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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 .
edited by Valentine Cunningham. except as permitted by the UK Copyright. English poetry—19th century. Series PR1223 .© 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd Editorial matter. : alk.blackwellpublishing. Carlton. No part of this publication may be reproduced. For further information on Blackwell Publishing. Victoria 3053. paper)—ISBN 0‐631‐23076‐9 (pbk. I. in any form or by any means. : alk. selection and arrangement © 2002 by Duncan Wu and Valentine Cunningham BLACKWELL PUBLISHING 350 Main Street. paper)—ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23076‐2 (pbk. cm. Duncan. Set in 8/10 pt Galliard by Kolam Information Services Pvt. electronic. recording or otherwise. ISBN 0‐631‐23075‐0 (alk. 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. First published 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd 4 2007 Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data Victorian poetry / edited by Duncan Wu. III. paper) 1. and which has been manufactured from pulp processed using acid‐free and elementary chlorine‐free practices. paper) A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. UK 550 Swanston Street. MA 02148‐5020. and Patents Act 1988. Ltd. p. stored in a retrieval system. Wu. the publisher ensures that the text paper and cover board used have met acceptable environmental accreditation standards. Oxford OX4 2DQ.” Includes bibliographical references and index. without the prior permission of the publisher. II. visit our website: www.com .808—dc21 2002020878 ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23075‐5 (alk. Furthermore. Designs. Victorians.V53 2002 821’. Malden. USA 9600 Garsington Road. Pondicherry. or transmitted. — (Blackwell essential literature) “Based on The Victorians: an anthology of poetry and poetics. photocopying. mechanical. Australia All rights reserved.
Break. 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 . The Charge of the Light Brigade From Maud I (`I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood') XXII (`Come into the garden. Break' From The Princess. 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. H. H. 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. and A. how happy! those are words' `Mild the mist upon the hill' `Come. walk with me' To Imagination Remembrance (`R. Alcona to J.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. G. where art thou now?' `How still. 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 . Brenzaida') Julian M.
Lord' 153 160 161 161 162 162 163 163 164 .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. 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.
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.
those of the Essential Literature series are authoritative selection.Series Editor's Preface The Blackwell Essential Literature series offers readers the chance to possess authoritative texts of key poems (and in one case drama) across the standard periods and movements. compactness and ease of use. In selecting the contents of each volume particular attention has been given to major writers whose works are widely taught at most schools and universities. Together. Based on correspondent volumes in the Blackwell Anthologies series. Duncan Wu St Catherine's College. 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. They will be particularly helpful to students hard-pressed for time. who need a digest of the poetry of each historical period. these volumes comprise a crucial resource for anyone who reads or studies poetry. most of these volumes run to no more than 200 pages. Oxford .
death. poetry. Lewis Carroll. the poetry of women poets such as Caroline Norton. Ebenezer Elliot and William Barnes. soup. xxxv. including complete texts of `Fra Lippo Lippi'. Arthur Hugh Clough. E. which reflect the catholicity of interest within the period. dead dogs. introduction. sado-masochism. booze. Grimm's Law. Gerard Manley Hopkins. going to the dentist. It distills into a smaller space some of the most influential poetry of the period by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. New Women. Valentine Cunningham's invaluable The Victorians ranges from the late works of Wordsworth and Leigh Hunt at one end of the century to Yeats. a cabbage leaf. as they are the major poets of the age. George Meredith. The diversity is highlighted by Professor Cunningham in his introduction: So here are poems about cod-liver oil. poems. Thomas Hardy. Matthew Arnold.Introduction Duncan Wu Recent anthologies of Victorian poetry and prose have provided readers with a remarkably diverse and wide-ranging body of work. . should they desire even more. There are few better examples of the Victorian preoccupation with death and its aftermath. snow. to name a few. other anthologies of Victorian writing. `The Prisoner'. p. The Victorians: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. Rossetti.1 For range readers will require The Victorians ± and. Jemima Luke. Psychical Research. soap. No less than the queen remarked to Tennyson that. Tennyson and Browning predominate. Robert Browning. William Morris. including anonymous street ballads. war. What this selection lacks in range it makes up for in depth. onions. Henley. weather in the suburbs. leeks. `Goblin Market' and `The Wreck of the Deutschland'. faith. as well as rural writers like John Clare. In between he offers a rich selection of verse. Eliza Cook and Dora Greenwell. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. fairies. Fanny Kemble. Emily (Jane) Bronte. Alfred È (Lord) Tennyson. love. It is on the one hand an intensely private poem about one man's 1 Valentine Cunningham. cricket players. science. `Next to the Bible. chairs. pain. paintings. poverty. omnibuses. Housman and Kipling at the other. `Dover Beach'. Christina G. tobacco. 2000). This volume aims to do something different. Missing Links. God. `The Blessed Damozel'. W. Pressure of space necessarily denies admission to many of those anthologized by Professor Cunningham ± James Thomson. E. genitalia. Housman and William Butler Yeats. railway lines and railway trains. `The Scholar-Gipsy'. doubt. 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. A. Robert Louis Stevenson. In Memoriam is my comfort'. poets.
1973). As readers of such poetry we are in a privileged position.4 the product of a cosmos lacking a benevolent deity. 3 See in particular In Memoriam lv and lvi.3 The natural world of In Memoriam is not invariably. 4 In Memoriam lvi 15. And when the speaker of `A Toccata of Galuppi's' tells us that he feels `chilly and grown old'. which it is for us to infer. and is found in shorter poems such as `Tears.6 By the time Wordsworth died in 1850 Tennyson was in his early forties and Browning in his late thirties. exemplifying Auden's contention that Tennyson's gift was for expressing feelings of `lonely terror and desire for death'. almost oppressively so ± but it transcends the personal in addressing the anxieties arising from the nineteenth-century confrontation with evolutionary theories Tennyson had encountered in Robert Chambers's Vestiges of Creation and Charles Lyell's Principles of Geology. Tennyson's preoccupation with states of mind looks back to Wordsworth. 289±91. Warwick Slinn helpfully contextualizes In Memoriam in his essay on Victorian poetry in A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture ed. Edward Mendelson (London: Faber. a growing scepticism that was to find fuller expression in the poetry of Hardy and Housman later in the century. the most successful long poem of its day. which concerns the uncontrollable emotions that run deeply in the human heart. 226. Fra Pandolf ± there is something darker at work.5 For his part. was not published until 1850. and not to yield' may not be the sort of sea-captain with whom we should set sail. Herbert Tucker (Oxford: Blackwell. E. H. through the dramatic monologue. Its potential would be further championed in the modern period by Eliot and Pound. is a product of the zeitgeist. Tennyson and Browning exploited the form aware that our knowing so much more than their speakers. In such sonnets as `Surprised by joy' Wordsworth had attempted the same kind of investigation. it doubtless has its faults ± it is relentless in its subjectivity. on a level beyond the verbal. 6 See Robert Bernard Martin. to find. The Ulysses who in Tennyson's poem declares his desire `To strive. 1983). `red in tooth and claw'. 5 The Prelude. to seek.2 The fruit of nearly 17 years' labour. idle tears'. Wordsworth's most extensive examination of psychological process. in common with that of Tennyson. 7 See for instance Pound's `Piere Vidal Old' and Eliot's `Prufrock'. rather. besides much else. and on the other a work that speaks of the innermost anxieties of the age. and welcomed an acquaintance with their author. pp. 1999). 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. Wordsworth possessed a copy of Tennyson's important 1842 Poems. 311±13. p. Forewords and Afterwords ed. the divinely appointed one of Wordsworth. was to develop a new kind of psychological poetry ± one that explored the human mind from within. In this sense In Memoriam. Browning's major contribution. 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. Tennyson: The Unquiet Heart (London: Faber. the same year as In Memoriam. therefore. pp. it can be. comprehending moral failings with a clarity not always vouchsafed in life. something rather important has happened. Auden.2 Introduction grief for another. The influence of the Romantics was felt throughout the century. but their reign had ended: Tennyson and Browning were remaking the art.7 2 W. was the key to a new poetic. .
The extract from the First Book. This is particularly evident in such lyrics as `No coward soul is mine' and `Cold in the earth'. 2nd edn. Romanticism: An Anthology. È Emily Bronte is best known as the author of Wuthering Heights (1847). 9 Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology ed. sometimes approaching the subject of romantic passion. they are not `from the Portuguese' at all. and are often considered as poets of doubt. but the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. engaging blank verse that in large measure accounts for the resurgence of this work's popularity in recent years. suffering and fortitude. perhaps Arnold's greatest work. Elizabeth Barrett. 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. 1995). She began her creative life as a Romantic poet ± publishing poems in national newspapers during the 1820s. she set out to challenge more directly the gender discrimination of the day in an effort to formulate a feminist poetic. like most movements. Taking its lead (and diction) from Keats. and this often meant introducing `real' people into the work. G. begins this process with a kind of self-portrait written in a reflective. Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton (Oxford: Blackwell. moving easily from that of poet-lover to that of beloved. working directly from the natural object in situ. formed in 1848. 9±17). In Aurora Leigh (1856). `Julian M. Clough and Arnold knew each other from Oxford days. The emotional charge of the poetry is intense and often extreme. The pretence of translation sets up a bluff that allows Barrett Browning to explore her theme without anxiety. and reproducing in See for instance `Stanzas on the Death of Lord Byron'. particularly `That there are powers above us I admit'. quite directly ± `active sexual demands and dangers'. Where their subject was biblical or historical.9 That freedom also licenses her to experiment with different roles. was. 2000). 1108±9. In that context their aim was to introduce the qualities of Italian medieval painting. they were less coherent and unified than they would have liked. it contrasts the `sick hurry' of the world with the comparative calm of the landscape. in which he seeks for hope in a `Sea of Faith'. they wanted realism. Clough's agnosticism comes into sharp focus in the two poems presented here. but less so as the author of some of the most compelling poetry of the period. at the centre of which is a moment. Rochelle' (known in other versions as `The Prisoner') is a different kind of poem. her subjects are love. The Victorians were not in themselves a movement. an experimental (and partly autobiographical) verse-novel that describes the integration of love and work. only to turn to human love when faced by a world `Where ignorant armies clash by night'. which allows us to consider È Bronte as a mystic writer. hatred. using the colours of nature as they were. Of course. any more than the Romantics. they are original poems that are in some sense autobiographical.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. `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. 8 . as experienced by women. has long been the subject of myth. In fact. ed. below (see pp. and it is easiest to think of the group as one of visual artists.Introduction 3 Browning's wife. Duncan Wu (Oxford: Blackwell. p. 65. pp. Rochelle's vision shortly prior to expected death. and to choose subjects from contemporary life. and A. This is evident from `Dover Beach'.
Tom Paulin has noted how in `Neutral Tones' the poem culminates in a total picture. and one also finds a frequent use of religious language for evocation (rather than its real meanings). as in both `Neutral Tones' and `The Darkling Thrush'. so that in 1995 Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton could confirm her place as `one of the greatest poets of the nineteenth century'. a selfconscious medievalism and a highly developed taste in decoration. . 1975). Hopkins is insistently religious in his understanding: God is the inscape of the created world. which is why it is easy to regard as a product of the twentieth century. There is in all this a deliberation. who is also thought of as a twentieth-century writer. an `involute' or charged combination of emotion and concrete objects. Gerard Manley Hopkins's collected verse appeared only in 1918. Thomas Hardy: The Poetry of Perception (London: Macmillan. p. In fact. his concept of `inscape' referring to the interior perception into the being of the object. where the blessed damozel weeps in frustrated longing to join her lover (rather than God) `is not even remotely Christian'. Those feelings. nearly 30 years after his death. 11 Reynolds and Leighton. p. In Housman nature is `heartless. except that Housman's vision is if anything even more lacking in hope than Hardy's. Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology. As poets. 31. p. which during his subsequent painful experience has become a permanently meaningful impression. published in Satires of Circumstance (1914) and Moments of Vision (1917). The same cannot be said of the poetry of Hardy. 355. In matters of style they sought a simplicity of manner. 1988). his sister Christina is far less preoccupied with appearances. Preoccupations: Selected Prose 1968±1978 (London: Faber. Her poetry is full of depression and denial. Unlike some of the Romantics. In this sense it is not fanciful to consider Hardy and Housman alongside each other. Arthur Pollard (London: Sphere Books. a sensitivity to sensory detail. In mood they cultivated a love of the morbid ± listlessness. 13 Tom Paulin. stripped of the religious significance it possessed for such poets as Hopkins. James Sambrook notes that Rossetti's conception of the afterlife. `The Blessed Damozel' (1850) was intended as a companion piece to Poe's `The Raven' (1845). its `philological and rhetorical passion'12 and concentration on the inner workings of the soul is pre-eminently a product of the nineteenth. and the intense morbidity of her writing finds expression even in the fairy-tale `Goblin Market' (1862). nature is bleak. have in the last two decades given her work an added resonance.4 Introduction minute detail the features of the natural world.11 She is now one of the most widely studied of the Pre-Raphaelites. most of his best poetry was written after 1900. 85. stripped of all the redemptive power with which the Romantics had imbued it. indeed. witless'. The Victorians ed. 12 Seamus Heaney. a self-consciousness which can sometimes produce startlingly good poetry. 438. p. 10 `The Rossettis and Other Contemporary Poets'.13 Not only is there no evidence of religious faith in Hardy's poetry. and capable of blind indifference to human mortality. decay and desolation.10 Dante Gabriel was to make an art out of the decorativeness and elaboration of his verse. 1980). it can be found in Tennyson's `Mariana' and some of the sonnets in Dante Gabriel Rossetti's House of Life sequence. which may have deterred some readers in earlier times. Dante Gabriel and Christina Rossetti looked back to the Coleridge of `Christabel' and the Keats of `Isabella'. The poems included here are among the best of his Victorian period. He is essentially a visionary writer.
W. Except that it doesn't. It underpins the medievalism of Tennyson and the Pre-Raphaelites. uncovering the traces of that `vast generalization' he discerned in the fragmentary portions he assembled. then. I am much indebted to Valentine Cunningham in what follows. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (Ipswich: Golgonooza Press. There have been many fine books about this great writer. the French symbolists. Plotinus.) (2000) The Victorians: An Anthology of Poetry and Poetics (Oxford: Blackwell. Yeats's poetry combines the influences of the Pre-Raphaelites. listed below. 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). This knowledge is none the less exact and verifiable for being immeasurable. the immortal longings with which the 1800s had begun. to trace a course from the sublime hopes of Wordsworth. Raine writes of Yeats's place within a fugitive intellectual tradition of metaphysical and mystic thought. Belief may be questioned. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (1999). . B. (ed. And in no one was it more vigorously evident than in the work of W. and nationalist politics in a heady cocktail unlike anything else. Further Reading Cunningham. can be heard beneath the `tremulous cadence' of the sea in `Dover Beach'. as episodes in the `history of ideas' but because he was tracing a continuous tradition of knowledge. Irish fairy traditionalism. (1957) The Victorian Frame of Mind. Yeats's great poetry. a pantheon that includes Thomas Taylor the Platonist. Herbert F. and the author of the Upanishads: Yeats did not study Plato and Plotinus.) Tucker. p. 1999). was founded on an unquenchable aspiration. but can't be eliminated from the human soul.14 Never less than exalted in his imaginative ambitions. but in truth the Romantic urge to unify and idealize had never really evaporated. B. to the outright desolation of Housman and Hardy. B. 1830±1870 (New Haven.) 14 Kathleen Raine.) Reynolds. for fuller scholarly treatment. 76. but I can't think of a better short guide than Kathleen Raine's W. which would produce its finest fruits in the next century. CT: Yale University Press.Introduction 5 This collection of essential poetry of the nineteenth century would appear. Margaret and Leighton. Walter E. Swedenborg and Blake. and anyone with a serious interest in this poetry should turn to his anthology. the kabbalistic and spiritualist worthies with whom he consorted. `The Lake Isle of Innisfree' seems like an unexpected way to end a century characterized by increasing doubt and despondency. Swedenborg.) Houghton. Yeats. Angela (eds) (1995) Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. Valentine (ed.) (1999) A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture (Oxford: Blackwell. through the scepticism of Clough. its truth lies in experiences and disciplines of the mind itself and in the testimony (unanimous and worldwide) of `revelation'.
from all those years. . Between our faces. of love hid in me out of reach. Nay. . except this to thee. . .Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806±1861) Sonnets from the Portuguese (extracts) XIII And wilt thou have me fashion into speech The love I bear thee. Dearest. the mark of tears. The kiss my mother left here when she died. . . Shut in upon itself and do no harm 5 10 5 10 . . but Love is justified: Take it. And rend the garment of my life. finding pure. As girls do. finding words enough. in brief. Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-shears Would take this first. And hold the torch out. thou. It only may Now shade on two pale cheeks. My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee. me .' My day of youth went yesterday. ± Seeing that I stand unwon. By a most dauntless. Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully I ring out to the full brown length and say `Take it. XVIII I never gave a lock of hair away To a man. to cast light on each! ± I drop it at thy feet. that I should bring thee proof In words. any more. XXIV Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife. Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree. Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief. let the silence of my womanhood Commend my woman-love to thy belief. voiceless fortitude. I cannot teach My hand to hold my spirit so far off From myself . while the winds are rough. however wooed.
Smiles. Than that first kiss. Sonnets from the Portuguese 7 In this close hand of Love. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach. can make us poor. And ever since it grew more clean and white. Life to life ± I lean upon thee. out of man's reach. when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. XXXVIII First time he kissed me. O beyond meed! That was the chrism of love. Against the stab of worldlings who if rife Are weak to injure. if God choose. by sun and candlelight. quick with its `Oh. thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden. The second passed in height The first. Growing straight. I shall but love thee better after death. Dear. and with my childhood's faith. And let us hear no sound of human strife. without alarm. now soft and warm. as men strive for Right. as they turn from Praise. . Very whitely still The lilies of our lives may reassure Their blossoms from their roots! accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer. who made us rich. indeed. did precede. I love thee purely. on the hill. XLIII Beloved. ± I love thee with the breath.' When the angels speak. and half missed. . God only. `My Love. upon my lips. Slow to world-greetings . Half falling on the hair. . . purple state! since when. list. After the click of the shutting. he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write. all the summer through 5 10 5 10 5 10 . A ring of amethyst I could not wear here plainer to my sight. was folded down In perfect. and sought the forehead. of all my life! ± and.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. . I love thee freely. I have been proud and said. which love's own crown. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need. my own. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs. tears.' XLII How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. And feel as safe as guarded by a charm. The third. With sanctifying sweetness.
± cousin and friend. my own dearest cousin and friend. October 17. B. and been generous to me. ± Will write my story for my better self. and preparing once more to quit England. you have believed in me. writing thus. as I used to do Thy flowers. I venture to leave in your hands this book. the last pages of which have been finished under the hospitality of your roof. Ending. and it seemed as if they grew In this close room. from your unforgetting E. 1856 First Book Of writing many books there is no end. which here unfolded too. their roots are left in mine. I have not so far left the coasts of life 5 10 . And wait thy weeding: yet here's eglantine. nor missed the sun and showers. in sight of the public. so you may kindly accept. therefore. Here's ivy! ± take them. through my various efforts in literature and steps in life. in the like name of that love of ours. Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it Long after he has ceased to love you. Indeed. 5 10 From Aurora Leigh Dedication to John Kenyon. Devonshire Place. The words `cousin' and `friend' are constantly recurring in this poem. and affection. will write now for mine. From Aurora Leigh And winter. those beds and bowers Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue. B. I. And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses. in a sense of less equality and greater disinterestedness than `Romney''s. And tell thy soul. Take back these thoughts.8 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. And which on warm and cold days I withdrew From my heart's ground. 39. As when you paint your portrait for a friend. this poor sign of esteem. Esq. just To hold together what he was and is. So. gratitude. the most mature of my works. and keep them where they shall not pine: Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true. borne with me. and the one into which my highest convictions upon Life and Art have entered: that as. am still what men call young. far beyond the common uses of mere relationship or sympathy of mind.
. too young. . [. that I cannot hear That murmur of the outer Infinite Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep When wondered at for smiling. creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past. hush ± here's too much noise!' while her sweet eyes Leap forward. ± where. But still I catch my mother at her post Beside the nursery-door. Stroke out my childish curls across his knee. Piled high. disorganised By sin i' the blood. . with finger up. books! I had found the secret of a garret-room Piled high with cases in my father's name. when she had left us both. by a Longus! poring on Which obscene text. Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon. . stroke it heavily. a prophet's holograph Defiled. victorious joy.] The cygnet finds the water. not so far. Let who says `The soul's a clean white paper. I nibbled here and there At this or that box. . ± The apocalypse. erased and covered by a monk's. be obedient. ± his spirit-insight dulled And crossed by his sensations. pulling through the gap. taking part against her word In the child's riot.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. ± Draw. Books. Still I sit and feel My father's slow hand. O my father's hand Stroke the poor hair down. haste. 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. mark. be reverent. we may discern perhaps Some fair. In heats of terror. Then.' rather say. And feels out blind at first. to sit alone. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . packed large. Presently We feel it quicken in the dark sometimes. but the man Is born in ignorance of his element. press the child's head closer to thy knee! I'm still too young. Some upstroke of an alpha and omega Expressing the old scripture. Sonnets from the Portuguese 9 To travel inland. books. ± For those dumb motions of imperfect life Are oracles of vital Deity Attesting the Hereafter. fine trace of what was written once. A palimpsest. I write . `Hush.
You write so of the poets. sublime. reap. Exaggerators of the sun and moon. ± the measure of a man. and while your common men Build pyramids. when the internal fires Have reached and pricked her heart. the only holders by His sun-skirts. and not laugh? Those virtuous liars. I chanced upon the poets. and. Aurora Leigh. Let go conventions and sprang up surprised. ± or but one through love? Does all this smell of thyme about my feet 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . comparative. . . And how I felt it beat Under my pillow. Ay. And soothsayers in a teacup? I write so Of the only truth-tellers. And temporal truths. The only teachers who instruct mankind. or our senators. Opposed to relative. says The apostle. As the earth Plunges in fury. And that's the measure of an angel. At poetry's divine first finger-touch. throwing flat The marts and temples. To find man's veritable stature out. reign.10 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. This is life. Erect. Is not the imperative labour after all. clears herself To elemental freedom ± thus. look up. `This is soul. And dust the flaunty carpets of the world For kings to walk on. Convicted of the great eternities Before two worlds. the triumphal gates And towers of observation. gauge railroads. my soul. Here's God down on us! what are you about?' How all those workers start amid their work. am I one with you. and feel. in the morning's dark. now left to God. this word is being said in heaven. From just a shadow on a charnel-wall. though a pretty trade. through conventional grey glooms. What's this. That thus I love you. dreamers after dark. That carpet-dusting. An hour before the sun would let me read! My books! At last. The poet suddenly will catch them up With his voice like a thunder . a moment's space. Look round. ± The only speakers of essential truth. dine. From Aurora Leigh The first book first. because the time was ripe. My own best poets.
As a man's voice or breath is called his own. As wind upon the alders. Sonnets from the Portuguese 11 Conclude my visit to your holy hill In personal presence. ± Which means life in life! cognisant of life Beyond this blood-beat. sooth. O delight And triumph of the poet. sheep. And says the word so that it burns you through With a special revelation. O poetry.' A little human hope of that or this. or but testify The rustling of your vesture through my dreams With influent odours? When my joy and pain. my life. ± poetry. And set me in the Olympian roar and round Of luminous faces. My thought and aspiration. when the rhythmic turbulence Of blood and brain swept outward upon words. with both grappling feet still hot From Zeus's thunder. the speaker. Would no sound come? or is the music mine. he expands with joy. The palpitating angel in his flesh Thrills inly with consenting fellowship To those innumerous spirits who sun themselves Outside of time. As if one came back from the dead and spoke. ± My eagle. ± I. Ganymede. myself. My pipers. With eyes too happy.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. are absolutely dumb If not melodious. shakes the heart Of all the men and women in the world. ± passionate for truth Beyond these senses. 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. who has ravished me Away from all the shepherds. and dogs.' a woman's common `no. like the stops Of pipe or flute. you did not blow. Half drunk across the beaker. do you play on me. a familiar thing Become divine i' the utterance! while for him The poet. with their eyes! How those gods look! Enough so. ± who would say A man's mere `yes. for a cup-bearer. We shall not bear above a round or two ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 . To keep the mouths of all the godheads moist For everlasting laughters. O life. blanching them By turning up their under-natures till They trembled in dilation. ± and if.
