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the peach to the garden-wall. Unlifted was the clinking latch. When thickest dark did trance the sky. He cometh not.' she said. 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. Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. Either at morn or eventide. one and all.' she said: She said `I am aweary.' ± Measure for Measure I With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted. After the flitting of the bats.
' she said. She only said. aweary. She said. She only said. `I am aweary. round and small. Or from the crevice peered about. The blue fly sung i' the pane. She only said. `I am aweary. The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed. `The night is dreary. All silver-green with gnarled bark. Hard by a poplar shook alway. `The day is dreary. He cometh not. The clustered marish-mosses crept. `My life is dreary. the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked. In the white curtain. I would that I were dead!' V And ever when the moon was low. aweary. Old faces glimmered thro' the doors. He cometh not.18 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. He cometh not. She saw the gusty shadow sway. across her brow. `My life is dreary.' she said. He cometh not. aweary. For leagues no other tree did dark The level waste. Old voices called her from without. She only said. But when the moon was very low. And o'er it many. `I am aweary. Mariana In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn. The doors upon their hinges creaked. She said. Old footsteps trod the upper floors. And the shrill winds were up and away. the rounding gray. She said. I would that I were dead!' IV About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blackened waters slept. And wild winds bound within their cell. `I am aweary. Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. to and fro. I would that I were dead!' VI All day within the dreamy house.' she said. aweary.' she said. She said. I would that I were dead!' 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 .
Willows whiten. said she. willow-veiled. The slow clock ticking. Slide the heavy barges trailed By slow horses. Four gray walls. He will not come. 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. and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made. Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. aspens quiver. aweary. but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers. Oh God. and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. By the margin. And up and down the people go. `I am aweary. Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below. And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. and four gray towers. 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. That clothe the wold and meet the sky. `I am very dreary. The island of Shalott. The Lady of Shalott 19 VII The sparrow's chirrup on the roof. Overlook a space of flowers. did all confound Her sense. She wept. And thro' the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.' she said. Then. The Lady of Shalott? 5 10 15 20 25 .
Or long-haired page in crimson clad. She has heard a whisper say.' Part II There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. For often thro' the silent nights A funeral. She knows not what the curse may be. And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true. Listening. whispers `'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott. Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly. Down to towered Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary. The Lady of Shalott. And little other care hath she. The Lady of Shalott Only reapers. The Lady of Shalott. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls. reaping early In among the bearded barley. Goes by to towered Camelot. 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . Sometimes a troop of damsels glad. And there the surly village-churls. An abbot on an ambling pad. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights. And so she weaveth steadily. Pass onward from Shalott. with plumes and lights And music. Shadows of the world appear. Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad.20 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And the red cloaks of market-girls. went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead. A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year. Came two young lovers lately wed. Piling sheaves in uplands airy.
And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. As often thro' the purple night. His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather. `Tirra lirra. Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves. From underneath his helmet flowed His coal-black curls as on he rode. That sparkled on the yellow field. she left the loom. She made three paces thro' the room. trailing light. Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. A redcross knight for ever kneeled To a lady in his shield. She saw the water-lily bloom. As he rode down to Camelot. Beside remote Shalott. On burnished hooves his war-horse trode. Below the starry clusters bright. From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror. The Lady of Shalott 21 `I am half-sick of shadows.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. She saw the helmet and the plume. As he rode down to Camelot. And as he rode his armour rung. Moves over still Shalott. The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves. The gemmy bridle glittered free. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 .' by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. The bridle-bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazoned baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung. She looked down to Camelot. The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned like one burning flame together. Some bearded meteor.' said The Lady of Shalott. He rode between the barley-sheaves. She left the web. Beside remote Shalott.
22 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The broad stream in his banks complaining. Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining. A gleaming shape she floated by. The broad stream bore her far away. By garden-wall and gallery. Lying. The Lady of Shalott. Seeing all his own mischance ± With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And down the river's dim expanse ± Like some bold seer in a trance. Chanted loudly. The Lady of Shalott. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . They heard her singing her last song. The Lady of Shalott Out flew the web and floated wide. and down she lay. Turned to towered Camelot. The mirror cracked from side to side. Singing in her song she died. Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat. And her eyes were darkened wholly. The Lady of Shalott. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain. mournful. Heard a carol. Heavily the low sky raining Over towered Camelot. And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony. 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. `The curse is come upon me. Till her blood was frozen slowly. holy.' cried The Lady of Shalott. The pale yellow woods were waning. For ere she reached upon the tide The first house by the water-side. chanted lowly.
and feed. among these barren crags. and vile it were 5 10 15 20 25 . but honoured of them all. I cannot rest from travel: I will drink.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly. Matched with an aged wife. For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known. Knight and burgher. God in his mercy lend her grace. Out upon the wharfs they came. That hoard. Silent into Camelot. All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space. climates. And they crossed themselves for fear. I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race. `She has a lovely face. both with those That loved me. Ulysses 23 A corse between the houses high.' 160 165 170 Ulysses It little profits that an idle king. To rust unburnished. A bringer of new things. And drunk delight of battle with my peers. Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer. governments. and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence. Life piled on life Were all too little. whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. I am a part of all that I have met. have suffered greatly. The Lady of Shalott. lord and dame. By this still hearth. and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea. to make an end. And round the prow they read her name. and know not me. Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravelled world. I am become a name. Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. and alone. on shore. not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life. and sleep. Myself not least. cities of men And manners. The Lady of Shalott. something more. He said. councils. How dull it is to pause.
but strong in will To strive. Morte d'Arthur For some three suns to store and hoard myself. Death closes all: but something ere the end. whom we knew. He works his work. and the baths Of all the western stars. When I am gone. and pay Meet adoration to my household gods. and wrought. My mariners. to seek. and thought with me ± That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine. that which we are. much abides. There lies the port. Some work of noble note. and opposed Free hearts. . The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. 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. to find. Come. sitting well in order. This is my son. by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people. Push off. decent not to fail In offices of tenderness. and. and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven. until I die. centred in the sphere Of common duties. discerning to fulfil This labour. the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. And see the great Achilles. and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. we are. Tho' much is taken. for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset. mine own Telemachus. and not to yield. free foreheads ± you and I are old. 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. smite The sounding furrows. And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star. may yet be done.24 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. One equal temper of heroic hearts. Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. Souls that have toiled. my friends. To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle ± Well-loved of me. Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. Most blameless is he. Made weak by time and fate. Old age hath yet his honour and his toil. I mine. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles.
Sir King.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: `The sequel of today unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. On one side lay the Ocean. like a king: And. as in the days that were. at any future time. wonderful. and on one Lay a great water. Morte d'Arthur 25 Until King Arthur's table. I am so deeply smitten through the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. Old knights. and lightly bring me word. Watch what I see. because his wound was deep. The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. Aidless. alone. one summer noon. wheresoever I am sung or told In aftertime.' So saying. 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . man by man. Yet I thy hest will all perform at full. I think that we Shall nevermore. And in the moon athwart the place of tombs. from the ruined shrine he stepped. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur. to leave thee thus. be. ± Though Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more ± but let what will be. stepping down By zigzag paths. Had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord. Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot. the last of all his knights. A broken chancel with a broken cross. Holding the sword ± and how I rowed across And took it. A little thing may harm a wounded man.' To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: `It is not meet. with flakes of foam. and have worn it. I perish by this people which I made. chill. Clothed in white samite. That stood on a dark strait of barren land. and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill. Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days. Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake. King Arthur: then. and smitten through the helm. and juts of pointed rock. Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. and the moon was full. And fling him far into the middle meer: Watch what thou seest. Sir Bedivere. He. this also shall be known: But now delay not: take Excalibur. And bore him to a chapel nigh the field. and lightly bring thee word. mystic. Such a sleep They sleep ± the men I loved.
and lightly bring me word'. Then went Sir Bedivere the second time. as he stood. In act to throw: but at the last it seemed Better to leave Excalibur concealed There in the many-knotted waterflags. ran forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt: For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks. and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewellery. Should thus be lost for ever from the earth. What record. I charge thee. 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. either hand. drawing it. So strode he back slow to the wounded King. or else a motion of the meer. Brightening the skirts of a long cloud. Surely a precious thing. How curiously and strangely chased. Not rendering true answer. but empty breath 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . Yet now. Or voice. if a king demand An act unprofitable. Morte d'Arthur Came on the shining levels of the lake. What good should follow this. And o'er him. undone? deep harm to disobey. Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. nor like a noble knight: For surer sign had followed. But when he saw the wonder of the hilt. if this were done? What harm.26 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. or what relic of my lord Should be to aftertime. he smote His palms together. and do the thing I bad thee. quickly go again As thou art lief and dear. and he cried aloud. faint and pale: `Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name. fixed in thought. Counting the dewy pebbles. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur. Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. And the wild water lapping on the crag. against himself ? The King is sick.' To whom replied King Arthur. Myriads of topaz-lights. the winter moon. as beseemed È Thy fealty. and knows not what he does. This is a shameful thing for men to lie. This way and that dividing the swift mind. `And if indeed I cast the brand away. one worthy note. Were it well to obey then. watch. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled.
clouded with his own conceit. sitting in the deeps Upon the hidden bases of the hills. Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. And lightly went the other to the King. wonderful. for a man may fail in duty twice. Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings. And. Either from lust of gold. get thee hence: But. Unknightly. with noises of the northern sea. And hid Excalibur the second time.' So spake he. In whom should meet the offices of all. Morte d'Arthur 27 And rumours of a doubt? but were this kept. Shot like a streamer of the northern morn. miserable and unkind. untrue. much in wrath: `Ah. or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.' Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere. Yet. mystic. And so strode back slow to the wounded King. Nine years she wrought it. traitor-hearted! Woe is me! Authority forgets a dying king. I will arise and slay thee with my hands. `King Arthur's sword.' To whom replied King Arthur. the latest-left of all my knights. And the third time may prosper. Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night. if thou spare to fling Excalibur. For thou. 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. Some one might show it at a joust of arms.' So might some old man speak in the aftertime To all the people. Laid widowed of the power in his eye That bowed the will. and ran. and whirled in an arch. and clutched the sword. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon. Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt. rose an arm Clothed in white samite. plunged Among the bulrush-beds. I see thee what thou art. 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 . Excalibur. Saying. And the long ripple washing in the reeds. And strongly wheeled and threw it.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Then spoke King Arthur. winning reverence. And caught him by the hilt. And flashing round and round. So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur: But ere he dipt the surface. leaping down the ridges lightly. and drew him under in the meer. But now much honour and much fame were lost. and brandished him Three times.
His own thought drove him like a goad. and a cry Before.' And answer made King Arthur.28 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Not though I live three lives of mortal men. Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms. as he walked. Him Sir Bedivere Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears. Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern. And bear me to the margin. So sighed the King. Then took with care. with pain. and descending they were ware 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 . Nor shall see. and drew him under in the meer. Then with both hands I flung him. lest the gems Should blind my purpose. Speak out: what is it thou hast heard. Morte d'Arthur Then spoke King Arthur. lo! the level lake. as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels ± And on a sudden. quick! I fear it is too late. and I shall die. `Quick. He heard the deep behind him. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight. Slowly. That caught him by the hilt. and looking. And the long glories of the winter moon. But. but he found not words. and brandished him Three times. mystic. wonderful. I closed mine eyelids. Larger than human on the frozen hills. breathing hard: `My end draws nigh.' So saying. And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. and I shall die. Muttering and murmuring at his ear. and all to left and right The bare black cliff clanged round him. But when I looked again. Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge. till I die. So great a miracle as yonder hilt. Beneath them. King Arthur panted hard. And would have spoken. Clothed with his breath. or seen?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: `Sir King. from the pavement he half rose. Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. yet I fear My wound hath taken cold. reclining on his arm. for I never saw. behold an arm. here or elsewhere.' But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge. drawing thicker breath: `Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. and kneeling on one knee. 'tis time that I were gone. And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes As in a picture. as he walked. wheeling him. Clothed in white samite. O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands.
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,
so strange. the splendour of the hills? But cease to move so near the Heavens. for Love is of the valley. so fresh. Or red with spirted purple of the vats. . and wild with all regret. by the happy threshold. So sad. thou.. sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears.32 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. A Medley Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge. And all thy heart lies open unto me. To sit a star upon the sparkling spire. È Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars. Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me. Or foxlike in the vine. Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize. From: The Princess. and leaves A shining furrow... my dearest. Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost. from yonder mountain height: What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) In height and cold. And slips into the bosom of the lake: So fold thyself. And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others. the days that are no more. And come. . Now slides the silent meteor on.. the days that are no more. he. For Love is of the valley. the days that are no more. and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine. O maid.. O Death in Life. now the white. And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. Deep as first love. So sad. Now sleeps the crimson petal. nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the Silver Horns.. Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk. come. 10 15 20 5 10 5 10 15 . come thou down And find him. Ah. when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square. and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me. deep as love. Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice. Now folds the lily all her sweetness up. Come down. Dear as remembered kisses after death. Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine. as thy thoughts in me.
embrace. Believing where we cannot prove. The highest. but come. And thou hast made him: thou art just. He thinks he was not made to die. That like a broken purpose waste in air: So waste not thou. H. azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee. O Lord. Thou madest Death. he knows not why. H. and leave The monstrous ledges there to slope. 20 25 30 From In Memoriam A. thou: Our wills are ours.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and spill Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke. holiest manhood. let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley. Sweeter thy voice. thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made. let the wild Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone. For knowledge is of things we see. And murmuring of innumerable bees. Our little systems have their day. By faith. Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: Thou madest man. immortal Love. Thou seemest human and divine. H. that have not seen thy face. Thou madest Life in man and brute. Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn. and faith alone. The moan of doves in immemorial elms. From In Memoriam A. We have but faith: we cannot know. and lo. And yet we trust it comes from thee. Thine are these orbs of light and shade. the children call. 33 That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: But follow. A beam in darkness: let it grow. for all the vales Await thee. And thou. to make them thine. and I Thy shepherd pipe. Strong Son of God. 5 10 15 20 . and sweet is every sound. They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of thee. we know not how. but every sound is sweet. Our wills are ours. H. Whom we. art more than they.
Forgive them where they fail in truth. For merit lives from man to man. That mind and soul. and there I find him worthier to be loved. And in thy wisdom make me wise. 1849 25 30 35 40 In Memoriam A.34 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. O Lord. 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. whom I found so fair. That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things. We are fools and slight. 5 10 . Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. But more of reverence in us dwell. Confusions of a wasted youth. May make one music as before. H. I trust he lives in thee. What seemed my worth since I began. H. Forgive these wild and wandering cries. And not from man. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII I I held it truth. But vaster. To dance with death. to beat the ground. We mock thee when we do not fear: But help thy foolish ones to bear. Let darkness keep her raven gloss: Ah! sweeter to be drunk with loss. according well. Forgive my grief for one removed. In Memoriam Let knowledge grow from more to more. to thee. Forgive what seemed my sin in me. Thy creature. with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones.
And gazing on the sullen tree.' II Old Yew. the clock Beats out the little lives of men. And murmurs from the dying sun: `And all the phantom. ± A hollow form with empty hands. And in the dusk of thee. From out waste places comes a cry. But all he was is overworn. Sick for thy stubborn hardihood. Embrace her as my natural good. In Memoriam 35 Than that the victor Hours should scorn The long result of love. I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee. Upon the threshold of the mind? 5 5 15 10 15 10 15 . Or crush her. like a vice of blood. A hollow echo of my own. Thy fibres net the dreamless head. A web is woven across the sky. Nature. which graspest at the stones That name the under-lying dead.' And shall I take a thing so blind. Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Who changest not in any gale! Nor branding summer suns avail To touch thy thousand years of gloom. O! not for thee the glow.' she whispers. `blindly run. What whispers from thy lying lip? `The stars. The seasons bring the flower again. and boast: `Behold the man that loved and lost. the bloom. cruel fellowship! O Priestess in the vaults of Death! O sweet and bitter in a breath. And bring the firstling to the flock. III O Sorrow. stands ± With all the music in her tone.
That thou should'st fail from thy desire. And vacant chaff well meant for grain. but some heart did break. numbing pain. In Memoriam IV To Sleep I give my powers away. how fares it with thee now. that `Other friends remain. and cries. I'll wrap me o'er. My will is bondsman to the dark. VI One writes. Who scarcely darest to inquire. Some pleasure from thine early years.' That `Loss is common to the race' ± And common is the commonplace. I sit within a helmless bark. like nature. for the unquiet heart and brain.36 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. half reveal And half conceal the Soul within. `What is it makes me beat so low?' Something it is which thou hast lost. Like coarsest clothes against the cold.' V I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel. That loss is common would not make My own less bitter. rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening. 5 5 5 10 15 10 . thou deep vase of chilling tears. In words. For words. Break. `Thou shalt not be the fool of loss. But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more. And with my heart I muse and say: O heart. A use in measured language lies. Like dull narcotics. That grief hath shaken into frost! Such clouds of nameless trouble cross All night below the darkened eyes. With morning wakes the will. The sad mechanic exercise. But. like weeds.
Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. perpetual maidenhood. having left the glass. And glad to find thyself so fair. she turns Once more to set a ringlet right. O! somewhere. 25 10 15 20 30 35 40 . Expecting still his advent home. And ever met him on his way With wishes. unconscious dove. thinking. wheresoe'er thou be. Ye know no more than I who wrought At that last hour to please him well. where my heart was used to beat So quickly. And unto me no second friend. ± while thy head is bowed. and her future Lord Was drowned in passing thro' the ford. the curse Had fallen. And. meek. And with the thought her colour burns. Poor child. Or killed in falling from his horse. That sittest ranging golden hair. In Memoriam 37 O father. And thinking `this will please him best. by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street. A shot. something thought. waiting for a hand. And something written. That pledgest now thy gallant son. Or here tomorrow will he come. Doors. O. what to her shall be the end? And what to me remains of good? To her. praying God will save Thy sailor. O mother. Who mused on all I had to tell. that waitest for thy love! For now her father's chimney glows In expectation of a guest. For he will see them on to-night. even when she turned. VII Dark house. here today. His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud Drops in his vast and wandering grave. And.' She takes a riband or a rose. ere half thy draught be done Hath stilled the life that beat from thee.
38 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Or dying. And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day. I go to plant it on his tomb. the chamber and the street. That if it can it there may bloom. And learns her gone and far from home. wandering there In those deserted walks. and waft him o'er. for I cannot sleep. with thee And this poor flower of poesy Which little cared for fades not yet. So find I every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet. And all the place is dark. VIII A happy lover who has come To look on her that loves him well. In Memoriam A hand that can be clasped no more ± Behold me. The field. Spread thy full wings. Which once she fostered up with care. He is not here. a favourable speed 5 5 5 10 10 15 20 . So draw him home to those that mourn In vain. IX Fair ship. Yet as that other. may find A flower beat with rain and wind. there at least may die. He saddens. but far away The noise of life begins again. For all is dark where thou art not. all the magic light Dies off at once from bower and hall. Who lights and rings the gateway bell. And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door. But since it pleased a vanished eye. O my forsaken heart. So seems it in my deep regret. that from the Italian shore Sailest the placid ocean-plains With my lost Arthur's loved remains. and all The chambers emptied of delight.
Than if with thee the roaring wells Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine. Sphere all your lights around. So bring him: we have idle dreams: This look of quiet flatters thus Our home-bred fancies: O to us. till Phosphor. And travelled men from foreign lands.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. XI Calm is the morn without a sound. thro' early light Shall glimmer on the dewy decks. before the prow. My Arthur. gentle heavens. thy dark freight. gentle winds. I hear the bell struck in the night: I see the cabin-window bright. All night no ruder air perplex Thy sliding keel. Calm as to suit a calmer grief. `oar-weed' (T. And letters unto trembling hands. 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. sweeter seems To rest beneath the clover sod. And. Sleep. Or where the kneeling hamlet drains The chalice of the grapes of God. the brother of my love. I see the sailor at the wheel. and lead Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn. The fools of habit. In Memoriam 39 Ruffle thy mirrored mast. Should toss with tangle2 and with shells. My friend. More than my brothers are to me. Sleep. X I hear the noise about thy keel. And hands so often clasped in mine. a vanished life.). above. Dear as the mother to the son. Thou bringest the sailor to his wife. .1 bright As our pure love.). That takes the sunshine and the rains. as he sleeps now.
Some dolorous message knit below The wild pulsation of her wings. And on these dews that drench the furze. and silver sleep. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . `Comes he thus. XII Lo! as a dove when up she springs To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe. And leave the cliffs. In Memoriam And only thro' the faded leaf The chestnut pattering to the ground: Calm and deep peace on this high wold. Like her I go. And linger weeping on the marge. And see the sails at distance rise. and play About the prow. And saying. And reach the glow of southern skies. a calm despair: Calm on the seas. These leaves that redden to the fall. To mingle with the bounding main: Calm and deep peace in this wide air.40 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. I cannot stay. If any calm. if calm at all. A weight of nerves without a mind. And in my heart. and haste away O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large. And waves that sway themselves in rest. 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. I leave this mortal ark behind. 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 back return To where the body sits. And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep. and learn That I have been an hour away. And crowded farms and lessening towers.
