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Blackwell Essential Literature
Old and Middle English Poetry Poetry from Chaucer to Spenser Renaissance Poetry Restoration Comedy Poetry from 1660 to 1780 Romantic Poetry Victorian Poetry
Victorian Poetry Edited by Duncan Wu based on The Victorians: An Anthology of Poetry and Poetics edited by Valentine Cunningham .
Wu. edited by Valentine Cunningham. paper)—ISBN 0‐631‐23076‐9 (pbk. ISBN 0‐631‐23075‐0 (alk. Australia All rights reserved. and Patents Act 1988. visit our website: www. cm. First published 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd 4 2007 Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data Victorian poetry / edited by Duncan Wu. selection and arrangement © 2002 by Duncan Wu and Valentine Cunningham BLACKWELL PUBLISHING 350 Main Street. paper) 1. Series PR1223 . Victorians.” Includes bibliographical references and index. : alk.blackwellpublishing. I. : alk. Oxford OX4 2DQ. 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. stored in a retrieval system. II. Designs. No part of this publication may be reproduced. III. Malden.com . Ltd. UK 550 Swanston Street.808—dc21 2002020878 ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23075‐5 (alk. — (Blackwell essential literature) “Based on The Victorians: an anthology of poetry and poetics. Carlton. For further information on Blackwell Publishing. Set in 8/10 pt Galliard by Kolam Information Services Pvt. except as permitted by the UK Copyright. English poetry—19th century. recording or otherwise. the publisher ensures that the text paper and cover board used have met acceptable environmental accreditation standards. Pondicherry. Victoria 3053.© 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd Editorial matter. Furthermore. MA 02148‐5020. electronic. Duncan. p. or transmitted. paper) A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. without the prior permission of the publisher. photocopying. and which has been manufactured from pulp processed using acid‐free and elementary chlorine‐free practices. mechanical. paper)—ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23076‐2 (pbk. in any form or by any means. USA 9600 Garsington Road.V53 2002 821’.
Break. H. H. from Abroad The Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church Meeting at Night Parting at Morning 63 64 65 67 68 69 72 72 .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. Break' From The Princess. Maud') Crossing the Bar 17 19 23 24 31 31 33 55 57 59 61 Robert Browning (1812±1889) My Last Duchess The Lost Leader Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister Porphyria's Lover Home-Thoughts. A Medley From In Memoriam A. The Charge of the Light Brigade From Maud I (`I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood') XXII (`Come into the garden.
how happy! those are words' `Mild the mist upon the hill' `Come. what showers of spring' `Long neglect has worn away' `The night is darkening round me' `All hushed and still within the house' `O Dream.vi Contents Love Among the Ruins Fra Lippo Lippi A Toccata of Galuppi's `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' Memorabilia Andrea del Sarto Two in the Campagna A Grammarian's Funeral Never the Time and the Place 72 75 83 85 90 91 97 98 102 È Emily (Jane) Bronte (1818±1848) `What winter floods. Alcona to J. walk with me' To Imagination Remembrance (`R. and A. 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 . where art thou now?' `How still. Brenzaida') Julian M. G.
Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Goblin Market 135 135 Thomas Hardy (1840±1928) Neutral Tones Nature's Questioning The Impercipient In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury `I look into my glass' A Broken Appointment The Darkling Thrush The Self-Unseeing 148 148 149 150 151 151 151 152 Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844±1889) The Wreck of the Deutschland God's Grandeur The Windhover Pied Beauty Binsey Poplars Felix Randal `As Kingfishers Catch Fire' Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves `Thou art indeed just. Lord' 153 160 161 161 162 162 163 163 164 .Contents vii Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture Sonnet LIII: Without Her Sonnet LIV: Love's Fatality Part II: Change and Fate Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty Sonnet LXXXI: Memorial Thresholds Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy Sonnet XCVII: A Superscription Sonnet CI: The One Hope Nuptial Sleep `Found' (For a Picture) 129 130 130 130 131 131 131 132 132 132 133 133 134 134 Christina G.
viii Contents A. Housman (1859±1936) From A Shropshire Lad From Last Poems 165 174 William Butler Yeats (1865±1939) The Stolen Child Down by the Salley Gardens The Rose of the World The Lake Isle of Innisfree When You Are Old Who Goes with Fergus? The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner The Song of Wandering Aengus He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Adam's Curse Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 175 176 176 177 177 177 178 178 179 179 180 181 Index of Titles and First Lines . E.
Duncan Wu St Catherine's College. In selecting the contents of each volume particular attention has been given to major writers whose works are widely taught at most schools and universities. The acknowledged virtues of the Blackwell Anthologies are range and variety. compactness and ease of use.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. Based on correspondent volumes in the Blackwell Anthologies series. Together. those of the Essential Literature series are authoritative selection. They will be particularly helpful to students hard-pressed for time. who need a digest of the poetry of each historical period. Oxford . these volumes comprise a crucial resource for anyone who reads or studies poetry. most of these volumes run to no more than 200 pages. Each volume contains a general introduction designed to introduce the reader to those central works.
booze. xxxv. fairies. omnibuses. `Next to the Bible. . pain. soap. poverty. The Victorians: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell.1 For range readers will require The Victorians ± and. No less than the queen remarked to Tennyson that. Fanny Kemble. Emily (Jane) Bronte. to name a few. William Morris. love. sado-masochism. In between he offers a rich selection of verse. doubt. George Meredith. leeks. a cabbage leaf. Arthur Hugh Clough. death. Psychical Research. tobacco. Alfred È (Lord) Tennyson. It is on the one hand an intensely private poem about one man's 1 Valentine Cunningham. A. `The Scholar-Gipsy'. genitalia. Housman and Kipling at the other. as well as rural writers like John Clare. Tennyson and Browning predominate. Grimm's Law. science. including complete texts of `Fra Lippo Lippi'. `The Prisoner'. Robert Browning. dead dogs. W. other anthologies of Victorian writing. The implied claim is not that these are representative ± it would be virtually impossible to construct such a selection within a mere 180-odd pages ± but that they are essential reading for anyone with an interest in verse of the period. This volume aims to do something different. The diversity is highlighted by Professor Cunningham in his introduction: So here are poems about cod-liver oil. which reflect the catholicity of interest within the period. In Memoriam is my comfort'. poetry. faith. introduction. Robert Louis Stevenson. chairs. Pressure of space necessarily denies admission to many of those anthologized by Professor Cunningham ± James Thomson. Ebenezer Elliot and William Barnes. as they are the major poets of the age. Thomas Hardy. God. onions. should they desire even more. p. snow. the poetry of women poets such as Caroline Norton. war. `Dover Beach'. Henley. paintings.Introduction Duncan Wu Recent anthologies of Victorian poetry and prose have provided readers with a remarkably diverse and wide-ranging body of work. E. 2000). `Goblin Market' and `The Wreck of the Deutschland'. Christina G. Matthew Arnold. Valentine Cunningham's invaluable The Victorians ranges from the late works of Wordsworth and Leigh Hunt at one end of the century to Yeats. weather in the suburbs. cricket players. It distills into a smaller space some of the most influential poetry of the period by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Rossetti. `The Blessed Damozel'. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Jemima Luke. New Women. Missing Links. Eliza Cook and Dora Greenwell. What this selection lacks in range it makes up for in depth. There are few better examples of the Victorian preoccupation with death and its aftermath. railway lines and railway trains. Housman and William Butler Yeats. poems. E. soup. poets. Lewis Carroll. Gerard Manley Hopkins. including anonymous street ballads. going to the dentist.
idle tears'. from the very moment that the speaker of Browning's `My Last Duchess' notes that the portrait of his former wife looks `as if she were alive' we Á know that this is no mere compliment to the painter. And when the speaker of `A Toccata of Galuppi's' tells us that he feels `chilly and grown old'.5 For his part. E. `red in tooth and claw'. through the dramatic monologue. pp. Warwick Slinn helpfully contextualizes In Memoriam in his essay on Victorian poetry in A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture ed. . H. to find.6 By the time Wordsworth died in 1850 Tennyson was in his early forties and Browning in his late thirties. therefore. Wordsworth's most extensive examination of psychological process.2 The fruit of nearly 17 years' labour. was not published until 1850. 1999). and is found in shorter poems such as `Tears. As readers of such poetry we are in a privileged position. to seek. 6 See Robert Bernard Martin. 1983). Tennyson's preoccupation with states of mind looks back to Wordsworth. in common with that of Tennyson. a growing scepticism that was to find fuller expression in the poetry of Hardy and Housman later in the century. rather. Browning's major contribution. pp. comprehending moral failings with a clarity not always vouchsafed in life. on a level beyond the verbal. Herbert Tucker (Oxford: Blackwell. The influence of the Romantics was felt throughout the century. In such sonnets as `Surprised by joy' Wordsworth had attempted the same kind of investigation. exemplifying Auden's contention that Tennyson's gift was for expressing feelings of `lonely terror and desire for death'.4 the product of a cosmos lacking a benevolent deity. 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. p. 311±13. 5 The Prelude. the same year as In Memoriam. 7 See for instance Pound's `Piere Vidal Old' and Eliot's `Prufrock'. besides much else. 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. Fra Pandolf ± there is something darker at work. it can be. In this sense In Memoriam. 4 In Memoriam lvi 15.2 Introduction grief for another. and on the other a work that speaks of the innermost anxieties of the age. Tennyson and Browning exploited the form aware that our knowing so much more than their speakers. was the key to a new poetic. Tennyson: The Unquiet Heart (London: Faber. was to develop a new kind of psychological poetry ± one that explored the human mind from within. Its potential would be further championed in the modern period by Eliot and Pound. and welcomed an acquaintance with their author. which concerns the uncontrollable emotions that run deeply in the human heart. something rather important has happened. the divinely appointed one of Wordsworth. is a product of the zeitgeist. 226. which it is for us to infer. 3 See in particular In Memoriam lv and lvi. and not to yield' may not be the sort of sea-captain with whom we should set sail. Edward Mendelson (London: Faber. 289±91. the most successful long poem of its day. Wordsworth possessed a copy of Tennyson's important 1842 Poems. 1973). Auden. The Ulysses who in Tennyson's poem declares his desire `To strive. but their reign had ended: Tennyson and Browning were remaking the art. Forewords and Afterwords ed.7 2 W. it doubtless has its faults ± it is relentless in its subjectivity.3 The natural world of In Memoriam is not invariably.
formed in 1848. Taking its lead (and diction) from Keats. working directly from the natural object in situ. 1995). hatred. which allows us to consider È Bronte as a mystic writer. 9±17). 65. at the centre of which is a moment. Where their subject was biblical or historical. Of course. pp. but the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. like most movements. Rochelle' (known in other versions as `The Prisoner') is a different kind of poem. was. her subjects are love. G. begins this process with a kind of self-portrait written in a reflective. perhaps Arnold's greatest work. 8 . they are not `from the Portuguese' at all. 1108±9. quite directly ± `active sexual demands and dangers'. ed. moving easily from that of poet-lover to that of beloved. they are original poems that are in some sense autobiographical. She began her creative life as a Romantic poet ± publishing poems in national newspapers during the 1820s. 2nd edn. sometimes approaching the subject of romantic passion. only to turn to human love when faced by a world `Where ignorant armies clash by night'. This is evident from `Dover Beach'. but less so as the author of some of the most compelling poetry of the period. p. and reproducing in See for instance `Stanzas on the Death of Lord Byron'. she set out to challenge more directly the gender discrimination of the day in an effort to formulate a feminist poetic. Elizabeth Barrett. The pretence of translation sets up a bluff that allows Barrett Browning to explore her theme without anxiety. `Julian M. particularly `That there are powers above us I admit'. has long been the subject of myth. The Victorians were not in themselves a movement. Clough and Arnold knew each other from Oxford days. Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton (Oxford: Blackwell. Its fascination lies partly in its brooding melancholy and the sense that its author lives in the shadow of some terrible grief in the recent past or anticipation of death to come. and A. 2000). È Emily Bronte is best known as the author of Wuthering Heights (1847). and are often considered as poets of doubt. as experienced by women. and it is easiest to think of the group as one of visual artists.9 That freedom also licenses her to experiment with different roles. `The Scholar-Gipsy' is one of the great Victorian Oxford poems which tells us a great deal about how important were notions of pastoral at the time. The emotional charge of the poetry is intense and often extreme. This is particularly evident in such lyrics as `No coward soul is mine' and `Cold in the earth'. engaging blank verse that in large measure accounts for the resurgence of this work's popularity in recent years. it contrasts the `sick hurry' of the world with the comparative calm of the landscape. using the colours of nature as they were. and to choose subjects from contemporary life. Clough's agnosticism comes into sharp focus in the two poems presented here.Introduction 3 Browning's wife. any more than the Romantics. they wanted realism. In Aurora Leigh (1856). Romanticism: An Anthology. below (see pp. Duncan Wu (Oxford: Blackwell. In fact. they were less coherent and unified than they would have liked. in which he seeks for hope in a `Sea of Faith'. an experimental (and partly autobiographical) verse-novel that describes the integration of love and work. The extract from the First Book. Rochelle's vision shortly prior to expected death.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. 9 Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology ed. and this often meant introducing `real' people into the work. In that context their aim was to introduce the qualities of Italian medieval painting. suffering and fortitude.
In Housman nature is `heartless. a self-consciousness which can sometimes produce startlingly good poetry. p. who is also thought of as a twentieth-century writer. 355.13 Not only is there no evidence of religious faith in Hardy's poetry. his sister Christina is far less preoccupied with appearances. As poets. He is essentially a visionary writer. indeed. The poems included here are among the best of his Victorian period.10 Dante Gabriel was to make an art out of the decorativeness and elaboration of his verse. a selfconscious medievalism and a highly developed taste in decoration. 13 Tom Paulin. Arthur Pollard (London: Sphere Books. p. 11 Reynolds and Leighton. except that Housman's vision is if anything even more lacking in hope than Hardy's. which during his subsequent painful experience has become a permanently meaningful impression. Thomas Hardy: The Poetry of Perception (London: Macmillan. 31. Gerard Manley Hopkins's collected verse appeared only in 1918. In fact. published in Satires of Circumstance (1914) and Moments of Vision (1917). 10 `The Rossettis and Other Contemporary Poets'. 1980). . stripped of all the redemptive power with which the Romantics had imbued it. and capable of blind indifference to human mortality. most of his best poetry was written after 1900. The same cannot be said of the poetry of Hardy. his concept of `inscape' referring to the interior perception into the being of the object. and one also finds a frequent use of religious language for evocation (rather than its real meanings). Dante Gabriel and Christina Rossetti looked back to the Coleridge of `Christabel' and the Keats of `Isabella'. Unlike some of the Romantics. nearly 30 years after his death. decay and desolation. which is why it is easy to regard as a product of the twentieth century. In mood they cultivated a love of the morbid ± listlessness. a sensitivity to sensory detail. 438. p. nature is bleak. Hopkins is insistently religious in his understanding: God is the inscape of the created world. its `philological and rhetorical passion'12 and concentration on the inner workings of the soul is pre-eminently a product of the nineteenth. Tom Paulin has noted how in `Neutral Tones' the poem culminates in a total picture. so that in 1995 Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton could confirm her place as `one of the greatest poets of the nineteenth century'.11 She is now one of the most widely studied of the Pre-Raphaelites. witless'. Her poetry is full of depression and denial. it can be found in Tennyson's `Mariana' and some of the sonnets in Dante Gabriel Rossetti's House of Life sequence. 1988). Those feelings.4 Introduction minute detail the features of the natural world. p. stripped of the religious significance it possessed for such poets as Hopkins. and the intense morbidity of her writing finds expression even in the fairy-tale `Goblin Market' (1862). as in both `Neutral Tones' and `The Darkling Thrush'. 12 Seamus Heaney. Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology. `The Blessed Damozel' (1850) was intended as a companion piece to Poe's `The Raven' (1845). There is in all this a deliberation. The Victorians ed. an `involute' or charged combination of emotion and concrete objects. Preoccupations: Selected Prose 1968±1978 (London: Faber. have in the last two decades given her work an added resonance. where the blessed damozel weeps in frustrated longing to join her lover (rather than God) `is not even remotely Christian'. which may have deterred some readers in earlier times. In matters of style they sought a simplicity of manner. 85. James Sambrook notes that Rossetti's conception of the afterlife. 1975). In this sense it is not fanciful to consider Hardy and Housman alongside each other.