± and. with other power. And wrote because I lived ± unlicensed else: My heart beat in my brain. We play at leap-frog over the god Term. and your eyelids wink And drop before the wonder of't. and to sign it like a queen. Many fervent souls Strike rhyme on rhyme. So. ± and find ourselves Face-down among the pine-cones. Young men. what mattered? It is so in youth. The thing's too common. While the dogs bark. And so. which my neighbour's field. The work more withers. Which mine. ± though some royal blood Would seem to tingle in me now and then. Howbeit I dare not: 'tis too easy to go mad. We know not if the forests move or we. Is what I dare not. though. those days. if we are loved or love. Being acted on and acting seem the same: In that first onrush of life's chariot-wheels. cowslips: ± the more pains they take. in a flush Of individual life. near all the birds Will sing at dawn. confounded. earliest. through seeing the light. From Aurora Leigh Â We drop the golden cup at Here's foot And swoon back to the earth. Too often sow their wild oats in tame verse. and many a shepherd scoffs. Alas. like most young poets. The love within us and the love without Are mixed. ay. And ape a Bourbon in a crown of straws. Am I such indeed? The name Is royal. Before they sit down under their own vine And live for use. cold with dew. In those days. Life's violent flood Abolished bounds. ± with imposthumes And manias usual to the race. who would strike steel on steel If steel had offered. `What's come now to the youth?' Such ups and downs Have poets. In full front sun-face. in a restless heat Of doing something. All analysis comes late.12 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. As children. You catch a sight of Nature. I never analysed Myself even. We scarce distinguish. I poured myself 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 . With sense of power and ache. you miss The form. Many tender souls Have strung their losses on a rhyming thread. I lived. and maids. ± and yet we do not take The chaffering swallow for the holy lark.
shrill with trumps A babe might blow between two straining cheeks Of bubbled rose. Distilled to a mere drop. And elegiac griefs. Weak for art only. From such white heats! ± bucolics. falling like a tear Upon the world's cold cheek to make it burn For ever. Nor handle. Sonnets from the Portuguese 13 Along the veins of others. And counterfeiting epics. where the cows Would scare the writer if they splashed the mud In lashing off the flies. It may be. But. spoils. and hard to understand. with a morning heart. perhaps. That Pope was sexagenarian at sixteen. What make-believe. With so much earnest! what effete results. a little warped. ± didactics. not young. and achieved Mere lifeless imitations of live verse. We call the Muse . `Touch not. As if still ignorant of counterpoint. now and then. is active for resolve. benignant Muse!' ± As if we had seen her purple-braided head With the eyes in it. to make his mother laugh. ± and still The memory mixes with the vision. Such have not settled long and deep enough In trance. writ On happy mornings. who write young: We beat the phorminx till we hurt our thumbs. Ensphered himself in twenty perfect years. I count it strange. and songs of love. That leaps for love. indeed. `O Muse. do not taste. to attain to clairvoyance. .Elizabeth Barrett Browning. And made the living answer for the dead. the man who never stepped In gradual progress like another man. Profaning nature. Oft. And beardless Byron academical.' ± we're too legal. The worse for being warm: all these things. The wine-skins. And so with others. . as the new wine gurgles in.) by that strong excepted soul. Spare the old bottles! ± spill not the new wine. the ancient forms Will thrill. From virile efforts! what cold wire-drawn odes. By Keats's soul. And works it turbid. in carrying the young blood. start between the boughs As often as a stag's. turning grandly on his central self. Like cast-off nosegays picked up on the road. And died. That nearly all young poets should write old. ± (the life of a long life. driven Against the heels of what the master said. Will crack even. 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 .
sad. Made cool the forehead with fresh-sprinkling dreams. They had not set there. They saw a light at a window now and then. have writ true ones since With less complacence. She could not say I had no business with a sort of soul. `I know there's something wrong. I. The melancholy desert must sweep round. as safe from harm As sings the lark when sucked up out of sight. . Because myself was true in writing them. I know I have not ground you down enough To flatten and bake you to a wholesome crust For household duties and properties. 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 . In order to discover the Muse-Sphinx. `Would she hear my task. like the rest. again. The inner life informed the outer life. and thought them true. Who had set it there? My father's sister started when she caught My soul agaze in my eyes. struck a colour up the cheeks. I was not. Which oozed off from it in meandering lace From hour to hour. In vortices of glory and blue air. Reduced the irregular blood to settled rhythms. ± For me. therefore. have you done Your task this morning? ± have you read that book? And are you ready for the crochet here?' ± As if she said. And. I wrote False poems. Before the rain has got into my barn And set the grains a-sprouting. And so. That souls were dangerous things to carry straight Through all the spilt saltpetre of the world. Behind you. From Aurora Leigh Or perhaps. But plainly she objected. . ± and demurred. rounding to the spheric soul the thin Pined body.14 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. as before. But I could not hide My quickening inner life from those at watch. peradventure. through forced work and spontaneous work. My soul was singing at a work apart Behind the wall of sense. Then I sate and teased The patient needle till it split the thread. She said sometimes. And verify my abstract of the book? And should I sit down to the crochet work? Was such her pleasure?' . What. `Aurora. you're green With out-door impudence? you almost grow?' To which I answered.
If cousin Romney pleased to walk with me. Such nooks of valleys. as it chanced: We were not lovers. And open pastures. at last Escaped. Aurora! we'll be strong. Vincent Carrington. Pleasant walks! for if He said . Very oft alone. Whom men judge hardly. . or quarrelled.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. like The grand first Master. And said. as bee-bonneted. ± so many a green slope built on slope Betwixt me and the enemy's house behind. or wander. 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 . the sky Can stoop to tenderly and the wheatfields climb. . The dogs are on us ± but we will not die. Unlicensed. `When I was last in Italy' . And when. . I clenched my brows across My blue eyes greatening in the looking-glass. shivering with the fear And passion of the course. Sonnets from the Portuguese 15 Though somewhat faint. ± I thought my father's land was worthy too Of being my Shakspeare's. where you scarcely tell White daisies from white dew.' Whoever lives true life. scholars upon different tracks. nor even friends well matched ± Say rather. ± at intervals The mythic oaks and elm-trees standing out Self-poised upon their prodigy of shade. such little hills. `We'll live. I dared to rest. ± like a rest Made sweeter for the step upon the grass. Before the day was born. or otherwise Through secret windings of the afternoons. A ripple of land. Ofter we walked only two. I threw my hunters off and plunged myself Among the deep hills. I learnt to love that England. Very oft. (As if God's finger touched but did not press In making England!) such an up and down Of verdure. It sounded as an instrument that's played Too far off for the tune ± and yet it's fine To listen. lined with orchises. ± nothing too much up or down. paint a body well You paint a soul by implication. . or talked. not unfrequently with leave To walk the third with Romney and his friend The rising painter. We read. Fed full of noises by invisible streams. will love true love. as a hunted stag Will take the waters. Because he holds that. ± And view the ground's most gentle dimplement.
`See. netted in a silver mist. ± 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. And bade him mark that. ± and he bore with me In melancholy patience. And clapped my hands. In the beginning when God called all good. let us pray. But we. certainly The thrushes still sang in it. 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 . carrying gold. ± And then I turned. And shook my pulses and the elms' new leaves. where the cows push out Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths 'Twixt dripping ash-boughs. And cattle grazing in the watered vales. vales. I flattered all the beauteous country round. While. and I. who call things good and fair. haply. And cottage chimneys smoking from the woods. howsoe'er the world Went ill. doubled up among the hills. granges. the fields. ± The tangled hedgerows.' I said. he. the clouds. indeed. Farms. it is writ. The happy violets hiding from the roads The primroses run down to. breaking into voluble ecstasy. ± Hills. Even then was evil near us. But then the thrushes sang. `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. Confused with smell of orchards. From Aurora Leigh And thinkers disagreed. woods. As poets use .16 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. not unkind. and held my finger up. And cottage gardens smelling everywhere. . ± At which word His brow would soften. overbold For what might be. The evil is upon us while we speak: Deliver us from evil. . and called all very fair. as he related. overfull Of what is. the skies.
I would that I were dead!' III Upon the middle of the night.' she said. Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She drew her casement-curtain by. aweary. aweary. She only said `The night is dreary. He cometh not. The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the peach to the garden-wall. I would that I were dead!' II Her tears fell with the dews at even. He cometh not.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson (1809±1892) Mariana `Mariana in the moated grange. 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. The broken sheds looked sad and strange.' she said: She said `I am aweary.' ± Measure for Measure I With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted. After the flitting of the bats. When thickest dark did trance the sky. 5 10 15 20 25 . And glanced athwart the glooming flats. Either at morn or eventide. She said `I am aweary. one and all. She could not look on the sweet heaven. Her tears fell ere the dews were dried. Unlifted was the clinking latch. She only said `My life is dreary.
Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. The blue fly sung i' the pane. And wild winds bound within their cell. `I am aweary. Or from the crevice peered about. to and fro. round and small.' she said. `The day is dreary. He cometh not. aweary. She only said. the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked.' she said. `My life is dreary.' she said. Old faces glimmered thro' the doors. All silver-green with gnarled bark. For leagues no other tree did dark The level waste. He cometh not. 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. `I am aweary. `I am aweary. I would that I were dead!' 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 .' she said. Old footsteps trod the upper floors. The doors upon their hinges creaked.18 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. `I am aweary. She only said. Mariana In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn. She said. But when the moon was very low. I would that I were dead!' V And ever when the moon was low. And the shrill winds were up and away. The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed. aweary. In the white curtain. aweary. across her brow. She only said. He cometh not. She said. the rounding gray. And o'er it many. She only said. `The night is dreary. aweary. She said. `My life is dreary. She saw the gusty shadow sway. The clustered marish-mosses crept. Old voices called her from without. I would that I were dead!' VI All day within the dreamy house. She said. He cometh not.
Oh God. Then. Four gray walls. The island of Shalott. Slide the heavy barges trailed By slow horses. The slow clock ticking. By the margin. and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made. `I am very dreary. And up and down the people go. 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. but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers. She wept. aweary. Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below. and four gray towers.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. aspens quiver. The Lady of Shalott 19 VII The sparrow's chirrup on the roof. He will not come. and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. The Lady of Shalott? 5 10 15 20 25 . willow-veiled.' she said. did all confound Her sense. And thro' the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot. 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. Overlook a space of flowers. said she. That clothe the wold and meet the sky. `I am aweary. Willows whiten. Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot.
But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights. An abbot on an ambling pad. Shadows of the world appear. 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . Sometimes a troop of damsels glad. reaping early In among the bearded barley. Down to towered Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary. Or long-haired page in crimson clad. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls. For often thro' the silent nights A funeral. The Lady of Shalott. Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad. The Lady of Shalott Only reapers. And the red cloaks of market-girls. And little other care hath she. And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true. She knows not what the curse may be.20 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Listening. And there the surly village-churls. Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly. went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead. with plumes and lights And music. whispers `'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott. A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. And so she weaveth steadily. And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year. She has heard a whisper say.' Part II There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. Goes by to towered Camelot. Came two young lovers lately wed. The Lady of Shalott. Pass onward from Shalott. Piling sheaves in uplands airy.
75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . As often thro' the purple night.' by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. Below the starry clusters bright. From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror. The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned like one burning flame together.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. He rode between the barley-sheaves. She saw the helmet and the plume. The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves. She made three paces thro' the room. A redcross knight for ever kneeled To a lady in his shield. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather. Moves over still Shalott. She left the web. As he rode down to Camelot. trailing light.' said The Lady of Shalott. That sparkled on the yellow field. She looked down to Camelot. Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves. And as he rode his armour rung. Beside remote Shalott. And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. She saw the water-lily bloom. she left the loom. Beside remote Shalott. Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. On burnished hooves his war-horse trode. His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed. The gemmy bridle glittered free. Some bearded meteor. As he rode down to Camelot. `Tirra lirra. From underneath his helmet flowed His coal-black curls as on he rode. The Lady of Shalott 21 `I am half-sick of shadows. The bridle-bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazoned baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung.
`The curse is come upon me. 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. Chanted loudly. The broad stream in his banks complaining. and down she lay. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain. By garden-wall and gallery. Till her blood was frozen slowly. The mirror cracked from side to side. For ere she reached upon the tide The first house by the water-side. Heavily the low sky raining Over towered Camelot. mournful. A gleaming shape she floated by. The Lady of Shalott.22 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . And her eyes were darkened wholly. Seeing all his own mischance ± With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat.' cried The Lady of Shalott. Turned to towered Camelot. chanted lowly. Heard a carol. Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining. They heard her singing her last song. The broad stream bore her far away. The Lady of Shalott. The Lady of Shalott. holy. Singing in her song she died. Lying. The Lady of Shalott Out flew the web and floated wide. The pale yellow woods were waning. And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony. And down the river's dim expanse ± Like some bold seer in a trance.
The Lady of Shalott. Life piled on life Were all too little. and vile it were 5 10 15 20 25 . I cannot rest from travel: I will drink. Out upon the wharfs they came. whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. Matched with an aged wife. and feed. All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space. cities of men And manners. And drunk delight of battle with my peers. and sleep. but honoured of them all. To rust unburnished. and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence. Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravelled world. By this still hearth. climates. Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. How dull it is to pause.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The Lady of Shalott. on shore. to make an end. God in his mercy lend her grace. and alone. Knight and burgher. among these barren crags. And round the prow they read her name. lord and dame. I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race. A bringer of new things. have suffered greatly. councils. governments. and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea. Silent into Camelot. Myself not least. For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known. both with those That loved me. Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer. Ulysses 23 A corse between the houses high. not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life. and know not me. I am a part of all that I have met.' 160 165 170 Ulysses It little profits that an idle king. `She has a lovely face. He said. And they crossed themselves for fear. Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly. I am become a name. something more. That hoard.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles. I mine. mine own Telemachus. decent not to fail In offices of tenderness. This is my son. that which we are. One equal temper of heroic hearts. Most blameless is he. to find. Some work of noble note. my friends. much abides.24 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and. but strong in will To strive. And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star. To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle ± Well-loved of me. and wrought. and thought with me ± That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine. centred in the sphere Of common duties. and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. Morte d'Arthur For some three suns to store and hoard myself. whom we knew. Made weak by time and fate. My mariners. There lies the port. the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset. Come. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Death closes all: but something ere the end. and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven. to seek. Push off. may yet be done. Tho' much is taken. sitting well in order. and not to yield. . And see the great Achilles. we are. Souls that have toiled. 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 Morte d'Arthur So all day long the noise of battle rolled Among the mountains by the winter sea. and pay Meet adoration to my household gods. When I am gone. discerning to fulfil This labour. He works his work. by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people. 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. and the baths Of all the western stars. and opposed Free hearts. until I die. free foreheads ± you and I are old. smite The sounding furrows. Old age hath yet his honour and his toil. Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
the last of all his knights. from the ruined shrine he stepped. 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . Such a sleep They sleep ± the men I loved. mystic. I think that we Shall nevermore. Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. And bore him to a chapel nigh the field. And fling him far into the middle meer: Watch what thou seest. Old knights. one summer noon. I perish by this people which I made. The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur. to leave thee thus. ± Though Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more ± but let what will be. like a king: And. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: `The sequel of today unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. as in the days that were. wheresoever I am sung or told In aftertime. be. A little thing may harm a wounded man. man by man. Aidless. and on one Lay a great water. and lightly bring me word. wonderful. Watch what I see. Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot. and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill. Sir Bedivere. and the moon was full. because his wound was deep. And in the moon athwart the place of tombs. King Arthur: then. Had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord. Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days. chill. A broken chancel with a broken cross. and have worn it. and lightly bring thee word. stepping down By zigzag paths. Sir King. Yet I thy hest will all perform at full.' So saying. Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. On one side lay the Ocean. Holding the sword ± and how I rowed across And took it. alone. That stood on a dark strait of barren land. and smitten through the helm. I am so deeply smitten through the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. at any future time.' To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: `It is not meet. an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake. He. Clothed in white samite. this also shall be known: But now delay not: take Excalibur.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and juts of pointed rock. with flakes of foam. Morte d'Arthur 25 Until King Arthur's table.
In act to throw: but at the last it seemed Better to leave Excalibur concealed There in the many-knotted waterflags. That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. or what relic of my lord Should be to aftertime. drawing it. What good should follow this. either hand. but empty breath 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . Counting the dewy pebbles. This way and that dividing the swift mind. So strode he back slow to the wounded King. as he stood. fixed in thought. `And if indeed I cast the brand away. watch. Not rendering true answer. Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. And o'er him. Yet now. Brightening the skirts of a long cloud. against himself ? The King is sick. and he cried aloud. Should thus be lost for ever from the earth. undone? deep harm to disobey. I charge thee. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled. one worthy note. quickly go again As thou art lief and dear. he smote His palms together. faint and pale: `Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name. Then went Sir Bedivere the second time. the winter moon.' To whom replied King Arthur. and lightly bring me word'. if a king demand An act unprofitable.26 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. or else a motion of the meer. How curiously and strangely chased. This is a shameful thing for men to lie. Surely a precious thing. ran forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt: For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks. and do the thing I bad thee. And the wild water lapping on the crag. Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. But when he saw the wonder of the hilt. nor like a noble knight: For surer sign had followed. 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. Were it well to obey then. Morte d'Arthur Came on the shining levels of the lake. as beseemed È Thy fealty. What record. Or voice. and knows not what he does. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur. if this were done? What harm. Myriads of topaz-lights. and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewellery.
Excalibur. 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. Either from lust of gold. I see thee what thou art. And. the latest-left of all my knights.' Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere. and whirled in an arch. or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. Some one might show it at a joust of arms. And the third time may prosper. Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt. traitor-hearted! Woe is me! Authority forgets a dying king. rose an arm Clothed in white samite.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and ran. `King Arthur's sword.' So spake he. with noises of the northern sea. if thou spare to fling Excalibur. And hid Excalibur the second time. Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings. Laid widowed of the power in his eye That bowed the will. For thou. leaping down the ridges lightly. And flashing round and round. Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. And so strode back slow to the wounded King. And strongly wheeled and threw it. And the long ripple washing in the reeds. So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur: But ere he dipt the surface. I will arise and slay thee with my hands. miserable and unkind. And caught him by the hilt. Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night. Shot like a streamer of the northern morn. much in wrath: `Ah. Morte d'Arthur 27 And rumours of a doubt? but were this kept. and clutched the sword. get thee hence: But. and drew him under in the meer. untrue. Nine years she wrought it. and brandished him Three times. Yet. plunged Among the bulrush-beds. Unknightly. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon. wonderful. But now much honour and much fame were lost. clouded with his own conceit. mystic. Saying. And lightly went the other to the King. winning reverence. sitting in the deeps Upon the hidden bases of the hills.' To whom replied King Arthur.' So might some old man speak in the aftertime To all the people. for a man may fail in duty twice. 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 . Then spoke King Arthur. In whom should meet the offices of all.
Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms. His own thought drove him like a goad. And bear me to the margin. King Arthur panted hard. and a cry Before. with pain. So great a miracle as yonder hilt. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight. And the long glories of the winter moon. Him Sir Bedivere Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears. I closed mine eyelids. mystic. Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge. and looking. Then took with care. wheeling him. but he found not words. and descending they were ware 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 . and kneeling on one knee. drawing thicker breath: `Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. Larger than human on the frozen hills. as he walked.28 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. wonderful. But. And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. till I die. Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern. and brandished him Three times.' And answer made King Arthur. breathing hard: `My end draws nigh. Clothed with his breath. and I shall die. 'tis time that I were gone. But when I looked again. `Quick.' But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge. That caught him by the hilt. for I never saw.' So saying. Slowly. Nor shall see. and I shall die. And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes As in a picture. Then with both hands I flung him. or seen?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: `Sir King. as he walked. and all to left and right The bare black cliff clanged round him. lest the gems Should blind my purpose. Muttering and murmuring at his ear. yet I fear My wound hath taken cold. as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels ± And on a sudden. Speak out: what is it thou hast heard. from the pavement he half rose. and drew him under in the meer. Beneath them. Morte d'Arthur Then spoke King Arthur. And would have spoken. Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. He heard the deep behind him. Clothed in white samite. behold an arm. lo! the level lake. Not though I live three lives of mortal men. O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands. So sighed the King. reclining on his arm. here or elsewhere. quick! I fear it is too late.
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,
10 15 20 5 10 5 10 15 . he.. and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine. And come. my dearest. Come down.. Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine. And slips into the bosom of the lake: So fold thyself. . and leaves A shining furrow. so fresh. And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others. To sit a star upon the sparkling spire. Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk. È Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars. the days that are no more. nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the Silver Horns.. the days that are no more. when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square. O maid. sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears. And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. as thy thoughts in me. Now folds the lily all her sweetness up. from yonder mountain height: What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) In height and cold.. Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize.. Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me. so strange. come thou down And find him. now the white. Now sleeps the crimson petal. O Death in Life. Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost. Now slides the silent meteor on. Ah. the splendour of the hills? But cease to move so near the Heavens. So sad.32 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Or red with spirted purple of the vats. A Medley Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge. So sad. come. Deep as first love. For Love is of the valley. by the happy threshold. thou. and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me. From: The Princess. Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice. and wild with all regret. deep as love. Or foxlike in the vine.. the days that are no more. Dear as remembered kisses after death. . And all thy heart lies open unto me. for Love is of the valley.
They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of thee. And thou hast made him: thou art just. A beam in darkness: let it grow. azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee. Our little systems have their day. The highest. H. but come. And murmuring of innumerable bees. let the wild Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone. For knowledge is of things we see. By faith. And yet we trust it comes from thee. thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made. 20 25 30 From In Memoriam A. and faith alone.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. He thinks he was not made to die. Thou seemest human and divine. holiest manhood. art more than they. for all the vales Await thee. Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: Thou madest man. The moan of doves in immemorial elms. H. Sweeter thy voice. and leave The monstrous ledges there to slope. H. Thou madest Life in man and brute. the children call. he knows not why. and spill Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke. That like a broken purpose waste in air: So waste not thou. that have not seen thy face. And thou. Whom we. Our wills are ours. 5 10 15 20 . let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley. We have but faith: we cannot know. and I Thy shepherd pipe. Strong Son of God. we know not how. and lo. Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn. but every sound is sweet. 33 That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: But follow. thou: Our wills are ours. Thou madest Death. Thine are these orbs of light and shade. Believing where we cannot prove. and sweet is every sound. H. embrace. immortal Love. From In Memoriam A. O Lord. to make them thine.
34 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. whom I found so fair. Forgive them where they fail in truth. That mind and soul. May make one music as before. Confusions of a wasted youth. with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones. But vaster. Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. I trust he lives in thee. And in thy wisdom make me wise. H. But more of reverence in us dwell. What seemed my worth since I began. H. Forgive what seemed my sin in me. according well. That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things. O Lord. Forgive these wild and wandering cries. to beat the ground. 1849 25 30 35 40 In Memoriam A. We are fools and slight. 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. Thy creature. to thee. And not from man. For merit lives from man to man. To dance with death. and there I find him worthier to be loved. Let darkness keep her raven gloss: Ah! sweeter to be drunk with loss. 5 10 . In Memoriam Let knowledge grow from more to more. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII I I held it truth. We mock thee when we do not fear: But help thy foolish ones to bear. Forgive my grief for one removed.
Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.' II Old Yew. cruel fellowship! O Priestess in the vaults of Death! O sweet and bitter in a breath. And in the dusk of thee. Nature.' she whispers. And gazing on the sullen tree. Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. `blindly run. Sick for thy stubborn hardihood.' And shall I take a thing so blind. and boast: `Behold the man that loved and lost. like a vice of blood. A hollow echo of my own. ± A hollow form with empty hands. From out waste places comes a cry. And bring the firstling to the flock. the bloom. A web is woven across the sky. And murmurs from the dying sun: `And all the phantom. Embrace her as my natural good. What whispers from thy lying lip? `The stars. which graspest at the stones That name the under-lying dead. III O Sorrow. stands ± With all the music in her tone. I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee. Thy fibres net the dreamless head. Who changest not in any gale! Nor branding summer suns avail To touch thy thousand years of gloom. the clock Beats out the little lives of men. The seasons bring the flower again. O! not for thee the glow. But all he was is overworn. Or crush her. Upon the threshold of the mind? 5 5 15 10 15 10 15 . In Memoriam 35 Than that the victor Hours should scorn The long result of love.
In words.36 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. but some heart did break. In Memoriam IV To Sleep I give my powers away. like weeds. With morning wakes the will. `Thou shalt not be the fool of loss.' V I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel. for the unquiet heart and brain.' That `Loss is common to the race' ± And common is the commonplace. half reveal And half conceal the Soul within. That thou should'st fail from thy desire. numbing pain. That loss is common would not make My own less bitter. `What is it makes me beat so low?' Something it is which thou hast lost. like nature. Like coarsest clothes against the cold. Like dull narcotics. The sad mechanic exercise. And vacant chaff well meant for grain. That grief hath shaken into frost! Such clouds of nameless trouble cross All night below the darkened eyes. 5 5 5 10 15 10 . and cries. that `Other friends remain. I'll wrap me o'er. But. But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more. Some pleasure from thine early years. rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening. VI One writes. My will is bondsman to the dark. Who scarcely darest to inquire. thou deep vase of chilling tears. A use in measured language lies. And with my heart I muse and say: O heart. I sit within a helmless bark. For words. how fares it with thee now. Break.
' She takes a riband or a rose. ± while thy head is bowed. For he will see them on to-night. Or killed in falling from his horse. where my heart was used to beat So quickly. Who mused on all I had to tell. wheresoe'er thou be. she turns Once more to set a ringlet right. perpetual maidenhood. even when she turned. And thinking `this will please him best. Expecting still his advent home. something thought. O! somewhere. meek. the curse Had fallen. what to her shall be the end? And what to me remains of good? To her. And with the thought her colour burns. In Memoriam 37 O father. That sittest ranging golden hair. thinking. ere half thy draught be done Hath stilled the life that beat from thee. O mother. Poor child. Or here tomorrow will he come. His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud Drops in his vast and wandering grave. praying God will save Thy sailor. unconscious dove. 25 10 15 20 30 35 40 . And something written. And glad to find thyself so fair. here today. Doors. A shot. And unto me no second friend. VII Dark house. by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street. And. Ye know no more than I who wrought At that last hour to please him well. and her future Lord Was drowned in passing thro' the ford. And. having left the glass. waiting for a hand. that waitest for thy love! For now her father's chimney glows In expectation of a guest. And ever met him on his way With wishes. O. That pledgest now thy gallant son.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.