And ask a thousand things of home. As tho' they brought but merchants' bales. In Memoriam 41 XIII Tears of the widower. That thou hadst touched the land today. Silence. And he should sorrow o'er my state And marvel what possessed my brain. An awful thought. And I went down unto the quay. I do not suffer in a dream. muffled round with woe. Which weep the comrade of my choice. The human-hearted man I loved. And glance about the approaching sails. Mine eyes have leisure for their tears. where warm hands have prest and closed. XIV If one should bring me this report. a life removed. Should see thy passengers in rank Come stepping lightly down the plank. Come Time. And I should tell him all my pain. And standing. And not the burthen that they bring. A void where heart on heart reposed. many years. For now so strange do these things seem. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 . and feels Her place is empty. and teach me.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And moves his doubtful arms. when he sees A late-lost form that sleep reveals. And beckoning unto those they know. Which weep a loss for ever new. And found thee lying in the port. My fancies time to rise on wing. And if along with these should come The man I held as half-divine. not a breathing voice. fall like these. And. till I be silent too. A spirit. And how my life had dropped of late. Should strike a sudden hand in mine.
And wildly dashed on tower and tree The sunbeam strikes along the world: And but for fancies. The rooks are blown about the skies. I scarce could brook the strain and stir That makes the barren branches loud. In Memoriam And I perceived no touch of change. I should not feel it to be strange. But knows no more of transient form In her deep self.42 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. But found him all in all the same. Or sorrow such a changeling be? Or doth she only seem to take The touch of change in calm or storm. XV To-night the winds begin to rise And roar from yonder dropping day: The last red leaf is whirled away. so harshly given. the waters curled. The cattle huddled on the lea. Confused me like the unhappy bark That strikes by night a craggy shelf. A looming bastion fringed with fire. The wild unrest that lives in woe Would dote and pore on yonder cloud That rises upward always higher. XVI What words are these have fallen from me? Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast. And but for fear it is not so. which aver That all thy motions gently pass Athwart a plane of molten glass. No hint of death in all his frame. And onward drags a labouring breast. than some dead lake That holds the shadow of a lark Hung in the shadow of a heaven? Or has the shock. And topples round the dreary west. The forest cracked. And staggers blindly ere she sink? 5 5 20 10 15 20 10 .
much wept for: such a breeze Compelled thy canvas. 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 10 . In Memoriam 43 And stunned me from my power to think And all my knowledge of myself. Such precious relics brought by thee. whatever loves to weep. and my prayer Was as the whisper of an air To breathe thee over lonely seas. Henceforth. And come. And like a beacon guards thee home. wherever thou may'st roam. So kind an office hath been done. but it looks in truth As if the quiet bones were blest Among familiar names to rest And in the places of his youth. And mingles all without a plan? XVII Thou comest. And made me that delirious man Whose fancy fuses old and new. 'Tis little. and bear the head That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep. The dust of him I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. My blessing. 'tis something. And flashes into false and true. So may whatever tempest mars Mid-ocean. And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land. spare thee. Week after week: the days go by: Come quick.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. like a line of light. Is on the waters day and night. Come then. XVIII 'Tis well. For I in spirit saw thee move Thro' circles of the bounding sky. we may stand Where he in English earth is laid. sacred bark. And hear the ritual of the dead. And balmy drops in summer dark Slide from the bosom of the stars. thou bringest all I love. pure hands.
' they say. When filled with tears that cannot fall. Would breathing thro' his lips impart The life that almost dies in me: That dies not. And hushes half the babbling Wye. but endures with pain.). And makes a silence in the hills. `to find Another service such as this. And weep the fulness from the mind: `It will be hard. That breathe a thousand tender vows. The salt sea-water passes by. I brim with sorrow drowning song. Are but as servants in a house Where lies the master newly dead. That out of words a comfort win. And in the hearing of the wave. if this might be. In Memoriam Ah! yet. even yet. XIX The Danube to the Severn gave The darkened heart that beat no more. I. The tide flows down. . The words that are not heard again. But there are other griefs within. And I can speak a little then. Who speak their feeling as it is.' My lighter moods are like to these. And tears that at their fountain freeze. There twice a day the Severn fills. 3 15 20 5 10 15 5 10 `He died at Vienna and was brought to Clevedon to be buried' (T. And slowly forms the firmer mind. And hushed my deepest grief of all.3 They laid him by the pleasant shore. falling on his faithful heart. XX The lesser griefs that may be said. Treasuring the look it cannot find.44 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. the wave again Is vocal in its wooded walls: My deeper anguish also falls. The Wye is hushed nor moved along.
When more and more the people throng The chairs and thrones of civil power? `A time to sicken and to swoon. In Memoriam 45 For by the hearth the children sit Cold in that atmosphere of Death. since the grasses round me wave. When science reaches forth her arms To feel from world to world. and think. Because her brood is stol'n away. and charms Her secret from the latest moon?' Behold.' A third is wroth: `Is this an hour For private sorrow's barren song. And. That with his piping he may gain The praise that comes to constancy. And sometimes harshly will he speak. And scarce endure to draw the breath.' XXI I sing to him that rests below. For now her little ones have ranged.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . And one unto her note is changed. So much the vital spirits sink To see the vacant chair. The traveller hears me now and then. Which led by tracts that pleased us well.' Another answers. And make them pipes whereon to blow. ye speak an idle thing: Ye never knew the sacred dust: I do but sing because I must. XXII The path by which we twain did go. He loves to make parade of pain. And pipe but as the linnets sing: And one unto her note is gay. `This fellow would make weakness weak. I take the grasses of the grave. `Let him be. And melt the waxen hearts of men. Or like to noiseless phantoms flit: But open converse is there none. `How good! how kind! and he is gone.
And dulled the murmur on thy lip. I wander. And all was good that Time could bring. Alone. sometimes in my sorrow shut. There sat the Shadow feared of man.46 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And think that. Ere thought could wed itself with Speech. And wrapt thee formless in the fold. Or on to where the pathway leads. from snow to snow: And we with singing cheered the way. In Memoriam Thro' four sweet years arose and fell. From April on to April went. Or breaking into song by fits. The Shadow cloaked from head to foot Who keeps the keys of all the creeds. And spread his mantle dark and cold. And bore thee where I could not see Nor follow. From flower to flower. As we descended following Hope. And glad at heart from May to May: But where the path we walked began To slant the fifth autumnal slope. And looking back to whence I came. The Shadow sits and waits for me. And Fancy light from Fancy caught. how changed from where it ran Thro' lands where not a leaf was dumb. somewhere in the waste. often falling lame. tho' I walk in haste. to where he sits. But all the lavish hills would hum The murmur of a happy Pan: When each by turns was guide to each. And crowned with all the season lent. And all we met was fair and good. And crying. Who broke our fair companionship. alone. And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought. XXIII Now. And all the secret of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood: 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 .
If all was good and fair we met. XXVI Still onward winds the dreary way. This earth had been the Paradise It never looked to human eyes Since Adam left his garden yet. 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 if that eye which watches guilt And goodness. ± the track Whereon with equal feet we fared. Whatever fickle tongues may say. And orb into the perfect star We saw not. Because it needed help of Love: Nor could I weary. giving half to him. That sets the past in this relief ? Or that the past will always win A glory from its being far. When mighty Love would cleave in twain The lading of a single pain. when we moved therein? XXV I know that this was Life. And part it. as now. and hath power to see 5 5 5 10 15 10 . And is it that the haze of grief Hath stretched my former joy so great? The lowness of the present state. the day prepared The daily burden for the back. And then. In Memoriam 47 And many an old philosophy On Argive heights divinely sang. But this it was that made me move As light as carrier-birds in air.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady. I with it. heart or limb. for I long to prove No lapse of moons can canker Love. I loved the weight I had to bear.
Unfettered by the sense of crime. As mounts the heavenward altar-fire. whate'er befall. Nor any want-begotten rest. And flash at once. my friend. Deep folly! yet that this could be ± That I could wing my will with might To leap the grades of life and light. I hold it true. So might I find. The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth. And towers fallen as soon as built ± Oh. 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. 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. And I have lost the links that bound Thy changes. XLI Thy spirit ere our fatal loss Did ever rise from high to higher. here upon the ground. To whom a conscience never wakes. XXVII I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage. I feel it.48 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. to thee: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . No more partaker of thy change. what may count itself as blest. To cloak me from my proper scorn. 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. But thou art turned to something strange. In Memoriam Within the green the mouldered tree. ere yet the morn Breaks hither over Indian seas. Nor. when I sorrow most. That Shadow waiting with the keys.
Tho' following with an upward mind The wonders that have come to thee. That I shall be thy mate no more. And holds it sin and shame to draw The deepest measure from the chords: Nor dare she trust a larger lay. and go thy way. XLVIII If these brief lays. But better serves a wholesome law. The howlings from forgotten fields. Like light in many a shivered lance That breaks about the dappled pools: The lightest wave of thought shall lisp. and skim away. But rather loosens from the lip Short swallow-flights of song. She takes. from nature. But evermore a life behind. of Sorrow born. Let random influences glance. indeed. XLIX From art. Yet oft when sundown skirts the moor An inner trouble I behold. The slightest air of song shall breathe To make the sullen surface crisp. Nor shudders at the gulfs beneath. but blame not thou the winds that make 5 5 15 20 10 15 10 . A spectral doubt which makes me cold. What slender shade of doubt may flit. The fancy's tenderest eddy wreathe. And makes it vassal unto love: And hence. In Memoriam 49 For though my nature rarely yields To that vague fear implied in death. she sports with words. Were taken to be such as closed Grave doubts and answers here proposed. from the schools.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Thro' all the secular to be. when harsher moods remit. that dip Their wings in tears. Then these were such as men might scorn: Her care is not to part and prove. And look thy look.
The tender-pencilled shadow play. Behold! we know not anything. In Memoriam The seeming-wanton ripple break. That not a worm is cloven in vain. That not a moth with vain desire Is shriveled in a fruitless fire.50 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And every winter change to spring. So careless of the single life. 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. That I. Or cast as rubbish to the void. To pangs of nature. and taints of blood. That not one life shall be destroyed. that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave. Defects of doubt. Beneath all fancied hopes and fears Ay me! the sorrow deepens down. to all. That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems. sins of will. considering everywhere Her secret meaning in her deeds. Whose muffled motions blindly drown The bases of my life in tears. 5 5 15 10 15 20 10 . LV The wish. I can but trust that good shall fall At last ± far off ± at last. Or but subserves another's gain. That nothing walks with aimless feet. And finding that of fifty seeds She often brings but one to bear. When God hath made the pile complete. LIV Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill. Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife.
and call To what I feel is Lord of all. Be blown about the desert dust. Or sealed within the iron hills? No more? A monster then. Dragons of the prime. behind the veil. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries. And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God. And gather dust and chaff.' And he. or redress? Behind the veil. Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer. I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more. And faintly trust the larger hope. I stretch lame hands of faith. shall he. come away: the song of woe Is after all an earthly song: 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law ± Tho' Nature. Were mellow music matched with him. shrieked against his creed ± Who loved. who suffered countless ills. red in tooth and claw With ravine. A discord. the Just. LVI `So careful of the type?' but no. who seemed so fair. Such splendid purpose in his eyes. all shall go.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. her last work. O life as futile. Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies. That tare each other in their slime. and grope. In Memoriam 51 I falter where I firmly trod. Who battled for the True. `A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing. then. as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless! What hope of answer. LVII Peace. Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life. Man. a dream.
come away: we do him wrong To sing so wildly: let us go. adieu' for evermore! LXXXVI Sweet after showers.). To where in yonder orient star A hundred spirits whisper `Peace. Yea. Ave. `Adieu. Come. One set slow bell will seem to toll The passing of the sweetest soul That ever looked with human eyes. And `Ave. your cheeks are pale.4 Yet in these ears till hearing dies. till Doubt and Death. That rollest from the gorgeous gloom Of evening over brake and bloom And meadow. my work will fail.' XCII If any vision should reveal Thy likeness. I hear it now. slowly breathing bare The round of space. though it spake and made appeal To chances where our lots were cast Together in the days behind. Ill brethren. and rapt below Thro' all the dewy-tasselled wood. Ave. Methinks my friend is richly shrined. And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples. ambrosial air. In Memoriam Peace. I might count it vain As but the canker of the brain. Methinks I have built a rich shrine to my friend. let us go. let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas On leagues of odour streaming far.' said. but it will not last' (T. Eternal greetings to the dead. and o'er and o'er. But I shall pass. But half my life I leave behind. fan my brows and blow The fever from my cheek. . and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame. 5 5 5 10 15 10 15 4 `The poet speaks of these poems.52 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.
or any. the Spirit himself. like them. I hear a wind Of memory murmuring the past. They might not seem thy prophecies. Except. call The spirits from their golden day. Yea. My spirit is at peace with all. That in this blindness of the frame My Ghost may feel that thine is near. tho' it spake and bared to view A fact within the coming year. Descend. thou too canst say. may come Where all the nerve of sense is numb. therefore from thy sightless range With gods in unconjectured bliss. And tho' the months. And such refraction of events As often rises ere they rise. and touch. XCIV How pure at heart and sound in head. The memory like a cloudless air. In vain shalt thou. Imaginations calm and fair. O. With what divine affections bold Should be the man whose thought would hold An hour's communion with the dead. But spiritual presentiments. Should prove the phantom-warning true. from the distance of the abyss Of tenfold-complicated change.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. They haunt the silence of the breast. 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. But he. Ghost to Ghost. XCIII I shall not see thee. O. In Memoriam 53 I might but say. revolving near. hear The wish too strong for words to name. The conscience as a sea at rest: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . and enter. Spirit to Spirit.
when most I feel There is a lower and a higher. not as one that weeps I come once more. But mine own phantom chanting hymns? And on the depths of death there swims The reflex of a human face. And. And bless thee.54 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And hear the household jar within. And bright the friendship of thine eye. And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh I take the pressure of thine hand. CXIX Doors. lest I stiffen into stone. so near in woe and weal. Or dive below the wells of Death? What find I in the highest place. And doubt beside the portal waits. I see Betwixt the black fronts long-withdrawn A light-blue lane of early dawn. I will not eat my heart alone. 5 5 15 10 15 10 . where my heart was used to beat So quickly. So far. Whatever wisdom sleep with thee. They can but listen at the gates. I hear a chirp of birds. I smell the meadow in the street. my lost desire. And vacant yearning. I'll rather take what fruit may be Of sorrow under human skies: 'Tis held that sorrow makes us wise. for thy lips are bland. O loved the most. the city sleeps. tho' with might To scale the heaven's highest height. CVIII I will not shut me from my kind. far off. CXXIX Dear friend. Nor feed with sighs a passing wind: What profit lies in barren faith. And think of early days and thee. In Memoriam But when the heart is full of din.
I prosper. the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!' he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. and I rejoice. The Charge of the Light Brigade 55 Known and unknown. Loved deeplier. Dear heavenly friend that canst not die. circled with thy voice. CXXX Thy voice is on the rolling air. I shall not lose thee though I die. Half a league onward. mine. Far off thou art. Mine. half a league. I hear thee where the waters run.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Behold I dream a dream of good. And in the setting thou art fair. Thou standest in the rising sun. All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. some diffusive power. I do not therefore love thee less: My love involves the love before. And mingle all the world with thee. My love is vaster passion now. I seem to love thee more and more. II `Forward. human. past. `Forward. for ever. But tho' I seem in star and flower To feel thee. I have thee still. present. the Light Brigade!' Was there a man dismayed? Not tho' the soldier knew 5 10 . but ever night. and to be. 5 5 10 10 15 The Charge of the Light Brigade I Half a league. divine! Sweet human hand and lips and eye. What art thou then? I cannot guess. darklier understood. ever mine! Strange friend. Tho' mixed with God and Nature thou.
56 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. while All the world wondered: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke. Stormed at with shot and shell. but not Not the six hundred. While horse and hero fell. Then they rode back. V Cannon to right of them. Boldly they rode and well. Their's but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. The Charge of the Light Brigade Some one had blundered: Their's not to make reply. Cannon to left of them. III Cannon to right of them. Back from the mouth of Hell. Cannon to left of them. They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death. All that was left of them. Into the jaws of Death. Their's not to reason why. Left of six hundred. Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre-stroke Shattered and sundered. 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. Flashed as they turned in air Sabring the gunners there. Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered. Charging an army. Stormed at with shot and shell. IV Flashed all their sabres bare. Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered.
6 Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? we have made them a curse. From: Maud 57 All the world wondered. 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.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. each hand lusting for all that is not its own. And Echo there.' 2 For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was found. 4 I remember the time. The red-ribbed ledges drip with a silent horror of blood. And the flying gold of the ruined woodlands drove thro' the air. And ever he muttered and maddened. in the spirit of Cain. and flattened. Not he: his honest fame should at least by me be maintained: But that old man. and crushed. and ever wanned with despair. When who but a fool would have faith in a tradesman's ware or his word? 5 10 15 20 25 . Pickpockets. And out he walked when the wind like a broken worldling wailed. the works of the men of mind. Noble six hundred! 55 From: Maud I 1 I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade. 5 Villainy somewhere! whose? One says. Dropt off gorged from a scheme that had left us flaccid and drained. 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. 3 Did he fling himself down? who knows? for a vast speculation had failed. for the roots of my hair were stirred By a shuffled step. and dinted into the ground: There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he fell. by a dead weight trailed. Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-red heath. we are villains all. answers `Death. by a whispered fright. And lust of gain. now lord of the broad estate and the Hall. whatever is asked her. His who had given me life ± O father! O God! was it well? ± Mangled.
nevermore to brood On a horror of shattered limbs and a wretched swindler's lie? 30 35 40 45 50 55 . 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. and shaking a hundred thrones.58 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and die: who knows? we are ashes and dust. 12 When a Mammonite mother kills her babe for a burial fee. Is it peace or war? better. 13 For I trust if an enemy's fleet came yonder round by the hill. home. if he could. as underhand. like swine. And Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of children's bones. And the spirit of murder works in the very means of life. as I think. set my face as a flint. From: Maud Is it peace or war? Civil war. and when only not all men lie. 11 And Sleep must lie down armed. as he sits To pestle a poisoned poison behind his crimson lights. 9 Peace sitting under her olive. When only the ledger lives. 10 And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffian's head. That the smoothfaced snubnosed rogue would leap from his counter and till. ± 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. And chalk and alum and plaster are sold to the poor for bread. and slurring the days gone by. and that of a kind The viler. Till the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the trampled wife. were it but with his cheating yardwand. war! loud war by land and by sea. War with a thousand battles. Cheat and be cheated. for the villainous centre-bits Grind on the wakeful ear in the hush of the moonless nights. each sex. And strike. May make my heart as a millstone. not openly bearing the sword. Peace in her vineyard ± yes! ± but a company forges the wine. While another is cheating the sick of a few last gasps. When the poor are hovelled and hustled together.
for the fiend best knows whether woman or man be the worse. XXII 1 Come into the garden. having the nerves of motion as well as the nerves of pain. 16 I am sick of the Hall and the hill. 18 Maud with her venturous climbings and tumbles and childish escapes. From: Maud 59 15 Would there be sorrow for me? there was love in the passionate shriek. Maud. 60 65 70 75 5 10 . has flown. Maud the delight of the village. and the Devil may pipe to his own. Why should I stay? can a sweeter chance ever come to me here? O. 2 For a breeze of morning moves. For the black bat. 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. I am here at the gate alone. she will let me alone. and thought he would rise and speak And rave at the lie and the liar. as he used to rave. She may bring me a curse. Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky. she promised then to be fair. night. ah God. the ringing joy of the Hall. I know not whence. I will bury myself in myself. The dark old place will be gilt by the touch of a millionaire: I have heard. ± 19 What is she now? My dreams are bad. Maud with her sweet purse-mouth when my father dangled the grapes. And the planet of Love is on high.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. the moon-faced darling of all. I am sick of the moor and the main. I played with the girl when a child. Love for the silent thing that had made false haste to the grave ± Wrapt in a cloak. there is fatter game on the moor. And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad. And the musk of the rose is blown. of the singular beauty of Maud. Thanks. as I saw him. Come into the garden. Maud. No. Maud the beloved of my mother.
that is dearer than all. violin.' 6 And the soul of the rose went into my blood. `The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine. 3 All night have the roses heard The flute. `There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay. and to die. For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood. All night has the casement jessamine stirred To the dancers dancing in tune. what sighs are those. As the music clashed in the hall. O young lord-lover. And half to the rising day. 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. `For ever and ever. Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away. 5 I said to the rose. Our wood. Till a silence fell with the waking bird.' Now half to the setting moon are gone. And a hush with the setting moon. To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise. mine. but mine. bassoon.' so I sware to the rose. 4 I said to the lily. And long by the garden lake I stood.60 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . To faint in his light. For one that will never be thine? But mine. When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance and play. 8 The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree. From: Maud To faint in the light of the sun she loves.
my dove. But the rose was awake all night for your sake. she is near. My heart would hear her and beat. Were it ever so airy a tread. little head. They sighed for the dawn and thee. the dances are done. my dear. my fate. And blossom in purple and red.' And the lily whispers. `She is late. 5 . My dust would hear her and beat. 61 50 55 60 65 70 Crossing the Bar Sunset and evening star. She is coming. To the flowers. Crossing the Bar The white lake-blossom fell into the lake As the pimpernel dozed on the lea. When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. 10 There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. But such a tide as moving seems asleep. and be their sun. `I hear. my life. The red rose cries. Would start and tremble under her feet. Queen lily and rose in one. She is coming.' And the white rose weeps. Had I lain for a century dead. `She is near. my own. Too full for sound and foam.' 11 She is coming. In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls. Shine out. The lilies and roses were all awake. my sweet. 9 Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls. Come hither. When I put out to sea. `I wait. sunning over with curls. And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar. Were it earth in an earthy bed. I hear.' The larkspur listens.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Knowing your promise to me.
