Victorian Poetry

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

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

 Duncan.    Set in 8/10 pt Galliard  by Kolam Information Services Pvt.  ISBN 0‐631‐23075‐0 (alk. recording or otherwise. English poetry—19th century. paper)—ISBN 0‐631‐23076‐9 (pbk. Oxford OX4 2DQ. paper)—ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23076‐2 (pbk.   For further information on  Blackwell Publishing. edited by  Valentine Cunningham.     III. Series  PR1223 . :  alk. No part of this publication may be reproduced.© 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd  Editorial matter. Pondicherry. Victoria      .    First published 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd    4   2007    Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data    Victorian poetry / edited by Duncan Wu. UK  550 Swanston Street. Australia    All rights reserved. MA 02148‐5020. Ltd. paper)    A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. paper)  1. photocopying. without the  prior permission of the publisher.      cm. Wu.  p. 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. Carlton. and which has been manufactured from pulp  processed using acid‐free and elementary chlorine‐free practices. except as  permitted by the UK Copyright.”  Includes bibliographical references and index.808—dc21    2002020878    ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23075‐5 (alk. visit our website:  www.  Furthermore.V53  2002    821’. in any form or by any means. Victorians.   I. Malden. the publisher ensures that the text paper and cover board  used have met acceptable environmental accreditation standards.blackwellpublishing.  electronic. and Patents Act 1988. mechanical. stored  in a retrieval system. selection and arrangement © 2002 by Duncan Wu and  Valentine Cunningham    BLACKWELL PUBLISHING  350 Main Street. or transmitted.   II. Designs. — (Blackwell essential literature)  “Based on The Victorians: an anthology of poetry and poetics. USA  9600 Garsington Road. : alk.

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

and A. how happy! those are words' `Mild the mist upon the hill' `Come. 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 . Alcona to J. what showers of spring' `Long neglect has worn away' `The night is darkening round me' `All hushed and still within the house' `O Dream. Brenzaida') Julian M. walk with me' To Imagination Remembrance (` 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. where art thou now?' `How still. G.

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

viii Contents A. 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 .

most of these volumes run to no more than 200 pages. these volumes comprise a crucial resource for anyone who reads or studies poetry. They will be particularly helpful to students hard-pressed for time. 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.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. Duncan Wu St Catherine's College. Each volume contains a general introduction designed to introduce the reader to those central works. Together. Based on correspondent volumes in the Blackwell Anthologies series. The acknowledged virtues of the Blackwell Anthologies are range and variety. those of the Essential Literature series are authoritative selection. Oxford . who need a digest of the poetry of each historical period.

science. to name a few. doubt. as well as rural writers like John Clare. Rossetti. Arthur Hugh Clough. . soap. tobacco. `The Blessed Damozel'. Matthew Arnold. pain. Robert Browning. Valentine Cunningham's invaluable The Victorians ranges from the late works of Wordsworth and Leigh Hunt at one end of the century to Yeats. leeks. omnibuses. Christina G. Grimm's Law. poetry. Housman and Kipling at the other. The Victorians: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. dead dogs. Pressure of space necessarily denies admission to many of those anthologized by Professor Cunningham ± James Thomson. `Next to the Bible. xxxv. Thomas Hardy. snow. `Dover Beach'. W. poems. the poetry of women poets such as Caroline Norton. genitalia. Ebenezer Elliot and William Barnes. soup. What this selection lacks in range it makes up for in depth. 2000). E. as they are the major poets of the age. other anthologies of Victorian writing. In Memoriam is my comfort'. William Morris. Missing Links. Fanny Kemble. faith. The diversity is highlighted by Professor Cunningham in his introduction: So here are poems about cod-liver oil. going to the dentist. onions. Robert Louis Stevenson. sado-masochism. including complete texts of `Fra Lippo Lippi'. Emily (Jane) Bronte. love. poets. Lewis Carroll. 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. chairs. `The Prisoner'. weather in the suburbs. p.Introduction Duncan Wu Recent anthologies of Victorian poetry and prose have provided readers with a remarkably diverse and wide-ranging body of work. introduction. paintings. Housman and William Butler Yeats. which reflect the catholicity of interest within the period. There are few better examples of the Victorian preoccupation with death and its aftermath. including anonymous street ballads. death. A. This volume aims to do something different. war. God. Psychical Research. Henley. `Goblin Market' and `The Wreck of the Deutschland'. booze. Gerard Manley Hopkins. George Meredith. Alfred È (Lord) Tennyson. a cabbage leaf. No less than the queen remarked to Tennyson that. railway lines and railway trains. Tennyson and Browning predominate. poverty. E. It distills into a smaller space some of the most influential poetry of the period by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. should they desire even more. Eliza Cook and Dora Greenwell. Jemima Luke. fairies. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. cricket players.1 For range readers will require The Victorians ± and. It is on the one hand an intensely private poem about one man's 1 Valentine Cunningham. New Women. In between he offers a rich selection of verse. `The Scholar-Gipsy'.