In Memoriam A hand that can be clasped no more ± Behold me. So draw him home to those that mourn In vain. Yet as that other. And all the place is dark. O my forsaken heart. may find A flower beat with rain and wind. for I cannot sleep. IX Fair ship. That if it can it there may bloom. And learns her gone and far from home. Spread thy full wings. Or dying. Which once she fostered up with care. the chamber and the street. and waft him o'er. For all is dark where thou art not. that from the Italian shore Sailest the placid ocean-plains With my lost Arthur's loved remains. He is not here. I go to plant it on his tomb.38 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. all the magic light Dies off at once from bower and hall. and all The chambers emptied of delight. The field. wandering there In those deserted walks. Who lights and rings the gateway bell. a favourable speed 5 5 5 10 10 15 20 . So find I every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet. But since it pleased a vanished eye. VIII A happy lover who has come To look on her that loves him well. but far away The noise of life begins again. there at least may die. So seems it in my deep regret. He saddens. with thee And this poor flower of poesy Which little cared for fades not yet. And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day. And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door.
My friend. So bring him: we have idle dreams: This look of quiet flatters thus Our home-bred fancies: O to us. Sphere all your lights around. My Arthur. More than my brothers are to me.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Sleep. gentle heavens. thro' early light Shall glimmer on the dewy decks. Should toss with tangle2 and with shells. In Memoriam 39 Ruffle thy mirrored mast. Calm as to suit a calmer grief. as he sleeps now. That takes the sunshine and the rains. till Phosphor. The fools of habit. All night no ruder air perplex Thy sliding keel. gentle winds. before the prow. I see the sailor at the wheel. Dear as the mother to the son. above. And hands so often clasped in mine.). sweeter seems To rest beneath the clover sod. whom I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. Sleep. And letters unto trembling hands. a vanished life. Or where the kneeling hamlet drains The chalice of the grapes of God. Than if with thee the roaring wells Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine. and lead Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn. And travelled men from foreign lands. XI Calm is the morn without a sound.). 1 2 10 15 20 5 10 15 20 `star of dawn' (T. . Thou bringest the sailor to his wife. And. I hear the bell struck in the night: I see the cabin-window bright.1 bright As our pure love. thy dark freight. the brother of my love. `oar-weed' (T. X I hear the noise about thy keel.
And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep. And reach the glow of southern skies. Like her I go. I cannot stay. And saying. In Memoriam And only thro' the faded leaf The chestnut pattering to the ground: Calm and deep peace on this high wold. If any calm. And on these dews that drench the furze. Some dolorous message knit below The wild pulsation of her wings. And see the sails at distance rise. `Comes he thus. To mingle with the bounding main: Calm and deep peace in this wide air. And crowded farms and lessening towers. 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. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . And linger weeping on the marge. A weight of nerves without a mind. and learn That I have been an hour away. These leaves that redden to the fall. And waves that sway themselves in rest. and back return To where the body sits.40 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and haste away O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large. and silver sleep. and play About the prow. I leave this mortal ark behind. a calm despair: Calm on the seas. 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. if calm at all. And leave the cliffs. XII Lo! as a dove when up she springs To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe.
Which weep the comrade of my choice. and teach me. I do not suffer in a dream. And he should sorrow o'er my state And marvel what possessed my brain. And standing.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. not a breathing voice. a life removed. And I went down unto the quay. fall like these. And beckoning unto those they know. For now so strange do these things seem. And how my life had dropped of late. And not the burthen that they bring. In Memoriam 41 XIII Tears of the widower. Mine eyes have leisure for their tears. and feels Her place is empty. And. And I should tell him all my pain. The human-hearted man I loved. And ask a thousand things of home. And found thee lying in the port. That thou hadst touched the land today. many years. Which weep a loss for ever new. A void where heart on heart reposed. Should strike a sudden hand in mine. Come Time. As tho' they brought but merchants' bales. My fancies time to rise on wing. Should see thy passengers in rank Come stepping lightly down the plank. Silence. where warm hands have prest and closed. XIV If one should bring me this report. till I be silent too. An awful thought. And if along with these should come The man I held as half-divine. muffled round with woe. when he sees A late-lost form that sleep reveals. And moves his doubtful arms. A spirit. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 . And glance about the approaching sails.
But knows no more of transient form In her deep self. than some dead lake That holds the shadow of a lark Hung in the shadow of a heaven? Or has the shock. I should not feel it to be strange. In Memoriam And I perceived no touch of change. which aver That all thy motions gently pass Athwart a plane of molten glass. A looming bastion fringed with fire. The rooks are blown about the skies.42 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And topples round the dreary west. No hint of death in all his frame. And staggers blindly ere she sink? 5 5 20 10 15 20 10 . And onward drags a labouring breast. so harshly given. Or sorrow such a changeling be? Or doth she only seem to take The touch of change in calm or storm. And but for fear it is not so. the waters curled. The wild unrest that lives in woe Would dote and pore on yonder cloud That rises upward always higher. I scarce could brook the strain and stir That makes the barren branches loud. And wildly dashed on tower and tree The sunbeam strikes along the world: And but for fancies. The cattle huddled on the lea. The forest cracked. XVI What words are these have fallen from me? Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast. XV To-night the winds begin to rise And roar from yonder dropping day: The last red leaf is whirled away. But found him all in all the same. Confused me like the unhappy bark That strikes by night a craggy shelf.
For I in spirit saw thee move Thro' circles of the bounding sky. And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land. but it looks in truth As if the quiet bones were blest Among familiar names to rest And in the places of his youth. whatever loves to weep. pure hands. and my prayer Was as the whisper of an air To breathe thee over lonely seas. sacred bark. So kind an office hath been done. And hear the ritual of the dead. we may stand Where he in English earth is laid. like a line of light. Week after week: the days go by: Come quick. The dust of him I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. wherever thou may'st roam. 'Tis little. So may whatever tempest mars Mid-ocean. In Memoriam 43 And stunned me from my power to think And all my knowledge of myself. XVIII 'Tis well. much wept for: such a breeze Compelled thy canvas. thou bringest all I love. spare thee. And come. and bear the head That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep. And made me that delirious man Whose fancy fuses old and new. Henceforth. 'tis something.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And like a beacon guards thee home. 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 10 . Come then. Is on the waters day and night. My blessing. Such precious relics brought by thee. And mingles all without a plan? XVII Thou comest. And balmy drops in summer dark Slide from the bosom of the stars. And flashes into false and true.
even yet. That out of words a comfort win. And tears that at their fountain freeze. falling on his faithful heart. And I can speak a little then. XX The lesser griefs that may be said. There twice a day the Severn fills.). .' My lighter moods are like to these. And makes a silence in the hills. I brim with sorrow drowning song. Who speak their feeling as it is. but endures with pain. Are but as servants in a house Where lies the master newly dead. In Memoriam Ah! yet. the wave again Is vocal in its wooded walls: My deeper anguish also falls.3 They laid him by the pleasant shore. The words that are not heard again. And slowly forms the firmer mind.44 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Would breathing thro' his lips impart The life that almost dies in me: That dies not. And hushed my deepest grief of all. XIX The Danube to the Severn gave The darkened heart that beat no more. `to find Another service such as this. And weep the fulness from the mind: `It will be hard. 3 15 20 5 10 15 5 10 `He died at Vienna and was brought to Clevedon to be buried' (T. The salt sea-water passes by. And in the hearing of the wave.' they say. The tide flows down. That breathe a thousand tender vows. Treasuring the look it cannot find. I. The Wye is hushed nor moved along. And hushes half the babbling Wye. if this might be. When filled with tears that cannot fall. But there are other griefs within.
So much the vital spirits sink To see the vacant chair. And make them pipes whereon to blow. He loves to make parade of pain. and charms Her secret from the latest moon?' Behold. For now her little ones have ranged. And one unto her note is changed. That with his piping he may gain The praise that comes to constancy. The traveller hears me now and then. Because her brood is stol'n away. And scarce endure to draw the breath. Or like to noiseless phantoms flit: But open converse is there none. since the grasses round me wave.' Another answers.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.' A third is wroth: `Is this an hour For private sorrow's barren song. And. and think.' XXI I sing to him that rests below. When more and more the people throng The chairs and thrones of civil power? `A time to sicken and to swoon. And sometimes harshly will he speak. 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . I take the grasses of the grave. When science reaches forth her arms To feel from world to world. ye speak an idle thing: Ye never knew the sacred dust: I do but sing because I must. And melt the waxen hearts of men. `Let him be. And pipe but as the linnets sing: And one unto her note is gay. `This fellow would make weakness weak. In Memoriam 45 For by the hearth the children sit Cold in that atmosphere of Death. Which led by tracts that pleased us well. `How good! how kind! and he is gone. XXII The path by which we twain did go.
46 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And crying. From flower to flower. I wander. And Fancy light from Fancy caught. from snow to snow: And we with singing cheered the way. somewhere in the waste. to where he sits. often falling lame. Who broke our fair companionship. how changed from where it ran Thro' lands where not a leaf was dumb. And dulled the murmur on thy lip. And all the secret of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood: 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . In Memoriam Thro' four sweet years arose and fell. And crowned with all the season lent. As we descended following Hope. XXIII Now. From April on to April went. And glad at heart from May to May: But where the path we walked began To slant the fifth autumnal slope. And looking back to whence I came. tho' I walk in haste. And wrapt thee formless in the fold. Alone. And think that. But all the lavish hills would hum The murmur of a happy Pan: When each by turns was guide to each. alone. And all was good that Time could bring. Ere thought could wed itself with Speech. Or breaking into song by fits. And all we met was fair and good. Or on to where the pathway leads. And spread his mantle dark and cold. The Shadow sits and waits for me. There sat the Shadow feared of man. The Shadow cloaked from head to foot Who keeps the keys of all the creeds. And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought. And bore thee where I could not see Nor follow. sometimes in my sorrow shut.
for I long to prove No lapse of moons can canker Love. Whatever fickle tongues may say. XXVI Still onward winds the dreary way. I loved the weight I had to bear. 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. as now. In Memoriam 47 And many an old philosophy On Argive heights divinely sang. giving half to him. And then. And orb into the perfect star We saw not. And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady. heart or limb. Because it needed help of Love: Nor could I weary. And part it. That sets the past in this relief ? Or that the past will always win A glory from its being far. and hath power to see 5 5 5 10 15 10 . when we moved therein? XXV I know that this was Life. When mighty Love would cleave in twain The lading of a single pain. ± the track Whereon with equal feet we fared. If all was good and fair we met. the day prepared The daily burden for the back. But this it was that made me move As light as carrier-birds in air. This earth had been the Paradise It never looked to human eyes Since Adam left his garden yet.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 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. I with it.
48 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. XLI Thy spirit ere our fatal loss Did ever rise from high to higher. To whom a conscience never wakes. to thee: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . In Memoriam Within the green the mouldered tree. As mounts the heavenward altar-fire. whate'er befall. XXVII I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage. No more partaker of thy change. I hold it true. The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth. So might I find. I feel it. And towers fallen as soon as built ± Oh. That Shadow waiting with the keys. But thou art turned to something strange. As flies the lighter thro' the gross. Unfettered by the sense of crime. what may count itself as blest. here upon the ground. Nor. 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. Deep folly! yet that this could be ± That I could wing my will with might To leap the grades of life and light. my friend. 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. 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 flash at once. And I have lost the links that bound Thy changes. To cloak me from my proper scorn. ere yet the morn Breaks hither over Indian seas. Nor any want-begotten rest. when I sorrow most.
Tho' following with an upward mind The wonders that have come to thee. and skim away. The slightest air of song shall breathe To make the sullen surface crisp. XLVIII If these brief lays. The howlings from forgotten fields. And holds it sin and shame to draw The deepest measure from the chords: Nor dare she trust a larger lay. Were taken to be such as closed Grave doubts and answers here proposed. Yet oft when sundown skirts the moor An inner trouble I behold. XLIX From art. And look thy look. of Sorrow born. Let random influences glance. and go thy way. Then these were such as men might scorn: Her care is not to part and prove. from nature. And makes it vassal unto love: And hence. indeed. A spectral doubt which makes me cold. But better serves a wholesome law. She takes. when harsher moods remit. from the schools. But evermore a life behind. The fancy's tenderest eddy wreathe. that dip Their wings in tears. But rather loosens from the lip Short swallow-flights of song. In Memoriam 49 For though my nature rarely yields To that vague fear implied in death. she sports with words. That I shall be thy mate no more. Nor shudders at the gulfs beneath.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. What slender shade of doubt may flit. Like light in many a shivered lance That breaks about the dappled pools: The lightest wave of thought shall lisp. but blame not thou the winds that make 5 5 15 20 10 15 10 . Thro' all the secular to be.
considering everywhere Her secret meaning in her deeds. LV The wish. Beneath all fancied hopes and fears Ay me! the sorrow deepens down. Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife.50 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and taints of blood. That nothing walks with aimless feet. And every winter change to spring. Whose muffled motions blindly drown The bases of my life in tears. When God hath made the pile complete. The tender-pencilled shadow play. I can but trust that good shall fall At last ± far off ± at last. that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave. 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. Defects of doubt. sins of will. LIV Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill. That not one life shall be destroyed. And finding that of fifty seeds She often brings but one to bear. Or but subserves another's gain. That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems. to all. 5 5 15 10 15 20 10 . Behold! we know not anything. To pangs of nature. Or cast as rubbish to the void. So careless of the single life. In Memoriam The seeming-wanton ripple break. That not a worm is cloven in vain. That not a moth with vain desire Is shriveled in a fruitless fire. That I.
Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies. Be blown about the desert dust. That tare each other in their slime. And faintly trust the larger hope. Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life.' And he. And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God. and grope. red in tooth and claw With ravine. Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law ± Tho' Nature. Man. In Memoriam 51 I falter where I firmly trod.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. A discord. as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless! What hope of answer. And gather dust and chaff. a dream. shall he. Were mellow music matched with him. and call To what I feel is Lord of all. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries. Who battled for the True. I stretch lame hands of faith. Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer. who seemed so fair. behind the veil. Such splendid purpose in his eyes. or redress? Behind the veil. Or sealed within the iron hills? No more? A monster then. shrieked against his creed ± Who loved. who suffered countless ills. LVI `So careful of the type?' but no. `A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing. LVII Peace. her last work. Dragons of the prime. then. O life as futile. all shall go. come away: the song of woe Is after all an earthly song: 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more. the Just.
fan my brows and blow The fever from my cheek. 5 5 5 10 15 10 15 4 `The poet speaks of these poems. Eternal greetings to the dead. That rollest from the gorgeous gloom Of evening over brake and bloom And meadow.' said. my work will fail. I hear it now. . But half my life I leave behind. Ave. Yea. I might count it vain As but the canker of the brain. And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples. Methinks I have built a rich shrine to my friend. Ave. and rapt below Thro' all the dewy-tasselled wood. come away: we do him wrong To sing so wildly: let us go. `Adieu. and o'er and o'er.4 Yet in these ears till hearing dies. till Doubt and Death. and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame. adieu' for evermore! LXXXVI Sweet after showers. Methinks my friend is richly shrined. let us go. One set slow bell will seem to toll The passing of the sweetest soul That ever looked with human eyes. To where in yonder orient star A hundred spirits whisper `Peace. ambrosial air. let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas On leagues of odour streaming far.52 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. But I shall pass. though it spake and made appeal To chances where our lots were cast Together in the days behind. slowly breathing bare The round of space. In Memoriam Peace. And `Ave. Come. your cheeks are pale. Ill brethren.). but it will not last' (T.' XCII If any vision should reveal Thy likeness.
I hear a wind Of memory murmuring the past. like them. or any. revolving near. 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. They haunt the silence of the breast. may come Where all the nerve of sense is numb. the Spirit himself. thou too canst say. The memory like a cloudless air. Yea. But spiritual presentiments. therefore from thy sightless range With gods in unconjectured bliss. Ghost to Ghost. XCIII I shall not see thee. They might not seem thy prophecies. and enter. call The spirits from their golden day. Spirit to Spirit. O. And such refraction of events As often rises ere they rise. The conscience as a sea at rest: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . In Memoriam 53 I might but say. That in this blindness of the frame My Ghost may feel that thine is near. With what divine affections bold Should be the man whose thought would hold An hour's communion with the dead. In vain shalt thou. Imaginations calm and fair.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Except. XCIV How pure at heart and sound in head. And tho' the months. Descend. hear The wish too strong for words to name. But he. and touch. My spirit is at peace with all. tho' it spake and bared to view A fact within the coming year. Should prove the phantom-warning true. from the distance of the abyss Of tenfold-complicated change. O.
I hear a chirp of birds. so near in woe and weal. tho' with might To scale the heaven's highest height. O loved the most. I see Betwixt the black fronts long-withdrawn A light-blue lane of early dawn. 5 5 15 10 15 10 . far off. CXXIX Dear friend. where my heart was used to beat So quickly. And bless thee. for thy lips are bland. I'll rather take what fruit may be Of sorrow under human skies: 'Tis held that sorrow makes us wise. And doubt beside the portal waits. But mine own phantom chanting hymns? And on the depths of death there swims The reflex of a human face. In Memoriam But when the heart is full of din. not as one that weeps I come once more. And think of early days and thee. I will not eat my heart alone. my lost desire. They can but listen at the gates. I smell the meadow in the street. lest I stiffen into stone. CXIX Doors. Or dive below the wells of Death? What find I in the highest place. And bright the friendship of thine eye. And vacant yearning. And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh I take the pressure of thine hand. when most I feel There is a lower and a higher. CVIII I will not shut me from my kind. So far. Whatever wisdom sleep with thee. Nor feed with sighs a passing wind: What profit lies in barren faith. the city sleeps. And hear the household jar within.54 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And.
My love is vaster passion now. All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. divine! Sweet human hand and lips and eye. Dear heavenly friend that canst not die. mine. Behold I dream a dream of good. for ever. I do not therefore love thee less: My love involves the love before. The Charge of the Light Brigade 55 Known and unknown. `Forward. darklier understood. ever mine! Strange friend. I hear thee where the waters run. And in the setting thou art fair. and I rejoice. What art thou then? I cannot guess.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. But tho' I seem in star and flower To feel thee. past. the Light Brigade!' Was there a man dismayed? Not tho' the soldier knew 5 10 . And mingle all the world with thee. the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!' he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. II `Forward. Thou standest in the rising sun. I seem to love thee more and more. CXXX Thy voice is on the rolling air. circled with thy voice. I have thee still. 5 5 10 10 15 The Charge of the Light Brigade I Half a league. Half a league onward. Loved deeplier. present. I shall not lose thee though I die. Mine. but ever night. Far off thou art. human. I prosper. half a league. and to be. some diffusive power. Tho' mixed with God and Nature thou.
Charging an army. IV Flashed all their sabres bare. Stormed at with shot and shell. III Cannon to right of them. Cannon to left of them. The Charge of the Light Brigade Some one had blundered: Their's not to make reply. Stormed at with shot and shell. V Cannon to right of them.56 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. All that was left of them. while All the world wondered: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke. Cannon to left of them. VI When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . Back from the mouth of Hell. Left of six hundred. Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre-stroke Shattered and sundered. They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death. Flashed as they turned in air Sabring the gunners there. Then they rode back. Their's but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. While horse and hero fell. Into the jaws of Death. Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. Their's not to reason why. Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered. Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered. but not Not the six hundred. Boldly they rode and well.
And the flying gold of the ruined woodlands drove thro' the air. The red-ribbed ledges drip with a silent horror of blood. 6 Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? we have made them a curse. and flattened. From: Maud 57 All the world wondered.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. When who but a fool would have faith in a tradesman's ware or his word? 5 10 15 20 25 . 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. in the spirit of Cain. Noble six hundred! 55 From: Maud I 1 I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood. we are villains all. and crushed. each hand lusting for all that is not its own. by a whispered fright. And Echo there. And out he walked when the wind like a broken worldling wailed. whatever is asked her. the works of the men of mind. and ever wanned with despair. Not he: his honest fame should at least by me be maintained: But that old man. 3 Did he fling himself down? who knows? for a vast speculation had failed.' 2 For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was found. and dinted into the ground: There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he fell. by a dead weight trailed. Dropt off gorged from a scheme that had left us flaccid and drained. answers `Death. for the roots of my hair were stirred By a shuffled step. 5 Villainy somewhere! whose? One says. now lord of the broad estate and the Hall. 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. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade. And ever he muttered and maddened. 4 I remember the time. His who had given me life ± O father! O God! was it well? ± Mangled. Pickpockets. Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-red heath. And lust of gain.
as underhand. And Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of children's bones. and die: who knows? we are ashes and dust. 12 When a Mammonite mother kills her babe for a burial fee. nevermore to brood On a horror of shattered limbs and a wretched swindler's lie? 30 35 40 45 50 55 . Cheat and be cheated. 8 Sooner or later I too may passively take the print Of the golden age ± why not? I have neither hope nor trust.58 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And chalk and alum and plaster are sold to the poor for bread. set my face as a flint. 9 Peace sitting under her olive. When the poor are hovelled and hustled together. While another is cheating the sick of a few last gasps. not openly bearing the sword. And strike. as he sits To pestle a poisoned poison behind his crimson lights. war! loud war by land and by sea. 11 And Sleep must lie down armed. Is it peace or war? better. were it but with his cheating yardwand. That the smoothfaced snubnosed rogue would leap from his counter and till. if he could. And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the foam. ± 14 What! am I raging alone as my father raged in his mood? Must I too creep to the hollow and dash myself down and die Rather than hold by the law that I made. And the spirit of murder works in the very means of life. When only the ledger lives. and that of a kind The viler. Till the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the trampled wife. May make my heart as a millstone. home. as I think. War with a thousand battles. Peace in her vineyard ± yes! ± but a company forges the wine. and shaking a hundred thrones. and when only not all men lie. like swine. 10 And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffian's head. From: Maud Is it peace or war? Civil war. for the villainous centre-bits Grind on the wakeful ear in the hush of the moonless nights. 13 For I trust if an enemy's fleet came yonder round by the hill. and slurring the days gone by. each sex.
for the fiend best knows whether woman or man be the worse. ah God. I am here at the gate alone. 16 I am sick of the Hall and the hill. 2 For a breeze of morning moves. I am sick of the moor and the main. She may bring me a curse. Come into the garden. as he used to rave. and thought he would rise and speak And rave at the lie and the liar. of the singular beauty of Maud. I played with the girl when a child. And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad. she will let me alone. XXII 1 Come into the garden. the ringing joy of the Hall. ± 19 What is she now? My dreams are bad. Maud the delight of the village. From: Maud 59 15 Would there be sorrow for me? there was love in the passionate shriek. 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. Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky. as I saw him. Love for the silent thing that had made false haste to the grave ± Wrapt in a cloak. Thanks. having the nerves of motion as well as the nerves of pain. there is fatter game on the moor. I know not whence. No. she promised then to be fair. night. Maud with her sweet purse-mouth when my father dangled the grapes. The dark old place will be gilt by the touch of a millionaire: I have heard. the moon-faced darling of all. For the black bat. Maud the beloved of my mother. And the planet of Love is on high. And the musk of the rose is blown. has flown. and the Devil may pipe to his own. Maud. 60 65 70 75 5 10 . 18 Maud with her venturous climbings and tumbles and childish escapes.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. I will bury myself in myself. Why should I stay? can a sweeter chance ever come to me here? O. Maud.
To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise. bassoon. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . 8 The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree. mine. that is dearer than all. 4 I said to the lily. `There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay. As the music clashed in the hall.60 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. All night has the casement jessamine stirred To the dancers dancing in tune. 3 All night have the roses heard The flute.' 6 And the soul of the rose went into my blood. From: Maud To faint in the light of the sun she loves. violin. And long by the garden lake I stood. 7 From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes. `For ever and ever. And half to the rising day. To faint in his light.' Now half to the setting moon are gone. Our wood. and to die. O young lord-lover. Till a silence fell with the waking bird.' so I sware to the rose. For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood. When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance and play. Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away. `The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine. but mine. For one that will never be thine? But mine. 5 I said to the rose. And a hush with the setting moon. what sighs are those.
my own. Crossing the Bar The white lake-blossom fell into the lake As the pimpernel dozed on the lea.' And the white rose weeps. They sighed for the dawn and thee. Were it earth in an earthy bed. When I put out to sea. Knowing your promise to me. Come hither. `I hear. To the flowers. But such a tide as moving seems asleep.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The lilies and roses were all awake. In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls. `I wait. my sweet. 61 50 55 60 65 70 Crossing the Bar Sunset and evening star. `She is near. Had I lain for a century dead. 9 Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls. `She is late. she is near.' 11 She is coming. Were it ever so airy a tread. the dances are done. The red rose cries. But the rose was awake all night for your sake. When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. sunning over with curls.' The larkspur listens. I hear. And blossom in purple and red.' And the lily whispers. my dear. She is coming. She is coming. And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar. 10 There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. My heart would hear her and beat. and be their sun. little head. 5 . Would start and tremble under her feet. my dove. Too full for sound and foam. my life. My dust would hear her and beat. Shine out. Queen lily and rose in one. my fate.
62 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 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 hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar.
