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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 .
visit our website: www. Pondicherry. mechanical. For further information on Blackwell Publishing. p. : alk.V53 2002 821’. USA 9600 Garsington Road. electronic. cm. No part of this publication may be reproduced. Furthermore. Series PR1223 . Victoria 3053. — (Blackwell essential literature) “Based on The Victorians: an anthology of poetry and poetics.com . Set in 8/10 pt Galliard by Kolam Information Services Pvt. paper) A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. Wu. 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. and Patents Act 1988. Ltd. Australia All rights reserved. the publisher ensures that the text paper and cover board used have met acceptable environmental accreditation standards. II.” Includes bibliographical references and index. paper)—ISBN 0‐631‐23076‐9 (pbk. First published 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd 4 2007 Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data Victorian poetry / edited by Duncan Wu. Malden. English poetry—19th century.808—dc21 2002020878 ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23075‐5 (alk. in any form or by any means. Oxford OX4 2DQ. and which has been manufactured from pulp processed using acid‐free and elementary chlorine‐free practices. UK 550 Swanston Street. edited by Valentine Cunningham. without the prior permission of the publisher. III. photocopying. stored in a retrieval system. paper) 1. Duncan. except as permitted by the UK Copyright. selection and arrangement © 2002 by Duncan Wu and Valentine Cunningham BLACKWELL PUBLISHING 350 Main Street. Designs. ISBN 0‐631‐23075‐0 (alk. MA 02148‐5020. Victorians. : alk. I.© 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd Editorial matter. paper)—ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23076‐2 (pbk. recording or otherwise. or transmitted. Carlton.blackwellpublishing.
Break' From The Princess. 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. H. 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. The Charge of the Light Brigade From Maud I (`I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood') XXII (`Come into the garden. 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.
what showers of spring' `Long neglect has worn away' `The night is darkening round me' `All hushed and still within the house' `O Dream. where art thou now?' `How still. walk with me' To Imagination Remembrance (`R. Alcona to J. how happy! those are words' `Mild the mist upon the hill' `Come. G. Brenzaida') Julian M. 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.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.
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.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.
E. 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.
these volumes comprise a crucial resource for anyone who reads or studies poetry. Together. They will be particularly helpful to students hard-pressed for time. who need a digest of the poetry of each historical period.Series Editor's Preface The Blackwell Essential Literature series offers readers the chance to possess authoritative texts of key poems (and in one case drama) across the standard periods and movements. Each volume contains a general introduction designed to introduce the reader to those central works. The acknowledged virtues of the Blackwell Anthologies are range and variety. compactness and ease of use. most of these volumes run to no more than 200 pages. those of the Essential Literature series are authoritative selection. Based on correspondent volumes in the Blackwell Anthologies series. Oxford . Duncan Wu St Catherine's College. 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.
poems. `The Blessed Damozel'. poverty. A. In Memoriam is my comfort'. booze. snow. `The Scholar-Gipsy'. to name a few. E. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. the poetry of women poets such as Caroline Norton. a cabbage leaf. Arthur Hugh Clough. omnibuses. Jemima Luke. p. going to the dentist. The diversity is highlighted by Professor Cunningham in his introduction: So here are poems about cod-liver oil. No less than the queen remarked to Tennyson that. Robert Louis Stevenson. other anthologies of Victorian writing. . 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. xxxv. Emily (Jane) Bronte. soup. It distills into a smaller space some of the most influential poetry of the period by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. George Meredith. Missing Links. Fanny Kemble. Eliza Cook and Dora Greenwell. Lewis Carroll. pain. including complete texts of `Fra Lippo Lippi'. Housman and Kipling at the other. Valentine Cunningham's invaluable The Victorians ranges from the late works of Wordsworth and Leigh Hunt at one end of the century to Yeats. Henley. tobacco. Pressure of space necessarily denies admission to many of those anthologized by Professor Cunningham ± James Thomson. William Morris. `Next to the Bible. onions. as well as rural writers like John Clare. Ebenezer Elliot and William Barnes. dead dogs. There are few better examples of the Victorian preoccupation with death and its aftermath. 2000). science. as they are the major poets of the age. E. poetry. Tennyson and Browning predominate. poets. God. war. Alfred È (Lord) Tennyson. Gerard Manley Hopkins. soap. New Women. Grimm's Law. cricket players. should they desire even more. Psychical Research. weather in the suburbs. Matthew Arnold. `Goblin Market' and `The Wreck of the Deutschland'. death. railway lines and railway trains. What this selection lacks in range it makes up for in depth. W. Thomas Hardy. Christina G. Housman and William Butler Yeats. This volume aims to do something different. chairs.1 For range readers will require The Victorians ± and. It is on the one hand an intensely private poem about one man's 1 Valentine Cunningham.Introduction Duncan Wu Recent anthologies of Victorian poetry and prose have provided readers with a remarkably diverse and wide-ranging body of work. `The Prisoner'. doubt. paintings. In between he offers a rich selection of verse. genitalia. fairies. love. Rossetti. The Victorians: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. which reflect the catholicity of interest within the period. including anonymous street ballads. introduction. `Dover Beach'. sado-masochism. leeks. Robert Browning. faith.
Its potential would be further championed in the modern period by Eliot and Pound. and not to yield' may not be the sort of sea-captain with whom we should set sail. 3 See in particular In Memoriam lv and lvi. Browning's major contribution. `red in tooth and claw'. Auden. Warwick Slinn helpfully contextualizes In Memoriam in his essay on Victorian poetry in A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture ed. the divinely appointed one of Wordsworth. it can be. rather. a growing scepticism that was to find fuller expression in the poetry of Hardy and Housman later in the century. . Herbert Tucker (Oxford: Blackwell.7 2 W. Wordsworth's most extensive examination of psychological process. 289±91. exemplifying Auden's contention that Tennyson's gift was for expressing feelings of `lonely terror and desire for death'. the same year as In Memoriam. 1999). In this sense In Memoriam. H. which concerns the uncontrollable emotions that run deeply in the human heart. 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. Edward Mendelson (London: Faber. therefore. Forewords and Afterwords ed. to seek. through the dramatic monologue. Tennyson: The Unquiet Heart (London: Faber. E. The influence of the Romantics was felt throughout the century. but their reign had ended: Tennyson and Browning were remaking the art.6 By the time Wordsworth died in 1850 Tennyson was in his early forties and Browning in his late thirties. 4 In Memoriam lvi 15. 1973). was to develop a new kind of psychological poetry ± one that explored the human mind from within. The Ulysses who in Tennyson's poem declares his desire `To strive.2 The fruit of nearly 17 years' labour. 1983). and welcomed an acquaintance with their author. 6 See Robert Bernard Martin. p. 7 See for instance Pound's `Piere Vidal Old' and Eliot's `Prufrock'. 226. and is found in shorter poems such as `Tears. Fra Pandolf ± there is something darker at work. Tennyson and Browning exploited the form aware that our knowing so much more than their speakers. and on the other a work that speaks of the innermost anxieties of the age. As readers of such poetry we are in a privileged position. 5 The Prelude. And when the speaker of `A Toccata of Galuppi's' tells us that he feels `chilly and grown old'. is a product of the zeitgeist. was the key to a new poetic. Tennyson's preoccupation with states of mind looks back to Wordsworth. idle tears'. the most successful long poem of its day. comprehending moral failings with a clarity not always vouchsafed in life. which it is for us to infer.2 Introduction grief for another. it doubtless has its faults ± it is relentless in its subjectivity. pp. in common with that of Tennyson. besides much else. Wordsworth possessed a copy of Tennyson's important 1842 Poems. 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.5 For his part. 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. on a level beyond the verbal. In such sonnets as `Surprised by joy' Wordsworth had attempted the same kind of investigation. to find.3 The natural world of In Memoriam is not invariably. was not published until 1850. 311±13.4 the product of a cosmos lacking a benevolent deity. pp. something rather important has happened.
`Julian M. particularly `That there are powers above us I admit'. below (see pp. quite directly ± `active sexual demands and dangers'. they are original poems that are in some sense autobiographical. has long been the subject of myth. and to choose subjects from contemporary life. 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 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. In Aurora Leigh (1856). her subjects are love. in which he seeks for hope in a `Sea of Faith'. hatred. any more than the Romantics. suffering and fortitude. In that context their aim was to introduce the qualities of Italian medieval painting. Where their subject was biblical or historical. The pretence of translation sets up a bluff that allows Barrett Browning to explore her theme without anxiety. but the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. begins this process with a kind of self-portrait written in a reflective. In fact. Clough's agnosticism comes into sharp focus in the two poems presented here.9 That freedom also licenses her to experiment with different roles. G. formed in 1848. sometimes approaching the subject of romantic passion. Taking its lead (and diction) from Keats. but less so as the author of some of the most compelling poetry of the period. 1995). Rochelle' (known in other versions as `The Prisoner') is a different kind of poem. an experimental (and partly autobiographical) verse-novel that describes the integration of love and work. she set out to challenge more directly the gender discrimination of the day in an effort to formulate a feminist poetic. È Emily Bronte is best known as the author of Wuthering Heights (1847). Elizabeth Barrett. The emotional charge of the poetry is intense and often extreme. 9 Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology ed. The Victorians were not in themselves a movement. moving easily from that of poet-lover to that of beloved. The extract from the First Book. working directly from the natural object in situ. This is particularly evident in such lyrics as `No coward soul is mine' and `Cold in the earth'. as experienced by women. Romanticism: An Anthology. perhaps Arnold's greatest work. they were less coherent and unified than they would have liked. and are often considered as poets of doubt. 2nd edn. using the colours of nature as they were. only to turn to human love when faced by a world `Where ignorant armies clash by night'. Duncan Wu (Oxford: Blackwell. 65. like most movements. they are not `from the Portuguese' at all. 2000). pp. She began her creative life as a Romantic poet ± publishing poems in national newspapers during the 1820s. p.Introduction 3 Browning's wife. and reproducing in See for instance `Stanzas on the Death of Lord Byron'. which allows us to consider È Bronte as a mystic writer.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. and it is easiest to think of the group as one of visual artists. at the centre of which is a moment. 8 . This is evident from `Dover Beach'. `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. 1108±9. they wanted realism. Clough and Arnold knew each other from Oxford days. and A. Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton (Oxford: Blackwell. ed. Of course. was. it contrasts the `sick hurry' of the world with the comparative calm of the landscape. 9±17). Rochelle's vision shortly prior to expected death.
which is why it is easy to regard as a product of the twentieth century. as in both `Neutral Tones' and `The Darkling Thrush'. In matters of style they sought a simplicity of manner. 11 Reynolds and Leighton. 10 `The Rossettis and Other Contemporary Poets'. a sensitivity to sensory detail. 355. Arthur Pollard (London: Sphere Books. p. who is also thought of as a twentieth-century writer. Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology. have in the last two decades given her work an added resonance. which during his subsequent painful experience has become a permanently meaningful impression. . 438. indeed. where the blessed damozel weeps in frustrated longing to join her lover (rather than God) `is not even remotely Christian'.11 She is now one of the most widely studied of the Pre-Raphaelites. Gerard Manley Hopkins's collected verse appeared only in 1918. stripped of all the redemptive power with which the Romantics had imbued it. its `philological and rhetorical passion'12 and concentration on the inner workings of the soul is pre-eminently a product of the nineteenth. The same cannot be said of the poetry of Hardy. his sister Christina is far less preoccupied with appearances. Those feelings. 12 Seamus Heaney. stripped of the religious significance it possessed for such poets as Hopkins. witless'. Unlike some of the Romantics. a selfconscious medievalism and a highly developed taste in decoration. James Sambrook notes that Rossetti's conception of the afterlife. decay and desolation. Dante Gabriel and Christina Rossetti looked back to the Coleridge of `Christabel' and the Keats of `Isabella'. There is in all this a deliberation. and capable of blind indifference to human mortality. 31. except that Housman's vision is if anything even more lacking in hope than Hardy's.13 Not only is there no evidence of religious faith in Hardy's poetry. p. his concept of `inscape' referring to the interior perception into the being of the object. Her poetry is full of depression and denial. which may have deterred some readers in earlier times. and the intense morbidity of her writing finds expression even in the fairy-tale `Goblin Market' (1862). He is essentially a visionary writer. In fact. so that in 1995 Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton could confirm her place as `one of the greatest poets of the nineteenth century'. `The Blessed Damozel' (1850) was intended as a companion piece to Poe's `The Raven' (1845). p. The Victorians ed. Hopkins is insistently religious in his understanding: God is the inscape of the created world. nature is bleak. In Housman nature is `heartless. 1988).4 Introduction minute detail the features of the natural world. most of his best poetry was written after 1900. Preoccupations: Selected Prose 1968±1978 (London: Faber. an `involute' or charged combination of emotion and concrete objects. Thomas Hardy: The Poetry of Perception (London: Macmillan. In this sense it is not fanciful to consider Hardy and Housman alongside each other. In mood they cultivated a love of the morbid ± listlessness. 1980). 1975). nearly 30 years after his death. and one also finds a frequent use of religious language for evocation (rather than its real meanings).10 Dante Gabriel was to make an art out of the decorativeness and elaboration of his verse. p. 13 Tom Paulin. it can be found in Tennyson's `Mariana' and some of the sonnets in Dante Gabriel Rossetti's House of Life sequence. 85. As poets. The poems included here are among the best of his Victorian period. Tom Paulin has noted how in `Neutral Tones' the poem culminates in a total picture. a self-consciousness which can sometimes produce startlingly good poetry. published in Satires of Circumstance (1914) and Moments of Vision (1917).
and nationalist politics in a heady cocktail unlike anything else.14 Never less than exalted in his imaginative ambitions. And in no one was it more vigorously evident than in the work of W. can be heard beneath the `tremulous cadence' of the sea in `Dover Beach'. Walter E. CT: Yale University Press. 1999). Yeats's great poetry. This knowledge is none the less exact and verifiable for being immeasurable. It underpins the medievalism of Tennyson and the Pre-Raphaelites. listed below.) (2000) The Victorians: An Anthology of Poetry and Poetics (Oxford: Blackwell. Except that it doesn't. its truth lies in experiences and disciplines of the mind itself and in the testimony (unanimous and worldwide) of `revelation'. then. but can't be eliminated from the human soul. and a longing for it even informs the `ecstatic sound' of Hardy's darkling thrush (which recalls the `darkling' experience of Keats's famous ode). Belief may be questioned. 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. the immortal longings with which the 1800s had begun. B. I am much indebted to Valentine Cunningham in what follows. and anyone with a serious interest in this poetry should turn to his anthology. Further Reading Cunningham. and the author of the Upanishads: Yeats did not study Plato and Plotinus. the French symbolists. Swedenborg and Blake. was founded on an unquenchable aspiration. W. the kabbalistic and spiritualist worthies with whom he consorted. Angela (eds) (1995) Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. 76. Yeats. p.) Tucker.) 14 Kathleen Raine. Swedenborg. Raine writes of Yeats's place within a fugitive intellectual tradition of metaphysical and mystic thought. There have been many fine books about this great writer.Introduction 5 This collection of essential poetry of the nineteenth century would appear.) Reynolds. Irish fairy traditionalism. (1957) The Victorian Frame of Mind. Herbert F. but I can't think of a better short guide than Kathleen Raine's W. as episodes in the `history of ideas' but because he was tracing a continuous tradition of knowledge. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (1999). B. but in truth the Romantic urge to unify and idealize had never really evaporated. a pantheon that includes Thomas Taylor the Platonist. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (Ipswich: Golgonooza Press. Plotinus. B. for fuller scholarly treatment. .) Houghton. Valentine (ed. (ed. through the scepticism of Clough. 1830±1870 (New Haven.) (1999) A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture (Oxford: Blackwell. which would produce its finest fruits in the next century. Margaret and Leighton. `The Lake Isle of Innisfree' seems like an unexpected way to end a century characterized by increasing doubt and despondency. Yeats's poetry combines the influences of the Pre-Raphaelites. to the outright desolation of Housman and Hardy.
I cannot teach My hand to hold my spirit so far off From myself . to cast light on each! ± I drop it at thy feet. And hold the torch out. of love hid in me out of reach.' My day of youth went yesterday. By a most dauntless. It only may Now shade on two pale cheeks. the mark of tears. Nay. The kiss my mother left here when she died. XVIII I never gave a lock of hair away To a man. XXIV Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife. finding pure. except this to thee. As girls do. but Love is justified: Take it. while the winds are rough. that I should bring thee proof In words. ± Seeing that I stand unwon. Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree. . thou. . My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee. however wooed. I thought the funeral-shears Would take this first. me . . . Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief. Between our faces.Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806±1861) Sonnets from the Portuguese (extracts) XIII And wilt thou have me fashion into speech The love I bear thee. from all those years. . finding words enough. . . in brief. Shut in upon itself and do no harm 5 10 5 10 . Dearest. Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside Through sorrow's trick. And rend the garment of my life. let the silence of my womanhood Commend my woman-love to thy belief. voiceless fortitude. Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully I ring out to the full brown length and say `Take it. any more.
The third. my own. list. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. XXXVIII First time he kissed me. out of man's reach. I have been proud and said. Life to life ± I lean upon thee.' When the angels speak. I love thee purely. who made us rich. Half falling on the hair. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach. upon my lips. by sun and candlelight. Slow to world-greetings . Growing straight. and sought the forehead. and half missed. God only. purple state! since when. And ever since it grew more clean and white. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need. Smiles. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs. O beyond meed! That was the chrism of love. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here plainer to my sight. `My Love. as men strive for Right. when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. on the hill. . quick with its `Oh. With sanctifying sweetness. . tears. ± I love thee with the breath. if God choose. thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden. as they turn from Praise.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. which love's own crown. all the summer through 5 10 5 10 5 10 . After the click of the shutting. was folded down In perfect. Against the stab of worldlings who if rife Are weak to injure.' XLII How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. indeed. Very whitely still The lilies of our lives may reassure Their blossoms from their roots! accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer. . of all my life! ± and. The second passed in height The first. Than that first kiss. XLIII Beloved. without alarm. now soft and warm. he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write. Sonnets from the Portuguese 7 In this close hand of Love. . did precede. I shall but love thee better after death. and with my childhood's faith. . Dear. And let us hear no sound of human strife. I love thee freely. can make us poor. And feel as safe as guarded by a charm.
and keep them where they shall not pine: Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true. you have believed in me. this poor sign of esteem. and been generous to me. writing thus. my own dearest cousin and friend. And which on warm and cold days I withdrew From my heart's ground. Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it Long after he has ceased to love you. B. 1856 First Book Of writing many books there is no end. October 17. in sight of the public. And tell thy soul. and it seemed as if they grew In this close room. Take back these thoughts. just To hold together what he was and is. I venture to leave in your hands this book. As when you paint your portrait for a friend. in the like name of that love of ours. and the one into which my highest convictions upon Life and Art have entered: that as. I have not so far left the coasts of life 5 10 . the last pages of which have been finished under the hospitality of your roof. will write now for mine.8 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. The words `cousin' and `friend' are constantly recurring in this poem. in a sense of less equality and greater disinterestedness than `Romney''s. their roots are left in mine. Here's ivy! ± take them. I. 5 10 From Aurora Leigh Dedication to John Kenyon. which here unfolded too. nor missed the sun and showers. and preparing once more to quit England. through my various efforts in literature and steps in life. gratitude. 39. therefore. So. the most mature of my works. B. Esq. Ending. from your unforgetting E. far beyond the common uses of mere relationship or sympathy of mind. as I used to do Thy flowers. so you may kindly accept. From Aurora Leigh And winter. and affection. Indeed. those beds and bowers Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue. borne with me. Devonshire Place. And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses. And wait thy weeding: yet here's eglantine. am still what men call young. ± Will write my story for my better self. ± cousin and friend.
stroke it heavily. 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. to sit alone. victorious joy. erased and covered by a monk's. packed large. by a Longus! poring on Which obscene text. Books.] The cygnet finds the water. . when she had left us both. . mark. books. hush ± here's too much noise!' while her sweet eyes Leap forward. O my father's hand Stroke the poor hair down. pulling through the gap. ± Draw. ± For those dumb motions of imperfect life Are oracles of vital Deity Attesting the Hereafter. Stroke out my childish curls across his knee. Then. [. In heats of terror. ± The apocalypse. A palimpsest. I nibbled here and there At this or that box.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past. ± his spirit-insight dulled And crossed by his sensations. I write . we may discern perhaps Some fair. with finger up. `Hush. But still I catch my mother at her post Beside the nursery-door. be reverent. Some upstroke of an alpha and omega Expressing the old scripture. but the man Is born in ignorance of his element. fine trace of what was written once. Sonnets from the Portuguese 9 To travel inland. Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon. books! I had found the secret of a garret-room Piled high with cases in my father's name. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . ± where. Piled high. disorganised By sin i' the blood. haste. that I cannot hear That murmur of the outer Infinite Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep When wondered at for smiling. be obedient.' rather say. not so far. Presently We feel it quicken in the dark sometimes. taking part against her word In the child's riot. . a prophet's holograph Defiled. And feels out blind at first. press the child's head closer to thy knee! I'm still too young. Let who says `The soul's a clean white paper. too young. Still I sit and feel My father's slow hand. . .
Opposed to relative. the triumphal gates And towers of observation. reap. dine. because the time was ripe. though a pretty trade. sublime. The only teachers who instruct mankind. says The apostle. That carpet-dusting. am I one with you. `This is soul. The poet suddenly will catch them up With his voice like a thunder . my soul. Let go conventions and sprang up surprised. And that's the measure of an angel. comparative. And temporal truths. At poetry's divine first finger-touch. ± or but one through love? Does all this smell of thyme about my feet 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . and. and while your common men Build pyramids. clears herself To elemental freedom ± thus. And soothsayers in a teacup? I write so Of the only truth-tellers. You write so of the poets. a moment's space. throwing flat The marts and temples. ± The only speakers of essential truth. the only holders by His sun-skirts. or our senators. From Aurora Leigh The first book first. This is life. reign. And dust the flaunty carpets of the world For kings to walk on. Exaggerators of the sun and moon. An hour before the sun would let me read! My books! At last.10 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Is not the imperative labour after all. now left to God. I chanced upon the poets. To find man's veritable stature out. Here's God down on us! what are you about?' How all those workers start amid their work. and feel. through conventional grey glooms. Erect. and not laugh? Those virtuous liars. when the internal fires Have reached and pricked her heart. in the morning's dark. . That thus I love you. this word is being said in heaven. What's this. My own best poets. . dreamers after dark. Convicted of the great eternities Before two worlds. From just a shadow on a charnel-wall. gauge railroads. Aurora Leigh. And how I felt it beat Under my pillow. ± the measure of a man. look up. Look round. As the earth Plunges in fury. Ay.
shakes the heart Of all the men and women in the world. As if one came back from the dead and spoke. To keep the mouths of all the godheads moist For everlasting laughters. O poetry. 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. Sonnets from the Portuguese 11 Conclude my visit to your holy hill In personal presence. We shall not bear above a round or two ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 . myself. O life. And set me in the Olympian roar and round Of luminous faces. and dogs. As wind upon the alders. he expands with joy. a familiar thing Become divine i' the utterance! while for him The poet. Ganymede. Would no sound come? or is the music mine. ± who would say A man's mere `yes. O delight And triumph of the poet. who has ravished me Away from all the shepherds. my life. sooth.' a woman's common `no. With eyes too happy. And says the word so that it burns you through With a special revelation. ± passionate for truth Beyond these senses. blanching them By turning up their under-natures till They trembled in dilation. ± Which means life in life! cognisant of life Beyond this blood-beat. ± I. for a cup-bearer. The palpitating angel in his flesh Thrills inly with consenting fellowship To those innumerous spirits who sun themselves Outside of time.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. sheep. with both grappling feet still hot From Zeus's thunder. My pipers. ± and if. with their eyes! How those gods look! Enough so. My thought and aspiration. you did not blow. As a man's voice or breath is called his own. do you play on me. ± poetry. Half drunk across the beaker. or but testify The rustling of your vesture through my dreams With influent odours? When my joy and pain. ± My eagle. are absolutely dumb If not melodious. when the rhythmic turbulence Of blood and brain swept outward upon words. like the stops Of pipe or flute.' A little human hope of that or this. the speaker.
who would strike steel on steel If steel had offered. With sense of power and ache. I poured myself 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 . which my neighbour's field. In full front sun-face. We play at leap-frog over the god Term. Too often sow their wild oats in tame verse. From Aurora Leigh Â We drop the golden cup at Here's foot And swoon back to the earth. Before they sit down under their own vine And live for use. `What's come now to the youth?' Such ups and downs Have poets. and many a shepherd scoffs. cold with dew. those days. So. near all the birds Will sing at dawn.12 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Howbeit I dare not: 'tis too easy to go mad. Is what I dare not. if we are loved or love. You catch a sight of Nature. And wrote because I lived ± unlicensed else: My heart beat in my brain. ± though some royal blood Would seem to tingle in me now and then. In those days. like most young poets. All analysis comes late. Alas. I never analysed Myself even. through seeing the light. cowslips: ± the more pains they take. ± and yet we do not take The chaffering swallow for the holy lark. The love within us and the love without Are mixed. ± and find ourselves Face-down among the pine-cones. you miss The form. Being acted on and acting seem the same: In that first onrush of life's chariot-wheels. ± and. As children. And ape a Bourbon in a crown of straws. While the dogs bark. what mattered? It is so in youth. Am I such indeed? The name Is royal. and your eyelids wink And drop before the wonder of't. Life's violent flood Abolished bounds. The work more withers. in a flush Of individual life. Many tender souls Have strung their losses on a rhyming thread. confounded. We scarce distinguish. Many fervent souls Strike rhyme on rhyme. Young men. though. ay. earliest. ± with imposthumes And manias usual to the race. I lived. Which mine. with other power. The thing's too common. and to sign it like a queen. and maids. And so. We know not if the forests move or we. in a restless heat Of doing something.