There have been many fine books about this great writer. and nationalist politics in a heady cocktail unlike anything else. Irish fairy traditionalism. This knowledge is none the less exact and verifiable for being immeasurable. 1999). (1957) The Victorian Frame of Mind. Walter E. p. as episodes in the `history of ideas' but because he was tracing a continuous tradition of knowledge. Herbert F. Swedenborg. It underpins the medievalism of Tennyson and the Pre-Raphaelites. the kabbalistic and spiritualist worthies with whom he consorted. and the author of the Upanishads: Yeats did not study Plato and Plotinus. Belief may be questioned. its truth lies in experiences and disciplines of the mind itself and in the testimony (unanimous and worldwide) of `revelation'. 76. a pantheon that includes Thomas Taylor the Platonist. And in no one was it more vigorously evident than in the work of W. the French symbolists.Introduction 5 This collection of essential poetry of the nineteenth century would appear.) (2000) The Victorians: An Anthology of Poetry and Poetics (Oxford: Blackwell. 1830±1870 (New Haven. then. Plotinus. through the scepticism of Clough. Margaret and Leighton. Yeats.) (1999) A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture (Oxford: Blackwell. for fuller scholarly treatment. W. B. was founded on an unquenchable aspiration. I am much indebted to Valentine Cunningham in what follows. (ed. Valentine (ed. can be heard beneath the `tremulous cadence' of the sea in `Dover Beach'. which would produce its finest fruits in the next century. listed below. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (Ipswich: Golgonooza Press.) Reynolds. but can't be eliminated from the human soul. Yeats's great poetry. CT: Yale University Press. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (1999). Yeats's poetry combines the influences of the Pre-Raphaelites. `The Lake Isle of Innisfree' seems like an unexpected way to end a century characterized by increasing doubt and despondency. 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). Swedenborg and Blake.) 14 Kathleen Raine. to trace a course from the sublime hopes of Wordsworth.) Tucker. to the outright desolation of Housman and Hardy. but I can't think of a better short guide than Kathleen Raine's W. the immortal longings with which the 1800s had begun. B. . Angela (eds) (1995) Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. uncovering the traces of that `vast generalization' he discerned in the fragmentary portions he assembled.14 Never less than exalted in his imaginative ambitions. and anyone with a serious interest in this poetry should turn to his anthology. Further Reading Cunningham. Except that it doesn't. but in truth the Romantic urge to unify and idealize had never really evaporated. B.) Houghton. Raine writes of Yeats's place within a fugitive intellectual tradition of metaphysical and mystic thought.
let the silence of my womanhood Commend my woman-love to thy belief. . The kiss my mother left here when she died. any more. Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully I ring out to the full brown length and say `Take it. It only may Now shade on two pale cheeks. the mark of tears. Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree. Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief. however wooed. . Between our faces. while the winds are rough. but Love is justified: Take it. that I should bring thee proof In words. My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee. And rend the garment of my life. I cannot teach My hand to hold my spirit so far off From myself . to cast light on each! ± I drop it at thy feet. me . in brief. Dearest. XXIV Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife. As girls do. I thought the funeral-shears Would take this first. Nay. XVIII I never gave a lock of hair away To a man. . ± Seeing that I stand unwon. finding words enough.' My day of youth went yesterday. of love hid in me out of reach. And hold the torch out. except this to thee.Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806±1861) Sonnets from the Portuguese (extracts) XIII And wilt thou have me fashion into speech The love I bear thee. finding pure. from all those years. By a most dauntless. . Shut in upon itself and do no harm 5 10 5 10 . . . voiceless fortitude. . thou. Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside Through sorrow's trick.
who made us rich. And let us hear no sound of human strife. God only. Smiles. Than that first kiss. I shall but love thee better after death. . . quick with its `Oh. `My Love. Very whitely still The lilies of our lives may reassure Their blossoms from their roots! accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer. if God choose. After the click of the shutting. I have been proud and said. ± I love thee with the breath. Slow to world-greetings . and half missed. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach. and sought the forehead. out of man's reach. Dear. And ever since it grew more clean and white. upon my lips. The third. as they turn from Praise. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here plainer to my sight. when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. Against the stab of worldlings who if rife Are weak to injure. . without alarm. can make us poor. I love thee freely. XLIII Beloved. Growing straight. on the hill. With sanctifying sweetness. . and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs. purple state! since when.' XLII How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Sonnets from the Portuguese 7 In this close hand of Love. did precede. by sun and candlelight. of all my life! ± and. thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden. he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write. The second passed in height The first. . I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need. O beyond meed! That was the chrism of love. all the summer through 5 10 5 10 5 10 . Life to life ± I lean upon thee. was folded down In perfect. Half falling on the hair. And feel as safe as guarded by a charm. which love's own crown. indeed. now soft and warm. my own. list.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. tears.' When the angels speak. XXXVIII First time he kissed me. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. as men strive for Right. I love thee purely.
and been generous to me. their roots are left in mine. Ending. am still what men call young. those beds and bowers Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue. nor missed the sun and showers. far beyond the common uses of mere relationship or sympathy of mind. and it seemed as if they grew In this close room. which here unfolded too. Devonshire Place. the most mature of my works. Indeed. and affection. you have believed in me. gratitude. and preparing once more to quit England. So. and the one into which my highest convictions upon Life and Art have entered: that as. I. And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses. will write now for mine. through my various efforts in literature and steps in life. Take back these thoughts. in the like name of that love of ours. just To hold together what he was and is. my own dearest cousin and friend. and keep them where they shall not pine: Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true. 39.8 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Here's ivy! ± take them. I venture to leave in your hands this book. writing thus. As when you paint your portrait for a friend. the last pages of which have been finished under the hospitality of your roof. ± cousin and friend. The words `cousin' and `friend' are constantly recurring in this poem. And wait thy weeding: yet here's eglantine. And tell thy soul. October 17. so you may kindly accept. 5 10 From Aurora Leigh Dedication to John Kenyon. Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it Long after he has ceased to love you. 1856 First Book Of writing many books there is no end. from your unforgetting E. And which on warm and cold days I withdrew From my heart's ground. ± Will write my story for my better self. in sight of the public. as I used to do Thy flowers. this poor sign of esteem. borne with me. therefore. B. Esq. From Aurora Leigh And winter. I have not so far left the coasts of life 5 10 . B. in a sense of less equality and greater disinterestedness than `Romney''s.
too young. victorious joy. when she had left us both. Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon. ± where. be reverent. In heats of terror. . we may discern perhaps Some fair. 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. books! I had found the secret of a garret-room Piled high with cases in my father's name. that I cannot hear That murmur of the outer Infinite Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep When wondered at for smiling. a prophet's holograph Defiled. Piled high. erased and covered by a monk's. ± For those dumb motions of imperfect life Are oracles of vital Deity Attesting the Hereafter. . ± Draw. taking part against her word In the child's riot. ± his spirit-insight dulled And crossed by his sensations. with finger up. not so far. haste. I nibbled here and there At this or that box. . Some upstroke of an alpha and omega Expressing the old scripture. Sonnets from the Portuguese 9 To travel inland. And feels out blind at first. O my father's hand Stroke the poor hair down. A palimpsest. creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . press the child's head closer to thy knee! I'm still too young. books. Presently We feel it quicken in the dark sometimes. Then.' rather say. `Hush. Let who says `The soul's a clean white paper. [. pulling through the gap.] The cygnet finds the water. but the man Is born in ignorance of his element. disorganised By sin i' the blood. by a Longus! poring on Which obscene text. mark. . But still I catch my mother at her post Beside the nursery-door. be obedient. I write . Still I sit and feel My father's slow hand. hush ± here's too much noise!' while her sweet eyes Leap forward. ± The apocalypse. packed large. to sit alone.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Books. stroke it heavily. fine trace of what was written once. Stroke out my childish curls across his knee. .
a moment's space. sublime. And dust the flaunty carpets of the world For kings to walk on. And soothsayers in a teacup? I write so Of the only truth-tellers. . clears herself To elemental freedom ± thus. says The apostle.10 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. and. What's this. reign. Convicted of the great eternities Before two worlds. my soul. To find man's veritable stature out. Aurora Leigh. ± or but one through love? Does all this smell of thyme about my feet 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . Opposed to relative. through conventional grey glooms. I chanced upon the poets. and feel. An hour before the sun would let me read! My books! At last. Here's God down on us! what are you about?' How all those workers start amid their work. . throwing flat The marts and temples. though a pretty trade. And how I felt it beat Under my pillow. And that's the measure of an angel. And temporal truths. and not laugh? Those virtuous liars. That carpet-dusting. Look round. Let go conventions and sprang up surprised. dreamers after dark. dine. when the internal fires Have reached and pricked her heart. look up. From just a shadow on a charnel-wall. the only holders by His sun-skirts. and while your common men Build pyramids. or our senators. Is not the imperative labour after all. Erect. This is life. comparative. `This is soul. Exaggerators of the sun and moon. From Aurora Leigh The first book first. That thus I love you. gauge railroads. You write so of the poets. this word is being said in heaven. because the time was ripe. At poetry's divine first finger-touch. am I one with you. The only teachers who instruct mankind. Ay. the triumphal gates And towers of observation. As the earth Plunges in fury. ± the measure of a man. My own best poets. now left to God. ± The only speakers of essential truth. in the morning's dark. The poet suddenly will catch them up With his voice like a thunder . reap.
± and if. or but testify The rustling of your vesture through my dreams With influent odours? When my joy and pain. My pipers. O poetry. who has ravished me Away from all the shepherds. are absolutely dumb If not melodious. As a man's voice or breath is called his own. do you play on me. And says the word so that it burns you through With a special revelation. with their eyes! How those gods look! Enough so. The palpitating angel in his flesh Thrills inly with consenting fellowship To those innumerous spirits who sun themselves Outside of time. ± My eagle. ± poetry. With eyes too happy. my life. O life. Would no sound come? or is the music mine. To keep the mouths of all the godheads moist For everlasting laughters.' A little human hope of that or this. and dogs. O delight And triumph of the poet. like the stops Of pipe or flute. myself. Ganymede. 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. when the rhythmic turbulence Of blood and brain swept outward upon words. you did not blow. Sonnets from the Portuguese 11 Conclude my visit to your holy hill In personal presence. a familiar thing Become divine i' the utterance! while for him The poet. Half drunk across the beaker. the speaker. As wind upon the alders.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. ± who would say A man's mere `yes. sooth.' a woman's common `no. for a cup-bearer. My thought and aspiration. blanching them By turning up their under-natures till They trembled in dilation. ± passionate for truth Beyond these senses. with both grappling feet still hot From Zeus's thunder. ± Which means life in life! cognisant of life Beyond this blood-beat. shakes the heart Of all the men and women in the world. sheep. As if one came back from the dead and spoke. We shall not bear above a round or two ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 . he expands with joy. ± I. And set me in the Olympian roar and round Of luminous faces.
Young men. and your eyelids wink And drop before the wonder of't. And wrote because I lived ± unlicensed else: My heart beat in my brain. if we are loved or love. `What's come now to the youth?' Such ups and downs Have poets. I poured myself 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 . like most young poets. You catch a sight of Nature. Is what I dare not. cowslips: ± the more pains they take. ± and yet we do not take The chaffering swallow for the holy lark. In those days. And ape a Bourbon in a crown of straws. From Aurora Leigh Â We drop the golden cup at Here's foot And swoon back to the earth. and many a shepherd scoffs. So. in a restless heat Of doing something. earliest.12 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. ± with imposthumes And manias usual to the race. We play at leap-frog over the god Term. I never analysed Myself even. Many tender souls Have strung their losses on a rhyming thread. Being acted on and acting seem the same: In that first onrush of life's chariot-wheels. ± and find ourselves Face-down among the pine-cones. cold with dew. Alas. Many fervent souls Strike rhyme on rhyme. ay. All analysis comes late. with other power. Before they sit down under their own vine And live for use. though. near all the birds Will sing at dawn. ± and. through seeing the light. Life's violent flood Abolished bounds. Which mine. I lived. We scarce distinguish. confounded. you miss The form. As children. and maids. Too often sow their wild oats in tame verse. ± though some royal blood Would seem to tingle in me now and then. Am I such indeed? The name Is royal. We know not if the forests move or we. who would strike steel on steel If steel had offered. Howbeit I dare not: 'tis too easy to go mad. in a flush Of individual life. The thing's too common. While the dogs bark. those days. which my neighbour's field. and to sign it like a queen. The love within us and the love without Are mixed. The work more withers. And so. In full front sun-face. With sense of power and ache. what mattered? It is so in youth.
That Pope was sexagenarian at sixteen. And died. now and then. From such white heats! ± bucolics. It may be.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. as the new wine gurgles in. the man who never stepped In gradual progress like another man. But. ± and still The memory mixes with the vision. Weak for art only. Will crack even. falling like a tear Upon the world's cold cheek to make it burn For ever. and hard to understand. the ancient forms Will thrill. The worse for being warm: all these things. perhaps. And made the living answer for the dead. do not taste. where the cows Would scare the writer if they splashed the mud In lashing off the flies. And elegiac griefs. with a morning heart. writ On happy mornings. That leaps for love. The wine-skins. And counterfeiting epics. And beardless Byron academical. . From virile efforts! what cold wire-drawn odes. By Keats's soul. Oft. 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . Sonnets from the Portuguese 13 Along the veins of others. I count it strange.) by that strong excepted soul. spoils. Spare the old bottles! ± spill not the new wine. That nearly all young poets should write old. turning grandly on his central self. Ensphered himself in twenty perfect years. start between the boughs As often as a stag's. to make his mother laugh. With so much earnest! what effete results.' ± we're too legal. ± (the life of a long life. Nor handle. a little warped. and songs of love. indeed. driven Against the heels of what the master said. As if still ignorant of counterpoint. `O Muse. is active for resolve. Such have not settled long and deep enough In trance. Like cast-off nosegays picked up on the road. `Touch not. And so with others. and achieved Mere lifeless imitations of live verse. We call the Muse . not young. to attain to clairvoyance. What make-believe. And works it turbid. in carrying the young blood. who write young: We beat the phorminx till we hurt our thumbs. ± didactics. benignant Muse!' ± As if we had seen her purple-braided head With the eyes in it. Distilled to a mere drop. shrill with trumps A babe might blow between two straining cheeks Of bubbled rose. . Profaning nature.
They saw a light at a window now and then. My soul was singing at a work apart Behind the wall of sense. ± and demurred. Made cool the forehead with fresh-sprinkling dreams. ± For me. 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 . I. struck a colour up the cheeks. Then I sate and teased The patient needle till it split the thread. I wrote False poems. Reduced the irregular blood to settled rhythms. therefore. And. Which oozed off from it in meandering lace From hour to hour. you're green With out-door impudence? you almost grow?' To which I answered. That souls were dangerous things to carry straight Through all the spilt saltpetre of the world. as safe from harm As sings the lark when sucked up out of sight. In vortices of glory and blue air. Before the rain has got into my barn And set the grains a-sprouting. What. The inner life informed the outer life. But I could not hide My quickening inner life from those at watch. She could not say I had no business with a sort of soul. From Aurora Leigh Or perhaps. `Aurora. `Would she hear my task. And verify my abstract of the book? And should I sit down to the crochet work? Was such her pleasure?' . have you done Your task this morning? ± have you read that book? And are you ready for the crochet here?' ± As if she said. And so. have writ true ones since With less complacence. . peradventure. But plainly she objected. again. Behind you. I know I have not ground you down enough To flatten and bake you to a wholesome crust For household duties and properties. The melancholy desert must sweep round. sad. Who had set it there? My father's sister started when she caught My soul agaze in my eyes. `I know there's something wrong. I was not. In order to discover the Muse-Sphinx. and thought them true. through forced work and spontaneous work.14 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. rounding to the spheric soul the thin Pined body. Because myself was true in writing them. . as before. She said sometimes. They had not set there. like the rest.