I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far.62 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell. Crossing the Bar Twilight and evening bell. When I embark. .
for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance. Looking as if she were alive. she thought. . Sir. But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you. and there she stands.' or `Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat'. too soon made glad. The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her. I call That piece a wonder. She had A heart . . Too easily impressed. ± good. . . now: Fra Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day. so not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. The depth and passion of its earnest glance. and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. Sir. she liked whate'er She looked on. Or blush. 'twas all one! My favour at her breast. the white mule She rode with round the terrace ± all and each Would draw from her alike the forward speech. She thanked men. . Will't please you sit and look at her? I said `Fra Pandolf' by design. 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. how shall I say? . but thanked Somehow. . if they durst. and her looks went everywhere. at least. such stuff Was courtesy. but I) And seemed as they would ask me.Robert Browning (1812±1889) My Last Duchess Ferrara That's my last Duchess painted on the wall. The dropping of the daylight in the West. Who'd stoop to blame 5 10 15 20 25 30 . 'twas not Her husband's presence only. as if she ranked My gift of a nine hundred years old name With anybody's gift. How such a glance came there.I know not how.
were with us. Though his fair daughter's self. thought a rarity. 35 40 45 50 55 The Lost Leader I Just for a handful of silver he left us. with the gold to give. Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us.64 Robert Browning. Milton was for us. we'll go Together down. honoured him. ± they watch from their graves! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen. Learned his great language. ± while he boasts his quiescence. ± not from his lyre. doled him out silver. Sir. I repeat. tho'. Lost all the others she lets us devote. Burns. followed him. Sir! Notice Neptune. There she stands As if alive. his heart had been proud! We that had loved him so. nor plainly set Her wits to yours. as I avowed At starting. Will't please you rise? We'll meet The company below then. 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. she smiled. Oh. So much was their's who so little allowed: How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags ± were they purple. `Just this Or that in you disgusts me. here you miss. ± He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! II We shall march prospering. Nay. Taming a sea-horse. but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew. Lived in his mild and magnificent eye. Or there exceed the mark' ± and if she let Herself be lessoned so. and I chuse Never to stoop. Whene'er I passed her. I gave commands. and made excuse. Just for a ribband to stick in his coat ± Got the one gift of which fortune bereft us. Shelley. ± E'en then would be some stooping. 5 10 15 . and say. They. The Count your Master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed. Songs may excite us. ± not thro' his presence. Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me. Deeds will be done. no doubt. forsooth. caught his clear accents. Then all smiles stopped together. is my object.
Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister 65 Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire: Blot out his name. 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. Forced praise on our part ± the glimmer of twilight. for we taught him. my heart's abhorrence! Water your damned flower-pots. Strike our face hard ere we shatter his own. would not mine kill you! What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming? Oh. ± record one lost soul more. Sort of season. Rinsed like something sacrificial Ere 'tis fit to touch our chaps ± Marked with L. One task unaccepted. one footpath untrod. then. do! If hate killed men. ± come gallantly. Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well. 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. hesitation and pain. Brother Lawrence. Pardoned in Heaven. And a goblet for ourself. time of year: Not a plenteous cork-crop: scarcely Dare we hope oak-galls. for our initial! (He-he! There his lily snaps!) 5 10 15 20 . One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels. the first by the throne! 20 25 30 Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister I GR-R-R ± there go.Robert Browning. God's blood. One wrong more to man. one more insult to God! Life's night begins: let him never come back to us! There would be doubt. Laid with care on our own shelf ! With a fire-new spoon we're furnished. Then let him get the new knowledge and wait us.
too. those melons? If he's able We're to have a feast. to my recollection. Bright as 'twere a Barbary corsair's? That is.66 Robert Browning. thick like horsehairs. Keep 'em close-nipped on the sly! VII There's a great text in Galatians. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister IV Saint. Drinking watered orange-pulp. you grovel Hand and foot in Belial's gripe. How go on your flowers? None double? Not one fruit-sort can you spy? Strange! ± And I. Once you trip on it. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 . Blue-black. Steeping tresses in the tank. the Trinity illustrate. Sure of Heaven as sure can be. As do I. If I double down its pages At the woeful sixteenth print. so nice! One goes to the Abbot's table. ± Can't I see his dead eye grow. in Jesu's praise. In three sips the Arian frustrate. Knife and fork across he lays Never. lustrous. if he'd let it show! V When he finishes refection. forsooth! While brown Dolores Squats outside the Convent bank With Sanchicha. All of us get each a slice. at such trouble. my scrofulous French novel On grey paper with blunt type! Simply glance at it. telling stories. Spin him round and send him flying Off to hell a Manichee? VIII Or. if another fails: If I trip him just a-dying. I. entails Twenty-nine distinct damnations. While he drains his at one gulp! VI Oh. One sure.
at last I knew 5 10 15 20 25 30 . for all her heart's endeavour. she sat down by my side And called me. and vainer ties dissever. there's Vespers! Plena gratia Ave. And spread o'er all her yellow hair. And she was come through wind and rain. Blasted lay that rose-acacia We're so proud of ! Hy. And. Ã St. Ope a sieve and slip it in't? IX Or. untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall.Robert Browning. She put my arm about her waist. Hine . Zy. Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her. very proud. stooping. and all the cottage warm. . Be sure I looked up at her eyes Proud. And made her smooth white shoulder bare. And. I listened with heart fit to break. straight She shut the cold out and the storm. And give herself to me for ever: But passion sometimes would prevail. Which done. And all her yellow hair displaced. and all in vain. last. When glided in Porphyria. past retrieve. Virgo! Gr-r-r ± you swine! 65 70 Porphyria's Lover The rain set early in tonight. made my cheek lie there. To set its struggling passion free From pride. It tore the elm-tops down for spite. Porphyria's Lover 67 When he gathers his greengages. Murmuring how she loved me. . the Devil! ± one might venture Pledge one's soul yet slily leave Such a flaw in the indenture As he'd miss till. she Too weak. And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up. and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl. she rose. The sullen wind was soon awake. And did its worst to vex the lake. And laid her soiled gloves by. When no voice replied.
to be in England Now that April's there. And I. That moment she was mine. And strangled her. No pain felt she. So glad it has its utmost will.68 Robert Browning. While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England ± now! II And after April. As a shut bud that holds a bee I warily oped her lids. And the whitethroat builds. from Abroad I Oh. That all it scorned at once is fled. its love. which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head. and still it grew While I debated what to do. And yet God has not said a word! 35 40 45 50 55 60 Home-Thoughts. again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. fair. 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 . Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do. unaware. mine. surprise Made my heart swell. some morning. and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around. And whoever wakes in England Sees. And thus we sit together now. am gained instead! Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. when May follows. And all night long we have not stirred. this time my shoulder bore Her head. That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. I am quite sure she felt no pain. her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before. from Abroad Porphyria worshipped me. And I untightened next the tress About her neck. Home-Thoughts. Only.
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. 5 10 . stray or stop As they crop ± 2 Was the site once of a city great and gay. As I gain the cove with pushing prow.72 Robert Browning. Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward thro' the twilight. II Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach. And the need of a world of men for me. And the yellow half-moon large and low. Three fields to cross till a farm appears. Than the two hearts beating each to each! 5 10 Parting at Morning Round the cape of a sudden came the sea. its prince Ages since Held his court in. wielding far Peace or war. the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match. A tap at the pane. And the sun looked over the mountain's rim ± And straight was a path of gold for him. thro' its joys and fears. gathered councils. And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep. And a voice less loud. Love Among the Ruins 1 Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles. Meeting at Night Meeting at Night I The grey sea and the long black land. And quench its speed in the slushy sand.
dread of shame Struck them tame. the chariots traced As they raced. 5 And such plenty and perfection. see. Twelve abreast. Stock or stone ± 6 Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Long ago. And a burning ring all round. certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to (else they run Into one). While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks Through the chinks ± 8 Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time Sprang sublime. 4 Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all. 7 Now. of grass Never was! Such a carpet as. guessed alone. Love Among the Ruins 73 3 Now ± the country does not even boast a tree. the gold Bought and sold. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . To distinguish slopes of verdure. this summer-time. o'erspreads And embeds Every vestige of the city. By the caper over-rooted. Made of marble. As you see. by the gourd Overscored. men might march on nor be pressed.Robert Browning. And that glory and that shame alike. ± the single little turret that remains On the plains. Lust of glory pricked their hearts up.
50 55 60 65 70 75 80 . where she looks now. 9 And I know. heart! oh. ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each. Either hand On my shoulder. aqueducts. And they built their gods a brazen pillar high As the sky. bridges. 14 Oh. All the men! 12 When I do come. give her eyes the first embrace Of my face. Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force ± Gold. noise and sin! Shut them in. breathless. blood that freezes. ± and then. of course. blood that burns! Earth's returns For whole centuries of folly. Far and wide. while thus the quiet-coloured eve Smiles to leave to their folding. she will speak not. When the king looked. all our many-tinkling fleece In such peace. she will stand. all the glades' Colonnades. All the mountains topped with temples. Love Among the Ruins And the monarch and his minions and his dames Viewed the games.74 Robert Browning. every side. 11 But he looked upon the city. All the causeys. dumb Till I come. 13 In one year they sent a million fighters forth South and North. Ere we rush. 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.
that man is! Just such a face! why.Robert Browning. up and down. Do. Zooks. and you go the rounds. What. are we pilchards. The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up. if you must show your zeal. Boh! you were best! Remember and tell me. Cosimo of the Medici. how d'ye call? Master ± a . one. that they sweep the streets And count fair prize what comes into their net? He's Judas to a tittle. A wood-coal or the like? or you should see! Yes. I'm the painter. the day you're hanged. by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. elbowing on his comrade in the door With the pike and lantern. Fra Lippo Lippi I am poor brother Lippo. Fra Lippo Lippi 75 With their triumphs and their glories and the rest! Love is best. Weke. And please to know me likewise. that's crept to keep him company! Aha. weke. Who am I? Why. ± for the slave that holds John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair With one hand (`Look you. How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! But you. sir. . it's past midnight. brother Lippo's doings. Whatever rat. sir. what's to blame? you think you see a monk! What. ± harry out. And nip each softling of a wee white mouse. you'll take Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat. 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. sir. I' the house that caps the corner. 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 . there.' as who should say) And his weapon in the other. And here you catch me at an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar. Zooks. now. . it concerns you that your knaves Pick up a manner nor discredit you. haps on his wrong hole. Lord. . you make amends. you know your betters! Then. lads! more beside!) And all's come square again. yet unwiped! It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk. since you style me so. who is lodging with a friend Three streets off ± he's a certain .
I came up with the fun Hard by Saint Laurence. you say ± the sting's in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself. God knows how. 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . I starved there. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight. Let's sit and set things straight now. melon-parings. Round they went. My stomach being empty as your hat. And after them. a year or two On fig-skins. hail fellow. now! I was a baby when my mother died And father died and left me in the street. Refuse and rubbish. All the bed-furniture ± a dozen knots. rinds and shucks. what am I a beast for? tell us. and the nights one makes up bands To roam the town and sing out carnival. hip to haunch. Mum's the word naturally. flesh and blood. ± three slim shapes ± And a face that looked up . laughs. If I've been merry. The wind doubled me up and down I went. You snap me of the sudden.76 Robert Browning. saints and saints And saints again. you shake your head ± Mine's shaved. Fra Lippo Lippi 'Tell you I liked your looks at very first. ± a monk. 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. but a monk! Come. Here's spring come. A sweep of lute-strings. One fine frosty day. well met. and our earth is a tomb! Flower o' the quince. I let Lisa go. (Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) And so along the wall. And I've been three weeks shut within my mew. Hands and feet. sir. and so dropped. Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand. zooks. Curtain and counterpane and coverlet. and whifts of song. ± Flower o' the rose. . Take away love. ± Flower o' the broom. There was a ladder! down I let myself. That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went. . A-painting for the great man. Ah. and what good's in life since? Flower o' the thyme ± and so on. I could not paint all night ± Ouf ! I leaned out of window for fresh air. I see! Though your eye twinkles still. over the bridge. There came a hurry of feet and little feet. scrambling somehow.
And day-long blessed idleness beside! `Let's see what the urchin's fit for' ± that came next. Palace. . Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes. Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped. And made a string of pictures of the world Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun. `Nay. Six words. Holding a candle to the Sacrament.' quoth the Prior. 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . boy. Such a to-do! they tried me with their books. its pride and greed. they made a monk of me.' quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth. I did renounce the world.s. farm. Fra Lippo Lippi 77 By the straight cut to the convent. after I found leisure. which dog bites. villa. shop and banking-house. And who will curse or kick him for his pains ± Which gentleman processional and fine. On the wall. . Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge.s and B. ± `To quit this very miserable world? Will you renounce' . Lord. turned to use: I drew men's faces on my copy-books. All the Latin I construe is. Lose a crow and catch a lark. you're minded. Found eyes and nose and chin for A.Robert Browning. ± How say I? ± nay. mind you. d'ye say? In no wise. While I stood munching my first bread that month: `So. I had a store of such remarks. The monks looked black. there. sir. the bench. they'd have taught me Latin in pure waste! Flower o' the clove. the mouthful of bread? thought I. and none the less For admonitions from the hunger-pinch. By no means! Brief. be sure. What if at last we get our man of parts. when a boy starves in the streets Eight years together. I must confess. Well. I found in time. you may be sure. He learns the look of things. Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch The droppings of the wax to sell again. 'twas refection-time. `turn him out. The warm serge and the rope that goes all round. Which. Trash. 'Twas not for nothing ± the good bellyful. `amo' I love! But. Not overmuch their way. such as these poor devils of Medici Have given their hearts to ± all at eight years old. which lets drop His bone from the heap of offal in the street! ± The soul and sense of him grow sharp alike. the door. as my fortune was. Watching folk's faces to know who will fling The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires.
dropped in a loaf. and then was gone. . then cried `'tis ask and have ± Choose. and it's a fire. every sort of monk. 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. First. Fresh from his murder. . Fra Lippo Lippi We Carmelites. candle-ends. The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked. I painted all. arms. Make them forget there's such a thing as flesh. From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of barrel-droppings. said a word. their walls a blank. like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars. . ignore it all. Thank you! my head being crammed. to do our church up fine And put the front on it that ought to be!' And hereupon he bade me daub away. her apron o'er her head Which the intense eyes looked through. for more's ready!' ± laid the ladder flat. Never was such prompt disemburdening. But lift them over it. 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. it's not. 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. Your business is to paint the souls of men ± Man's soul. 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. And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall. I drew them. prayed.no. smoke . ± To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot. `How? what's here? Quite from the mark of painting. the black and white. came at eve On tip-toe. bless us all! Faces. (taught what to see and not to see. With homage to the perishable clay. fat and lean: then. . folk at church.78 Robert Browning. safe and sitting there With the little children round him in a row Of admiration.
± That's somewhat. it's the soul! Give us no more of body than shows soul! Here's Giotto. it's fast holding by the rings in front ± Those great rings serve more purposes than just To plant a flag in. yellow does for white When what you put for yellow's simply black. ± why not stop with him? Why put all thoughts of praise out of our heads With wonder at lines. that white smallish female with the breasts. in short. You get about the best thing God invents. by painting body So ill. . and what not? Paint the soul. . patron-saint ± is it so pretty You can't discover if it means hope. go a double step. . Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash. 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. well. or tie up a horse! And yet the old schooling sticks. ± Who went and danced and got men's heads cut off ! Have it all out!' Now. . when you return Him thanks! `Rub all out!' well. 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. Left foot and right foot. my son! You're not of the true painters. colours. I ask? A fine way to paint soul. She's just my niece . .Robert Browning. Why can't a painter lift each foot in turn. try at it a second time. in the Corner-house! Lord. the old grave eyes Are peeping o'er my shoulder as I work. well. . Within yourself. And you'll find the soul you have missed. I'm grown a man no doubt. I would say. never mind the legs and arms! Rub all out. the eye can't stop there. paint now as I please ± Having a friend. with his Saint a-praising God. Make his flesh liker and his soul more like. is this sense. And any sort of meaning looks intense When all beside itself means and looks nought. The Prior's niece . there's my life. That sets us praising. And so the thing has gone on ever since. Sorrow or joy? won't beauty go with these? Suppose I've made her eyes all right and blue. you see. must go further And can't fare worse! Thus. Fra Lippo Lippi 79 It's. what matters talking. fear. Herodias. The heads shake still ± `It's Art's decline. great and old: 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . Oh. Both in their order? Take the prettiest face.
We've a youngster here Comes to our convent. doing most. You keep your mistr. I see as certainly As that the morning-star's about to shine. I know what's sure to follow. my lesson learned. I swallow my rage. I can't unlearn ten minutes afterwards. I know. . I always see the Garden and God there A-making man's wife ± and. I think I speak as I was taught. For me. You understand me: I'm a beast. with their Latin? so. You don't like what you only like too much. Fra Lippo Lippi Brother Angelico's the man. and his own life for each!) And my whole soul revolves. manners. But see. They. The value and significance of flesh. now ± why. 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. you're my man. And play the fooleries you catch me at. the business of the world ± (Flower o' the peach. Although the miller does not preach to him The only good of grass is to make chaff. belike ± However. there's pretty sure to come A turn ± some warm eve finds me at my saints ± A laugh. out at grass After hard years. . I hope so ± though I never live so long. they must know! Don't you think they're the likeliest to know. you've seen the world 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 .80 Robert Browning. You be judge! You speak no Latin more than I. And I do these wild things in sheer despite. Clench my teeth. You do like what. Slouches and stares and lets no atom drop ± His name is Guidi ± he'll not mind the monks ± They call him Hulking Tom. he lets them talk ± He picks my practice up ± he'll paint apace. You tell too many lies and hurt yourself. and I'll stick to mine! I'm not the third. throws up his stiff heels so. then: bless us. suck my lips in tight. For. You find abundantly detestable. if given you at your word. Death for us all. you'll find: Brother Lorenzo stands his single peer. studies what I do. What will hap some day. The world and life's too big to pass for a dream. and paint To please them ± sometimes do and sometimes don't. a cry. you'll never make the third!' Flower o' the pine. the cup runs o'er. Fag on at flesh. In pure rage! the old mill-horse.