. Sonnets from the Portuguese 13 Along the veins of others. 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . driven Against the heels of what the master said. And elegiac griefs. benignant Muse!' ± As if we had seen her purple-braided head With the eyes in it. The wine-skins. turning grandly on his central self. Weak for art only. indeed. I count it strange. Nor handle. As if still ignorant of counterpoint.' ± we're too legal. not young. But. and hard to understand. By Keats's soul. who write young: We beat the phorminx till we hurt our thumbs. writ On happy mornings. perhaps. With so much earnest! what effete results. is active for resolve. The worse for being warm: all these things. ± and still The memory mixes with the vision. Distilled to a mere drop. start between the boughs As often as a stag's. to attain to clairvoyance. Profaning nature. the man who never stepped In gradual progress like another man. `O Muse. We call the Muse . with a morning heart. as the new wine gurgles in. Spare the old bottles! ± spill not the new wine. That nearly all young poets should write old. What make-believe. Like cast-off nosegays picked up on the road. and achieved Mere lifeless imitations of live verse. spoils. to make his mother laugh. Such have not settled long and deep enough In trance. the ancient forms Will thrill. It may be. Ensphered himself in twenty perfect years. And so with others. From such white heats! ± bucolics. Oft.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Will crack even. And died. falling like a tear Upon the world's cold cheek to make it burn For ever. a little warped. And made the living answer for the dead. That leaps for love. now and then. And beardless Byron academical. ± (the life of a long life. And works it turbid. where the cows Would scare the writer if they splashed the mud In lashing off the flies. That Pope was sexagenarian at sixteen. in carrying the young blood. shrill with trumps A babe might blow between two straining cheeks Of bubbled rose. and songs of love. ± didactics. do not taste. `Touch not.) by that strong excepted soul. From virile efforts! what cold wire-drawn odes. And counterfeiting epics. .
Before the rain has got into my barn And set the grains a-sprouting. peradventure. 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 . therefore. That souls were dangerous things to carry straight Through all the spilt saltpetre of the world. Because myself was true in writing them. `Would she hear my task. I know I have not ground you down enough To flatten and bake you to a wholesome crust For household duties and properties. ± and demurred. I wrote False poems. The inner life informed the outer life. through forced work and spontaneous work. Then I sate and teased The patient needle till it split the thread.14 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. And verify my abstract of the book? And should I sit down to the crochet work? Was such her pleasure?' . Which oozed off from it in meandering lace From hour to hour. again. In vortices of glory and blue air. But plainly she objected. and thought them true. And. From Aurora Leigh Or perhaps. rounding to the spheric soul the thin Pined body. She could not say I had no business with a sort of soul. Made cool the forehead with fresh-sprinkling dreams. In order to discover the Muse-Sphinx. ± For me. `I know there's something wrong. Behind you. sad. Reduced the irregular blood to settled rhythms. I was not. She said sometimes. like the rest. have writ true ones since With less complacence. have you done Your task this morning? ± have you read that book? And are you ready for the crochet here?' ± As if she said. They saw a light at a window now and then. The melancholy desert must sweep round. struck a colour up the cheeks. And so. as safe from harm As sings the lark when sucked up out of sight. They had not set there. you're green With out-door impudence? you almost grow?' To which I answered. What. I. as before. . 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. `Aurora. But I could not hide My quickening inner life from those at watch.
or quarrelled. Ofter we walked only two. ± I thought my father's land was worthy too Of being my Shakspeare's. `We'll live. like The grand first Master. . nor even friends well matched ± Say rather. Very oft. Whom men judge hardly. paint a body well You paint a soul by implication. not unfrequently with leave To walk the third with Romney and his friend The rising painter. .Elizabeth Barrett Browning. scholars upon different tracks. The dogs are on us ± but we will not die. shivering with the fear And passion of the course. at last Escaped. where you scarcely tell White daisies from white dew. Because he holds that. Such nooks of valleys. Unlicensed. or talked. 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 . A ripple of land. And open pastures. as a hunted stag Will take the waters. as it chanced: We were not lovers. If cousin Romney pleased to walk with me. will love true love. Vincent Carrington. I learnt to love that England. such little hills. ± at intervals The mythic oaks and elm-trees standing out Self-poised upon their prodigy of shade. `When I was last in Italy' . . ± And view the ground's most gentle dimplement. Pleasant walks! for if He said . ± like a rest Made sweeter for the step upon the grass. (As if God's finger touched but did not press In making England!) such an up and down Of verdure. Sonnets from the Portuguese 15 Though somewhat faint. ± so many a green slope built on slope Betwixt me and the enemy's house behind. Fed full of noises by invisible streams. ± nothing too much up or down. It sounded as an instrument that's played Too far off for the tune ± and yet it's fine To listen.' Whoever lives true life. We read. Very oft alone. I threw my hunters off and plunged myself Among the deep hills. . I dared to rest. Before the day was born. as bee-bonneted. the sky Can stoop to tenderly and the wheatfields climb. And when. And said. or otherwise Through secret windings of the afternoons. or wander. lined with orchises. Aurora! we'll be strong. I clenched my brows across My blue eyes greatening in the looking-glass.
who call things good and fair. While. and called all very fair. But then the thrushes sang. ± The tangled hedgerows. ± And then I turned. ± 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. the clouds. ± Hills. I flattered all the beauteous country round. where the cows push out Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths 'Twixt dripping ash-boughs. carrying gold.' I said. Even then was evil near us. granges. let us pray. ± and he bore with me In melancholy patience. vales. And clapped my hands. Confused with smell of orchards. haply. And cottage chimneys smoking from the woods.16 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. and I. not unkind. From Aurora Leigh And thinkers disagreed. overbold For what might be. The happy violets hiding from the roads The primroses run down to. the skies. `See. Farms. as he related. breaking into voluble ecstasy. . indeed. overfull Of what is. it is writ. As poets use . In the beginning when God called all good. `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. howsoe'er the world Went ill. ± At which word His brow would soften. But we. And cattle grazing in the watered vales. the fields. And bade him mark that. . And shook my pulses and the elms' new leaves. And cottage gardens smelling everywhere. and held my finger up. certainly The thrushes still sang in it. 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 . The evil is upon us while we speak: Deliver us from evil. he. netted in a silver mist. woods. doubled up among the hills.
When thickest dark did trance the sky. 5 10 15 20 25 . And glanced athwart the glooming flats.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson (1809±1892) Mariana `Mariana in the moated grange. aweary. The broken sheds looked sad and strange. I would that I were dead!' II Her tears fell with the dews at even. She drew her casement-curtain by. Waking she heard the night-fowl crow: The cock sung out an hour ere light: From the dark fen the oxen's low Came to her: without hope of change. She only said `The night is dreary. He cometh not.' ± Measure for Measure I With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted. Her tears fell ere the dews were dried. The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the peach to the garden-wall. She said `I am aweary. Either at morn or eventide. I would that I were dead!' III Upon the middle of the night. aweary. Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. Unlifted was the clinking latch. one and all. He cometh not. She only said `My life is dreary. She could not look on the sweet heaven. After the flitting of the bats.' she said: She said `I am aweary.' she said.
`I am aweary. He cometh not. She only said. He cometh not. I would that I were dead!' V And ever when the moon was low. `I am aweary. She only said. But when the moon was very low. For leagues no other tree did dark The level waste. Old footsteps trod the upper floors. Hard by a poplar shook alway. I would that I were dead!' IV About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blackened waters slept. She only said. She said. to and fro. `The day is dreary. aweary. Old faces glimmered thro' the doors. round and small.' she said. the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked. She said. across her brow. She saw the gusty shadow sway. `I am aweary. She only said. aweary. the rounding gray.' she said. I would that I were dead!' VI All day within the dreamy house. He cometh not. I would that I were dead!' 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . Old voices called her from without. `I am aweary. He cometh not. All silver-green with gnarled bark. She said. Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. `My life is dreary. `The night is dreary. She said.18 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. aweary. `My life is dreary. The doors upon their hinges creaked. And wild winds bound within their cell. In the white curtain. aweary. Or from the crevice peered about. And o'er it many.' she said. The blue fly sung i' the pane. And the shrill winds were up and away. The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed. The clustered marish-mosses crept.' she said. Mariana In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn.
Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below. `I am very dreary. `I am aweary. She wept. aspens quiver. Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. did all confound Her sense. By the margin. but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers. Overlook a space of flowers. 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. The Lady of Shalott? 5 10 15 20 25 . said she. Oh God. 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.' she said. aweary. And thro' the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot. And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. Willows whiten. That clothe the wold and meet the sky. and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. and four gray towers. The island of Shalott. and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made. The slow clock ticking. Slide the heavy barges trailed By slow horses. The Lady of Shalott 19 VII The sparrow's chirrup on the roof.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And up and down the people go. Then. willow-veiled. Four gray walls.
The Lady of Shalott. whispers `'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott. Came two young lovers lately wed. with plumes and lights And music. Shadows of the world appear. For often thro' the silent nights A funeral. A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . The Lady of Shalott. Piling sheaves in uplands airy. And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year. And the red cloaks of market-girls.' Part II There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. And little other care hath she. Down to towered Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary. She knows not what the curse may be. Listening. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls. Pass onward from Shalott. And so she weaveth steadily. Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly. She has heard a whisper say. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad. An abbot on an ambling pad. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights. Goes by to towered Camelot. And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true. And there the surly village-churls. reaping early In among the bearded barley. The Lady of Shalott Only reapers. Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad.20 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Or long-haired page in crimson clad. went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead.
Moves over still Shalott. As he rode down to Camelot. On burnished hooves his war-horse trode. she left the loom. A redcross knight for ever kneeled To a lady in his shield. As often thro' the purple night. She saw the water-lily bloom. That sparkled on the yellow field. trailing light. From underneath his helmet flowed His coal-black curls as on he rode. Beside remote Shalott. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . He rode between the barley-sheaves. The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned like one burning flame together. Below the starry clusters bright. And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. She looked down to Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror. The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves. `Tirra lirra. She saw the helmet and the plume. Beside remote Shalott. As he rode down to Camelot. The gemmy bridle glittered free. She left the web.' said The Lady of Shalott. Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather. His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed. She made three paces thro' the room.' 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. The Lady of Shalott 21 `I am half-sick of shadows.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. And as he rode his armour rung. Some bearded meteor.
Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining. Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat. Turned to towered Camelot. Lying. Seeing all his own mischance ± With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. A gleaming shape she floated by. They heard her singing her last song. And her eyes were darkened wholly. The pale yellow woods were waning. holy. The mirror cracked from side to side. By garden-wall and gallery.22 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. mournful. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain. The Lady of Shalott. The Lady of Shalott Out flew the web and floated wide. Heavily the low sky raining Over towered Camelot. Chanted loudly. The Lady of Shalott. and down she lay. The Lady of Shalott. 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. The broad stream in his banks complaining. For ere she reached upon the tide The first house by the water-side. chanted lowly. Heard a carol. Till her blood was frozen slowly. The broad stream bore her far away.' cried The Lady of Shalott. And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. Singing in her song she died. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . And down the river's dim expanse ± Like some bold seer in a trance. Under tower and balcony.
I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race. both with those That loved me. To rust unburnished. I cannot rest from travel: I will drink. and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence. Knight and burgher. among these barren crags. All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space. governments. Ulysses 23 A corse between the houses high. Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer. have suffered greatly. God in his mercy lend her grace. whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. The Lady of Shalott. I am a part of all that I have met. The Lady of Shalott. `She has a lovely face. Silent into Camelot. And drunk delight of battle with my peers. and vile it were 5 10 15 20 25 . I am become a name. For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known. How dull it is to pause. and feed. By this still hearth. Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly. but honoured of them all. and know not me. and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea. Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravelled world.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. lord and dame. And they crossed themselves for fear.' 160 165 170 Ulysses It little profits that an idle king. Life piled on life Were all too little. councils. cities of men And manners. He said. And round the prow they read her name. climates. That hoard. to make an end. Out upon the wharfs they came. not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life. something more. and sleep. Matched with an aged wife. Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. and alone. Myself not least. on shore. A bringer of new things.
Made weak by time and fate. to find. 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. to seek. To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle ± Well-loved of me. Most blameless is he. This is my son. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Souls that have toiled. Push off. may yet be done. Death closes all: but something ere the end. and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven. One equal temper of heroic hearts. Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. Some work of noble note. and not to yield. discerning to fulfil This labour. for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset. 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 Morte d'Arthur So all day long the noise of battle rolled Among the mountains by the winter sea. sitting well in order. until I die. much abides. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles. we are. I mine. and wrought. Come. My mariners. There lies the port. When I am gone. smite The sounding furrows. but strong in will To strive. free foreheads ± you and I are old. And see the great Achilles. and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. centred in the sphere Of common duties.24 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star. and opposed Free hearts. the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. and thought with me ± That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine. my friends. and the baths Of all the western stars. whom we knew. and pay Meet adoration to my household gods. and. mine own Telemachus. Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. Tho' much is taken. by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people. He works his work. decent not to fail In offices of tenderness. that which we are. Old age hath yet his honour and his toil. . Morte d'Arthur For some three suns to store and hoard myself.
Such a sleep They sleep ± the men I loved. chill. from the ruined shrine he stepped. and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill. On one side lay the Ocean. like a king: And. stepping down By zigzag paths. as in the days that were. and lightly bring thee word. and lightly bring me word. mystic. Old knights. Sir Bedivere. be. Had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord. He. A little thing may harm a wounded man. 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . I think that we Shall nevermore. Watch what I see. A broken chancel with a broken cross.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Aidless. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: `The sequel of today unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. with flakes of foam. The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. And fling him far into the middle meer: Watch what thou seest. this also shall be known: But now delay not: take Excalibur. the last of all his knights. Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. ± Though Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more ± but let what will be. That stood on a dark strait of barren land. and on one Lay a great water.' To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: `It is not meet. and the moon was full. an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake. Yet I thy hest will all perform at full. and smitten through the helm. And bore him to a chapel nigh the field. wheresoever I am sung or told In aftertime. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur. wonderful. to leave thee thus. Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. and have worn it.' So saying. Clothed in white samite. And in the moon athwart the place of tombs. Morte d'Arthur 25 Until King Arthur's table. I perish by this people which I made. because his wound was deep. I am so deeply smitten through the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. King Arthur: then. Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot. Holding the sword ± and how I rowed across And took it. and juts of pointed rock. Sir King. one summer noon. at any future time. man by man. alone. Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days.
' To whom replied King Arthur. Not rendering true answer. And o'er him. Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. What record. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur. So strode he back slow to the wounded King. That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. or else a motion of the meer. Brightening the skirts of a long cloud. ran forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt: For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks. Should thus be lost for ever from the earth. fixed in thought. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled. and do the thing I bad thee. Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. quickly go again As thou art lief and dear. but empty breath 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . Were it well to obey then. And the wild water lapping on the crag. and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewellery. Myriads of topaz-lights. How curiously and strangely chased. Then went Sir Bedivere the second time. In act to throw: but at the last it seemed Better to leave Excalibur concealed There in the many-knotted waterflags. if this were done? What harm. This is a shameful thing for men to lie. Counting the dewy pebbles. nor like a noble knight: For surer sign had followed. if a king demand An act unprofitable. faint and pale: `Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name. and lightly bring me word'. 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. as beseemed È Thy fealty. and he cried aloud. against himself ? The King is sick. drawing it. But when he saw the wonder of the hilt. and knows not what he does. `And if indeed I cast the brand away. watch. I charge thee. either hand. Or voice. Yet now. or what relic of my lord Should be to aftertime. the winter moon. This way and that dividing the swift mind. he smote His palms together. undone? deep harm to disobey. Surely a precious thing. as he stood. one worthy note. Morte d'Arthur Came on the shining levels of the lake. What good should follow this.26 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.
' Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere. Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. get thee hence: But. and drew him under in the meer. And so strode back slow to the wounded King. Excalibur.' So spake he. And lightly went the other to the King. the latest-left of all my knights. much in wrath: `Ah. and whirled in an arch. 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 . And. Laid widowed of the power in his eye That bowed the will. So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur: But ere he dipt the surface. In whom should meet the offices of all. And strongly wheeled and threw it. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon. Either from lust of gold. wonderful. I will arise and slay thee with my hands. Some one might show it at a joust of arms. Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night.' To whom replied King Arthur. Nine years she wrought it. plunged Among the bulrush-beds. with noises of the northern sea. and ran. And flashing round and round. and brandished him Three times. traitor-hearted! Woe is me! Authority forgets a dying king. Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings. clouded with his own conceit.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. for a man may fail in duty twice. if thou spare to fling Excalibur. And the third time may prosper. I see thee what thou art. Then spoke King Arthur. Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt. mystic. Unknightly. Shot like a streamer of the northern morn. 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. untrue. leaping down the ridges lightly. And caught him by the hilt. But now much honour and much fame were lost. miserable and unkind. And the long ripple washing in the reeds. sitting in the deeps Upon the hidden bases of the hills. rose an arm Clothed in white samite. Morte d'Arthur 27 And rumours of a doubt? but were this kept. Saying. And hid Excalibur the second time. For thou. and clutched the sword. Yet.' So might some old man speak in the aftertime To all the people. `King Arthur's sword. or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. winning reverence.
and descending they were ware 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 . lest the gems Should blind my purpose. and a cry Before. Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. Speak out: what is it thou hast heard. O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands. wonderful. Morte d'Arthur Then spoke King Arthur. with pain. and looking. Nor shall see. quick! I fear it is too late. Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern.' So saying. And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. behold an arm. and drew him under in the meer. Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge. That caught him by the hilt. drawing thicker breath: `Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. He heard the deep behind him. Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms. as he walked. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight. Clothed in white samite. King Arthur panted hard. and brandished him Three times. And would have spoken. Beneath them.28 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes As in a picture. as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels ± And on a sudden. Then with both hands I flung him. His own thought drove him like a goad. But. Not though I live three lives of mortal men. mystic. `Quick. but he found not words. So sighed the King. I closed mine eyelids. or seen?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: `Sir King. breathing hard: `My end draws nigh. Then took with care. wheeling him. Him Sir Bedivere Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears. and I shall die. reclining on his arm. Muttering and murmuring at his ear. lo! the level lake. And the long glories of the winter moon. as he walked. 'tis time that I were gone. Clothed with his breath. for I never saw. here or elsewhere.' And answer made King Arthur. till I die. But when I looked again. Larger than human on the frozen hills.' But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge. Slowly. and all to left and right The bare black cliff clanged round him. from the pavement he half rose. and kneeling on one knee. So great a miracle as yonder hilt. yet I fear My wound hath taken cold. And bear me to the margin. and I shall die.
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,
A Medley Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge. To sit a star upon the sparkling spire. he. from yonder mountain height: What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) In height and cold. . and wild with all regret.. come thou down And find him. as thy thoughts in me. the splendour of the hills? But cease to move so near the Heavens. thou. Come down.. Deep as first love. Or foxlike in the vine. the days that are no more. and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me. And slips into the bosom of the lake: So fold thyself. the days that are no more. And come. by the happy threshold. Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk. sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears. nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the Silver Horns. Now folds the lily all her sweetness up... my dearest. come. O Death in Life. So sad.. Now sleeps the crimson petal. and leaves A shining furrow. the days that are no more. and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine. Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost.. so fresh. O maid. for Love is of the valley. Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize. Or red with spirted purple of the vats. And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others. deep as love. Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me. . So sad. For Love is of the valley. Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine. now the white. when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square. Ah. From: The Princess. And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. Dear as remembered kisses after death. And all thy heart lies open unto me. so strange. Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice.32 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Now slides the silent meteor on. È Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars. 10 15 20 5 10 5 10 15 .
He thinks he was not made to die. but every sound is sweet. Believing where we cannot prove. and lo. H. From In Memoriam A. A beam in darkness: let it grow. thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made. We have but faith: we cannot know. The highest. O Lord. 5 10 15 20 . They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of thee. that have not seen thy face. we know not how. the children call. immortal Love. And yet we trust it comes from thee. Thou seemest human and divine. thou: Our wills are ours. for all the vales Await thee. And thou. but come.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. That like a broken purpose waste in air: So waste not thou. holiest manhood. let the wild Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone. embrace. and spill Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke. And murmuring of innumerable bees. he knows not why. H. Our wills are ours. Thine are these orbs of light and shade. Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: Thou madest man. Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn. For knowledge is of things we see. and sweet is every sound. H. to make them thine. By faith. H. The moan of doves in immemorial elms. And thou hast made him: thou art just. azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee. 20 25 30 From In Memoriam A. 33 That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: But follow. and I Thy shepherd pipe. Thou madest Life in man and brute. Our little systems have their day. let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley. Strong Son of God. Thou madest Death. art more than they. and leave The monstrous ledges there to slope. Sweeter thy voice. and faith alone. Whom we.
And in thy wisdom make me wise. Forgive what seemed my sin in me. whom I found so fair. That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things. May make one music as before. But vaster. Forgive them where they fail in truth. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII I I held it truth. Forgive these wild and wandering cries.34 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones. H. That mind and soul. and there I find him worthier to be loved. 1849 25 30 35 40 In Memoriam A. We are fools and slight. But more of reverence in us dwell. I trust he lives in thee. according well. Let darkness keep her raven gloss: Ah! sweeter to be drunk with loss. 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. to beat the ground. to thee. And not from man. For merit lives from man to man. Forgive my grief for one removed. H. Confusions of a wasted youth. In Memoriam Let knowledge grow from more to more. We mock thee when we do not fear: But help thy foolish ones to bear. O Lord. What seemed my worth since I began. 5 10 . Thy creature. Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. To dance with death.
From out waste places comes a cry. A web is woven across the sky. ± A hollow form with empty hands. which graspest at the stones That name the under-lying dead.' And shall I take a thing so blind.' II Old Yew. And bring the firstling to the flock. III O Sorrow. In Memoriam 35 Than that the victor Hours should scorn The long result of love. Or crush her. Sick for thy stubborn hardihood. and boast: `Behold the man that loved and lost. O! not for thee the glow. And murmurs from the dying sun: `And all the phantom. Nature. cruel fellowship! O Priestess in the vaults of Death! O sweet and bitter in a breath. I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee. `blindly run. Thy fibres net the dreamless head. The seasons bring the flower again. Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. stands ± With all the music in her tone. Who changest not in any gale! Nor branding summer suns avail To touch thy thousand years of gloom.' she whispers. And in the dusk of thee. Upon the threshold of the mind? 5 5 15 10 15 10 15 . And gazing on the sullen tree. But all he was is overworn. A hollow echo of my own. What whispers from thy lying lip? `The stars.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. the bloom. Embrace her as my natural good. the clock Beats out the little lives of men. like a vice of blood.
`Thou shalt not be the fool of loss. like nature. that `Other friends remain. Like coarsest clothes against the cold. and cries. Break. VI One writes. That grief hath shaken into frost! Such clouds of nameless trouble cross All night below the darkened eyes. With morning wakes the will. like weeds. Like dull narcotics. Some pleasure from thine early years. But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more. I sit within a helmless bark. how fares it with thee now. And with my heart I muse and say: O heart. The sad mechanic exercise. That loss is common would not make My own less bitter. numbing pain.36 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.' V I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel.' That `Loss is common to the race' ± And common is the commonplace. Who scarcely darest to inquire. but some heart did break. In words. For words. That thou should'st fail from thy desire. `What is it makes me beat so low?' Something it is which thou hast lost. My will is bondsman to the dark. 5 5 5 10 15 10 . half reveal And half conceal the Soul within. I'll wrap me o'er. In Memoriam IV To Sleep I give my powers away. for the unquiet heart and brain. rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening. And vacant chaff well meant for grain. But. A use in measured language lies. thou deep vase of chilling tears.