. . But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you. Who'd stoop to blame 5 10 15 20 25 30 . at least. too soon made glad. as if she ranked My gift of a nine hundred years old name With anybody's gift. if they durst. and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. the white mule She rode with round the terrace ± all and each Would draw from her alike the forward speech. I call That piece a wonder. . ± good. She thanked men. how shall I say? . .' or `Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat'. but thanked Somehow. 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. such stuff Was courtesy. Sir. so not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. .I know not how. The dropping of the daylight in the West. but I) And seemed as they would ask me. The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her. .Robert Browning (1812±1889) My Last Duchess Ferrara That's my last Duchess painted on the wall. The depth and passion of its earnest glance. Sir. 'twas all one! My favour at her breast. and her looks went everywhere. 'twas not Her husband's presence only. for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance. She had A heart . Or blush. Looking as if she were alive. she liked whate'er She looked on. now: Fra Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day. How such a glance came there. Too easily impressed. and there she stands. she thought. Will't please you sit and look at her? I said `Fra Pandolf' by design.
forsooth. ± they watch from their graves! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen. Burns. no doubt. ± while he boasts his quiescence. but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew. 35 40 45 50 55 The Lost Leader I Just for a handful of silver he left us. honoured him. as I avowed At starting. Sir. 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. thought a rarity. There she stands As if alive. with the gold to give. were with us. Shelley. nor plainly set Her wits to yours. I repeat. Will't please you rise? We'll meet The company below then. Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me. doled him out silver. ± not from his lyre.64 Robert Browning. Just for a ribband to stick in his coat ± Got the one gift of which fortune bereft us. ± He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! II We shall march prospering. Lost all the others she lets us devote. we'll go Together down. `Just this Or that in you disgusts me. ± E'en then would be some stooping. Milton was for us. They. is my object. Or there exceed the mark' ± and if she let Herself be lessoned so. Then all smiles stopped together. tho'. and I chuse Never to stoop. Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us. Though his fair daughter's self. 5 10 15 . and say. So much was their's who so little allowed: How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags ± were they purple. I gave commands. ± not thro' his presence. and made excuse. Sir! Notice Neptune. Songs may excite us. she smiled. here you miss. The Count your Master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed. his heart had been proud! We that had loved him so. Oh. Lived in his mild and magnificent eye. Learned his great language. Whene'er I passed her. Deeds will be done. Taming a sea-horse. caught his clear accents. followed him. Nay.
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. Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well. Laid with care on our own shelf ! With a fire-new spoon we're furnished. Brother Lawrence. the first by the throne! 20 25 30 Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister I GR-R-R ± there go.Robert Browning. hesitation and pain. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister 65 Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire: Blot out his name. one footpath untrod. Pardoned in Heaven. And a goblet for ourself. would not mine kill you! What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming? Oh. one more insult to God! Life's night begins: let him never come back to us! There would be doubt. Sort of season. God's blood. time of year: Not a plenteous cork-crop: scarcely Dare we hope oak-galls. then. do! If hate killed men. One task unaccepted. my heart's abhorrence! Water your damned flower-pots. for we taught him. Forced praise on our part ± the glimmer of twilight. 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. for our initial! (He-he! There his lily snaps!) 5 10 15 20 . Then let him get the new knowledge and wait us. Strike our face hard ere we shatter his own. One wrong more to man. Rinsed like something sacrificial Ere 'tis fit to touch our chaps ± Marked with L. ± record one lost soul more. One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels.
to my recollection. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister IV Saint. Once you trip on it. lustrous. too. those melons? If he's able We're to have a feast. ± Can't I see his dead eye grow. thick like horsehairs. forsooth! While brown Dolores Squats outside the Convent bank With Sanchicha. in Jesu's praise. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 . Drinking watered orange-pulp. Bright as 'twere a Barbary corsair's? That is. Spin him round and send him flying Off to hell a Manichee? VIII Or. If I double down its pages At the woeful sixteenth print. While he drains his at one gulp! VI Oh. entails Twenty-nine distinct damnations. if he'd let it show! V When he finishes refection. my scrofulous French novel On grey paper with blunt type! Simply glance at it. the Trinity illustrate. if another fails: If I trip him just a-dying. telling stories. One sure. so nice! One goes to the Abbot's table. Keep 'em close-nipped on the sly! VII There's a great text in Galatians. Sure of Heaven as sure can be. How go on your flowers? None double? Not one fruit-sort can you spy? Strange! ± And I. at such trouble. you grovel Hand and foot in Belial's gripe. Steeping tresses in the tank. Knife and fork across he lays Never. As do I. Blue-black. In three sips the Arian frustrate. All of us get each a slice. I.66 Robert Browning.
Ope a sieve and slip it in't? IX Or. Which done. And give herself to me for ever: But passion sometimes would prevail. The sullen wind was soon awake. Porphyria's Lover 67 When he gathers his greengages. She put my arm about her waist. Zy. And she was come through wind and rain. Virgo! Gr-r-r ± you swine! 65 70 Porphyria's Lover The rain set early in tonight. And all her yellow hair displaced. And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up. and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl. When no voice replied. And. past retrieve.Robert Browning. Murmuring how she loved me. straight She shut the cold out and the storm. Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her. at last I knew 5 10 15 20 25 30 . she rose. And spread o'er all her yellow hair. I listened with heart fit to break. and all in vain. she sat down by my side And called me. And made her smooth white shoulder bare. very proud. It tore the elm-tops down for spite. And. . Be sure I looked up at her eyes Proud. Hine . she Too weak. the Devil! ± one might venture Pledge one's soul yet slily leave Such a flaw in the indenture As he'd miss till. stooping. And did its worst to vex the lake. Blasted lay that rose-acacia We're so proud of ! Hy. made my cheek lie there. To set its struggling passion free From pride. for all her heart's endeavour. last. and vainer ties dissever. there's Vespers! Plena gratia Ave. and all the cottage warm. When glided in Porphyria. And laid her soiled gloves by. untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall. . Ã St.
No pain felt she. unaware. to be in England Now that April's there. mine. fair. And whoever wakes in England Sees. And thus we sit together now. and still it grew While I debated what to do. am gained instead! Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around. this time my shoulder bore Her head. 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 all night long we have not stirred. As a shut bud that holds a bee I warily oped her lids. again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.68 Robert Browning. Home-Thoughts. from Abroad Porphyria worshipped me. surprise Made my heart swell. That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before. And strangled her. Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do. its love. when May follows. That all it scorned at once is fled. And I untightened next the tress About her neck. which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head. While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England ± now! II And after April. I am quite sure she felt no pain. And I. And yet God has not said a word! 35 40 45 50 55 60 Home-Thoughts. And the whitethroat builds. That moment she was mine. So glad it has its utmost will. Only. from Abroad I Oh. some morning.
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 need of a world of men for me.72 Robert Browning. A tap at the pane. Meeting at Night Meeting at Night I The grey sea and the long black land. And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep. thro' its joys and fears. wielding far Peace or war. And the sun looked over the mountain's rim ± And straight was a path of gold for him. gathered councils. (So they say) Of our country's very capital. stray or stop As they crop ± 2 Was the site once of a city great and gay. 5 10 . As I gain the cove with pushing prow. the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match. II Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach. And the yellow half-moon large and low. Three fields to cross till a farm appears. Love Among the Ruins 1 Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles. Than the two hearts beating each to each! 5 10 Parting at Morning Round the cape of a sudden came the sea. And quench its speed in the slushy sand. Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward thro' the twilight. its prince Ages since Held his court in. And a voice less loud.
of grass Never was! Such a carpet as. 5 And such plenty and perfection. dread of shame Struck them tame. Stock or stone ± 6 Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Long ago. Twelve abreast. certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to (else they run Into one). While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks Through the chinks ± 8 Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time Sprang sublime. To distinguish slopes of verdure. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . As you see. the chariots traced As they raced. ± the single little turret that remains On the plains. see. this summer-time. By the caper over-rooted. Made of marble. And that glory and that shame alike. 7 Now. 4 Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all. the gold Bought and sold. by the gourd Overscored. Love Among the Ruins 73 3 Now ± the country does not even boast a tree.Robert Browning. guessed alone. Lust of glory pricked their hearts up. And a burning ring all round. o'erspreads And embeds Every vestige of the city. men might march on nor be pressed.
every side. of course. And they built their gods a brazen pillar high As the sky. Either hand On my shoulder. she will speak not. give her eyes the first embrace Of my face. where she looks now. 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. When the king looked. while thus the quiet-coloured eve Smiles to leave to their folding. heart! oh. all the glades' Colonnades. breathless. Love Among the Ruins And the monarch and his minions and his dames Viewed the games. Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force ± Gold. bridges. ± and then. 14 Oh. 11 But he looked upon the city. All the men! 12 When I do come. dumb Till I come. 9 And I know. ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 . Far and wide. 13 In one year they sent a million fighters forth South and North. blood that burns! Earth's returns For whole centuries of folly. All the causeys. noise and sin! Shut them in. All the mountains topped with temples. blood that freezes. she will stand.74 Robert Browning. aqueducts. all our many-tinkling fleece In such peace. Ere we rush.
. Cosimo of the Medici. it concerns you that your knaves Pick up a manner nor discredit you. . haps on his wrong hole. the day you're hanged. there. Do. brother Lippo's doings. ± for the slave that holds John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair With one hand (`Look you. by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. . 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. you'll take Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat. Zooks. And please to know me likewise.Robert Browning. 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. yet unwiped! It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk. you know your betters! Then. sir. now. sir. Weke. one. Zooks. The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up. if you must show your zeal. Fra Lippo Lippi 75 With their triumphs and their glories and the rest! Love is best. . up and down. A wood-coal or the like? or you should see! Yes. Fra Lippo Lippi I am poor brother Lippo. and you go the rounds. 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 . weke. who is lodging with a friend Three streets off ± he's a certain . What. Boh! you were best! Remember and tell me. ± harry out.' as who should say) And his weapon in the other. lads! more beside!) And all's come square again. are we pilchards. How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! But you. I'd like his face ± His. Who am I? Why. that man is! Just such a face! why. it's past midnight. sir. And nip each softling of a wee white mouse. I'm the painter. how d'ye call? Master ± a . elbowing on his comrade in the door With the pike and lantern. And here you catch me at an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar. that's crept to keep him company! Aha. you make amends. Lord. Whatever rat. since you style me so. I' the house that caps the corner.
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. Take away love.76 Robert Browning. ± Flower o' the broom. The wind doubled me up and down I went. what am I a beast for? tell us. ± Flower o' the rose. Mum's the word naturally. and whifts of song. a year or two On fig-skins. My stomach being empty as your hat. ± three slim shapes ± And a face that looked up . ± a monk. over the bridge. If I've been merry. Hands and feet. Fra Lippo Lippi 'Tell you I liked your looks at very first. . melon-parings. and what good's in life since? Flower o' the thyme ± and so on. and the nights one makes up bands To roam the town and sing out carnival. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight. laughs. I could not paint all night ± Ouf ! I leaned out of window for fresh air. and our earth is a tomb! Flower o' the quince. You snap me of the sudden. Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand. 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . God knows how. (Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) And so along the wall. sir. flesh and blood. zooks. There was a ladder! down I let myself. hail fellow. A-painting for the great man. well met. Curtain and counterpane and coverlet. I see! Though your eye twinkles still. but a monk! Come. I let Lisa go. saints and saints And saints again. hip to haunch. There came a hurry of feet and little feet. Ah. Refuse and rubbish. And after them. you shake your head ± Mine's shaved. One fine frosty day. All the bed-furniture ± a dozen knots. A sweep of lute-strings. I starved there. And I've been three weeks shut within my mew. That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went. Let's sit and set things straight now. Here's spring come. Round they went. scrambling somehow. you say ± the sting's in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself. . now! I was a baby when my mother died And father died and left me in the street. rinds and shucks. and so dropped. I came up with the fun Hard by Saint Laurence.
Fra Lippo Lippi 77 By the straight cut to the convent. Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch The droppings of the wax to sell again. Palace. boy. shop and banking-house. d'ye say? In no wise. . Well. He learns the look of things.Robert Browning. which dog bites. the bench. Not overmuch their way. 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes. Such a to-do! they tried me with their books. `turn him out. The monks looked black. mind you. `Nay. you're minded. Holding a candle to the Sacrament. villa. turned to use: I drew men's faces on my copy-books. By no means! Brief. While I stood munching my first bread that month: `So. `amo' I love! But. after I found leisure. the door.s. ± `To quit this very miserable world? Will you renounce' . Which. they made a monk of me. Lord. I had a store of such remarks.' quoth the Prior. . All the Latin I construe is. they'd have taught me Latin in pure waste! Flower o' the clove.' quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth. 'twas refection-time. when a boy starves in the streets Eight years together. Watching folk's faces to know who will fling The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires. Lose a crow and catch a lark. Found eyes and nose and chin for A. the mouthful of bread? thought I. And who will curse or kick him for his pains ± Which gentleman processional and fine. On the wall. which lets drop His bone from the heap of offal in the street! ± The soul and sense of him grow sharp alike. 'Twas not for nothing ± the good bellyful. you may be sure. I found in time. I did renounce the world. be sure. The warm serge and the rope that goes all round. and none the less For admonitions from the hunger-pinch. Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge. What if at last we get our man of parts. there. And day-long blessed idleness beside! `Let's see what the urchin's fit for' ± that came next. sir. farm. ± How say I? ± nay. I must confess. as my fortune was. Trash.s and B. Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped. And made a string of pictures of the world Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun. such as these poor devils of Medici Have given their hearts to ± all at eight years old. Six words. its pride and greed.
Fra Lippo Lippi We Carmelites. like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars. Fresh from his murder. her apron o'er her head Which the intense eyes looked through. came at eve On tip-toe. Her pair of earrings and a bunch of flowers The brute took growling. First. dropped in a loaf. Never was such prompt disemburdening.no. Your business is to paint the souls of men ± Man's soul. Signing himself with the other because of Christ (Whose sad face on the cross sees only this After the passion of a thousand years) Till some poor girl. prayed. I painted all. (taught what to see and not to see.78 Robert Browning. candle-ends. and it's a fire. But lift them over it. And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall. . I drew them. ignore it all. ± To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot. 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. the black and white. . 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. . to do our church up fine And put the front on it that ought to be!' And hereupon he bade me daub away. From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of barrel-droppings. Their betters took their turn to see and say: The Prior and the learned pulled a face And stopped all that in no time. With homage to the perishable clay. said a word. safe and sitting there With the little children round him in a row Of admiration. their walls a blank. every sort of monk. fat and lean: then. folk at church. half for his beard and half For that white anger of his victim's son Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm. then cried `'tis ask and have ± Choose. it's not. . `How? what's here? Quite from the mark of painting. bless us all! Faces. The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked. for more's ready!' ± laid the ladder flat. and then was gone. 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 . smoke . arms. Thank you! my head being crammed. Make them forget there's such a thing as flesh.
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. never mind the legs and arms! Rub all out. I ask? A fine way to paint soul. . my son! You're not of the true painters. . Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash. The Prior's niece . yellow does for white When what you put for yellow's simply black.Robert Browning. ± That's somewhat. in the Corner-house! Lord. by painting body So ill. Sorrow or joy? won't beauty go with these? Suppose I've made her eyes all right and blue. I'm grown a man no doubt. with his Saint a-praising God. Left foot and right foot. well. the eye can't stop there. Oh. . And so the thing has gone on ever since. fear. Both in their order? Take the prettiest face. 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. go a double step. it's the soul! Give us no more of body than shows soul! Here's Giotto. well. You get about the best thing God invents. The heads shake still ± `It's Art's decline. that white smallish female with the breasts. when you return Him thanks! `Rub all out!' well. try at it a second time. the old grave eyes Are peeping o'er my shoulder as I work. That sets us praising. Herodias. . paint now as I please ± Having a friend. must go further And can't fare worse! Thus. And any sort of meaning looks intense When all beside itself means and looks nought. great and old: 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . Within yourself. and what not? Paint the soul. She's just my niece . I would say. . colours. ± why not stop with him? Why put all thoughts of praise out of our heads With wonder at lines. what matters talking. it's fast holding by the rings in front ± Those great rings serve more purposes than just To plant a flag in. is this sense. And you'll find the soul you have missed. there's my life. Why can't a painter lift each foot in turn. you see. or tie up a horse! And yet the old schooling sticks. ± Who went and danced and got men's heads cut off ! Have it all out!' Now. in short. Make his flesh liker and his soul more like. patron-saint ± is it so pretty You can't discover if it means hope. . Fra Lippo Lippi 79 It's.
Fag on at flesh. You tell too many lies and hurt yourself. For. the business of the world ± (Flower o' the peach. there's pretty sure to come A turn ± some warm eve finds me at my saints ± A laugh. Clench my teeth. I know. I always see the Garden and God there A-making man's wife ± and. You be judge! You speak no Latin more than I. You do like what. I swallow my rage. studies what I do. doing most. I hope so ± though I never live so long. I see as certainly As that the morning-star's about to shine. now ± why. you'll never make the third!' Flower o' the pine. I can't unlearn ten minutes afterwards. throws up his stiff heels so. then: bless us. And play the fooleries you catch me at. You don't like what you only like too much. manners. I know what's sure to follow. you've seen the world 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 . out at grass After hard years. You understand me: I'm a beast. belike ± However.80 Robert Browning. 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. The value and significance of flesh. For me. Although the miller does not preach to him The only good of grass is to make chaff. he lets them talk ± He picks my practice up ± he'll paint apace. In pure rage! the old mill-horse. Slouches and stares and lets no atom drop ± His name is Guidi ± he'll not mind the monks ± They call him Hulking Tom. They. The world and life's too big to pass for a dream. Death for us all. We've a youngster here Comes to our convent. and his own life for each!) And my whole soul revolves. you'll find: Brother Lorenzo stands his single peer. if given you at your word. with their Latin? so. you're my man. But see. suck my lips in tight. a cry. they must know! Don't you think they're the likeliest to know. . and I'll stick to mine! I'm not the third. I think I speak as I was taught. and paint To please them ± sometimes do and sometimes don't. You keep your mistr. the cup runs o'er. And I do these wild things in sheer despite. What will hap some day. You find abundantly detestable. my lesson learned. . Fra Lippo Lippi Brother Angelico's the man.
Lending our minds out. Have you noticed. ay or no. this last of course. `His works Are here already. now. painted ± better to us. splashed the fresco in fine style. yonder river's line. A bell to chime the hour with. I painted a St Laurence six months since At Prato. and means good: To find its meaning is my meat and drink. Fra Lippo Lippi 81 ± The beauty and the wonder and the power. Art was given for that ± God uses us to help each other so. you say. For this fair town's face. Don't object. oh. These are the frame to? What's it all about? To be passed o'er. And trust me but you should. woman. though! How much more. ± and God made it all! ± For what? do you feel thankful.' he returns ± `Already not one phiz of your three slaves Who turn the Deacon off his toasted side. or. If I drew higher things with the same truth! That were to take the Prior's pulpit-place. ± paint these Just as they are. The mountain round it and the sky above. careless what comes of it? God's works ± paint anyone. their colours. for this What need of art at all? A skull and bones. mind you fast next Friday!' Why. child. 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. Changes. what's best. Much more the figures of man. Which is the same thing. things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see. Interpret God to all of you! oh. The shapes of things. `How looks my painting. But's scratched and prodded to our heart's content. `Ay. lights and shades. The pious people have so eased their own 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 . And so they are better. It makes me mad to see what men shall do And we in our graves! This world's no blot for us. and count it crime To let a truth slip. don't you mark? we're made so that we love First when we see them painted. now the scaffold's down?' I ask a brother: `Hugely. does as well. Two bits of stick nailed crosswise.Robert Browning. Nor blank ± it means intensely.' For. then. Wondered at? oh. despised? or dwelt upon. But why not do as well as say. surprises. nature is complete: Suppose you reproduce her ± (which you can't) There's no advantage! you must beat her. Your cullion's hanging face? A bit of chalk.
see Something in Sant' Ambrogio's! (bless the nuns! They want a cast of my office). . Painters who need his patience). Madonna and her babe. caught up with my monk's-things by mistake. then go. up shall come Out of a corner when you least expect. of course a saint or two ± Saint John. in this presence. flowery angel-brood. 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. I. because he saves the Florentines. We get on fast to see the bricks beneath. Got wot.82 Robert Browning. who but Lippo! I! ± Mazed. Fra Lippo Lippi With coming to say prayers there in a rage. The man of Uz (and Us without the z. And Job. I must have him there past mistake. There's for you! Give me six months. Ringed by a bowery. Iste perfecit opus! So. draw ± His camel-hair make up a painting-brush? We come to brother Lippo for all that. this pure company! Where's a hole. where's a corner for escape? Then steps a sweet angelic slip of a thing Forward. 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. Lilies and vestments and white faces. motionless and moon-struck ± I'm the man! Back I shrink ± what is this I see and hear? I. who puts down in black and white The convent's friends and gives them a long day. I have bethought me: I shall paint a piece . I shall paint God in the midst. the church knows! don't misreport me. As one by a dark stair into a great light Music and talking. `nay ± He made you and devised you. Saint Ambrose. 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. Though he's none of you! Could Saint John there. Well. My old serge gown and rope that goes all round. And then in the front. after all. all these Secured at their devotions. Expect another job this time next year. . all smile ± 335 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 375 . Tasting the air this spicy night which turns The unaccustomed head like Chianti wine! Oh.
and 'tis arched by . all the doors being shut.Robert Browning. like a bell-flower on its bed. in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off To some safe bench behind. do you say? 5 Was a lady such a lady. and I know my own way back ± Don't fear me! There's the grey beginning. . it would prove me deaf and blind. and here's all the good it brings. Like the Prior's niece . Go. . they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were the kings. Till. . six months hence! Your hand. and good bye: no lights. . burning ever to midday. 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. where they kept the carnival! I was never out of England ± it's as if I saw it all. Zooks! 380 385 390 A Toccata of Galuppi's 1 Oh Galuppi. the little lily thing That spoke the good word for me in the nick. where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings? 3 Ay. Saint Lucy. he to finger on his sword. When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow. no lights! The street's hushed. to bite her mask's black velvet. ± On her neck the small face buoyant. stately at the clavichord? 5 10 15 . But although I take your meaning. what you call . While you sat and played Toccatas. I would say. And so all's saved for me. . sir. and for the church A pretty picture gained. O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might base his head? 6 Well. Where Saint Mark's is. because the sea's the street there. (and it was graceful of them) they'd break talk off and afford ± She. wholly unexpected. . this is very sad to find! I can hardly misconceive you. Baldassaro. not letting go The palm of her. What. cheeks so round and lips so red. 4 Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May? Balls and masks begun at midnight. 'tis with such a heavy mind! 2 Here you come with your old music. Shylock's bridge with houses on it.
when the kissing had to stop? 15 `Dust and ashes!' So you creak it. 11 But when I sit down to reason. and I want the heart to scold. is immortal ± where a soul can be discerned. merely born to bloom and drop. A Toccata of Galuppi's 7 What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive. 20 25 30 35 40 45 . mirth and folly were the crop. In you come with your cold music till I creep thro' every nerve. Mathematics are your pastime. ± you'll not die. Told them something? Those suspensions. those solutions ± `Must we die?' Those commiserating sevenths ± `Life might last! we can but try!' 8 `Were you happy?' ± `Yes. with such hair. till it must be answered to! 9 So an octave struck the answer. sixths diminished. creaking where a house was burned ± `Dust and ashes.' ± `And are you still as happy?' ± `Yes ± And you?' ± `Then. 13 `Yours for instance: you know physics. too ± what's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old. ± think to take my stand nor swerve. Butterflies may dread extinction. Some with lives that came to nothing. something of geology. more kisses' ± `Did I stop them.84 Robert Browning. 12 Yes. What of soul was left. Oh. when a million seemed so few?' Hark ± the dominant's persistence.' 10 Then they left you for their pleasure: till in due time. they praised you. sigh on sigh. Dear dead women. Here on earth they bore their fruitage. dead and done with. doubtless. 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. Venice spent what Venice earned. souls shall rise in their degree. The soul. it cannot be! 14 `As for Venice and its people. one by one. like a ghostly cricket. some with deeds as well undone. you. I wonder. Death stepped tacitly and took them where they never see the sun. While I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close reserve.
what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare. 2 What else should he be set for. 3 If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which. And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break. (`since all is o'er.Robert Browning. with malicious eye Askance to watch the working of his lie On mine. 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. and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee that pursed and scored Its edge at one more victim gained thereby. And hears one bid the other go. `And the blow fallen no grieving can amend') 5 10 15 20 25 30 . draw breath Freelier outside. 5 As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed. what with my whole world-wide wandering. my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring. So much as gladness that some end might be. Hides the Dark Tower.' he saith. finding failure in its scope. all agree. and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend. save to waylay with his lies. he lied in every word. ± I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made. Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed: neither pride Nor hope rekindling at the end descried. 4 For. with his staff ? What. What with my search drawn out thro' years.
I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature. out of his highway Into the path he pointed. 10 So on I went. I had so long suffered in this quest. with none to awe. and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay. ± And still the man hears all. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 6 While some discuss if near the other graves Be room enough for this. I turned from him. 7 Thus. The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed Their steps ± that just to fail as they. were the land's portion. I might go on. 9 For mark! no sooner was I fairly found Pledged to the plain.86 Robert Browning. a burr had been a treasure-trove. 11 No! penury. Heard failure prophesied so oft. and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away. All the day Had been a dreary one at best. 8 So. seemed best. That hateful cripple. and dim Was settling to its close. In some strange sort. And all the doubt was now ± should I be fit. spurge. according to their law Might propagate their kind.' 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . naught else remained to do. inertness and grimace. `See Or shut your eyes' ± said Nature peevishly ± `It nothing skills: I cannot help my case: The Last Judgment's fire alone can cure this place. You'd think. quiet as despair. Than pausing to throw backward a last view O'er the safe road. been writ So many times among `The Band' ± to wit. With care about the banners. yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. scarves and staves. Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free. 'twas gone! grey plain all round! Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. after a pace or two. nothing throve: For flowers ± as well expect a cedar grove! But cockle.
till I almost felt him fold An arm in mine to fix me to the place. it grew as scant as hair In leprosy ± thin dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood. happier sights. And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane. his every bone a-stare. the head was chopped ± the bents Were jealous else. Stood stupefied. 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. Good ± but the scene shifts ± faugh! what hangman's hands Pin to his breast a parchment? his own bands Read it. 16 Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face Beneath its garniture of curly gold. 17 Giles. One stiff blind horse. 13 As for the grass. Alas! one night's disgrace! Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold. I asked one draught of earlier. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 87 12 If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates. As a man calls for wine before he fights. fight afterwards ± the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights. with a brute's intents. Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe: I never saw a brute I hated so ± He must be wicked to deserve such pain. then. Poor traitor. Dear fellow. What honest man should dare (he said) he durst. however he came there ± Thrust out past service from the devil's stud! 14 Alive? he might be dead for aught I know. spit upon and curst! 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 .Robert Browning. Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. That way he used. With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain. Think first. 15 I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. the soul of honour ± there he stands Frank as ten years ago when knighted first.