Your cullion's hanging face? A bit of chalk. `How looks my painting. then. And trust me but you should. surprises. But's scratched and prodded to our heart's content. Changes. Two bits of stick nailed crosswise. A bell to chime the hour with. yonder river's line. their colours. painted ± better to us.Robert Browning. Much more the figures of man. Have you noticed. Interpret God to all of you! oh. I painted a St Laurence six months since At Prato. woman.' he returns ± `Already not one phiz of your three slaves Who turn the Deacon off his toasted side. mind you fast next Friday!' Why. The pious people have so eased their own 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 . ± paint these Just as they are. splashed the fresco in fine style. despised? or dwelt upon. ay or no. this last of course. oh. does as well. Wondered at? oh. If I drew higher things with the same truth! That were to take the Prior's pulpit-place. or. Art was given for that ± God uses us to help each other so.' For. For this fair town's face. The shapes of things. `Ay. Lending our minds out. lights and shades. And so they are better. Which is the same thing. The mountain round it and the sky above. child. for this What need of art at all? A skull and bones. Fra Lippo Lippi 81 ± The beauty and the wonder and the power. nature is complete: Suppose you reproduce her ± (which you can't) There's no advantage! you must beat her. and means good: To find its meaning is my meat and drink. These are the frame to? What's it all about? To be passed o'er. Nor blank ± it means intensely. `His works Are here already. things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see. But why not do as well as say. It makes me mad to see what men shall do And we in our graves! This world's no blot for us. though! How much more. Don't object. don't you mark? we're made so that we love First when we see them painted. now. now the scaffold's down?' I ask a brother: `Hugely. what's best. and count it crime To let a truth slip. ± and God made it all! ± For what? do you feel thankful. 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. you say. careless what comes of it? God's works ± paint anyone.
caught up with my monk's-things by mistake. And Job. Painters who need his patience). puts out a soft palm ± `Not so fast!' ± Addresses the celestial presence. I must have him there past mistake. in this presence. because he saves the Florentines. see Something in Sant' Ambrogio's! (bless the nuns! They want a cast of my office). Lilies and vestments and white faces. I shall paint God in the midst. 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. My old serge gown and rope that goes all round. We get on fast to see the bricks beneath. Saint Ambrose. who but Lippo! I! ± Mazed. Fra Lippo Lippi With coming to say prayers there in a rage. then go. all these Secured at their devotions. motionless and moon-struck ± I'm the man! Back I shrink ± what is this I see and hear? I. after all. Expect another job this time next year. Tasting the air this spicy night which turns The unaccustomed head like Chianti wine! Oh. I have bethought me: I shall paint a piece . where's a corner for escape? Then steps a sweet angelic slip of a thing Forward. . the church knows! don't misreport me. As one by a dark stair into a great light Music and talking. And then in the front. who puts down in black and white The convent's friends and gives them a long day. 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. of course a saint or two ± Saint John. The man of Uz (and Us without the z. flowery angel-brood. Got wot. Iste perfecit opus! So.82 Robert Browning. Well. up shall come Out of a corner when you least expect. draw ± His camel-hair make up a painting-brush? We come to brother Lippo for all that. this pure company! Where's a hole. sweet As puff on puff of grated orris-root When ladies crowd to Church at midsummer. . Though he's none of you! Could Saint John there. I. all smile ± 335 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 375 . `nay ± He made you and devised you. Ringed by a bowery. There's for you! Give me six months. Madonna and her babe.
not letting go The palm of her. Baldassaro. . burning ever to midday. ± On her neck the small face buoyant. . Zooks! 380 385 390 A Toccata of Galuppi's 1 Oh Galuppi. Like the Prior's niece . wholly unexpected. because the sea's the street there. . to bite her mask's black velvet. he to finger on his sword. Go. all the doors being shut. . But although I take your meaning. like a bell-flower on its bed. and good bye: no lights. it would prove me deaf and blind. stately at the clavichord? 5 10 15 . What. Saint Lucy. and for the church A pretty picture gained. what you call . . 'tis with such a heavy mind! 2 Here you come with your old music. And so all's saved for me. six months hence! Your hand. sir. . Shylock's bridge with houses on it. While you sat and played Toccatas. where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings? 3 Ay. they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were the kings. where they kept the carnival! I was never out of England ± it's as if I saw it all. When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow. the little lily thing That spoke the good word for me in the nick. and I know my own way back ± Don't fear me! There's the grey beginning. 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. Till. no lights! The street's hushed. 4 Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May? Balls and masks begun at midnight. cheeks so round and lips so red. Where Saint Mark's is. O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might base his head? 6 Well. in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off To some safe bench behind.Robert Browning. and 'tis arched by . do you say? 5 Was a lady such a lady. (and it was graceful of them) they'd break talk off and afford ± She. this is very sad to find! I can hardly misconceive you. I would say. and here's all the good it brings.
when the kissing had to stop? 15 `Dust and ashes!' So you creak it. 12 Yes.' 10 Then they left you for their pleasure: till in due time. Told them something? Those suspensions. those solutions ± `Must we die?' Those commiserating sevenths ± `Life might last! we can but try!' 8 `Were you happy?' ± `Yes. sigh on sigh. Here on earth they bore their fruitage. ± think to take my stand nor swerve. 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. 11 But when I sit down to reason. sixths diminished. merely born to bloom and drop. mirth and folly were the crop. What of soul was left.84 Robert Browning. In you come with your cold music till I creep thro' every nerve. it cannot be! 14 `As for Venice and its people. Some with lives that came to nothing. Death stepped tacitly and took them where they never see the sun. you. 20 25 30 35 40 45 . too ± what's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old. While I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close reserve. 13 `Yours for instance: you know physics. ± you'll not die. creaking where a house was burned ± `Dust and ashes. souls shall rise in their degree. like a ghostly cricket. Dear dead women. Mathematics are your pastime.' ± `And are you still as happy?' ± `Yes ± And you?' ± `Then. Oh. is immortal ± where a soul can be discerned. and I want the heart to scold. with such hair. Venice spent what Venice earned. some with deeds as well undone. Butterflies may dread extinction. The soul. doubtless. dead and done with. something of geology. I wonder. when a million seemed so few?' Hark ± the dominant's persistence. one by one. till it must be answered to! 9 So an octave struck the answer. A Toccata of Galuppi's 7 What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive. more kisses' ± `Did I stop them. they praised you.
and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee that pursed and scored Its edge at one more victim gained thereby. my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring. 2 What else should he be set for. with his staff ? What. 3 If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which. So much as gladness that some end might be. ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there. That hoary cripple. all agree. And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break. what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare. save to waylay with his lies. 4 For. what with my whole world-wide wandering. 5 As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed.' he saith. Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed: neither pride Nor hope rekindling at the end descried. draw breath Freelier outside.Robert Browning. ± I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made. What with my search drawn out thro' years. and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend. Hides the Dark Tower. with malicious eye Askance to watch the working of his lie On mine. (`since all is o'er. `And the blow fallen no grieving can amend') 5 10 15 20 25 30 . he lied in every word. finding failure in its scope. `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 hears one bid the other go.
quiet as despair. a burr had been a treasure-trove. I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature. Than pausing to throw backward a last view O'er the safe road. were the land's portion. inertness and grimace. yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray.86 Robert Browning. The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed Their steps ± that just to fail as they. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 6 While some discuss if near the other graves Be room enough for this. scarves and staves. In some strange sort. And all the doubt was now ± should I be fit. 7 Thus. All the day Had been a dreary one at best. 9 For mark! no sooner was I fairly found Pledged to the plain. and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away. I turned from him. With care about the banners. with none to awe. `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. and dim Was settling to its close. seemed best. nothing throve: For flowers ± as well expect a cedar grove! But cockle. out of his highway Into the path he pointed. I might go on. after a pace or two. That hateful cripple. and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay. 8 So. ± And still the man hears all. 11 No! penury. I had so long suffered in this quest. spurge.' 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free. 'twas gone! grey plain all round! Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. been writ So many times among `The Band' ± to wit. naught else remained to do. according to their law Might propagate their kind. Heard failure prophesied so oft. 10 So on I went.
Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe: I never saw a brute I hated so ± He must be wicked to deserve such pain. then. Think first. happier sights. it grew as scant as hair In leprosy ± thin dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood. What honest man should dare (he said) he durst. Alas! one night's disgrace! Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold. Good ± but the scene shifts ± faugh! what hangman's hands Pin to his breast a parchment? his own bands Read it. And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane. 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. with a brute's intents. That way he used. the soul of honour ± there he stands Frank as ten years ago when knighted first. 13 As for the grass. Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. Dear fellow. Poor traitor. however he came there ± Thrust out past service from the devil's stud! 14 Alive? he might be dead for aught I know. Stood stupefied.Robert Browning. One stiff blind horse. 16 Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face Beneath its garniture of curly gold. spit upon and curst! 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 . 17 Giles. As a man calls for wine before he fights. I asked one draught of earlier. the head was chopped ± the bents Were jealous else. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 87 12 If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates. 15 I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain. till I almost felt him fold An arm in mine to fix me to the place. fight afterwards ± the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights. his every bone a-stare.
how I feared To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek. No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms ± This. Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit Of mute despair. Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage ± 23 The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 18 Better this present than a past like that ± Back therefore to my darkening path again. Each step. rolled by. Christians against Jews. What penned them there. like galley-slaves the Turk Pits for his pastime. 20 So petty yet so spiteful! All along. 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. while I forded. no sight as far as eye could strain. No sound. Now for a better country. 19 A sudden little river crossed my path As unexpected as a serpent comes. But. ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek. tangled in his hair or beard! ± It may have been a water-rat I speared. Vain presage! Who were the strugglers. Whate'er that was. or feel the spear I thrust to seek For hollows. what war did they wage. with all the plain to choose? No footprint leading to that horrid mews. no doubt. 22 Glad was I when I reached the other bank. as it frothed by. 21 Which. Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank Soil to a plash? toads in a poisoned tank. deterred no whit. might have been a bath For the fiend's glowing hoof ± to see the wrath Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes. Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it. ± good saints. a suicidal throng: The river which had done them all the wrong.88 Robert Browning. 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . None out of it: mad brewage set to work Their brains.
'Spite of the dusk. ± solve it. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 89 24 And more than that ± a furlong on ± why. nought To point my footstep further! At the thought. that wheel. 25 Then came a bit of stubbed ground. and now mere earth Desperate and done with. one time more. not wheel ± that harrow fit to reel Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air Of Tophet's tool. (so a fool finds mirth. on earth left unaware. Now patches where some leanness of the soil's Broke into moss or substances like boils. aware I somehow grew.Robert Browning. it would seem. sand and stark black dearth. there! What bad use was that engine for. a cleft in him Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim Gaping at death. Makes a thing and then mars it. Or brake. Then came some palsied oak. came a click As when a trap shuts ± you're inside the den! 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 . A great black bird. Progress this way. God knows when ± In a bad dream perhaps. then. 26 Now blotches rankling. in the very nick Of giving up. Here ended. the plain had given place All round to mountains ± with such name to grace Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view. Sailed past. 29 Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick Of mischief happened to me. Apollyon's bosom-friend. and dies while it recoils. till his mood Changes and off he goes!) within a rood ± Bog. 28 For. How thus they had surprised me. nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned That brushed my cap ± perchance the guide I sought. you! How to get from them was no plain case. When. looking up. once a wood. Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel. clay and rubble. 27 And just as far as ever from the end! Naught in the distance but the evening. Next a marsh. coloured gay and grim.
Of all the lost adventures my peers. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came. Fool. This was the place! those two hills on the right. like giants at a hunting. only when the timbers start. ± How such a one was strong.90 Robert Browning. a tall scalped mountain . to be dozing at the very nonce. and such was bold. to see the game at bay.' 175 180 185 190 195 200 Memorabilia 1 Ah. And did he stop and speak to you? And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems. blind as the fool's heart. a living frame For one more picture! in a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all. Names in my ears. Built of brown stone. And blew. 34 There they stood. The tempest's mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on. And such was fortunate. 32 Not see? because of night perhaps? ± Why. . Memorabilia 30 Burningly it came on me all at once. ± `Now stab and end the creature ± to the heft!' 33 Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled Increasing like a bell. The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: The hills. lay ± Chin upon hand. did you once see Shelley plain. ranged along the hillsides ± met To view the last of me. Dunce. After a life spent training for the sight! 31 What in the midst lay but the Tower itself ? The round squat turret. And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set. and new! . day ± Came back again for that! before it left. without a counterpart In the whole world. . yet each of old Lost. Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight ± While to the left. lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.
how you shall be glad for this! Your soft hand is a woman of itself. 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. You turn your face. No. 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. 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. Fix his own time. accept too his own price. bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside. I forget the rest. an eagle-feather ± Well. quietly the evening through. And also you are living after. either. Both of one mind. ± but tomorrow. 5 10 15 Andrea del Sarto (Called `The Faultless Painter') But do not let us quarrel any more. as married people use. you must serve For each of the five pictures we require ± 5 10 15 20 . This evening more than usual. Don't count the time lost. And shut the money into this small hand When next it takes mine. To-morrow. Let us try. Will it? tenderly? Oh. never fear. my Lucrezia.Robert Browning. Quietly. Andrea del Sarto 91 2 But you were living before that. Treat his own subject after his own way. I'll content him. I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. Love! I often am much wearier than you think. but does it bring your heart? I'll work then for your friend's friend.
my art. Even to put the pearl there! oh. And autumn grows. autumn in everything. perhaps: yourself are judge. The last monk leaves the garden. But you can hear at least when people speak. And just as much they used to say in France. rounds on rounds! ± How could you ever prick those perfect ears. my hope. no less! You smile? why.92 Robert Browning. How strange now. Love. the second from the door ± It is the thing. huddled more inside. While she looks ± no one's: very dear. you and I alike ± You. ± but I. what at bottom of my heart I wish for. So! keep looking so ± My serpentining beauty. A twilight-piece. if I ever wish so deep ± Do easily. What I see. ± All in a twilight. 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. I suppose. That length of convent-wall across the way Holds the trees safer. days decrease. at every point. At any rate 'tis easy. Which everybody looks on and calls his. There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top. And that cartoon. being all toned down To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. Who listened to the Legate's talk last week. 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. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . Andrea del Sarto It saves a model. and agonise to do. my everybody's moon. and not leave this town. Love! so such things should be ± Behold Madonna. so sweet ± My face. I am bold to say. my moon. is looked on by in turn. there's my picture ready made. looks the life he makes us lead! So free we seem. too ± when I say perfectly I do not boast. No sketches first. I could count twenty such On twice your fingers. at the point of your first pride in me (That's gone you know). no studies. I can do with my pencil what I know. all of it. that's long past ± I do what many dream of all their lives ± Dream? strive to do. There's what we painters call our harmony! A common greyness silvers everything. And fail in doing. we are in God's hand. And. My youth.
so to speak! its soul is right. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 . In their vexed. Their works drop groundward. with kings and popes to see. We might have risen to Rafael. what of that? Ah. Our head would have o'erlooked the world!' No doubt. Reaching. what an arm! and I could alter it. But all the play. Enter and take their place there sure enough. so much less. you did give all I asked. a child may understand. the insight and the stretch ± Out of me! out of me! And wherefore out? Had you enjoined them on me. There burns a truer light of God in them. but I sit here. Know what I do. I know. some one says. it boils too. Yet do much less. but themselves. (I know his name. I can fancy how he did it all. Love. ('Tis copied. His hue mistaken. George Vasari sent it me. another and myself. My works are nearer heaven. by many times. it boils. Yonder's a work now. 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. Above and through his art ± for it gives way. given me soul. or whate'er else. Nay. Though they come back and cannot tell the world. or blame them. Pouring his soul. I think ± More than I merit. Rightly traced and well ordered. am unmoved by men's blame Or their praise either. painting from myself and to myself. beating stuffed and stopped-up brain. Somebody remarks Morello's outline there is wrongly traced. what of that? or else.Robert Browning. Lucrezia! I am judged. of that famous youth The Urbinate who died five years ago. I. less is more. that Heaven might so replenish him. 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. Heart. than goes on to prompt This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine.) Well. He means right ± that. Still. yes. but a man's reach should exceed his grasp. to sigh `Had I been two. Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me. Its body. I and you. The sudden blood of these men! at a word ± Praise them. That arm is wrongly put ± and there again ± A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines. no matter) so much less! Well.
or has Angelo? In this world. and such a fire of souls Profuse. Such frank French eyes. round my neck. And that long festal year at Fontainebleau! I surely then could sometimes leave the ground. what is that? Live for fame. All is as God over-rules. So it seems ± Perhaps not. and more than perfect mouth. All his court round him. One arm about my shoulder. Why do I need you? What wife had Rafael. this. despised. To crown the issue with a last reward! A good time. my kingly days? And had you not grown restless ± but I know ± 'Tis done and past. golden and not grey ± And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 . my hand kept plying by those hearts. And perfect eyes. Poor this long while. You painting proudly with his breath on me. I dared not. best of all. this. In that humane great monarch's golden look. God. that first time. leave home all day. I must bear it all. the power ± And thus we half-men struggle. and follows to the snare ± Had you. do you know. For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. this face beyond. The present by the future. The jingle of his gold chain in my ear. my instinct said. 'Tis safer for me. all three!' I might have done it for you. waiting on my work. Rafael's daily wear. The best is when they pass and look aside. but brought a mind! Some women do so. seeing with his eyes. incentives come from the soul's self. Too live the life grew. 'twas right. Had the mouth there urged `God and the glory! never care for gain. compensates. if the award be strict. The rest avail not. I conclude. ± And. I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat ± somewhat. too. ± One finger in his beard or twisted curl Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile. Put on the glory. Andrea del Sarto But had you ± oh. That I am something underrated here. was it not. At the end.94 Robert Browning. Well may they speak! That Francis. as a bird The fowler's pipe. who can do a thing. will not ± And who would do it. to speak the truth. cannot. Beside. with the same perfect brow. with these the same. punishes. This in the background. And the low voice my soul hears. side by side with Angelo ± Rafael is waiting: up to God. But they speak sometimes.
were he set to plan and execute As you are pricked on by your popes and kings. Said one day Angelo. clearer grows My better fortune. Love. The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out! Still. I resolve to think. God is just. Is. let me think so. 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 . whether you're ± not grateful ± but more pleased. ± come in. it is settled dusk now. as God lives. Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!' To Rafael's! ± And indeed the arm is wrong. only you to see. Morello's gone. who but Michel Angelo? Do you forget already words like those?) If really there was such a chance. there's a certain sorry little scrub Goes up and down our Florence. Who. all I care for. Lucrezia. But still the other's Virgin was his wife ±' Men will excuse me. instead of mortar fierce bright gold.Robert Browning. at last. Andrea del Sarto 95 Out of the grange whose four walls make his world. Oft at nights When I look up from painting. . Inside the melancholy little house We built to be so gay with. what is lost? Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold. do you know. none cares how. eyes tired out. . For. the watch-lights show the wall. The triumph was to have ended there ± then if I reached it ere the triumph. . (When the young man was flaming out his thoughts Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see. You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! `Rafael did this. See. brick from brick Distinct. if he spoke the truth. . do you comprehend? I mean that I should earn more. I hardly dare ± yet. Andrea painted that. give you more. The walls become illumined. I have known it all these years . so lost. 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. (What he? why. How could it end in any other way? You called me. The Roman's is the better when you pray. his very self. I am glad to judge Both pictures in your presence. Too lifted up in heart because of it) `Friend. thus the line should go! Ay. King Francis may forgive me. Give the chalk here ± quick. there's a star. and I came home to your heart. Come from the window. Well. To Rafael .
does that please you? Ah. you call it. Rafael. it seems to-night. and muse perfectly How I could paint. You loved me quite enough. there. I take the subjects for his corridor. perhaps. there's something strikes a balance. Andrea del Sarto That gold of his I did cement them with! Let us but love each other. Only let me sit The grey remainder of the evening out. Must you go? That Cousin here again? he waits outside? Must see you ± you. one more chance ± Four great walls in the New Jerusalem. the whole should prove enough To pay for this same Cousin's freak. had I riches of my own? you see How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 . And built this house and sinned. were I but back in France. 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. 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. Yes. Will you? Tomorrow. and not with me? Those loans! More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? Well. but what does he. Meted on each side by the angel's reed. was tempted and complied. This must suffice me here. Well. I regret little. Angelo and me To cover ± the three first without a wife. Beside. just one more ± the Virgin's face. and what's it worth? I'll pay my fancy. My father and my mother died of want. Since there my past life lies. lived poor. work's my ware. new chances. And throw him in another thing or two If he demurs. satisfy your friend. What would one have? In heaven. One picture. Idle. The Cousin! what does he to please you more? I am grown peaceful as old age tonight. Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff ! Love. I would change still less. Finish the portrait out of hand ± there. and all is said. and poor they died: And I have laboured somewhat in my time And not been paid profusely. They were born poor. What's better and what's all I care about. For Leonard. why alter it? The very wrong to Francis! it is true I took his coin.96 Robert Browning.
Has tantalised me many times. through such lengths of hours. hand in hand. Hold it fast! 5 The champaign with its endless fleece Of feathery grasses everywhere! Silence and passion. ± blind and green they grope Among the honey-meal. branching from the brickwork's cleft. since. my Love. Two in the Campagna 97 While I have mine! So ± still they overcome Because there's still Lucrezia. Some old tomb's ruin: yonder weed Took up the floating weft. joy and peace. Again the Cousin's whistle! Go. This morn of Rome and May? 2 For me. 6 Such life there.Robert Browning. Such letting Nature have her way While Heaven looks from its towers. An everlasting wash of air ± Rome's ghost since her decease. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . I touched a thought. 265 Two in the Campagna 1 I wonder do you feel today As I have felt. ± as I choose. We sat down on the grass. I know. run to seed There. ± and last Everywhere on the grassy slope I traced it. Such miracles performed in play. (Like turns of thread the spiders throw Mocking across our path) for rhymes To catch at and let go. 3 Help me to hold it: first it left The yellowing fennel. 4 Where one small orange cup amassed Five beetles. Such primal naked forms of flowers. to stray In spirit better through the land.
and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn. Onward. You that are just so much. 11 Already how am I so far Out of that minute? Must I go Still like the thistle-ball. no bar. A Grammarian's Funeral 7 How say you? Let us. Catch your soul's warmth. I kiss your cheek.98 Robert Browning. Then stand away. no more ± Nor yours. See with your eyes. 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. ± I pluck the rose And love it more than tongue can speak ± Then the good minute goes. whenever light winds blow. . 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. Singing together. Let us be unashamed of soul. ± nor slave nor free! Where does the fault lie? what the core Of the wound. 10 No. I yearn upward ± touch you close. ± your part my part In life. As earth lies bare to heaven above. and set my heart Beating by yours. nor mine. for good and ill. since wound must be? 9 I would I could adopt your will. and drink my fill At your soul's springs. How is it under our control To love or not to love? 8 I would that you were all to me.
as it ought. Left play for work. Seek we sepulture On a tall mountain. and youth was gone! Cramped and diminished. the little touch. No. ± 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . Clouds overcome it. man's thought. Lyric Apollo! Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note Winter would follow? Till lo. Sleep. Crowded with culture! All the peaks soar. `New measures. 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. and stepped on with pride Over men's pity. famous calm and dead. Moaned he. square chests. and grappled with the world Bent on escaping: `What's in the scroll. other feet anon! My dance is finished?' No. Self-gathered for an outbreak. Cared-for till cock-crow: Look out if yonder be not day again Rimming the rock-row! That's the appropriate country ± there. whom we convoy to his grave aloft. He's for the morning! Step to a tune. Safe from the weather! He. crop and herd! sleep. the vulgar thorpes Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain. Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop. Make for the city. Chafes in the censer. erect each head. but one the rest excels. 'Ware the beholders! This is our master. intenser. A Grammarian's Funeral 99 Leave we the common crofts. Borne on our shoulders.Robert Browning. `thou keepest furled? Show me their shaping. He was a man born with thy face and throat. Singing together. Theirs.' quoth he.) He knew the signal. the bard and sage. who most studied man. Rarer. that's the world's way! (keep the mountainside. citied to the top. darkling thorpe and croft.