And thinking `this will please him best. Poor child. Who mused on all I had to tell. meek. And. And glad to find thyself so fair. something thought. that waitest for thy love! For now her father's chimney glows In expectation of a guest. A shot. having left the glass. Ye know no more than I who wrought At that last hour to please him well. In Memoriam 37 O father. O mother.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. perpetual maidenhood. waiting for a hand. That sittest ranging golden hair. thinking. the curse Had fallen. praying God will save Thy sailor. O. Or killed in falling from his horse. even when she turned. And with the thought her colour burns. VII Dark house. what to her shall be the end? And what to me remains of good? To her.' She takes a riband or a rose. For he will see them on to-night. 25 10 15 20 30 35 40 . unconscious dove. ± while thy head is bowed. O! somewhere. And ever met him on his way With wishes. Or here tomorrow will he come. wheresoe'er thou be. And something written. That pledgest now thy gallant son. and her future Lord Was drowned in passing thro' the ford. His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud Drops in his vast and wandering grave. here today. by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street. And. Doors. And unto me no second friend. where my heart was used to beat So quickly. Expecting still his advent home. ere half thy draught be done Hath stilled the life that beat from thee. she turns Once more to set a ringlet right.
with thee And this poor flower of poesy Which little cared for fades not yet. Or dying. Yet as that other. a favourable speed 5 5 5 10 10 15 20 . So find I every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet. Which once she fostered up with care. He saddens. So seems it in my deep regret. Spread thy full wings. VIII A happy lover who has come To look on her that loves him well. the chamber and the street. but far away The noise of life begins again. I go to plant it on his tomb. all the magic light Dies off at once from bower and hall. And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day. And all the place is dark. and all The chambers emptied of delight. The field. And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door.38 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. He is not here. there at least may die. wandering there In those deserted walks. may find A flower beat with rain and wind. IX Fair ship. And learns her gone and far from home. In Memoriam A hand that can be clasped no more ± Behold me. O my forsaken heart. That if it can it there may bloom. Who lights and rings the gateway bell. for I cannot sleep. that from the Italian shore Sailest the placid ocean-plains With my lost Arthur's loved remains. For all is dark where thou art not. But since it pleased a vanished eye. So draw him home to those that mourn In vain. and waft him o'er.
till Phosphor. `oar-weed' (T. X I hear the noise about thy keel. thy dark freight.). All night no ruder air perplex Thy sliding keel. More than my brothers are to me. In Memoriam 39 Ruffle thy mirrored mast. And hands so often clasped in mine. gentle winds. The fools of habit.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. XI Calm is the morn without a sound. Calm as to suit a calmer grief. My Arthur. And. sweeter seems To rest beneath the clover sod. Or where the kneeling hamlet drains The chalice of the grapes of God. a vanished life. as he sleeps now. whom I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. Dear as the mother to the son. before the prow. And letters unto trembling hands. So bring him: we have idle dreams: This look of quiet flatters thus Our home-bred fancies: O to us. and lead Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn. thro' early light Shall glimmer on the dewy decks. Should toss with tangle2 and with shells. gentle heavens.). Thou bringest the sailor to his wife. That takes the sunshine and the rains. I hear the bell struck in the night: I see the cabin-window bright.1 bright As our pure love. Sleep. 1 2 10 15 20 5 10 15 20 `star of dawn' (T. My friend. I see the sailor at the wheel. above. And travelled men from foreign lands. the brother of my love. Sphere all your lights around. . Sleep. Than if with thee the roaring wells Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine.
and learn That I have been an hour away. And saying. I cannot stay. if calm at all. And linger weeping on the marge. a calm despair: Calm on the seas. In Memoriam And only thro' the faded leaf The chestnut pattering to the ground: Calm and deep peace on this high wold. 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 in my heart. XII Lo! as a dove when up she springs To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe. and silver sleep. To mingle with the bounding main: Calm and deep peace in this wide air. `Comes he thus. and haste away O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large. And waves that sway themselves in rest.40 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and play About the prow. A weight of nerves without a mind. Like her I go. These leaves that redden to the fall. And on these dews that drench the furze. 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. And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep. And leave the cliffs. and back return To where the body sits. And reach the glow of southern skies. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . Some dolorous message knit below The wild pulsation of her wings. And crowded farms and lessening towers. If any calm. And see the sails at distance rise. I leave this mortal ark behind.
5 5 10 15 20 10 15 . And if along with these should come The man I held as half-divine. An awful thought. Mine eyes have leisure for their tears. Which weep the comrade of my choice. And not the burthen that they bring. A void where heart on heart reposed. And ask a thousand things of home. XIV If one should bring me this report. And found thee lying in the port. And moves his doubtful arms. And glance about the approaching sails. Should strike a sudden hand in mine. not a breathing voice. The human-hearted man I loved. where warm hands have prest and closed.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Which weep a loss for ever new. For now so strange do these things seem. And standing. Should see thy passengers in rank Come stepping lightly down the plank. a life removed. In Memoriam 41 XIII Tears of the widower. That thou hadst touched the land today. And I went down unto the quay. many years. And. As tho' they brought but merchants' bales. till I be silent too. And I should tell him all my pain. I do not suffer in a dream. when he sees A late-lost form that sleep reveals. And he should sorrow o'er my state And marvel what possessed my brain. A spirit. And beckoning unto those they know. And how my life had dropped of late. and feels Her place is empty. Silence. muffled round with woe. and teach me. Come Time. fall like these. My fancies time to rise on wing.
The wild unrest that lives in woe Would dote and pore on yonder cloud That rises upward always higher. In Memoriam And I perceived no touch of change. I scarce could brook the strain and stir That makes the barren branches loud. But found him all in all the same. so harshly given. which aver That all thy motions gently pass Athwart a plane of molten glass. But knows no more of transient form In her deep self.42 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. XVI What words are these have fallen from me? Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast. than some dead lake That holds the shadow of a lark Hung in the shadow of a heaven? Or has the shock. The rooks are blown about the skies. The cattle huddled on the lea. No hint of death in all his frame. And wildly dashed on tower and tree The sunbeam strikes along the world: And but for fancies. Or sorrow such a changeling be? Or doth she only seem to take The touch of change in calm or storm. Confused me like the unhappy bark That strikes by night a craggy shelf. I should not feel it to be strange. And onward drags a labouring breast. the waters curled. And topples round the dreary west. XV To-night the winds begin to rise And roar from yonder dropping day: The last red leaf is whirled away. A looming bastion fringed with fire. And staggers blindly ere she sink? 5 5 20 10 15 20 10 . The forest cracked. And but for fear it is not so.
thou bringest all I love. we may stand Where he in English earth is laid. Come then. spare thee. So may whatever tempest mars Mid-ocean. The dust of him I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 10 . sacred bark. Such precious relics brought by thee. Henceforth. And flashes into false and true. For I in spirit saw thee move Thro' circles of the bounding sky. So kind an office hath been done. And balmy drops in summer dark Slide from the bosom of the stars. 'Tis little. And mingles all without a plan? XVII Thou comest. pure hands. much wept for: such a breeze Compelled thy canvas. 'tis something. and bear the head That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep. wherever thou may'st roam. like a line of light. In Memoriam 43 And stunned me from my power to think And all my knowledge of myself. whatever loves to weep. XVIII 'Tis well. And made me that delirious man Whose fancy fuses old and new. Week after week: the days go by: Come quick. and my prayer Was as the whisper of an air To breathe thee over lonely seas. And come. And hear the ritual of the dead. Is on the waters day and night. And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land. And like a beacon guards thee home. My blessing. but it looks in truth As if the quiet bones were blest Among familiar names to rest And in the places of his youth.
but endures with pain. The tide flows down. if this might be. I. And makes a silence in the hills. And slowly forms the firmer mind. Treasuring the look it cannot find. And in the hearing of the wave. The salt sea-water passes by. the wave again Is vocal in its wooded walls: My deeper anguish also falls. And tears that at their fountain freeze. XX The lesser griefs that may be said. Who speak their feeling as it is. even yet. And hushed my deepest grief of all.3 They laid him by the pleasant shore. That out of words a comfort win.' My lighter moods are like to these. I brim with sorrow drowning song.). There twice a day the Severn fills.44 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. But there are other griefs within. When filled with tears that cannot fall. falling on his faithful heart. Are but as servants in a house Where lies the master newly dead. That breathe a thousand tender vows. And weep the fulness from the mind: `It will be hard. `to find Another service such as this. 3 15 20 5 10 15 5 10 `He died at Vienna and was brought to Clevedon to be buried' (T. And I can speak a little then. In Memoriam Ah! yet. XIX The Danube to the Severn gave The darkened heart that beat no more. .' they say. Would breathing thro' his lips impart The life that almost dies in me: That dies not. And hushes half the babbling Wye. The Wye is hushed nor moved along. The words that are not heard again.
And one unto her note is changed. and charms Her secret from the latest moon?' Behold. ye speak an idle thing: Ye never knew the sacred dust: I do but sing because I must. When science reaches forth her arms To feel from world to world. So much the vital spirits sink To see the vacant chair. `Let him be.' A third is wroth: `Is this an hour For private sorrow's barren song. `How good! how kind! and he is gone. And. I take the grasses of the grave. and think. `This fellow would make weakness weak.' XXI I sing to him that rests below. And pipe but as the linnets sing: And one unto her note is gay. Because her brood is stol'n away. 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . In Memoriam 45 For by the hearth the children sit Cold in that atmosphere of Death. The traveller hears me now and then. Which led by tracts that pleased us well. Or like to noiseless phantoms flit: But open converse is there none. And melt the waxen hearts of men. When more and more the people throng The chairs and thrones of civil power? `A time to sicken and to swoon. since the grasses round me wave. And sometimes harshly will he speak. That with his piping he may gain The praise that comes to constancy.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. XXII The path by which we twain did go.' Another answers. And make them pipes whereon to blow. For now her little ones have ranged. And scarce endure to draw the breath. He loves to make parade of pain.
And Fancy light from Fancy caught.46 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. alone. tho' I walk in haste. to where he sits. And wrapt thee formless in the fold. And dulled the murmur on thy lip. And all was good that Time could bring. From flower to flower. From April on to April went. often falling lame. And all we met was fair and good. XXIII Now. Ere thought could wed itself with Speech. And all the secret of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood: 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . There sat the Shadow feared of man. somewhere in the waste. And crying. The Shadow sits and waits for me. sometimes in my sorrow shut. And think that. And bore thee where I could not see Nor follow. In Memoriam Thro' four sweet years arose and fell. And crowned with all the season lent. Or breaking into song by fits. And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought. But all the lavish hills would hum The murmur of a happy Pan: When each by turns was guide to each. And looking back to whence I came. The Shadow cloaked from head to foot Who keeps the keys of all the creeds. how changed from where it ran Thro' lands where not a leaf was dumb. As we descended following Hope. Alone. And spread his mantle dark and cold. Who broke our fair companionship. from snow to snow: And we with singing cheered the way. Or on to where the pathway leads. I wander. And glad at heart from May to May: But where the path we walked began To slant the fifth autumnal slope.
But this it was that made me move As light as carrier-birds in air. And orb into the perfect star We saw not. ± the track Whereon with equal feet we fared. 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. I with it. for I long to prove No lapse of moons can canker Love. as now. XXVI Still onward winds the dreary way. And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady. And if that eye which watches guilt And goodness. And is it that the haze of grief Hath stretched my former joy so great? The lowness of the present state. Whatever fickle tongues may say. And part it. giving half to him. Because it needed help of Love: Nor could I weary. when we moved therein? XXV I know that this was Life. and hath power to see 5 5 5 10 15 10 . the day prepared The daily burden for the back. heart or limb. This earth had been the Paradise It never looked to human eyes Since Adam left his garden yet. In Memoriam 47 And many an old philosophy On Argive heights divinely sang. If all was good and fair we met. And then.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. When mighty Love would cleave in twain The lading of a single pain. I loved the weight I had to bear. That sets the past in this relief ? Or that the past will always win A glory from its being far.
But thou art turned to something strange.48 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. what may count itself as blest. To cloak me from my proper scorn. 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. I feel it. In Memoriam Within the green the mouldered tree. I hold it true. As flies the lighter thro' the gross. here upon the ground. And flash at once. That Shadow waiting with the keys. Deep folly! yet that this could be ± That I could wing my will with might To leap the grades of life and light. The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth. So might I find. Nor any want-begotten rest. 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. when I sorrow most. Unfettered by the sense of crime. No more partaker of thy change. As mounts the heavenward altar-fire. XLI Thy spirit ere our fatal loss Did ever rise from high to higher. To whom a conscience never wakes. ere yet the morn Breaks hither over Indian seas. Nor. XXVII I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage. And towers fallen as soon as built ± Oh. my friend. to thee: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . whate'er befall. 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.
she sports with words. Like light in many a shivered lance That breaks about the dappled pools: The lightest wave of thought shall lisp. But better serves a wholesome law. when harsher moods remit. Nor shudders at the gulfs beneath. Then these were such as men might scorn: Her care is not to part and prove. But rather loosens from the lip Short swallow-flights of song. from nature. XLVIII If these brief lays. Thro' all the secular to be. indeed. from the schools. In Memoriam 49 For though my nature rarely yields To that vague fear implied in death. A spectral doubt which makes me cold. That I shall be thy mate no more. XLIX From art. Tho' following with an upward mind The wonders that have come to thee. but blame not thou the winds that make 5 5 15 20 10 15 10 .Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. She takes. that dip Their wings in tears. And makes it vassal unto love: And hence. The slightest air of song shall breathe To make the sullen surface crisp. Yet oft when sundown skirts the moor An inner trouble I behold. What slender shade of doubt may flit. Were taken to be such as closed Grave doubts and answers here proposed. The fancy's tenderest eddy wreathe. Let random influences glance. And holds it sin and shame to draw The deepest measure from the chords: Nor dare she trust a larger lay. But evermore a life behind. of Sorrow born. and go thy way. The howlings from forgotten fields. And look thy look. and skim away.
That I. Defects of doubt. That nothing walks with aimless feet. and taints of blood. And finding that of fifty seeds She often brings but one to bear. When God hath made the pile complete. LV The wish. LIV Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill. I can but trust that good shall fall At last ± far off ± at last. In Memoriam The seeming-wanton ripple break. That not a moth with vain desire Is shriveled in a fruitless fire. considering everywhere Her secret meaning in her deeds. That not a worm is cloven in vain. The tender-pencilled shadow play. Behold! we know not anything. Beneath all fancied hopes and fears Ay me! the sorrow deepens down. sins of will.50 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife. that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave. That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems. 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. And every winter change to spring. So careless of the single life. Or cast as rubbish to the void. Whose muffled motions blindly drown The bases of my life in tears. That not one life shall be destroyed. To pangs of nature. 5 5 15 10 15 20 10 . Or but subserves another's gain. to all.
LVII Peace. a dream. and call To what I feel is Lord of all. Man. Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life. shrieked against his creed ± Who loved. Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law ± Tho' Nature. as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless! What hope of answer.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more. Such splendid purpose in his eyes. red in tooth and claw With ravine. who seemed so fair. and grope. all shall go.' And he. In Memoriam 51 I falter where I firmly trod. And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God. shall he. O life as futile. `A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing. the Just. Be blown about the desert dust. Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer. who suffered countless ills. come away: the song of woe Is after all an earthly song: 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . or redress? Behind the veil. then. That tare each other in their slime. Who battled for the True. And faintly trust the larger hope. Or sealed within the iron hills? No more? A monster then. I stretch lame hands of faith. her last work. behind the veil. Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies. Were mellow music matched with him. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries. LVI `So careful of the type?' but no. A discord. And gather dust and chaff. Dragons of the prime.
I hear it now. and o'er and o'er. but it will not last' (T.4 Yet in these ears till hearing dies. Methinks I have built a rich shrine to my friend. Methinks my friend is richly shrined. And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples. But half my life I leave behind.52 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Yea. fan my brows and blow The fever from my cheek. and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame. though it spake and made appeal To chances where our lots were cast Together in the days behind. In Memoriam Peace. your cheeks are pale. let us go. let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas On leagues of odour streaming far. `Adieu. And `Ave. till Doubt and Death. Come.' XCII If any vision should reveal Thy likeness.' said.). come away: we do him wrong To sing so wildly: let us go. Eternal greetings to the dead. That rollest from the gorgeous gloom Of evening over brake and bloom And meadow. my work will fail. But I shall pass. and rapt below Thro' all the dewy-tasselled wood. adieu' for evermore! LXXXVI Sweet after showers. I might count it vain As but the canker of the brain. Ave. To where in yonder orient star A hundred spirits whisper `Peace. Ave. . slowly breathing bare The round of space. ambrosial air. 5 5 5 10 15 10 15 4 `The poet speaks of these poems. One set slow bell will seem to toll The passing of the sweetest soul That ever looked with human eyes. Ill brethren.
Should prove the phantom-warning true. In Memoriam 53 I might but say. XCIII I shall not see thee. But he. Descend. and touch. revolving near. O. XCIV How pure at heart and sound in head. And tho' the months. or any. therefore from thy sightless range With gods in unconjectured bliss. Imaginations calm and fair.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. O. The memory like a cloudless air. 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. from the distance of the abyss Of tenfold-complicated change. Except. thou too canst say. They haunt the silence of the breast. call The spirits from their golden day. My spirit is at peace with all. may come Where all the nerve of sense is numb. They might not seem thy prophecies. hear The wish too strong for words to name. But spiritual presentiments. I hear a wind Of memory murmuring the past. Spirit to Spirit. and enter. And such refraction of events As often rises ere they rise. Ghost to Ghost. Yea. like them. In vain shalt thou. That in this blindness of the frame My Ghost may feel that thine is near. the Spirit himself. The conscience as a sea at rest: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . With what divine affections bold Should be the man whose thought would hold An hour's communion with the dead. tho' it spake and bared to view A fact within the coming year.
54 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. tho' with might To scale the heaven's highest height. the city sleeps. CXIX Doors. And doubt beside the portal waits. CXXIX Dear friend. And bright the friendship of thine eye. I smell the meadow in the street. And hear the household jar within. CVIII I will not shut me from my kind. I'll rather take what fruit may be Of sorrow under human skies: 'Tis held that sorrow makes us wise. so near in woe and weal. my lost desire. for thy lips are bland. They can but listen at the gates. 5 5 15 10 15 10 . But mine own phantom chanting hymns? And on the depths of death there swims The reflex of a human face. lest I stiffen into stone. I will not eat my heart alone. Whatever wisdom sleep with thee. And vacant yearning. where my heart was used to beat So quickly. Nor feed with sighs a passing wind: What profit lies in barren faith. when most I feel There is a lower and a higher. And. And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh I take the pressure of thine hand. So far. not as one that weeps I come once more. I see Betwixt the black fronts long-withdrawn A light-blue lane of early dawn. far off. And think of early days and thee. In Memoriam But when the heart is full of din. O loved the most. I hear a chirp of birds. And bless thee. Or dive below the wells of Death? What find I in the highest place.
present. and to be. and I rejoice. human. Half a league onward. but ever night. divine! Sweet human hand and lips and eye.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Mine. I hear thee where the waters run. My love is vaster passion now. Loved deeplier. But tho' I seem in star and flower To feel thee. 5 5 10 10 15 The Charge of the Light Brigade I Half a league. I seem to love thee more and more. The Charge of the Light Brigade 55 Known and unknown. What art thou then? I cannot guess. ever mine! Strange friend. I do not therefore love thee less: My love involves the love before. Far off thou art. II `Forward. And in the setting thou art fair. darklier understood. Thou standest in the rising sun. I have thee still. circled with thy voice. I shall not lose thee though I die. `Forward. the Light Brigade!' Was there a man dismayed? Not tho' the soldier knew 5 10 . the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!' he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. mine. CXXX Thy voice is on the rolling air. Dear heavenly friend that canst not die. some diffusive power. half a league. Behold I dream a dream of good. Tho' mixed with God and Nature thou. for ever. I prosper. past. And mingle all the world with thee. All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered. Stormed at with shot and shell. Cannon to left of them. While horse and hero fell. Cannon to left of them. Then they rode back. Boldly they rode and well. V Cannon to right of them. while All the world wondered: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke. III Cannon to right of them. Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre-stroke Shattered and sundered. Back from the mouth of Hell. Stormed at with shot and shell. IV Flashed all their sabres bare. Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered. Into the jaws of Death.56 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Left of six hundred. All that was left of them. The Charge of the Light Brigade Some one had blundered: Their's not to make reply. They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death. Their's not to reason why. Flashed as they turned in air Sabring the gunners there. but not Not the six hundred. VI When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . Charging an army. Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. Their's but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.' 2 For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was found. and flattened. 3 Did he fling himself down? who knows? for a vast speculation had failed. 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. each hand lusting for all that is not its own. 5 Villainy somewhere! whose? One says. Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-red heath. Noble six hundred! 55 From: Maud I 1 I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood. in the spirit of Cain. whatever is asked her. answers `Death. When who but a fool would have faith in a tradesman's ware or his word? 5 10 15 20 25 . And lust of gain. 6 Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? we have made them a curse. And ever he muttered and maddened. And Echo there. and dinted into the ground: There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he fell. we are villains all. for the roots of my hair were stirred By a shuffled step. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade. 4 I remember the time. His who had given me life ± O father! O God! was it well? ± Mangled. The red-ribbed ledges drip with a silent horror of blood. and ever wanned with despair. Dropt off gorged from a scheme that had left us flaccid and drained. and crushed. And out he walked when the wind like a broken worldling wailed. 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. by a whispered fright. Not he: his honest fame should at least by me be maintained: But that old man. now lord of the broad estate and the Hall. Pickpockets. by a dead weight trailed. the works of the men of mind. From: Maud 57 All the world wondered. And the flying gold of the ruined woodlands drove thro' the air.
were it but with his cheating yardwand. While another is cheating the sick of a few last gasps. nevermore to brood On a horror of shattered limbs and a wretched swindler's lie? 30 35 40 45 50 55 . and slurring the days gone by. like swine.58 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. ± 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. each sex. 10 And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffian's head. From: Maud Is it peace or war? Civil war. war! loud war by land and by sea. Peace in her vineyard ± yes! ± but a company forges the wine. set my face as a flint. not openly bearing the sword. and die: who knows? we are ashes and dust. When the poor are hovelled and hustled together. as underhand. if he could. When only the ledger lives. May make my heart as a millstone. 11 And Sleep must lie down armed. Cheat and be cheated. 12 When a Mammonite mother kills her babe for a burial fee. and when only not all men lie. as he sits To pestle a poisoned poison behind his crimson lights. Till the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the trampled wife. Is it peace or war? better. home. That the smoothfaced snubnosed rogue would leap from his counter and till. And Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of children's bones. for the villainous centre-bits Grind on the wakeful ear in the hush of the moonless nights. War with a thousand battles. And the spirit of murder works in the very means of life. 9 Peace sitting under her olive. as I think. 13 For I trust if an enemy's fleet came yonder round by the hill. And chalk and alum and plaster are sold to the poor for bread. 8 Sooner or later I too may passively take the print Of the golden age ± why not? I have neither hope nor trust. And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the foam. and shaking a hundred thrones. And strike. and that of a kind The viler.
18 Maud with her venturous climbings and tumbles and childish escapes. I know not whence. XXII 1 Come into the garden. I am here at the gate alone. 2 For a breeze of morning moves. the ringing joy of the Hall. ± 19 What is she now? My dreams are bad. Love for the silent thing that had made false haste to the grave ± Wrapt in a cloak. I played with the girl when a child. and the Devil may pipe to his own. She may bring me a curse. there is fatter game on the moor. Maud with her sweet purse-mouth when my father dangled the grapes. Maud. 60 65 70 75 5 10 . I am sick of the moor and the main. I will bury myself in myself. of the singular beauty of Maud. And the planet of Love is on high. she promised then to be fair. 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.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. having the nerves of motion as well as the nerves of pain. No. night. the moon-faced darling of all. Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky. Maud. Maud the beloved of my mother. Thanks. and thought he would rise and speak And rave at the lie and the liar. as I saw him. has flown. For the black bat. ah God. she will let me alone. And the musk of the rose is blown. Come into the garden. The dark old place will be gilt by the touch of a millionaire: I have heard. From: Maud 59 15 Would there be sorrow for me? there was love in the passionate shriek. 16 I am sick of the Hall and the hill. for the fiend best knows whether woman or man be the worse. Why should I stay? can a sweeter chance ever come to me here? O. And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad. Maud the delight of the village. as he used to rave.
From: Maud To faint in the light of the sun she loves.' so I sware to the rose. mine. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . And half to the rising day. Till a silence fell with the waking bird. All night has the casement jessamine stirred To the dancers dancing in tune.' 6 And the soul of the rose went into my blood. `The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine.' Now half to the setting moon are gone. bassoon. As the music clashed in the hall. O young lord-lover. what sighs are those. 3 All night have the roses heard The flute. 8 The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree. `There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay. When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance and play. 4 I said to the lily. And a hush with the setting moon. that is dearer than all. Our wood. Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away. For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood. To faint in his light. `For ever and ever. but mine. violin. and to die.60 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And long by the garden lake I stood. 5 I said to the rose. 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. To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise. For one that will never be thine? But mine.
my dear. The lilies and roses were all awake. But such a tide as moving seems asleep. Would start and tremble under her feet. But the rose was awake all night for your sake. I hear. `She is near.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. They sighed for the dawn and thee. Were it ever so airy a tread. Knowing your promise to me.' The larkspur listens. my life.' 11 She is coming. When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. my dove. And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar. In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls.' And the white rose weeps. sunning over with curls. She is coming. Crossing the Bar The white lake-blossom fell into the lake As the pimpernel dozed on the lea. `I wait. my sweet. 9 Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls. Queen lily and rose in one. she is near.' And the lily whispers. my own. To the flowers. 10 There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. `I hear. When I put out to sea. Were it earth in an earthy bed. 61 50 55 60 65 70 Crossing the Bar Sunset and evening star. My dust would hear her and beat. and be their sun. `She is late. My heart would hear her and beat. Too full for sound and foam. 5 . my fate. The red rose cries. And blossom in purple and red. Come hither. Had I lain for a century dead. little head. Shine out. the dances are done. She is coming.
62 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. Crossing the Bar Twilight and evening bell. . For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far. When I embark. And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell.
I call That piece a wonder. Too easily impressed. 'twas not Her husband's presence only. the white mule She rode with round the terrace ± all and each Would draw from her alike the forward speech. and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say `Her mantle laps Over my lady's wrist too much. at least. but thanked Somehow. .I know not how. Will't please you sit and look at her? I said `Fra Pandolf' by design. The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her. such stuff Was courtesy. 'twas all one! My favour at her breast. but I) And seemed as they would ask me. Looking as if she were alive. . She had A heart .Robert Browning (1812±1889) My Last Duchess Ferrara That's my last Duchess painted on the wall. But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you. . as if she ranked My gift of a nine hundred years old name With anybody's gift.' or `Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat'. and there she stands. She thanked men. ± good. now: Fra Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day. Or blush. and her looks went everywhere. for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance. Who'd stoop to blame 5 10 15 20 25 30 . How such a glance came there. . if they durst. too soon made glad. Sir. The dropping of the daylight in the West. she thought. she liked whate'er She looked on. The depth and passion of its earnest glance. Sir. how shall I say? . so not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. . .