idle tears'. In this sense In Memoriam. 226. to find. therefore. 1999). 289±91. 7 See for instance Pound's `Piere Vidal Old' and Eliot's `Prufrock'. Fra Pandolf ± there is something darker at work. 311±13. and welcomed an acquaintance with their author. Herbert Tucker (Oxford: Blackwell. In such sonnets as `Surprised by joy' Wordsworth had attempted the same kind of investigation.2 Introduction grief for another. which it is for us to infer. is a product of the zeitgeist. 4 In Memoriam lvi 15. through the dramatic monologue. Edward Mendelson (London: Faber. Browning's major contribution. Warwick Slinn helpfully contextualizes In Memoriam in his essay on Victorian poetry in A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture ed. a growing scepticism that was to find fuller expression in the poetry of Hardy and Housman later in the century. Tennyson and Browning exploited the form aware that our knowing so much more than their speakers. and on the other a work that speaks of the innermost anxieties of the age. H. And when the speaker of `A Toccata of Galuppi's' tells us that he feels `chilly and grown old'. in common with that of Tennyson. Auden. besides much else.2 The fruit of nearly 17 years' labour. and not to yield' may not be the sort of sea-captain with whom we should set sail. to seek. pp. the same year as In Memoriam. exemplifying Auden's contention that Tennyson's gift was for expressing feelings of `lonely terror and desire for death'. and is found in shorter poems such as `Tears. 3 See in particular In Memoriam lv and lvi. Wordsworth's most extensive examination of psychological process.5 For his part. which concerns the uncontrollable emotions that run deeply in the human heart. pp. Tennyson's preoccupation with states of mind looks back to Wordsworth. rather.7 2 W. but their reign had ended: Tennyson and Browning were remaking the art. the most successful long poem of its day. the divinely appointed one of Wordsworth. As readers of such poetry we are in a privileged position. 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. Wordsworth possessed a copy of Tennyson's important 1842 Poems. 6 See Robert Bernard Martin. `red in tooth and claw'.3 The natural world of In Memoriam is not invariably. E. 1973). was to develop a new kind of psychological poetry ± one that explored the human mind from within. 1983). The influence of the Romantics was felt throughout the century. 5 The Prelude. 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. something rather important has happened. p. The Ulysses who in Tennyson's poem declares his desire `To strive. it can be. Tennyson: The Unquiet Heart (London: Faber.6 By the time Wordsworth died in 1850 Tennyson was in his early forties and Browning in his late thirties. on a level beyond the verbal. Forewords and Afterwords ed. 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.4 the product of a cosmos lacking a benevolent deity. was the key to a new poetic. was not published until 1850. Its potential would be further championed in the modern period by Eliot and Pound. . it doubtless has its faults ± it is relentless in its subjectivity. comprehending moral failings with a clarity not always vouchsafed in life.