Others mistrust and say ± `But time escapes. A Grammarian's Funeral Give!' ± So. Let me know all. Straight got by heart that book to its last page: Learned. Master. Sooner. take a little rest!' ± not he! (Caution redoubled! Step two a-breast. he spurned it! Image the whole.) Not a whit troubled Back to his studies. Painful or easy: Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast. `Now. Ere mortar dab brick! (Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market-place Gaping before us. When he had gathered all books had to give. `What's Time? leave Now for dogs and apes! Man has For ever. Prate not of most or least. then execute the parts ± Fancy the fabric Quite. Earn the means first ± God surely will contrive Use for our earning. ere you build. nor feel queasy!' Oh. we found him! Yea. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon. When he had learned it. ± Live now or never!' He said. his eyes grew dross of lead: Tussis attacked him. Accents uncertain: `Time to taste life. fresher than at first. `Actual life comes next? Patience a moment! Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text. but we found him bald too ± eyes like lead. Ay.' Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head: Calculus racked him: Leaden before. the way winds narrowly. `Up with the curtain!' This man said rather.100 Robert Browning.) Yea. such a life as he resolved to live. this in him was the peculiar grace (Hearten our chorus) Still before living he'd learn how to live ± No end to learning. Still there's the comment.' another would have said. he gowned him. ere steel strike fire from quartz.
with the throttling hands of Death at strife. A Grammarian's Funeral 101 Oh. has the world here ± should he need the next. as fools do here. Let the world mind him! This. That. Sees it and does it: This high man. and unperplext Seeking shall find Him.Robert Browning. (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. So. Paid by instalment! He ventured neck or nothing ± heaven's success Found. there. throws himself on God. here's the proper place: Hail to your purlieus All ye highfliers of the feathered race. While he could stammer He settled Hoti's business ± let it be! ± Properly based Oun ± Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De. for they can. `Hence with life's pale lure!' That low man seeks a little thing to do. Misses an unit. Well. His hundred's soon hit: This high man. Lightnings are loosened. parts of speech were rife. Greedy for quick returns of profit. Dies ere he knows it. Heedless of far gain. shew clear Just what it all meant? He would not discount life. with a great thing to pursue. where meteors shoot. here's the platform. clouds form. if we draw a circle premature. Dead from the waist down. Still. or earth's failure: `Wilt thou trust death or not?' he answered `Yes. through the rattle. Ground he at grammar. Stars come and gol let joy break with the storm ± Peace let the dew send! 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 . This man decided not to Live but Know ± Bury this man there? Here ± here's his place. That low man goes on adding one to one. Swallows and curlews! Here's the top-peak! the multitude below Live. sure Bad is our bargain! Was it not great? did not he throw on God.
With a malice that marks each word. Never the Time and the Place Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying. outside. warm sleep I and she. Outside are the storms and strangers: we ± Oh. the place is bleak Where.102 Robert Browning. But the house is narrow. safe. With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek. rain and wind combine With a furtive ear. Living and dying. 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. if I strive to speak. close. ± I and she! 5 10 15 20 . each sign! O enemy sly and serpentine. 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. Leave him ± still loftier than the world suspects.
what showers of spring' What winter floods.Emily (Jane) Bronte È (1818±1848) `What winter floods. cannot go . 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.
how happy! those are words That once would scarce agree together . with weary pain ± Lost vision! 'tis enough for me ± Thou canst not shine again. The summer-eve divine. I will not. The silent night of solemn calm. 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. where art thou now?' O Dream. how happy! those are words' How still.104 Emily (Jane) Bronte. But nothing drear can move me. 5 10 15 `How still. Wastes beyond wastes below. The full moon's cloudless shine Were once entwined with thee But now. where art thou now? Long years have passed away Since last from off thine angel brow I saw the light decay ± Alas. `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. 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.
soothing.Emily (Jane) Bronte. 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 . the breezy weather. More than smooth seas and cloudless skies And solemn. 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. `Mild the mist upon the hill' 105 È I loved the plashing of the surge ± The changing heaven. softened airs That in the forest woke no sighs And from the green spray shook no tears How still.
106 Emily (Jane) Bronte. walk with me' Come. 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. How fair soe'er it grew The vital sap once perished Will never flow again And surer than that dwelling dread. 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. There's only thee To bless my spirit now ± We used to love on winter nights To wander through the snow. `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. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . come walk with me. While moonbeams flash and fly so fast We scarce can say they smiled ± Come walk with me. though the soil be wet with tears. 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. 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.
Warm with ten thousand mingled rays Of suns that know no winter days? Reason. And Truth may rudely trample down The flowers of Fancy. may oft complain For Nature's sad reality And tell the suffering heart how vain Its cherished dreams must always be. Of real worlds. newly-blown: But. and I. all around. I trust not to thy phantom bliss. While thou canst speak with such a tone! So hopeless is the world without. Benignant Power. The world within I doubly prize. indeed. that. and darkness lie. in evening's quiet hour. and hate. Yet. where guile. Have undisputed sovereignty. 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. If but within our bosom's bound We hold a bright. Thy world. And whisper. as bright as thine.Emily (Jane) Bronte. Thy kind voice calls me back again: Oh. and breathe New glories o'er the blighted spring And call a lovelier Life from Death. Where thou. With never-failing thankfulness. to bring The hovering vision back. and Liberty. my true friend! I am not lone. thou art ever there. What matters it. with a voice divine. And lost and ready to despair. And earthly change from pain to pain. Sure solacer of human cares. still. untroubled sky. And cold suspicion never rise. and guilt. when hope despairs! 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 . And sweeter hope. I welcome thee. Danger. and doubt.
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine. cold in the dreary grave: Have I forgot. How could I seek the empty world again? 25 5 10 15 20 30 . do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains on Angora's shore. No later light has lightened up my heaven. forgive if I forget thee While the World's tide is bearing me along: Other desires and other Hopes beset me. ever more? Cold in the earth.108 Emily (Jane) Bronte. Remembrance È Remembrance (also known as `R. I dare not let it languish. Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover That noble heart for ever. Then did I check the tears of useless passion. Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish. Hopes which obscure but cannot do thee wrong. 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. All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given ± All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine! And even yet. far removed. Brenzaida') Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee! Far. when alone. to love thee. Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? Now. Strengthened and fed without the aid of joy. Then did I learn how existence could be cherished. But when the days of golden dreams had perished And even Despair was powerless to destroy. my only Love. Dare not indulge in Memory's rapturous pain. Alcona to J. No second morn has ever shone for me.
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. chide. G. The little lamp burns straight. One. Rochelle 109 È Julian M. alone. Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door. `Aye. In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray Reckless of the lives wasting there away. Cheerful is the hearth. threaten me with shame. and A. nor prying serf shall know What angel nightly tracks that waste of winter snow. It was so soft and mild. my angry Dame.Emily (Jane) Bronte. `and I am suffering now. open Warder stern!' He dare not say me nay ± the hinges harshly turn. `Our guests are darkly lodged. G.' 25 5 10 15 20 30 . art thou so much to fear. its rays shoot strong and far: I trim it well to be the Wanderer's guiding-star. it was as soft and mild As sculptured marble saint or slumbering. And were they forged in steel they could not hold me long. `Draw the ponderous bars. forgive my careless tongue! I scoffed as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung. darkly lodged enough!' returned my sullen guide.' she said. my haughty Sire. Yet these are little worth. That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?' The captive raised her face. Watching every cloud. But neither sire nor dame. Frown. Rochelle (also known as `The Prisoner') Silent is the House ± all are laid asleep. looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep. and A. Set your slaves to spy.' I whispered gazing through The vault whose grated eye showed heaven more grey than blue (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride). your bolts and irons strong. dreading every breeze That whirls the 'wildering drifts and bends the groaning trees. soft the matted floor. God forgive my youth. `Confined in triple walls. Julian M. Then. unweaned child.
unless you deem it shame To own from conquered foe. The dungeon seemed to swim in strange confusion round. `Shall I be won to hear. And offers. remember me? Nay start not at my words. all. Julian. too warmly. tell them. Alas. A messenger of Hope comes every night to me. its fair curls swept the ground. Julian M. 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. Then may I weep and sue ± but. With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. Friend. And visions rise and change which kill me with desire ± 65 45 35 40 50 55 60 70 . half aloud. wilt melt my master's heart with groans? Ah sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones! My master's voice is low. I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom and desolate despair. `you have not heard me mourn. How memory mirrored then the prisoner's joyous morn ± Too blithe. wildly gay! Was that the wintry close of thy celestial May? She knew me and she sighed. `Is she so near to death?' I murmured. a once familiar name ± I can not wonder now at ought the world will do. can it be. But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind: And I am rough and rude. with evening's wandering airs. Rochelle È Hoarse laughed the jailor grim. alone. for short life. And kneeling. `Lord Julian. Dost think fond. too loving Child. his aspect bland and kind. yet. before!' Her head sank on her hands.110 Emily (Jane) Bronte. And insult and contempt I lightly brook from you. By ball or speedy knife or headsman's skilful blow ± A quick and welcome pang instead of lingering woe! Yet. dreaming wretch that I shall grant thy prayer? Or better still. He comes with western winds. and A. you. parted back the floating golden cloud. Of all my playmates. eternal liberty.' she gently said. 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. never. G. how former days upon my heart were borne. Winds take a pensive tone and stars a tender fire. When you my parents' lives ± my lost life can restore.
watched her there. I knew not whence they came. Then. loosing off his belt the rusty dungeon key. a soundless calm descends. the flagstones damp and foul. would wish no torture less. its harbour found. paced by the bolted door And shivered as he walked and as he shivered. yet did not see. the vision is divine. the Unseen its truth reveals. still to stay. Earth's hope was not so dead. to and fro. He said. But first a hush of peace. heaven's home was not so dear: I read it in that flash of longing quelled by fear. I heard and yet heard not the surly keeper growl. and A. But duty will not let me linger here all day. from sun or thunderstorm. dreadful is the check ± intense the agony When the ear begins to hear and the eye begins to see. Lord Julian.' She ceased to speak and I. its home. Mute music soothes my breast ± unuttered harmony That I could never dream till earth was lost to me. Not daring now to touch one lock of silken hair ± As I had knelt in scorn. or bright with heavenly shine If it but herald Death. I'd leave this badge of mine with you Not doubting that you'd prove a jailor stern and true. When. my inward essence feels ± Its wings are almost free.Emily (Jane) Bronte.' I took the proffered charge. The more that anguish racks the earlier it will bless: And robed in fires of Hell. My fingers in the links of that iron hard and chill. Then dawns the Invisible. if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm. Measuring the gulf it stoops and dares the final bound! O. on the dank floor I knelt still. 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. Julian M. I saw. the captive's drooping lid Beneath its shady lash a sudden lightning hid. unanswering. The struggle of distress and fierce impatience ends. If I might go. G. When the pulse begins to throb. 105 85 75 80 90 95 100 110 . The keeper. `You may be pleased. the brain to think again. swore ± While my cheek glowed in flame. Rochelle 111 È Desire for nothing known in my maturer years When joy grew mad with awe at counting future tears. The soul to feel the flesh and the flesh to feel the chain! Yet I would lose no sting. My outward sense is gone.
And by the patient strength that could that world defy. I earned at last an equal love from thee! 145 125 115 120 130 135 140 150 . the battle-standard wave But Julian had no heart to fill a patriot's grave. Oh. I heard my kindred tell `How Julian loved his hearth and sheltering rooftree well. 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. So ready to condemn. G. with calm mind. Short strife! what rest could soothe ± what peace could visit me While she lay pining there for Death to set her free? `Rochelle. While foes were prowling near and Death gazed greedily And only Hope remained a faithful friend to me. and A. Yet I had no desire the glorious prize to gain ± It needed braver nerve to face the world's disdain. 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. When though the cage was wide ± the heaven around it lay ± Its pinion would not waft my wounded dove away. Rochelle.' And I. faint. By never-doubting love. Then oft with taunting smile. Yet I must break the chain or seal the prisoner's woe. Rochelle È Then like a tender child whose hand did just enfold Safe in its eager grasp a bird it wept to hold. Julian M. who am so quick to answer sneer with sneer. more than I could dream ± When. By suffering.112 Emily (Jane) Bronte. Another hand than mine my rightful banner held And gathered my renown on Freedom's crimson field. If I should break the chain I felt my bird would go. Through thirteen anxious weeks of terror-blent delight I guarded her by day and guarded her by night. contempt and calumny. Thus ruth and selfish love together striving tore The heart all newly taught to pity and adore. 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. 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. unswerving constancy. she turned aside from noon's unwonted beam.
dissolves. have power in thee Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts. unutterably vain. Changes. 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.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. 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 . sustains. that in me hast rest As I Undying Life.
but for you. possess the field. It may be. And when [we] feel our feet beneath us sink. things remain. fears may be liars. the main. When daylight comes. And. 5 10 15 `That there are powers above us I admit' That there are powers above us I admit. look! the land is bright. There are who walk beside us. The labor and the wounds are vain. in yon smoke concealed. Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers. And as things have been. But westward. A voice that is not ours commands the waves. Far back through creeks and inlets making Comes silent. The enemy faints not nor faileth. A hand that is not ours upstays our steps. An evanescent spectrum of disease. For while the tired waves vainly breaking. Commands the waves. how slowly. and whispers in our ear. and the cry That rises so spontaneous to the lips. It may be true too That while we walk the troublous tossing sea. If hopes were dupes.' is not nought. It may be that in deed and not in fancy. The `Help us or we perish. In front the sun climbs slow.Arthur Hugh Clough (1819±1861) `Say not the struggle naught availeth' Say not the struggle naught availeth. And not by eastern windows only. 5 10 . Seem here no painful inch to gain. comes in the light. That when we see the o'ertopping waves advance. flooding in.
I believe.Arthur Hugh Clough. `That there are powers above us I admit' 115 O thou of little faith. I will not say they will not give us aid. 15 . And when we lift up holy hands of prayer. why didst thou doubt? At any rate ± That there are beings above us.
Across the sounds and channels pour. they feel. And in their glens. The nightingales divinely sing. Now round us spreads the watery plain ± Oh might our marges meet again! Who ordered. At this vessel's prow I stand. And then their endless bounds they know. on starry nights. cooled? Who renders vain their deep desire? A God. we were Parts of a single continent. ± For surely once. and what I ought to be. Dotting the shoreless watery wild. from shore to shore. a God their severance ruled! And bade betwixt their shores to be The unplumbed. The islands feel the enclasping flow. o'er the starlit sea. And they are swept by balms of spring. which bears me Forwards. as soon as kindled. forwards.Matthew Arnold (1822±1888) To Marguerite In Returning a Volume of the Letters of Ortis Yes: in the sea of life enisled. We mortal millions live alone. 5 10 15 20 Self-Dependence Weary of myself. With echoing straits between us thrown. salt. But when the moon their hollows lights. Oh then a longing like despair Is to their farthest caverns sent. And lovely notes. estranging sea. that their longing's fire Should be. . and sick of asking What I am.
Come to the window. `And with joy the stars perform their shining. and is gone.' From the intense. `Unaffrighted by the silence round them. and fling. sweet is the night air! Only. And the sea its long moon-silvered roll. Who finds himself. ye Waters. `ye Stars. and unobservant In what state God's other works may be. from the long line of spray Where the ebb meets the moon-blanched land. Over the lit sea's unquiet way. `Ah. For alone they live. out in the tranquil bay. sympathy. amusement. star-sown vault of heaven. the cliffs of England stand.' I cried. nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul. Calm me. In their own tasks all their powers pouring. In the rustling night-air came the answer ± `Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they. on the French coast. A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear. loses his misery!' 25 5 10 15 20 30 Dover Beach The sea is calm tonight. Glimmering and vast. Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves suck back. as I gaze upon you. the light Gleams. the moon lies fair Upon the Straits. Undistracted by the sights they see. The tide is full. once more. and know that he. severely clear. clear.Matthew Arnold. 5 10 . On my heart your mighty charm renew: Still. These attain the mighty life you see.' O air-born Voice! long since. compose me to the end. `Resolve to be thyself. These demand not that the things without them Yield them love. `Bounded by themselves. Feel my soul becoming vast like you. ah. still let me. 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.
and told them that the people he went with were not such impostors as they were taken for. by the insinuating subtilty of his carriage. So various. Hearing it by this distant northern sea. so new. we Find also in the sound a thought.' ± Glanvil's Vanity of Dogmatizing. 1661. . nor peace. and cease. and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. let us be true To one another! for the world. at the full. Among these extravagant people. nor love. nor help for pain. there chanced to ride by a couple of scholars. Hath really neither joy. With tremulous cadence slow. They quickly spied out their old friend among the gipsies. love. to leave their company. Retreating to the breath Of the night-wind. which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams. Ah. and bring The eternal note of sadness in. and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery. who had formerly been of his acquaintance. who was by his poverty forced to leave his studies there. up the high strand. The sea of faith Was once. their fancy binding that of others: that himself had learned much of their art. but that they had a traditional kind of learning among them. and give the world an account of what he had learned. And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight. Nor certitude. The Scholar-Gipsy At their return. and then again begin. 15 20 25 30 35 The Scholar-Gipsy `There was very lately a lad in the University of Oxford. and could do wonders by the power of imagination.118 Matthew Arnold. he said. long withdrawing roar. down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. and he gave them an account of the necessity which drove him to that kind of life. But now I only hear Its melancholy. he intended. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the ágean. Where ignorant armies clash by night. nor light. too. After he had been a pretty while well exercised in the trade. Begin. so beautiful. and at last to join himself to a company of vagabond gipsies. he quickly got so much of their love and esteem as that they discovered to him their mystery. and when he had compassed the whole secret.
whom at college erst he knew Met him. had arts to rule as they desired 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . for they call you. And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers. his basket. and rustle down their perfumed showers Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid. where the reaper was at work of late. And here till sun-down. as most men deemed. years after. In this high field's dark corner. And bower me from the August sun with shade. His mates. Nor the cropped herbage shoot another head. Shepherd. And came. Shepherd. and again renew the quest. from the hill. While to my ear from uplands far away The bleating of the folded flocks is borne. and his earthen cruise. Then here. And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest. One summer morn forsook His friends. Who. Here will I sit and wait. Shepherd. But came to Oxford and his friends no more. Come. 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. And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves. With distant cries of reapers in the corn ± All the live murmur of a summer's day. The story of the Oxford scholar poor Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain. half-reaped field.Matthew Arnold. in the country lanes Two scholars. Screened is this nook o'er the high. But once. comes back his stores to use. and untie the wattled cotes: No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed. Whereat he answered. and of his way of life enquired. And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's book ± Come. that the Gipsy crew. Go. tired of knocking at Preferment's door. where he leaves His coat. let me read the oft-read tale again. will I be. Here. and went to learn the Gipsy lore. But when the fields are still. And roamed the world with that wild brotherhood. Shepherd. at noon. The Scholar-Gipsy 119 Go. And only the white sheep are sometimes seen Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanched green. Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats.
pensive and tongue-tied. and returned no more. Wanderer. And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers Plucked in shy fields and distant woodland bowers. Or cross a stile into the public way. Returning home on summer nights. Or in my boat I lie Moored to the cool bank in the summer heats. But. `the secret of their art. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring. And watch the warm green muffled Cumnor hills. And they can bind them to what thoughts they will: `And I. As the slow punt swings round: And leaning backward in a pensive dream. In hat of antique shape. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . who from the distant hamlets come To dance around the Fyfield elm in May. Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam. on thy trace. Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet. the smock-frocked boors Had found him seated at their entering. 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. The same the Gipsies wore. Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers ± the frail-leafed. On the warm ingle bench.120 Matthew Arnold. he left them. But rumours hung about the countryside. I know. will to the world impart: But it needs happy moments for this skill. And put the shepherds. Maidens. at the ferry. Seen by rare glimpses. And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills. Thee. At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors.' he said. And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream And then they land. mid their drink and clatter.' This said. he would fly: And I myself seem half to know thy looks. That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray. and cloak of grey. For most. thou lov'st retired ground. The Scholar-Gipsy The workings of men's brains. have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe. and thou art seen no more. Oxford riders blithe. And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place. When fully learned.
all an April day. So often has he known thee past him stray Rapt. nor stops his meal. Through the long dewy grass move slow away. The springing pastures and the feeding kine. while thick the snowflakes fall. But. But what ± I dream! Two hundred years are flown Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls. Above the forest ground called Thessaly ± The blackbird picking food Sees thee. Turned once to watch. and soft abstracted air. twirling in thy hand a withered spray. At some lone homestead in the Cumnor hills. on the skirts of Bagley Wood Where most the Gipsies by the turf-edged way Pitch their smoked tents. Have known thee watching. And waiting for the spark from Heaven to fall. above Godstow Bridge. nor fears at all. Children. who early range these slopes and late For cresses from the rills. Have I not passed thee on the wooden bridge. Have often passed thee near Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown: Marked thy outlandish garb. To bathe in the abandoned lasher pass. And gained the white brow of the Cumnor range. And the grave Glanvil did the tale inscribe That thou wert wandered from the studious walls 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . and every bush you see With scarlet patches tagged and shreds of grey. and many a scythe in sunshine flames. In Autumn. when haytime's here In June. Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow. The Scholar-Gipsy 121 And. thy figure spare. Where at her open door the housewife darns. The line of festal light in Christ-Church hall ± Then sought thy straw in some sequestered grange. thou wert gone. Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass Where black-winged swallows haunt the glittering Thames. Thy face towards Hinksey and its wintry ridge? And thou hast climbed the hill. Thy dark vague eyes. when the stars come out and shine. or hanging on a gate To watch the threshers in the mossy barns. in winter. on the causeway chill Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go.Matthew Arnold. And once. when they came from bathing. And marked thee. Thou hast been seen.