The Count your Master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed. Sir! Notice Neptune. and I chuse Never to stoop. Oh. Burns. Taming a sea-horse. Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us. So much was their's who so little allowed: How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags ± were they purple. Lived in his mild and magnificent eye. There she stands As if alive. I gave commands. doled him out silver. nor plainly set Her wits to yours. ± not from his lyre. Learned his great language. Whene'er I passed her. is my object. Then all smiles stopped together. 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. 35 40 45 50 55 The Lost Leader I Just for a handful of silver he left us. and made excuse. and say. caught his clear accents. we'll go Together down. Just for a ribband to stick in his coat ± Got the one gift of which fortune bereft us. Milton was for us. Or there exceed the mark' ± and if she let Herself be lessoned so. Lost all the others she lets us devote. Deeds will be done. but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew. Will't please you rise? We'll meet The company below then. I repeat. were with us. Songs may excite us. They. 5 10 15 . thought a rarity. no doubt. as I avowed At starting. `Just this Or that in you disgusts me. ± while he boasts his quiescence. Sir. Though his fair daughter's self. with the gold to give. Nay.64 Robert Browning. ± He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! II We shall march prospering. Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me. forsooth. his heart had been proud! We that had loved him so. ± not thro' his presence. ± they watch from their graves! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen. ± E'en then would be some stooping. here you miss. honoured him. followed him. tho'. Shelley. she smiled.
Laid with care on our own shelf ! With a fire-new spoon we're furnished. my heart's abhorrence! Water your damned flower-pots. one footpath untrod. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister 65 Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire: Blot out his name. Rinsed like something sacrificial Ere 'tis fit to touch our chaps ± Marked with L. Then let him get the new knowledge and wait us. One wrong more to man. Sort of season. would not mine kill you! What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming? Oh. Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well. time of year: Not a plenteous cork-crop: scarcely Dare we hope oak-galls. And a goblet for ourself. Forced praise on our part ± the glimmer of twilight. God's blood. hesitation and pain. for our initial! (He-he! There his lily snaps!) 5 10 15 20 . Strike our face hard ere we shatter his own. 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. ± come gallantly. for we taught him. do! If hate killed men. One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels. One task unaccepted. 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. Brother Lawrence. the first by the throne! 20 25 30 Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister I GR-R-R ± there go. then. ± record one lost soul more. one more insult to God! Life's night begins: let him never come back to us! There would be doubt. Pardoned in Heaven.Robert Browning.
forsooth! While brown Dolores Squats outside the Convent bank With Sanchicha. All of us get each a slice. in Jesu's praise. Sure of Heaven as sure can be. As do I. Drinking watered orange-pulp. you grovel Hand and foot in Belial's gripe. at such trouble. if another fails: If I trip him just a-dying. the Trinity illustrate. Spin him round and send him flying Off to hell a Manichee? VIII Or. telling stories. so nice! One goes to the Abbot's table. those melons? If he's able We're to have a feast. lustrous. if he'd let it show! V When he finishes refection. to my recollection. Steeping tresses in the tank. thick like horsehairs. In three sips the Arian frustrate.66 Robert Browning. I. Blue-black. too. ± Can't I see his dead eye grow. One sure. Once you trip on it. my scrofulous French novel On grey paper with blunt type! Simply glance at it. Knife and fork across he lays Never. If I double down its pages At the woeful sixteenth print. While he drains his at one gulp! VI Oh. How go on your flowers? None double? Not one fruit-sort can you spy? Strange! ± And I. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 . entails Twenty-nine distinct damnations. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister IV Saint. Bright as 'twere a Barbary corsair's? That is. Keep 'em close-nipped on the sly! VII There's a great text in Galatians.
Zy. Blasted lay that rose-acacia We're so proud of ! Hy. and all in vain. made my cheek lie there. she sat down by my side And called me. Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her. last. And made her smooth white shoulder bare. And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up. And laid her soiled gloves by. at last I knew 5 10 15 20 25 30 . and vainer ties dissever.Robert Browning. Murmuring how she loved me. To set its struggling passion free From pride. very proud. she rose. Which done. Virgo! Gr-r-r ± you swine! 65 70 Porphyria's Lover The rain set early in tonight. straight She shut the cold out and the storm. And. Ope a sieve and slip it in't? IX Or. When glided in Porphyria. And all her yellow hair displaced. past retrieve. Hine . When no voice replied. there's Vespers! Plena gratia Ave. And give herself to me for ever: But passion sometimes would prevail. Ã St. for all her heart's endeavour. She put my arm about her waist. And she was come through wind and rain. It tore the elm-tops down for spite. And spread o'er all her yellow hair. and all the cottage warm. The sullen wind was soon awake. Be sure I looked up at her eyes Proud. . Porphyria's Lover 67 When he gathers his greengages. And did its worst to vex the lake. . she Too weak. untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall. I listened with heart fit to break. and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl. stooping. the Devil! ± one might venture Pledge one's soul yet slily leave Such a flaw in the indenture As he'd miss till. And.
68 Robert Browning. I am quite sure she felt no pain. And all night long we have not stirred. That moment she was mine. So glad it has its utmost will. unaware. surprise Made my heart swell. am gained instead! Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. and all the swallows ± Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops ± at the bent spray's edge ± 5 10 . And I untightened next the tress About her neck. Home-Thoughts. Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do. and still it grew While I debated what to do. As a shut bud that holds a bee I warily oped her lids. her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before. That all it scorned at once is fled. And thus we sit together now. Only. While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England ± now! II And after April. No pain felt she. And whoever wakes in England Sees. some morning. And strangled her. fair. mine. its love. when May follows. And the whitethroat builds. which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head. from Abroad I Oh. That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around. this time my shoulder bore Her head. to be in England Now that April's there. from Abroad Porphyria worshipped me. And I. And yet God has not said a word! 35 40 45 50 55 60 Home-Thoughts. again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
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!
And the sun looked over the mountain's rim ± And straight was a path of gold for him. gathered councils. 5 10 . (So they say) Of our country's very capital. Three fields to cross till a farm appears. And the yellow half-moon large and low. And quench its speed in the slushy sand. And the need of a world of men for me. And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep. the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match. its prince Ages since Held his court in. 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. As I gain the cove with pushing prow. Love Among the Ruins 1 Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles. thro' its joys and fears. Than the two hearts beating each to each! 5 10 Parting at Morning Round the cape of a sudden came the sea. stray or stop As they crop ± 2 Was the site once of a city great and gay. A tap at the pane. wielding far Peace or war.72 Robert Browning. Meeting at Night Meeting at Night I The grey sea and the long black land. And a voice less loud.
Made of marble. And a burning ring all round. 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. ± the single little turret that remains On the plains. see.Robert Browning. the chariots traced As they raced. Twelve abreast. Love Among the Ruins 73 3 Now ± the country does not even boast a tree. Stock or stone ± 6 Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Long ago. dread of shame Struck them tame. 5 And such plenty and perfection. of grass Never was! Such a carpet as. As you see. To distinguish slopes of verdure. certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to (else they run Into one). 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . men might march on nor be pressed. By the caper over-rooted. And that glory and that shame alike. by the gourd Overscored. o'erspreads And embeds Every vestige of the city. While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks Through the chinks ± 8 Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time Sprang sublime. guessed alone. Lust of glory pricked their hearts up. this summer-time. the gold Bought and sold.
14 Oh.74 Robert Browning. All the mountains topped with temples. All the men! 12 When I do come. Ere we rush. give her eyes the first embrace Of my face. Far and wide. while thus the quiet-coloured eve Smiles to leave to their folding. ± and then. ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each. And they built their gods a brazen pillar high As the sky. 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. All the causeys. 9 And I know. Either hand On my shoulder. blood that freezes. bridges. Love Among the Ruins And the monarch and his minions and his dames Viewed the games. When the king looked. Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force ± Gold. of course. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 . noise and sin! Shut them in. blood that burns! Earth's returns For whole centuries of folly. 13 In one year they sent a million fighters forth South and North. all the glades' Colonnades. breathless. aqueducts. all our many-tinkling fleece In such peace. dumb Till I come. heart! oh. 11 But he looked upon the city. where she looks now. she will speak not. she will stand. every side.
I' the house that caps the corner. Zooks. you make amends. weke. Boh! you were best! Remember and tell me. one. Who am I? Why. How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! But you. now. ± harry out. 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. by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. Weke. I'm the painter. . The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up.' as who should say) And his weapon in the other. A wood-coal or the like? or you should see! Yes. it concerns you that your knaves Pick up a manner nor discredit you. sir. you know your betters! Then. up and down. there. And here you catch me at an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar. and you go the rounds. you'll take Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat. Lord. elbowing on his comrade in the door With the pike and lantern. And nip each softling of a wee white mouse. . . brother Lippo's doings. lads! more beside!) And all's come square again. What. that they sweep the streets And count fair prize what comes into their net? He's Judas to a tittle. what's to blame? you think you see a monk! What. . haps on his wrong hole. Zooks. Do. Whatever rat. ± for the slave that holds John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair With one hand (`Look you.Robert Browning. the day you're hanged. sir. yet unwiped! It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk. it's past midnight. 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 . Fra Lippo Lippi I am poor brother Lippo. that man is! Just such a face! why. I'd like his face ± His. sir. Cosimo of the Medici. how d'ye call? Master ± a . that's crept to keep him company! Aha. Fra Lippo Lippi 75 With their triumphs and their glories and the rest! Love is best. who is lodging with a friend Three streets off ± he's a certain . are we pilchards. if you must show your zeal. And please to know me likewise. since you style me so.
over the bridge. ± Flower o' the broom. hip to haunch. If I've been merry. 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . . laughs. and what good's in life since? Flower o' the thyme ± and so on. You snap me of the sudden. ± Flower o' the rose. zooks. My stomach being empty as your hat. That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went. Mum's the word naturally. Ah. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight. (Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) And so along the wall. hail fellow. 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. I starved there. and whifts of song. Here's spring come. melon-parings. A-painting for the great man. Hands and feet. Take away love. And I've been three weeks shut within my mew. and so dropped. Refuse and rubbish. Round they went. ± three slim shapes ± And a face that looked up . you shake your head ± Mine's shaved. well met. All the bed-furniture ± a dozen knots. now! I was a baby when my mother died And father died and left me in the street. but a monk! Come. . saints and saints And saints again. what am I a beast for? tell us. ± a monk. I came up with the fun Hard by Saint Laurence. There came a hurry of feet and little feet. sir. I could not paint all night ± Ouf ! I leaned out of window for fresh air. Let's sit and set things straight now. a year or two On fig-skins. A sweep of lute-strings. And after them. Fra Lippo Lippi 'Tell you I liked your looks at very first.76 Robert Browning. you say ± the sting's in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself. There was a ladder! down I let myself. I let Lisa go. flesh and blood. The wind doubled me up and down I went. Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand. One fine frosty day. and the nights one makes up bands To roam the town and sing out carnival. I see! Though your eye twinkles still. Curtain and counterpane and coverlet. rinds and shucks. and our earth is a tomb! Flower o' the quince. God knows how. scrambling somehow.
and none the less For admonitions from the hunger-pinch. I did renounce the world. Fra Lippo Lippi 77 By the straight cut to the convent. Lord. 'twas refection-time. 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . shop and banking-house. mind you. Watching folk's faces to know who will fling The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires.Robert Browning. they made a monk of me. you're minded. Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped. which lets drop His bone from the heap of offal in the street! ± The soul and sense of him grow sharp alike. the door. turned to use: I drew men's faces on my copy-books. Such a to-do! they tried me with their books. Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge. The warm serge and the rope that goes all round. On the wall. they'd have taught me Latin in pure waste! Flower o' the clove. I found in time. And made a string of pictures of the world Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun. the mouthful of bread? thought I. the bench. And who will curse or kick him for his pains ± Which gentleman processional and fine. All the Latin I construe is.s and B. farm. `Nay. after I found leisure. ± How say I? ± nay. villa. `amo' I love! But. Holding a candle to the Sacrament. be sure. And day-long blessed idleness beside! `Let's see what the urchin's fit for' ± that came next.s. which dog bites. you may be sure. there. as my fortune was. boy.' quoth the Prior. Six words. Well. 'Twas not for nothing ± the good bellyful. Lose a crow and catch a lark. The monks looked black. While I stood munching my first bread that month: `So. . Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes. By no means! Brief. Not overmuch their way. Palace. What if at last we get our man of parts.' quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth. `turn him out. its pride and greed. . I must confess. ± `To quit this very miserable world? Will you renounce' . Found eyes and nose and chin for A. such as these poor devils of Medici Have given their hearts to ± all at eight years old. Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch The droppings of the wax to sell again. when a boy starves in the streets Eight years together. Trash. He learns the look of things. Which. d'ye say? In no wise. sir. I had a store of such remarks.
the black and white. prayed. 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. .78 Robert Browning. 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. her apron o'er her head Which the intense eyes looked through. I painted all. Never was such prompt disemburdening. it's not. and then was gone. I drew them. for more's ready!' ± laid the ladder flat. like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars. every sort of monk. Thank you! my head being crammed. their walls a blank. The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked. folk at church. . Make them forget there's such a thing as flesh. safe and sitting there With the little children round him in a row Of admiration. First. and it's a fire. Their betters took their turn to see and say: The Prior and the learned pulled a face And stopped all that in no time. smoke . From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of barrel-droppings. Her pair of earrings and a bunch of flowers The brute took growling. ± To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot. bless us all! Faces. then cried `'tis ask and have ± Choose. But lift them over it. said a word. Fresh from his murder.no. Fra Lippo Lippi We Carmelites. And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall. 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 . . Your business is to paint the souls of men ± Man's soul. arms. came at eve On tip-toe. dropped in a loaf. candle-ends. half for his beard and half For that white anger of his victim's son Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm. 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. fat and lean: then. to do our church up fine And put the front on it that ought to be!' And hereupon he bade me daub away. . `How? what's here? Quite from the mark of painting. (taught what to see and not to see. With homage to the perishable clay. ignore it all.
paint now as I please ± Having a friend. And any sort of meaning looks intense When all beside itself means and looks nought. I would say. Why can't a painter lift each foot in turn. is this sense. or tie up a horse! And yet the old schooling sticks. must go further And can't fare worse! Thus. Oh. Within yourself. and what not? Paint the soul. . I'm grown a man no doubt. never mind the legs and arms! Rub all out. try at it a second time. it's the soul! Give us no more of body than shows soul! Here's Giotto. what matters talking. my son! You're not of the true painters. . with his Saint a-praising God. great and old: 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . in the Corner-house! Lord. there's my life. you see. patron-saint ± is it so pretty You can't discover if it means hope. You get about the best thing God invents. yellow does for white When what you put for yellow's simply black. colours. Herodias. go a double step. . that white smallish female with the breasts. fear. the old grave eyes Are peeping o'er my shoulder as I work. . Sorrow or joy? won't beauty go with these? Suppose I've made her eyes all right and blue. That sets us praising. Make his flesh liker and his soul more like. And you'll find the soul you have missed. I ask? A fine way to paint soul. ± why not stop with him? Why put all thoughts of praise out of our heads With wonder at lines. ± Who went and danced and got men's heads cut off ! Have it all out!' Now. 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. by painting body So ill. And so the thing has gone on ever since. ± That's somewhat. The heads shake still ± `It's Art's decline. Both in their order? Take the prettiest face. . . She's just my niece . well. well.Robert Browning. it's fast holding by the rings in front ± Those great rings serve more purposes than just To plant a flag in. in short. Fra Lippo Lippi 79 It's. when you return Him thanks! `Rub all out!' well. The Prior's niece . 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. Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash. the eye can't stop there. Left foot and right foot.
you'll never make the third!' Flower o' the pine. doing most. And play the fooleries you catch me at. Fag on at flesh. the cup runs o'er. I can't unlearn ten minutes afterwards. and I'll stick to mine! I'm not the third. you're my man. I see as certainly As that the morning-star's about to shine. they must know! Don't you think they're the likeliest to know. belike ± However. 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. throws up his stiff heels so. and his own life for each!) And my whole soul revolves. But see. You keep your mistr. then: bless us. now ± why. if given you at your word. For me. Although the miller does not preach to him The only good of grass is to make chaff. You be judge! You speak no Latin more than I. . Death for us all. I think I speak as I was taught.80 Robert Browning. he lets them talk ± He picks my practice up ± he'll paint apace. You do like what. For. The value and significance of flesh. there's pretty sure to come A turn ± some warm eve finds me at my saints ± A laugh. The world and life's too big to pass for a dream. the business of the world ± (Flower o' the peach. suck my lips in tight. And I do these wild things in sheer despite. You don't like what you only like too much. What will hap some day. . They. Fra Lippo Lippi Brother Angelico's the man. a cry. I always see the Garden and God there A-making man's wife ± and. and paint To please them ± sometimes do and sometimes don't. I swallow my rage. You find abundantly detestable. studies what I do. I know what's sure to follow. Clench my teeth. In pure rage! the old mill-horse. you'll find: Brother Lorenzo stands his single peer. out at grass After hard years. I know. We've a youngster here Comes to our convent. I hope so ± though I never live so long. manners. my lesson learned. you've seen the world 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 . You tell too many lies and hurt yourself. Slouches and stares and lets no atom drop ± His name is Guidi ± he'll not mind the monks ± They call him Hulking Tom. You understand me: I'm a beast. with their Latin? so.
`How looks my painting. now the scaffold's down?' I ask a brother: `Hugely. A bell to chime the hour with. Fra Lippo Lippi 81 ± The beauty and the wonder and the power. Changes. Wondered at? oh. this last of course. mind you fast next Friday!' Why. what's best. you say.Robert Browning. `Ay. But why not do as well as say. Have you noticed. painted ± better to us. oh. Interpret God to all of you! oh. These are the frame to? What's it all about? To be passed o'er. for this What need of art at all? A skull and bones. now. yonder river's line. and count it crime To let a truth slip. their colours. Your cullion's hanging face? A bit of chalk. surprises. woman. nature is complete: Suppose you reproduce her ± (which you can't) There's no advantage! you must beat her. The pious people have so eased their own 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 .' For. splashed the fresco in fine style. I painted a St Laurence six months since At Prato. And trust me but you should. or. Art was given for that ± God uses us to help each other so. Don't object. Much more the figures of man. lights and shades. and means good: To find its meaning is my meat and drink. don't you mark? we're made so that we love First when we see them painted. `His works Are here already. child. But's scratched and prodded to our heart's content. Which is the same thing. Lending our minds out. Nor blank ± it means intensely. The mountain round it and the sky above. despised? or dwelt upon. careless what comes of it? God's works ± paint anyone. It makes me mad to see what men shall do And we in our graves! This world's no blot for us. ay or no. For this fair town's face. If I drew higher things with the same truth! That were to take the Prior's pulpit-place. ± and God made it all! ± For what? do you feel thankful. And so they are better. then. does as well. 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.' he returns ± `Already not one phiz of your three slaves Who turn the Deacon off his toasted side. things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see. Two bits of stick nailed crosswise. The shapes of things. ± paint these Just as they are. though! How much more.
because he saves the Florentines. Painters who need his patience). Ringed by a bowery. I have bethought me: I shall paint a piece . There's for you! Give me six months. flowery angel-brood. Iste perfecit opus! So. Tasting the air this spicy night which turns The unaccustomed head like Chianti wine! Oh. then go. I must have him there past mistake. . draw ± His camel-hair make up a painting-brush? We come to brother Lippo for all that. Madonna and her babe. We get on fast to see the bricks beneath. Fra Lippo Lippi With coming to say prayers there in a rage. who but Lippo! I! ± Mazed. As one by a dark stair into a great light Music and talking. Well. Got wot. Expect another job this time next year. `nay ± He made you and devised you. where's a corner for escape? Then steps a sweet angelic slip of a thing Forward. My old serge gown and rope that goes all round. see Something in Sant' Ambrogio's! (bless the nuns! They want a cast of my office). Lilies and vestments and white faces. after all. 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. sweet As puff on puff of grated orris-root When ladies crowd to Church at midsummer. puts out a soft palm ± `Not so fast!' ± Addresses the celestial presence. of course a saint or two ± Saint John. The man of Uz (and Us without the z. this pure company! Where's a hole. I. 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. motionless and moon-struck ± I'm the man! Back I shrink ± what is this I see and hear? I. And Job. And then in the front. Though he's none of you! Could Saint John there.82 Robert Browning. who puts down in black and white The convent's friends and gives them a long day. . up shall come Out of a corner when you least expect. in this presence. the church knows! don't misreport me. all these Secured at their devotions. caught up with my monk's-things by mistake. I shall paint God in the midst. all smile ± 335 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 375 . Saint Ambrose.
and good bye: no lights. . (and it was graceful of them) they'd break talk off and afford ± She. While you sat and played Toccatas. like a bell-flower on its bed. Saint Lucy. I would say. . 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. what you call . . Where Saint Mark's is. ± On her neck the small face buoyant. Zooks! 380 385 390 A Toccata of Galuppi's 1 Oh Galuppi. and for the church A pretty picture gained. And so all's saved for me. this is very sad to find! I can hardly misconceive you. where they kept the carnival! I was never out of England ± it's as if I saw it all. and here's all the good it brings. What. to bite her mask's black velvet. and 'tis arched by . he to finger on his sword. the little lily thing That spoke the good word for me in the nick. Shylock's bridge with houses on it. But although I take your meaning. all the doors being shut. not letting go The palm of her. they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were the kings. Baldassaro. no lights! The street's hushed. wholly unexpected. cheeks so round and lips so red. When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow. Go. do you say? 5 Was a lady such a lady. . six months hence! Your hand. O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might base his head? 6 Well. Like the Prior's niece . it would prove me deaf and blind. because the sea's the street there. sir. and I know my own way back ± Don't fear me! There's the grey beginning. stately at the clavichord? 5 10 15 . . 'tis with such a heavy mind! 2 Here you come with your old music. in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off To some safe bench behind. where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings? 3 Ay.Robert Browning. Till. burning ever to midday. 4 Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May? Balls and masks begun at midnight. .
merely born to bloom and drop. when the kissing had to stop? 15 `Dust and ashes!' So you creak it. those solutions ± `Must we die?' Those commiserating sevenths ± `Life might last! we can but try!' 8 `Were you happy?' ± `Yes. Death stepped tacitly and took them where they never see the sun. some with deeds as well undone. when a million seemed so few?' Hark ± the dominant's persistence. A Toccata of Galuppi's 7 What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive. 13 `Yours for instance: you know physics. they praised you. In you come with your cold music till I creep thro' every nerve. ± you'll not die. I wonder. doubtless. and I want the heart to scold. souls shall rise in their degree. Venice spent what Venice earned. What of soul was left. Told them something? Those suspensions. While I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close reserve. Mathematics are your pastime. 11 But when I sit down to reason. like a ghostly cricket. 20 25 30 35 40 45 . sixths diminished.' 10 Then they left you for their pleasure: till in due time. sigh on sigh. you. something of geology. is immortal ± where a soul can be discerned.84 Robert Browning. till it must be answered to! 9 So an octave struck the answer. creaking where a house was burned ± `Dust and ashes. Dear dead women. ± think to take my stand nor swerve. dead and done with. mirth and folly were the crop.' ± `And are you still as happy?' ± `Yes ± And you?' ± `Then. Butterflies may dread extinction. 12 Yes. one by one. more kisses' ± `Did I stop them. with such hair. The soul. Oh. 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. it cannot be! 14 `As for Venice and its people. too ± what's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old. Here on earth they bore their fruitage. Some with lives that came to nothing.
What with my search drawn out thro' years. ± I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made. Hides the Dark Tower. with malicious eye Askance to watch the working of his lie On mine. my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring. That hoary cripple. ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there. `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. 2 What else should he be set for. and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend. what with my whole world-wide wandering. 3 If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which. all agree. he lied in every word. `And the blow fallen no grieving can amend') 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed: neither pride Nor hope rekindling at the end descried. draw breath Freelier outside. finding failure in its scope.' he saith. And hears one bid the other go. with his staff ? What.Robert Browning. save to waylay with his lies. So much as gladness that some end might be. (`since all is o'er. and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee that pursed and scored Its edge at one more victim gained thereby. what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare. And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break. 5 As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed. 4 For.
`Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 6 While some discuss if near the other graves Be room enough for this. a burr had been a treasure-trove. and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away.86 Robert Browning. I might go on.' 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . were the land's portion. with none to awe. seemed best. 8 So. quiet as despair. after a pace or two. All the day Had been a dreary one at best. yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. been writ So many times among `The Band' ± to wit. Heard failure prophesied so oft. In some strange sort. You'd think. 7 Thus. and dim Was settling to its close. naught else remained to do. 11 No! penury. inertness and grimace. With care about the banners. spurge. I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature. 10 So on I went. ± And still the man hears all. I turned from him. And all the doubt was now ± should I be fit. Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free. The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed Their steps ± that just to fail as they. out of his highway Into the path he pointed. 'twas gone! grey plain all round! Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. nothing throve: For flowers ± as well expect a cedar grove! But cockle. scarves and staves. `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. I had so long suffered in this quest. according to their law Might propagate their kind. That hateful cripple. and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay. Than pausing to throw backward a last view O'er the safe road. 9 For mark! no sooner was I fairly found Pledged to the plain.
Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. That way he used. 17 Giles. As a man calls for wine before he fights.Robert Browning. with a brute's intents. Stood stupefied. One stiff blind horse. happier sights. the soul of honour ± there he stands Frank as ten years ago when knighted first. 16 Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face Beneath its garniture of curly gold. Good ± but the scene shifts ± faugh! what hangman's hands Pin to his breast a parchment? his own bands Read it. Think first. Alas! one night's disgrace! Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold. spit upon and curst! 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 . his every bone a-stare. Poor traitor. till I almost felt him fold An arm in mine to fix me to the place. Dear fellow. then. Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe: I never saw a brute I hated so ± He must be wicked to deserve such pain. it grew as scant as hair In leprosy ± thin dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood. With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain. fight afterwards ± the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights. I asked one draught of earlier. however he came there ± Thrust out past service from the devil's stud! 14 Alive? he might be dead for aught I know. What honest man should dare (he said) he durst. the head was chopped ± the bents Were jealous else. And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 87 12 If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates. 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. 15 I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. 13 As for the grass.
21 Which. or feel the spear I thrust to seek For hollows. Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage ± 23 The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque. 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank Soil to a plash? toads in a poisoned tank. But.88 Robert Browning. 22 Glad was I when I reached the other bank. what war did they wage. What penned them there. Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit Of mute despair. no doubt. Vain presage! Who were the strugglers. None out of it: mad brewage set to work Their brains. no sight as far as eye could strain. while I forded. as it frothed by. a suicidal throng: The river which had done them all the wrong. rolled by. deterred no whit. No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms ± This. 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. 19 A sudden little river crossed my path As unexpected as a serpent comes. Each step. Now for a better country. 20 So petty yet so spiteful! All along. No sound. Whate'er that was. like galley-slaves the Turk Pits for his pastime. Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it. might have been a bath For the fiend's glowing hoof ± to see the wrath Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes. ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek. tangled in his hair or beard! ± It may have been a water-rat I speared. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 18 Better this present than a past like that ± Back therefore to my darkening path again. with all the plain to choose? No footprint leading to that horrid mews. how I feared To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek. ± good saints. Christians against Jews.
Apollyon's bosom-friend. a cleft in him Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim Gaping at death. ± solve it. nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned That brushed my cap ± perchance the guide I sought. aware I somehow grew. (so a fool finds mirth. that wheel. A great black bird. came a click As when a trap shuts ± you're inside the den! 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 . nought To point my footstep further! At the thought. How thus they had surprised me. 27 And just as far as ever from the end! Naught in the distance but the evening. there! What bad use was that engine for. clay and rubble. in the very nick Of giving up. 28 For. Sailed past. it would seem. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 89 24 And more than that ± a furlong on ± why. and dies while it recoils. coloured gay and grim. sand and stark black dearth. Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel. not wheel ± that harrow fit to reel Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air Of Tophet's tool. till his mood Changes and off he goes!) within a rood ± Bog. looking up. Progress this way. 25 Then came a bit of stubbed ground. When. you! How to get from them was no plain case. Here ended. Or brake.Robert Browning. Now patches where some leanness of the soil's Broke into moss or substances like boils. once a wood. on earth left unaware. one time more. God knows when ± In a bad dream perhaps. Then came some palsied oak. Next a marsh. 26 Now blotches rankling. then. 'Spite of the dusk. the plain had given place All round to mountains ± with such name to grace Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view. 29 Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick Of mischief happened to me. and now mere earth Desperate and done with. Makes a thing and then mars it.
only when the timbers start. . Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight ± While to the left. And did he stop and speak to you? And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems. 32 Not see? because of night perhaps? ± Why. ± How such a one was strong. Built of brown stone. day ± Came back again for that! before it left. Fool. blind as the fool's heart. And such was fortunate. to see the game at bay. After a life spent training for the sight! 31 What in the midst lay but the Tower itself ? The round squat turret. a tall scalped mountain . 34 There they stood. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came. ranged along the hillsides ± met To view the last of me. a living frame For one more picture! in a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all. Names in my ears. without a counterpart In the whole world. like giants at a hunting. to be dozing at the very nonce. And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set. Dunce. did you once see Shelley plain.90 Robert Browning. And blew. yet each of old Lost. Memorabilia 30 Burningly it came on me all at once. This was the place! those two hills on the right. and new! . Of all the lost adventures my peers. lay ± Chin upon hand. ± `Now stab and end the creature ± to the heft!' 33 Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled Increasing like a bell. The tempest's mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on. .' 175 180 185 190 195 200 Memorabilia 1 Ah. lost! one moment knelled the woe of years. The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: The hills. and such was bold.
bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. Andrea del Sarto 91 2 But you were living before that. No. accept too his own price. but does it bring your heart? I'll work then for your friend's friend. Will it? tenderly? Oh. 5 10 15 Andrea del Sarto (Called `The Faultless Painter') But do not let us quarrel any more. Let us try. an eagle-feather ± Well. either. Fix his own time. This evening more than usual. never fear. And shut the money into this small hand When next it takes mine. Love! I often am much wearier than you think. You turn your face. as married people use. And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside. To-morrow. how you shall be glad for this! Your soft hand is a woman of itself. Quietly. 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. I forget the rest. quietly the evening through. Don't count the time lost. my Lucrezia. 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. 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.Robert Browning. ± but tomorrow. And also you are living after. Treat his own subject after his own way. I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. you must serve For each of the five pictures we require ± 5 10 15 20 . Both of one mind. I'll content him.
I am bold to say. Love! so such things should be ± Behold Madonna. The last monk leaves the garden. days decrease. huddled more inside. There's what we painters call our harmony! A common greyness silvers everything. no less! You smile? why. looks the life he makes us lead! So free we seem. that's long past ± I do what many dream of all their lives ± Dream? strive to do. being all toned down To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. My youth. I can do with my pencil what I know. too ± when I say perfectly I do not boast. my hope. How strange now. what at bottom of my heart I wish for. Love. perhaps: yourself are judge. But you can hear at least when people speak. I suppose. There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top. I could count twenty such On twice your fingers. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . Who listened to the Legate's talk last week. my everybody's moon. and agonise to do. my moon. While she looks ± no one's: very dear. Eh? the whole seems to fall into a shape As if I saw alike my work and self And all that I was born to be and do. And. 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. Even to put the pearl there! oh. And autumn grows. if I ever wish so deep ± Do easily. at the point of your first pride in me (That's gone you know). What I see. there's my picture ready made. is looked on by in turn. Andrea del Sarto It saves a model. we are in God's hand. And fail in doing. so sweet ± My face. my art. autumn in everything. Which everybody looks on and calls his. At any rate 'tis easy. all of it. and not leave this town. No sketches first. at every point. rounds on rounds! ± How could you ever prick those perfect ears. And just as much they used to say in France.92 Robert Browning. ± but I. A twilight-piece. no studies. And that cartoon. ± All in a twilight. That length of convent-wall across the way Holds the trees safer. you and I alike ± You. the second from the door ± It is the thing. So! keep looking so ± My serpentining beauty.
There burns a truer light of God in them. (I know his name. what an arm! and I could alter it. painting from myself and to myself. Yet do much less. Its body. ('Tis copied. less is more. His hue mistaken. Yonder's a work now. Our head would have o'erlooked the world!' No doubt. Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me. you did give all I asked. Pouring his soul. but I sit here. In their vexed. Lucrezia! I am judged. Rightly traced and well ordered. 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. than goes on to prompt This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine. yes. 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. another and myself. George Vasari sent it me. it boils. Though they come back and cannot tell the world. with kings and popes to see. Somebody remarks Morello's outline there is wrongly traced. Know what I do.Robert Browning. the insight and the stretch ± Out of me! out of me! And wherefore out? Had you enjoined them on me. I know. Nay. He means right ± that. The sudden blood of these men! at a word ± Praise them. I can fancy how he did it all. But all the play. Above and through his art ± for it gives way. I and you. it boils too. We might have risen to Rafael. what of that? Ah. Still. I. so much less. Love. to sigh `Had I been two. Reaching. beating stuffed and stopped-up brain. some one says. given me soul. but a man's reach should exceed his grasp. what of that? or else. of that famous youth The Urbinate who died five years ago. but themselves. am unmoved by men's blame Or their praise either. Heart. so to speak! its soul is right. My works are nearer heaven. or blame them. Their works drop groundward.) Well. no matter) so much less! Well. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 . or whate'er else. That arm is wrongly put ± and there again ± A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines. Enter and take their place there sure enough. a child may understand. by many times. that Heaven might so replenish him. I think ± More than I merit.
leave home all day. incentives come from the soul's self. despised. too. cannot. At the end. In that humane great monarch's golden look. who can do a thing. my kingly days? And had you not grown restless ± but I know ± 'Tis done and past. This in the background. as a bird The fowler's pipe. Andrea del Sarto But had you ± oh. will not ± And who would do it. but brought a mind! Some women do so. seeing with his eyes. what is that? Live for fame. ± One finger in his beard or twisted curl Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile. and more than perfect mouth. And that long festal year at Fontainebleau! I surely then could sometimes leave the ground.94 Robert Browning. Beside. I must bear it all. All is as God over-rules. Had the mouth there urged `God and the glory! never care for gain. side by side with Angelo ± Rafael is waiting: up to God. One arm about my shoulder. So it seems ± Perhaps not. do you know. waiting on my work. I conclude. Too live the life grew. Put on the glory. this face beyond. with these the same. 'twas right. and such a fire of souls Profuse. the power ± And thus we half-men struggle. You painting proudly with his breath on me. this. was it not. golden and not grey ± And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 . with the same perfect brow. And the low voice my soul hears. All his court round him. God. The jingle of his gold chain in my ear. To crown the issue with a last reward! A good time. The rest avail not. all three!' I might have done it for you. compensates. But they speak sometimes. 'Tis safer for me. my hand kept plying by those hearts. That I am something underrated here. Well may they speak! That Francis. Such frank French eyes. to speak the truth. my instinct said. that first time. Poor this long while. round my neck. and follows to the snare ± Had you. And perfect eyes. this. ± And. I dared not. The present by the future. best of all. if the award be strict. I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat ± somewhat. Why do I need you? What wife had Rafael. punishes. or has Angelo? In this world. Rafael's daily wear. For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. The best is when they pass and look aside.
do you comprehend? I mean that I should earn more. brick from brick Distinct. You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! `Rafael did this. 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 . The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. whether you're ± not grateful ± but more pleased. The walls become illumined. I hardly dare ± yet. there's a certain sorry little scrub Goes up and down our Florence. Come from the window. and I came home to your heart. Well. Who. Andrea del Sarto 95 Out of the grange whose four walls make his world. at last. Give the chalk here ± quick. . if he spoke the truth. as God lives. there's a star. Is. Oft at nights When I look up from painting. none cares how. . all I care for. See. 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. Love. (What he? why. the watch-lights show the wall. Morello's gone. so lost. eyes tired out. Inside the melancholy little house We built to be so gay with. (When the young man was flaming out his thoughts Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see. Lucrezia. ± come in. God is just. Said one day Angelo. were he set to plan and execute As you are pricked on by your popes and kings. let me think so. I resolve to think. who but Michel Angelo? Do you forget already words like those?) If really there was such a chance. Too lifted up in heart because of it) `Friend. it is settled dusk now. To Rafael . . For. The Roman's is the better when you pray. King Francis may forgive me. give you more. I have known it all these years . but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out! Still. instead of mortar fierce bright gold. Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!' To Rafael's! ± And indeed the arm is wrong. clearer grows My better fortune. thus the line should go! Ay. what is lost? Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold. only you to see. I am glad to judge Both pictures in your presence. But still the other's Virgin was his wife ±' Men will excuse me. The triumph was to have ended there ± then if I reached it ere the triumph. Andrea painted that.Robert Browning. How could it end in any other way? You called me. do you know. . his very self.
96 Robert Browning. Some good son Paint my two hundred pictures ± let him try! No doubt. What would one have? In heaven. I regret little. were I but back in France. but what does he. and muse perfectly How I could paint. Well. For Leonard. was tempted and complied. and all is said. 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 . This must suffice me here. Yes. Rafael. there. the whole should prove enough To pay for this same Cousin's freak. I would change still less. I take the subjects for his corridor. Only let me sit The grey remainder of the evening out. let smiles buy me! have you more to spend? While hand and eye and something of a heart Are left me. one more chance ± Four great walls in the New Jerusalem. What's better and what's all I care about. Will you? Tomorrow. Angelo and me To cover ± the three first without a wife. Meted on each side by the angel's reed. Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff ! Love. Idle. Beside. Not yours this time! I want you at my side To hear them ± that is. Since there my past life lies. And built this house and sinned. work's my ware. it seems to-night. My father and my mother died of want. and poor they died: And I have laboured somewhat in my time And not been paid profusely. They were born poor. does that please you? Ah. and what's it worth? I'll pay my fancy. You loved me quite enough. you call it. why alter it? The very wrong to Francis! it is true I took his coin. satisfy your friend. The Cousin! what does he to please you more? I am grown peaceful as old age tonight. new chances. Andrea del Sarto That gold of his I did cement them with! Let us but love each other. just one more ± the Virgin's face. Finish the portrait out of hand ± there. and not with me? Those loans! More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? Well. One picture. Must you go? That Cousin here again? he waits outside? Must see you ± you. And throw him in another thing or two If he demurs. there's something strikes a balance. lived poor. had I riches of my own? you see How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. Michel Angelo ± Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. perhaps.
I touched a thought. through such lengths of hours. 265 Two in the Campagna 1 I wonder do you feel today As I have felt. Hold it fast! 5 The champaign with its endless fleece Of feathery grasses everywhere! Silence and passion. Such letting Nature have her way While Heaven looks from its towers.Robert Browning. We sat down on the grass. 6 Such life there. run to seed There. my Love. Such miracles performed in play. to stray In spirit better through the land. ± as I choose. Has tantalised me many times. ± and last Everywhere on the grassy slope I traced it. branching from the brickwork's cleft. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . 3 Help me to hold it: first it left The yellowing fennel. (Like turns of thread the spiders throw Mocking across our path) for rhymes To catch at and let go. Such primal naked forms of flowers. Some old tomb's ruin: yonder weed Took up the floating weft. Again the Cousin's whistle! Go. Two in the Campagna 97 While I have mine! So ± still they overcome Because there's still Lucrezia. An everlasting wash of air ± Rome's ghost since her decease. I know. 4 Where one small orange cup amassed Five beetles. This morn of Rome and May? 2 For me. since. joy and peace. ± blind and green they grope Among the honey-meal. hand in hand.
See with your eyes. ± I pluck the rose And love it more than tongue can speak ± Then the good minute goes. since wound must be? 9 I would I could adopt your will. for good and ill. and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn. 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.98 Robert Browning. Onward. Catch your soul's warmth. and set my heart Beating by yours. and drink my fill At your soul's springs. O my dove. Let us be unashamed of soul. A Grammarian's Funeral 7 How say you? Let us. nor mine. How is it under our control To love or not to love? 8 I would that you were all to me. I yearn upward ± touch you close. 10 No. Singing together. You that are just so much. no more ± Nor yours. 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. I kiss your cheek. ± your part my part In life. ± nor slave nor free! Where does the fault lie? what the core Of the wound. no bar. Then stand away. As earth lies bare to heaven above. . whenever light winds blow. 11 Already how am I so far Out of that minute? Must I go Still like the thistle-ball.
and grappled with the world Bent on escaping: `What's in the scroll. crop and herd! sleep. Sleep. A Grammarian's Funeral 99 Leave we the common crofts. Lyric Apollo! Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note Winter would follow? Till lo. whom we convoy to his grave aloft. Cared-for till cock-crow: Look out if yonder be not day again Rimming the rock-row! That's the appropriate country ± there.) He knew the signal. No. Crowded with culture! All the peaks soar. Theirs. man's thought. 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. darkling thorpe and croft. Self-gathered for an outbreak.Robert Browning. famous calm and dead. the bard and sage. He was a man born with thy face and throat. Chafes in the censer. citied to the top. Borne on our shoulders. and stepped on with pride Over men's pity. but one the rest excels.' quoth he. Left play for work. as it ought. Seek we sepulture On a tall mountain. Moaned he. Singing together. other feet anon! My dance is finished?' No. Clouds overcome it. He's for the morning! Step to a tune. intenser. Safe from the weather! He. 'Ware the beholders! This is our master. erect each head. ± 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . who most studied man. Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop. `thou keepest furled? Show me their shaping. Rarer. the little touch. Make for the city. `New measures. square chests. that's the world's way! (keep the mountainside. and youth was gone! Cramped and diminished. the vulgar thorpes Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain.
Painful or easy: Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast.) Yea. Sooner. When he had gathered all books had to give. nor feel queasy!' Oh. Others mistrust and say ± `But time escapes. `Actual life comes next? Patience a moment! Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text.' Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head: Calculus racked him: Leaden before.' another would have said. ere you build.100 Robert Browning. Ay. Prate not of most or least. ± Live now or never!' He said. he gowned him. fresher than at first. Ere mortar dab brick! (Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market-place Gaping before us. Earn the means first ± God surely will contrive Use for our earning.) Not a whit troubled Back to his studies. then execute the parts ± Fancy the fabric Quite. such a life as he resolved to live. Let me know all. `Now. Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon. the way winds narrowly. A Grammarian's Funeral Give!' ± So. this in him was the peculiar grace (Hearten our chorus) Still before living he'd learn how to live ± No end to learning. When he had learned it. `Up with the curtain!' This man said rather. ere steel strike fire from quartz. Master. Straight got by heart that book to its last page: Learned. `What's Time? leave Now for dogs and apes! Man has For ever. we found him! Yea. his eyes grew dross of lead: Tussis attacked him. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . Accents uncertain: `Time to taste life. he spurned it! Image the whole. Still there's the comment. take a little rest!' ± not he! (Caution redoubled! Step two a-breast. but we found him bald too ± eyes like lead.
as fools do here. While he could stammer He settled Hoti's business ± let it be! ± Properly based Oun ± Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De. with the throttling hands of Death at strife. through the rattle. and unperplext Seeking shall find Him. This man decided not to Live but Know ± Bury this man there? Here ± here's his place. His hundred's soon hit: This high man. Dies ere he knows it. here's the proper place: Hail to your purlieus All ye highfliers of the feathered race. sure Bad is our bargain! Was it not great? did not he throw on God. (He loves the burthen) ± God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen? Did not he magnify the mind. Well. throws himself on God. if we draw a circle premature. So. Ground he at grammar. or earth's failure: `Wilt thou trust death or not?' he answered `Yes. Paid by instalment! He ventured neck or nothing ± heaven's success Found. Sees it and does it: This high man. with a great thing to pursue. Lightnings are loosened. for they can. Still. where meteors shoot. clouds form. parts of speech were rife. That.Robert Browning. here's the platform. A Grammarian's Funeral 101 Oh. aiming at a million. there. Greedy for quick returns of profit. Stars come and gol let joy break with the storm ± Peace let the dew send! 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 . Let the world mind him! This. Dead from the waist down. Heedless of far gain. `Hence with life's pale lure!' That low man seeks a little thing to do. shew clear Just what it all meant? He would not discount life. That low man goes on adding one to one. Swallows and curlews! Here's the top-peak! the multitude below Live. has the world here ± should he need the next. Misses an unit.
close. safe. Leave him ± still loftier than the world suspects. Never the Time and the Place Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying. rain and wind combine With a furtive ear. ± I and she! 5 10 15 20 .102 Robert Browning. each sign! O enemy sly and serpentine. if I strive to speak. 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. warm sleep I and she. the place is bleak Where. But the house is narrow. outside. Outside are the storms and strangers: we ± Oh. With a malice that marks each word. Living and dying. 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. With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek.
cannot go .Emily (Jane) Bronte È (1818±1848) `What winter floods. what showers of spring' What winter floods. what showers of spring Have drenched the grass by night and day And yet beneath that spectre ring Unmoved and undiscovered lay A mute remembrancer of crime Long lost concealed forgot for years It comes at last to cancel time And waken unavailing tears 5 `Long neglect has worn away' Long neglect has worn away Half the sweet enchanting smile Time has turned the bloom to grey Mould and damp the face defile But that lock of silky hair Still beneath the picture twined Tells what once those features were Paints their image on the mind Fair the hand that traced that line `Dearest ever deem me true' Swiftly flew the fingers fine When the pen that motto drew 5 10 `The night is darkening round me' The night is darkening round me The wild winds coldly blow But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot.
I will not. Wastes beyond wastes below. with weary pain ± Lost vision! 'tis enough for me ± Thou canst not shine again. The full moon's cloudless shine Were once entwined with thee But now. alas for me Thou wert so bright and fair I could not think thy memory Would yield me nought but care! The sun-beam and the storm. `All hushed and still within the house' È The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow And the storm is fast descending And yet I cannot go Clouds beyond cloud above me.104 Emily (Jane) Bronte. 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. how happy! those are words' How still. how happy! those are words That once would scarce agree together . where art thou now?' O Dream. But nothing drear can move me. where art thou now? Long years have passed away Since last from off thine angel brow I saw the light decay ± Alas. 5 10 15 `How still. The silent night of solemn calm. The summer-eve divine.
the breezy weather.Emily (Jane) Bronte. More than smooth seas and cloudless skies And solemn. `Mild the mist upon the hill' 105 È I loved the plashing of the surge ± The changing heaven. how happy! now I feel Where silence dwells is sweeter far Than laughing mirth's most joyous swell However pure its raptures are Come sit down on this sunny stone 'Tis wintery light o'er flowerless moors ± But sit ± for we are all alone And clear expand heaven's breathless shores I could think in the withered grass Spring's budding wreaths we might discern The violet's eye might shyly flash And young leaves shoot among the fern It is but thought ± full many a night The snow shall clothe those hills afar And storms shall add a drearier blight And winds shall wage a wilder war Before the lark may herald in Fresh foliage twined with blossoms fair And summer days again begin Their glory-haloed crown to wear Yet my heart loves December's smile As much as July's golden beam Then let us sit and watch the while The blue ice curdling on the stream ± 25 5 10 15 20 30 `Mild the mist upon the hill' Mild the mist upon the hill Telling not of storms tomorrow No. softened airs That in the forest woke no sighs And from the green spray shook no tears How still. soothing. 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 .
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. `Come. 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. walk with me' Come.106 Emily (Jane) Bronte. While moonbeams flash and fly so fast We scarce can say they smiled ± Come walk with me. though the soil be wet with tears. 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. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . There's only thee To bless my spirit now ± We used to love on winter nights To wander through the snow. 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. How fair soe'er it grew The vital sap once perished Will never flow again And surer than that dwelling dread. come walk with me. 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.
And earthly change from pain to pain. 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. and doubt. that. I welcome thee. And whisper. Warm with ten thousand mingled rays Of suns that know no winter days? Reason. my true friend! I am not lone. Sure solacer of human cares. And sweeter hope. And Truth may rudely trample down The flowers of Fancy. and Liberty. indeed. as bright as thine. and I. newly-blown: But. Danger. While thou canst speak with such a tone! So hopeless is the world without. And cold suspicion never rise. and hate. and darkness lie. Of real worlds. With never-failing thankfulness. may oft complain For Nature's sad reality And tell the suffering heart how vain Its cherished dreams must always be. with a voice divine. all around. Where thou. And lost and ready to despair. and breathe New glories o'er the blighted spring And call a lovelier Life from Death. Thy world. to bring The hovering vision back. thou art ever there. The world within I doubly prize. when hope despairs! 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 . Thy kind voice calls me back again: Oh. and guilt. untroubled sky. Benignant Power. where guile. What matters it. If but within our bosom's bound We hold a bright. Have undisputed sovereignty. in evening's quiet hour. still. Yet.Emily (Jane) Bronte. I trust not to thy phantom bliss.
Hopes which obscure but cannot do thee wrong. I dare not let it languish. Remembrance È Remembrance (also known as `R. my only Love. No second morn has ever shone for me. do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains on Angora's shore. ever more? Cold in the earth. Then did I check the tears of useless passion. to love thee. Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? Now. Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine! And even yet. cold in the dreary grave: Have I forgot. Alcona to J. Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover That noble heart for ever. forgive if I forget thee While the World's tide is bearing me along: Other desires and other Hopes beset me. Then did I learn how existence could be cherished. Strengthened and fed without the aid of joy. All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given ± All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.108 Emily (Jane) Bronte. Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish. But when the days of golden dreams had perished And even Despair was powerless to destroy. Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine. No later light has lightened up my heaven. Brenzaida') Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee! Far. far removed. 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. Dare not indulge in Memory's rapturous pain. How could I seek the empty world again? 25 5 10 15 20 30 . when alone.
Yet these are little worth. That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?' The captive raised her face. it was as soft and mild As sculptured marble saint or slumbering. And were they forged in steel they could not hold me long. God forgive my youth. `Confined in triple walls. Julian M. nor prying serf shall know What angel nightly tracks that waste of winter snow. my haughty Sire.' I whispered gazing through The vault whose grated eye showed heaven more grey than blue (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride). But neither sire nor dame. your bolts and irons strong. its rays shoot strong and far: I trim it well to be the Wanderer's guiding-star. In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray Reckless of the lives wasting there away. Frown. `Our guests are darkly lodged. Watching every cloud. Cheerful is the hearth. unweaned child. Rochelle 109 È Julian M. Rochelle (also known as `The Prisoner') Silent is the House ± all are laid asleep.' she said. 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. and A. art thou so much to fear. The little lamp burns straight. chide. Set your slaves to spy. open Warder stern!' He dare not say me nay ± the hinges harshly turn. It was so soft and mild. soft the matted floor. alone. my angry Dame. Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door. `Draw the ponderous bars. dreading every breeze That whirls the 'wildering drifts and bends the groaning trees. looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep. and A. One. darkly lodged enough!' returned my sullen guide. forgive my careless tongue! I scoffed as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung.' 25 5 10 15 20 30 . G. Then. `and I am suffering now. threaten me with shame.Emily (Jane) Bronte. `Aye. G.
unless you deem it shame To own from conquered foe. 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. too loving Child. And offers. `Lord Julian. When you my parents' lives ± my lost life can restore. his aspect bland and kind. Then may I weep and sue ± but. Rochelle È Hoarse laughed the jailor grim. tell them. `Shall I be won to hear. can it be. and A. yet. a once familiar name ± I can not wonder now at ought the world will do. Julian M. And insult and contempt I lightly brook from you. The dungeon seemed to swim in strange confusion round. remember me? Nay start not at my words. But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind: And I am rough and rude. Dost think fond. half aloud. Winds take a pensive tone and stars a tender fire. before!' Her head sank on her hands.' she gently said.110 Emily (Jane) Bronte. 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. parted back the floating golden cloud. Julian. With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. `Is she so near to death?' I murmured. I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom and desolate despair. its fair curls swept the ground. how former days upon my heart were borne. dreaming wretch that I shall grant thy prayer? Or better still. eternal liberty. A messenger of Hope comes every night to me. And kneeling. `you have not heard me mourn. Alas. wildly gay! Was that the wintry close of thy celestial May? She knew me and she sighed. G. wilt melt my master's heart with groans? Ah sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones! My master's voice is low. alone. never. Friend. By ball or speedy knife or headsman's skilful blow ± A quick and welcome pang instead of lingering woe! Yet. all. He comes with western winds. too warmly. you. And visions rise and change which kill me with desire ± 65 45 35 40 50 55 60 70 . for short life. How memory mirrored then the prisoner's joyous morn ± Too blithe. Of all my playmates. with evening's wandering airs.