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

He is essentially a visionary writer.13 Not only is there no evidence of religious faith in Hardy's poetry. where the blessed damozel weeps in frustrated longing to join her lover (rather than God) `is not even remotely Christian'. indeed. In matters of style they sought a simplicity of manner. There is in all this a deliberation.11 She is now one of the most widely studied of the Pre-Raphaelites. 438. stripped of the religious significance it possessed for such poets as Hopkins. Preoccupations: Selected Prose 1968±1978 (London: Faber. an `involute' or charged combination of emotion and concrete objects. which may have deterred some readers in earlier times. 85. `The Blessed Damozel' (1850) was intended as a companion piece to Poe's `The Raven' (1845). Thomas Hardy: The Poetry of Perception (London: Macmillan. In fact. The poems included here are among the best of his Victorian period. The same cannot be said of the poetry of Hardy. 355. have in the last two decades given her work an added resonance. a self-consciousness which can sometimes produce startlingly good poetry. 1975). Hopkins is insistently religious in his understanding: God is the inscape of the created world.10 Dante Gabriel was to make an art out of the decorativeness and elaboration of his verse. and capable of blind indifference to human mortality. Tom Paulin has noted how in `Neutral Tones' the poem culminates in a total picture. . and the intense morbidity of her writing finds expression even in the fairy-tale `Goblin Market' (1862). 12 Seamus Heaney. a sensitivity to sensory detail. a selfconscious medievalism and a highly developed taste in decoration. except that Housman's vision is if anything even more lacking in hope than Hardy's. his concept of `inscape' referring to the interior perception into the being of the object. published in Satires of Circumstance (1914) and Moments of Vision (1917). Those feelings. Gerard Manley Hopkins's collected verse appeared only in 1918. Arthur Pollard (London: Sphere Books. decay and desolation. and one also finds a frequent use of religious language for evocation (rather than its real meanings). nature is bleak. p. In mood they cultivated a love of the morbid ± listlessness. it can be found in Tennyson's `Mariana' and some of the sonnets in Dante Gabriel Rossetti's House of Life sequence. Her poetry is full of depression and denial. James Sambrook notes that Rossetti's conception of the afterlife. In this sense it is not fanciful to consider Hardy and Housman alongside each other. his sister Christina is far less preoccupied with appearances. who is also thought of as a twentieth-century writer. as in both `Neutral Tones' and `The Darkling Thrush'. p. 13 Tom Paulin. witless'. 1980). 10 `The Rossettis and Other Contemporary Poets'. Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology. p. most of his best poetry was written after 1900.4 Introduction minute detail the features of the natural world. which during his subsequent painful experience has become a permanently meaningful impression. its `philological and rhetorical passion'12 and concentration on the inner workings of the soul is pre-eminently a product of the nineteenth. 31. stripped of all the redemptive power with which the Romantics had imbued it. The Victorians ed. which is why it is easy to regard as a product of the twentieth century. nearly 30 years after his death. In Housman nature is `heartless. 1988). As poets. 11 Reynolds and Leighton. Unlike some of the Romantics. Dante Gabriel and Christina Rossetti looked back to the Coleridge of `Christabel' and the Keats of `Isabella'. p. so that in 1995 Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton could confirm her place as `one of the greatest poets of the nineteenth century'.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. From Aurora Leigh And thinkers disagreed. But then the thrushes sang. overbold For what might be. haply. and called all very fair.16 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. woods. the skies. Farms. it is writ. . not unkind. ± At which word His brow would soften. 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 . and I. And cottage gardens smelling everywhere. `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. breaking into voluble ecstasy. doubled up among the hills. indeed. vales. And bade him mark that. granges. ± And then I turned. Confused with smell of orchards. And cattle grazing in the watered vales. ± 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. overfull Of what is. ± Hills. where the cows push out Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths 'Twixt dripping ash-boughs. who call things good and fair. The evil is upon us while we speak: Deliver us from evil. In the beginning when God called all good. And cottage chimneys smoking from the woods. While. and held my finger up. `See.' I said. the clouds. But we. howsoe'er the world Went ill. let us pray. netted in a silver mist. And shook my pulses and the elms' new leaves. carrying gold. he. As poets use . certainly The thrushes still sang in it. And clapped my hands. I flattered all the beauteous country round. Even then was evil near us. as he related. ± The tangled hedgerows. the fields. The happy violets hiding from the roads The primroses run down to. ± and he bore with me In melancholy patience.