± at intervals The mythic oaks and elm-trees standing out Self-poised upon their prodigy of shade. I threw my hunters off and plunged myself Among the deep hills. . nor even friends well matched ± Say rather. Because he holds that. Vincent Carrington. or talked. ± I thought my father's land was worthy too Of being my Shakspeare's. or wander. such little hills. Unlicensed. shivering with the fear And passion of the course. Aurora! we'll be strong. Before the day was born. It sounded as an instrument that's played Too far off for the tune ± and yet it's fine To listen. will love true love. as a hunted stag Will take the waters. lined with orchises. The dogs are on us ± but we will not die. 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 . as bee-bonneted. ± And view the ground's most gentle dimplement. as it chanced: We were not lovers. ± nothing too much up or down. paint a body well You paint a soul by implication. Such nooks of valleys. . And said. I dared to rest. `When I was last in Italy' . where you scarcely tell White daisies from white dew. And when. A ripple of land. I learnt to love that England. Whom men judge hardly. ± so many a green slope built on slope Betwixt me and the enemy's house behind. at last Escaped. or otherwise Through secret windings of the afternoons. If cousin Romney pleased to walk with me. We read. like The grand first Master.' Whoever lives true life. Pleasant walks! for if He said . `We'll live. or quarrelled. ± like a rest Made sweeter for the step upon the grass. Very oft. I clenched my brows across My blue eyes greatening in the looking-glass. (As if God's finger touched but did not press In making England!) such an up and down Of verdure. not unfrequently with leave To walk the third with Romney and his friend The rising painter. the sky Can stoop to tenderly and the wheatfields climb. .Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Sonnets from the Portuguese 15 Though somewhat faint. Fed full of noises by invisible streams. scholars upon different tracks. Ofter we walked only two. . Very oft alone. And open pastures.
and held my finger up. And cottage gardens smelling everywhere. The evil is upon us while we speak: Deliver us from evil. And bade him mark that. not unkind. In the beginning when God called all good. granges. While. vales. As poets use . indeed. Even then was evil near us. and called all very fair. it is writ. netted in a silver mist. let us pray. ± Hills. But we. `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. he. ± And then I turned. the fields. haply. And clapped my hands. From Aurora Leigh And thinkers disagreed. . But then the thrushes sang. `See. woods. the clouds. where the cows push out Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths 'Twixt dripping ash-boughs. And cottage chimneys smoking from the woods. Confused with smell of orchards. I flattered all the beauteous country round. and I. The happy violets hiding from the roads The primroses run down to. certainly The thrushes still sang in it. who call things good and fair. carrying gold. as he related. ± 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. breaking into voluble ecstasy. . ± and he bore with me In melancholy patience. doubled up among the hills. And cattle grazing in the watered vales. ± At which word His brow would soften. the skies. ± The tangled hedgerows. And shook my pulses and the elms' new leaves. howsoe'er the world Went ill. 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 . Farms.' I said.16 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. overbold For what might be. overfull Of what is.
' she said: She said `I am aweary. Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. And glanced athwart the glooming flats. After the flitting of the bats.' ± Measure for Measure I With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted. I would that I were dead!' III Upon the middle of the night.' she said. I would that I were dead!' II Her tears fell with the dews at even. 5 10 15 20 25 . Either at morn or eventide. She drew her casement-curtain by. When thickest dark did trance the sky. Waking she heard the night-fowl crow: The cock sung out an hour ere light: From the dark fen the oxen's low Came to her: without hope of change. The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the peach to the garden-wall. She could not look on the sweet heaven. aweary. She only said `My life is dreary. She only said `The night is dreary. one and all. aweary. Unlifted was the clinking latch. The broken sheds looked sad and strange. He cometh not. Her tears fell ere the dews were dried. She said `I am aweary. He cometh not.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson (1809±1892) Mariana `Mariana in the moated grange.
I would that I were dead!' IV About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blackened waters slept. Old faces glimmered thro' the doors. He cometh not. And the shrill winds were up and away. But when the moon was very low. `I am aweary. She only said. Mariana In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn. And o'er it many. `The day is dreary. She saw the gusty shadow sway.18 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.' she said. She only said. The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed.' she said. He cometh not. I would that I were dead!' 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . He cometh not. I would that I were dead!' V And ever when the moon was low. to and fro. Old footsteps trod the upper floors. I would that I were dead!' VI All day within the dreamy house. the rounding gray. `I am aweary. She only said. She said. The clustered marish-mosses crept. The blue fly sung i' the pane. Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. Or from the crevice peered about. Old voices called her from without. And wild winds bound within their cell. For leagues no other tree did dark The level waste. across her brow. She said. `My life is dreary. The doors upon their hinges creaked. He cometh not. She said. Hard by a poplar shook alway. `I am aweary.' she said. aweary. She said. aweary. All silver-green with gnarled bark. She only said. `My life is dreary. `I am aweary. aweary. round and small. the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked. aweary. In the white curtain.' she said. `The night is dreary.
He will not come. 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. She wept. aweary. That clothe the wold and meet the sky. said she. willow-veiled. and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made. `I am aweary. And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers. did all confound Her sense. Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below. Then. And up and down the people go. Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Oh God. `I am very dreary. Four gray walls. The Lady of Shalott? 5 10 15 20 25 . Slide the heavy barges trailed By slow horses.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.' she said. 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. And thro' the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot. The island of Shalott. aspens quiver. Overlook a space of flowers. By the margin. The slow clock ticking. Willows whiten. and the day Was sloping toward his western bower.
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. went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead. Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly. Pass onward from Shalott. reaping early In among the bearded barley.20 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The Lady of Shalott Only reapers. The Lady of Shalott. Shadows of the world appear. She has heard a whisper say. A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. And the red cloaks of market-girls. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights. Goes by to towered Camelot. Listening. 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . whispers `'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott. And there the surly village-churls. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad. Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad. And so she weaveth steadily. Or long-haired page in crimson clad. Piling sheaves in uplands airy.' Part II There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. The Lady of Shalott. with plumes and lights And music. And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year. For often thro' the silent nights A funeral. She knows not what the curse may be. Came two young lovers lately wed. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls. And little other care hath she. Down to towered Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary.
From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror. A redcross knight for ever kneeled To a lady in his shield. His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed. The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves. As often thro' the purple night. And as he rode his armour rung. She saw the helmet and the plume. She looked down to Camelot. That sparkled on the yellow field. Moves over still Shalott. Some bearded meteor.' by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. Beside remote Shalott. The bridle-bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazoned baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung. The Lady of Shalott 21 `I am half-sick of shadows. And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. trailing light. The gemmy bridle glittered free. Below the starry clusters bright. she left the loom. From underneath his helmet flowed His coal-black curls as on he rode. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . She made three paces thro' the room. He rode between the barley-sheaves. She saw the water-lily bloom.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.' said The Lady of Shalott. As he rode down to Camelot. Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves. `Tirra lirra. On burnished hooves his war-horse trode. Beside remote Shalott. She left the web. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather. As he rode down to Camelot. The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned like one burning flame together. Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy.
22 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Heard a carol. The Lady of Shalott. For ere she reached upon the tide The first house by the water-side. Seeing all his own mischance ± With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. chanted lowly. robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right ± The leaves upon her falling light ± Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain. holy. mournful. The Lady of Shalott Out flew the web and floated wide. The broad stream in his banks complaining. Chanted loudly. `The curse is come upon me. Lying. The mirror cracked from side to side. By garden-wall and gallery. The Lady of Shalott. Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining. And her eyes were darkened wholly. The broad stream bore her far away. Turned to towered Camelot. Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat. Under tower and balcony. And down the river's dim expanse ± Like some bold seer in a trance. Heavily the low sky raining Over towered Camelot. Till her blood was frozen slowly. The Lady of Shalott. They heard her singing her last song. Singing in her song she died. and down she lay. And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott.' cried The Lady of Shalott. The pale yellow woods were waning. A gleaming shape she floated by. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 .
and vile it were 5 10 15 20 25 . something more. A bringer of new things. And they crossed themselves for fear. The Lady of Shalott. All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space. How dull it is to pause. I am become a name. For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known. not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life. Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. and feed. And drunk delight of battle with my peers. Matched with an aged wife. both with those That loved me. `She has a lovely face. Silent into Camelot. Ulysses 23 A corse between the houses high. to make an end. lord and dame. and alone. And round the prow they read her name. and know not me. but honoured of them all. Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravelled world. among these barren crags. whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. governments. I cannot rest from travel: I will drink. To rust unburnished. Knight and burgher. Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer. Out upon the wharfs they came. God in his mercy lend her grace. and sleep. Myself not least. have suffered greatly. I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race. climates. By this still hearth. cities of men And manners. on shore. councils. and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence. Life piled on life Were all too little.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. That hoard.' 160 165 170 Ulysses It little profits that an idle king. Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly. The Lady of Shalott. and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea. He said. I am a part of all that I have met.
to find. and pay Meet adoration to my household gods. I mine. for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset. Made weak by time and fate. and not to yield. Souls that have toiled. and opposed Free hearts. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. and thought with me ± That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine. by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people. that which we are. may yet be done. and wrought. 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 Morte d'Arthur So all day long the noise of battle rolled Among the mountains by the winter sea. To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle ± Well-loved of me. we are. Most blameless is he. My mariners. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles. He works his work. whom we knew. Some work of noble note. centred in the sphere Of common duties. mine own Telemachus. When I am gone. the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. . There lies the port. much abides. sitting well in order. Old age hath yet his honour and his toil. but strong in will To strive. free foreheads ± you and I are old.24 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and. and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven. Death closes all: but something ere the end. And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star. until I die. Tho' much is taken. discerning to fulfil This labour. smite The sounding furrows. One equal temper of heroic hearts. Morte d'Arthur For some three suns to store and hoard myself. 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. and the baths Of all the western stars. This is my son. my friends. Come. And see the great Achilles. Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. Push off. to seek. decent not to fail In offices of tenderness.
Holding the sword ± and how I rowed across And took it. because his wound was deep. with flakes of foam. King Arthur: then. And fling him far into the middle meer: Watch what thou seest. and on one Lay a great water. mystic. Watch what I see. to leave thee thus. Sir Bedivere. Sir King. and smitten through the helm. Yet I thy hest will all perform at full. and the moon was full.' So saying. And in the moon athwart the place of tombs. Aidless. and lightly bring thee word. like a king: And. one summer noon. I am so deeply smitten through the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. Clothed in white samite. be. and have worn it. man by man. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: `The sequel of today unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record.' To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: `It is not meet. Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. A broken chancel with a broken cross. this also shall be known: But now delay not: take Excalibur. and juts of pointed rock. Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot. That stood on a dark strait of barren land. Had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord. I think that we Shall nevermore. alone. I perish by this people which I made. On one side lay the Ocean. Such a sleep They sleep ± the men I loved. an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake. at any future time. Morte d'Arthur 25 Until King Arthur's table. Old knights. Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. as in the days that were. And bore him to a chapel nigh the field. and lightly bring me word.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days. from the ruined shrine he stepped. wheresoever I am sung or told In aftertime. 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . He. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur. stepping down By zigzag paths. the last of all his knights. ± Though Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more ± but let what will be. and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill. chill. A little thing may harm a wounded man. wonderful.
as he stood. Not rendering true answer. ran forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt: For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks. Counting the dewy pebbles. watch. So strode he back slow to the wounded King. `And if indeed I cast the brand away. Morte d'Arthur Came on the shining levels of the lake. and do the thing I bad thee. I charge thee. fixed in thought. And o'er him. one worthy note. 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. but empty breath 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . or what relic of my lord Should be to aftertime. Brightening the skirts of a long cloud.' To whom replied King Arthur. Yet now. Should thus be lost for ever from the earth. the winter moon. How curiously and strangely chased. and knows not what he does. Then went Sir Bedivere the second time. and lightly bring me word'. Or voice. What good should follow this. as beseemed È Thy fealty. That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. nor like a noble knight: For surer sign had followed. And the wild water lapping on the crag. either hand. or else a motion of the meer. and he cried aloud. if a king demand An act unprofitable. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled. Surely a precious thing.26 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. In act to throw: but at the last it seemed Better to leave Excalibur concealed There in the many-knotted waterflags. faint and pale: `Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name. What record. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur. against himself ? The King is sick. drawing it. But when he saw the wonder of the hilt. if this were done? What harm. Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewellery. Myriads of topaz-lights. Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. he smote His palms together. Were it well to obey then. undone? deep harm to disobey. quickly go again As thou art lief and dear. This is a shameful thing for men to lie.
The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon. Some one might show it at a joust of arms. But now much honour and much fame were lost. 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 . And hid Excalibur the second time. and brandished him Three times. And caught him by the hilt. Then spoke King Arthur. Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night. if thou spare to fling Excalibur. wonderful. leaping down the ridges lightly. for a man may fail in duty twice. and drew him under in the meer. Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt. with noises of the northern sea. much in wrath: `Ah. In whom should meet the offices of all.' So spake he. miserable and unkind. Morte d'Arthur 27 And rumours of a doubt? but were this kept. and ran. and clutched the sword. And lightly went the other to the King. And. plunged Among the bulrush-beds. 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. Yet. the latest-left of all my knights. winning reverence. I see thee what thou art. clouded with his own conceit.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. `King Arthur's sword. Laid widowed of the power in his eye That bowed the will. mystic. And so strode back slow to the wounded King. Excalibur. traitor-hearted! Woe is me! Authority forgets a dying king. Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. and whirled in an arch. Shot like a streamer of the northern morn. And strongly wheeled and threw it. And the long ripple washing in the reeds. rose an arm Clothed in white samite. And flashing round and round. Saying. Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings. Unknightly. For thou. get thee hence: But. Nine years she wrought it.' Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere. Either from lust of gold. sitting in the deeps Upon the hidden bases of the hills. So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur: But ere he dipt the surface.' To whom replied King Arthur.' So might some old man speak in the aftertime To all the people. untrue. I will arise and slay thee with my hands. or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. And the third time may prosper.
Beneath them. O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands. Muttering and murmuring at his ear. Clothed with his breath. breathing hard: `My end draws nigh. Clothed in white samite. Then with both hands I flung him. His own thought drove him like a goad. Slowly. yet I fear My wound hath taken cold. So sighed the King. behold an arm. and descending they were ware 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 . Not though I live three lives of mortal men. and a cry Before. and I shall die. And bear me to the margin. And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes As in a picture. lest the gems Should blind my purpose. and all to left and right The bare black cliff clanged round him. lo! the level lake. with pain. But when I looked again. I closed mine eyelids. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight. He heard the deep behind him. wonderful. 'tis time that I were gone. Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern.' So saying. for I never saw. reclining on his arm. Then took with care. as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels ± And on a sudden. Him Sir Bedivere Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears. Speak out: what is it thou hast heard. wheeling him. and I shall die. And the long glories of the winter moon. here or elsewhere. And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. as he walked. Nor shall see. mystic. and brandished him Three times. and kneeling on one knee. King Arthur panted hard. Larger than human on the frozen hills. but he found not words. or seen?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: `Sir King. and drew him under in the meer. Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge. So great a miracle as yonder hilt.' But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge.' And answer made King Arthur. That caught him by the hilt. quick! I fear it is too late. drawing thicker breath: `Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. till I die. And would have spoken.28 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. and looking. from the pavement he half rose. as he walked. Morte d'Arthur Then spoke King Arthur. Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms. But. `Quick.