My outward sense is gone. Rochelle 111 È Desire for nothing known in my maturer years When joy grew mad with awe at counting future tears. Measuring the gulf it stoops and dares the final bound! O. or bright with heavenly shine If it but herald Death. the vision is divine. from sun or thunderstorm. dreadful is the check ± intense the agony When the ear begins to hear and the eye begins to see. the Unseen its truth reveals. The struggle of distress and fierce impatience ends. He said. 105 85 75 80 90 95 100 110 . to and fro. The keeper. I saw. its home. I'd leave this badge of mine with you Not doubting that you'd prove a jailor stern and true. G. the brain to think again.' She ceased to speak and I. would wish no torture less. if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm. Lord Julian. The more that anguish racks the earlier it will bless: And robed in fires of Hell. When. Julian M. Not daring now to touch one lock of silken hair ± As I had knelt in scorn. still to stay. my inward essence feels ± Its wings are almost free. When the pulse begins to throb. My fingers in the links of that iron hard and chill. its harbour found. The soul to feel the flesh and the flesh to feel the chain! Yet I would lose no sting.Emily (Jane) Bronte. the captive's drooping lid Beneath its shady lash a sudden lightning hid. 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. Then dawns the Invisible. `You may be pleased. paced by the bolted door And shivered as he walked and as he shivered. watched her there. But duty will not let me linger here all day. Then. Mute music soothes my breast ± unuttered harmony That I could never dream till earth was lost to me. yet did not see. heaven's home was not so dear: I read it in that flash of longing quelled by fear. unanswering. I knew not whence they came. loosing off his belt the rusty dungeon key. Earth's hope was not so dead. swore ± While my cheek glowed in flame. and A. I heard and yet heard not the surly keeper growl. If I might go. on the dank floor I knelt still. But first a hush of peace. a soundless calm descends.' I took the proffered charge. the flagstones damp and foul.
with calm mind. unswerving constancy. faint.' And I. Julian M.112 Emily (Jane) Bronte. G. Rochelle. Another hand than mine my rightful banner held And gathered my renown on Freedom's crimson field. Thus ruth and selfish love together striving tore The heart all newly taught to pity and adore. she turned aside from noon's unwonted beam. Yet I had no desire the glorious prize to gain ± It needed braver nerve to face the world's disdain. and A. 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. While foes were prowling near and Death gazed greedily And only Hope remained a faithful friend to me. Yet I must break the chain or seal the prisoner's woe. If I should break the chain I felt my bird would go. I earned at last an equal love from thee! 145 125 115 120 130 135 140 150 . 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. By suffering. more than I could dream ± When. Short strife! what rest could soothe ± what peace could visit me While she lay pining there for Death to set her free? `Rochelle. contempt and calumny. I heard my kindred tell `How Julian loved his hearth and sheltering rooftree well. By never-doubting love. When pierced with one wild glance from the troubled hazel eye It gushes into tears and lets its treasure fly. So ready to condemn. the battle-standard wave But Julian had no heart to fill a patriot's grave. Rochelle È Then like a tender child whose hand did just enfold Safe in its eager grasp a bird it wept to hold. How the trumpet's voice might call. When though the cage was wide ± the heaven around it lay ± Its pinion would not waft my wounded dove away. Then oft with taunting smile. Through thirteen anxious weeks of terror-blent delight I guarded her by day and guarded her by night. who am so quick to answer sneer with sneer. And by the patient strength that could that world defy. 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. Oh.
dissolves. `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. have power in thee Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts. sustains. Changes. that in me hast rest As I Undying Life. creates and rears Though Earth and moon were gone And suns and universes ceased to be And thou wert left alone Every Existence would exist in thee There is not room for Death Nor atom that his might could render void Since thou are Being and Breath And what thou art may never be destroyed 25 5 10 15 20 . unutterably vain.Emily (Jane) Bronte. 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.
And. A hand that is not ours upstays our steps. how slowly. A voice that is not ours commands the waves. That when we see the o'ertopping waves advance. the main. For while the tired waves vainly breaking. Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers. The labor and the wounds are vain. Far back through creeks and inlets making Comes silent. The enemy faints not nor faileth.Arthur Hugh Clough (1819±1861) `Say not the struggle naught availeth' Say not the struggle naught availeth. And not by eastern windows only. in yon smoke concealed. It may be. 5 10 . flooding in. There are who walk beside us. 5 10 15 `That there are powers above us I admit' That there are powers above us I admit. It may be true too That while we walk the troublous tossing sea. Seem here no painful inch to gain. things remain. and whispers in our ear.' is not nought. and the cry That rises so spontaneous to the lips. Commands the waves. And when [we] feel our feet beneath us sink. The `Help us or we perish. fears may be liars. When daylight comes. look! the land is bright. If hopes were dupes. In front the sun climbs slow. It may be that in deed and not in fancy. And as things have been. An evanescent spectrum of disease. but for you. possess the field. comes in the light. But westward.
And when we lift up holy hands of prayer.Arthur Hugh Clough. why didst thou doubt? At any rate ± That there are beings above us. `That there are powers above us I admit' 115 O thou of little faith. I will not say they will not give us aid. I believe. 15 .
which bears me Forwards. on starry nights. and sick of asking What I am. But when the moon their hollows lights. from shore to shore. 5 10 15 20 Self-Dependence Weary of myself. that their longing's fire Should be. And then their endless bounds they know. And they are swept by balms of spring. ± For surely once. The islands feel the enclasping flow. and what I ought to be. as soon as kindled. Dotting the shoreless watery wild. We mortal millions live alone. o'er the starlit sea. forwards. they feel. At this vessel's prow I stand. cooled? Who renders vain their deep desire? A God. Across the sounds and channels pour. estranging sea. The nightingales divinely sing. we were Parts of a single continent. Oh then a longing like despair Is to their farthest caverns sent. With echoing straits between us thrown.Matthew Arnold (1822±1888) To Marguerite In Returning a Volume of the Letters of Ortis Yes: in the sea of life enisled. . Now round us spreads the watery plain ± Oh might our marges meet again! Who ordered. And in their glens. a God their severance ruled! And bade betwixt their shores to be The unplumbed. salt. And lovely notes.
For alone they live. star-sown vault of heaven. once more. These attain the mighty life you see. and fling. on the French coast. severely clear. 5 10 . Over the lit sea's unquiet way. Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves suck back. from the long line of spray Where the ebb meets the moon-blanched land. `Bounded by themselves. A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear. the light Gleams. `Ah. Come to the window. ye Waters. Feel my soul becoming vast like you. sweet is the night air! Only. Calm me. compose me to the end. On my heart your mighty charm renew: Still. amusement. The tide is full.' I cried. loses his misery!' 25 5 10 15 20 30 Dover Beach The sea is calm tonight. Undistracted by the sights they see. `And with joy the stars perform their shining. `ye Stars. `Resolve to be thyself. Glimmering and vast. `Unaffrighted by the silence round them. and is gone.' O air-born Voice! long since. clear. the moon lies fair Upon the Straits. ah. out in the tranquil bay. 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. still let me. sympathy.Matthew Arnold. and unobservant In what state God's other works may be. nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul.' From the intense. and know that he. the cliffs of England stand. as I gaze upon you. And the sea its long moon-silvered roll. Who finds himself. These demand not that the things without them Yield them love. 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.
Hearing it by this distant northern sea. 15 20 25 30 35 The Scholar-Gipsy `There was very lately a lad in the University of Oxford. there chanced to ride by a couple of scholars. 1661. who was by his poverty forced to leave his studies there. too.' ± Glanvil's Vanity of Dogmatizing. and bring The eternal note of sadness in. Begin. and cease. So various. Retreating to the breath Of the night-wind. but that they had a traditional kind of learning among them. love. at the full. and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery. The sea of faith Was once. he said. And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight. and told them that the people he went with were not such impostors as they were taken for. Ah. They quickly spied out their old friend among the gipsies. long withdrawing roar. so new. But now I only hear Its melancholy. and at last to join himself to a company of vagabond gipsies. Among these extravagant people. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the ágean. nor love. Where ignorant armies clash by night. we Find also in the sound a thought. After he had been a pretty while well exercised in the trade. The Scholar-Gipsy At their return. who had formerly been of his acquaintance. and then again begin. Hath really neither joy. nor help for pain. he intended. he quickly got so much of their love and esteem as that they discovered to him their mystery. down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. their fancy binding that of others: that himself had learned much of their art. With tremulous cadence slow. and he gave them an account of the necessity which drove him to that kind of life. and when he had compassed the whole secret. and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams. Nor certitude. .118 Matthew Arnold. nor light. nor peace. up the high strand. so beautiful. to leave their company. and give the world an account of what he had learned. and could do wonders by the power of imagination. let us be true To one another! for the world. by the insinuating subtilty of his carriage.
Then here. Shepherd. One summer morn forsook His friends. But once. his basket. Here. Come. And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's book ± Come. to little good. where he leaves His coat. And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers. Shepherd. In this high field's dark corner. in the country lanes Two scholars. and untie the wattled cotes: No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed. While to my ear from uplands far away The bleating of the folded flocks is borne. Shepherd. comes back his stores to use. The Scholar-Gipsy 119 Go. whom at college erst he knew Met him. But when the fields are still. Shepherd. from the hill. 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. half-reaped field. With distant cries of reapers in the corn ± All the live murmur of a summer's day. His mates. for they call you. had arts to rule as they desired 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . and of his way of life enquired. and his earthen cruise. years after. Here will I sit and wait. Whereat he answered. And only the white sheep are sometimes seen Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanched green. Who. Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats. let me read the oft-read tale again.Matthew Arnold. And bower me from the August sun with shade. But came to Oxford and his friends no more. Go. And roamed the world with that wild brotherhood. And here till sun-down. The story of the Oxford scholar poor Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain. And came. tired of knocking at Preferment's door. at noon. and again renew the quest. 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 went to learn the Gipsy lore. Screened is this nook o'er the high. And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest. Nor the cropped herbage shoot another head. And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves. will I be. as most men deemed. that the Gipsy crew.
he left them. Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam. Wanderer. That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray. The Scholar-Gipsy The workings of men's brains. And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream And then they land. And they can bind them to what thoughts they will: `And I.' This said. I know. at the ferry. and thou art seen no more. on thy trace. and returned no more. Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers ± the frail-leafed. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring.120 Matthew Arnold. who from the distant hamlets come To dance around the Fyfield elm in May. In hat of antique shape. Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet. will to the world impart: But it needs happy moments for this skill. For most. But rumours hung about the countryside. At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors. Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills. When fully learned. Oxford riders blithe. Maidens. have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe. Seen by rare glimpses. As the slow punt swings round: And leaning backward in a pensive dream. 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. On the warm ingle bench. And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers Plucked in shy fields and distant woodland bowers. Thee. mid their drink and clatter. And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. `the secret of their art. thou lov'st retired ground. And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place. Returning home on summer nights. But. And put the shepherds. Or in my boat I lie Moored to the cool bank in the summer heats. and cloak of grey.' he said. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . he would fly: And I myself seem half to know thy looks. Or cross a stile into the public way. And watch the warm green muffled Cumnor hills. pensive and tongue-tied.
Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow. And marked thee. Thy dark vague eyes. nor stops his meal. And gained the white brow of the Cumnor range. Turned once to watch. Children. who early range these slopes and late For cresses from the rills. The Scholar-Gipsy 121 And. At some lone homestead in the Cumnor hills. when haytime's here In June.Matthew Arnold. Through the long dewy grass move slow away. And once. twirling in thy hand a withered spray. when they came from bathing. thy figure spare. nor fears at all. in winter. But. and every bush you see With scarlet patches tagged and shreds of grey. Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass Where black-winged swallows haunt the glittering Thames. And waiting for the spark from Heaven to fall. on the causeway chill Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go. Thou hast been seen. on the skirts of Bagley Wood Where most the Gipsies by the turf-edged way Pitch their smoked tents. and soft abstracted air. above Godstow Bridge. all an April day. 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. or hanging on a gate To watch the threshers in the mossy barns. To bathe in the abandoned lasher pass. But what ± I dream! Two hundred years are flown Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls. The springing pastures and the feeding kine. Above the forest ground called Thessaly ± The blackbird picking food Sees thee. thou wert gone. In Autumn. So often has he known thee past him stray Rapt. Have known thee watching. Have I not passed thee on the wooden bridge. when the stars come out and shine. while thick the snowflakes fall. Have often passed thee near Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown: Marked thy outlandish garb. Thy face towards Hinksey and its wintry ridge? And thou hast climbed the hill. and many a scythe in sunshine flames. And the grave Glanvil did the tale inscribe That thou wert wandered from the studious walls 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 .
Light half-believers of our casual creeds. For what wears out the life of mortal men? 'Tis that from change to change their being rolls: 'Tis that repeated shocks. ± No. Who wait like thee. nor knows for what he strives. 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 . where o'er thy unknown grave Tall grasses and white flowering nettles wave. one desire: Else wert thou long since numbered with the dead ± Else hadst thou spent. For early didst thou leave the world. have not. the languid doubt. but not. Because thou hadst ± what we. disappointments new. like other men. not spent on other things. And we ourselves shall go. and in some quiet churchyard laid. Till having used our nerves with bliss and teen. Thou hast not lived. why should'st thou perish. brings.122 Matthew Arnold. and are ± what we have been. no. Thou waitest for the spark from Heaven and we. Free from the sick fatigue. one business. Some country nook. Whose vague resolves never have been fulfilled. For whom each year we see Breeds new beginnings. And we imagine thee exempt from age And living as thou liv'st on Glanvil's page. thou hast not felt the lapse of hours. And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit. Firm to their mark. The generations of thy peers are fled. again. thy fire. Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds. Which much to have tried. in much been baffled. Who never deeply felt. The Scholar-Gipsy To learn strange arts. Of whom each strives. with powers Fresh. And each half lives a hundred different lives. so? Thou hadst one aim. and join a Gipsy tribe: And thou from earth art gone Long since. red-fruited yew-tree's shade. in hope. alas. Under a dark. O life unlike to ours! Who fluctuate idly without term or scope. undiverted to the world without. And numb the elastic powers. Exhaust the energy of strongest souls. To the just-pausing Genius we remit Our worn-out life. But thou possessest an immortal lot. again. Who hesitate and falter life away. like thee. nor clearly willed.
And wish the long unhappy dream would end. And how the dying spark of hope was fed. as Dido did with gesture stern From her false friend's approach in Hades turn. or listen with enchanted ears. takes dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne. 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 . On some mild pastoral slope Emerge. and try to bear With close-lipped Patience for our only friend. as in former years. where none pursue. Still clutching the inviolable shade. and keep thy solitude! Still nursing the unconquerable hope. Freshen thy flowers. Sad Patience. And every doubt long blown by time away. plunge deeper in the bowering wood! Averse. Nursing thy project in unclouded joy. And how the breast was soothed. With dew. its divided aims. and how the head. The Scholar-Gipsy 123 And lose tomorrow the ground won today ± Ah! do not we. From the dark dingles. Tells us his misery's birth and growth and signs. Its heads o'ertaxed. our contact fear! Still fly. its palsied hearts. Thou through the fields and through the woods dost stray. Who most has suffered. With its sick hurry. await it too? Yes. By night.Matthew Arnold. a truant boy. And then we suffer and amongst us One. was rife ± Fly hence. And all his hourly varied anodynes. we await it. O born in days when wits were fresh and clear. but it still delays. too near neighbour to Despair: But none has hope like thine. Wave us away. And all his store of sad experience he Lays bare of wretched days. With a free onward impulse brushing through. the silvered branches of the glade ± Far on the forest skirts. Before this strange disease of modern life. Wanderer. This for our wisest: and we others pine. And waive all claim to bliss. to the nightingales. and resting on the moonlit pales. And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames. Roaming the country side.
soon thy cheer would die. our feverish contact fly! For strong the infection of our mental strife. fly our speech and smiles! ± As some grave Tyrian trader. And day and night held on indignantly O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale. and tunnies steeped in brine. Descried at sunrise an emerging prow Lifting the cool-haired creepers stealthily. though it gives no bliss. and unbent sails There. And snatched his rudder. Soon. and shook out more sail.124 Matthew Arnold. Like us distracted. The Scholar-Gipsy But fly our paths. from the sea. and Chian wine. and unfixed thy powers. Then fly our greetings. And knew the intruders on his ancient home. yet spoils for rest. the dark Iberians come. Thy hopes grow timorous. To where the Atlantic raves Outside the Western Straits. Green bursting figs. And on the beach undid his corded bales. 225 230 235 240 245 250 . And saw the merry Grecian coaster come. The young light-hearted Masters of the waves. where down cloudy cliffs. Which. And we should win thee from thy own fair life. Fade. Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily. And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made: And then thy glad perennial youth would fade. and like us unblest. The fringes of a southward-facing brow Among the ágean isles. through sheets of foam. Shy traffickers. Freighted with amber grapes. and grow old at last and die like ours.
. even. . . And her hair. Albeit to them she left. No wrought flowers did adorn. Yet now. here in this place Surely she leaned o'er me. lying down her back. Her robe. . . ± her hair Fell all about my face . as a bridge. ± By God built over the sheer depth In which Space is begun. . Her seemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers. . So high. She could scarce see the sun. The whole year sets apace. But a white rose of Mary's gift On the neck meetly worn. (To one it is ten years of years: .) It was the terrace of God's house That she was standing on. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . . And the stars in her hair were seven. . The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers. Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves. . her day Had counted as ten years. . that looking downward thence. . Was yellow like ripe corn.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. ungirt from clasp to hem. She had three lilies in her hand. It lies from Heaven across the flood Of ether.
In that steep gulph. `Have I not prayed in solemn heaven? On earth. gentle-mouthed. Her gaze still strove. withheld. no echo there. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . some of her new friends. Went by her like thin flames. as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. and go with him To the deep wells of light. Their virginal chaste names. Playing at holy games. the tides of day and night With flame and blackness ridge The void.126 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Heard hardly. The Blessed Damozel Beneath. And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. she saw Time. And he is clothed in white. I'll take his hand. Spake. has he not prayed? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? `When round his head the aureole clings. `We two will stand beside that shrine. And the souls. For he will come. But in those tracts. Beyond all depth or height. like a pulse. `I wish that he were come to me. it was The peace of utter light And silence. mounting up to God. as when The stars sang in their spheres. with her. And we will step down as to a stream And bathe there in God's sight. Occult. For no breeze may stir Along the steady flight Of seraphim. and stooped Into the vast waste calm. untrod. And still she bowed herself. Till her bosom's pressure must have made The bar she leaned on warm.' she said. shake fierce Through all the worlds. among themselves. to pierce The swarm: and then she spake. From the fixt lull of heaven.
With her five handmaidens. . `And I myself. 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. To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born. Gertrude. ± The songs I sing here. Weaving the golden thread. Into the fine cloth. Then I will lay my cheek 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 . `Circle-wise sit they. The Blessed Damozel 127 Whose lamps tremble continually With prayer sent up to God.' (Alas! to her wise simple mind These things were all but known Before: they trembled on her sense. `He shall fear haply. .' she said. And where each need. and Rosalys.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. ± Her voice had caught their tone. hushed and slow. Margaret. with bound locks And bosoms covered. Finding some knowledge at each pause And some new thing to know. and though the end were reached? . which his mouth Shall pause in. will teach to him ± I myself. being dead. Magdalen. white like flame. lying so. whose names Are five sweet symphonies: ± Cecily. Alas for lonely Heaven! Alas For life wrung out alone! Alas. and be dumb. `will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is. expects Its patient period. While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His name audibly. though they would?) `We two. revealed. `We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Sometimes is felt to be.
Her eyes prayed.) But soon their flight Was vague 'mid the poised spheres. Yea. and then said. in strong level lapse. And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers. when he is come We will do thus and thus: Till this my vigil seem quite strange And almost fabulous. And laid her face between her hands. verily. And wept. but to be As then we were. one life. Not once abashed or weak: And the dear Mother will approve My pride. (I heard her tears.' She ceased. filled With Angels. We two will live at once.' She gazed. meeting us. `Herself shall bring us. Less sad of speech than mild: `All this is when he comes. (I saw her smile. and she smiled. and let me speak. The light thrilled past her. verily. and listened. Part I Youth and Change To his. and tell about our love.128 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. shall sing To their citherns and citoles. ± being as then At peace. `Yea. And peace shall be with us. To Him round whom all souls Kneel ± the unnumbered solemn heads Bowed with their aureoles: And Angels.) 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 . `There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me: ± To have more blessing than on earth In nowise. hand in hand.
even of her breath aware. Whereof the articulate throbs accompany The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair. And her breast's secrets peered into her breast. till love's emulous ardours ran. at length so nigh. Fain had I watched her when. Her bosom to the writing closelier pressed. 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.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Can rob this body of honour. 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. and no man sees but I. First touched. ± Sweet fluttering sheet. desire in deity. and the deep Calls to the deep. at some fond thought. Methinks proud Love must weep When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap The sacred hour for which the years did sigh. I was a child beneath her touch. ± Oh let thy silent song disclose to me That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree Like married music in Love's answering air. Rests there attained. The bliss so long afar. even I and she. the hand now warm around my neck Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo! Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow. ± A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood. ± A spirit when her spirit looked through me. ± a man When breast to breast we clung. Fire within fire. 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. 5 10 . 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.
Is like a hand laid softly on the soul. what kiss mine inmost heart can prove. thou my love. the long wood's counterpart. Sheds doubled darkness up the labouring hill. attuned above All modulation of the deep-bowered dove. Steep ways and weary. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture Thou lovely and beloved. poor heart. hand to hand: . and from the sudden confluence caught The words that made her love the loveliest. her soul sought My soul. Whose hand is like a sweet voice to control Those worn tired brows it hath the keeping of: ± What word can answer to thy word. Her dress without her? The tossed empty space Of cloud-rack whence the moon has passed away. ah me! for love's good grace. Where the long cloud. till I am mirrored there Light-circled in a heaven of deep-drawn rays? What clasp. Even now. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture When. What of the heart without her? Nay. Linked in gyves I saw them stand. And cold forgetfulness of night or day. 5 10 Sonnet LIV: Love's Fatality Sweet Love. Shed very dawn. Love shackled with vain-longing. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love Life-thwarted. Her pillowed place Without her? Tears. Of thee what word remains ere speech be still? A wayfarer by barren ways and chill. without her thou art. 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. whose voice. which now absorbs within its sphere My worshipping face. whose summoning eyes. Whose kiss seems still the first. Her paths without her? Day's appointed sway Usurped by desolate night. through eyes raised an instant. ± what gaze To thine. as for our love-world's new sunrise.130 Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
for longing. ± which can draw. and will not let him shun The day. thus leashed with me! Wing-footed thou. Hers are the eyes which. even Love's Fatality. wing-shouldered. that which I should do. ± Bound to thy body and soul. where love and death. the sun Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves. Till eve bring rest when other good things pass. once born free: And I. while from hillock-eaves The deer gaze calling. two writhen flakes of flame. Nor know. in whose praise Thy voice and hand shake still. though bough with bough be overrun. As if. thy cowering self. and though her gaze struck awe. I saw Beauty enthroned. Made moan: `Alas O love. Terror and mystery. being foresters of old. And here the lost hours the lost hours renew While I still lead my shadow o'er the grass. The alloted bondman of her palm and wreath. The sky and sea bend on thee.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. I drew it in as simply as my breath. Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew. Here dawn today unveiled her magic glass. guard her shrine. named with thy name. 5 10 Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty Under the arch of Life. ± Life's iron heart. But with a blessing every glade receives High salutation. even as in his whose wand Vainly all night with spell-wrought power has spanned The unyielding caves of some deep treasure-trove. over and beneath. to one law.' 5 10 Part II: Change and Fate Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness This sunlight shames November where he grieves In dead red leaves. By sea or sky or woman. 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. This is that Lady Beauty. ± long known to thee 5 10 . in chains grown tame. Also his lips. dappled white and dun.