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. I would that I were dead!' III Upon the middle of the night.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson (1809±1892) Mariana `Mariana in the moated grange. Either at morn or eventide. The broken sheds looked sad and strange. I would that I were dead!' II Her tears fell with the dews at even. 5 10 15 20 25 . And glanced athwart the glooming flats.' ± Measure for Measure I With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted. Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. He cometh not. Her tears fell ere the dews were dried. The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the peach to the garden-wall. He cometh not. She only said `My life is dreary. Unlifted was the clinking latch. She could not look on the sweet heaven. one and all.' she said. She drew her casement-curtain by. After the flitting of the bats. aweary. She only said `The night is dreary.' she said: She said `I am aweary. When thickest dark did trance the sky. She said `I am aweary. aweary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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,


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

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

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

the bloom.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And murmurs from the dying sun: `And all the phantom. O! not for thee the glow. Or crush her. What whispers from thy lying lip? `The stars. stands ± With all the music in her tone. But all he was is overworn. A web is woven across the sky. Sick for thy stubborn hardihood. 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 seasons bring the flower again. like a vice of blood. `blindly run. Embrace her as my natural good. Upon the threshold of the mind? 5 5 15 10 15 10 15 . which graspest at the stones That name the under-lying dead. the clock Beats out the little lives of men.' II Old Yew.' she whispers. And gazing on the sullen tree. And in the dusk of thee. ± A hollow form with empty hands.' And shall I take a thing so blind. and boast: `Behold the man that loved and lost. A hollow echo of my own. I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee. cruel fellowship! O Priestess in the vaults of Death! O sweet and bitter in a breath. Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. And bring the firstling to the flock. Nature. From out waste places comes a cry. III O Sorrow. In Memoriam 35 Than that the victor Hours should scorn The long result of love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In vain shalt thou. revolving near. They might not seem thy prophecies. 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. With what divine affections bold Should be the man whose thought would hold An hour's communion with the dead. the Spirit himself. or any. call The spirits from their golden day. In Memoriam 53 I might but say. The conscience as a sea at rest: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . and touch. I hear a wind Of memory murmuring the past. Imaginations calm and fair. like them. That in this blindness of the frame My Ghost may feel that thine is near. from the distance of the abyss Of tenfold-complicated change. XCIII I shall not see thee.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. But he. therefore from thy sightless range With gods in unconjectured bliss. O. Yea. thou too canst say. may come Where all the nerve of sense is numb. XCIV How pure at heart and sound in head. O. Descend. tho' it spake and bared to view A fact within the coming year. They haunt the silence of the breast. But spiritual presentiments. And such refraction of events As often rises ere they rise. and enter. Spirit to Spirit. Should prove the phantom-warning true. And tho' the months. hear The wish too strong for words to name. Ghost to Ghost. My spirit is at peace with all. The memory like a cloudless air. Except.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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. .62 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!