To the just-pausing Genius we remit Our worn-out life. Of whom each strives. Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds. disappointments new. thou hast not felt the lapse of hours. so? Thou hadst one aim. O life unlike to ours! Who fluctuate idly without term or scope. And we imagine thee exempt from age And living as thou liv'st on Glanvil's page. undiverted to the world without. Free from the sick fatigue. Exhaust the energy of strongest souls. one business. For what wears out the life of mortal men? 'Tis that from change to change their being rolls: 'Tis that repeated shocks. alas. nor knows for what he strives. Till having used our nerves with bliss and teen. Thou waitest for the spark from Heaven and we. The Scholar-Gipsy To learn strange arts. and in some quiet churchyard laid. but not. For whom each year we see Breeds new beginnings. For early didst thou leave the world. and join a Gipsy tribe: And thou from earth art gone Long since. Because thou hadst ± what we. in much been baffled. again. where o'er thy unknown grave Tall grasses and white flowering nettles wave. The generations of thy peers are fled. and are ± what we have been. like other men. But thou possessest an immortal lot. nor clearly willed. And we ourselves shall go. again. brings. Who wait like thee. the languid doubt. And each half lives a hundred different lives. have not. one desire: Else wert thou long since numbered with the dead ± Else hadst thou spent.122 Matthew Arnold. 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 . Which much to have tried. why should'st thou perish. Who never deeply felt. Under a dark. thy fire. not spent on other things. And numb the elastic powers. ± No. like thee. Whose vague resolves never have been fulfilled. in hope. And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit. Firm to their mark. Who hesitate and falter life away. Light half-believers of our casual creeds. red-fruited yew-tree's shade. no. with powers Fresh. Thou hast not lived. Some country nook.
and keep thy solitude! Still nursing the unconquerable hope. Wanderer. Still clutching the inviolable shade. and resting on the moonlit pales. our contact fear! Still fly. And every doubt long blown by time away. we await it. and how the head. And then we suffer and amongst us One. And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames. Thou through the fields and through the woods dost stray. plunge deeper in the bowering wood! Averse. to the nightingales. Tells us his misery's birth and growth and signs. And all his hourly varied anodynes. but it still delays. as in former years. the silvered branches of the glade ± Far on the forest skirts. From the dark dingles. as Dido did with gesture stern From her false friend's approach in Hades turn. This for our wisest: and we others pine. a truant boy. was rife ± Fly hence. Before this strange disease of modern life. O born in days when wits were fresh and clear. too near neighbour to Despair: But none has hope like thine. Its heads o'ertaxed. And how the dying spark of hope was fed. its divided aims. Nursing thy project in unclouded joy.Matthew Arnold. On some mild pastoral slope Emerge. With dew. 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 . Who most has suffered. Roaming the country side. and try to bear With close-lipped Patience for our only friend. Sad Patience. Wave us away. or listen with enchanted ears. Freshen thy flowers. By night. And wish the long unhappy dream would end. The Scholar-Gipsy 123 And lose tomorrow the ground won today ± Ah! do not we. And waive all claim to bliss. And how the breast was soothed. takes dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne. where none pursue. With its sick hurry. With a free onward impulse brushing through. And all his store of sad experience he Lays bare of wretched days. await it too? Yes. its palsied hearts.
and unfixed thy powers. And snatched his rudder. Which. Thy hopes grow timorous. And we should win thee from thy own fair life. The young light-hearted Masters of the waves. through sheets of foam. from the sea.124 Matthew Arnold. And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made: And then thy glad perennial youth would fade. To where the Atlantic raves Outside the Western Straits. Fade. and grow old at last and die like ours. fly our speech and smiles! ± As some grave Tyrian trader. Descried at sunrise an emerging prow Lifting the cool-haired creepers stealthily. Green bursting figs. And knew the intruders on his ancient home. Freighted with amber grapes. Shy traffickers. yet spoils for rest. our feverish contact fly! For strong the infection of our mental strife. and Chian wine. the dark Iberians come. Then fly our greetings. Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily. And on the beach undid his corded bales. and like us unblest. The fringes of a southward-facing brow Among the ágean isles. And saw the merry Grecian coaster come. and tunnies steeped in brine. The Scholar-Gipsy But fly our paths. and unbent sails There. soon thy cheer would die. And day and night held on indignantly O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale. Soon. where down cloudy cliffs. though it gives no bliss. and shook out more sail. 225 230 235 240 245 250 . Like us distracted.
Her robe. her day Had counted as ten years. ± her hair Fell all about my face . . . And her hair. here in this place Surely she leaned o'er me. Albeit to them she left. . She had three lilies in her hand. Yet now. . Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves. So high. And the stars in her hair were seven. The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers. . that looking downward thence. .) It was the terrace of God's house That she was standing on. . No wrought flowers did adorn. lying down her back. She could scarce see the sun. Her seemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers. . ungirt from clasp to hem. (To one it is ten years of years: . But a white rose of Mary's gift On the neck meetly worn.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. The whole year sets apace. as a bridge. It lies from Heaven across the flood Of ether. . even. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . . Was yellow like ripe corn. ± By God built over the sheer depth In which Space is begun. . .
And we will step down as to a stream And bathe there in God's sight. In that steep gulph. to pierce The swarm: and then she spake. untrod. she saw Time. Till her bosom's pressure must have made The bar she leaned on warm. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . and go with him To the deep wells of light. `We two will stand beside that shrine. Beyond all depth or height. gentle-mouthed. Playing at holy games. and stooped Into the vast waste calm. And he is clothed in white. Went by her like thin flames. the tides of day and night With flame and blackness ridge The void. For he will come. it was The peace of utter light And silence. The Blessed Damozel Beneath. as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. Her gaze still strove. has he not prayed? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? `When round his head the aureole clings.126 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. shake fierce Through all the worlds. some of her new friends. with her. But in those tracts. And the souls. And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. withheld. Their virginal chaste names. Heard hardly. `I wish that he were come to me. mounting up to God. Spake. From the fixt lull of heaven. like a pulse. no echo there. For no breeze may stir Along the steady flight Of seraphim. as when The stars sang in their spheres. And still she bowed herself. among themselves. Occult. I'll take his hand. `Have I not prayed in solemn heaven? On earth.' she said.
`will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is.' she said. . Magdalen. and Rosalys. and be dumb. 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. will teach to him ± I myself. Gertrude. being dead. With her five handmaidens. with bound locks And bosoms covered. The Blessed Damozel 127 Whose lamps tremble continually With prayer sent up to God. `Circle-wise sit they. and though the end were reached? . expects Its patient period. Weaving the golden thread.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Then I will lay my cheek 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 . hushed and slow. ± Her voice had caught their tone. . Into the fine cloth. revealed. `He shall fear haply. And where each need. which his mouth Shall pause in. Margaret. While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His name audibly. lying so. whose names Are five sweet symphonies: ± Cecily. To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born. `And I myself.' (Alas! to her wise simple mind These things were all but known Before: they trembled on her sense. Finding some knowledge at each pause And some new thing to know. though they would?) `We two. `We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Sometimes is felt to be. white like flame. ± The songs I sing here. Alas for lonely Heaven! Alas For life wrung out alone! Alas.
one life. We two will live at once. shall sing To their citherns and citoles. `Yea. (I heard her tears. Not once abashed or weak: And the dear Mother will approve My pride. and let me speak. in strong level lapse.) But soon their flight Was vague 'mid the poised spheres. Part I Youth and Change To his. verily. And peace shall be with us.) 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 . Less sad of speech than mild: `All this is when he comes. And wept. To Him round whom all souls Kneel ± the unnumbered solemn heads Bowed with their aureoles: And Angels. but to be As then we were. `There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me: ± To have more blessing than on earth In nowise. verily. ± being as then At peace. and tell about our love. The light thrilled past her. filled With Angels. and listened. `Herself shall bring us. when he is come We will do thus and thus: Till this my vigil seem quite strange And almost fabulous. hand in hand.' She gazed.128 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. (I saw her smile. Yea. meeting us.' She ceased. And laid her face between her hands. And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers. and she smiled. and then said. Her eyes prayed.
I was a child beneath her touch. ± A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood. even I and she. 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. Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Can rob this body of honour. Fire within fire. Her bosom to the writing closelier pressed. and no man sees but I. even of her breath aware. Rests there attained. ± A spirit when her spirit looked through me. till love's emulous ardours ran. and the deep Calls to the deep. 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. at length so nigh. The bliss so long afar.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Fain had I watched her when. First touched. 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. the hand now warm around my neck Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo! Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow. 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. Methinks proud Love must weep When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap The sacred hour for which the years did sigh. And her breast's secrets peered into her breast. ± a man When breast to breast we clung. at some fond thought. ± Oh let thy silent song disclose to me That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree Like married music in Love's answering air. Whereof the articulate throbs accompany The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair. ± Sweet fluttering sheet. desire in deity. 5 10 .
her soul sought My soul. without her thou art. till I am mirrored there Light-circled in a heaven of deep-drawn rays? What clasp. Steep ways and weary. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture Thou lovely and beloved. Whose kiss seems still the first. as for our love-world's new sunrise. 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. thou my love. Her dress without her? The tossed empty space Of cloud-rack whence the moon has passed away. Is like a hand laid softly on the soul. Even now. What of the heart without her? Nay. Where the long cloud. what kiss mine inmost heart can prove. which now absorbs within its sphere My worshipping face. whose summoning eyes. and from the sudden confluence caught The words that made her love the loveliest. attuned above All modulation of the deep-bowered dove. And cold forgetfulness of night or day. Her paths without her? Day's appointed sway Usurped by desolate night. Sheds doubled darkness up the labouring hill. hand to hand: . Linked in gyves I saw them stand. ± what gaze To thine. Shed very dawn. whose voice. through eyes raised an instant. 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. O lovely and beloved. the long wood's counterpart. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture When. 5 10 Sonnet LIV: Love's Fatality Sweet Love. poor heart.130 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Her pillowed place Without her? Tears. ah me! for love's good grace. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love Life-thwarted. Of thee what word remains ere speech be still? A wayfarer by barren ways and chill. Love shackled with vain-longing.
Made moan: `Alas O love. thy cowering self. once born free: And I. even as in his whose wand Vainly all night with spell-wrought power has spanned The unyielding caves of some deep treasure-trove. ± Bound to thy body and soul. while from hillock-eaves The deer gaze calling. Nor know. Till eve bring rest when other good things pass. ± Life's iron heart. As if. Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew. where love and death. 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. over and beneath. And here the lost hours the lost hours renew While I still lead my shadow o'er the grass. 5 10 Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty Under the arch of Life. in chains grown tame.' 5 10 Part II: Change and Fate Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness This sunlight shames November where he grieves In dead red leaves. guard her shrine. named with thy name. wing-shouldered. I saw Beauty enthroned. thus leashed with me! Wing-footed thou. that which I should do. and though her gaze struck awe. The sky and sea bend on thee. Here dawn today unveiled her magic glass. the sun Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. two writhen flakes of flame. The alloted bondman of her palm and wreath. even Love's Fatality. for longing. dappled white and dun. to one law. ± which can draw. Also his lips. though bough with bough be overrun. ± long known to thee 5 10 . and will not let him shun The day. But with a blessing every glade receives High salutation. I drew it in as simply as my breath. in whose praise Thy voice and hand shake still. By sea or sky or woman. Hers are the eyes which. Terror and mystery. This is that Lady Beauty. being foresters of old.
so went Thy spell through him. ± the beat Following her daily of thy heart and feet. Even with one presence filled. Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty By flying hair and fluttering hem. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXI: Memorial Thresholds Á What place so strange. And her enchanted hair was the first gold. 'Mid hurrying crowds. with what alone I know. whom shed scent And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine. And. How passionately and irretrievably.132 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. The rose and poppy are her flowers. Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave. . and lo! This is the very place which to mine eyes Those mortal hours in vain immortalize. of thine a single simple door. ere the snake's. Till heart and body and life are in its hold. it is told (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve. as once of yore: Or mocking winds whirl round a chaff-strown floor Thee and thy years and these my words and me. ± though unrevealed snow With unimaginable fires arise At the earth's end. Lilith.) That. pluck not. O Lilith. must be Even yet my life-porch in eternity. her sweet tongue could deceive. and left his straight neck bent And round his heart one strangling golden hair. for where Is he not found. subtly of herself contemplative. it is sweet and red. City. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy I said: `Nay. young while the earth is old. ± let the first fruit be: Even as thou sayest. By some new Power reduplicate. how many ways and days! Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty Of Adam's first wife. In what fond flight. And still she sits. ± what passion of surprise Like frost-bound fire-girt scenes of long ago? Lo! this is none but I this hour.
Dante Gabriel Rossetti. and all is vain. I am also called No-more. ± 5 10 . and turn apart Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes. Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen. ± 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. ± Then shalt thou see me smile. ± 'tis fallen and floats adown the stream. The tree's bent head Sees in the stream its own fecundity And bides the day of fulness. my name is Might-have-been. Lo. the last clusters! Pluck them every one. Sonnet CI: The One Hope 133 But let it ripen still. And let us sup with summer. Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen Which had Life's form and Love's. but by my spell Is now a shaken shadow intolerable. ere the gleam Of autumn set the year's pent sorrow free. Mark me. Shall not we At the sun's hour that day possess the shade. And claim our fruit before its ripeness fade.' 5 10 Sonnet XCVII: A Superscription Look in my face. What shall assuage the unforgotten pain And teach the unforgetful to forget? Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet. Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between. 5 10 Sonnet CI: The One Hope When vain desire at last and vain regret Go hand in hand to death. Farewell. 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. And eat it from the branch and praise the tree?' I say: `Alas! our fruit hath wooed the sun Too long. Too-late. And the woods wail like echoes from the sea.
our English nightingale. Fawned on each other where they lay apart. burnt red. And their dreams watched them sink. Nuptial Sleep Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er But only the one Hope's one name be there. as lamps across the bridge turn pale In London's smokeless resurrection-light. Nuptial Sleep At length their long kiss severed. O God! today He only knows he holds her. with sweet smart: And as the last slow sudden drops are shed From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled. But o'er the deadly blight Of Love deflowered and sorrow of none avail Which makes this man gasp and this woman quail. and slid away. Can day from darkness ever again take flight? Ah! gave not these two hearts their mutual pledge. ± but what part Can life now take? She cries in her locked heart. ± `Leave me ± I do not know you ± go away!' 5 10 . Under one mantle sheltered 'neath the hedge In gloaming courtship? And. 5 10 `Found' (For a Picture) `There is a budding morrow in midnight:' ± So sang our Keats. So singly flagged the pulses of each heart. Till from some wonder of new woods and streams He woke. Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams. yet still their mouths. with the opening start Of married flowers to either side outspread From the knit stem. Slowly their souls swam up again. but even that word alone. Their bosoms sundered. And here. and wondered more: for there she lay. Dark breaks to dawn. through gleams Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day.134 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. ± Not less nor more.
Come buy. you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. strawberries. Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Gone far away into the silent land. Bloom-down-cheeked peaches. dewberries. Wild free-born cranberries. blackberries. come buy: Apples and quinces. 5 10 Goblin Market Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. 5 10 15 . Plump unpecked cherries. Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Remember me when I am gone away. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember. Fair eves that fly. Melons and raspberries. Crab-apples. ± All ripe together In summer weather. do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had. ± Morns that pass by.Christina G. Swart-headed mulberries. Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. When you can no more hold me by the hand. Pine-apples. Apricots. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me. Lemons and oranges.
136 Christina G. How warm the wind must blow Through those fruit bushes. With clasping arms and cautioning lips. Pomegranates full and fine. Pricking up her golden head: `We must not look at goblin men. Laura bowed her head to hear. Covered close lest they should look. One lugs a golden dish Of many pounds weight. One bears a plate.' Lizzie covered up her eyes.' Evening by evening Among the brookside rushes. Figs to fill your mouth. You should not peep at goblin men. no. Lizzie. Citrons from the South. One hauls a basket. Dates and sharp bullaces.' call the goblins Hobbling down the glen.' said Lizzie: `No. Sweet to tongue and sound to eye. Rare pears and greengages. Laura reared her glossy head. look. Lizzie. Goblin Market Come buy. come buy.' `No. Lizzie veiled her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather. Bright-fire-like barberries. `Lie close. Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries.' cried Lizzie.' Laura said. Down the glen tramp little men. How fair the vine must grow Whose grapes are so luscious. We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?' `Come buy. no. Come buy. With tingling cheeks and finger tips. And whispered like the restless brook: `Look. `Laura. 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . Their offers should not charm us. come buy: Our grapes fresh from the vine. Damsons and bilberries. `Oh. Laura. Rossetti.
The rat-paced spoke a word Of welcome. One whisked a tail. Rossetti. and rough nuts brown (Men sell not such in any town). Brother with sly brother. The cat-faced purred. Like a vessel at the launch When its last restraint is gone. One crawled like a snail. `Come buy. One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry. One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry. Laura stretched her gleaming neck Like a rush-imbedded swan.' She thrust a dimpled finger In each ear.' was still their cry.Christina G. Leering at each other. She heard a voice like voice of doves Cooing all together: They sounded kind and full of loves In the pleasant weather. One set his basket down. leaves. One heaved the golden weight Of dish and fruit to offer her: `Come buy. Brother with queer brother. Signalling each other. and the snail-paced even was heard. One reared his plate. Longed but had no money: The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste In tones as smooth as honey. One had a cat's face. come buy. Like a lily from the beck. Backwards up the mossy glen Turned and trooped the goblin men. One tramped at a rat's pace. Goblin Market 137 Their evil gifts would harm us. With their shrill repeated cry. shut eyes and ran: Curious Laura chose to linger Wondering at each merchant man. Laura stared but did not stir. 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 .' When they reached where Laura was They stood stock still upon the moss. come buy. Like a moonlit poplar branch. One began to weave a crown Of tendrils.
And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusty heather. Rossetti.' She clipped a precious golden lock. 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. Stronger than man-rejoicing wine. Then fell with the first snow. Do you not remember Jeanie. Clearer than water flowed that juice.138 Christina G. you should not stay so late. She never tasted such before. How she met them in the moonlight. Then flung the emptied rinds away But gathered up one kernel-stone. Goblin Market One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried `Pretty Goblin' still for `Pretty Polly. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . Sought them by night and day. I have no coin. How should it cloy with length of use? She sucked and sucked and sucked the more Fruits which that unknown orchard bore.' ± One whistled like a bird. But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: `Good folk. Found them no more but dwindled and grew grey.' They answered all together: `Buy from us with a golden curl. And knew not was it night or day As she turned home alone. To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse. Twilight is not good for maidens. She dropped a tear more rare than pearl. Should not loiter in the glen In the haunts of goblin men. Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: Sweeter than honey from the rock. I have no silver either. Lizzie met her at the gate Full of wise upbraidings: `Dear. Took their gifts both choice and many.' `You have much gold upon your head. She sucked until her lips were sore.
Like two flakes of new-fallen snow. They lay down in their curtained bed: Like two blossoms on one stem. And sugar-sweet their sap.' `Nay. my sister: I ate and ate my fill. Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetched in honey. Early in the morning When the first cock crowed his warning. hush. What peaches with a velvet nap. Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other's wings. To-morrow night I will Buy more:' and kissed her: `Have done with sorrow.Christina G. as sweet and busy. You cannot think what figs My teeth have met in. Neat like bees. Wind sang to them lullaby. Yet my mouth waters still. Lumbering owls forbore to fly.' said Laura: `Nay. Moon and stars gazed in at them. Pellucid grapes without one seed: Odorous indeed must be the mead Whereon they grow. 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 . Like two wands of ivory Tipped with gold for awful kings. and pure the wave they drink With lilies at the brink. Not a bat flapped to and fro Round their nest: Cheek to cheek and breast to breast Locked together in one nest. What melons icy-cold Piled on a dish of gold Too huge for me to hold. I'll bring you plums to-morrow Fresh on their mother twigs. 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. Cherries worth getting. You should not loiter so. milked the cows. Rossetti.' Golden head by golden head. hush.
whisking.' But Laura loitered still among the rushes And said the bank was steep. the wind not chill: Listening ever. Goblin Market Aired and set to rights the house. And said the hour was early still. one sick in part. In groups or single. At length slow evening came: They went with pitchers to the reedy brook. `O Laura. hobbling. Then turning homewards said: `The sunset flushes Those furthest loftiest crags.' With its iterated jingle Of sugar-baited words: Not for all her watching Once discerning even one goblin Racing. sat and sewed. Till Lizzie urged. No wilful squirrel wags. Let alone the herds That used to tramp along the glen. Cakes for dainty mouths to eat. One content. come buy.140 Christina G. come. Talked as modest maidens should: Lizzie with an open heart. `Come buy. Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags. The stars rise. One longing for the night. Fed their poultry. Next churned butter. The dew not fallen. tumbling. not another maiden lags. the moon bends her arc. Laura. Laura in an absent dream. Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat. but not catching The customary cry. Laura most like a leaping flame. Each glowworm winks her spark. Lizzie most placid in her look. One warbling for the mere bright day's delight. Let us get home before the night grows dark: 205 210 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 . Come. Of brisk fruit-merchant men. Rossetti. The beasts and birds are fast asleep. whipped up cream. They drew the gurgling water from its deep. I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look: You should not loiter longer at this brook: Come with me home.