In what fond flight. so went Thy spell through him. The rose and poppy are her flowers. her sweet tongue could deceive. and left his straight neck bent And round his heart one strangling golden hair. ± the beat Following her daily of thy heart and feet. it is sweet and red. whom shed scent And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine. City. 'Mid hurrying crowds. Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave. ± though unrevealed snow With unimaginable fires arise At the earth's end. And her enchanted hair was the first gold. O Lilith.) That. and lo! This is the very place which to mine eyes Those mortal hours in vain immortalize. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy I said: `Nay.132 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXI: Memorial Thresholds Á What place so strange. How passionately and irretrievably. And. By some new Power reduplicate. how many ways and days! Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty Of Adam's first wife. . of thine a single simple door. Till heart and body and life are in its hold. young while the earth is old. Lilith. ± let the first fruit be: Even as thou sayest. Even with one presence filled. Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty By flying hair and fluttering hem. ± what passion of surprise Like frost-bound fire-girt scenes of long ago? Lo! this is none but I this hour. And still she sits. it is told (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve. pluck not. must be Even yet my life-porch in eternity. for where Is he not found. subtly of herself contemplative. as once of yore: Or mocking winds whirl round a chaff-strown floor Thee and thy years and these my words and me. ere the snake's. with what alone I know.
ere the gleam Of autumn set the year's pent sorrow free. ± 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. ± 5 10 . Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen. And the woods wail like echoes from the sea. Farewell. ± 'tis fallen and floats adown the stream. Sonnet CI: The One Hope 133 But let it ripen still. Shall not we At the sun's hour that day possess the shade.' 5 10 Sonnet XCVII: A Superscription Look in my face. the last clusters! Pluck them every one. 5 10 Sonnet CI: The One Hope When vain desire at last and vain regret Go hand in hand to death. The tree's bent head Sees in the stream its own fecundity And bides the day of fulness. Lo. 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.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. and all is vain. and turn apart Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes. And claim our fruit before its ripeness fade. I am also called No-more. What shall assuage the unforgotten pain And teach the unforgetful to forget? Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet. Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen Which had Life's form and Love's. but by my spell Is now a shaken shadow intolerable. Too-late. Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between. And eat it from the branch and praise the tree?' I say: `Alas! our fruit hath wooed the sun Too long. my name is Might-have-been. ± Then shalt thou see me smile. Mark me. And let us sup with summer.
our English nightingale. with sweet smart: And as the last slow sudden drops are shed From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled. ± but what part Can life now take? She cries in her locked heart. Their bosoms sundered. And their dreams watched them sink. Under one mantle sheltered 'neath the hedge In gloaming courtship? And. Fawned on each other where they lay apart. and wondered more: for there she lay.134 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. O God! today He only knows he holds her. But o'er the deadly blight Of Love deflowered and sorrow of none avail Which makes this man gasp and this woman quail. but even that word alone. burnt red. Dark breaks to dawn. and slid away. yet still their mouths. Nuptial Sleep At length their long kiss severed. Can day from darkness ever again take flight? Ah! gave not these two hearts their mutual pledge. through gleams Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day. ± `Leave me ± I do not know you ± go away!' 5 10 . as lamps across the bridge turn pale In London's smokeless resurrection-light. So singly flagged the pulses of each heart. Till from some wonder of new woods and streams He woke. Nuptial Sleep Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er But only the one Hope's one name be there. ± Not less nor more. Slowly their souls swam up again. with the opening start Of married flowers to either side outspread From the knit stem. 5 10 `Found' (For a Picture) `There is a budding morrow in midnight:' ± So sang our Keats. And here. Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams.
blackberries. ± All ripe together In summer weather. ± Morns that pass by. Gone far away into the silent land. Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me. Apricots. Pine-apples. Wild free-born cranberries. Fair eves that fly.Christina G. 5 10 Goblin Market Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Crab-apples. Come buy. Swart-headed mulberries. come buy: Apples and quinces. Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Bloom-down-cheeked peaches. Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Remember me when I am gone away. Melons and raspberries. do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had. Plump unpecked cherries. Lemons and oranges. When you can no more hold me by the hand. 5 10 15 . dewberries. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember. strawberries.
Pomegranates full and fine. How warm the wind must blow Through those fruit bushes.' call the goblins Hobbling down the glen.' Laura said. Goblin Market Come buy. Damsons and bilberries. Citrons from the South. Rossetti. We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?' `Come buy. Rare pears and greengages. With clasping arms and cautioning lips. look.' `No. You should not peep at goblin men. Their offers should not charm us.' Evening by evening Among the brookside rushes. How fair the vine must grow Whose grapes are so luscious. Down the glen tramp little men.' said Lizzie: `No. Lizzie. Bright-fire-like barberries. One lugs a golden dish Of many pounds weight. 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 .136 Christina G. Covered close lest they should look. Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries. Lizzie veiled her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather. come buy. Dates and sharp bullaces. One bears a plate. Figs to fill your mouth. `Oh. Laura. Come buy. Sweet to tongue and sound to eye.' cried Lizzie.' Lizzie covered up her eyes. One hauls a basket. And whispered like the restless brook: `Look. With tingling cheeks and finger tips. Laura reared her glossy head. come buy: Our grapes fresh from the vine. Lizzie. no. no. Laura bowed her head to hear. `Lie close. `Laura. Pricking up her golden head: `We must not look at goblin men.
One whisked a tail. Rossetti. One had a cat's face. With their shrill repeated cry. The cat-faced purred. leaves. One crawled like a snail. 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . Laura stretched her gleaming neck Like a rush-imbedded swan.' When they reached where Laura was They stood stock still upon the moss. One began to weave a crown Of tendrils. Like a moonlit poplar branch. The rat-paced spoke a word Of welcome. Leering at each other. and the snail-paced even was heard.' was still their cry. `Come buy. Like a vessel at the launch When its last restraint is gone. Brother with queer brother. and rough nuts brown (Men sell not such in any town).' She thrust a dimpled finger In each ear. shut eyes and ran: Curious Laura chose to linger Wondering at each merchant man. One tramped at a rat's pace. come buy. One set his basket down. Like a lily from the beck. come buy. One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry. Brother with sly brother. One reared his plate. Longed but had no money: The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste In tones as smooth as honey. One heaved the golden weight Of dish and fruit to offer her: `Come buy. She heard a voice like voice of doves Cooing all together: They sounded kind and full of loves In the pleasant weather. Goblin Market 137 Their evil gifts would harm us. One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry. Laura stared but did not stir. Backwards up the mossy glen Turned and trooped the goblin men. Signalling each other.Christina G.
Clearer than water flowed that juice. But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: `Good folk. 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. Sought them by night and day.138 Christina G. Lizzie met her at the gate Full of wise upbraidings: `Dear. How she met them in the moonlight.' She clipped a precious golden lock.' `You have much gold upon your head. Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: Sweeter than honey from the rock. And knew not was it night or day As she turned home alone. Then fell with the first snow. Rossetti. I have no silver either.' ± One whistled like a bird. Stronger than man-rejoicing wine. Then flung the emptied rinds away But gathered up one kernel-stone. She dropped a tear more rare than pearl. To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse. you should not stay so late. Twilight is not good for maidens. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusty heather. Goblin Market One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried `Pretty Goblin' still for `Pretty Polly. How should it cloy with length of use? She sucked and sucked and sucked the more Fruits which that unknown orchard bore. She never tasted such before. Do you not remember Jeanie. Took their gifts both choice and many. I have no coin. She sucked until her lips were sore.' They answered all together: `Buy from us with a golden curl. Found them no more but dwindled and grew grey. Should not loiter in the glen In the haunts of goblin men.
' said Laura: `Nay. Like two flakes of new-fallen snow. What peaches with a velvet nap. Lumbering owls forbore to fly. You cannot think what figs My teeth have met in. To-morrow night I will Buy more:' and kissed her: `Have done with sorrow.' Golden head by golden head. They lay down in their curtained bed: Like two blossoms on one stem. and pure the wave they drink With lilies at the brink. You should not loiter so. And sugar-sweet their sap. as sweet and busy. Moon and stars gazed in at them. hush. Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other's wings. Like two wands of ivory Tipped with gold for awful kings. my sister: I ate and ate my fill. Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetched in honey. Neat like bees.Christina G. I'll bring you plums to-morrow Fresh on their mother twigs. Rossetti. 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. Yet my mouth waters still. 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 . What melons icy-cold Piled on a dish of gold Too huge for me to hold. hush. Wind sang to them lullaby.' `Nay. Early in the morning When the first cock crowed his warning. Pellucid grapes without one seed: Odorous indeed must be the mead Whereon they grow. Not a bat flapped to and fro Round their nest: Cheek to cheek and breast to breast Locked together in one nest. Cherries worth getting. milked the cows.
Let us get home before the night grows dark: 205 210 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 . Lizzie most placid in her look. the moon bends her arc. whisking. Laura in an absent dream. Next churned butter. whipped up cream. Of brisk fruit-merchant men. Laura.' But Laura loitered still among the rushes And said the bank was steep. `O Laura. In groups or single. One content. The beasts and birds are fast asleep. `Come buy. The dew not fallen. Then turning homewards said: `The sunset flushes Those furthest loftiest crags. One longing for the night. At length slow evening came: They went with pitchers to the reedy brook. The stars rise. not another maiden lags. Till Lizzie urged. tumbling. Each glowworm winks her spark. Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat. One warbling for the mere bright day's delight.' With its iterated jingle Of sugar-baited words: Not for all her watching Once discerning even one goblin Racing. Let alone the herds That used to tramp along the glen. Talked as modest maidens should: Lizzie with an open heart. Goblin Market Aired and set to rights the house. I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look: You should not loiter longer at this brook: Come with me home. hobbling. come. And said the hour was early still. No wilful squirrel wags. come buy. one sick in part. Laura most like a leaping flame. but not catching The customary cry. Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags. the wind not chill: Listening ever. Rossetti. sat and sewed. Cakes for dainty mouths to eat. Fed their poultry. Come. They drew the gurgling water from its deep.140 Christina G.
Gone deaf and blind? Her tree of life drooped from the root: She said not one word in her heart's sore ache.' Must she then buy no more such dainty fruits? Must she no more such succous pasture find. her pitcher dripping all the way. And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. Laura kept watch in vain In sullen silence of exceeding pain. nought discerning. Goblin Market 141 For clouds may gather Though this is summer weather. That goblin cry. as a traveller sees False waves in desert drouth With shade of leaf-crowned trees. But there came none.' ± She never spied the goblin men Hawking their fruits along the glen: But when the noon waxed bright Her hair grew thin and grey. Then sat up in a passionate yearning. It never felt the trickling moisture run: While with sunk eyes and faded mouth She dreamed of melons. come buy. She dwindled. Watched for a waxing shoot. Rossetti. Then if we lost our way what should we do?' Laura turned cold as stone To find her sister heard that cry alone. come buy. 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 . It never saw the sun. and lay Silent till Lizzie slept. So crept to bed. And gnashed her teeth for baulked desire. hoped for a root.Christina G. night after night. `Come buy our fruits. and wept As if her heart would break. Trudged home. Day after day. One day remembering her kernel-stone She set it by a wall that faced the south. But peering thro' the dimness. Put out the lights and drench us through. as the fair full moon doth turn To swift decay and burn Her fire away. She never caught again the goblin cry: `Come buy. Dewed it with tears.
Rossetti. She night and morning Caught the goblins' cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. Flying. along the glen. Kissed Laura. 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 . running. Goblin Market She no more swept the house. Fetched honey. With the first glazing rime. Clucking and gobbling. Brought water from the brook: But sat down listless in the chimney-nook And would not eat. Mopping and mowing. come buy:' ± Beside the brook. crossed the heath with clumps of furze At twilight. She heard the tramp of goblin men. kneaded cakes of wheat. Puffing and blowing. Longed to buy fruit to comfort her. But put a silver penny in her purse. But feared to pay too dear. Who should have been a bride. Till Laura dwindling Seemed knocking at Death's door: Then Lizzie weighed no more Better and worse. Tender Lizzie could not bear To watch her sister's cankerous care Yet not to share. Tended the fowls or cows. Full of airs and graces. With the first snowfall of crisp Winter time. Laughed every goblin When they spied her peeping: Came towards her hobbling. halted by the brook: And for the first time in her life Began to listen and look. crowing.142 Christina G. In earliest Winter time. Come buy. The voice and stir Poor Laura could not hear. clapping. But who for joys brides hope to have Fell sick and died In her gay prime. Chuckling. leaping. She thought of Jeanie in her grave.
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,
480 485 490 495 500 505 510 515 520 . goblin-ridden?' ± She clung about her sister. have you tasted For my sake the fruit forbidden? Must your light like mine be hidden. cankered. Ah! fool. She loathed the feast: Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung. Shaking with aguish fear. Her locks streamed like the torch Borne by a racer at full speed. Or like a caged thing freed. Lizzie. Like a foam-topped waterspout Cast down headlong in the sea. Rossetti. Kissed and kissed and kissed her: Tears once again Refreshed her shrunken eyes. Or like an eagle when she stems the light Straight toward the sun. Dropping like rain After long sultry drouth. knocked at her heart.146 Christina G. 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. Goblin Market Clutched her hair: `Lizzie. Thirsty. Met the fire smouldering there And overbore its lesser flame. Her lips began to scorch. She fell at last. She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. And beat her breast. Your young life like mine be wasted. Like a wind-uprooted tree Spun about. and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste. Undone in mine undoing And ruined in my ruin. Swift fire spread through her veins. That juice was wormwood to her tongue. Or like a flying flag when armies run. and pain. Or like the mane of horses in their flight. She gorged on bitterness without a name. Rent all her robe. Like a lightning-stricken mast.
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
. But for the charge that blessed things I'd liefer not have be. I'd go the world with Beauty. I would shun divinest duty To resume her worshipping. 1890. 'tis but yon dark And wind-swept pine to me!' Yet I would bear my shortcomings With meet tranquillity. `Hark! hark! The glorious distant sea!' And feel.. Still. `Alas. and heaping Quaintest pains for by-and-by.150 Thomas Hardy. Rest shall we. Yet I note the little chisel Of never-napping Time Defacing wan and grizzel The blazon of my prime. But she'd scorn my brave endeavour. I would laugh with her and sing. As yet disquiet clings About us. doth a bird beshorn of wings Go earth-bound wilfully! . 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.... In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury Standing upfingered. O.. I remain what I was then In each essential feature Of the fantasies of men.. 5 10 15 20 . When at night he thinks me sleeping I feel him boring sly Within my bones. She would not balm the breeze By murmuring `Thine for ever!' As she did upon this leaze. Enough. with.
lets part abide. But Time. came To soothe a time-torn man. And marching Time drew on. Part steals. a woman. `Would God it came to pass My heart had shrunk as thin!' For then. And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. The Darkling Thrush 151 `I look into my glass' I look into my glass. Could lonely wait my endless rest With equanimity. And view my wasting skin. You love not me. You did not come.Thomas Hardy. I. undistrest By hearts grown cold to me. unto the store Of human deeds divine in all but name. Was it not worth a little hour or more To add yet this: Once you. And shakes this fragile frame at eve With throbbings of noontide. to make me grieve. But. and wore me numb. as the hope-hour stroked its sum. when. 5 10 A Broken Appointment You did not come. And love alone can lend you loyalty. ÐI know and knew it. even though it be You love not me? 5 10 15 The Darkling Thrush I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres. And say. 5 .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.
Yet we were looking away! 5 10 . Footworn and hollowed and thin. The land's sharp features seemed to be The Century's corpse outleant. Bowing it higher and higher. She sat here in her chair. The wind his death-lament. whereof he knew And I was unaware. That I could think there trembled through His happy goodnight air Some blessed Hope. The Self-Unseeing And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires. His crypt the cloudy canopy. And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I. Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom.152 Thomas Hardy. At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead In a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited. frail. Here was the former door Where the dead feet walked in. gaunt. So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around. The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry. Smiling into the fire. and small. In blast-beruffled plume. He who played stood there. I danced in a dream. 31st December 1900 10 15 20 25 30 The Self-Unseeing Here is the ancient floor. Blessings emblazoned that day. Childlike. An aged thrush. Everything glowed with a gleam.
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. Thou knowest the walls. what with dread. the hurtle of hell Behind. O Christ. laced with fire of stress. 1875 Part the First 1 Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread. And after it almost unmade. O God. 3 The frown of his face Before me. My heart. 2 I did say yes O at lightning and lashed rod. where was a. where. sway of the sea. 7th. Thou heardst me truer than tongue confess Thy terror. 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 place? I whirled out wings that spell And fled with a fling of the heart to the heart of the Host. 5 10 15 20 . Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh? Over again I feel thy finger and find thee. Thou hast bound bones and veins in me. but you were dovewinged. Lord of living and dead. I can tell. fastened me flesh. World's strand.
and bless when I understand. 5 I kiss my hand To the stars. being hard at bay. Manger. 7 It dates from day Of his going in Galilee. We lash with the best or worst Word last! How a lush-kept plush-capped sloe 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . only the heart. Though felt before. to a pane. to a poise. 8 Is out with it! Oh. hearts are flushed by and melt ± But it rides time like riding a river (And here the faithful waver. Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey. a vein Of the gospel proffer.154 Gerard Manley Hopkins. and frightful sweat: Thence the discharge of it. a drift. tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder. glory in thunder. Kiss my hand to the dappled-with-damson west: Since. lovely-asunder Starlight. stressed. To flash from the flame to the flame then. 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. I steady as a water in a well. a principle. the faithless fable and miss). always. 4 I am soft sift In an hourglass ± at the wall Fast. His mystery must be instressed. tower from the grace to the grace. The Wreck of the Deutschland Carrier-witted. Christ's gift. there its swelling to be. but mined with a motion. For I greet him the days I meet him. though in high flood yet ± What none would have known of it. And it crowds and it combs to the fall. a pressure. wafting him out of it. maiden's knee. But roped with. and Glow. The dense and the driven Passion. all the way down from the tall Fells or flanks of the voel. That guilt is hushed by. I am bold to boast.
To hero of Calvary. the being with it. Thou art lightning and love. Make mercy in all of us. three-numbered form. flame. mouthed to flesh-burst. I found it. Two hundred souls in the round ± O Father. not under thy feathers nor ever as guessing The goal was a shoal. a lingering-out sweet skõll. And storms bugle his fame. as once at a crash Paul. of a fourth the doom to be drowned. some The flange and the rail. with wrecking and storm. Wring thy rebel. Beyond saying sweet. Yet did the dark side of the bay of thy blessing Not vault them. Á God. rather then. The Wreck of the Deutschland 155 Will. full! ± Hither then. we. dogged in den. warned of it ± men go. Fang. 12 On Saturday sailed from Bremen. out of us all Mastery. Â But we dream we are rooted in earth ± Dust! Flesh falls within sight of us. a winter and warm. wanting it. American-outward-bound. but be adored King. Take settler and seamen. the million of rounds of thy mercy not reeve even them in? 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . 9 Be adored among men.Gerard Manley Hopkins. Gush! ± flush the man. but be adored. though our flower the same. Brim. Man's malice. past telling of tongue. Part the Second 11 `Some find me a sword. Â Â Or as Austin. Wave with the meadow. tell men with women. and the blear share come. Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung: Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then. forget that there must The sour scythe cringe. last or first. stealing as Spring Through him. melt him but master him still: Whether at once. 10 With an anvil-ding And with fire in him forge thy will Or rather. in a flash. Christ's feet ± Never ask if meaning it. or flood' goes Death on drum. sour or sweet.
with the heart-break hearing a heart-broke rabble. And the sea flint-flake. these she endured. And frightful a nightfall folded rueful a day Nor rescue. Hope had mourning on.156 Gerard Manley Hopkins. dandled the to and fro Through the cobbled foam-fleece. Á Wiry and white-fiery and whirlwind-swivelled snow Spins to the widow-making unchilding unfathering deeps. black-backed in the regular blow. The woman's wailing. 15 Hope had grown grey hairs. What could he do With the burl of the fountains of air. ± they shook in the hurling and horrible airs. the whorl and the wheel Idle for ever to waft her or wind her with. 16 One stirred from the rigging to save The wild woman-kind below. 14 She drove in the dark to leeward. And lives at last were washing away: To the shrouds they took. With a rope's end round the man. Trenched with tears. For the infinite air is unkind. shone. Hurling the haven behind. Hope was twelve hours gone. and so the sky keeps. And canvas and compass. Sitting Eastnortheast. the wind. on Sunday. 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. She struck ± not a reef or a rock But the combs of a smother of sand: night drew her Dead to the Kentish Knock. Night roared. The Wreck of the Deutschland 13 Into the snows she sweeps. the crying of child without check ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . The Deutschland. carved with cares. only rocket and lightship. handy and brave ± He was pitched to his death at a blow. For all his dreadnought breast and braids of thew: They could tell him for hours. The breakers rolled on her beam with ruinous shock. in cursed quarter. And she beat the bank down with her bows and the ride of her keel.
Thames would ruin them. Has one fetch in her: she rears herself to divine Ears. Mark.) 21 Loathed for a love men knew in them. and Luther. thou Orion of light. O unteachably after evil. (O Deutschland. this glee? the good you have there of your own? 19 Sister. snow. such a melting. one. Banned by the land of their birth. double a desperate name! O world wide of its good! But Gertrude. her master and mine! ± And the inboard seas run swirling and hawling.Gerard Manley Hopkins. a sister calling A master. Are you! turned for an exquisite smart. Surf. Thou martyr-master: in thy sight Storm flakes were scroll-leaved flowers. touched in your bower of bone. The rash smart sloggering brine Blinds her. Thy unchancelling poising palms were weighing the worth. heart. and the call of the tall nun To the men in the tops and the tackle rode over the storm's brawling. Why. tears! is it? tears. the mark is of man's make 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 . a virginal tongue told. but she that weather sees one thing. lily showers ± sweet heaven was astrew in them. A prophetess towered in the tumult. Abel is Cain's brother and breasts they have sucked the same. but uttering truth. river and earth Gnashed: but thou art above. 18 Ah. The Wreck of the Deutschland 157 Till a lioness arose breasting the babble. Christ's lily and beast of the waste wood: From life's dawn it is drawn down. Rhine refused them. 22 Five! the finding and sake And cipher of suffering Christ. are two of a town. Do you! ± mother of being in me. a madrigal start! Never-eldering revel and river of youth. 20 She was first of a five and came Á Of a coifed sisterhood. What can it be. lily. Have you! make words break from me here all alone.
158 Gerard Manley Hopkins. I was under a roof here. The jading and jar of the cart. What by your measure is the heaven of desire. to breathe in his all-fire glances. arch and original Breath. They were else-minded then. To bathe in his fall-gold mercies. come quickly': The cross to her she calls Christ to her. niche of the lance. 210 . altogether. the jay-blue heavens appearing Of pied and peeled May! Blue-beating and hoary-glow height. 24 Away in the loveable west. She to the black-about air. but it was not these. nor was ever guessed what for the hearing? 27 No. On a pastoral forehead of Wales. body of lovely Death. The Wreck of the Deutschland And the word of it Sacrificed. dearest prized and priced ± Stigma. Drawn to the Life that died. the men Woke thee with a We are perishing in the weather of Gennesareth. Are sisterly sealed in wild waters. Or is it that she cried for the crown then. 25 The majesty! what did she mean? Breathe. Christ. ruddying of the rose-flake. the thickly Falling flakes. With the gnarls of the nails in thee. father Francis. christens her wild-worst Best. The treasure never eyesight got. But he scores it in scarlet himself on his own bespoken. And they the prey of the gales. his Lovescape crucified And seal of his seraph-arrival! and these thy daughters Á Á And five-lived and leaved favour and pride. Is it love in her of the being as her lover had been? Breathe. 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. 23 Joy fall to thee. I was at rest. 205 With belled fire and the moth-soft Milky Way. signal. cinquefoil token For lettering of the lamb's fleece. to the breaker. or night. to the throng that catches and quails Was calling `O Christ. still higher. Á Before-time-taken.