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

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

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

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

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

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

then cried `'tis ask and have ± Choose. With homage to the perishable clay. like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars. And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall. it's not. and then was gone. Their betters took their turn to see and say: The Prior and the learned pulled a face And stopped all that in no time.78 Robert Browning. prayed. legs and bodies like the true As much as pea and pea! it's devil's-game! Your business is not to catch men with show. her apron o'er her head Which the intense eyes looked through. Your business is to paint the souls of men ± Man's soul. half for his beard and half For that white anger of his victim's son Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm. bless us all! Faces. From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of Make them forget there's such a thing as flesh. ± To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot. safe and sitting there With the little children round him in a row Of admiration. arms. 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 . Fra Lippo Lippi We Carmelites. The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked. `How? what's here? Quite from the mark of painting. the black and white. (taught what to see and not to see. . and it's a fire. Thank you! my head being crammed. smoke . folk at church. 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. Never was such prompt disemburdening. ignore it all. dropped in a loaf. I drew them. . First. for more's ready!' ± laid the ladder flat. 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. every sort of monk. their walls a blank. Her pair of earrings and a bunch of flowers The brute took growling. Fresh from his murder. But lift them over it. fat and lean: then. said a word. I painted all. candle-ends. came at eve On tip-toe. . to do our church up fine And put the front on it that ought to be!' And hereupon he bade me daub away. .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

either. ± but tomorrow. Love! I often am much wearier than you think. bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. as married people use. 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. 5 10 15 Andrea del Sarto (Called `The Faultless Painter') But do not let us quarrel any more. You turn your face. Don't count the time lost. quietly the evening through. I forget the rest. my Lucrezia. And also you are living after. Andrea del Sarto 91 2 But you were living before that. To-morrow. how you shall be glad for this! Your soft hand is a woman of itself. you must serve For each of the five pictures we require ± 5 10 15 20 . No. And shut the money into this small hand When next it takes mine. This evening more than usual. Both of one mind. I'll content him. Quietly. an eagle-feather ± Well. 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. 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. Let us try. accept too his own price. never fear. Treat his own subject after his own way. Fix his own time. but does it bring your heart? I'll work then for your friend's friend.Robert Browning. I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside. Will it? tenderly? Oh.

is looked on by in turn. And autumn grows. my art. at every point. so sweet ± My face. And fail in doing. and not leave this town. I could count twenty such On twice your fingers. that's long past ± I do what many dream of all their lives ± Dream? strive to do. There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top. ± All in a twilight. autumn in everything. no studies. what at bottom of my heart I wish for. And just as much they used to say in France. While she looks ± no one's: very dear. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . I suppose.92 Robert Browning. My youth. days decrease. There's what we painters call our harmony! A common greyness silvers everything. Love! so such things should be ± Behold Madonna. if I ever wish so deep ± Do easily. The last monk leaves the garden. you and I alike ± You. Even to put the pearl there! oh. rounds on rounds! ± How could you ever prick those perfect ears. my everybody's moon. That length of convent-wall across the way Holds the trees safer. the second from the door ± It is the thing. huddled more inside. At any rate 'tis easy. A twilight-piece. my hope. no less! You smile? why. too ± when I say perfectly I do not boast. Who listened to the Legate's talk last week. ± but I. Which everybody looks on and calls his. we are in God's hand. I can do with my pencil what I know. Andrea del Sarto It saves a model. there's my picture ready made. being all toned down To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. How strange now. No sketches first. all of it. 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. But you can hear at least when people speak. at the point of your first pride in me (That's gone you know). 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. perhaps: yourself are judge. looks the life he makes us lead! So free we seem. my moon. And that cartoon. I am bold to say. So! keep looking so ± My serpentining beauty. and agonise to do. And. Love. What I see.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 .

104 Emily (Jane) Bronte. how happy! those are words' How still. The full moon's cloudless shine Were once entwined with thee But now. 5 10 15 `How still. The summer-eve divine. where art thou now? Long years have passed away Since last from off thine angel brow I saw the light decay ± Alas. `All hushed and still within the house' È The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow And the storm is fast descending And yet I cannot go Clouds beyond cloud above me. 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. 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. But nothing drear can move me. I will not. The silent night of solemn calm. Wastes beyond wastes below. with weary pain ± Lost vision! 'tis enough for me ± Thou canst not shine again. how happy! those are words That once would scarce agree together . where art thou now?' O Dream.