21 Which. ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek. with all the plain to choose? No footprint leading to that horrid mews. Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit Of mute despair. 20 So petty yet so spiteful! All along. what war did they wage. as it frothed by. a suicidal throng: The river which had done them all the wrong. how I feared To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 18 Better this present than a past like that ± Back therefore to my darkening path again. might have been a bath For the fiend's glowing hoof ± to see the wrath Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes. Now for a better country. No sound. But. No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms ± This. deterred no whit. Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank Soil to a plash? toads in a poisoned tank. like galley-slaves the Turk Pits for his pastime. Christians against Jews. no doubt. 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . 22 Glad was I when I reached the other bank. Each step. no sight as far as eye could strain. tangled in his hair or beard! ± It may have been a water-rat I speared. while I forded. Whate'er that was. Vain presage! Who were the strugglers. 19 A sudden little river crossed my path As unexpected as a serpent comes.88 Robert Browning. What penned them there. Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage ± 23 The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque. None out of it: mad brewage set to work Their brains. rolled by. Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it. 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. or feel the spear I thrust to seek For hollows. ± good saints.
A great black bird. ± solve it. Apollyon's bosom-friend. 26 Now blotches rankling. the plain had given place All round to mountains ± with such name to grace Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view. nought To point my footstep further! At the thought. Then came some palsied oak. aware I somehow grew. God knows when ± In a bad dream perhaps. Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel. in the very nick Of giving up. 28 For. Sailed past. 27 And just as far as ever from the end! Naught in the distance but the evening. (so a fool finds mirth. there! What bad use was that engine for. 25 Then came a bit of stubbed ground. you! How to get from them was no plain case. How thus they had surprised me. clay and rubble. 'Spite of the dusk. Now patches where some leanness of the soil's Broke into moss or substances like boils. that wheel. a cleft in him Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim Gaping at death. Makes a thing and then mars it. Next a marsh. came a click As when a trap shuts ± you're inside the den! 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 . it would seem. then. nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned That brushed my cap ± perchance the guide I sought. not wheel ± that harrow fit to reel Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air Of Tophet's tool. Here ended. Or brake. sand and stark black dearth. Progress this way. and dies while it recoils. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 89 24 And more than that ± a furlong on ± why. When.Robert Browning. once a wood. till his mood Changes and off he goes!) within a rood ± Bog. looking up. coloured gay and grim. 29 Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick Of mischief happened to me. on earth left unaware. and now mere earth Desperate and done with. one time more.
to be dozing at the very nonce. The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: The hills. ranged along the hillsides ± met To view the last of me. . a tall scalped mountain . `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came. lost! one moment knelled the woe of years. to see the game at bay. The tempest's mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on. and new! . and such was bold. like giants at a hunting. a living frame For one more picture! in a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all. yet each of old Lost. Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight ± While to the left. Dunce. ± `Now stab and end the creature ± to the heft!' 33 Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled Increasing like a bell. Fool. And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set. This was the place! those two hills on the right. Built of brown stone. 34 There they stood. After a life spent training for the sight! 31 What in the midst lay but the Tower itself ? The round squat turret. And blew. And such was fortunate. Of all the lost adventures my peers. day ± Came back again for that! before it left. And did he stop and speak to you? And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems. Memorabilia 30 Burningly it came on me all at once. only when the timbers start. did you once see Shelley plain. ± How such a one was strong. 32 Not see? because of night perhaps? ± Why. . Names in my ears.90 Robert Browning.' 175 180 185 190 195 200 Memorabilia 1 Ah. blind as the fool's heart. without a counterpart In the whole world. lay ± Chin upon hand.
never fear. how you shall be glad for this! Your soft hand is a woman of itself. Will it? tenderly? Oh. You turn your face. To-morrow. And also you are living after. an eagle-feather ± Well. bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. accept too his own price. Treat his own subject after his own way. but does it bring your heart? I'll work then for your friend's friend. Andrea del Sarto 91 2 But you were living before that. Fix his own time. as married people use. And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside. Love! I often am much wearier than you think. And shut the money into this small hand When next it takes mine. 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. I forget the rest. 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 might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. Don't count the time lost. Both of one mind. 5 10 15 Andrea del Sarto (Called `The Faultless Painter') But do not let us quarrel any more.Robert Browning. 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. my Lucrezia. No. you must serve For each of the five pictures we require ± 5 10 15 20 . ± but tomorrow. This evening more than usual. Quietly. either. quietly the evening through. Let us try. I'll content him.
How strange now. Love! so such things should be ± Behold Madonna. too ± when I say perfectly I do not boast. the second from the door ± It is the thing. My youth. Who listened to the Legate's talk last week. that's long past ± I do what many dream of all their lives ± Dream? strive to do. days decrease. and not leave this town. And just as much they used to say in France. no studies. Which everybody looks on and calls his. so sweet ± My face. all of it. huddled more inside. being all toned down To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. There's what we painters call our harmony! A common greyness silvers everything. if I ever wish so deep ± Do easily. A twilight-piece. we are in God's hand. While she looks ± no one's: very dear.92 Robert Browning. my moon. What I see. what at bottom of my heart I wish for. 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. my hope. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . at every point. looks the life he makes us lead! So free we seem. No sketches first. Even to put the pearl there! oh. 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. I could count twenty such On twice your fingers. my everybody's moon. So! keep looking so ± My serpentining beauty. But you can hear at least when people speak. rounds on rounds! ± How could you ever prick those perfect ears. perhaps: yourself are judge. At any rate 'tis easy. I suppose. And. autumn in everything. there's my picture ready made. my art. no less! You smile? why. And autumn grows. and agonise to do. I am bold to say. Andrea del Sarto It saves a model. There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top. ± All in a twilight. And fail in doing. at the point of your first pride in me (That's gone you know). is looked on by in turn. ± but I. I can do with my pencil what I know. you and I alike ± You. That length of convent-wall across the way Holds the trees safer. Love. The last monk leaves the garden. And that cartoon.
no matter) so much less! Well. Nay. Yet do much less.Robert Browning. We might have risen to Rafael. with kings and popes to see. or blame them. that Heaven might so replenish him. Rightly traced and well ordered. I. Enter and take their place there sure enough. George Vasari sent it me. or whate'er else. what of that? Ah. Still. Their works drop groundward. That arm is wrongly put ± and there again ± A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines. but a man's reach should exceed his grasp. but themselves. a child may understand. so much less. Though they come back and cannot tell the world. Above and through his art ± for it gives way. In their vexed. The sudden blood of these men! at a word ± Praise them. what an arm! and I could alter it. by many times. of that famous youth The Urbinate who died five years ago. Somebody remarks Morello's outline there is wrongly traced. less is more. His hue mistaken. Lucrezia! I am judged. than goes on to prompt This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine. I can fancy how he did it all. to sigh `Had I been two. it boils. Pouring his soul. it boils too. (I know his name. I know. He means right ± that. Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me. painting from myself and to myself. There burns a truer light of God in them. Reaching. beating stuffed and stopped-up brain. so to speak! its soul is right. 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. you did give all I asked. I and you. I think ± More than I merit. Its body. Yonder's a work now. what of that? or else. the insight and the stretch ± Out of me! out of me! And wherefore out? Had you enjoined them on me. but I sit here. Know what I do. 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. Our head would have o'erlooked the world!' No doubt. My works are nearer heaven. another and myself. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 . given me soul.) Well. am unmoved by men's blame Or their praise either. some one says. Love. yes. Heart. ('Tis copied. But all the play.
At the end. But they speak sometimes. and such a fire of souls Profuse. my kingly days? And had you not grown restless ± but I know ± 'Tis done and past. Had the mouth there urged `God and the glory! never care for gain. Too live the life grew. I must bear it all. Poor this long while. In that humane great monarch's golden look. best of all. this. too. The best is when they pass and look aside. And that long festal year at Fontainebleau! I surely then could sometimes leave the ground. Why do I need you? What wife had Rafael. cannot. but brought a mind! Some women do so. or has Angelo? In this world. For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat ± somewhat. incentives come from the soul's self. waiting on my work. side by side with Angelo ± Rafael is waiting: up to God. and more than perfect mouth. The present by the future. if the award be strict. One arm about my shoulder. The rest avail not. God. This in the background. with the same perfect brow. ± One finger in his beard or twisted curl Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile. will not ± And who would do it. You painting proudly with his breath on me. my instinct said. All his court round him. 'twas right. my hand kept plying by those hearts. that first time. as a bird The fowler's pipe. all three!' I might have done it for you. this face beyond. And the low voice my soul hears. Andrea del Sarto But had you ± oh. Such frank French eyes. what is that? Live for fame. who can do a thing.94 Robert Browning. Rafael's daily wear. Beside. compensates. round my neck. The jingle of his gold chain in my ear. to speak the truth. 'Tis safer for me. I conclude. seeing with his eyes. this. All is as God over-rules. do you know. To crown the issue with a last reward! A good time. was it not. So it seems ± Perhaps not. despised. Put on the glory. ± And. Well may they speak! That Francis. I dared not. That I am something underrated here. and follows to the snare ± Had you. golden and not grey ± And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 . leave home all day. punishes. And perfect eyes. with these the same. the power ± And thus we half-men struggle.
I am glad to judge Both pictures in your presence. Who. I hardly dare ± yet. (What he? why. . his very self. there's a certain sorry little scrub Goes up and down our Florence. 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. But still the other's Virgin was his wife ±' Men will excuse me. (When the young man was flaming out his thoughts Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see. Give the chalk here ± quick. Well. do you comprehend? I mean that I should earn more. Come from the window. You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! `Rafael did this. Inside the melancholy little house We built to be so gay with. there's a star. the watch-lights show the wall. Lucrezia. King Francis may forgive me. How could it end in any other way? You called me. brick from brick Distinct. I have known it all these years . ± come in.Robert Browning. and I came home to your heart. Love. whether you're ± not grateful ± but more pleased. all I care for. if he spoke the truth. Andrea del Sarto 95 Out of the grange whose four walls make his world. To Rafael . as God lives. God is just. . give you more. Oft at nights When I look up from painting. . The Roman's is the better when you pray. so lost. 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 . but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out! Still. thus the line should go! Ay. clearer grows My better fortune. The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. let me think so. The triumph was to have ended there ± then if I reached it ere the triumph. instead of mortar fierce bright gold. Andrea painted that. See. I resolve to think. do you know. none cares how. Morello's gone. were he set to plan and execute As you are pricked on by your popes and kings. Said one day Angelo. what is lost? Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold. Is. eyes tired out. 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. at last. The walls become illumined. Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!' To Rafael's! ± And indeed the arm is wrong. For. only you to see.
This must suffice me here. there's something strikes a balance. Andrea del Sarto That gold of his I did cement them with! Let us but love each other. Michel Angelo ± Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. Beside. What's better and what's all I care about. They were born poor. Well. but what does he. satisfy your friend. Finish the portrait out of hand ± there. and what's it worth? I'll pay my fancy. why alter it? The very wrong to Francis! it is true I took his coin. new chances. just one more ± the Virgin's face. 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 . it seems to-night. work's my ware. and muse perfectly How I could paint. were I but back in France. Will you? Tomorrow. One picture. perhaps. Yes.96 Robert Browning. does that please you? Ah. you call it. What would one have? In heaven. Not yours this time! I want you at my side To hear them ± that is. Angelo and me To cover ± the three first without a wife. And built this house and sinned. had I riches of my own? you see How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. and all is said. the whole should prove enough To pay for this same Cousin's freak. Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff ! Love. I regret little. there. My father and my mother died of want. Only let me sit The grey remainder of the evening out. Rafael. Idle. Meted on each side by the angel's reed. lived poor. and not with me? Those loans! More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? Well. Must you go? That Cousin here again? he waits outside? Must see you ± you. let smiles buy me! have you more to spend? While hand and eye and something of a heart Are left me. And throw him in another thing or two If he demurs. You loved me quite enough. For Leonard. was tempted and complied. Since there my past life lies. I would change still less. The Cousin! what does he to please you more? I am grown peaceful as old age tonight. I take the subjects for his corridor. one more chance ± Four great walls in the New Jerusalem. Some good son Paint my two hundred pictures ± let him try! No doubt. and poor they died: And I have laboured somewhat in my time And not been paid profusely.
through such lengths of hours. I know. Some old tomb's ruin: yonder weed Took up the floating weft. Again the Cousin's whistle! Go. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . to stray In spirit better through the land. 6 Such life there. An everlasting wash of air ± Rome's ghost since her decease. ± and last Everywhere on the grassy slope I traced it. run to seed There. branching from the brickwork's cleft. ± blind and green they grope Among the honey-meal. (Like turns of thread the spiders throw Mocking across our path) for rhymes To catch at and let go. Has tantalised me many times. 265 Two in the Campagna 1 I wonder do you feel today As I have felt. We sat down on the grass. Hold it fast! 5 The champaign with its endless fleece Of feathery grasses everywhere! Silence and passion. joy and peace. Two in the Campagna 97 While I have mine! So ± still they overcome Because there's still Lucrezia. 3 Help me to hold it: first it left The yellowing fennel. ± as I choose. 4 Where one small orange cup amassed Five beetles.Robert Browning. I touched a thought. hand in hand. Such miracles performed in play. This morn of Rome and May? 2 For me. my Love. Such letting Nature have her way While Heaven looks from its towers. since. Such primal naked forms of flowers.
Then stand away. Catch your soul's warmth. 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. O my dove. I kiss your cheek. ± nor slave nor free! Where does the fault lie? what the core Of the wound. I yearn upward ± touch you close. no more ± Nor yours. See with your eyes. A Grammarian's Funeral 7 How say you? Let us. Singing together. How is it under our control To love or not to love? 8 I would that you were all to me. . Let us be unashamed of soul. 10 No. Onward. and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn. nor mine. ± your part my part In life. As earth lies bare to heaven above. and set my heart Beating by yours. and drink my fill At your soul's springs. no bar. for good and ill. whenever light winds blow. 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. since wound must be? 9 I would I could adopt your will. ± I pluck the rose And love it more than tongue can speak ± Then the good minute goes.98 Robert Browning. 11 Already how am I so far Out of that minute? Must I go Still like the thistle-ball. You that are just so much.
Lyric Apollo! Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note Winter would follow? Till lo. as it ought. intenser. Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop. the bard and sage. No. 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. the vulgar thorpes Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain. Borne on our shoulders. Chafes in the censer. square chests.Robert Browning. crop and herd! sleep. citied to the top. Cared-for till cock-crow: Look out if yonder be not day again Rimming the rock-row! That's the appropriate country ± there. Self-gathered for an outbreak. Make for the city. `thou keepest furled? Show me their shaping. Seek we sepulture On a tall mountain. that's the world's way! (keep the mountainside.' quoth he. ± 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . Singing together. Sleep.) He knew the signal. whom we convoy to his grave aloft. He's for the morning! Step to a tune. and grappled with the world Bent on escaping: `What's in the scroll. other feet anon! My dance is finished?' No. and youth was gone! Cramped and diminished. famous calm and dead. Theirs. A Grammarian's Funeral 99 Leave we the common crofts. erect each head. Rarer. Crowded with culture! All the peaks soar. `New measures. He was a man born with thy face and throat. 'Ware the beholders! This is our master. darkling thorpe and croft. man's thought. Clouds overcome it. the little touch. who most studied man. Safe from the weather! He. but one the rest excels. and stepped on with pride Over men's pity. Left play for work. Moaned he.
ere steel strike fire from quartz. such a life as he resolved to live. nor feel queasy!' Oh. ere you build. `What's Time? leave Now for dogs and apes! Man has For ever. A Grammarian's Funeral Give!' ± So.' another would have said. his eyes grew dross of lead: Tussis attacked him. the way winds narrowly. Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon. When he had learned it. fresher than at first. Ay. Earn the means first ± God surely will contrive Use for our earning. Straight got by heart that book to its last page: Learned. Accents uncertain: `Time to taste life. he gowned him. Still there's the comment. ± Live now or never!' He said. When he had gathered all books had to give. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . but we found him bald too ± eyes like lead. this in him was the peculiar grace (Hearten our chorus) Still before living he'd learn how to live ± No end to learning. `Actual life comes next? Patience a moment! Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text.) Yea. Others mistrust and say ± `But time escapes.' Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head: Calculus racked him: Leaden before. Let me know all. Prate not of most or least. we found him! Yea.) Not a whit troubled Back to his studies. `Up with the curtain!' This man said rather. Sooner. then execute the parts ± Fancy the fabric Quite. `Now.100 Robert Browning. Ere mortar dab brick! (Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market-place Gaping before us. Painful or easy: Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast. he spurned it! Image the whole. Master. take a little rest!' ± not he! (Caution redoubled! Step two a-breast.
aiming at a million. there. and unperplext Seeking shall find Him. through the rattle. His hundred's soon hit: This high man. Greedy for quick returns of profit. sure Bad is our bargain! Was it not great? did not he throw on God. Well. Sees it and does it: This high man. Paid by instalment! He ventured neck or nothing ± heaven's success Found. Swallows and curlews! Here's the top-peak! the multitude below Live. here's the proper place: Hail to your purlieus All ye highfliers of the feathered race. with a great thing to pursue. Still. with the throttling hands of Death at strife. throws himself on God.Robert Browning. A Grammarian's Funeral 101 Oh. Dies ere he knows it. if we draw a circle premature. That low man goes on adding one to one. (He loves the burthen) ± God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen? Did not he magnify the mind. Lightnings are loosened. So. shew clear Just what it all meant? He would not discount life. Ground he at grammar. This man decided not to Live but Know ± Bury this man there? Here ± here's his place. Stars come and gol let joy break with the storm ± Peace let the dew send! 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 . or earth's failure: `Wilt thou trust death or not?' he answered `Yes. Misses an unit. Dead from the waist down. has the world here ± should he need the next. Heedless of far gain. as fools do here. clouds form. where meteors shoot. parts of speech were rife. `Hence with life's pale lure!' That low man seeks a little thing to do. here's the platform. While he could stammer He settled Hoti's business ± let it be! ± Properly based Oun ± Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De. Let the world mind him! This. for they can. That.
rain and wind combine With a furtive ear. the place is bleak Where. 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.102 Robert Browning. Living and dying. if I strive to speak. close. each sign! O enemy sly and serpentine. Outside are the storms and strangers: we ± Oh. outside. safe. But the house is narrow. ± I and she! 5 10 15 20 . 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. Never the Time and the Place Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying. With a malice that marks each word. With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek. warm sleep I and she. Leave him ± still loftier than the world suspects.
Emily (Jane) Bronte È (1818±1848) `What winter floods. what showers of spring' What winter floods. what showers of spring Have drenched the grass by night and day And yet beneath that spectre ring Unmoved and undiscovered lay A mute remembrancer of crime Long lost concealed forgot for years It comes at last to cancel time And waken unavailing tears 5 `Long neglect has worn away' Long neglect has worn away Half the sweet enchanting smile Time has turned the bloom to grey Mould and damp the face defile But that lock of silky hair Still beneath the picture twined Tells what once those features were Paints their image on the mind Fair the hand that traced that line `Dearest ever deem me true' Swiftly flew the fingers fine When the pen that motto drew 5 10 `The night is darkening round me' The night is darkening round me The wild winds coldly blow But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot. cannot go .
The full moon's cloudless shine Were once entwined with thee But now. where art thou now? Long years have passed away Since last from off thine angel brow I saw the light decay ± Alas. The summer-eve divine. how happy! those are words That once would scarce agree together . 5 10 15 `How still. 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. with weary pain ± Lost vision! 'tis enough for me ± Thou canst not shine again. `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. But nothing drear can move me. how happy! those are words' How still. The silent night of solemn calm. I will not.104 Emily (Jane) Bronte. Wastes beyond wastes below. where art thou now?' O Dream. 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.
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 . how happy! now I feel Where silence dwells is sweeter far Than laughing mirth's most joyous swell However pure its raptures are Come sit down on this sunny stone 'Tis wintery light o'er flowerless moors ± But sit ± for we are all alone And clear expand heaven's breathless shores I could think in the withered grass Spring's budding wreaths we might discern The violet's eye might shyly flash And young leaves shoot among the fern It is but thought ± full many a night The snow shall clothe those hills afar And storms shall add a drearier blight And winds shall wage a wilder war Before the lark may herald in Fresh foliage twined with blossoms fair And summer days again begin Their glory-haloed crown to wear Yet my heart loves December's smile As much as July's golden beam Then let us sit and watch the while The blue ice curdling on the stream ± 25 5 10 15 20 30 `Mild the mist upon the hill' Mild the mist upon the hill Telling not of storms tomorrow No. `Mild the mist upon the hill' 105 È I loved the plashing of the surge ± The changing heaven. softened airs That in the forest woke no sighs And from the green spray shook no tears How still.Emily (Jane) Bronte. More than smooth seas and cloudless skies And solemn. soothing. the breezy weather.
While moonbeams flash and fly so fast We scarce can say they smiled ± Come walk with me. 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.106 Emily (Jane) Bronte. How fair soe'er it grew The vital sap once perished Will never flow again And surer than that dwelling dread. There's only thee To bless my spirit now ± We used to love on winter nights To wander through the snow. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . 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. 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. 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. come walk with me. though the soil be wet with tears. We were not once so few But Death has stolen our company As sunshine steals the dew ± He took them one by one and we Are left the only two. walk with me. `Come.
with a voice divine. that. And cold suspicion never rise. and breathe New glories o'er the blighted spring And call a lovelier Life from Death. all around. And lost and ready to despair. And whisper. Sure solacer of human cares. where guile. and doubt. thou art ever there. If but within our bosom's bound We hold a bright.Emily (Jane) Bronte. Thy world. With never-failing thankfulness. Yet. I welcome thee. While thou canst speak with such a tone! So hopeless is the world without. Warm with ten thousand mingled rays Of suns that know no winter days? Reason. untroubled sky. Danger. Thy kind voice calls me back again: Oh. my true friend! I am not lone. and Liberty. as bright as thine. to bring The hovering vision back. newly-blown: But. 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. Have undisputed sovereignty. Where thou. indeed. when hope despairs! 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 . and hate. and I. Benignant Power. And sweeter hope. I trust not to thy phantom bliss. Of real worlds. The world within I doubly prize. may oft complain For Nature's sad reality And tell the suffering heart how vain Its cherished dreams must always be. and guilt. and darkness lie. in evening's quiet hour. What matters it. still. And Truth may rudely trample down The flowers of Fancy. And earthly change from pain to pain.
But when the days of golden dreams had perished And even Despair was powerless to destroy. Dare not indulge in Memory's rapturous pain. ever more? Cold in the earth. I dare not let it languish. Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? Now. forgive if I forget thee While the World's tide is bearing me along: Other desires and other Hopes beset me. Alcona to J. Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine. cold in the dreary grave: Have I forgot. Remembrance È Remembrance (also known as `R. Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine! And even yet. Strengthened and fed without the aid of joy. to love thee. far removed. when alone. Brenzaida') Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee! Far. All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given ± All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. How could I seek the empty world again? 25 5 10 15 20 30 . No second morn has ever shone for me. 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. No later light has lightened up my heaven. Then did I check the tears of useless passion. my only Love.108 Emily (Jane) Bronte. Hopes which obscure but cannot do thee wrong. do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains on Angora's shore. Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish. Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover That noble heart for ever. Then did I learn how existence could be cherished.
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. open Warder stern!' He dare not say me nay ± the hinges harshly turn. my angry Dame.Emily (Jane) Bronte. your bolts and irons strong.' 25 5 10 15 20 30 . `Our guests are darkly lodged. Then. looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep. That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?' The captive raised her face. `Aye. alone.' I whispered gazing through The vault whose grated eye showed heaven more grey than blue (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride). and A. Frown. nor prying serf shall know What angel nightly tracks that waste of winter snow. Julian M. But neither sire nor dame. darkly lodged enough!' returned my sullen guide. threaten me with shame. It was so soft and mild. G. unweaned child. God forgive my youth. `and I am suffering now. dreading every breeze That whirls the 'wildering drifts and bends the groaning trees. and A. And were they forged in steel they could not hold me long. `Confined in triple walls. One. chide. Rochelle (also known as `The Prisoner') Silent is the House ± all are laid asleep. Rochelle 109 È Julian M. forgive my careless tongue! I scoffed as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung. it was as soft and mild As sculptured marble saint or slumbering. Watching every cloud.' she said. Set your slaves to spy. The little lamp burns straight. art thou so much to fear. `Draw the ponderous bars. In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray Reckless of the lives wasting there away. Yet these are little worth. soft the matted floor. Cheerful is the hearth. Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door. my haughty Sire. its rays shoot strong and far: I trim it well to be the Wanderer's guiding-star. G.