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,
Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice. come thou down And find him. as thy thoughts in me. From: The Princess. 10 15 20 5 10 5 10 15 . he. come. the days that are no more. And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others. nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the Silver Horns. my dearest. for Love is of the valley. from yonder mountain height: What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) In height and cold. Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.. . thou. Or red with spirted purple of the vats. sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears. by the happy threshold. so fresh. A Medley Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge. And come.. deep as love.. Deep as first love. the splendour of the hills? But cease to move so near the Heavens. Come down. Ah. O maid. . and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me. so strange. and leaves A shining furrow. and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine. Or foxlike in the vine. To sit a star upon the sparkling spire. Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize. And all thy heart lies open unto me. And slips into the bosom of the lake: So fold thyself. the days that are no more... O Death in Life. Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine. And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. now the white. when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square. So sad. Dear as remembered kisses after death.. Now slides the silent meteor on. Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk. Now folds the lily all her sweetness up. Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost. the days that are no more. È Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars. So sad.32 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. For Love is of the valley. Now sleeps the crimson petal. and wild with all regret.
And murmuring of innumerable bees. he knows not why. and leave The monstrous ledges there to slope. and faith alone. that have not seen thy face. art more than they. And thou. Strong Son of God. H. He thinks he was not made to die. let the wild Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone. embrace. A beam in darkness: let it grow. From In Memoriam A. H. Our wills are ours. And yet we trust it comes from thee. H. Our little systems have their day. 33 That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: But follow. We have but faith: we cannot know. Sweeter thy voice. we know not how. and I Thy shepherd pipe. and spill Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke. but every sound is sweet. Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: Thou madest man. azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee. O Lord. holiest manhood.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And thou hast made him: thou art just. H. but come. Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn. thou: Our wills are ours. For knowledge is of things we see. Thou madest Death. to make them thine. That like a broken purpose waste in air: So waste not thou. 20 25 30 From In Memoriam A. Thou seemest human and divine. The moan of doves in immemorial elms. thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made. and lo. Whom we. and sweet is every sound. Thine are these orbs of light and shade. for all the vales Await thee. the children call. immortal Love. They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of thee. By faith. let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley. Believing where we cannot prove. Thou madest Life in man and brute. The highest. 5 10 15 20 .
OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII I I held it truth. What seemed my worth since I began. 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. H. Confusions of a wasted youth.34 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Forgive these wild and wandering cries. Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. 1849 25 30 35 40 In Memoriam A. That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things. to thee. To dance with death. I trust he lives in thee. May make one music as before. with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones. Let darkness keep her raven gloss: Ah! sweeter to be drunk with loss. O Lord. That mind and soul. Forgive what seemed my sin in me. In Memoriam Let knowledge grow from more to more. 5 10 . whom I found so fair. And not from man. Thy creature. But vaster. We are fools and slight. Forgive them where they fail in truth. H. And in thy wisdom make me wise. Forgive my grief for one removed. But more of reverence in us dwell. to beat the ground. according well. We mock thee when we do not fear: But help thy foolish ones to bear. For merit lives from man to man. and there I find him worthier to be loved.
the clock Beats out the little lives of men. like a vice of blood. Sick for thy stubborn hardihood.' And shall I take a thing so blind. which graspest at the stones That name the under-lying dead. Embrace her as my natural good. And in the dusk of thee. The seasons bring the flower again. A web is woven across the sky. and boast: `Behold the man that loved and lost. cruel fellowship! O Priestess in the vaults of Death! O sweet and bitter in a breath.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. ± A hollow form with empty hands. I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee. Or crush her. `blindly run. And murmurs from the dying sun: `And all the phantom. III O Sorrow. stands ± With all the music in her tone. In Memoriam 35 Than that the victor Hours should scorn The long result of love. What whispers from thy lying lip? `The stars. And gazing on the sullen tree. the bloom.' II Old Yew. Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. O! not for thee the glow.' she whispers. But all he was is overworn. Nature. And bring the firstling to the flock. Thy fibres net the dreamless head. From out waste places comes a cry. Who changest not in any gale! Nor branding summer suns avail To touch thy thousand years of gloom. A hollow echo of my own. Upon the threshold of the mind? 5 5 15 10 15 10 15 .
My will is bondsman to the dark. The sad mechanic exercise. Break. Some pleasure from thine early years. that `Other friends remain. and cries. `What is it makes me beat so low?' Something it is which thou hast lost.36 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.' That `Loss is common to the race' ± And common is the commonplace. In words. With morning wakes the will. rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening. But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more. And with my heart I muse and say: O heart. That thou should'st fail from thy desire. That grief hath shaken into frost! Such clouds of nameless trouble cross All night below the darkened eyes. Like dull narcotics. but some heart did break. That loss is common would not make My own less bitter. like weeds. A use in measured language lies. I sit within a helmless bark. `Thou shalt not be the fool of loss. for the unquiet heart and brain. how fares it with thee now. In Memoriam IV To Sleep I give my powers away. And vacant chaff well meant for grain. half reveal And half conceal the Soul within. 5 5 5 10 15 10 . I'll wrap me o'er. thou deep vase of chilling tears. Who scarcely darest to inquire. VI One writes. But. like nature. For words. Like coarsest clothes against the cold.' V I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel. numbing pain.
unconscious dove. 25 10 15 20 30 35 40 . having left the glass. something thought. by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street. that waitest for thy love! For now her father's chimney glows In expectation of a guest. And. His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud Drops in his vast and wandering grave.' She takes a riband or a rose. wheresoe'er thou be. ± while thy head is bowed. And something written. Expecting still his advent home. Poor child. here today. A shot. waiting for a hand. where my heart was used to beat So quickly. O mother. even when she turned.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. praying God will save Thy sailor. and her future Lord Was drowned in passing thro' the ford. VII Dark house. Or killed in falling from his horse. O! somewhere. That pledgest now thy gallant son. That sittest ranging golden hair. she turns Once more to set a ringlet right. ere half thy draught be done Hath stilled the life that beat from thee. And glad to find thyself so fair. the curse Had fallen. And with the thought her colour burns. Who mused on all I had to tell. Ye know no more than I who wrought At that last hour to please him well. And. perpetual maidenhood. Or here tomorrow will he come. In Memoriam 37 O father. For he will see them on to-night. And ever met him on his way With wishes. Doors. thinking. And unto me no second friend. O. meek. And thinking `this will please him best. what to her shall be the end? And what to me remains of good? To her.
with thee And this poor flower of poesy Which little cared for fades not yet. And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day. Or dying. Yet as that other. Spread thy full wings. And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door. Which once she fostered up with care. O my forsaken heart. may find A flower beat with rain and wind. VIII A happy lover who has come To look on her that loves him well. That if it can it there may bloom. Who lights and rings the gateway bell. So find I every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet. For all is dark where thou art not. I go to plant it on his tomb. but far away The noise of life begins again. all the magic light Dies off at once from bower and hall. there at least may die. The field. that from the Italian shore Sailest the placid ocean-plains With my lost Arthur's loved remains. And all the place is dark. So seems it in my deep regret. the chamber and the street. and all The chambers emptied of delight. for I cannot sleep. In Memoriam A hand that can be clasped no more ± Behold me. IX Fair ship. And learns her gone and far from home. He saddens. and waft him o'er. But since it pleased a vanished eye.38 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. wandering there In those deserted walks. a favourable speed 5 5 5 10 10 15 20 . He is not here. So draw him home to those that mourn In vain.
`oar-weed' (T. whom I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. above. Should toss with tangle2 and with shells.1 bright As our pure love. gentle heavens. All night no ruder air perplex Thy sliding keel. Thou bringest the sailor to his wife. . a vanished life. Or where the kneeling hamlet drains The chalice of the grapes of God.). XI Calm is the morn without a sound. 1 2 10 15 20 5 10 15 20 `star of dawn' (T. Dear as the mother to the son. My Arthur. till Phosphor. thro' early light Shall glimmer on the dewy decks. I hear the bell struck in the night: I see the cabin-window bright. So bring him: we have idle dreams: This look of quiet flatters thus Our home-bred fancies: O to us.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Calm as to suit a calmer grief. X I hear the noise about thy keel. The fools of habit. the brother of my love. And. and lead Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn. gentle winds. Than if with thee the roaring wells Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine. And hands so often clasped in mine. Sleep. And travelled men from foreign lands. Sleep. In Memoriam 39 Ruffle thy mirrored mast. That takes the sunshine and the rains. as he sleeps now. before the prow. My friend. More than my brothers are to me. I see the sailor at the wheel. sweeter seems To rest beneath the clover sod. And letters unto trembling hands.). Sphere all your lights around. thy dark freight.
and learn That I have been an hour away. if calm at all. If any calm. And crowded farms and lessening towers. `Comes he thus. And on these dews that drench the furze. And see the sails at distance rise. These leaves that redden to the fall. and silver sleep. And linger weeping on the marge. I cannot stay. and play About the prow. Like her I go. And waves that sway themselves in rest.40 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. In Memoriam And only thro' the faded leaf The chestnut pattering to the ground: Calm and deep peace on this high wold. and haste away O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large. 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 leave the cliffs. To mingle with the bounding main: Calm and deep peace in this wide air. And in my heart. and back return To where the body sits. XII Lo! as a dove when up she springs To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe. a calm despair: Calm on the seas. 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. Some dolorous message knit below The wild pulsation of her wings. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep. A weight of nerves without a mind. And reach the glow of southern skies. I leave this mortal ark behind. And saying.
and feels Her place is empty. XIV If one should bring me this report. a life removed. and teach me. many years. And. A spirit. Which weep a loss for ever new. till I be silent too. And I went down unto the quay. My fancies time to rise on wing. Mine eyes have leisure for their tears. For now so strange do these things seem. Should see thy passengers in rank Come stepping lightly down the plank. Silence. Should strike a sudden hand in mine. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 . And I should tell him all my pain. In Memoriam 41 XIII Tears of the widower. And not the burthen that they bring. And how my life had dropped of late. And standing. As tho' they brought but merchants' bales. A void where heart on heart reposed. Which weep the comrade of my choice. An awful thought. when he sees A late-lost form that sleep reveals. muffled round with woe. Come Time. That thou hadst touched the land today.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. where warm hands have prest and closed. The human-hearted man I loved. And beckoning unto those they know. fall like these. And glance about the approaching sails. And moves his doubtful arms. And ask a thousand things of home. And if along with these should come The man I held as half-divine. I do not suffer in a dream. And found thee lying in the port. And he should sorrow o'er my state And marvel what possessed my brain. not a breathing voice.
The wild unrest that lives in woe Would dote and pore on yonder cloud That rises upward always higher. than some dead lake That holds the shadow of a lark Hung in the shadow of a heaven? Or has the shock. And topples round the dreary west. The cattle huddled on the lea. so harshly given. The rooks are blown about the skies. which aver That all thy motions gently pass Athwart a plane of molten glass. But found him all in all the same. XVI What words are these have fallen from me? Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast. And but for fear it is not so. And onward drags a labouring breast. XV To-night the winds begin to rise And roar from yonder dropping day: The last red leaf is whirled away. A looming bastion fringed with fire. I scarce could brook the strain and stir That makes the barren branches loud. But knows no more of transient form In her deep self. In Memoriam And I perceived no touch of change. No hint of death in all his frame. And staggers blindly ere she sink? 5 5 20 10 15 20 10 . I should not feel it to be strange. Confused me like the unhappy bark That strikes by night a craggy shelf.42 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Or sorrow such a changeling be? Or doth she only seem to take The touch of change in calm or storm. the waters curled. The forest cracked. And wildly dashed on tower and tree The sunbeam strikes along the world: And but for fancies.
'tis something. thou bringest all I love.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. we may stand Where he in English earth is laid. much wept for: such a breeze Compelled thy canvas. And like a beacon guards thee home. Henceforth. XVIII 'Tis well. whatever loves to weep. And balmy drops in summer dark Slide from the bosom of the stars. 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 10 . In Memoriam 43 And stunned me from my power to think And all my knowledge of myself. pure hands. 'Tis little. For I in spirit saw thee move Thro' circles of the bounding sky. And come. like a line of light. Is on the waters day and night. and bear the head That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep. So may whatever tempest mars Mid-ocean. and my prayer Was as the whisper of an air To breathe thee over lonely seas. Week after week: the days go by: Come quick. but it looks in truth As if the quiet bones were blest Among familiar names to rest And in the places of his youth. And hear the ritual of the dead. Such precious relics brought by thee. Come then. sacred bark. And flashes into false and true. And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land. wherever thou may'st roam. So kind an office hath been done. spare thee. My blessing. The dust of him I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. And mingles all without a plan? XVII Thou comest. And made me that delirious man Whose fancy fuses old and new.
The words that are not heard again. The Wye is hushed nor moved along. And hushes half the babbling Wye. And makes a silence in the hills.44 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. That out of words a comfort win. That breathe a thousand tender vows. even yet. but endures with pain. And hushed my deepest grief of all. And weep the fulness from the mind: `It will be hard. And slowly forms the firmer mind. Are but as servants in a house Where lies the master newly dead.' they say. I brim with sorrow drowning song. When filled with tears that cannot fall.' My lighter moods are like to these. I. Would breathing thro' his lips impart The life that almost dies in me: That dies not. `to find Another service such as this. In Memoriam Ah! yet. Treasuring the look it cannot find. Who speak their feeling as it is. the wave again Is vocal in its wooded walls: My deeper anguish also falls. There twice a day the Severn fills. The tide flows down. XIX The Danube to the Severn gave The darkened heart that beat no more. And I can speak a little then. And tears that at their fountain freeze. The salt sea-water passes by. falling on his faithful heart. 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.3 They laid him by the pleasant shore. if this might be. XX The lesser griefs that may be said.). And in the hearing of the wave.
And pipe but as the linnets sing: And one unto her note is gay. And. since the grasses round me wave. Or like to noiseless phantoms flit: But open converse is there none.' XXI I sing to him that rests below. And one unto her note is changed. XXII The path by which we twain did go.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.' A third is wroth: `Is this an hour For private sorrow's barren song.' Another answers. 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . And sometimes harshly will he speak. That with his piping he may gain The praise that comes to constancy. When science reaches forth her arms To feel from world to world. `This fellow would make weakness weak. In Memoriam 45 For by the hearth the children sit Cold in that atmosphere of Death. The traveller hears me now and then. Which led by tracts that pleased us well. He loves to make parade of pain. So much the vital spirits sink To see the vacant chair. And melt the waxen hearts of men. and think. And scarce endure to draw the breath. Because her brood is stol'n away. And make them pipes whereon to blow. When more and more the people throng The chairs and thrones of civil power? `A time to sicken and to swoon. ye speak an idle thing: Ye never knew the sacred dust: I do but sing because I must. For now her little ones have ranged. `Let him be. I take the grasses of the grave. `How good! how kind! and he is gone. and charms Her secret from the latest moon?' Behold.
From April on to April went. somewhere in the waste. sometimes in my sorrow shut. And dulled the murmur on thy lip. There sat the Shadow feared of man. XXIII Now. And think that. how changed from where it ran Thro' lands where not a leaf was dumb. And spread his mantle dark and cold. As we descended following Hope. In Memoriam Thro' four sweet years arose and fell. And wrapt thee formless in the fold. And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought. And crowned with all the season lent. And all we met was fair and good. And all the secret of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood: 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . And crying. Alone. The Shadow sits and waits for me. But all the lavish hills would hum The murmur of a happy Pan: When each by turns was guide to each. from snow to snow: And we with singing cheered the way. And looking back to whence I came. I wander. Or breaking into song by fits. 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. tho' I walk in haste.46 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And Fancy light from Fancy caught. to where he sits. And bore thee where I could not see Nor follow. Who broke our fair companionship. often falling lame. And all was good that Time could bring. alone. Ere thought could wed itself with Speech. The Shadow cloaked from head to foot Who keeps the keys of all the creeds. Or on to where the pathway leads.