And gnashed her teeth for baulked desire. come buy. her pitcher dripping all the way. It never felt the trickling moisture run: While with sunk eyes and faded mouth She dreamed of melons. 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 . But peering thro' the dimness. Then sat up in a passionate yearning. Dewed it with tears. It never saw the sun. Put out the lights and drench us through.' Must she then buy no more such dainty fruits? Must she no more such succous pasture find. So crept to bed. And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. Day after day.Christina G. Then if we lost our way what should we do?' Laura turned cold as stone To find her sister heard that cry alone. That goblin cry. Laura kept watch in vain In sullen silence of exceeding pain. But there came none. hoped for a root. as a traveller sees False waves in desert drouth With shade of leaf-crowned trees. as the fair full moon doth turn To swift decay and burn Her fire away.' ± She never spied the goblin men Hawking their fruits along the glen: But when the noon waxed bright Her hair grew thin and grey. Rossetti. She dwindled. Trudged home. night after night. `Come buy our fruits. Goblin Market 141 For clouds may gather Though this is summer weather. Gone deaf and blind? Her tree of life drooped from the root: She said not one word in her heart's sore ache. She never caught again the goblin cry: `Come buy. and wept As if her heart would break. come buy. One day remembering her kernel-stone She set it by a wall that faced the south. and lay Silent till Lizzie slept. Watched for a waxing shoot. nought discerning.
The voice and stir Poor Laura could not hear. In earliest Winter time. She heard the tramp of goblin men. Full of airs and graces. Kissed Laura. halted by the brook: And for the first time in her life Began to listen and look. along the glen. Puffing and blowing. Tender Lizzie could not bear To watch her sister's cankerous care Yet not to share. crowing. Fetched honey. crossed the heath with clumps of furze At twilight.142 Christina G. kneaded cakes of wheat. come buy:' ± Beside the brook. Goblin Market She no more swept the house. leaping. Who should have been a bride. With the first glazing rime. She thought of Jeanie in her grave. Come buy. Till Laura dwindling Seemed knocking at Death's door: Then Lizzie weighed no more Better and worse. But feared to pay too dear. Brought water from the brook: But sat down listless in the chimney-nook And would not eat. Flying. 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 . She night and morning Caught the goblins' cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. Mopping and mowing. clapping. But put a silver penny in her purse. Rossetti. running. But who for joys brides hope to have Fell sick and died In her gay prime. Chuckling. Longed to buy fruit to comfort her. Tended the fowls or cows. With the first snowfall of crisp Winter time. Laughed every goblin When they spied her peeping: Came towards her hobbling. Clucking and gobbling.
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,
Or like an eagle when she stems the light Straight toward the sun. That juice was wormwood to her tongue. Rent all her robe. She loathed the feast: Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung. Dropping like rain After long sultry drouth. and pain. Like a wind-uprooted tree Spun about. And beat her breast. goblin-ridden?' ± She clung about her sister. She gorged on bitterness without a name. Swift fire spread through her veins. cankered. She fell at last. Rossetti. Shaking with aguish fear. Or like the mane of horses in their flight. have you tasted For my sake the fruit forbidden? Must your light like mine be hidden. Lizzie. Her lips began to scorch. Like a foam-topped waterspout Cast down headlong in the sea. Or like a caged thing freed. She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. knocked at her heart. Thirsty. Goblin Market Clutched her hair: `Lizzie. Met the fire smouldering there And overbore its lesser flame. Your young life like mine be wasted. 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. and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste.146 Christina G. Like a lightning-stricken mast. Undone in mine undoing And ruined in my ruin. Or like a flying flag when armies run. Kissed and kissed and kissed her: Tears once again Refreshed her shrunken eyes. Ah! fool. 480 485 490 495 500 505 510 515 520 . Her locks streamed like the torch Borne by a racer at full speed.
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)
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.
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.
(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 remain what I was then In each essential feature Of the fantasies of men. I would shun divinest duty To resume her worshipping. Yet I note the little chisel Of never-napping Time Defacing wan and grizzel The blazon of my prime.150 Thomas Hardy.. with. She would not balm the breeze By murmuring `Thine for ever!' As she did upon this leaze. Rest shall we. Still. `Alas. 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. As yet disquiet clings About us. When at night he thinks me sleeping I feel him boring sly Within my bones.. In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury Standing upfingered. doth a bird beshorn of wings Go earth-bound wilfully! . `Hark! hark! The glorious distant sea!' And feel. O. 5 10 15 20 . I would laugh with her and sing. and heaping Quaintest pains for by-and-by..... 1890.. 'tis but yon dark And wind-swept pine to me!' Yet I would bear my shortcomings With meet tranquillity. Enough. But she'd scorn my brave endeavour. But for the charge that blessed things I'd liefer not have be. I'd go the world with Beauty.
to make me grieve. Was it not worth a little hour or more To add yet this: Once you. I.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. Part steals. And shakes this fragile frame at eve With throbbings of noontide. a woman. And marching Time drew on. Could lonely wait my endless rest With equanimity. unto the store Of human deeds divine in all but name. when. You love not me. 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. You did not come. The Darkling Thrush 151 `I look into my glass' I look into my glass.Thomas Hardy. lets part abide. And love alone can lend you loyalty. and wore me numb. And say. `Would God it came to pass My heart had shrunk as thin!' For then. 5 . But. ÐI know and knew it. as the hope-hour stroked its sum. And view my wasting skin. came To soothe a time-torn man. 5 10 A Broken Appointment You did not come. And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. undistrest By hearts grown cold to me. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres. But Time.
Childlike. frail. An aged thrush. That I could think there trembled through His happy goodnight air Some blessed Hope. and small. whereof he knew And I was unaware. 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. The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry. She sat here in her chair. 31st December 1900 10 15 20 25 30 The Self-Unseeing Here is the ancient floor. In blast-beruffled plume. The wind his death-lament.152 Thomas Hardy. Everything glowed with a gleam. I danced in a dream. So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around. Smiling into the fire. Footworn and hollowed and thin. Here was the former door Where the dead feet walked in. The Self-Unseeing And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires. And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I. Yet we were looking away! 5 10 . gaunt. He who played stood there. Blessings emblazoned that day. The land's sharp features seemed to be The Century's corpse outleant. Bowing it higher and higher. His crypt the cloudy canopy.
5 10 15 20 . where was a place? I whirled out wings that spell And fled with a fling of the heart to the heart of the Host. Thou knowest the walls. Thou heardst me truer than tongue confess Thy terror. World's strand. Lord of living and dead. the hurtle of hell Behind. I can tell. 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. where was a. what with dread. Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh? Over again I feel thy finger and find thee. 7th. 3 The frown of his face Before me. O Christ. My heart.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. sway of the sea. O God. 2 I did say yes O at lightning and lashed rod. And after it almost unmade. laced with fire of stress. but you were dovewinged. Thou hast bound bones and veins in me. where. 1875 Part the First 1 Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread. fastened me flesh.
to a pane. being hard at bay. 5 I kiss my hand To the stars. And it crowds and it combs to the fall. That guilt is hushed by. only the heart. Christ's gift. 7 It dates from day Of his going in Galilee. maiden's knee. I steady as a water in a well. But roped with. always. a principle. tower from the grace to the grace. tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder. Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey. 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. 8 Is out with it! Oh. We lash with the best or worst Word last! How a lush-kept plush-capped sloe 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . The Wreck of the Deutschland Carrier-witted. and Glow. wafting him out of it. and frightful sweat: Thence the discharge of it. to a poise. Kiss my hand to the dappled-with-damson west: Since. the faithless fable and miss). I am bold to boast. stressed. The dense and the driven Passion. 4 I am soft sift In an hourglass ± at the wall Fast. a pressure. Manger. but mined with a motion. To flash from the flame to the flame then. lovely-asunder Starlight. Though felt before. all the way down from the tall Fells or flanks of the voel. For I greet him the days I meet him. there its swelling to be. hearts are flushed by and melt ± But it rides time like riding a river (And here the faithful waver. a vein Of the gospel proffer. His mystery must be instressed. a drift. though in high flood yet ± What none would have known of it. and bless when I understand. glory in thunder.154 Gerard Manley Hopkins.
stealing as Spring Through him. American-outward-bound. and the blear share come. Â But we dream we are rooted in earth ± Dust! Flesh falls within sight of us. though our flower the same. Christ's feet ± Never ask if meaning it. wanting it. Fang. in a flash. but be adored King. as once at a crash Paul. the being with it. last or first. Two hundred souls in the round ± O Father. To hero of Calvary. The Wreck of the Deutschland 155 Will. we. some The flange and the rail. out of us all Mastery. I found it. Make mercy in all of us. Beyond saying sweet. warned of it ± men go. 9 Be adored among men. Wring thy rebel. the million of rounds of thy mercy not reeve even them in? 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . flame. or flood' goes Death on drum. melt him but master him still: Whether at once. Gush! ± flush the man. a winter and warm. past telling of tongue. a lingering-out sweet skõll.Gerard Manley Hopkins. Take settler and seamen. 10 With an anvil-ding And with fire in him forge thy will Or rather. three-numbered form. sour or sweet. but be adored. of a fourth the doom to be drowned. 12 On Saturday sailed from Bremen. Part the Second 11 `Some find me a sword. Man's malice. tell men with women. full! ± Hither then. Brim. Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung: Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then. Â Â Or as Austin. Yet did the dark side of the bay of thy blessing Not vault them. And storms bugle his fame. mouthed to flesh-burst. Thou art lightning and love. not under thy feathers nor ever as guessing The goal was a shoal. forget that there must The sour scythe cringe. Á God. with wrecking and storm. Wave with the meadow. dogged in den. rather then.
With a rope's end round the man. black-backed in the regular blow. The Wreck of the Deutschland 13 Into the snows she sweeps. Hope had mourning on. handy and brave ± He was pitched to his death at a blow. The Deutschland. the whorl and the wheel Idle for ever to waft her or wind her with. The breakers rolled on her beam with ruinous shock. Trenched with tears. The woman's wailing. 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. 14 She drove in the dark to leeward. Á Wiry and white-fiery and whirlwind-swivelled snow Spins to the widow-making unchilding unfathering deeps. And canvas and compass. Night roared. the wind. these she endured. For all his dreadnought breast and braids of thew: They could tell him for hours.156 Gerard Manley Hopkins. and so the sky keeps. ± they shook in the hurling and horrible airs. Hurling the haven behind. She struck ± not a reef or a rock But the combs of a smother of sand: night drew her Dead to the Kentish Knock. on Sunday. 15 Hope had grown grey hairs. the crying of child without check ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . shone. with the heart-break hearing a heart-broke rabble. And she beat the bank down with her bows and the ride of her keel. And the sea flint-flake. Sitting Eastnortheast. dandled the to and fro Through the cobbled foam-fleece. Hope was twelve hours gone. For the infinite air is unkind. 16 One stirred from the rigging to save The wild woman-kind below. And frightful a nightfall folded rueful a day Nor rescue. in cursed quarter. And lives at last were washing away: To the shrouds they took. only rocket and lightship. What could he do With the burl of the fountains of air. carved with cares.
Gerard Manley Hopkins. river and earth Gnashed: but thou art above. such a melting. this glee? the good you have there of your own? 19 Sister. Banned by the land of their birth. but uttering truth. Surf. Mark. A prophetess towered in the tumult. Do you! ± mother of being in me. a sister calling A master. touched in your bower of bone. tears! is it? tears. What can it be. and Luther. snow. heart. 18 Ah. Have you! make words break from me here all alone. a madrigal start! Never-eldering revel and river of youth. a virginal tongue told. and the call of the tall nun To the men in the tops and the tackle rode over the storm's brawling. are two of a town. Thames would ruin them. lily showers ± sweet heaven was astrew in them. the mark is of man's make 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 .) 21 Loathed for a love men knew in them. Why. (O Deutschland. 22 Five! the finding and sake And cipher of suffering Christ. but she that weather sees one thing. Abel is Cain's brother and breasts they have sucked the same. one. her master and mine! ± And the inboard seas run swirling and hawling. lily. 20 She was first of a five and came Á Of a coifed sisterhood. Thy unchancelling poising palms were weighing the worth. O unteachably after evil. double a desperate name! O world wide of its good! But Gertrude. Rhine refused them. Has one fetch in her: she rears herself to divine Ears. The rash smart sloggering brine Blinds her. Thou martyr-master: in thy sight Storm flakes were scroll-leaved flowers. Christ's lily and beast of the waste wood: From life's dawn it is drawn down. Are you! turned for an exquisite smart. The Wreck of the Deutschland 157 Till a lioness arose breasting the babble. thou Orion of light.
She to the black-about air. but it was not these. to the throng that catches and quails Was calling `O Christ. arch and original Breath. 23 Joy fall to thee. I was at rest. christens her wild-worst Best. To bathe in his fall-gold mercies. his Lovescape crucified And seal of his seraph-arrival! and these thy daughters Á Á And five-lived and leaved favour and pride. The treasure never eyesight got. the jay-blue heavens appearing Of pied and peeled May! Blue-beating and hoary-glow height. On a pastoral forehead of Wales. body of lovely Death. Drawn to the Life that died. Á Before-time-taken. Is it love in her of the being as her lover had been? Breathe. the men Woke thee with a We are perishing in the weather of Gennesareth. signal. father Francis. They were else-minded then. nor was ever guessed what for the hearing? 27 No. altogether. to the breaker. What by your measure is the heaven of desire. niche of the lance. ruddying of the rose-flake. And they the prey of the gales. to breathe in his all-fire glances. the thickly Falling flakes. 24 Away in the loveable west. With the gnarls of the nails in thee. cinquefoil token For lettering of the lamb's fleece. Christ. 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.158 Gerard Manley Hopkins. The Wreck of the Deutschland And the word of it Sacrificed. 205 With belled fire and the moth-soft Milky Way. still higher. 210 . 25 The majesty! what did she mean? Breathe. dearest prized and priced ± Stigma. come quickly': The cross to her she calls Christ to her. I was under a roof here. The jading and jar of the cart. But he scores it in scarlet himself on his own bespoken. Are sisterly sealed in wild waters. or night. Or is it that she cried for the crown then.
Fancy. The Wreck of the Deutschland 159 Time's tasking. 28 But how shall I . and Startle the poor sheep back! is the shipwrack then a harvest. deal. . it is fathers that asking for ease Of the sodden-with-its-sorrowing heart. she has thee for the pain. heart's light. I gather. . . But here was heart-throe. but a blown beacon of light. Let him ride. Word. Thing that she . . Head: He was to cure the extremity where he had cast her. There then! the Master. What was the feast followed the night Thou hadst glory of this nun? ± Feast of the one woman without stain. Jesu. come faster ± Strike you the sight of it? look at it loom there. so to conceive thee is done. . ring of it. . 215 220 225 230 235 240 31 Well. worded by? ± The Simon Peter of a soul! to the blast È Tarpeõan-fast. Not danger. does tempest carry the grain for thee? . electrical horror. in his triumph. make me room there: Reach me a . Wording it how but by him that present and past. her pride. for the Patience. Á For so conceived. the breast of the Maiden could obey so. Christ. then further it finds The appealing of the Passion is tenderer in prayer apart: Other.Gerard Manley Hopkins. Do. that heard and kept thee and uttered thee outright. in measure her mind's Á Burden. 30 Jesu. O of a feathery delicacy. maid's son. 29 Ah! there was a heart right! There was single eye! Read the unshapeable shock night And knew the who and the why. despatch and have done with his doom there. lord it with living and dead. birth of a brain. Heaven and earth are word of. Ipse. the only one. 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. King. but pity of the rest of them! Heart. be a bell to. in wind's burly and beat of endragoned seas.
265 Á Double-natured name. be a crimson-cresseted east. be a dayspring to the dimness of us. The-last-breath penitent spirits ± the uttermost mark Á Our passion-plunged giant risen. Oh. 250 255 33 With a mercy that outrides The all of water. Pride. The heaven-flung. for the lingerer with a love glides Lower than death and the dark. Ground of being. hero of us. throned behind Death with a sovereignty that heeds but hides. . upon English souls! Let him easter in us. an ark For the listener. pent in prison. 260 A vein for the visiting of the past-prayer. heart-fleshed. Our hearts' charity's hearth's fire. maiden-furled Miracle-in-Mary-of-flame. and among our shoals. new born to the world. rose. quenching ocean of a motionable mind. 275 280 God's Grandeur The world is charged with the grandeur of God. The girth of it and the wharf of it and the wall. master of the tides. of the year's fall. fetched in the storm of his strides. rare-dear Britain. Stanching. like shining from shook foil. It will flame out. our thoughts' chivalry's throng's Lord. A released shower. not a lightning of fire hard-hurled. God's Grandeur 32 I admire thee. bodes but abides. 35 Dame. the heaven-haven of the reward: Our King back. The recurb and the recovery of the gulf's sides. 270 Kind. and granite of it: past all Grasp God. high-priest. at our door Drowned. Á Mid-numbered he in three of the thunder-throne! Not a dooms-day dazzle in his coming nor dark as he came. but royally reclaiming his own. Remember us in the roads.160 Gerard Manley Hopkins. 34 Now burn. as his reign rolls. Of the Yore-flood. prince. The Christ of the Father compassionate. More brightening her. let flash to the shire.
air. All things counter. ah my dear. smeared with toil. Pied Beauty 161 It gathers to a greatness. how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off. at the brown brink eastward. being shod. Landscape plotted and pieced ± fold. 5 10 The Windhover To Christ our Lord I caught this morning morning's minion. ± the achieve of. Â Â And all trades. in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air. here Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then. plume. O my chevalier! Â Â No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine. and blue-bleak embers. And all is seared with trade. My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird. kingdom of daylight's dauphin. and striding High there. original. gall themselves. freckled (who knows how?) 5 . the mastery of the thing! Brute beauty and valour and act. and gash gold-vermilion. their gear and tackle and trim. As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding Rebuffed the big wind. Fall. And though the last lights off the black West went Oh. and plough. And for all this. have trod.Gerard Manley Hopkins. more dangerous. Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls. nor can foot feel. 5 10 Pied Beauty Glory be to God for dappled things ± For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow. spare. morning. For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim. nature is never spent. a billion Times told lovelier. oh. like the ooze of oil Crushed. fallow. dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon. And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil Is bare now. bleared. There lives the dearest freshness deep down things. springs ± Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings. Whatever is fickle. finches' wings. have trod. off forth on swing. Why do men then now not reck his rod? Generations have trod. pride. strange.