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

How fair soe'er it grew The vital sap once perished Will never flow again And surer than that dwelling dread. 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. `Come. We were not once so few But Death has stolen our company As sunshine steals the dew ± He took them one by one and we Are left the only two. So closer would my feelings twine Because they have no stay but thine ± `Nay call me not ± it may not be Is human love so true? Can Friendship's flower droop on for years And then revive anew? No. 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. come walk with me. While moonbeams flash and fly so fast We scarce can say they smiled ± Come walk with me. walk with me' Come. There's only thee To bless my spirit now ± We used to love on winter nights To wander through the snow. 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. though the soil be wet with tears. 5 10 15 20 25 30 .

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

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

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

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. Of all my playmates. Dost think fond. all. And offers. But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind: And I am rough and rude. Rochelle È Hoarse laughed the jailor grim. `Shall I be won to hear. eternal liberty. Then may I weep and sue ± but. How memory mirrored then the prisoner's joyous morn ± Too blithe. Winds take a pensive tone and stars a tender fire. Julian M. Alas. `Lord Julian. `Is she so near to death?' I murmured. And visions rise and change which kill me with desire ± 65 45 35 40 50 55 60 70 . tell them. The dungeon seemed to swim in strange confusion round.110 Emily (Jane) Bronte. remember me? Nay start not at my words. with evening's wandering airs. When you my parents' lives ± my lost life can restore. yet. G. `you have not heard me mourn. for short life. you. a once familiar name ± I can not wonder now at ought the world will do. A messenger of Hope comes every night to me. never. By ball or speedy knife or headsman's skilful blow ± A quick and welcome pang instead of lingering woe! Yet. And insult and contempt I lightly brook from you. With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. dreaming wretch that I shall grant thy prayer? Or better still. unless you deem it shame To own from conquered foe. And kneeling. before!' Her head sank on her hands. parted back the floating golden cloud. how former days upon my heart were borne. He comes with western winds. wildly gay! Was that the wintry close of thy celestial May? She knew me and she sighed. can it be. Friend. too warmly. 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. its fair curls swept the ground. half aloud. and A. alone. Julian. wilt melt my master's heart with groans? Ah sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones! My master's voice is low. too loving Child. I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom and desolate despair.' she gently said. his aspect bland and kind.

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

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

`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. that in me hast rest As I Undying Life. sustains. 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. Changes. creates and rears Though Earth and moon were gone And suns and universes ceased to be And thou wert left alone Every Existence would exist in thee There is not room for Death Nor atom that his might could render void Since thou are Being and Breath And what thou art may never be destroyed 25 5 10 15 20 . unutterably vain.Emily (Jane) Bronte. have power in thee Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

' he said. thou lov'st retired ground. pensive and tongue-tied. On the warm ingle bench. at the ferry. In hat of antique shape. who from the distant hamlets come To dance around the Fyfield elm in May. Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet. And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream And then they land. 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. When fully learned. Oxford riders blithe.120 Matthew Arnold. mid their drink and clatter.' This said. And watch the warm green muffled Cumnor hills. Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers ± the frail-leafed. and returned no more. the smock-frocked boors Had found him seated at their entering. he left them. and thou art seen no more. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . Or cross a stile into the public way. As the slow punt swings round: And leaning backward in a pensive dream. And they can bind them to what thoughts they will: `And I. on thy trace. I know. Seen by rare glimpses. But rumours hung about the countryside. And put the shepherds. For most. Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills. he would fly: And I myself seem half to know thy looks. Or in my boat I lie Moored to the cool bank in the summer heats. The same the Gipsies wore. And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place. But. And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. will to the world impart: But it needs happy moments for this skill. The Scholar-Gipsy The workings of men's brains. `the secret of their art. have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe. Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam. and cloak of grey. Returning home on summer nights. Wanderer. Maidens. And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers Plucked in shy fields and distant woodland bowers. That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring. At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors. Thee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