± the track Whereon with equal feet we fared. And orb into the perfect star We saw not. heart or limb. Because it needed help of Love: Nor could I weary. as now. And if that eye which watches guilt And goodness.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. This earth had been the Paradise It never looked to human eyes Since Adam left his garden yet. XXIV And was the day of my delight As pure and perfect as I say? The very source and fount of Day Is dashed with wandering isles of night. When mighty Love would cleave in twain The lading of a single pain. and hath power to see 5 5 5 10 15 10 . giving half to him. when we moved therein? XXV I know that this was Life. And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady. And then. And part it. XXVI Still onward winds the dreary way. That sets the past in this relief ? Or that the past will always win A glory from its being far. I loved the weight I had to bear. for I long to prove No lapse of moons can canker Love. In Memoriam 47 And many an old philosophy On Argive heights divinely sang. I with it. Whatever fickle tongues may say. the day prepared The daily burden for the back. 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.
And towers fallen as soon as built ± Oh.48 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Nor. As flies the lighter thro' the gross. to thee: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . As mounts the heavenward altar-fire. I feel it. But thou art turned to something strange. XLI Thy spirit ere our fatal loss Did ever rise from high to higher. In Memoriam Within the green the mouldered tree. here upon the ground. To cloak me from my proper scorn. 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. when I sorrow most. Deep folly! yet that this could be ± That I could wing my will with might To leap the grades of life and light. Nor any want-begotten rest. whate'er befall. That Shadow waiting with the keys. my friend. So might I find. what may count itself as blest. 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. And flash at once. To whom a conscience never wakes. XXVII I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage. ere yet the morn Breaks hither over Indian seas. Unfettered by the sense of crime. No more partaker of thy change. The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth. I hold it true. 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. And I have lost the links that bound Thy changes.
Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Let random influences glance. Like light in many a shivered lance That breaks about the dappled pools: The lightest wave of thought shall lisp. and go thy way. and skim away. Were taken to be such as closed Grave doubts and answers here proposed. she sports with words. when harsher moods remit. That I shall be thy mate no more. What slender shade of doubt may flit. that dip Their wings in tears. A spectral doubt which makes me cold. And holds it sin and shame to draw The deepest measure from the chords: Nor dare she trust a larger lay. She takes. indeed. Yet oft when sundown skirts the moor An inner trouble I behold. But evermore a life behind. Thro' all the secular to be. In Memoriam 49 For though my nature rarely yields To that vague fear implied in death. And look thy look. XLIX From art. But rather loosens from the lip Short swallow-flights of song. The slightest air of song shall breathe To make the sullen surface crisp. Nor shudders at the gulfs beneath. And makes it vassal unto love: And hence. but blame not thou the winds that make 5 5 15 20 10 15 10 . Then these were such as men might scorn: Her care is not to part and prove. from nature. XLVIII If these brief lays. of Sorrow born. The howlings from forgotten fields. Tho' following with an upward mind The wonders that have come to thee. from the schools. The fancy's tenderest eddy wreathe. But better serves a wholesome law.
In Memoriam The seeming-wanton ripple break. Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife. Whose muffled motions blindly drown The bases of my life in tears. to all. Or but subserves another's gain.50 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. To pangs of nature. The tender-pencilled shadow play. Or cast as rubbish to the void. That not one life shall be destroyed. 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. 5 5 15 10 15 20 10 . That nothing walks with aimless feet. Behold! we know not anything. That not a moth with vain desire Is shriveled in a fruitless fire. LV The wish. considering everywhere Her secret meaning in her deeds. That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems. Beneath all fancied hopes and fears Ay me! the sorrow deepens down. When God hath made the pile complete. and taints of blood. That I. And finding that of fifty seeds She often brings but one to bear. That not a worm is cloven in vain. sins of will. that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave. And every winter change to spring. I can but trust that good shall fall At last ± far off ± at last. LIV Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill. Defects of doubt.
the Just. behind the veil. Such splendid purpose in his eyes. O life as futile. who suffered countless ills. `A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing. and grope. shrieked against his creed ± Who loved.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and call To what I feel is Lord of all. or redress? Behind the veil. then. I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more.' And he. Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life. LVI `So careful of the type?' but no. Or sealed within the iron hills? No more? A monster then. I stretch lame hands of faith. And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God. Be blown about the desert dust. LVII Peace. who seemed so fair. And faintly trust the larger hope. Who battled for the True. In Memoriam 51 I falter where I firmly trod. A discord. Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies. a dream. And gather dust and chaff. Man. come away: the song of woe Is after all an earthly song: 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . red in tooth and claw With ravine. Dragons of the prime. That tare each other in their slime. Were mellow music matched with him. Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law ± Tho' Nature. as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless! What hope of answer. her last work. all shall go. shall he. Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries.
52 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Ave. slowly breathing bare The round of space. `Adieu. but it will not last' (T. To where in yonder orient star A hundred spirits whisper `Peace. Eternal greetings to the dead. Methinks I have built a rich shrine to my friend. Come. And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples. and o'er and o'er. your cheeks are pale. ambrosial air. and rapt below Thro' all the dewy-tasselled wood. fan my brows and blow The fever from my cheek. One set slow bell will seem to toll The passing of the sweetest soul That ever looked with human eyes.' XCII If any vision should reveal Thy likeness. my work will fail. I might count it vain As but the canker of the brain. and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame. come away: we do him wrong To sing so wildly: let us go. But I shall pass. 5 5 5 10 15 10 15 4 `The poet speaks of these poems. let us go. I hear it now. In Memoriam Peace. adieu' for evermore! LXXXVI Sweet after showers. That rollest from the gorgeous gloom Of evening over brake and bloom And meadow. . till Doubt and Death. But half my life I leave behind.). And `Ave. though it spake and made appeal To chances where our lots were cast Together in the days behind. Methinks my friend is richly shrined. Ill brethren. Ave. Yea.4 Yet in these ears till hearing dies. let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas On leagues of odour streaming far.' said.
the Spirit himself. Should prove the phantom-warning true. In Memoriam 53 I might but say. Spirit to Spirit. therefore from thy sightless range With gods in unconjectured bliss. 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. XCIII I shall not see thee. And such refraction of events As often rises ere they rise. Ghost to Ghost. may come Where all the nerve of sense is numb. My spirit is at peace with all. and touch. The memory like a cloudless air. Except. The conscience as a sea at rest: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . thou too canst say. O. XCIV How pure at heart and sound in head. That in this blindness of the frame My Ghost may feel that thine is near. I hear a wind Of memory murmuring the past. But he. and enter.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Yea. They might not seem thy prophecies. Imaginations calm and fair. or any. Descend. O. tho' it spake and bared to view A fact within the coming year. hear The wish too strong for words to name. like them. With what divine affections bold Should be the man whose thought would hold An hour's communion with the dead. from the distance of the abyss Of tenfold-complicated change. But spiritual presentiments. call The spirits from their golden day. And tho' the months. In vain shalt thou. They haunt the silence of the breast. revolving near.
In Memoriam But when the heart is full of din. CVIII I will not shut me from my kind. Nor feed with sighs a passing wind: What profit lies in barren faith. And bright the friendship of thine eye. And bless thee. O loved the most. Whatever wisdom sleep with thee. I see Betwixt the black fronts long-withdrawn A light-blue lane of early dawn.54 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. far off. And. So far. And hear the household jar within. the city sleeps. Or dive below the wells of Death? What find I in the highest place. And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh I take the pressure of thine hand. And doubt beside the portal waits. I smell the meadow in the street. where my heart was used to beat So quickly. They can but listen at the gates. But mine own phantom chanting hymns? And on the depths of death there swims The reflex of a human face. CXIX Doors. when most I feel There is a lower and a higher. for thy lips are bland. my lost desire. I will not eat my heart alone. tho' with might To scale the heaven's highest height. I hear a chirp of birds. CXXIX Dear friend. so near in woe and weal. not as one that weeps I come once more. I'll rather take what fruit may be Of sorrow under human skies: 'Tis held that sorrow makes us wise. And think of early days and thee. And vacant yearning. 5 5 15 10 15 10 . lest I stiffen into stone.
the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!' he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Dear heavenly friend that canst not die. And mingle all the world with thee. Far off thou art. and to be. ever mine! Strange friend. divine! Sweet human hand and lips and eye. darklier understood. Mine. for ever. some diffusive power. human. II `Forward. 5 5 10 10 15 The Charge of the Light Brigade I Half a league. Behold I dream a dream of good. I shall not lose thee though I die. and I rejoice. I do not therefore love thee less: My love involves the love before. But tho' I seem in star and flower To feel thee. circled with thy voice. Thou standest in the rising sun. CXXX Thy voice is on the rolling air. Loved deeplier. `Forward. I prosper.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. but ever night. I seem to love thee more and more. the Light Brigade!' Was there a man dismayed? Not tho' the soldier knew 5 10 . half a league. Half a league onward. past. present. Tho' mixed with God and Nature thou. I hear thee where the waters run. And in the setting thou art fair. I have thee still. What art thou then? I cannot guess. My love is vaster passion now. All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. The Charge of the Light Brigade 55 Known and unknown. mine.
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. Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered. Their's but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to left of them. IV Flashed all their sabres bare. Boldly they rode and well. Stormed at with shot and shell. while All the world wondered: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke. Their's not to reason why.56 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. While horse and hero fell. Left of six hundred. Back from the mouth of Hell. but not Not the six hundred. Into the jaws of Death. Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered. Then they rode back. 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. Stormed at with shot and shell. They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death. Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre-stroke Shattered and sundered. Charging an army. Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. Cannon to left of them. All that was left of them.
we are villains all. and flattened. 6 Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? we have made them a curse. in the spirit of Cain. the works of the men of mind. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade. His who had given me life ± O father! O God! was it well? ± Mangled. And Echo there. Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-red heath. Dropt off gorged from a scheme that had left us flaccid and drained. answers `Death. The red-ribbed ledges drip with a silent horror of blood. From: Maud 57 All the world wondered. And ever he muttered and maddened. 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 dead weight trailed.' 2 For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was found. and dinted into the ground: There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he fell. and ever wanned with despair. 5 Villainy somewhere! whose? One says. whatever is asked her. Noble six hundred! 55 From: Maud I 1 I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood. for the roots of my hair were stirred By a shuffled step. 3 Did he fling himself down? who knows? for a vast speculation had failed. When who but a fool would have faith in a tradesman's ware or his word? 5 10 15 20 25 . Pickpockets. by a whispered fright. 4 I remember the time. And the flying gold of the ruined woodlands drove thro' the air. now lord of the broad estate and the Hall. and crushed. And lust of gain. each hand lusting for all that is not its own. Not he: his honest fame should at least by me be maintained: But that old man. And out he walked when the wind like a broken worldling wailed. And my pulses closed their gates with a shock on my heart as I heard The shrill-edged shriek of a mother divide the shuddering night.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.
And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the foam. While another is cheating the sick of a few last gasps. 12 When a Mammonite mother kills her babe for a burial fee. if he could. and shaking a hundred thrones. Cheat and be cheated. And the spirit of murder works in the very means of life. and slurring the days gone by. Till the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the trampled wife. as underhand. set my face as a flint. When the poor are hovelled and hustled together. And strike. Peace in her vineyard ± yes! ± but a company forges the wine. And chalk and alum and plaster are sold to the poor for bread. 10 And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffian's head. home. and when only not all men lie. That the smoothfaced snubnosed rogue would leap from his counter and till. 8 Sooner or later I too may passively take the print Of the golden age ± why not? I have neither hope nor trust. and that of a kind The viler.58 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. ± 14 What! am I raging alone as my father raged in his mood? Must I too creep to the hollow and dash myself down and die Rather than hold by the law that I made. nevermore to brood On a horror of shattered limbs and a wretched swindler's lie? 30 35 40 45 50 55 . as he sits To pestle a poisoned poison behind his crimson lights. And Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of children's bones. each sex. were it but with his cheating yardwand. 9 Peace sitting under her olive. not openly bearing the sword. From: Maud Is it peace or war? Civil war. 13 For I trust if an enemy's fleet came yonder round by the hill. for the villainous centre-bits Grind on the wakeful ear in the hush of the moonless nights. May make my heart as a millstone. war! loud war by land and by sea. and die: who knows? we are ashes and dust. War with a thousand battles. like swine. When only the ledger lives. Is it peace or war? better. 11 And Sleep must lie down armed. as I think.
I played with the girl when a child. 18 Maud with her venturous climbings and tumbles and childish escapes. I will bury myself in myself. And the musk of the rose is blown. Maud the delight of the village. I am sick of the moor and the main. Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky. there is fatter game on the moor. having the nerves of motion as well as the nerves of pain. and thought he would rise and speak And rave at the lie and the liar. Maud with her sweet purse-mouth when my father dangled the grapes. For the black bat. ± 19 What is she now? My dreams are bad. And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad. XXII 1 Come into the garden. I know not whence. 60 65 70 75 5 10 . for the fiend best knows whether woman or man be the worse.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. I am here at the gate alone. and the Devil may pipe to his own. 16 I am sick of the Hall and the hill. 2 For a breeze of morning moves. 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. The dark old place will be gilt by the touch of a millionaire: I have heard. the moon-faced darling of all. Love for the silent thing that had made false haste to the grave ± Wrapt in a cloak. as I saw him. No. ah God. Maud. Come into the garden. From: Maud 59 15 Would there be sorrow for me? there was love in the passionate shriek. of the singular beauty of Maud. Maud the beloved of my mother. Why should I stay? can a sweeter chance ever come to me here? O. as he used to rave. she will let me alone. She may bring me a curse. Thanks. And the planet of Love is on high. has flown. the ringing joy of the Hall. night. she promised then to be fair. Maud.
bassoon. Our wood.' Now half to the setting moon are gone.' so I sware to the rose. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . 3 All night have the roses heard The flute. And long by the garden lake I stood. For one that will never be thine? But mine.' 6 And the soul of the rose went into my blood. For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood. O young lord-lover. And a hush with the setting moon. but mine. 4 I said to the lily. To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise. and to die. When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance and play. `The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine. 7 From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes. `For ever and ever. 8 The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree. All night has the casement jessamine stirred To the dancers dancing in tune. violin. And half to the rising day. Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away. mine. `There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay. what sighs are those.60 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. To faint in his light. Till a silence fell with the waking bird. 5 I said to the rose. As the music clashed in the hall. From: Maud To faint in the light of the sun she loves. that is dearer than all.
Come hither. And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar. 61 50 55 60 65 70 Crossing the Bar Sunset and evening star. She is coming. `I wait. Too full for sound and foam. Were it earth in an earthy bed. The lilies and roses were all awake. I hear. To the flowers. Crossing the Bar The white lake-blossom fell into the lake As the pimpernel dozed on the lea. my fate. `She is near. 9 Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls. My dust would hear her and beat. Queen lily and rose in one. `She is late. And blossom in purple and red. sunning over with curls. she is near. 5 . Would start and tremble under her feet. But the rose was awake all night for your sake.' And the white rose weeps.' 11 She is coming.' And the lily whispers. little head. my dear.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls. When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home.' The larkspur listens. My heart would hear her and beat. But such a tide as moving seems asleep. When I put out to sea. Had I lain for a century dead. my dove. They sighed for the dawn and thee. She is coming. `I hear. 10 There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. my own. Were it ever so airy a tread. and be their sun. Shine out. Knowing your promise to me. my life. The red rose cries. the dances are done. my sweet.