And kneeling. He comes with western winds. wildly gay! Was that the wintry close of thy celestial May? She knew me and she sighed. And offers. Friend. you. But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind: And I am rough and rude. dreaming wretch that I shall grant thy prayer? Or better still. 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. G. Dost think fond. And insult and contempt I lightly brook from you. its fair curls swept the ground. unless you deem it shame To own from conquered foe. How memory mirrored then the prisoner's joyous morn ± Too blithe. too warmly. before!' Her head sank on her hands. 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. `Lord Julian. `Is she so near to death?' I murmured. never.' she gently said. alone. can it be.110 Emily (Jane) Bronte. eternal liberty. too loving Child. and A. his aspect bland and kind. parted back the floating golden cloud. A messenger of Hope comes every night to me. half aloud. a once familiar name ± I can not wonder now at ought the world will do. Of all my playmates. wilt melt my master's heart with groans? Ah sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones! My master's voice is low. Julian M. yet. Then may I weep and sue ± but. `you have not heard me mourn. And visions rise and change which kill me with desire ± 65 45 35 40 50 55 60 70 . tell them. `Shall I be won to hear. By ball or speedy knife or headsman's skilful blow ± A quick and welcome pang instead of lingering woe! Yet. how former days upon my heart were borne. With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. Winds take a pensive tone and stars a tender fire. Rochelle È Hoarse laughed the jailor grim. remember me? Nay start not at my words. When you my parents' lives ± my lost life can restore. Julian. I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom and desolate despair. The dungeon seemed to swim in strange confusion round. all. with evening's wandering airs. for short life. Alas.
Mute music soothes my breast ± unuttered harmony That I could never dream till earth was lost to me. Measuring the gulf it stoops and dares the final bound! O. dreadful is the check ± intense the agony When the ear begins to hear and the eye begins to see. still to stay.Emily (Jane) Bronte. the vision is divine. if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm. paced by the bolted door And shivered as he walked and as he shivered. My outward sense is gone. Not daring now to touch one lock of silken hair ± As I had knelt in scorn. `You may be pleased. the captive's drooping lid Beneath its shady lash a sudden lightning hid.' She ceased to speak and I. I'd leave this badge of mine with you Not doubting that you'd prove a jailor stern and true. its harbour found.' I took the proffered charge. heaven's home was not so dear: I read it in that flash of longing quelled by fear. The more that anguish racks the earlier it will bless: And robed in fires of Hell. yet did not see. When. The soul to feel the flesh and the flesh to feel the chain! Yet I would lose no sting. loosing off his belt the rusty dungeon key. swore ± While my cheek glowed in flame. from sun or thunderstorm. If I might go. He said. or bright with heavenly shine If it but herald Death. to and fro. Then. When the pulse begins to throb. the flagstones damp and foul. The keeper. watched her there. I saw. Then dawns the Invisible. I heard and yet heard not the surly keeper growl. 105 85 75 80 90 95 100 110 . Julian M. and A. Lord Julian. The struggle of distress and fierce impatience ends. But duty will not let me linger here all day. a soundless calm descends. the Unseen its truth reveals. would wish no torture less. on the dank floor I knelt still. My fingers in the links of that iron hard and chill. I knew not whence they came. its home. But first a hush of peace. 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. my inward essence feels ± Its wings are almost free. Rochelle 111 È Desire for nothing known in my maturer years When joy grew mad with awe at counting future tears. the brain to think again. G. unanswering. Earth's hope was not so dead.
with calm mind. If I should break the chain I felt my bird would go. unswerving constancy. I earned at last an equal love from thee! 145 125 115 120 130 135 140 150 . While foes were prowling near and Death gazed greedily And only Hope remained a faithful friend to me. the battle-standard wave But Julian had no heart to fill a patriot's grave. Yet I had no desire the glorious prize to gain ± It needed braver nerve to face the world's disdain. Rochelle. By suffering. When though the cage was wide ± the heaven around it lay ± Its pinion would not waft my wounded dove away. When pierced with one wild glance from the troubled hazel eye It gushes into tears and lets its treasure fly. Oh. she turned aside from noon's unwonted beam. 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 never-doubting love. 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. Through thirteen anxious weeks of terror-blent delight I guarded her by day and guarded her by night. Yet I must break the chain or seal the prisoner's woe.112 Emily (Jane) Bronte. G. Rochelle È Then like a tender child whose hand did just enfold Safe in its eager grasp a bird it wept to hold. contempt and calumny. How the trumpet's voice might call. I heard my kindred tell `How Julian loved his hearth and sheltering rooftree well. and A.' And I. Short strife! what rest could soothe ± what peace could visit me While she lay pining there for Death to set her free? `Rochelle. more than I could dream ± When. faint. And by the patient strength that could that world defy. 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. So ready to condemn. Julian M. Then oft with taunting smile. who am so quick to answer sneer with sneer. 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.
Changes.Emily (Jane) Bronte. `No coward soul is mine' 113 È `No coward soul is mine' No coward soul is mine No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere I see Heaven's glories shine And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear O God within my breast Almighty ever-present Deity Life. 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. dissolves. have power in thee Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts. 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. that in me hast rest As I Undying Life. sustains.
The `Help us or we perish. things remain. fears may be liars. Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers. and the cry That rises so spontaneous to the lips. It may be that in deed and not in fancy. A voice that is not ours commands the waves. in yon smoke concealed. comes in the light. the main. It may be. look! the land is bright. That when we see the o'ertopping waves advance. A hand that is not ours upstays our steps. An evanescent spectrum of disease. Commands the waves.' is not nought. but for you. possess the field. If hopes were dupes. For while the tired waves vainly breaking. 5 10 15 `That there are powers above us I admit' That there are powers above us I admit. and whispers in our ear. But westward. And. flooding in. Seem here no painful inch to gain. In front the sun climbs slow. The labor and the wounds are vain. 5 10 . And as things have been. And not by eastern windows only.Arthur Hugh Clough (1819±1861) `Say not the struggle naught availeth' Say not the struggle naught availeth. The enemy faints not nor faileth. It may be true too That while we walk the troublous tossing sea. how slowly. Far back through creeks and inlets making Comes silent. When daylight comes. There are who walk beside us. And when [we] feel our feet beneath us sink.
I will not say they will not give us aid. 15 . `That there are powers above us I admit' 115 O thou of little faith.Arthur Hugh Clough. And when we lift up holy hands of prayer. why didst thou doubt? At any rate ± That there are beings above us. I believe.
. And then their endless bounds they know. Oh then a longing like despair Is to their farthest caverns sent. and what I ought to be. ± For surely once. estranging sea. salt. And they are swept by balms of spring. and sick of asking What I am. But when the moon their hollows lights. a God their severance ruled! And bade betwixt their shores to be The unplumbed. from shore to shore. Across the sounds and channels pour. And in their glens. The nightingales divinely sing. Dotting the shoreless watery wild. on starry nights. o'er the starlit sea.Matthew Arnold (1822±1888) To Marguerite In Returning a Volume of the Letters of Ortis Yes: in the sea of life enisled. that their longing's fire Should be. The islands feel the enclasping flow. 5 10 15 20 Self-Dependence Weary of myself. And lovely notes. We mortal millions live alone. Now round us spreads the watery plain ± Oh might our marges meet again! Who ordered. forwards. which bears me Forwards. as soon as kindled. cooled? Who renders vain their deep desire? A God. we were Parts of a single continent. With echoing straits between us thrown. they feel. At this vessel's prow I stand.
and fling. the moon lies fair Upon the Straits. `Ah. Dover Beach 117 And a look of passionate desire O'er the sea and to the stars I send: `Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me. the cliffs of England stand. These attain the mighty life you see. Undistracted by the sights they see. For alone they live. ah. Over the lit sea's unquiet way. `Bounded by themselves. on the French coast. and know that he. Calm me. and unobservant In what state God's other works may be.' I cried.Matthew Arnold. `Unaffrighted by the silence round them. In the rustling night-air came the answer ± `Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they.' O air-born Voice! long since. still let me. sweet is the night air! Only. Glimmering and vast. from the long line of spray Where the ebb meets the moon-blanched land. amusement. out in the tranquil bay. Who finds himself. Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves suck back. 5 10 . clear. compose me to the end. `And with joy the stars perform their shining. nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul. And the sea its long moon-silvered roll. A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear. In their own tasks all their powers pouring. and is gone. The tide is full. loses his misery!' 25 5 10 15 20 30 Dover Beach The sea is calm tonight. Feel my soul becoming vast like you.' From the intense. the light Gleams. `ye Stars. once more. On my heart your mighty charm renew: Still. ye Waters. Come to the window. as I gaze upon you. `Resolve to be thyself. These demand not that the things without them Yield them love. star-sown vault of heaven. severely clear. sympathy.
The sea of faith Was once. nor love. nor help for pain. The Scholar-Gipsy At their return. 1661. Nor certitude. let us be true To one another! for the world. he said. but that they had a traditional kind of learning among them. and he gave them an account of the necessity which drove him to that kind of life. Where ignorant armies clash by night. who was by his poverty forced to leave his studies there. But now I only hear Its melancholy. and could do wonders by the power of imagination. we Find also in the sound a thought. and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. at the full. Among these extravagant people. love. he intended. and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery. long withdrawing roar. and cease. nor peace. too. 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. After he had been a pretty while well exercised in the trade. So various. and then again begin.' ± Glanvil's Vanity of Dogmatizing. and bring The eternal note of sadness in. there chanced to ride by a couple of scholars. Hath really neither joy. and give the world an account of what he had learned. down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the ágean. And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight. Ah. so beautiful. up the high strand. to leave their company. which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams. he quickly got so much of their love and esteem as that they discovered to him their mystery. With tremulous cadence slow. and told them that the people he went with were not such impostors as they were taken for. by the insinuating subtilty of his carriage. who had formerly been of his acquaintance. so new. They quickly spied out their old friend among the gipsies. . and at last to join himself to a company of vagabond gipsies. and when he had compassed the whole secret. nor light. their fancy binding that of others: that himself had learned much of their art. Retreating to the breath Of the night-wind. Begin.118 Matthew Arnold.
in the country lanes Two scholars. And here till sun-down. Here will I sit and wait. 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. Then here. tired of knocking at Preferment's door. where he leaves His coat. And roamed the world with that wild brotherhood. And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves. But when the fields are still. In this high field's dark corner. will I be. Who. for they call you. And bower me from the August sun with shade. that the Gipsy crew. Shepherd. from the hill. and untie the wattled cotes: No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed. And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest. where the reaper was at work of late. and his earthen cruise. and rustle down their perfumed showers Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid. and went to learn the Gipsy lore. The Scholar-Gipsy 119 Go. Shepherd. Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats. as most men deemed. His mates. whom at college erst he knew Met him. But once. let me read the oft-read tale again. half-reaped field. and of his way of life enquired. had arts to rule as they desired 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . One summer morn forsook His friends. Nor the cropped herbage shoot another head. And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's book ± Come. years after. his basket. With distant cries of reapers in the corn ± All the live murmur of a summer's day. Here. And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers. And came. and again renew the quest. The story of the Oxford scholar poor Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain. Whereat he answered. But came to Oxford and his friends no more. Shepherd.Matthew Arnold. to little good. Go. Shepherd. Screened is this nook o'er the high. comes back his stores to use. And only the white sheep are sometimes seen Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanched green. While to my ear from uplands far away The bleating of the folded flocks is borne. Come. at noon.
And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. Maidens. Returning home on summer nights. 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. And put the shepherds. who from the distant hamlets come To dance around the Fyfield elm in May. and thou art seen no more. When fully learned. Seen by rare glimpses. pensive and tongue-tied. Or in my boat I lie Moored to the cool bank in the summer heats. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills. As the slow punt swings round: And leaning backward in a pensive dream. Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet. The Scholar-Gipsy The workings of men's brains. Oxford riders blithe. And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream And then they land. on thy trace. the smock-frocked boors Had found him seated at their entering. Wanderer. and returned no more. Thee.' he said. `the secret of their art. will to the world impart: But it needs happy moments for this skill. and cloak of grey. But rumours hung about the countryside. Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam. Or cross a stile into the public way.' This said. mid their drink and clatter. For most. Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers ± the frail-leafed. On the warm ingle bench. And they can bind them to what thoughts they will: `And I. he left them. he would fly: And I myself seem half to know thy looks.120 Matthew Arnold. at the ferry. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring. And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers Plucked in shy fields and distant woodland bowers. At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors. That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray. And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place. In hat of antique shape. And watch the warm green muffled Cumnor hills. I know. thou lov'st retired ground. But. have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe. The same the Gipsies wore.
Through the long dewy grass move slow away. Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow. The Scholar-Gipsy 121 And. Have often passed thee near Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown: Marked thy outlandish garb. and every bush you see With scarlet patches tagged and shreds of grey. Turned once to watch. Thy face towards Hinksey and its wintry ridge? And thou hast climbed the hill. thy figure spare. and many a scythe in sunshine flames. And gained the white brow of the Cumnor range. in winter. Thou hast been seen. while thick the snowflakes fall. 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. nor stops his meal. or hanging on a gate To watch the threshers in the mossy barns. And waiting for the spark from Heaven to fall. Thy dark vague eyes. on the causeway chill Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go. Have I not passed thee on the wooden bridge. thou wert gone. But. In Autumn. when the stars come out and shine. Above the forest ground called Thessaly ± The blackbird picking food Sees thee. who early range these slopes and late For cresses from the rills. But what ± I dream! Two hundred years are flown Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls. Have known thee watching. Children. when they came from bathing. on the skirts of Bagley Wood Where most the Gipsies by the turf-edged way Pitch their smoked tents. So often has he known thee past him stray Rapt. Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass Where black-winged swallows haunt the glittering Thames. nor fears at all. And once. twirling in thy hand a withered spray. To bathe in the abandoned lasher pass. And marked thee. all an April day. And the grave Glanvil did the tale inscribe That thou wert wandered from the studious walls 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . At some lone homestead in the Cumnor hills. The springing pastures and the feeding kine. above Godstow Bridge. when haytime's here In June.Matthew Arnold. and soft abstracted air.
thou hast not felt the lapse of hours. nor knows for what he strives. one business. in hope. Exhaust the energy of strongest souls. But thou possessest an immortal lot. Because thou hadst ± what we. And we imagine thee exempt from age And living as thou liv'st on Glanvil's page. For what wears out the life of mortal men? 'Tis that from change to change their being rolls: 'Tis that repeated shocks. Some country nook. Thou waitest for the spark from Heaven and we. The generations of thy peers are fled. nor clearly willed. Whose vague resolves never have been fulfilled. like other men. Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds. Light half-believers of our casual creeds. so? Thou hadst one aim. Who never deeply felt. disappointments new. Who hesitate and falter life away. have not. again. no. ± No. in much been baffled. where o'er thy unknown grave Tall grasses and white flowering nettles wave. Free from the sick fatigue. and in some quiet churchyard laid. thy fire. Thou hast not lived. For whom each year we see Breeds new beginnings. but not. And numb the elastic powers. And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit. undiverted to the world without.122 Matthew Arnold. not spent on other things. To the just-pausing Genius we remit Our worn-out life. the languid doubt. Under a dark. and are ± what we have been. Till having used our nerves with bliss and teen. Which much to have tried. with powers Fresh. And each half lives a hundred different lives. red-fruited yew-tree's shade. and join a Gipsy tribe: And thou from earth art gone Long since. why should'st thou perish. Of whom each strives. alas. For early didst thou leave the world. brings. Firm to their mark. O life unlike to ours! Who fluctuate idly without term or scope. Who wait like thee. 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 . The Scholar-Gipsy To learn strange arts. like thee. one desire: Else wert thou long since numbered with the dead ± Else hadst thou spent. again. And we ourselves shall go.
Freshen thy flowers. and try to bear With close-lipped Patience for our only friend. Roaming the country side. and resting on the moonlit pales. was rife ± Fly hence. await it too? Yes. its divided aims. And how the breast was soothed. Wave us away. Nursing thy project in unclouded joy. And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames. And waive all claim to bliss. And wish the long unhappy dream would end. The Scholar-Gipsy 123 And lose tomorrow the ground won today ± Ah! do not we. With a free onward impulse brushing through. And all his store of sad experience he Lays bare of wretched days. Sad Patience. Tells us his misery's birth and growth and signs. And all his hourly varied anodynes. Still clutching the inviolable shade. and how the head. where none pursue. From the dark dingles. our contact fear! Still fly. And then we suffer and amongst us One. And every doubt long blown by time away. too near neighbour to Despair: But none has hope like thine. but it still delays. a truant boy. Thou through the fields and through the woods dost stray. Its heads o'ertaxed. Before this strange disease of modern life. With its sick hurry. Who most has suffered. to the nightingales. takes dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne. O born in days when wits were fresh and clear. plunge deeper in the bowering wood! Averse. And how the dying spark of hope was fed. and keep thy solitude! Still nursing the unconquerable hope.Matthew Arnold. as in former years. or listen with enchanted ears. Wanderer. we await it. On some mild pastoral slope Emerge. its palsied hearts. as Dido did with gesture stern From her false friend's approach in Hades turn. 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 . With dew. This for our wisest: and we others pine. By night. the silvered branches of the glade ± Far on the forest skirts.
And saw the merry Grecian coaster come. Thy hopes grow timorous. And day and night held on indignantly O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale. through sheets of foam. And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made: And then thy glad perennial youth would fade. though it gives no bliss. yet spoils for rest. And knew the intruders on his ancient home. Descried at sunrise an emerging prow Lifting the cool-haired creepers stealthily. and shook out more sail. And snatched his rudder. and like us unblest. Green bursting figs. our feverish contact fly! For strong the infection of our mental strife. and unbent sails There. Fade. and tunnies steeped in brine. The young light-hearted Masters of the waves. And we should win thee from thy own fair life. Then fly our greetings. To where the Atlantic raves Outside the Western Straits. Which. and grow old at last and die like ours. the dark Iberians come. soon thy cheer would die. Shy traffickers. Freighted with amber grapes. Soon. The Scholar-Gipsy But fly our paths. fly our speech and smiles! ± As some grave Tyrian trader. 225 230 235 240 245 250 . The fringes of a southward-facing brow Among the ágean isles. And on the beach undid his corded bales. Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily.124 Matthew Arnold. and Chian wine. where down cloudy cliffs. from the sea. Like us distracted. and unfixed thy powers.
No wrought flowers did adorn. lying down her back. even. She could scarce see the sun. Albeit to them she left. . Her robe. . Her seemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers. ± her hair Fell all about my face . . as a bridge. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . that looking downward thence.) It was the terrace of God's house That she was standing on. The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers. And the stars in her hair were seven. here in this place Surely she leaned o'er me. Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves. her day Had counted as ten years. So high. . It lies from Heaven across the flood Of ether. ungirt from clasp to hem. . And her hair.Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828±1882) The Blessed Damozel The blessed Damozel leaned out From the gold bar of Heaven: Her blue grave eyes were deeper much Than a deep water. . The whole year sets apace. . Yet now. . She had three lilies in her hand. ± By God built over the sheer depth In which Space is begun. . . Was yellow like ripe corn. (To one it is ten years of years: . . . But a white rose of Mary's gift On the neck meetly worn.
And the souls. In that steep gulph. And we will step down as to a stream And bathe there in God's sight. For no breeze may stir Along the steady flight Of seraphim. mounting up to God. Beyond all depth or height. no echo there.126 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. From the fixt lull of heaven. some of her new friends. Occult. gentle-mouthed. shake fierce Through all the worlds. as when The stars sang in their spheres. has he not prayed? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? `When round his head the aureole clings. Spake. `I wish that he were come to me. she saw Time. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . Her gaze still strove. `We two will stand beside that shrine. like a pulse. For he will come. Went by her like thin flames. The Blessed Damozel Beneath. Heard hardly. and go with him To the deep wells of light. withheld. I'll take his hand. and stooped Into the vast waste calm. among themselves. the tides of day and night With flame and blackness ridge The void. And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. But in those tracts. to pierce The swarm: and then she spake. And still she bowed herself. as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. with her. And he is clothed in white.' she said. untrod. `Have I not prayed in solemn heaven? On earth. Playing at holy games. Their virginal chaste names. it was The peace of utter light And silence. Till her bosom's pressure must have made The bar she leaned on warm.
± The songs I sing here. To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born. and Rosalys. With her five handmaidens. will teach to him ± I myself. which his mouth Shall pause in. `He shall fear haply. 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. expects Its patient period. being dead. whose names Are five sweet symphonies: ± Cecily. Margaret.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. with bound locks And bosoms covered. Magdalen. `will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is. . Then I will lay my cheek 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 . Into the fine cloth. `We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Sometimes is felt to be. Gertrude. `And I myself. though they would?) `We two. ± Her voice had caught their tone. lying so. revealed. Weaving the golden thread. And where each need. and though the end were reached? . hushed and slow. white like flame. Alas for lonely Heaven! Alas For life wrung out alone! Alas. 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. and be dumb. `Circle-wise sit they. . While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His name audibly.' she said. Finding some knowledge at each pause And some new thing to know.
And peace shall be with us. in strong level lapse. and listened.) 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 . shall sing To their citherns and citoles. Not once abashed or weak: And the dear Mother will approve My pride. (I saw her smile. The light thrilled past her. and then said. `There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me: ± To have more blessing than on earth In nowise. and tell about our love. Less sad of speech than mild: `All this is when he comes.128 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. and let me speak. verily. one life. verily. We two will live at once. Her eyes prayed. And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers.' She gazed. ± being as then At peace. meeting us. And wept. `Yea. `Herself shall bring us. And laid her face between her hands.' She ceased. when he is come We will do thus and thus: Till this my vigil seem quite strange And almost fabulous. Part I Youth and Change To his. To Him round whom all souls Kneel ± the unnumbered solemn heads Bowed with their aureoles: And Angels. but to be As then we were. and she smiled. Yea. hand in hand. (I heard her tears. filled With Angels.) But soon their flight Was vague 'mid the poised spheres.
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. 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. ± A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood. The bliss so long afar. I was a child beneath her touch. 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. even I and she. ± Oh let thy silent song disclose to me That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree Like married music in Love's answering air. Fain had I watched her when. Whereof the articulate throbs accompany The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair. And her breast's secrets peered into her breast. and no man sees but I. and the deep Calls to the deep. Fire within fire. Rests there attained. Methinks proud Love must weep When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap The sacred hour for which the years did sigh. the hand now warm around my neck Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo! Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow. desire in deity. ± Sweet fluttering sheet. 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. at length so nigh. Her bosom to the writing closelier pressed. First touched. till love's emulous ardours ran. ± A spirit when her spirit looked through me. even of her breath aware. ± a man When breast to breast we clung. at some fond thought. 5 10 . Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Can rob this body of honour.
130 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. without her thou art. And cold forgetfulness of night or day. 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. Steep ways and weary. What of the heart without her? Nay. her soul sought My soul. Where the long cloud. which now absorbs within its sphere My worshipping face. ± what gaze To thine. Is like a hand laid softly on the soul. Shed very dawn. thou my love. Sheds doubled darkness up the labouring hill. whose summoning eyes. Even now. Linked in gyves I saw them stand. Her paths without her? Day's appointed sway Usurped by desolate night. and from the sudden confluence caught The words that made her love the loveliest. the long wood's counterpart. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture When. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture Thou lovely and beloved. Her dress without her? The tossed empty space Of cloud-rack whence the moon has passed away. 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. whose voice. poor heart. Her pillowed place Without her? Tears. what kiss mine inmost heart can prove. till I am mirrored there Light-circled in a heaven of deep-drawn rays? What clasp. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love Life-thwarted. Love shackled with vain-longing. attuned above All modulation of the deep-bowered dove. O lovely and beloved. Whose kiss seems still the first. 5 10 Sonnet LIV: Love's Fatality Sweet Love. as for our love-world's new sunrise. ah me! for love's good grace. Of thee what word remains ere speech be still? A wayfarer by barren ways and chill. through eyes raised an instant. hand to hand: .
As if. wing-shouldered. Made moan: `Alas O love. ± Life's iron heart.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 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. I drew it in as simply as my breath. while from hillock-eaves The deer gaze calling. This is that Lady Beauty. Also his lips. But with a blessing every glade receives High salutation. though bough with bough be overrun. Nor know. in chains grown tame. guard her shrine. 5 10 Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty Under the arch of Life. to one law. thus leashed with me! Wing-footed thou. I saw Beauty enthroned. ± which can draw. that which I should do. dappled white and dun. two writhen flakes of flame. Here dawn today unveiled her magic glass. The alloted bondman of her palm and wreath. over and beneath. even as in his whose wand Vainly all night with spell-wrought power has spanned The unyielding caves of some deep treasure-trove. thy cowering self. and though her gaze struck awe. for longing. ± long known to thee 5 10 . Terror and mystery. even Love's Fatality. By sea or sky or woman. The sky and sea bend on thee. where love and death. Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew. And here the lost hours the lost hours renew While I still lead my shadow o'er the grass. ± Bound to thy body and soul. once born free: And I. the sun Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves. being foresters of old. and will not let him shun The day.' 5 10 Part II: Change and Fate Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness This sunlight shames November where he grieves In dead red leaves. named with thy name. Hers are the eyes which. Till eve bring rest when other good things pass. in whose praise Thy voice and hand shake still.
whom shed scent And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine. And still she sits. must be Even yet my life-porch in eternity. And. pluck not. it is told (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve. ± the beat Following her daily of thy heart and feet. The rose and poppy are her flowers. how many ways and days! Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty Of Adam's first wife. subtly of herself contemplative. ± though unrevealed snow With unimaginable fires arise At the earth's end. as once of yore: Or mocking winds whirl round a chaff-strown floor Thee and thy years and these my words and me. Till heart and body and life are in its hold.132 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty By flying hair and fluttering hem. young while the earth is old. and lo! This is the very place which to mine eyes Those mortal hours in vain immortalize. Even with one presence filled.) That. 'Mid hurrying crowds. City. Lilith. and left his straight neck bent And round his heart one strangling golden hair. ± what passion of surprise Like frost-bound fire-girt scenes of long ago? Lo! this is none but I this hour. for where Is he not found. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy I said: `Nay. By some new Power reduplicate. so went Thy spell through him. her sweet tongue could deceive. of thine a single simple door. O Lilith. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXI: Memorial Thresholds Á What place so strange. In what fond flight. with what alone I know. How passionately and irretrievably. ± let the first fruit be: Even as thou sayest. ere the snake's. it is sweet and red. And her enchanted hair was the first gold. . Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave.