The Wreck of the Deutschland 159 Time's tasking. the only one. the breast of the Maiden could obey so. in his triumph. . but a blown beacon of light. O of a feathery delicacy. 28 But how shall I . . I gather. lord it with living and dead. Not danger. that heard and kept thee and uttered thee outright. birth of a brain. maid's son. make me room there: Reach me a . in measure her mind's Á Burden. . Á For so conceived. Jesu. Fancy. 30 Jesu. electrical horror. There then! the Master. . and Startle the poor sheep back! is the shipwrack then a harvest. she has thee for the pain. What was the feast followed the night Thou hadst glory of this nun? ± Feast of the one woman without stain. but pity of the rest of them! Heart. Do.Gerard Manley Hopkins. Let him ride. . Head: He was to cure the extremity where he had cast her. . despatch and have done with his doom there. Word. for the Patience. so to conceive thee is done. Wording it how but by him that present and past. heart's light. Christ. come faster ± Strike you the sight of it? look at it loom there. Ipse. does tempest carry the grain for thee? . Heaven and earth are word of. worded by? ± The Simon Peter of a soul! to the blast È Tarpeõan-fast. ring of it. in wind's burly and beat of endragoned seas. deal. 215 220 225 230 235 240 31 Well. it is fathers that asking for ease Of the sodden-with-its-sorrowing heart. her pride. But here was heart-throe. then further it finds The appealing of the Passion is tenderer in prayer apart: Other. Thing that she . 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. 29 Ah! there was a heart right! There was single eye! Read the unshapeable shock night And knew the who and the why. be a bell to.
like shining from shook foil. but royally reclaiming his own. rare-dear Britain. for the lingerer with a love glides Lower than death and the dark. 260 A vein for the visiting of the past-prayer. The Christ of the Father compassionate. The heaven-flung. be a crimson-cresseted east. throned behind Death with a sovereignty that heeds but hides. 35 Dame. and granite of it: past all Grasp God. The recurb and the recovery of the gulf's sides. 275 280 God's Grandeur The world is charged with the grandeur of God. pent in prison. Á Mid-numbered he in three of the thunder-throne! Not a dooms-day dazzle in his coming nor dark as he came. Our hearts' charity's hearth's fire. quenching ocean of a motionable mind. master of the tides. new born to the world. an ark For the listener. 270 Kind. More brightening her. be a dayspring to the dimness of us. upon English souls! Let him easter in us. at our door Drowned. prince. of the year's fall. The girth of it and the wharf of it and the wall. 250 255 33 With a mercy that outrides The all of water. God's Grandeur 32 I admire thee. heart-fleshed. 34 Now burn. A released shower. let flash to the shire. Pride. The-last-breath penitent spirits ± the uttermost mark Á Our passion-plunged giant risen. Ground of being. Of the Yore-flood. our thoughts' chivalry's throng's Lord. Oh. high-priest. bodes but abides. fetched in the storm of his strides. not a lightning of fire hard-hurled. hero of us. maiden-furled Miracle-in-Mary-of-flame. and among our shoals. the heaven-haven of the reward: Our King back. as his reign rolls. . Remember us in the roads. 265 Á Double-natured name. Stanching. rose.160 Gerard Manley Hopkins. It will flame out.
fallow. pride. And for all this. have trod. oh. For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim. being shod. the mastery of the thing! Brute beauty and valour and act. here Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then. and striding High there. All things counter. springs ± Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings. smeared with toil. O my chevalier! Â Â No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine. 5 10 Pied Beauty Glory be to God for dappled things ± For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow. a billion Times told lovelier. have trod. nor can foot feel. And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil Is bare now. dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon. and blue-bleak embers. at the brown brink eastward. Â Â And all trades. their gear and tackle and trim. off forth on swing. Landscape plotted and pieced ± fold. Why do men then now not reck his rod? Generations have trod. air. nature is never spent. And all is seared with trade. morning. bleared. strange. My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird. gall themselves. Pied Beauty 161 It gathers to a greatness. freckled (who knows how?) 5 . kingdom of daylight's dauphin. and gash gold-vermilion. Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls. spare. ± the achieve of. original. how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off. more dangerous. There lives the dearest freshness deep down things. and plough. And though the last lights off the black West went Oh.Gerard Manley Hopkins. plume. As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding Rebuffed the big wind. in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air. ah my dear. Whatever is fickle. 5 10 The Windhover To Christ our Lord I caught this morning morning's minion. Fall. like the ooze of oil Crushed. finches' wings.
till time when reason rambled in it and some Fatal four disorders. When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. That. Sweet especial rural scene. dim. 10 Binsey Poplars Felled 1879 My aspens dear. big-boned and hardy-handsome Pining. Rural scene. her being so slender. Ah well. whose airy cages quelled. Binsey Poplars With swift. since I had our sweet reprieve and ransom Tendered to him. adazzle. pining. Ten or twelve. Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun. sour. he cursed at first. 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. even where we mean To mend her we end her. not one That dandled a sandalled Shadow that swam or sank On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank. fleshed there. though a heavenlier heart began some Months earlier. felled. O is he dead then? my duty all ended.162 Gerard Manley Hopkins. Who have watched his mould of man. He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. slow. all contended? Sickness broke him. only ten or twelve Â Strokes of havoc unselve The sweet especial scene. Impatient. Where we. All felled. sweet. are all felled. like this sleek and seeing ball But a prick will make no eye at all. a rural scene. but mended Being anointed and all. 5 10 15 20 Felix Randal Felix Randal the farrier. God rest him all road ever he offended! 5 .
Our tale. and lovely in eyes not his To the Father through the features of men's faces. When thou at the random grim forge. Thy tears that touched my heart. all thy more boisterous years. black. Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west. her dapple is at end. | self Ân self steeped and pashed õ Â ± quite Â Â Â Disremembering. myself it speaks and spells. you round me right Â Â Âur Â Â Â With: Our evening is over us. Crying What I do is me: for that I came. | stars principal. hearse-of-all night.Gerard Manley Hopkins. earthless. stupendous Â Â Evening strains to be tõme's vast. dõsmembering | all now. all on two spools. earlstars. Heart. . Â Â Â Â Â Ever so black on it. whelms. Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells. | womb-of-all. Â pack . powerful amidst peers. her earliest stars. O our oracle! | Let life. child. My tongue had taught thee comfort. Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 This seeing the sick endears them to us. 5 10 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves Earnest. touch had quenched thy tears. For Christ plays in ten thousand places. Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is ± Â Chrõst. . each hung bell's Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name. part. overbend us. us too it endears. Selves ± goes itself. all through her. attuneable. voluminous. | vaulty. Didst fettle for the great grey drayhorse his bright and battering sandal! 10 `As Kingfishers Catch Fire' As kingfishers catch fire. As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring. ah let life wind 10 Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Off her once skeined stained veined varõety | upon. waned. Â Â Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces. Lovely in limbs. dragonflies draw flame. How far from then forethought of. pen. Â I say more: the just man justices. Only the beakleaved boughs dragonish | damask the tool-smooth bleak light. For earth | her being has unbound. . and will end us. | her wild hollow hoarlight hung to the height Â Waste. Â Â Fõre-featuring heaven. home-of-all. in throngs. Felix. like each tucked string tells. o night | whelms. as5 Á Â tray or aswarm. poor Felix Randal. equal.
reck but. life upon thy cause. so what I plead is just. than thou dost Defeat. white. no. two folds ± black. õ `Thou art indeed just. Lord' Justus quidem tu es. each off the other. of a rack Â Â Where. `Thou art indeed just. See. mind Â Â Â Â Â Ât But these two. birds build ± but not I build. and fresh wind shakes Them. si disputem tecum.164 Gerard Manley Hopkins. 5 10 . ware of a world where bu these | two tell. but. the sots and thralls of lust Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend. and not breed one work that wakes. Lord. O thou my friend. wrong. Mine. look. Time's eunuch. banks and brakes Á Á Now. but strain. send my roots rain. sheathe-and shelterless. leaved how thick! laced they are again With fretty chervil. | thoughts agaõnst Â thoughts Ân groans grõnd. thwart me? Oh. if I contend With thee. reckon but. | right. sir. verumtamen justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c. selfstrung. Sir. Domine. How wouldst thou worse. Lord' Â Â Â Now her all in two flocks. Why do sinners' ways prosper? and why must Disappointment all I endeavour end? Wert thou my enemy. Thou art indeed just. selfwrung. O thou lord of life. I wonder.
To fields that bred them brave. We pledge in peace by farm and town The Queen they served in war. Lads. And fire the beacons up and down The land they perished for. look right. Look left. It dawns in Asia. Now. E. The dales are light between. From north and south the sign returns And beacons burn again. And the Nile spills his overflow Beside the Severn's dead. The saviours come not home to-night: Themselves they could not save. Because 'tis fifty years tonight That God has saved the Queen. To skies that knit their heartstrings right. And with the rest your voices ring. Lads of the Fifty-third. we'll remember friends of ours Who shared the work with God.A. tombstones show And Shropshire names are read. The shires have seen it plain. `God save the Queen' we living sing. 25 5 10 15 20 . when the flame they watch not towers About the soil they trod. From height to height 'tis heard. the hills are bright. Housman (1859±1936) From: A Shropshire Lad I 1887 From Clee to heaven the beacon burns.
And God will save the Queen. Housman. the empty highways crying `Who'll beyond the hills away?' Towns and countries woo together. Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters. And the ship of sunrise burning Strands upon the eastern rims. From: A Shropshire Lad Oh. Hark. E. of my threescore years and ten. IV Reveille Wake: the silver dusk returning Up the beach of darkness brims. up. lad. belfries call. About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow. 'tis late for lying: Hear the drums of morning play. And the tent of night in tatters Straws the sky-pavilioned land. Morns abed and daylight slumber Were not meant for man alive. Now. Up. Twenty will not come again. Get you the sons your fathers got. And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide.166 A. Up. lad: thews that lie and cumber Sunlit pallets never thrive. Forelands beacon. Never lad that trod on leather Lived to feast his heart with all. 5 5 30 10 10 15 20 . And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room. Trampled to the floor it spanned. And take from seventy springs a score. God will save her. II Loveliest of trees. the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough. fear you not: Be you the men you've been. It only leaves me fifty more.
And the bridegroom all night through Never turns him to the bride. The nettle nods. lad: when the journey's over There'll be time enough to sleep. In the nation that is not Nothing stands that stood before. XII When I watch the living meet. And the hater hates no more. XVI It nods and curtseys and recovers When the wind blows above. the lover That hanged himself for love. the road all runners come. Let me mind the house of dust Where my sojourn shall be long. Shoulder-high we bring you home. 5 5 5 10 15 . The nettle on the graves of lovers That hanged themselves for love. Townsman of a stiller town. If the heats of hate and lust In the house of flesh are strong. the wind blows over. Breath's a ware that will not keep. XIX To an Athlete Dying Young The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the marketplace. And home we brought you shoulder-high. E. The man. but blood's a rover. And the moving pageant file Warm and breathing through the street Where I lodge a little while.A. Housman. From: A Shropshire Lad 167 Clay lies still. The lover of the grave. Man and boy stood cheering by. Today. And set you at your threshold down. Lovers lying two and two Ask not whom they sleep beside. There revenges are forgot. he does not move. Up.
the horses trample. Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut. Now I stand up no more?' Ay. And has she tired of weeping As she lies down at eve?' Ay. to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose. the ball is flying. The goal stands up. The harness jingles now. `Is football playing Along the river shore. Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. She lies not down to weep: 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . With lads to chase the leather. The fleet foot on the sill of shade. The lads play heart and soul. And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup. the keeper Stands up to keep the goal. From: A Shropshire Lad Smart lad. she lies down lightly. No change though you lie under The land you used to plough. 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. That I was used to drive And hear the harness jingle When I was man alive?' Ay. before its echoes fade. E. XXVII `Is my team ploughing. `Is my girl happy.168 A. That I thought hard to leave. Housman. So set.
More than I. Then. E.A. Never ask me whose. And has he found to sleep in A better bed than mine?' Yes. it plies the saplings double. `Is my friend hearty. And through their reins in ice and fire Fear contended with desire. The gale. they were there. Housman. 'twas before my time. His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves. And fire and ice within me fight Beneath the suffocating night. and sleep. XXXI On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble. Have stood and sweated hot and cold. The thoughts that hurt him. lad. if truth were told. But then it threshed another wood. my lad. From: A Shropshire Lad 169 Your girl is well contented. I lie as lads would choose. XXX Others. But I like them shall win my way Lastly to the bed of mould Where there's neither heat nor cold. I lie easy. 'tis nothing new. 'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger When Uricon the city stood: 'Tis the old wind in the old anger. the Roman At yonder heaving hill would stare: The blood that warms an English yeoman. 5 5 25 30 10 15 10 . Now I am thin and pine. I cheer a dead man's sweetheart. Agued once like me were they. Be still. And thick on Severn snow the leaves. But from my grave across my brow Plays no wind of healing now. Have willed more mischief than they durst: If in the breathless night I too Shiver now. I am not the first.
From: A Shropshire Lad There. Souls undone. like the wind through woods in riot. Housman. The tree of man was never quiet: Then 'twas the Roman. Oh you had forethought. now 'tis I. And saw your road and where it led. 'Twas best to take it to the grave. 'twill soon be gone: Today the Roman and his trouble Are ashes under Uricon. XL Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills. The soul that should not have been born. I see it shining plain. It blows so hard. that was brave: Yours was not an ill for mending. You shot dead the household traitor. What spires. so clean an ending? Oh that was right. Oh soon. what farms are those? That is the land of lost content. XLIV Shot? so quick. Right you guessed the rising morrow And scorned to tread the mire you must: Dust's your wages. E. undoing others. you could reason. Through him the gale of life blew high. You would not live to wrong your brothers: Oh lad. son of sorrow. ± Long time since the tale began. and better so than later After long disgrace and scorn. lad. The happy highways where I went And cannot come again. you died as fits a man. it plies the saplings double. Now to your grave shall friend and stranger With ruth and some with envy come: 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 . And early wise and brave in season Put the pistol to your head.170 A. But men may come to worse than dust. The gale.
A. Clean of guilt. 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. and I muse for why and never find the reason. Think rather. it is but for a reason: Let us endure an hour and see injustice done. and feel the sun. tears fell down. in days ere I was born. XLVIII Be still. whose flower is blue A single season. But wear it and it will not fade. and drink the air. my soul. Now. No cypress. never two. man. Snap not from the bitter yew His leaves that live December through. The days when we had rest. bright with rime And sparkling to the cruel clime. E. if now you grieve a little. Turn safe to rest. ± Oh. bring from hill and stream and plain Whatever will not flower again. be still. no waking. Be still. And here. O soul. Housman. here's the wreath I've made: 'Tis not a gift that's worth the taking. I did not mourn. Or if one haulm whose year is o'er Shivers on the upland frore. I pace the earth. the arms you bear are brittle. Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and foundedstrong. ± call to thought. but lightless in the quarry I slept and saw not. my soul. be still. in this timeless grave to throw. From: A Shropshire Lad 171 Undishonoured. sombre on the snow. 5 25 5 10 15 20 10 . To give him comfort: he and those Shall bide eternal bedfellows Where low upon the couch he lies Whence he never shall arise. pass hence and home. Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry: Then it was well with me. But if the Christmas field has kept Awns the last gleaner overstept. clear of danger. Or shrivelled flax. no dreams. XLVI Bring. Break no rosemary. Men loved unkindness then. for they were long.
And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders.172 A. man. good Lord. But oh. Ale. E. And leave your friends and go. LXII `Terence. Oh I have been to Ludlow fair And left my necktie God knows where. if 'tis dancing you would be. 5 15 5 10 15 20 25 30 . There can't be much amiss. All thoughts to rive the heart are here. Oh never fear. To see the rate you drink your beer. And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. the verse you make. The cow. lad. There's brisker pipes than poetry. Say. pipe a tune to dance to. From: A Shropshire Lad Ay. man. It gives a chap the belly-ache. the horned head: We poor lads. 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. for what were hop-yards meant. lift your pack. 'tis our turn now To hear such tunes as killed the cow.' Why. It sleeps well. she is dead. Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time Moping melancholy mad: Come. look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation. 'tis pleasant till 'tis past: The mischief is that 'twill not last. 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. Look not left nor right: In all the endless road you tread There's nothing but the night. this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough. Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse. And faith. nought's to dread. Housman. 'tis clear. the old cow.
And train for ill and not for good. Housman. Mithridates. I'd face it as a wise man would.A. the tale was all a lie. And nothing now remained to do But begin the game anew. And down in lovely muck I've lain. They get their fill before they think With poisoned meat and poisoned drink. Therefore. Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer: Then the world seemed none so bad. my things were wet. There was a king reigned in the East: There. But take it: if the smack is sour. Sate the king when healths went round. since the world has still Much good. The world. Then I saw the morning sky: Heigho. thence to more. And easy. Happy till I woke again. He gathered all that springs to birth From the many-venomed earth. they stared as white's their shirt: Them it was their poison hurt. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 . And while the sun and moon endure Luck's a chance. smiling. The better for the embittered hour. but much less good than ill. if I may. or near. it was the old world yet. ± I tell the tale that I heard told. 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. First a little. when kings will sit to feast. I was I. seasoned sound. E. They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat. but trouble's sure. They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up: They shook. He sampled all her killing store. And I will friend you. 'Tis true. In the dark and cloudy day. From: A Shropshire Lad 173 And carried half way home. It should do good to heart and head When your soul is in my soul's stead. And I myself a sterling lad. he died old.
For nature. The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing In leafy dells alone. On acres of the seeded grasses The changing burnish heaves. E. The countries I resign. Nor ask amid the dews of morning If they are mine or no. heartless.174 A. witless nature. Where over elmy plains the highway Would mount the hills and shine. And traveller's joy beguiles in autumn Hearts that have lost their own. it needs not saying. as I possessed a season. Or beeches strip in storms for winter And stain the wind with leaves. Possess. And full of shade the pillared forest Would murmur and be mine. Or marshalled under moons of harvest Stand still all night the sheaves. The pine lets fall its cone. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Will neither care nor know What stranger's feet may find the meadow And trespass there and go. by waters idle. From: Last Poems From: Last Poems XL Tell me not here. What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays. Housman. On russet floors. For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways.
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star. There we've hid our faery vats. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. And of reddest stolen cherries. To and fro we leap And chase the forthy bubbles. While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Come away. Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries.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. Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight. Come away. hand in hand. hand in hand. We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night. Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light. Weaving olden dances. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery.
Lives on this lonely face. Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. But I was young and foolish. 5 10 . hand in hand. We and the labouring world are passing by: Amid men's souls. Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams. She bid me take life easy. 35 40 45 50 Down by the Salley Gardens Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet. the human child. Down by the Salley Gardens Give them unquiet dreams. hand in hand. And Usna's children died. and now am full of tears. Away with us he's going. 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. with her would not agree. with all their mournful pride. She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.176 William Butler Yeats. as the grass grows on the weirs. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. To the waters and the wild With a faery. In a field by the river my love and I did stand. Come away. But I. being young and foolish. She bid me take love easy. that waver and give place Like the pale waters in their wintry race. as the leaves grow on the tree. And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. For he comes. 5 The Rose of the World Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips. Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam. Under the passing stars. foam of the sky. Mournful that no new wonder may betide.
Murmur. or on the pavements grey. 5 10 When You Are Old When you are old and grey and full of sleep. . or any hearts to beat. a little sadly. And evening full of the linnet's wings. But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you. And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And slowly read. and go to Innisfree. 5 10 Who Goes with Fergus? Who will go drive with Fergus now. Who Goes with Fergus? 177 Bow down. And I shall have some peace there. and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once. And pierce the deep wood's woven shade. in your dim abode: Before you were. There midnight's all a glimmer. He made the world to be a grassy road Before her wandering feet.William Butler Yeats. of clay and wattles made: Nine bean rows will I have there. 15 The Lake Isle of Innisfree I will arise and go now. And nodding by the fire. for peace comes dropping slow. And loved the sorrows of your changing face. for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore. take down this book. Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings. And bending down beside the glowing bars. a hive for the honey bee. archangels. And a small cabin build there. And loved your beauty with love false or true. lift up your russet brow. I hear it in the deep heart's core. While I stand on the roadway. and noon a purple glow. And dance upon the level shore? Young man. and of their shadows deep. I will arise and go now. How many loved your moments of glad grace. how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. Weary and kind one lingered by His seat.
Ere Time transfigured me. For Fergus rules the brazen cars. maid. And moth-like stars were flickering out.178 William Butler Yeats. And brood on hopes and fear no more. There's not a woman turns her face Upon a broken tree. But something rustled on the floor. Though lads are making pikes again For some conspiracy. I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. And when white moths were on the wing. Because a fire was in my head. The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner And lift your tender eyelids. And rules the shadows of the wood. My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics. I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me. And hooked a berry to a thread. My contemplations are of Time That has transfigured me. And cut and peeled a hazel wand. 5 10 15 The Song of Wandering Aengus I went out to the hazel wood. And crazy rascals rage their fill At human tyranny. 5 10 . And yet the beauties that I loved Are in my memory. And the white breast of the dim sea And all dishevelled wandering stars. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame. And no more turn aside and brood Upon love's bitter mystery. 5 10 The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner Although I shelter from the rain Under a broken tree.
your close friend. I will find out where she has gone. And kiss her lips and take her hands. 5 Adam's Curse We sat together at one summer's end.' And thereupon That beautiful mild woman for whose sake 5 10 15 . 15 20 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths. and talked of poetry. I said. I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I. have only my dreams. The golden apples of the sun. Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. 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. I have spread my dreams under your feet. And you and I. schoolmasters. and clergymen The martyrs call the world.William Butler Yeats. For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these. Enwrought with golden and silver light. Better go down upon your marrow-bones And scrub a kitchen pavement. and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers. That beautiful mild woman. And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon. `A line will take us hours maybe. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands. in all kinds of weather. The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light. being poor. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought. And walk among long dappled grass. or break stones Like an old pauper.
I had a thought for no one's but your ears: That you were beautiful. `To be born woman is to know ± Although they do not talk of it at school ± That we must labour to be beautiful.' We sat grown quiet at the name of love. `It's certain there is no fine thing Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring. the daughter of Houlihan. But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet Of Cathleen. 5 10 15 . But purer than a tall candle before the Holy Rood Is Cathleen. But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes Of Cathleen. and that I strove To love you in the old high way of love.' I said. 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. Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies. And in the trembling blue-green of the sky A moon. And thrown the thunder on the stones for all that Maeve can say. Yet now it seems an idle trade enough. 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. Angers that are like noisy clouds have set our hearts abeat. For the wet winds are blowing out of the clinging air. We saw the last embers of daylight die. Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand. Like heavy flooded waters our bodies and our blood. 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. The yellow pool has overflowed high up on Clooth-na-Bare. 20 25 30 35 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland The old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. That it had all seemed happy. and yet we'd grown As weary-hearted as that hollow moon. the daughter of Houlihan. The wind has bundled up the clouds high over Knocknarea. the daughter of Houlihan.180 William Butler Yeats.
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. The' 125 Blessed Damozel.Index of Titles and First Lines Adam's Curse 179 `Ah. | vaulty. my soul. voluminous. Break 31 `Bring. The 69 `blessed Damozel leaned out. Break. earthless. walk with me' 106 Crossing the Bar 61 Darkling Thrush. The 55 Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came 85 `Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee!' `Come. The 125 Body's Beauty 132 Break. in this timeless grave to throw' 171 Broken Appointment. be still. stupendous' 163 Felix Randal 162 `First time he kissed me. 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. attuneable. thou hast brought me many flowers' 7 Binsey Poplars 162 Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church. A 151 `But do not let us quarrel any more' 91 Charge of the Light Brigade. . . the arms you bear are brittle' 171 `Beloved. . with sweet smart' 134 Aurora Leigh 8 Autumn Idleness 131 `Be still. he but only kissed' 7 . equal.
Rochelle 109 `Just for a handful of silver he left us' Kiss. ± let the first fruit be' 132 `I went out to the hazel wood' 178 `I will arise and go now. H. pluck not. from the hill' 119 Goblin Market 135 God's Grandeur 160 Grammarian's Funeral. A 98 `grey sea and the long black land. from Abroad 68 House of Life: A Sonnet-Sequence. H. half a league' 55 `Here is the ancient floor' 152 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven 179 Hoarded Joy 132 Home-Thoughts. The 128 `How do I love thee? Let me count the ways' 7 `How still. for they call you. how happy! those are words' 104 `I am poor brother Lippo. Shepherd. 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. The 149 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury 150 In Memoriam A. G. my heart's abhorrence!' 65 `Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths' 179 `Half a league. The' 72 `GR-R-R ± there go. The 128 Lady of Shalott. and A. The 178 `Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife' `Let us begin and carry up this corpse' 98 64 6 . and go to Innisfree' 177 `I wonder do you feel today' 97 Impercipient. The 19 Lake Isle of Innisfree. 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.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. The 177 Lamentation of the Old Pensioner.
The' `On either side the river lie' 19 `On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble' 169 One Hope. The' 67 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 180 `Remember me when I am gone away' 135 Remember 135 Remembrance 108 133 180 . I am not the first' 169 Parting at Morning 72 Pied Beauty 161 Porphyria's Lover 67 Princess. where art thou now?' 104 `Of Adam's first wife. Lilith. this is very sad to find!' 83 `Oh. my name is Might-have-been' Lost Leader. to be in England' 68 `old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. The' 103 `No coward soul is mine' 113 `Now hollow fires burn out to black' 172 Nuptial Sleep 134 `O Dream. 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. The 31 Prisoner. The 133 `Others.Index of Titles and First Lines 183 `Long neglect has worn away' 103 `Look in my face. The 109 `rain set early in tonight. The 64 Love Among the Ruins 72 Love-Letter. 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. Baldassaro. whose airy cages quelled' 162 `My first thought was. The 129 `Loveliest of trees. it is told' 132 `Of writing many books there is no end' 8 `Oh Galuppi.
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. saith the preacher. A 83 Two in the Campagna 97 Ulysses 23 `Under the arch of Life. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love' 130 `Tears. Lord 164 `Thou lovely and beloved. 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 152 `Shot? so quick. 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. The 176 `Round the cape of a sudden came the sea' 72 `Say not the struggle naught availeth' 114 Scholar-Gipsy. so clean an ending?' 170 Shropshire Lad. thou my love' 130 `Thou mastering me' 153 `time you won your town the race. vanity!' `Wake: the silver dusk returning' 69 166 131 . The 175 `Strong Son of God. where love and death' `Vanity. A 133 Supreme Surrender 129 `Sweet Love. it needs not saying' 174 `Terence.184 Index of Titles and First Lines Reveille 166 Rose of the World. immortal Love' 33 `Sunset and evening star' 61 Superscription. The 178 Sonnets from the Portuguese 6 Soul's Beauty 131 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 Stolen Child. idle tears. I know not what they mean' 31 `Tell me not here. The 118 `sea is calm tonight. The' 117 Self-Dependence 116 Self-Unseeing.
The 161 `With blackest moss the flower-plots' 17 Without Her 130 `world is charged with the grandeur of God.Index of Titles and First Lines 185 `Warmed by her hand and shadowed by her hair' 129 `We sat together at one summer's end' 179 `We stood by a pond that winter day' 148 `Weary of myself. what showers of spring' 103 `When I look forth at dawning. The' 160 Wreck of the Deutschland. 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. ± though unrevealed snow' 132 `What smouldering senses in death's sick delay' 128 `What winter floods. The' 150 `Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd' 116 `You did not come' 151 1887 165 . 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.
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