With her five handmaidens. expects Its patient period. lying so. `We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Sometimes is felt to be. though they would?) `We two. `And I myself.' (Alas! to her wise simple mind These things were all but known Before: they trembled on her sense. whose names Are five sweet symphonies: ± Cecily. ± The songs I sing here. with bound locks And bosoms covered. Finding some knowledge at each pause And some new thing to know. `will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is. Margaret. Then I will lay my cheek 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 . white like flame. and though the end were reached? . `He shall fear haply. and Rosalys. Alas for lonely Heaven! Alas For life wrung out alone! Alas. will teach to him ± I myself. And where each need. which his mouth Shall pause in. . . Weaving the golden thread. The Blessed Damozel 127 Whose lamps tremble continually With prayer sent up to God. Gertrude. 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. While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His name audibly.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. being dead. `Circle-wise sit they. To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born. hushed and slow.' she said. ± Her voice had caught their tone. revealed. Into the fine cloth. Magdalen. and be dumb.

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

Whereof the articulate throbs accompany The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair. 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. 5 10 . desire in deity. 5 10 Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Warmed by her hand and shadowed by her hair As close she leaned and poured her heart through thee. at some fond thought. till love's emulous ardours ran.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Fain had I watched her when. Her bosom to the writing closelier pressed. Fire within fire. Methinks proud Love must weep When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap The sacred hour for which the years did sigh. 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. ± Oh let thy silent song disclose to me That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree Like married music in Love's answering air. the hand now warm around my neck Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo! Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow. ± A spirit when her spirit looked through me. First touched. 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. and the deep Calls to the deep. Rests there attained. even I and she. I was a child beneath her touch. ± A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood. ± a man When breast to breast we clung. even of her breath aware. The bliss so long afar. and no man sees but I. And her breast's secrets peered into her breast. Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Can rob this body of honour. at length so nigh. ± Sweet fluttering sheet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

' They answered all together: `Buy from us with a golden curl. you should not stay so late. She dropped a tear more rare than pearl. I have no silver either. Rossetti. Do you not remember Jeanie. I have no coin. Found them no more but dwindled and grew grey. Lizzie met her at the gate Full of wise upbraidings: `Dear. Twilight is not good for maidens. Should not loiter in the glen In the haunts of goblin men. Sought them by night and day. Then fell with the first snow. Stronger than man-rejoicing wine. And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusty heather. 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. Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: Sweeter than honey from the rock.' ± One whistled like a bird. And knew not was it night or day As she turned home alone. 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.138 Christina G. But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: `Good folk. How should it cloy with length of use? She sucked and sucked and sucked the more Fruits which that unknown orchard bore. Clearer than water flowed that juice.' She clipped a precious golden lock. To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse. Took their gifts both choice and many.' `You have much gold upon your head. Goblin Market One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried `Pretty Goblin' still for `Pretty Polly. Then flung the emptied rinds away But gathered up one kernel-stone.

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

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

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

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

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,










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

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









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



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


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



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





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

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

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

laced with fire of stress. where was a place? I whirled out wings that spell And fled with a fling of the heart to the heart of the Host. 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. what with dread. 5 10 15 20 . O Christ. 7th. sway of the sea. 1875 Part the First 1 Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread. Lord of living and dead. O God. fastened me flesh. My heart. And after it almost unmade. World's strand. 3 The frown of his face Before me. the hurtle of hell Behind. Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh? Over again I feel thy finger and find thee. where.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. but you were dovewinged. Thou hast bound bones and veins in me. I can tell. 2 I did say yes O at lightning and lashed rod. Thou knowest the walls. where was a.