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far. When I embark. I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. Crossing the Bar Twilight and evening bell.62 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. . And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell.
and her looks went everywhere. She thanked men. The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her. 'twas not Her husband's presence only.I know not how. and there she stands. . I call That piece a wonder. Looking as if she were alive.' or `Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat'. . at least. . the white mule She rode with round the terrace ± all and each Would draw from her alike the forward speech. now: Fra Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day. Too easily impressed. Who'd stoop to blame 5 10 15 20 25 30 . too soon made glad. Or blush.Robert Browning (1812±1889) My Last Duchess Ferrara That's my last Duchess painted on the wall. How such a glance came there. Will't please you sit and look at her? I said `Fra Pandolf' by design. called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say `Her mantle laps Over my lady's wrist too much. she liked whate'er She looked on. but thanked Somehow. she thought. The depth and passion of its earnest glance. . ± good. for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance. . But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you. 'twas all one! My favour at her breast. She had A heart . and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. as if she ranked My gift of a nine hundred years old name With anybody's gift. The dropping of the daylight in the West. if they durst. Sir. but I) And seemed as they would ask me. such stuff Was courtesy. . Sir. how shall I say? . so not the first Are you to turn and ask thus.
So much was their's who so little allowed: How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags ± were they purple. I gave commands. were with us. thought a rarity. Though his fair daughter's self. followed him. Nay. 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.64 Robert Browning. 5 10 15 . `Just this Or that in you disgusts me. but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew. honoured him. ± E'en then would be some stooping. ± while he boasts his quiescence. and say. here you miss. Sir! Notice Neptune. and made excuse. forsooth. his heart had been proud! We that had loved him so. Lost all the others she lets us devote. Then all smiles stopped together. tho'. she smiled. ± not from his lyre. The Count your Master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed. Learned his great language. doled him out silver. as I avowed At starting. ± not thro' his presence. with the gold to give. Burns. no doubt. and I chuse Never to stoop. Lived in his mild and magnificent eye. Just for a ribband to stick in his coat ± Got the one gift of which fortune bereft us. They. Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me. nor plainly set Her wits to yours. is my object. Sir. Deeds will be done. There she stands As if alive. Oh. I repeat. Whene'er I passed her. Songs may excite us. Will't please you rise? We'll meet The company below then. Milton was for us. Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us. 35 40 45 50 55 The Lost Leader I Just for a handful of silver he left us. Or there exceed the mark' ± and if she let Herself be lessoned so. ± they watch from their graves! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen. caught his clear accents. Shelley. we'll go Together down. Taming a sea-horse. ± He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! II We shall march prospering.
Rinsed like something sacrificial Ere 'tis fit to touch our chaps ± Marked with L. One wrong more to man. Pardoned in Heaven. then. the first by the throne! 20 25 30 Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister I GR-R-R ± there go. time of year: Not a plenteous cork-crop: scarcely Dare we hope oak-galls. ± come gallantly. And a goblet for ourself. Strike our face hard ere we shatter his own. do! If hate killed men. would not mine kill you! What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming? Oh. Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well. Sort of season. 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. hesitation and pain. Forced praise on our part ± the glimmer of twilight. One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels.Robert Browning. 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. Brother Lawrence. for we taught him. Laid with care on our own shelf ! With a fire-new spoon we're furnished. God's blood. for our initial! (He-he! There his lily snaps!) 5 10 15 20 . one more insult to God! Life's night begins: let him never come back to us! There would be doubt. my heart's abhorrence! Water your damned flower-pots. One task unaccepted. Then let him get the new knowledge and wait us. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister 65 Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire: Blot out his name. ± record one lost soul more.
Bright as 'twere a Barbary corsair's? That is. While he drains his at one gulp! VI Oh. to my recollection. lustrous. Steeping tresses in the tank. so nice! One goes to the Abbot's table. in Jesu's praise. forsooth! While brown Dolores Squats outside the Convent bank With Sanchicha. thick like horsehairs. If I double down its pages At the woeful sixteenth print. One sure. the Trinity illustrate. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 . at such trouble. Spin him round and send him flying Off to hell a Manichee? VIII Or. All of us get each a slice. too. Keep 'em close-nipped on the sly! VII There's a great text in Galatians. entails Twenty-nine distinct damnations. How go on your flowers? None double? Not one fruit-sort can you spy? Strange! ± And I. you grovel Hand and foot in Belial's gripe. if another fails: If I trip him just a-dying. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister IV Saint. ± Can't I see his dead eye grow. Knife and fork across he lays Never.66 Robert Browning. Blue-black. if he'd let it show! V When he finishes refection. those melons? If he's able We're to have a feast. Sure of Heaven as sure can be. Drinking watered orange-pulp. my scrofulous French novel On grey paper with blunt type! Simply glance at it. As do I. In three sips the Arian frustrate. telling stories. Once you trip on it. I.
When no voice replied. Zy. Hine . Ope a sieve and slip it in't? IX Or. Blasted lay that rose-acacia We're so proud of ! Hy. straight She shut the cold out and the storm. The sullen wind was soon awake. It tore the elm-tops down for spite. And. the Devil! ± one might venture Pledge one's soul yet slily leave Such a flaw in the indenture As he'd miss till. and vainer ties dissever. Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her. I listened with heart fit to break. To set its struggling passion free From pride. and all the cottage warm. . And give herself to me for ever: But passion sometimes would prevail. there's Vespers! Plena gratia Ave. . Which done. And made her smooth white shoulder bare. Virgo! Gr-r-r ± you swine! 65 70 Porphyria's Lover The rain set early in tonight. And laid her soiled gloves by. Murmuring how she loved me. made my cheek lie there. she Too weak. and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl.Robert Browning. And she was come through wind and rain. for all her heart's endeavour. Be sure I looked up at her eyes Proud. Porphyria's Lover 67 When he gathers his greengages. And. untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall. And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up. past retrieve. last. very proud. And spread o'er all her yellow hair. She put my arm about her waist. When glided in Porphyria. And did its worst to vex the lake. And all her yellow hair displaced. at last I knew 5 10 15 20 25 30 . she rose. and all in vain. she sat down by my side And called me. Ã St. stooping.
That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before. this time my shoulder bore Her head. That all it scorned at once is fled. Home-Thoughts. And the whitethroat builds. And all night long we have not stirred. am gained instead! Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. No pain felt she. from Abroad Porphyria worshipped me. and still it grew While I debated what to do. 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 . Only. And thus we sit together now. I am quite sure she felt no pain. which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head. And yet God has not said a word! 35 40 45 50 55 60 Home-Thoughts. when May follows. to be in England Now that April's there. And I. mine. So glad it has its utmost will. And whoever wakes in England Sees. from Abroad I Oh. some morning. unaware. That moment she was mine. As a shut bud that holds a bee I warily oped her lids. Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do.68 Robert Browning. And strangled her. While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England ± now! II And after April. fair. surprise Made my heart swell. again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around. And I untightened next the tress About her neck. its love.
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!
72 Robert Browning. Than the two hearts beating each to each! 5 10 Parting at Morning Round the cape of a sudden came the sea. gathered councils. thro' its joys and fears. 5 10 . And quench its speed in the slushy sand. its prince Ages since Held his court in. Meeting at Night Meeting at Night I The grey sea and the long black land. A tap at the pane. And the yellow half-moon large and low. Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward thro' the twilight. As I gain the cove with pushing prow. stray or stop As they crop ± 2 Was the site once of a city great and gay. (So they say) Of our country's very capital. And a voice less loud. Three fields to cross till a farm appears. And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep. And the sun looked over the mountain's rim ± And straight was a path of gold for him. And the need of a world of men for me. Love Among the Ruins 1 Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles. II Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach. the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match. wielding far Peace or war.
5 And such plenty and perfection. by the gourd Overscored. 4 Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all. Twelve abreast. To distinguish slopes of verdure. Stock or stone ± 6 Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Long ago. certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to (else they run Into one). dread of shame Struck them tame. Lust of glory pricked their hearts up. the gold Bought and sold. the chariots traced As they raced. As you see. o'erspreads And embeds Every vestige of the city. Love Among the Ruins 73 3 Now ± the country does not even boast a tree. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . And a burning ring all round.Robert Browning. this summer-time. While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks Through the chinks ± 8 Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time Sprang sublime. of grass Never was! Such a carpet as. guessed alone. see. Made of marble. men might march on nor be pressed. And that glory and that shame alike. 7 Now. By the caper over-rooted. ± the single little turret that remains On the plains.
give her eyes the first embrace Of my face. bridges. she will speak not. she will stand. Love Among the Ruins And the monarch and his minions and his dames Viewed the games. ± and then. 13 In one year they sent a million fighters forth South and North. Either hand On my shoulder. 9 And I know. dumb Till I come.74 Robert Browning. where she looks now. aqueducts. All the men! 12 When I do come. Far and wide. And the slopes and rills in undistinguished grey Melt away ± 10 That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair Waits me there In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul For the goal. all our many-tinkling fleece In such peace. ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 . All the mountains topped with temples. all the glades' Colonnades. All the causeys. of course. Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force ± Gold. blood that burns! Earth's returns For whole centuries of folly. every side. When the king looked. heart! oh. breathless. And they built their gods a brazen pillar high As the sky. Ere we rush. blood that freezes. 14 Oh. noise and sin! Shut them in. while thus the quiet-coloured eve Smiles to leave to their folding. 11 But he looked upon the city.
who is lodging with a friend Three streets off ± he's a certain . 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 . Who am I? Why. . Whatever rat. Cosimo of the Medici. I' the house that caps the corner. Fra Lippo Lippi I am poor brother Lippo. one. by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up. sir. How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! But you. now. . . if you must show your zeal. . A wood-coal or the like? or you should see! Yes. Boh! you were best! Remember and tell me. the day you're hanged. that's crept to keep him company! Aha. how d'ye call? Master ± a . 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. And nip each softling of a wee white mouse. yet unwiped! It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk. up and down. brother Lippo's doings. Lord. that they sweep the streets And count fair prize what comes into their net? He's Judas to a tittle.' as who should say) And his weapon in the other. you know your betters! Then. ± harry out. And please to know me likewise. Do. ± for the slave that holds John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair With one hand (`Look you. weke. And here you catch me at an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar. are we pilchards.Robert Browning. haps on his wrong hole. you'll take Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat. you make amends. I'm the painter. lads! more beside!) And all's come square again. elbowing on his comrade in the door With the pike and lantern. that man is! Just such a face! why. Fra Lippo Lippi 75 With their triumphs and their glories and the rest! Love is best. there. and you go the rounds. what's to blame? you think you see a monk! What. I'd like his face ± His. it's past midnight. Weke. it concerns you that your knaves Pick up a manner nor discredit you. since you style me so. Zooks. sir. What. sir. Zooks.
zooks. Take away love. a year or two On fig-skins. God knows how. Mum's the word naturally. laughs. I see! Though your eye twinkles still. If I've been merry. what am I a beast for? tell us. hail fellow. you say ± the sting's in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself. Fra Lippo Lippi 'Tell you I liked your looks at very first. There came a hurry of feet and little feet. I let Lisa go. flesh and blood. 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. and so dropped. There was a ladder! down I let myself. I came up with the fun Hard by Saint Laurence. saints and saints And saints again. 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . well met. All the bed-furniture ± a dozen knots. and what good's in life since? Flower o' the thyme ± and so on. and whifts of song. Here's spring come. rinds and shucks. now! I was a baby when my mother died And father died and left me in the street. . you shake your head ± Mine's shaved. I starved there. You snap me of the sudden. My stomach being empty as your hat. Hands and feet. scrambling somehow. (Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) And so along the wall. melon-parings. Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand. A sweep of lute-strings. over the bridge. I could not paint all night ± Ouf ! I leaned out of window for fresh air. And I've been three weeks shut within my mew.76 Robert Browning. sir. Let's sit and set things straight now. The wind doubled me up and down I went. ± Flower o' the broom. and our earth is a tomb! Flower o' the quince. Refuse and rubbish. A-painting for the great man. and the nights one makes up bands To roam the town and sing out carnival. Ah. Round they went. ± a monk. . One fine frosty day. Curtain and counterpane and coverlet. but a monk! Come. That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went. ± Flower o' the rose. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight. And after them. ± three slim shapes ± And a face that looked up . hip to haunch.
I did renounce the world. On the wall. Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge. boy. Holding a candle to the Sacrament. 'Twas not for nothing ± the good bellyful. ± How say I? ± nay. . villa.' quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth. What if at last we get our man of parts. Fra Lippo Lippi 77 By the straight cut to the convent. the bench. Watching folk's faces to know who will fling The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires. they made a monk of me. the door. mind you. And made a string of pictures of the world Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun. Found eyes and nose and chin for A. Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch The droppings of the wax to sell again. Lose a crow and catch a lark. Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped. By no means! Brief.' quoth the Prior.s.Robert Browning. when a boy starves in the streets Eight years together. 'twas refection-time. And who will curse or kick him for his pains ± Which gentleman processional and fine. which lets drop His bone from the heap of offal in the street! ± The soul and sense of him grow sharp alike. Well. Palace. All the Latin I construe is. Not overmuch their way. farm. you may be sure. `turn him out. He learns the look of things. be sure. they'd have taught me Latin in pure waste! Flower o' the clove. d'ye say? In no wise. I had a store of such remarks. 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . The warm serge and the rope that goes all round. Lord. Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes. Which. Trash. such as these poor devils of Medici Have given their hearts to ± all at eight years old. shop and banking-house. sir. ± `To quit this very miserable world? Will you renounce' . and none the less For admonitions from the hunger-pinch. you're minded. there. While I stood munching my first bread that month: `So. its pride and greed. The monks looked black. which dog bites. the mouthful of bread? thought I. `Nay. Six words. turned to use: I drew men's faces on my copy-books. as my fortune was. . And day-long blessed idleness beside! `Let's see what the urchin's fit for' ± that came next.s and B. I found in time. after I found leisure. I must confess. `amo' I love! But. Such a to-do! they tried me with their books.
Fra Lippo Lippi We Carmelites.78 Robert Browning. Make them forget there's such a thing as flesh. I drew them. folk at church. to do our church up fine And put the front on it that ought to be!' And hereupon he bade me daub away. every sort of monk. half for his beard and half For that white anger of his victim's son Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm. prayed. With homage to the perishable clay. And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall. 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. it's not. Never was such prompt disemburdening. ± To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot. I painted all. 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. bless us all! Faces. . the black and white. smoke . . . 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 . ignore it all. like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars. Her pair of earrings and a bunch of flowers The brute took growling. came at eve On tip-toe. 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. safe and sitting there With the little children round him in a row Of admiration. their walls a blank. . dropped in a loaf. First. for more's ready!' ± laid the ladder flat. (taught what to see and not to see. Your business is to paint the souls of men ± Man's soul. `How? what's here? Quite from the mark of painting. The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked. and then was gone. Thank you! my head being crammed. Their betters took their turn to see and say: The Prior and the learned pulled a face And stopped all that in no time. From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of barrel-droppings. and it's a fire. her apron o'er her head Which the intense eyes looked through. then cried `'tis ask and have ± Choose. said a word. Fresh from his murder. fat and lean: then. But lift them over it. candle-ends. arms.no.