Farewell. 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. Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen. Lo. but by my spell Is now a shaken shadow intolerable. Sonnet CI: The One Hope 133 But let it ripen still. 5 10 Sonnet CI: The One Hope When vain desire at last and vain regret Go hand in hand to death. Mark me. Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between. and turn apart Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes. how still I am! But should there dart One moment through thy soul the soft surprise Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs. And claim our fruit before its ripeness fade. ± Then shalt thou see me smile. Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen Which had Life's form and Love's.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. ± 5 10 . and all is vain. And the woods wail like echoes from the sea. ere the gleam Of autumn set the year's pent sorrow free. my name is Might-have-been. The tree's bent head Sees in the stream its own fecundity And bides the day of fulness. ± 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. And eat it from the branch and praise the tree?' I say: `Alas! our fruit hath wooed the sun Too long. Too-late.' 5 10 Sonnet XCVII: A Superscription Look in my face. Shall not we At the sun's hour that day possess the shade. ± 'tis fallen and floats adown the stream. And let us sup with summer. the last clusters! Pluck them every one.
Slowly their souls swam up again. Nuptial Sleep At length their long kiss severed. our English nightingale. with sweet smart: And as the last slow sudden drops are shed From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled. 5 10 `Found' (For a Picture) `There is a budding morrow in midnight:' ± So sang our Keats.134 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. And their dreams watched them sink. ± but what part Can life now take? She cries in her locked heart. with the opening start Of married flowers to either side outspread From the knit stem. But o'er the deadly blight Of Love deflowered and sorrow of none avail Which makes this man gasp and this woman quail. Can day from darkness ever again take flight? Ah! gave not these two hearts their mutual pledge. Under one mantle sheltered 'neath the hedge In gloaming courtship? And. as lamps across the bridge turn pale In London's smokeless resurrection-light. through gleams Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day. So singly flagged the pulses of each heart. Nuptial Sleep Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er But only the one Hope's one name be there. And here. Till from some wonder of new woods and streams He woke. ± Not less nor more. Fawned on each other where they lay apart. burnt red. and wondered more: for there she lay. Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams. yet still their mouths. Dark breaks to dawn. but even that word alone. Their bosoms sundered. O God! today He only knows he holds her. and slid away. ± `Leave me ± I do not know you ± go away!' 5 10 .
Pine-apples. 5 10 Goblin Market Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had. Gone far away into the silent land. Crab-apples. Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Remember me when I am gone away. come buy: Apples and quinces. ± Morns that pass by. strawberries.Christina G. you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Lemons and oranges. Come buy. Bloom-down-cheeked peaches. Fair eves that fly. ± All ripe together In summer weather. Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. blackberries. dewberries. Apricots. Wild free-born cranberries. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember. Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. Melons and raspberries. When you can no more hold me by the hand. 5 10 15 . Swart-headed mulberries. Plump unpecked cherries. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me.
One lugs a golden dish Of many pounds weight. One hauls a basket. Pomegranates full and fine. `Lie close.' cried Lizzie. We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?' `Come buy. no. Laura bowed her head to hear. Lizzie. Damsons and bilberries. `Oh.' Evening by evening Among the brookside rushes. Lizzie veiled her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather. `Laura.' call the goblins Hobbling down the glen. Lizzie. Goblin Market Come buy. no. With clasping arms and cautioning lips. look. 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . Rossetti. With tingling cheeks and finger tips.' `No. Their offers should not charm us. Bright-fire-like barberries. Laura. Down the glen tramp little men. Come buy. Laura reared her glossy head. Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries. One bears a plate. You should not peep at goblin men. Sweet to tongue and sound to eye. come buy. come buy: Our grapes fresh from the vine. Dates and sharp bullaces. Figs to fill your mouth.' Lizzie covered up her eyes. How warm the wind must blow Through those fruit bushes.' said Lizzie: `No. Rare pears and greengages. Pricking up her golden head: `We must not look at goblin men. And whispered like the restless brook: `Look.136 Christina G. Covered close lest they should look. How fair the vine must grow Whose grapes are so luscious.' Laura said. Citrons from the South.
One crawled like a snail. One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry. One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry. Leering at each other.' When they reached where Laura was They stood stock still upon the moss. Rossetti. Longed but had no money: The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste In tones as smooth as honey. leaves.Christina G. One had a cat's face. Laura stretched her gleaming neck Like a rush-imbedded swan. come buy. Like a lily from the beck. and the snail-paced even was heard. Laura stared but did not stir. One tramped at a rat's pace. One reared his plate. Brother with queer brother. Like a moonlit poplar branch. 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. Brother with sly brother. shut eyes and ran: Curious Laura chose to linger Wondering at each merchant man. Signalling each other. With their shrill repeated cry.' was still their cry. Like a vessel at the launch When its last restraint is gone. 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . Backwards up the mossy glen Turned and trooped the goblin men. Goblin Market 137 Their evil gifts would harm us. One whisked a tail. The cat-faced purred. and rough nuts brown (Men sell not such in any town).' She thrust a dimpled finger In each ear. come buy. One began to weave a crown Of tendrils. The rat-paced spoke a word Of welcome. One set his basket down. `Come buy.
' She clipped a precious golden lock. She sucked until her lips were sore. She never tasted such before. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . How she met them in the moonlight. Sought them by night and day. Twilight is not good for maidens. Goblin Market One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried `Pretty Goblin' still for `Pretty Polly. To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse. you should not stay so late. Took their gifts both choice and many. She dropped a tear more rare than pearl.' `You have much gold upon your head. I have no coin. Should not loiter in the glen In the haunts of goblin men. Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: Sweeter than honey from the rock. But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: `Good folk. Lizzie met her at the gate Full of wise upbraidings: `Dear. Do you not remember Jeanie. Then flung the emptied rinds away But gathered up one kernel-stone. 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. Found them no more but dwindled and grew grey.138 Christina G. And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusty heather. And knew not was it night or day As she turned home alone.' ± One whistled like a bird. Then fell with the first snow. I have no silver either. Clearer than water flowed that juice. Rossetti.' They answered all together: `Buy from us with a golden curl. How should it cloy with length of use? She sucked and sucked and sucked the more Fruits which that unknown orchard bore. Stronger than man-rejoicing wine.
and pure the wave they drink With lilies at the brink. 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. Like two flakes of new-fallen snow. Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other's wings. Like two wands of ivory Tipped with gold for awful kings. You cannot think what figs My teeth have met in.Christina G. Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetched in honey.' said Laura: `Nay. Cherries worth getting.' `Nay. They lay down in their curtained bed: Like two blossoms on one stem. as sweet and busy. What melons icy-cold Piled on a dish of gold Too huge for me to hold. Wind sang to them lullaby. milked the cows. Early in the morning When the first cock crowed his warning. Moon and stars gazed in at them. hush. Not a bat flapped to and fro Round their nest: Cheek to cheek and breast to breast Locked together in one nest. I'll bring you plums to-morrow Fresh on their mother twigs. And sugar-sweet their sap. You should not loiter so.' Golden head by golden head. Pellucid grapes without one seed: Odorous indeed must be the mead Whereon they grow. Neat like bees. To-morrow night I will Buy more:' and kissed her: `Have done with sorrow. my sister: I ate and ate my fill. Rossetti. What peaches with a velvet nap. Lumbering owls forbore to fly. 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 . Yet my mouth waters still. hush.
the moon bends her arc. Laura most like a leaping flame.' But Laura loitered still among the rushes And said the bank was steep. whipped up cream.140 Christina G. The dew not fallen. Laura in an absent dream. I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look: You should not loiter longer at this brook: Come with me home. Till Lizzie urged. Fed their poultry. Cakes for dainty mouths to eat. not another maiden lags. the wind not chill: Listening ever. Rossetti. No wilful squirrel wags. Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat. Lizzie most placid in her look. one sick in part. One longing for the night. They drew the gurgling water from its deep. hobbling. but not catching The customary cry. Let alone the herds That used to tramp along the glen. `O Laura. The beasts and birds are fast asleep. Each glowworm winks her spark. `Come buy. tumbling. Next churned butter. The stars rise. come. And said the hour was early still.' With its iterated jingle Of sugar-baited words: Not for all her watching Once discerning even one goblin Racing. whisking. Then turning homewards said: `The sunset flushes Those furthest loftiest crags. sat and sewed. In groups or single. come buy. Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags. Talked as modest maidens should: Lizzie with an open heart. Laura. One content. Goblin Market Aired and set to rights the house. Of brisk fruit-merchant men. At length slow evening came: They went with pitchers to the reedy brook. One warbling for the mere bright day's delight. Come. Let us get home before the night grows dark: 205 210 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 .
`Come buy our fruits. Watched for a waxing shoot.Christina G. hoped for a root. Trudged home. Then sat up in a passionate yearning. Gone deaf and blind? Her tree of life drooped from the root: She said not one word in her heart's sore ache. as a traveller sees False waves in desert drouth With shade of leaf-crowned trees. One day remembering her kernel-stone She set it by a wall that faced the south. So crept to bed. Day after day. She never caught again the goblin cry: `Come buy. It never felt the trickling moisture run: While with sunk eyes and faded mouth She dreamed of melons. 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 . as the fair full moon doth turn To swift decay and burn Her fire away. Dewed it with tears. And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. and lay Silent till Lizzie slept.' ± 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 if we lost our way what should we do?' Laura turned cold as stone To find her sister heard that cry alone. night after night. Goblin Market 141 For clouds may gather Though this is summer weather. But there came none.' Must she then buy no more such dainty fruits? Must she no more such succous pasture find. nought discerning. And gnashed her teeth for baulked desire. It never saw the sun. Rossetti. Put out the lights and drench us through. She dwindled. That goblin cry. But peering thro' the dimness. Laura kept watch in vain In sullen silence of exceeding pain. come buy. her pitcher dripping all the way. and wept As if her heart would break. come buy.
Puffing and blowing. Clucking and gobbling. But who for joys brides hope to have Fell sick and died In her gay prime. leaping. halted by the brook: And for the first time in her life Began to listen and look. But feared to pay too dear. In earliest Winter time. along the glen. crowing. kneaded cakes of wheat. Goblin Market She no more swept the house. Laughed every goblin When they spied her peeping: Came towards her hobbling. But put a silver penny in her purse. Mopping and mowing. Fetched honey. running. 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 . Kissed Laura. The voice and stir Poor Laura could not hear. She thought of Jeanie in her grave. Tender Lizzie could not bear To watch her sister's cankerous care Yet not to share. Longed to buy fruit to comfort her. Rossetti. come buy:' ± Beside the brook. She heard the tramp of goblin men. Come buy. Brought water from the brook: But sat down listless in the chimney-nook And would not eat. She night and morning Caught the goblins' cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. Till Laura dwindling Seemed knocking at Death's door: Then Lizzie weighed no more Better and worse. With the first snowfall of crisp Winter time. Chuckling. Who should have been a bride. With the first glazing rime. Tended the fowls or cows. Flying.142 Christina G. Full of airs and graces. crossed the heath with clumps of furze At twilight. clapping.
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,
knocked at her heart. She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. to choose such part Of soul-consuming care! Sense failed in the mortal strife: Like the watch-tower of a town Which an earthquake shatters down. And beat her breast. cankered. She gorged on bitterness without a name. Like a foam-topped waterspout Cast down headlong in the sea. Shaking with aguish fear. Or like a caged thing freed. She loathed the feast: Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung. and pain. Rossetti. and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste. Dropping like rain After long sultry drouth. Undone in mine undoing And ruined in my ruin. Like a lightning-stricken mast. Or like an eagle when she stems the light Straight toward the sun. That juice was wormwood to her tongue. She fell at last. Her lips began to scorch. Swift fire spread through her veins. 480 485 490 495 500 505 510 515 520 . Kissed and kissed and kissed her: Tears once again Refreshed her shrunken eyes. Or like the mane of horses in their flight. have you tasted For my sake the fruit forbidden? Must your light like mine be hidden. Ah! fool. Met the fire smouldering there And overbore its lesser flame. Her locks streamed like the torch Borne by a racer at full speed. Or like a flying flag when armies run. Rent all her robe. Thirsty.146 Christina G. Your young life like mine be wasted. goblin-ridden?' ± She clung about her sister. Like a wind-uprooted tree Spun about. Lizzie. Goblin Market Clutched her hair: `Lizzie.
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
She would not balm the breeze By murmuring `Thine for ever!' As she did upon this leaze. Enough. But she'd scorn my brave endeavour. Yet I note the little chisel Of never-napping Time Defacing wan and grizzel The blazon of my prime.. O. But for the charge that blessed things I'd liefer not have be.. Rest shall we..150 Thomas Hardy. I'd go the world with Beauty. 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.. 1890.... 'tis but yon dark And wind-swept pine to me!' Yet I would bear my shortcomings With meet tranquillity. In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury Standing upfingered. Still. I remain what I was then In each essential feature Of the fantasies of men. As yet disquiet clings About us. with. 5 10 15 20 . I would laugh with her and sing. When at night he thinks me sleeping I feel him boring sly Within my bones. doth a bird beshorn of wings Go earth-bound wilfully! . `Hark! hark! The glorious distant sea!' And feel. I would shun divinest duty To resume her worshipping. `Alas. and heaping Quaintest pains for by-and-by.
5 10 A Broken Appointment You did not come. Part steals. ÐI know and knew it. unto the store Of human deeds divine in all but name. a woman. `Would God it came to pass My heart had shrunk as thin!' For then. You love not me. And say. And shakes this fragile frame at eve With throbbings of noontide.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. And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. And marching Time drew on. undistrest By hearts grown cold to me. and wore me numb. lets part abide. to make me grieve. The Darkling Thrush 151 `I look into my glass' I look into my glass. came To soothe a time-torn man. And love alone can lend you loyalty. when. Was it not worth a little hour or more To add yet this: Once you. You did not come. But Time. as the hope-hour stroked its sum. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres.Thomas Hardy. Could lonely wait my endless rest With equanimity. But. And view my wasting skin. I. 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. 5 .
She sat here in her chair. An aged thrush. Here was the former door Where the dead feet walked in. 31st December 1900 10 15 20 25 30 The Self-Unseeing Here is the ancient floor. The wind his death-lament. Footworn and hollowed and thin.152 Thomas Hardy. That I could think there trembled through His happy goodnight air Some blessed Hope. Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom. In blast-beruffled plume. So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around. The Self-Unseeing And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires. Blessings emblazoned that day. And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I. and small. The land's sharp features seemed to be The Century's corpse outleant. Yet we were looking away! 5 10 . The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry. frail. Everything glowed with a gleam. Childlike. Bowing it higher and higher. At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead In a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited. I danced in a dream. gaunt. whereof he knew And I was unaware. His crypt the cloudy canopy. He who played stood there. Smiling into the fire.
World's strand. O Christ. 7th. My heart. but you were dovewinged. 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. Thou heardst me truer than tongue confess Thy terror. where. sway of the sea. Thou knowest the walls. 3 The frown of his face Before me.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. fastened me flesh. 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. I can tell. where was a. O God. laced with fire of stress. Lord of living and dead. 5 10 15 20 . what with dread. the hurtle of hell Behind. where was a place? I whirled out wings that spell And fled with a fling of the heart to the heart of the Host. And after it almost unmade. 2 I did say yes O at lightning and lashed rod. 1875 Part the First 1 Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread.
always. a vein Of the gospel proffer. 7 It dates from day Of his going in Galilee. lovely-asunder Starlight. to a poise. To flash from the flame to the flame then. but mined with a motion. That guilt is hushed by. tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder. Though felt before. tower from the grace to the grace. glory in thunder. Christ's gift. the faithless fable and miss). The dense and the driven Passion. only the heart. and Glow. And it crowds and it combs to the fall. a drift. Manger. We lash with the best or worst Word last! How a lush-kept plush-capped sloe 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . 4 I am soft sift In an hourglass ± at the wall Fast. stressed. a principle. wafting him out of it. I steady as a water in a well. maiden's knee. though in high flood yet ± What none would have known of it. Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey. there its swelling to be. 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. hearts are flushed by and melt ± But it rides time like riding a river (And here the faithful waver. and bless when I understand. 5 I kiss my hand To the stars. Kiss my hand to the dappled-with-damson west: Since. For I greet him the days I meet him. all the way down from the tall Fells or flanks of the voel. But roped with. a pressure. The Wreck of the Deutschland Carrier-witted. I am bold to boast. being hard at bay. His mystery must be instressed.154 Gerard Manley Hopkins. and frightful sweat: Thence the discharge of it. to a pane. 8 Is out with it! Oh.
Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung: Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then. full! ± Hither then. Beyond saying sweet. with wrecking and storm. Make mercy in all of us. 10 With an anvil-ding And with fire in him forge thy will Or rather. rather then. melt him but master him still: Whether at once. as once at a crash Paul. the million of rounds of thy mercy not reeve even them in? 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . wanting it. Â But we dream we are rooted in earth ± Dust! Flesh falls within sight of us. I found it. Christ's feet ± Never ask if meaning it. though our flower the same. but be adored King. a lingering-out sweet skõll.Gerard Manley Hopkins. Thou art lightning and love. sour or sweet. in a flash. warned of it ± men go. last or first. or flood' goes Death on drum. stealing as Spring Through him. Gush! ± flush the man. American-outward-bound. not under thy feathers nor ever as guessing The goal was a shoal. flame. 9 Be adored among men. Á God. out of us all Mastery. Yet did the dark side of the bay of thy blessing Not vault them. of a fourth the doom to be drowned. past telling of tongue. a winter and warm. Two hundred souls in the round ± O Father. but be adored. some The flange and the rail. Wave with the meadow. Part the Second 11 `Some find me a sword. Brim. dogged in den. Wring thy rebel. tell men with women. The Wreck of the Deutschland 155 Will. Fang. three-numbered form. the being with it. we. 12 On Saturday sailed from Bremen. And storms bugle his fame. Man's malice. Take settler and seamen. and the blear share come. mouthed to flesh-burst. forget that there must The sour scythe cringe. Â Â Or as Austin. To hero of Calvary.
And frightful a nightfall folded rueful a day Nor rescue. Hope was twelve hours gone. with the heart-break hearing a heart-broke rabble. Sitting Eastnortheast. What could he do With the burl of the fountains of air. shone. these she endured. the crying of child without check ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . handy and brave ± He was pitched to his death at a blow. and so the sky keeps. And lives at last were washing away: To the shrouds they took. For all his dreadnought breast and braids of thew: They could tell him for hours. With a rope's end round the man. the whorl and the wheel Idle for ever to waft her or wind her with. And the sea flint-flake. Hope had mourning on. black-backed in the regular blow. the wind. ± they shook in the hurling and horrible airs. 16 One stirred from the rigging to save The wild woman-kind below. only rocket and lightship. Night roared. And canvas and compass. on Sunday. carved with cares. in cursed quarter. The breakers rolled on her beam with ruinous shock. 15 Hope had grown grey hairs. The woman's wailing.156 Gerard Manley Hopkins. For the infinite air is unkind. The Wreck of the Deutschland 13 Into the snows she sweeps. The Deutschland. 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. dandled the to and fro Through the cobbled foam-fleece. Hurling the haven behind. Trenched with tears. And she beat the bank down with her bows and the ride of her keel. 14 She drove in the dark to leeward. Á Wiry and white-fiery and whirlwind-swivelled snow Spins to the widow-making unchilding unfathering deeps. She struck ± not a reef or a rock But the combs of a smother of sand: night drew her Dead to the Kentish Knock.
Surf. the mark is of man's make 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 . Thy unchancelling poising palms were weighing the worth. thou Orion of light. (O Deutschland. O unteachably after evil. touched in your bower of bone. heart. one. Are you! turned for an exquisite smart. and the call of the tall nun To the men in the tops and the tackle rode over the storm's brawling. The Wreck of the Deutschland 157 Till a lioness arose breasting the babble. and Luther. river and earth Gnashed: but thou art above. are two of a town. such a melting. tears! is it? tears. Rhine refused them. What can it be. lily. Thou martyr-master: in thy sight Storm flakes were scroll-leaved flowers. Banned by the land of their birth. snow. but she that weather sees one thing. Why. a madrigal start! Never-eldering revel and river of youth.) 21 Loathed for a love men knew in them. this glee? the good you have there of your own? 19 Sister. 18 Ah. Thames would ruin them. a virginal tongue told. Have you! make words break from me here all alone. double a desperate name! O world wide of its good! But Gertrude. Christ's lily and beast of the waste wood: From life's dawn it is drawn down. a sister calling A master. Has one fetch in her: she rears herself to divine Ears. her master and mine! ± And the inboard seas run swirling and hawling. lily showers ± sweet heaven was astrew in them. but uttering truth. 22 Five! the finding and sake And cipher of suffering Christ. A prophetess towered in the tumult.Gerard Manley Hopkins. Mark. 20 She was first of a five and came Á Of a coifed sisterhood. Abel is Cain's brother and breasts they have sucked the same. The rash smart sloggering brine Blinds her. Do you! ± mother of being in me.
niche of the lance. With the gnarls of the nails in thee. But he scores it in scarlet himself on his own bespoken. She to the black-about air. to breathe in his all-fire glances. Are sisterly sealed in wild waters.158 Gerard Manley Hopkins. The treasure never eyesight got. but it was not these. Á Before-time-taken. the men Woke thee with a We are perishing in the weather of Gennesareth. 205 With belled fire and the moth-soft Milky Way. 24 Away in the loveable west. 23 Joy fall to thee. to the breaker. To bathe in his fall-gold mercies. christens her wild-worst Best. his Lovescape crucified And seal of his seraph-arrival! and these thy daughters Á Á And five-lived and leaved favour and pride. I was at rest. still higher. the jay-blue heavens appearing Of pied and peeled May! Blue-beating and hoary-glow height. or night. 210 . the thickly Falling flakes. ruddying of the rose-flake. to the throng that catches and quails Was calling `O Christ. arch and original Breath. Drawn to the Life that died. And they the prey of the gales. Is it love in her of the being as her lover had been? Breathe. I was under a roof here. The jading and jar of the cart. cinquefoil token For lettering of the lamb's fleece. They were else-minded then. body of lovely Death. 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. On a pastoral forehead of Wales. 25 The majesty! what did she mean? Breathe. What by your measure is the heaven of desire. Christ. Or is it that she cried for the crown then. signal. dearest prized and priced ± Stigma. come quickly': The cross to her she calls Christ to her. father Francis. The Wreck of the Deutschland And the word of it Sacrificed. nor was ever guessed what for the hearing? 27 No. altogether.
heart's light. worded by? ± The Simon Peter of a soul! to the blast È Tarpeõan-fast. . 30 Jesu. I gather. . be a bell to. but pity of the rest of them! Heart. the breast of the Maiden could obey so. . There then! the Master. ring of it. so to conceive thee is done. 215 220 225 230 235 240 31 Well. in his triumph. . lord it with living and dead. Head: He was to cure the extremity where he had cast her. Wording it how but by him that present and past. O of a feathery delicacy. 28 But how shall I . birth of a brain. for the Patience. Not danger. does tempest carry the grain for thee? . Jesu. despatch and have done with his doom there. King. Word. but a blown beacon of light. But here was heart-throe. What was the feast followed the night Thou hadst glory of this nun? ± Feast of the one woman without stain. then further it finds The appealing of the Passion is tenderer in prayer apart: Other. Ipse. . Do. Thing that she . electrical horror. Fancy. Heaven and earth are word of. her pride. and Startle the poor sheep back! is the shipwrack then a harvest. .Gerard Manley Hopkins. Christ. 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. in wind's burly and beat of endragoned seas. that heard and kept thee and uttered thee outright. come faster ± Strike you the sight of it? look at it loom there. Á For so conceived. deal. it is fathers that asking for ease Of the sodden-with-its-sorrowing heart. 29 Ah! there was a heart right! There was single eye! Read the unshapeable shock night And knew the who and the why. Let him ride. The Wreck of the Deutschland 159 Time's tasking. make me room there: Reach me a . maid's son. in measure her mind's Á Burden. the only one. she has thee for the pain.
and granite of it: past all Grasp God. upon English souls! Let him easter in us. master of the tides. Our hearts' charity's hearth's fire. Pride. 34 Now burn. 35 Dame. 260 A vein for the visiting of the past-prayer. Ground of being. The-last-breath penitent spirits ± the uttermost mark Á Our passion-plunged giant risen. The Christ of the Father compassionate. . throned behind Death with a sovereignty that heeds but hides. 250 255 33 With a mercy that outrides The all of water. new born to the world. 275 280 God's Grandeur The world is charged with the grandeur of God. quenching ocean of a motionable mind. Oh. A released shower. The girth of it and the wharf of it and the wall. rare-dear Britain. More brightening her. as his reign rolls. our thoughts' chivalry's throng's Lord. not a lightning of fire hard-hurled. an ark For the listener. Remember us in the roads.160 Gerard Manley Hopkins. 270 Kind. like shining from shook foil. fetched in the storm of his strides. Of the Yore-flood. Á Mid-numbered he in three of the thunder-throne! Not a dooms-day dazzle in his coming nor dark as he came. be a crimson-cresseted east. be a dayspring to the dimness of us. pent in prison. It will flame out. high-priest. maiden-furled Miracle-in-Mary-of-flame. prince. at our door Drowned. hero of us. 265 Á Double-natured name. heart-fleshed. rose. but royally reclaiming his own. for the lingerer with a love glides Lower than death and the dark. The recurb and the recovery of the gulf's sides. bodes but abides. God's Grandeur 32 I admire thee. the heaven-haven of the reward: Our King back. let flash to the shire. and among our shoals. of the year's fall. The heaven-flung. Stanching.
dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon. Â Â And all trades. There lives the dearest freshness deep down things. And all is seared with trade. O my chevalier! Â Â No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine. Pied Beauty 161 It gathers to a greatness. All things counter. For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim. Why do men then now not reck his rod? Generations have trod. Whatever is fickle. bleared. Landscape plotted and pieced ± fold. freckled (who knows how?) 5 . springs ± Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings. Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls. kingdom of daylight's dauphin. at the brown brink eastward. nor can foot feel. finches' wings. original. smeared with toil. 5 10 Pied Beauty Glory be to God for dappled things ± For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow. Fall. 5 10 The Windhover To Christ our Lord I caught this morning morning's minion. here Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then. have trod. And though the last lights off the black West went Oh. and plough. and striding High there. gall themselves. nature is never spent. And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil Is bare now. plume. in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air. have trod. As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding Rebuffed the big wind. how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off. a billion Times told lovelier. and blue-bleak embers.Gerard Manley Hopkins. like the ooze of oil Crushed. pride. their gear and tackle and trim. air. morning. fallow. more dangerous. being shod. spare. oh. strange. ah my dear. ± the achieve of. And for all this. and gash gold-vermilion. My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird. off forth on swing. the mastery of the thing! Brute beauty and valour and act.
sour. Binsey Poplars With swift. whose airy cages quelled. Impatient. slow. That. big-boned and hardy-handsome Pining. All felled. though a heavenlier heart began some Months earlier. Who have watched his mould of man. pining. her being so slender. Ten or twelve.162 Gerard Manley Hopkins. are all felled. fleshed there. till time when reason rambled in it and some Fatal four disorders. dim. Of a fresh and following folded rank Not spared. O is he dead then? my duty all ended. a rural scene. but mended Being anointed and all. like this sleek and seeing ball But a prick will make no eye at all. He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. 5 10 15 20 Felix Randal Felix Randal the farrier. 10 Binsey Poplars Felled 1879 My aspens dear. he cursed at first. When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. since I had our sweet reprieve and ransom Tendered to him. sweet. felled. even where we mean To mend her we end her. only ten or twelve Â Strokes of havoc unselve The sweet especial scene. God rest him all road ever he offended! 5 . Sweet especial rural scene. all contended? Sickness broke him. Rural scene. Where we. not one That dandled a sandalled Shadow that swam or sank On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank. Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun. 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. adazzle. Ah well.
ah let life wind 10 Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Off her once skeined stained veined varõety | upon. How far from then forethought of. . touch had quenched thy tears. all on two spools. poor Felix Randal.Gerard Manley Hopkins. earthless. equal. Thy tears that touched my heart. Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells. . Selves ± goes itself. . black. part. attuneable. For Christ plays in ten thousand places. Â Â Â Â Â Ever so black on it. overbend us. For earth | her being has unbound. all through her. home-of-all. As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring. earlstars. child. Didst fettle for the great grey drayhorse his bright and battering sandal! 10 `As Kingfishers Catch Fire' As kingfishers catch fire. Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is ± Â Chrõst. Â pack . you round me right Â Â Âur Â Â Â With: Our evening is over us. | womb-of-all. pen. Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 This seeing the sick endears them to us. in throngs. like each tucked string tells. dragonflies draw flame. us too it endears. each hung bell's Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name. Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west. My tongue had taught thee comfort. O our oracle! | Let life. Heart. Felix. Â Â Fõre-featuring heaven. and will end us. waned. stupendous Â Â Evening strains to be tõme's vast. whelms. Â Â Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces. and lovely in eyes not his To the Father through the features of men's faces. Lovely in limbs. myself it speaks and spells. Crying What I do is me: for that I came. o night | whelms. | vaulty. powerful amidst peers. | stars principal. her dapple is at end. hearse-of-all night. Our tale. as5 Á Â tray or aswarm. 5 10 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves Earnest. voluminous. | her wild hollow hoarlight hung to the height Â Waste. dõsmembering | all now. Â I say more: the just man justices. | self Ân self steeped and pashed õ Â ± quite Â Â Â Disremembering. Only the beakleaved boughs dragonish | damask the tool-smooth bleak light. When thou at the random grim forge. her earliest stars. all thy more boisterous years.
sir. Domine. 5 10 . Thou art indeed just. õ `Thou art indeed just. selfstrung. sheathe-and shelterless. each off the other. look. Why do sinners' ways prosper? and why must Disappointment all I endeavour end? Wert thou my enemy. wrong. mind Â Â Â Â Â Ât But these two. and not breed one work that wakes. Lord' Â Â Â Now her all in two flocks. send my roots rain. birds build ± but not I build. but strain. reck but. leaved how thick! laced they are again With fretty chervil. Lord. and fresh wind shakes Them. thwart me? Oh. but. Time's eunuch. Mine. if I contend With thee. selfwrung. How wouldst thou worse. so what I plead is just. | thoughts agaõnst Â thoughts Ân groans grõnd. O thou lord of life. of a rack Â Â Where. banks and brakes Á Á Now. ware of a world where bu these | two tell. See. Sir. Lord' Justus quidem tu es. no. I wonder. life upon thy cause. O thou my friend. reckon but. than thou dost Defeat. si disputem tecum.164 Gerard Manley Hopkins. verumtamen justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c. two folds ± black. `Thou art indeed just. | right. white. the sots and thralls of lust Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend.
when the flame they watch not towers About the soil they trod. Look left. The dales are light between. We pledge in peace by farm and town The Queen they served in war. look right.A. Housman (1859±1936) From: A Shropshire Lad I 1887 From Clee to heaven the beacon burns. And with the rest your voices ring. E. 25 5 10 15 20 . From north and south the sign returns And beacons burn again. Lads. The shires have seen it plain. tombstones show And Shropshire names are read. To skies that knit their heartstrings right. From height to height 'tis heard. It dawns in Asia. To fields that bred them brave. Because 'tis fifty years tonight That God has saved the Queen. we'll remember friends of ours Who shared the work with God. And the Nile spills his overflow Beside the Severn's dead. Now. Lads of the Fifty-third. The saviours come not home to-night: Themselves they could not save. `God save the Queen' we living sing. the hills are bright. And fire the beacons up and down The land they perished for.
up. Now. lad. E. lad: thews that lie and cumber Sunlit pallets never thrive. Trampled to the floor it spanned. Twenty will not come again. And the tent of night in tatters Straws the sky-pavilioned land. About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow. It only leaves me fifty more. Never lad that trod on leather Lived to feast his heart with all. Up. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room. Morns abed and daylight slumber Were not meant for man alive. II Loveliest of trees. Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters. Hark. Forelands beacon. the empty highways crying `Who'll beyond the hills away?' Towns and countries woo together. 5 5 30 10 10 15 20 . belfries call. From: A Shropshire Lad Oh. 'tis late for lying: Hear the drums of morning play. the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough.166 A. Housman. And take from seventy springs a score. And the ship of sunrise burning Strands upon the eastern rims. God will save her. And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Get you the sons your fathers got. Up. IV Reveille Wake: the silver dusk returning Up the beach of darkness brims. And God will save the Queen. of my threescore years and ten. fear you not: Be you the men you've been.
If the heats of hate and lust In the house of flesh are strong. but blood's a rover. XIX To an Athlete Dying Young The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the marketplace. The lover of the grave. Breath's a ware that will not keep. E. the road all runners come. lad: when the journey's over There'll be time enough to sleep. And the bridegroom all night through Never turns him to the bride. The nettle nods. Lovers lying two and two Ask not whom they sleep beside. And home we brought you shoulder-high. Shoulder-high we bring you home. There revenges are forgot. the lover That hanged himself for love. Townsman of a stiller town. XVI It nods and curtseys and recovers When the wind blows above.A. 5 5 5 10 15 . XII When I watch the living meet. Man and boy stood cheering by. In the nation that is not Nothing stands that stood before. Let me mind the house of dust Where my sojourn shall be long. The man. And set you at your threshold down. From: A Shropshire Lad 167 Clay lies still. Housman. the wind blows over. Up. And the moving pageant file Warm and breathing through the street Where I lodge a little while. The nettle on the graves of lovers That hanged themselves for love. And the hater hates no more. Today. he does not move.
The goal stands up. With lads to chase the leather. to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose.168 A. And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears: Now you will not swell the rout Of lads that wore their honours out. The harness jingles now. From: A Shropshire Lad Smart lad. That I was used to drive And hear the harness jingle When I was man alive?' Ay. the horses trample. So set. No change though you lie under The land you used to plough. `Is my girl happy. before its echoes fade. And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup. the keeper Stands up to keep the goal. And has she tired of weeping As she lies down at eve?' Ay. The fleet foot on the sill of shade. the ball is flying. That I thought hard to leave. Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. she lies down lightly. Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut. The lads play heart and soul. `Is football playing Along the river shore. She lies not down to weep: 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . Now I stand up no more?' Ay. XXVII `Is my team ploughing. E. Housman.
Now I am thin and pine. and sleep. lad. 'twas before my time. Agued once like me were they. The gale. And fire and ice within me fight Beneath the suffocating night. But from my grave across my brow Plays no wind of healing now. Have stood and sweated hot and cold. I cheer a dead man's sweetheart. More than I. it plies the saplings double. 'tis nothing new. `Is my friend hearty. Have willed more mischief than they durst: If in the breathless night I too Shiver now. Then. And through their reins in ice and fire Fear contended with desire. the Roman At yonder heaving hill would stare: The blood that warms an English yeoman. Be still. And has he found to sleep in A better bed than mine?' Yes. I lie as lads would choose. they were there. my lad. Housman.A. His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves. XXXI On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble. Never ask me whose. The thoughts that hurt him. From: A Shropshire Lad 169 Your girl is well contented. E. I lie easy. And thick on Severn snow the leaves. I am not the first. 'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger When Uricon the city stood: 'Tis the old wind in the old anger. if truth were told. XXX Others. 5 5 25 30 10 15 10 . But then it threshed another wood. But I like them shall win my way Lastly to the bed of mould Where there's neither heat nor cold.
that was brave: Yours was not an ill for mending. Housman. The happy highways where I went And cannot come again. Right you guessed the rising morrow And scorned to tread the mire you must: Dust's your wages. The tree of man was never quiet: Then 'twas the Roman. what farms are those? That is the land of lost content. The gale. 'Twas best to take it to the grave. now 'tis I. XL Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills. Oh soon. From: A Shropshire Lad There. ± Long time since the tale began. son of sorrow. The soul that should not have been born. lad. and better so than later After long disgrace and scorn. I see it shining plain. like the wind through woods in riot. It blows so hard. But men may come to worse than dust. Oh you had forethought. And early wise and brave in season Put the pistol to your head. 'twill soon be gone: Today the Roman and his trouble Are ashes under Uricon. Now to your grave shall friend and stranger With ruth and some with envy come: 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 . You would not live to wrong your brothers: Oh lad. it plies the saplings double. Through him the gale of life blew high. You shot dead the household traitor. undoing others. Souls undone. E. so clean an ending? Oh that was right.170 A. What spires. you died as fits a man. you could reason. XLIV Shot? so quick. And saw your road and where it led.
bright with rime And sparkling to the cruel clime. Clean of guilt. it is but for a reason: Let us endure an hour and see injustice done. my soul. but lightless in the quarry I slept and saw not. my soul. Think rather. for they were long. whose flower is blue A single season. ± Oh. be still. Housman. Men loved unkindness then. be still. in this timeless grave to throw. Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and foundedstrong. and drink the air. Be still. and I muse for why and never find the reason. I pace the earth. No cypress. tears fell down. O soul. sombre on the snow. if now you grieve a little.A. man. the arms you bear are brittle. From: A Shropshire Lad 171 Undishonoured. ± call to thought. and feel the sun. no waking. But wear it and it will not fade. Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry: Then it was well with me. The days when we had rest. never two. E. pass hence and home. XLVIII Be still. here's the wreath I've made: 'Tis not a gift that's worth the taking. Snap not from the bitter yew His leaves that live December through. no dreams. Turn safe to rest. 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. I did not mourn. And here. clear of danger. Or shrivelled flax. 5 25 5 10 15 20 10 . Or if one haulm whose year is o'er Shivers on the upland frore. To give him comfort: he and those Shall bide eternal bedfellows Where low upon the couch he lies Whence he never shall arise. Now. But if the Christmas field has kept Awns the last gleaner overstept. bring from hill and stream and plain Whatever will not flower again. XLVI Bring. Break no rosemary. in days ere I was born.
'tis pleasant till 'tis past: The mischief is that 'twill not last. Say. 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. And faith. LXII `Terence. nought's to dread. this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough. To see the rate you drink your beer. look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation. Look not left nor right: In all the endless road you tread There's nothing but the night. 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. 5 15 5 10 15 20 25 30 . pipe a tune to dance to. All thoughts to rive the heart are here. the old cow. she is dead.172 A. Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time Moping melancholy mad: Come. Oh I have been to Ludlow fair And left my necktie God knows where. man.' Why. the horned head: We poor lads. 'tis clear. From: A Shropshire Lad Ay. And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. Housman. 'tis our turn now To hear such tunes as killed the cow. E. for what were hop-yards meant. lift your pack. man. Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse. good Lord. It sleeps well. But oh. The cow. There can't be much amiss. And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders. And leave your friends and go. There's brisker pipes than poetry. if 'tis dancing you would be. Ale. It gives a chap the belly-ache. Oh never fear. the verse you make. lad.
since the world has still Much good. It should do good to heart and head When your soul is in my soul's stead. it was the old world yet. And I will friend you. 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.A. There was a king reigned in the East: There. he died old. or near. And down in lovely muck I've lain. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 . seasoned sound. And I myself a sterling lad. He sampled all her killing store. The better for the embittered hour. but much less good than ill. Mithridates. They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up: They shook. smiling. when kings will sit to feast. But take it: if the smack is sour. In the dark and cloudy day. they stared as white's their shirt: Them it was their poison hurt. He gathered all that springs to birth From the many-venomed earth. From: A Shropshire Lad 173 And carried half way home. 'Tis true. They get their fill before they think With poisoned meat and poisoned drink. thence to more. And while the sun and moon endure Luck's a chance. They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat. Therefore. the tale was all a lie. Sate the king when healths went round. First a little. The world. ± I tell the tale that I heard told. Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer: Then the world seemed none so bad. I was I. And nothing now remained to do But begin the game anew. but trouble's sure. if I may. Happy till I woke again. And train for ill and not for good. E. my things were wet. Housman. And easy. Then I saw the morning sky: Heigho. I'd face it as a wise man would.
E. by waters idle. On acres of the seeded grasses The changing burnish heaves. For nature. Or marshalled under moons of harvest Stand still all night the sheaves. What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays. it needs not saying. On russet floors. The countries I resign. Possess.174 A. Nor ask amid the dews of morning If they are mine or no. Or beeches strip in storms for winter And stain the wind with leaves. Housman. witless nature. heartless. Will neither care nor know What stranger's feet may find the meadow And trespass there and go. The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing In leafy dells alone. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . And traveller's joy beguiles in autumn Hearts that have lost their own. as I possessed a season. The pine lets fall its cone. Where over elmy plains the highway Would mount the hills and shine. And full of shade the pillared forest Would murmur and be mine. For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways. From: Last Poems From: Last Poems XL Tell me not here.
To and fro we leap And chase the forthy bubbles. Come away. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight. Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night. While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. Come away. hand in hand. hand in hand. Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light.William Butler Yeats (1865±1939) The Stolen Child Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water-rats. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. Weaving olden dances. We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries. And of reddest stolen cherries. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. There we've hid our faery vats. In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star.
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Mournful that no new wonder may betide. We and the labouring world are passing by: Amid men's souls. 5 10 . foam of the sky. 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. being young and foolish. For he comes. Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. And Usna's children died. To the waters and the wild With a faery. with all their mournful pride. And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. hand in hand. hand in hand. In a field by the river my love and I did stand. and now am full of tears. Lives on this lonely face. For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand. She bid me take life easy. that waver and give place Like the pale waters in their wintry race. She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. 35 40 45 50 Down by the Salley Gardens Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet. Come away. Down by the Salley Gardens Give them unquiet dreams. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. as the leaves grow on the tree. Away with us he's going. Under the passing stars. Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam. the human child. She bid me take love easy. Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams.176 William Butler Yeats. But I was young and foolish. with her would not agree. 5 The Rose of the World Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips. as the grass grows on the weirs. But I.
I hear it in the deep heart's core. and noon a purple glow. for peace comes dropping slow. in your dim abode: Before you were. And bending down beside the glowing bars. And slowly read. He made the world to be a grassy road Before her wandering feet. And evening full of the linnet's wings. how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. While I stand on the roadway.William Butler Yeats. for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore. Weary and kind one lingered by His seat. There midnight's all a glimmer. Who Goes with Fergus? 177 Bow down. And nodding by the fire. a hive for the honey bee. or on the pavements grey. 5 10 Who Goes with Fergus? Who will go drive with Fergus now. and of their shadows deep. . a little sadly. And a small cabin build there. I will arise and go now. And pierce the deep wood's woven shade. Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings. And loved the sorrows of your changing face. or any hearts to beat. 15 The Lake Isle of Innisfree I will arise and go now. take down this book. and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once. But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you. And dance upon the level shore? Young man. 5 10 When You Are Old When you are old and grey and full of sleep. of clay and wattles made: Nine bean rows will I have there. Murmur. archangels. And loved your beauty with love false or true. How many loved your moments of glad grace. And live alone in the bee-loud glade. and go to Innisfree. lift up your russet brow. And I shall have some peace there.
Because a fire was in my head. The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner And lift your tender eyelids. 5 10 The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner Although I shelter from the rain Under a broken tree. For Fergus rules the brazen cars. 5 10 15 The Song of Wandering Aengus I went out to the hazel wood. I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me.178 William Butler Yeats. My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics. My contemplations are of Time That has transfigured me. I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. And cut and peeled a hazel wand. There's not a woman turns her face Upon a broken tree. And yet the beauties that I loved Are in my memory. maid. And when white moths were on the wing. And crazy rascals rage their fill At human tyranny. And no more turn aside and brood Upon love's bitter mystery. And hooked a berry to a thread. Though lads are making pikes again For some conspiracy. And brood on hopes and fear no more. But something rustled on the floor. And moth-like stars were flickering out. 5 10 . When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame. And rules the shadows of the wood. Ere Time transfigured me. And the white breast of the dim sea And all dishevelled wandering stars.
I have spread my dreams under your feet. in all kinds of weather. And walk among long dappled grass. `A line will take us hours maybe. or break stones Like an old pauper. And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon. and clergymen The martyrs call the world. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands. For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these. have only my dreams. Better go down upon your marrow-bones And scrub a kitchen pavement. 15 20 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths. and talked of poetry. That beautiful mild woman. Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. I said. And you and I. being poor. And kiss her lips and take her hands. The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light. 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. schoolmasters. I will find out where she has gone. The golden apples of the sun. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought.' And thereupon That beautiful mild woman for whose sake 5 10 15 . and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers. your close friend. 5 Adam's Curse We sat together at one summer's end.William Butler Yeats. Enwrought with golden and silver light. I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I.
For the wet winds are blowing out of the clinging air. Yet now it seems an idle trade enough. the daughter of Houlihan.' We sat grown quiet at the name of love. And thrown the thunder on the stones for all that Maeve can say. 20 25 30 35 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland The old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. We saw the last embers of daylight die. The yellow pool has overflowed high up on Clooth-na-Bare. 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. The wind has bundled up the clouds high over Knocknarea. 5 10 15 . I had a thought for no one's but your ears: That you were beautiful. `It's certain there is no fine thing Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring. 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. Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies.180 William Butler Yeats.' I said. Angers that are like noisy clouds have set our hearts abeat. 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. But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes Of Cathleen. But purer than a tall candle before the Holy Rood Is Cathleen. and yet we'd grown As weary-hearted as that hollow moon. the daughter of Houlihan. `To be born woman is to know ± Although they do not talk of it at school ± That we must labour to be beautiful. And in the trembling blue-green of the sky A moon. That it had all seemed happy. But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet Of Cathleen. Like heavy flooded waters our bodies and our blood. and that I strove To love you in the old high way of love. the daughter of Houlihan. Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand.
the arms you bear are brittle' 171 `Beloved. 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. in this timeless grave to throw' 171 Broken Appointment. voluminous. be still. with sweet smart' 134 Aurora Leigh 8 Autumn Idleness 131 `Be still. . my soul. equal. attuneable. earthless. The 55 Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came 85 `Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee!' `Come. Break 31 `Bring. . stupendous' 163 Felix Randal 162 `First time he kissed me. The' 125 Blessed Damozel. he but only kissed' 7 . 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. dragonflies draw flame' 163 `At length their long kiss severed. walk with me' 106 Crossing the Bar 61 Darkling Thrush.Index of Titles and First Lines Adam's Curse 179 `Ah. The 69 `blessed Damozel leaned out. 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. | vaulty. The 125 Body's Beauty 132 Break. . Break.
from Abroad 68 House of Life: A Sonnet-Sequence. The 178 `Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife' `Let us begin and carry up this corpse' 98 64 6 . The' 72 `GR-R-R ± there go. The 177 Lamentation of the Old Pensioner. and go to Innisfree' 177 `I wonder do you feel today' 97 Impercipient. ± let the first fruit be' 132 `I went out to the hazel wood' 178 `I will arise and go now. half a league' 55 `Here is the ancient floor' 152 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven 179 Hoarded Joy 132 Home-Thoughts. A 98 `grey sea and the long black land. H. The 19 Lake Isle of Innisfree. how happy! those are words' 104 `I am poor brother Lippo. The 128 `How do I love thee? Let me count the ways' 7 `How still. by your leave!' 75 `I caught this morning morning's minion' 161 `I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood' 57 `I leant upon a coppice gate' 151 `I look into my glass' 151 `I never gave a lock of hair away' 6 `I said: `Nay. 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. The 149 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury 150 In Memoriam A. Rochelle 109 `Just for a handful of silver he left us' Kiss. Shepherd. and A. for they call you.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 128 Lady of Shalott. my heart's abhorrence!' 65 `Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths' 179 `Half a league. pluck not. from the hill' 119 Goblin Market 135 God's Grandeur 160 Grammarian's Funeral. G. H.
Baldassaro. this is very sad to find!' 83 `Oh. A Medley. Lilith. The 133 `Others. The 64 Love Among the Ruins 72 Love-Letter. The 129 `Loveliest of trees. whose airy cages quelled' 162 `My first thought was. my name is Might-have-been' Lost Leader. I am not the first' 169 Parting at Morning 72 Pied Beauty 161 Porphyria's Lover 67 Princess. The 109 `rain set early in tonight. it is told' 132 `Of writing many books there is no end' 8 `Oh Galuppi. The 31 Prisoner. The' 67 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 180 `Remember me when I am gone away' 135 Remember 135 Remembrance 108 133 180 . where art thou now?' 104 `Of Adam's first wife. he lied in every word' 85 My Last Duchess 63 Nature's Questioning 148 Neutral Tones 148 Never the Time and the Place 102 `night is darkening round me. The' `On either side the river lie' 19 `On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble' 169 One Hope. The' 103 `No coward soul is mine' 113 `Now hollow fires burn out to black' 172 Nuptial Sleep 134 `O Dream.Index of Titles and First Lines 183 `Long neglect has worn away' 103 `Look in my face. to be in England' 68 `old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. 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' 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. Lord 164 `Thou lovely and beloved. A 133 Supreme Surrender 129 `Sweet Love. thou my love' 130 `Thou mastering me' 153 `time you won your town the race. 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. The 175 `Strong Son of God. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love' 130 `Tears. The 118 `sea is calm tonight. so clean an ending?' 170 Shropshire Lad. vanity!' `Wake: the silver dusk returning' 69 166 131 . it needs not saying' 174 `Terence.184 Index of Titles and First Lines Reveille 166 Rose of the World. where love and death' `Vanity. immortal Love' 33 `Sunset and evening star' 61 Superscription. I know not what they mean' 31 `Tell me not here. A 83 Two in the Campagna 97 Ulysses 23 `Under the arch of Life. The 178 Sonnets from the Portuguese 6 Soul's Beauty 131 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 Stolen Child. 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. idle tears. The' 117 Self-Dependence 116 Self-Unseeing.
± though unrevealed snow' 132 `What smouldering senses in death's sick delay' 128 `What winter floods.Index of Titles and First Lines 185 `Warmed by her hand and shadowed by her hair' 129 `We sat together at one summer's end' 179 `We stood by a pond that winter day' 148 `Weary of myself. what showers of spring' 103 `When I look forth at dawning. pool' 148 `When I watch the living meet' 167 `When vain desire at last and vain regret' 133 `When weary with the long day's care' 107 `When you are old and grey and full of sleep' 177 When You Are Old 177 `Where dips the rocky highland' 175 `Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles' 72 `Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?' 176 Who Goes with Fergus? 177 `Who will go drive with Fergus now' 177 Windhover. The 153 `years have gathered grayly. The' 160 Wreck of the Deutschland. 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 161 `With blackest moss the flower-plots' 17 Without Her 130 `world is charged with the grandeur of God.