there its swelling to be. a drift. maiden's knee. To flash from the flame to the flame then. to a poise. And it crowds and it combs to the fall. Christ's gift. Though felt before. hearts are flushed by and melt ± But it rides time like riding a river (And here the faithful waver. 7 It dates from day Of his going in Galilee. His mystery must be instressed. glory in thunder. a pressure. but mined with a motion. But roped with. 8 Is out with it! Oh. only the heart. all the way down from the tall Fells or flanks of the voel. I am bold to boast. wafting him out of it. Manger. We lash with the best or worst Word last! How a lush-kept plush-capped sloe 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . the faithless fable and miss). a principle. For I greet him the days I meet him. and frightful sweat: Thence the discharge of it. and bless when I understand.154 Gerard Manley Hopkins. tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder. That guilt is hushed by. Kiss my hand to the dappled-with-damson west: Since. Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey. The dense and the driven Passion. to a pane. 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. tower from the grace to the grace. I steady as a water in a well. and Glow. stressed. always. being hard at bay. The Wreck of the Deutschland Carrier-witted. a vein Of the gospel proffer. lovely-asunder Starlight. 4 I am soft sift In an hourglass ± at the wall Fast. 5 I kiss my hand To the stars. though in high flood yet ± What none would have known of it.

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

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

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

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

birth of a brain. Word. King. in his triumph. but a blown beacon of light. Head: He was to cure the extremity where he had cast her. Wording it how but by him that present and past. . Fancy. worded by? ± The Simon Peter of a soul! to the blast È Tarpeõan-fast.Gerard Manley Hopkins. in measure her mind's Á Burden. 30 Jesu. There then! the Master. Thing that she . The Wreck of the Deutschland 159 Time's tasking. Do. be a bell to. for the Patience. 28 But how shall I . does tempest carry the grain for thee? . . heart's light. But here was heart-throe. Á For so conceived. in wind's burly and beat of endragoned seas. so to conceive thee is done. . 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. I gather. lord it with living and dead. but pity of the rest of them! Heart. O of a feathery delicacy. Jesu. make me room there: Reach me a . despatch and have done with his doom there. 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. the breast of the Maiden could obey so. Christ. and Startle the poor sheep back! is the shipwrack then a harvest. the only one. Not danger. Ipse. 215 220 225 230 235 240 31 Well. maid's son. . Heaven and earth are word of. electrical horror. she has thee for the pain. Let him ride. her pride. that heard and kept thee and uttered thee outright. come faster ± Strike you the sight of it? look at it loom there. deal. . What was the feast followed the night Thou hadst glory of this nun? ± Feast of the one woman without stain. ring of it. then further it finds The appealing of the Passion is tenderer in prayer apart: Other. .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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. to be in England' 68 `old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. Lilith. my name is Might-have-been' Lost Leader. whose airy cages quelled' 162 `My first thought was. The 64 Love Among the Ruins 72 Love-Letter. Baldassaro. The 109 `rain set early in tonight. it is told' 132 `Of writing many books there is no end' 8 `Oh Galuppi. The' 67 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 180 `Remember me when I am gone away' 135 Remember 135 Remembrance 108 133 180 . The 129 `Loveliest of trees. The 133 `Others. I am not the first' 169 Parting at Morning 72 Pied Beauty 161 Porphyria's Lover 67 Princess. this is very sad to find!' 83 `Oh. 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. where art thou now?' 104 `Of Adam's first wife.Index of Titles and First Lines 183 `Long neglect has worn away' 103 `Look in my face. The 31 Prisoner. The' 103 `No coward soul is mine' 113 `Now hollow fires burn out to black' 172 Nuptial Sleep 134 `O Dream. The' `On either side the river lie' 19 `On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble' 169 One Hope. A Medley.

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

± though unrevealed snow' 132 `What smouldering senses in death's sick delay' 128 `What winter floods. The' 160 Wreck of the Deutschland. what showers of spring' 103 `When I look forth at dawning. The' 150 `Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd' 116 `You did not come' 151 1887 165 . The 153 `years have gathered grayly.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. 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. 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.