Within yourself. by painting body So ill. you see.Robert Browning. the eye can't stop there. must go further And can't fare worse! Thus. in short. Left foot and right foot. Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash. well. And then add soul and heighten them threefold? Or say there's beauty with no soul at all ± (I never saw it ± put the case the same ±) If you get simple beauty and nought else. ± why not stop with him? Why put all thoughts of praise out of our heads With wonder at lines. it's fast holding by the rings in front ± Those great rings serve more purposes than just To plant a flag in. well. I would say. Fra Lippo Lippi 79 It's. when you return Him thanks! `Rub all out!' well. great and old: 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . my son! You're not of the true painters. fear. Both in their order? Take the prettiest face. Why can't a painter lift each foot in turn. patron-saint ± is it so pretty You can't discover if it means hope. go a double step. Make his flesh liker and his soul more like. Herodias. yellow does for white When what you put for yellow's simply black. . . there's my life. The heads shake still ± `It's Art's decline. is this sense. And so the thing has gone on ever since. And any sort of meaning looks intense When all beside itself means and looks nought. with his Saint a-praising God. . You get about the best thing God invents. Sorrow or joy? won't beauty go with these? Suppose I've made her eyes all right and blue. that white smallish female with the breasts. . 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. . I ask? A fine way to paint soul. Oh. I'm grown a man no doubt. it's the soul! Give us no more of body than shows soul! Here's Giotto. That sets us praising. And you'll find the soul you have missed. ± Who went and danced and got men's heads cut off ! Have it all out!' Now. The Prior's niece . or tie up a horse! And yet the old schooling sticks. what matters talking. in the Corner-house! Lord. and what not? Paint the soul. try at it a second time. colours. never mind the legs and arms! Rub all out. She's just my niece . paint now as I please ± Having a friend. ± That's somewhat. . the old grave eyes Are peeping o'er my shoulder as I work.
Although the miller does not preach to him The only good of grass is to make chaff. out at grass After hard years. I know what's sure to follow. You tell too many lies and hurt yourself. Death for us all. Clench my teeth. Fag on at flesh. For me. now ± why. . For. The world and life's too big to pass for a dream. I hope so ± though I never live so long. The value and significance of flesh. You do like what. In pure rage! the old mill-horse. We've a youngster here Comes to our convent. my lesson learned. You find abundantly detestable. throws up his stiff heels so. I can't unlearn ten minutes afterwards. . But see. You understand me: I'm a beast. and his own life for each!) And my whole soul revolves. and I'll stick to mine! I'm not the third. Slouches and stares and lets no atom drop ± His name is Guidi ± he'll not mind the monks ± They call him Hulking Tom. What will hap some day. You be judge! You speak no Latin more than I. You keep your mistr.80 Robert Browning. doing most. belike ± However. I see as certainly As that the morning-star's about to shine. And I do these wild things in sheer despite. suck my lips in tight. they must know! Don't you think they're the likeliest to know. if given you at your word. there's pretty sure to come A turn ± some warm eve finds me at my saints ± A laugh. studies what I do. What would men have? Do they like grass or no ± May they or mayn't they? all I want's the thing Settled for ever one way: as it is. you'll never make the third!' Flower o' the pine. manners. You don't like what you only like too much. And play the fooleries you catch me at. you've seen the world 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 . with their Latin? so. I think I speak as I was taught. he lets them talk ± He picks my practice up ± he'll paint apace. you'll find: Brother Lorenzo stands his single peer. and paint To please them ± sometimes do and sometimes don't. Fra Lippo Lippi Brother Angelico's the man. the cup runs o'er. a cry. They. I swallow my rage. I know. the business of the world ± (Flower o' the peach. you're my man. I always see the Garden and God there A-making man's wife ± and. then: bless us.
These are the frame to? What's it all about? To be passed o'er. ay or no. ± and God made it all! ± For what? do you feel thankful. If I drew higher things with the same truth! That were to take the Prior's pulpit-place. Interpret God to all of you! oh. Fra Lippo Lippi 81 ± The beauty and the wonder and the power. `How looks my painting. this last of course. Changes. you say.' For. does as well. things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see. lights and shades. For this fair town's face. Your cullion's hanging face? A bit of chalk. I painted a St Laurence six months since At Prato. Nor blank ± it means intensely. now. despised? or dwelt upon. The mountain round it and the sky above. child. painted ± better to us. Don't object.Robert Browning. And trust me but you should. It makes me mad to see what men shall do And we in our graves! This world's no blot for us. nature is complete: Suppose you reproduce her ± (which you can't) There's no advantage! you must beat her. surprises. `His works Are here already. careless what comes of it? God's works ± paint anyone. `Ay. But's scratched and prodded to our heart's content. Two bits of stick nailed crosswise. their colours. and count it crime To let a truth slip. mind you fast next Friday!' Why. yonder river's line. woman. or. But why not do as well as say. And so they are better. oh. ± paint these Just as they are. for this What need of art at all? A skull and bones. Much more the figures of man. The pious people have so eased their own 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 . Wondered at? oh. then. Have you noticed. what's best. Which is the same thing. now the scaffold's down?' I ask a brother: `Hugely.' he returns ± `Already not one phiz of your three slaves Who turn the Deacon off his toasted side. Lending our minds out. The shapes of things. splashed the fresco in fine style. don't you mark? we're made so that we love First when we see them painted. A bell to chime the hour with. Art was given for that ± God uses us to help each other so. and means good: To find its meaning is my meat and drink. 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. though! How much more.
And then in the front. up shall come Out of a corner when you least expect. flowery angel-brood. And Job. I. the church knows! don't misreport me. As one by a dark stair into a great light Music and talking. all smile ± 335 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 375 . . of course a saint or two ± Saint John. puts out a soft palm ± `Not so fast!' ± Addresses the celestial presence. Lilies and vestments and white faces. Fra Lippo Lippi With coming to say prayers there in a rage. There's for you! Give me six months. Madonna and her babe. after all. this pure company! Where's a hole. Tasting the air this spicy night which turns The unaccustomed head like Chianti wine! Oh. Painters who need his patience). then go. My old serge gown and rope that goes all round. caught up with my monk's-things by mistake. Well. . Saint Ambrose. see Something in Sant' Ambrogio's! (bless the nuns! They want a cast of my office). I shall paint God in the midst. sweet As puff on puff of grated orris-root When ladies crowd to Church at midsummer. in this presence. I have bethought me: I shall paint a piece .82 Robert Browning. 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. where's a corner for escape? Then steps a sweet angelic slip of a thing Forward. `nay ± He made you and devised you. who but Lippo! I! ± Mazed. I must have him there past mistake. all these Secured at their devotions. Expect another job this time next year. who puts down in black and white The convent's friends and gives them a long day. because he saves the Florentines. Though he's none of you! Could Saint John there. Got wot. The man of Uz (and Us without the z. 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. Ringed by a bowery. draw ± His camel-hair make up a painting-brush? We come to brother Lippo for all that. motionless and moon-struck ± I'm the man! Back I shrink ± what is this I see and hear? I. Iste perfecit opus! So. We get on fast to see the bricks beneath.
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. wholly unexpected. he to finger on his sword. . While you sat and played Toccatas. And so all's saved for me. 4 Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May? Balls and masks begun at midnight. O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might base his head? 6 Well. (and it was graceful of them) they'd break talk off and afford ± She. and I know my own way back ± Don't fear me! There's the grey beginning. all the doors being shut. like a bell-flower on its bed. and 'tis arched by . to bite her mask's black velvet. 'tis with such a heavy mind! 2 Here you come with your old music.Robert Browning. . Till. ± On her neck the small face buoyant. in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off To some safe bench behind. . Baldassaro. burning ever to midday. because the sea's the street there. no lights! The street's hushed. Go. what you call . . and for the church A pretty picture gained. But although I take your meaning. not letting go The palm of her. sir. it would prove me deaf and blind. Where Saint Mark's is. and here's all the good it brings. cheeks so round and lips so red. and good bye: no lights. Shylock's bridge with houses on it. the little lily thing That spoke the good word for me in the nick. stately at the clavichord? 5 10 15 . . When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow. What. where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings? 3 Ay. do you say? 5 Was a lady such a lady. six months hence! Your hand. Like the Prior's niece . Zooks! 380 385 390 A Toccata of Galuppi's 1 Oh Galuppi. this is very sad to find! I can hardly misconceive you. they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were the kings. where they kept the carnival! I was never out of England ± it's as if I saw it all. I would say. Saint Lucy. .
' ± `And are you still as happy?' ± `Yes ± And you?' ± `Then. more kisses' ± `Did I stop them. some with deeds as well undone. Some with lives that came to nothing. 20 25 30 35 40 45 . like a ghostly cricket. 13 `Yours for instance: you know physics. Mathematics are your pastime. you. Venice spent what Venice earned. they praised you. Butterflies may dread extinction. ± think to take my stand nor swerve. What of soul was left. While I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close reserve. till it must be answered to! 9 So an octave struck the answer. Dear dead women.84 Robert Browning. I wonder. Death stepped tacitly and took them where they never see the sun. ± you'll not die. creaking where a house was burned ± `Dust and ashes. souls shall rise in their degree. something of geology. 11 But when I sit down to reason. it cannot be! 14 `As for Venice and its people. those solutions ± `Must we die?' Those commiserating sevenths ± `Life might last! we can but try!' 8 `Were you happy?' ± `Yes. In you come with your cold music till I creep thro' every nerve. when a million seemed so few?' Hark ± the dominant's persistence. merely born to bloom and drop. sigh on sigh.' 10 Then they left you for their pleasure: till in due time. 12 Yes. Oh. dead and done with. A Toccata of Galuppi's 7 What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive. when the kissing had to stop? 15 `Dust and ashes!' So you creak it. Here on earth they bore their fruitage. 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. with such hair. is immortal ± where a soul can be discerned. too ± what's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old. The soul. sixths diminished. and I want the heart to scold. mirth and folly were the crop. Told them something? Those suspensions. one by one.
finding failure in its scope. he lied in every word. what with my whole world-wide wandering. What with my search drawn out thro' years. Hides the Dark Tower. what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare. 4 For. And hears one bid the other go. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 85 `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' (See Edgar's song in `Lear') 1 My first thought was. And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break. and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee that pursed and scored Its edge at one more victim gained thereby. 3 If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which. That hoary cripple. 5 As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed. (`since all is o'er.' he saith. ± I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made. all agree. draw breath Freelier outside. with malicious eye Askance to watch the working of his lie On mine. and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend. So much as gladness that some end might be.Robert Browning. 2 What else should he be set for. save to waylay with his lies. with his staff ? What. Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed: neither pride Nor hope rekindling at the end descried. my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring. ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there. `And the blow fallen no grieving can amend') 5 10 15 20 25 30 .
Heard failure prophesied so oft. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 6 While some discuss if near the other graves Be room enough for this. scarves and staves. with none to awe. You'd think. been writ So many times among `The Band' ± to wit. after a pace or two. seemed best. 9 For mark! no sooner was I fairly found Pledged to the plain. Than pausing to throw backward a last view O'er the safe road. naught else remained to do. ± And still the man hears all. `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. 11 No! penury. I turned from him. That hateful cripple. 10 So on I went. I might go on. and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away. yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. spurge. And all the doubt was now ± should I be fit. quiet as despair. With care about the banners. and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay. inertness and grimace. All the day Had been a dreary one at best. The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed Their steps ± that just to fail as they. and dim Was settling to its close. 8 So. according to their law Might propagate their kind. I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature.' 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . 7 Thus. I had so long suffered in this quest. were the land's portion. a burr had been a treasure-trove. Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free. out of his highway Into the path he pointed. 'twas gone! grey plain all round! Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. nothing throve: For flowers ± as well expect a cedar grove! But cockle.86 Robert Browning. In some strange sort.
Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe: I never saw a brute I hated so ± He must be wicked to deserve such pain. Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. One stiff blind horse. Poor traitor.Robert Browning. till I almost felt him fold An arm in mine to fix me to the place. Dear fellow. the soul of honour ± there he stands Frank as ten years ago when knighted first. Alas! one night's disgrace! Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold. Stood stupefied. That way he used. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 87 12 If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates. 13 As for the grass. Good ± but the scene shifts ± faugh! what hangman's hands Pin to his breast a parchment? his own bands Read it. What honest man should dare (he said) he durst. 16 Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face Beneath its garniture of curly gold. 17 Giles. With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain. I asked one draught of earlier. however he came there ± Thrust out past service from the devil's stud! 14 Alive? he might be dead for aught I know. spit upon and curst! 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 . Think first. And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane. with a brute's intents. it grew as scant as hair In leprosy ± thin dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood. his every bone a-stare. happier sights. 15 I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. As a man calls for wine before he fights. 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. then. fight afterwards ± the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights. the head was chopped ± the bents Were jealous else.
Now for a better country. rolled by. how I feared To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek. Vain presage! Who were the strugglers. Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage ± 23 The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque. 22 Glad was I when I reached the other bank. ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek. while I forded. or feel the spear I thrust to seek For hollows. no doubt. Whate'er that was. No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms ± This. deterred no whit. But. 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . as it frothed by. 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. 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. ± good saints.88 Robert Browning. might have been a bath For the fiend's glowing hoof ± to see the wrath Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes. Each step. No sound. a suicidal throng: The river which had done them all the wrong. tangled in his hair or beard! ± It may have been a water-rat I speared. like galley-slaves the Turk Pits for his pastime. Christians against Jews. 21 Which. with all the plain to choose? No footprint leading to that horrid mews. Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it. no sight as far as eye could strain. What penned them there. Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit Of mute despair. what war did they wage. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 18 Better this present than a past like that ± Back therefore to my darkening path again. Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank Soil to a plash? toads in a poisoned tank. 20 So petty yet so spiteful! All along.
Apollyon's bosom-friend. 27 And just as far as ever from the end! Naught in the distance but the evening. Next a marsh. aware I somehow grew. (so a fool finds mirth. ± solve it. Sailed past. 28 For. once a wood. Now patches where some leanness of the soil's Broke into moss or substances like boils. How thus they had surprised me. nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned That brushed my cap ± perchance the guide I sought. 'Spite of the dusk. the plain had given place All round to mountains ± with such name to grace Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view. Here ended. coloured gay and grim. not wheel ± that harrow fit to reel Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air Of Tophet's tool. sand and stark black dearth. 25 Then came a bit of stubbed ground. Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel. it would seem. looking up. God knows when ± In a bad dream perhaps. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 89 24 And more than that ± a furlong on ± why. and now mere earth Desperate and done with. clay and rubble. Or brake. Makes a thing and then mars it. there! What bad use was that engine for. on earth left unaware. A great black bird. then. a cleft in him Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim Gaping at death. 26 Now blotches rankling. Progress this way. Then came some palsied oak. till his mood Changes and off he goes!) within a rood ± Bog. that wheel. in the very nick Of giving up. When. nought To point my footstep further! At the thought. one time more. and dies while it recoils. came a click As when a trap shuts ± you're inside the den! 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 .Robert Browning. you! How to get from them was no plain case. 29 Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick Of mischief happened to me.