162 Gerard Manley Hopkins. O is he dead then? my duty all ended. but mended Being anointed and all. All felled. pining. though a heavenlier heart began some Months earlier. Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun. a rural scene. dim. her being so slender. sweet. When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. whose airy cages quelled. not one That dandled a sandalled Shadow that swam or sank On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank. he cursed at first. Ten or twelve. Ah well. 5 10 15 20 Felix Randal Felix Randal the farrier. till time when reason rambled in it and some Fatal four disorders. adazzle. Sweet especial rural scene. like this sleek and seeing ball But a prick will make no eye at all. big-boned and hardy-handsome Pining. since I had our sweet reprieve and ransom Tendered to him. are all felled. only ten or twelve Â Strokes of havoc unselve The sweet especial scene. Binsey Poplars With swift. fleshed there. Who have watched his mould of man. all contended? Sickness broke him. Of a fresh and following folded rank Not spared. O if we but knew what we do When we delve or hew ± Hack and rack the growing green! Since country is so tender Â To touch. That. sour. felled. even where we mean To mend her we end her. Impatient. God rest him all road ever he offended! 5 . He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. 10 Binsey Poplars Felled 1879 My aspens dear. Where we. Rural scene. slow.
ah let life wind 10 Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Off her once skeined stained veined varõety | upon. Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is ± Â Chrõst. as5 Á Â tray or aswarm. her earliest stars. Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells. all thy more boisterous years. | stars principal. myself it speaks and spells. like each tucked string tells. poor Felix Randal. Lovely in limbs. My tongue had taught thee comfort. you round me right Â Â Âur Â Â Â With: Our evening is over us. her dapple is at end. Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west. and will end us. | self Ân self steeped and pashed õ Â ± quite Â Â Â Disremembering. 5 10 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves Earnest. and lovely in eyes not his To the Father through the features of men's faces. each hung bell's Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name. Our tale. home-of-all. Â I say more: the just man justices. Felix. Thy tears that touched my heart. overbend us. Didst fettle for the great grey drayhorse his bright and battering sandal! 10 `As Kingfishers Catch Fire' As kingfishers catch fire. Â pack . Heart. . . dragonflies draw flame. Only the beakleaved boughs dragonish | damask the tool-smooth bleak light. Crying What I do is me: for that I came. . | vaulty. black. pen. Â Â Fõre-featuring heaven. Â Â Â Â Â Ever so black on it. all through her. touch had quenched thy tears. voluminous. For earth | her being has unbound. As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring. us too it endears. whelms. all on two spools. O our oracle! | Let life. earthless. Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 This seeing the sick endears them to us. child. attuneable. o night | whelms. part.Gerard Manley Hopkins. Â Â Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces. in throngs. | womb-of-all. stupendous Â Â Evening strains to be tõme's vast. When thou at the random grim forge. | her wild hollow hoarlight hung to the height Â Waste. equal. dõsmembering | all now. hearse-of-all night. Selves ± goes itself. For Christ plays in ten thousand places. earlstars. powerful amidst peers. How far from then forethought of. waned.
sheathe-and shelterless. than thou dost Defeat. Mine. birds build ± but not I build. and fresh wind shakes Them. send my roots rain. the sots and thralls of lust Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend. each off the other. of a rack Â Â Where. mind Â Â Â Â Â Ât But these two. but. See. so what I plead is just. | right. ware of a world where bu these | two tell. selfstrung. si disputem tecum. Why do sinners' ways prosper? and why must Disappointment all I endeavour end? Wert thou my enemy. leaved how thick! laced they are again With fretty chervil. thwart me? Oh. life upon thy cause. no. `Thou art indeed just. O thou my friend. selfwrung. Lord. two folds ± black.164 Gerard Manley Hopkins. verumtamen justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c. Sir. Domine. if I contend With thee. look. õ `Thou art indeed just. 5 10 . reck but. How wouldst thou worse. reckon but. Thou art indeed just. sir. banks and brakes Á Á Now. O thou lord of life. and not breed one work that wakes. Lord' Â Â Â Now her all in two flocks. | thoughts agaõnst Â thoughts Ân groans grõnd. I wonder. wrong. Time's eunuch. white. Lord' Justus quidem tu es. but strain.
We pledge in peace by farm and town The Queen they served in war. The shires have seen it plain. Because 'tis fifty years tonight That God has saved the Queen. when the flame they watch not towers About the soil they trod. Look left.A. To skies that knit their heartstrings right. From height to height 'tis heard. Lads. To fields that bred them brave. It dawns in Asia. 25 5 10 15 20 . Lads of the Fifty-third. Housman (1859±1936) From: A Shropshire Lad I 1887 From Clee to heaven the beacon burns. E. The saviours come not home to-night: Themselves they could not save. the hills are bright. look right. From north and south the sign returns And beacons burn again. `God save the Queen' we living sing. Now. And fire the beacons up and down The land they perished for. And the Nile spills his overflow Beside the Severn's dead. we'll remember friends of ours Who shared the work with God. And with the rest your voices ring. The dales are light between. tombstones show And Shropshire names are read.
About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow.166 A. the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough. fear you not: Be you the men you've been. lad. Forelands beacon. lad: thews that lie and cumber Sunlit pallets never thrive. of my threescore years and ten. up. Twenty will not come again. From: A Shropshire Lad Oh. Hark. And God will save the Queen. the empty highways crying `Who'll beyond the hills away?' Towns and countries woo together. Now. IV Reveille Wake: the silver dusk returning Up the beach of darkness brims. Never lad that trod on leather Lived to feast his heart with all. Trampled to the floor it spanned. 5 5 30 10 10 15 20 . 'tis late for lying: Hear the drums of morning play. E. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room. Housman. It only leaves me fifty more. belfries call. God will save her. II Loveliest of trees. And the ship of sunrise burning Strands upon the eastern rims. Get you the sons your fathers got. And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Up. And the tent of night in tatters Straws the sky-pavilioned land. Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters. Morns abed and daylight slumber Were not meant for man alive. And take from seventy springs a score. Up.
Man and boy stood cheering by. 5 5 5 10 15 . Up. XIX To an Athlete Dying Young The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the marketplace. E. XII When I watch the living meet. the road all runners come. Today. In the nation that is not Nothing stands that stood before. Housman. From: A Shropshire Lad 167 Clay lies still. The nettle nods. Lovers lying two and two Ask not whom they sleep beside. And set you at your threshold down. And the moving pageant file Warm and breathing through the street Where I lodge a little while. The lover of the grave.A. And the hater hates no more. And the bridegroom all night through Never turns him to the bride. the wind blows over. Let me mind the house of dust Where my sojourn shall be long. If the heats of hate and lust In the house of flesh are strong. XVI It nods and curtseys and recovers When the wind blows above. Townsman of a stiller town. There revenges are forgot. Breath's a ware that will not keep. but blood's a rover. And home we brought you shoulder-high. The nettle on the graves of lovers That hanged themselves for love. he does not move. the lover That hanged himself for love. lad: when the journey's over There'll be time enough to sleep. Shoulder-high we bring you home. The man.
XXVII `Is my team ploughing. That I thought hard to leave. No change though you lie under The land you used to plough. The goal stands up. She lies not down to weep: 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . the ball is flying. The fleet foot on the sill of shade. With lads to chase the leather. before its echoes fade. to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose. And has she tired of weeping As she lies down at eve?' Ay. And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup. Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut. `Is football playing Along the river shore.168 A. Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. That I was used to drive And hear the harness jingle When I was man alive?' Ay. `Is my girl happy. The lads play heart and soul. E. 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. From: A Shropshire Lad Smart lad. So set. she lies down lightly. The harness jingles now. the keeper Stands up to keep the goal. Now I stand up no more?' Ay. Housman. the horses trample.
they were there. And through their reins in ice and fire Fear contended with desire. I lie as lads would choose. 'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger When Uricon the city stood: 'Tis the old wind in the old anger. I lie easy. More than I.A. And fire and ice within me fight Beneath the suffocating night. And has he found to sleep in A better bed than mine?' Yes. the Roman At yonder heaving hill would stare: The blood that warms an English yeoman. But from my grave across my brow Plays no wind of healing now. Agued once like me were they. `Is my friend hearty. 'twas before my time. XXXI On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble. The gale. Have stood and sweated hot and cold. Housman. From: A Shropshire Lad 169 Your girl is well contented. And thick on Severn snow the leaves. it plies the saplings double. 5 5 25 30 10 15 10 . lad. 'tis nothing new. Have willed more mischief than they durst: If in the breathless night I too Shiver now. But then it threshed another wood. Then. The thoughts that hurt him. my lad. I am not the first. His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves. I cheer a dead man's sweetheart. XXX Others. Now I am thin and pine. Be still. But I like them shall win my way Lastly to the bed of mould Where there's neither heat nor cold. Never ask me whose. E. and sleep. if truth were told.
Housman. But men may come to worse than dust. lad. You shot dead the household traitor. And early wise and brave in season Put the pistol to your head. you died as fits a man. like the wind through woods in riot. so clean an ending? Oh that was right. And saw your road and where it led. 'twill soon be gone: Today the Roman and his trouble Are ashes under Uricon. undoing others. it plies the saplings double. The gale. It blows so hard. Right you guessed the rising morrow And scorned to tread the mire you must: Dust's your wages. The tree of man was never quiet: Then 'twas the Roman. The soul that should not have been born. you could reason. Now to your grave shall friend and stranger With ruth and some with envy come: 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 . son of sorrow. E. now 'tis I. XL Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills.170 A. I see it shining plain. Oh soon. 'Twas best to take it to the grave. ± Long time since the tale began. XLIV Shot? so quick. Oh you had forethought. Through him the gale of life blew high. what farms are those? That is the land of lost content. What spires. The happy highways where I went And cannot come again. that was brave: Yours was not an ill for mending. From: A Shropshire Lad There. and better so than later After long disgrace and scorn. Souls undone. You would not live to wrong your brothers: Oh lad.
± Oh. But if the Christmas field has kept Awns the last gleaner overstept. Break no rosemary. if now you grieve a little. but lightless in the quarry I slept and saw not. Be still. and drink the air. and feel the sun. XLVIII Be still. Or shrivelled flax. my soul. Housman. be still. no dreams. Now. 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. XLVI Bring. in days ere I was born. pass hence and home. Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry: Then it was well with me. bring from hill and stream and plain Whatever will not flower again. Or if one haulm whose year is o'er Shivers on the upland frore. ± call to thought. I pace the earth. Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and foundedstrong. No cypress. sombre on the snow. here's the wreath I've made: 'Tis not a gift that's worth the taking.A. Men loved unkindness then. it is but for a reason: Let us endure an hour and see injustice done. tears fell down. Snap not from the bitter yew His leaves that live December through. I did not mourn. my soul. and I muse for why and never find the reason. And here. To give him comfort: he and those Shall bide eternal bedfellows Where low upon the couch he lies Whence he never shall arise. bright with rime And sparkling to the cruel clime. no waking. the arms you bear are brittle. clear of danger. The days when we had rest. whose flower is blue A single season. man. 5 25 5 10 15 20 10 . Think rather. E. Clean of guilt. But wear it and it will not fade. Turn safe to rest. in this timeless grave to throw. From: A Shropshire Lad 171 Undishonoured. O soul. be still. never two. for they were long.
'tis clear. LXII `Terence. she is dead. All thoughts to rive the heart are here. the horned head: We poor lads. And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders. 'tis pleasant till 'tis past: The mischief is that 'twill not last. the old cow. To see the rate you drink your beer. look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation. lad. Housman. Look not left nor right: In all the endless road you tread There's nothing but the night. man. 5 15 5 10 15 20 25 30 . pipe a tune to dance to. Oh I have been to Ludlow fair And left my necktie God knows where. if 'tis dancing you would be. And leave your friends and go. this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough. From: A Shropshire Lad Ay. the verse you make. And faith. for what were hop-yards meant. There can't be much amiss. E. But oh. good Lord. The cow.' Why. It gives a chap the belly-ache. nought's to dread. 'tis our turn now To hear such tunes as killed the cow. Say. 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. Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time Moping melancholy mad: Come. man. There's brisker pipes than poetry.172 A. Oh never fear. lift your pack. Ale. 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. It sleeps well. Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse. And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man.
if I may. I'd face it as a wise man would. smiling. Therefore. or near. it was the old world yet.A. In the dark and cloudy day. when kings will sit to feast. Happy till I woke again. From: A Shropshire Lad 173 And carried half way home. First a little. They get their fill before they think With poisoned meat and poisoned drink. They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat. The world. And easy. Then I saw the morning sky: Heigho. Housman. The better for the embittered hour. he died old. They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up: They shook. And train for ill and not for good. Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer: Then the world seemed none so bad. Mithridates. He gathered all that springs to birth From the many-venomed earth. E. they stared as white's their shirt: Them it was their poison hurt. my things were wet. And I myself a sterling lad. Sate the king when healths went round. thence to more. the tale was all a lie. But take it: if the smack is sour. since the world has still Much good. 'Tis true. but much less good than ill. And while the sun and moon endure Luck's a chance. It should do good to heart and head When your soul is in my soul's stead. I was I. He sampled all her killing store. And down in lovely muck I've lain. 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. And nothing now remained to do But begin the game anew. And I will friend you. ± I tell the tale that I heard told. but trouble's sure. seasoned sound. There was a king reigned in the East: There. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 .
The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing In leafy dells alone.174 A. E. Nor ask amid the dews of morning If they are mine or no. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Where over elmy plains the highway Would mount the hills and shine. The countries I resign. On russet floors. For nature. as I possessed a season. For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways. Will neither care nor know What stranger's feet may find the meadow And trespass there and go. On acres of the seeded grasses The changing burnish heaves. Or marshalled under moons of harvest Stand still all night the sheaves. Or beeches strip in storms for winter And stain the wind with leaves. And full of shade the pillared forest Would murmur and be mine. heartless. Housman. by waters idle. witless nature. From: Last Poems From: Last Poems XL Tell me not here. And traveller's joy beguiles in autumn Hearts that have lost their own. The pine lets fall its cone. What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays. it needs not saying. Possess.
Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night. While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. hand in hand. To and fro we leap And chase the forthy bubbles. In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star. Weaving olden dances. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car. There we've hid our faery vats. And of reddest stolen cherries. hand in hand. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light.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. Come away. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight. Come away. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries.
with her would not agree. And Usna's children died. being young and foolish. Lives on this lonely face. Down by the Salley Gardens Give them unquiet dreams.176 William Butler Yeats. For he comes. foam of the sky. She bid me take love easy. that waver and give place Like the pale waters in their wintry race. hand in hand. Under the passing stars. 5 The Rose of the World Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips. For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand. And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. Away with us he's going. Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams. But I was young and foolish. 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. In a field by the river my love and I did stand. She bid me take life easy. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. 35 40 45 50 Down by the Salley Gardens Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet. as the grass grows on the weirs. and now am full of tears. But I. To the waters and the wild With a faery. Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Mournful that no new wonder may betide. Come away. as the leaves grow on the tree. with all their mournful pride. She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. 5 10 . the human child. Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam. We and the labouring world are passing by: Amid men's souls. hand in hand.
And evening full of the linnet's wings. 5 10 Who Goes with Fergus? Who will go drive with Fergus now. take down this book. Murmur. Who Goes with Fergus? 177 Bow down. And a small cabin build there. and go to Innisfree. lift up your russet brow. Weary and kind one lingered by His seat. archangels. for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore. 5 10 When You Are Old When you are old and grey and full of sleep. and noon a purple glow. in your dim abode: Before you were. a little sadly. I will arise and go now. And dance upon the level shore? Young man. a hive for the honey bee. And pierce the deep wood's woven shade. And loved your beauty with love false or true. and of their shadows deep. And live alone in the bee-loud glade. for peace comes dropping slow. . And nodding by the fire. But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you. or on the pavements grey. 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. He made the world to be a grassy road Before her wandering feet. And slowly read. How many loved your moments of glad grace.William Butler Yeats. And bending down beside the glowing bars. There midnight's all a glimmer. or any hearts to beat. I hear it in the deep heart's core. And I shall have some peace there. of clay and wattles made: Nine bean rows will I have there. and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once. Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings. While I stand on the roadway. And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
5 10 The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner Although I shelter from the rain Under a broken tree. And crazy rascals rage their fill At human tyranny. 5 10 . And rules the shadows of the wood. I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me. My contemplations are of Time That has transfigured me. And moth-like stars were flickering out. Ere Time transfigured me. But something rustled on the floor. 5 10 15 The Song of Wandering Aengus I went out to the hazel wood.178 William Butler Yeats. My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics. And yet the beauties that I loved Are in my memory. And brood on hopes and fear no more. Though lads are making pikes again For some conspiracy. I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. And cut and peeled a hazel wand. For Fergus rules the brazen cars. And no more turn aside and brood Upon love's bitter mystery. The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner And lift your tender eyelids. There's not a woman turns her face Upon a broken tree. And the white breast of the dim sea And all dishevelled wandering stars. Because a fire was in my head. maid. And when white moths were on the wing. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame. And hooked a berry to a thread.
or break stones Like an old pauper. and clergymen The martyrs call the world. 15 20 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths. Enwrought with golden and silver light. and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers. in all kinds of weather. And kiss her lips and take her hands. I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I. Better go down upon your marrow-bones And scrub a kitchen pavement. The golden apples of the sun. For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these. `A line will take us hours maybe. and talked of poetry. Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought. I said.William Butler Yeats. The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light. your close friend. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. have only my dreams. Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. That beautiful mild woman. And walk among long dappled grass. And you and I. schoolmasters. 5 Adam's Curse We sat together at one summer's end. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands. I will find out where she has gone. 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. And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon.' And thereupon That beautiful mild woman for whose sake 5 10 15 . being poor.
Yet now it seems an idle trade enough. And thrown the thunder on the stones for all that Maeve can say. But purer than a tall candle before the Holy Rood Is Cathleen.180 William Butler Yeats. the daughter of Houlihan. That it had all seemed happy. `It's certain there is no fine thing Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring. 20 25 30 35 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland The old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. And in the trembling blue-green of the sky A moon. The yellow pool has overflowed high up on Clooth-na-Bare. and yet we'd grown As weary-hearted as that hollow moon. 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. 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. `To be born woman is to know ± Although they do not talk of it at school ± That we must labour to be beautiful. Angers that are like noisy clouds have set our hearts abeat. Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand. Like heavy flooded waters our bodies and our blood. But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes Of Cathleen. We saw the last embers of daylight die. and that I strove To love you in the old high way of love. Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies. But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet Of Cathleen. I had a thought for no one's but your ears: That you were beautiful.' I said. For the wet winds are blowing out of the clinging air. the daughter of Houlihan. The wind has bundled up the clouds high over Knocknarea. the daughter of Houlihan. 5 10 15 .' We sat grown quiet at the name of love. 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.
equal. my soul. 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. stupendous' 163 Felix Randal 162 `First time he kissed me. The 125 Body's Beauty 132 Break. be still. Break 31 `Bring. attuneable. he but only kissed' 7 . The 69 `blessed Damozel leaned out. the arms you bear are brittle' 171 `Beloved. . The 55 Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came 85 `Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee!' `Come. | vaulty. thou hast brought me many flowers' 7 Binsey Poplars 162 Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church. 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. dragonflies draw flame' 163 `At length their long kiss severed. . Break. A 151 `But do not let us quarrel any more' 91 Charge of the Light Brigade. The' 125 Blessed Damozel. with sweet smart' 134 Aurora Leigh 8 Autumn Idleness 131 `Be still. walk with me' 106 Crossing the Bar 61 Darkling Thrush.Index of Titles and First Lines Adam's Curse 179 `Ah. voluminous. . in this timeless grave to throw' 171 Broken Appointment. earthless.
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. Rochelle 109 `Just for a handful of silver he left us' Kiss. H. The 128 `How do I love thee? Let me count the ways' 7 `How still. The 177 Lamentation of the Old Pensioner. from the hill' 119 Goblin Market 135 God's Grandeur 160 Grammarian's Funeral. The 178 `Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife' `Let us begin and carry up this corpse' 98 64 6 . The' 72 `GR-R-R ± there go. how happy! those are words' 104 `I am poor brother Lippo. The 149 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury 150 In Memoriam A.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. H. from Abroad 68 House of Life: A Sonnet-Sequence. The 128 Lady of Shalott. A 98 `grey sea and the long black land. my heart's abhorrence!' 65 `Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths' 179 `Half a league. ± let the first fruit be' 132 `I went out to the hazel wood' 178 `I will arise and go now. G. for they call you. 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. half a league' 55 `Here is the ancient floor' 152 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven 179 Hoarded Joy 132 Home-Thoughts. Shepherd. The 19 Lake Isle of Innisfree. pluck not. and A. and go to Innisfree' 177 `I wonder do you feel today' 97 Impercipient.
Lilith. The 31 Prisoner. my name is Might-have-been' Lost Leader. where art thou now?' 104 `Of Adam's first wife. I am not the first' 169 Parting at Morning 72 Pied Beauty 161 Porphyria's Lover 67 Princess. 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. The 129 `Loveliest of trees. to be in England' 68 `old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. The 133 `Others. The' `On either side the river lie' 19 `On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble' 169 One Hope. it is told' 132 `Of writing many books there is no end' 8 `Oh Galuppi. The' 103 `No coward soul is mine' 113 `Now hollow fires burn out to black' 172 Nuptial Sleep 134 `O Dream. this is very sad to find!' 83 `Oh. The 64 Love Among the Ruins 72 Love-Letter. The 109 `rain set early in tonight. Baldassaro. A Medley. 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.Index of Titles and First Lines 183 `Long neglect has worn away' 103 `Look in my face. whose airy cages quelled' 162 `My first thought was. The' 67 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 180 `Remember me when I am gone away' 135 Remember 135 Remembrance 108 133 180 .
A 83 Two in the Campagna 97 Ulysses 23 `Under the arch of Life. 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. saith the preacher. 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. The' 117 Self-Dependence 116 Self-Unseeing. so clean an ending?' 170 Shropshire Lad. The 118 `sea is calm tonight. it needs not saying' 174 `Terence. where love and death' `Vanity. Lord 164 `Thou lovely and beloved. idle tears.184 Index of Titles and First Lines Reveille 166 Rose of the World. The 176 `Round the cape of a sudden came the sea' 72 `Say not the struggle naught availeth' 114 Scholar-Gipsy. The 175 `Strong Son of God. vanity!' `Wake: the silver dusk returning' 69 166 131 . thou my love' 130 `Thou mastering me' 153 `time you won your town the race. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love' 130 `Tears. The 152 `Shot? so quick. 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' 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. immortal Love' 33 `Sunset and evening star' 61 Superscription. A 133 Supreme Surrender 129 `Sweet Love.
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. The' 150 `Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd' 116 `You did not come' 151 1887 165 . what showers of spring' 103 `When I look forth at dawning. The' 160 Wreck of the Deutschland.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. ± though unrevealed snow' 132 `What smouldering senses in death's sick delay' 128 `What winter floods. The 161 `With blackest moss the flower-plots' 17 Without Her 130 `world is charged with the grandeur of God. 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.