' 175 180 185 190 195 200 Memorabilia 1 Ah. yet each of old Lost. Built of brown stone. And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set. The tempest's mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on. Dunce. to see the game at bay. ± How such a one was strong. 34 There they stood. did you once see Shelley plain. And did he stop and speak to you? And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems.90 Robert Browning. 32 Not see? because of night perhaps? ± Why. without a counterpart In the whole world. and new! . Of all the lost adventures my peers. . blind as the fool's heart. to be dozing at the very nonce. Memorabilia 30 Burningly it came on me all at once. Fool. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came. This was the place! those two hills on the right. After a life spent training for the sight! 31 What in the midst lay but the Tower itself ? The round squat turret. Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight ± While to the left. a tall scalped mountain . ranged along the hillsides ± met To view the last of me. lay ± Chin upon hand. And such was fortunate. The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: The hills. ± `Now stab and end the creature ± to the heft!' 33 Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled Increasing like a bell. like giants at a hunting. and such was bold. lost! one moment knelled the woe of years. . And blew. day ± Came back again for that! before it left. a living frame For one more picture! in a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all. Names in my ears. only when the timbers start.
you must serve For each of the five pictures we require ± 5 10 15 20 . Love! I often am much wearier than you think. Both of one mind. I'll content him. 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. accept too his own price. 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. an eagle-feather ± Well. I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. Andrea del Sarto 91 2 But you were living before that. never fear. Don't count the time lost. And shut the money into this small hand When next it takes mine. my Lucrezia. And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside. 5 10 15 Andrea del Sarto (Called `The Faultless Painter') But do not let us quarrel any more. Will it? tenderly? Oh. Let us try. ± but tomorrow. as married people use. You turn your face. And also you are living after. Fix his own time. Quietly. either. quietly the evening through. but does it bring your heart? I'll work then for your friend's friend. 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. I forget the rest. To-morrow. Treat his own subject after his own way. bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. This evening more than usual. how you shall be glad for this! Your soft hand is a woman of itself.Robert Browning. No.
days decrease. there's my picture ready made. so sweet ± My face. ± but I. at every point. I suppose. my everybody's moon. There's what we painters call our harmony! A common greyness silvers everything. But you can hear at least when people speak. my art. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . And autumn grows. There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top. huddled more inside. At any rate 'tis easy. Love! so such things should be ± Behold Madonna. too ± when I say perfectly I do not boast. that's long past ± I do what many dream of all their lives ± Dream? strive to do. autumn in everything. And fail in doing. 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. Who listened to the Legate's talk last week. That length of convent-wall across the way Holds the trees safer. And that cartoon. my moon. and not leave this town. Which everybody looks on and calls his. Love. if I ever wish so deep ± Do easily. I am bold to say. And. looks the life he makes us lead! So free we seem. being all toned down To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. you and I alike ± You. And just as much they used to say in France. Andrea del Sarto It saves a model. No sketches first. all of it. rounds on rounds! ± How could you ever prick those perfect ears. My youth. perhaps: yourself are judge. what at bottom of my heart I wish for. How strange now. 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.92 Robert Browning. no studies. I can do with my pencil what I know. So! keep looking so ± My serpentining beauty. no less! You smile? why. my hope. is looked on by in turn. I could count twenty such On twice your fingers. A twilight-piece. the second from the door ± It is the thing. What I see. ± All in a twilight. Even to put the pearl there! oh. at the point of your first pride in me (That's gone you know). we are in God's hand. and agonise to do. While she looks ± no one's: very dear. The last monk leaves the garden.
I think ± More than I merit. Our head would have o'erlooked the world!' No doubt. it boils. I and you. I can fancy how he did it all. ('Tis copied. painting from myself and to myself. no matter) so much less! Well. of that famous youth The Urbinate who died five years ago. 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. by many times. but a man's reach should exceed his grasp. Though they come back and cannot tell the world. so to speak! its soul is right. a child may understand. George Vasari sent it me. Yet do much less. it boils too. beating stuffed and stopped-up brain. I. another and myself. But all the play. am unmoved by men's blame Or their praise either. to sigh `Had I been two. than goes on to prompt This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine. Their works drop groundward. but themselves. In their vexed. Nay. 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. what of that? Ah. The sudden blood of these men! at a word ± Praise them. Above and through his art ± for it gives way. Heart. Know what I do. That arm is wrongly put ± and there again ± A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines. I know. with kings and popes to see. He means right ± that. Love. what of that? or else. Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me. the insight and the stretch ± Out of me! out of me! And wherefore out? Had you enjoined them on me. some one says. you did give all I asked. less is more. Somebody remarks Morello's outline there is wrongly traced. Reaching. but I sit here. given me soul. Lucrezia! I am judged. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 . His hue mistaken. or blame them. that Heaven might so replenish him. There burns a truer light of God in them.) Well. what an arm! and I could alter it. yes. (I know his name. so much less. Pouring his soul. We might have risen to Rafael. Enter and take their place there sure enough. Rightly traced and well ordered. or whate'er else.Robert Browning. My works are nearer heaven. Its body. Yonder's a work now. Still.
what is that? Live for fame. So it seems ± Perhaps not. as a bird The fowler's pipe. ± One finger in his beard or twisted curl Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile. do you know. To crown the issue with a last reward! A good time.94 Robert Browning. my kingly days? And had you not grown restless ± but I know ± 'Tis done and past. The rest avail not. punishes. And perfect eyes. The jingle of his gold chain in my ear. but brought a mind! Some women do so. All is as God over-rules. But they speak sometimes. Rafael's daily wear. this. Such frank French eyes. despised. Beside. all three!' I might have done it for you. One arm about my shoulder. best of all. The present by the future. will not ± And who would do it. this face beyond. the power ± And thus we half-men struggle. if the award be strict. incentives come from the soul's self. to speak the truth. and more than perfect mouth. Had the mouth there urged `God and the glory! never care for gain. I conclude. with these the same. All his court round him. In that humane great monarch's golden look. side by side with Angelo ± Rafael is waiting: up to God. At the end. I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat ± somewhat. cannot. compensates. Well may they speak! That Francis. was it not. who can do a thing. and such a fire of souls Profuse. with the same perfect brow. this. my instinct said. Andrea del Sarto But had you ± oh. And that long festal year at Fontainebleau! I surely then could sometimes leave the ground. Poor this long while. Put on the glory. I dared not. seeing with his eyes. that first time. my hand kept plying by those hearts. or has Angelo? In this world. This in the background. That I am something underrated here. too. golden and not grey ± And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 . leave home all day. 'Tis safer for me. You painting proudly with his breath on me. waiting on my work. ± And. Why do I need you? What wife had Rafael. 'twas right. and follows to the snare ± Had you. The best is when they pass and look aside. I must bear it all. And the low voice my soul hears. round my neck. God. For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. Too live the life grew.
Said one day Angelo. The triumph was to have ended there ± then if I reached it ere the triumph. Is. whether you're ± not grateful ± but more pleased. (When the young man was flaming out his thoughts Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see. only you to see. Too lifted up in heart because of it) `Friend. To Rafael . there's a star.Robert Browning. as God lives. what is lost? Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold. Inside the melancholy little house We built to be so gay with. do you comprehend? I mean that I should earn more. brick from brick Distinct. all I care for. thus the line should go! Ay. 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 . I resolve to think. King Francis may forgive me. I am glad to judge Both pictures in your presence. How could it end in any other way? You called me. Morello's gone. were he set to plan and execute As you are pricked on by your popes and kings. Love. . his very self. I have known it all these years . but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out! Still. clearer grows My better fortune. who but Michel Angelo? Do you forget already words like those?) If really there was such a chance. ± come in. Come from the window. the watch-lights show the wall. and I came home to your heart. . eyes tired out. Give the chalk here ± quick. (What he? why. I hardly dare ± yet. The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. instead of mortar fierce bright gold. Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!' To Rafael's! ± And indeed the arm is wrong. Andrea painted that. so lost. let me think so. none cares how. there's a certain sorry little scrub Goes up and down our Florence. . You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! `Rafael did this. if he spoke the truth. Well. Andrea del Sarto 95 Out of the grange whose four walls make his world. do you know. But still the other's Virgin was his wife ±' Men will excuse me. God is just. And you smile indeed! This hour has been an hour! Another smile? If you would sit thus by me every night I should work better. at last. Who. The Roman's is the better when you pray. Lucrezia. it is settled dusk now. The walls become illumined. See. . give you more. Oft at nights When I look up from painting. For.
one more chance ± Four great walls in the New Jerusalem. and what's it worth? I'll pay my fancy. Since there my past life lies. Michel Angelo ± Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. you call it. Yes. They were born poor. This must suffice me here. You loved me quite enough. I take the subjects for his corridor. and muse perfectly How I could paint. The Cousin! what does he to please you more? I am grown peaceful as old age tonight. does that please you? Ah. there's something strikes a balance. I would change still less. Not yours this time! I want you at my side To hear them ± that is. Only let me sit The grey remainder of the evening out. Idle. were I but back in France. just one more ± the Virgin's face. Well. satisfy your friend. For Leonard. 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 . and all is said. And throw him in another thing or two If he demurs. lived poor. perhaps. My father and my mother died of want. and not with me? Those loans! More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? Well. Finish the portrait out of hand ± there. there. Beside. Andrea del Sarto That gold of his I did cement them with! Let us but love each other.96 Robert Browning. it seems to-night. had I riches of my own? you see How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. new chances. Meted on each side by the angel's reed. I regret little. but what does he. Some good son Paint my two hundred pictures ± let him try! No doubt. Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff ! Love. And built this house and sinned. work's my ware. was tempted and complied. let smiles buy me! have you more to spend? While hand and eye and something of a heart Are left me. the whole should prove enough To pay for this same Cousin's freak. and poor they died: And I have laboured somewhat in my time And not been paid profusely. What's better and what's all I care about. why alter it? The very wrong to Francis! it is true I took his coin. Angelo and me To cover ± the three first without a wife. What would one have? In heaven. One picture. Will you? Tomorrow. Must you go? That Cousin here again? he waits outside? Must see you ± you. Rafael.
Hold it fast! 5 The champaign with its endless fleece Of feathery grasses everywhere! Silence and passion. I know. hand in hand. We sat down on the grass. branching from the brickwork's cleft. Again the Cousin's whistle! Go. ± and last Everywhere on the grassy slope I traced it. joy and peace. Such miracles performed in play. run to seed There. 3 Help me to hold it: first it left The yellowing fennel.Robert Browning. Some old tomb's ruin: yonder weed Took up the floating weft. (Like turns of thread the spiders throw Mocking across our path) for rhymes To catch at and let go. Such primal naked forms of flowers. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Two in the Campagna 97 While I have mine! So ± still they overcome Because there's still Lucrezia. ± as I choose. 265 Two in the Campagna 1 I wonder do you feel today As I have felt. 4 Where one small orange cup amassed Five beetles. through such lengths of hours. 6 Such life there. Such letting Nature have her way While Heaven looks from its towers. I touched a thought. since. my Love. Has tantalised me many times. This morn of Rome and May? 2 For me. ± blind and green they grope Among the honey-meal. An everlasting wash of air ± Rome's ghost since her decease. to stray In spirit better through the land.
See with your eyes. whenever light winds blow. As earth lies bare to heaven above. no more ± Nor yours. I yearn upward ± touch you close. ± your part my part In life. and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn. since wound must be? 9 I would I could adopt your will.98 Robert Browning. Catch your soul's warmth. . no bar. You that are just so much. and set my heart Beating by yours. O my dove. A Grammarian's Funeral 7 How say you? Let us. and drink my fill At your soul's springs. for good and ill. Let us be unashamed of soul. 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. ± nor slave nor free! Where does the fault lie? what the core Of the wound. Then stand away. I kiss your cheek. 10 No. nor mine. 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. 11 Already how am I so far Out of that minute? Must I go Still like the thistle-ball. How is it under our control To love or not to love? 8 I would that you were all to me. Onward. Singing together. ± I pluck the rose And love it more than tongue can speak ± Then the good minute goes.
Self-gathered for an outbreak. No. Cared-for till cock-crow: Look out if yonder be not day again Rimming the rock-row! That's the appropriate country ± there. A Grammarian's Funeral 99 Leave we the common crofts. Seek we sepulture On a tall mountain. and stepped on with pride Over men's pity. Make for the city.) He knew the signal. `New measures. 'Ware the beholders! This is our master. as it ought. Chafes in the censer. man's thought. the vulgar thorpes Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain. Crowded with culture! All the peaks soar. Singing together. the little touch. but one the rest excels. citied to the top. Clouds overcome it. He was a man born with thy face and throat. and youth was gone! Cramped and diminished. darkling thorpe and croft. erect each head. He's for the morning! Step to a tune. other feet anon! My dance is finished?' No. ± 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . whom we convoy to his grave aloft. that's the world's way! (keep the mountainside. Sleep. Lyric Apollo! Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note Winter would follow? Till lo. famous calm and dead.Robert Browning. Left play for work. square chests. who most studied man. Safe from the weather! He. yonder sparkle is the citadel's Circling its summit! Thither our path lies ± wind we up the heights ± Wait ye the warning? Our low life was the level's and the night's. the bard and sage. Rarer. Theirs. and grappled with the world Bent on escaping: `What's in the scroll. crop and herd! sleep.' quoth he. Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop. Borne on our shoulders. Moaned he. intenser. `thou keepest furled? Show me their shaping.
but we found him bald too ± eyes like lead. `Actual life comes next? Patience a moment! Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text. then execute the parts ± Fancy the fabric Quite. he spurned it! Image the whole. Others mistrust and say ± `But time escapes. we found him! Yea. `Up with the curtain!' This man said rather. Ay. Accents uncertain: `Time to taste life.) Not a whit troubled Back to his studies. Ere mortar dab brick! (Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market-place Gaping before us. Let me know all.100 Robert Browning. Sooner.' another would have said. A Grammarian's Funeral Give!' ± So. Prate not of most or least. fresher than at first. When he had gathered all books had to give.' Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head: Calculus racked him: Leaden before. take a little rest!' ± not he! (Caution redoubled! Step two a-breast. Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon. Straight got by heart that book to its last page: Learned. `What's Time? leave Now for dogs and apes! Man has For ever. his eyes grew dross of lead: Tussis attacked him. he gowned him. nor feel queasy!' Oh. ere steel strike fire from quartz. Earn the means first ± God surely will contrive Use for our earning. this in him was the peculiar grace (Hearten our chorus) Still before living he'd learn how to live ± No end to learning. `Now. Painful or easy: Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast. the way winds narrowly. ± Live now or never!' He said. such a life as he resolved to live. When he had learned it. ere you build. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . Master. Still there's the comment.) Yea.
here's the proper place: Hail to your purlieus All ye highfliers of the feathered race. Dead from the waist down. `Hence with life's pale lure!' That low man seeks a little thing to do. parts of speech were rife. aiming at a million. A Grammarian's Funeral 101 Oh. This man decided not to Live but Know ± Bury this man there? Here ± here's his place.Robert Browning. as fools do here. That. for they can. here's the platform. Misses an unit. shew clear Just what it all meant? He would not discount life. sure Bad is our bargain! Was it not great? did not he throw on God. Stars come and gol let joy break with the storm ± Peace let the dew send! 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 . While he could stammer He settled Hoti's business ± let it be! ± Properly based Oun ± Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De. through the rattle. with the throttling hands of Death at strife. if we draw a circle premature. Sees it and does it: This high man. clouds form. Ground he at grammar. His hundred's soon hit: This high man. throws himself on God. Heedless of far gain. Swallows and curlews! Here's the top-peak! the multitude below Live. Dies ere he knows it. there. Greedy for quick returns of profit. Paid by instalment! He ventured neck or nothing ± heaven's success Found. Lightnings are loosened. with a great thing to pursue. Let the world mind him! This. (He loves the burthen) ± God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen? Did not he magnify the mind. and unperplext Seeking shall find Him. Well. That low man goes on adding one to one. or earth's failure: `Wilt thou trust death or not?' he answered `Yes. So. has the world here ± should he need the next. Still. where meteors shoot.
outside. Outside are the storms and strangers: we ± Oh. Living and dying. With a malice that marks each word. safe. rain and wind combine With a furtive ear. With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek. warm sleep I and she. each sign! O enemy sly and serpentine. Uncoil thee from the waking man! Do I hold the Past Thus firm and fast Yet doubt if the Future hold I can? This path so soft to pace shall lead Thro' the magic of May to herself indeed! Or narrow if needs the house must be.102 Robert Browning. if I strive to speak. the place is bleak Where. But the house is narrow. 145 Never the Time and the Place Never the time and the place And the loved one all together! This path ± how soft to pace! This May ± what magic weather! Where is the loved one's face? In a dream that loved one's face meets mine. Never the Time and the Place Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying. Leave him ± still loftier than the world suspects. ± I and she! 5 10 15 20 . close.
Emily (Jane) Bronte È (1818±1848) `What winter floods. what showers of spring' What winter floods. cannot go . what showers of spring Have drenched the grass by night and day And yet beneath that spectre ring Unmoved and undiscovered lay A mute remembrancer of crime Long lost concealed forgot for years It comes at last to cancel time And waken unavailing tears 5 `Long neglect has worn away' Long neglect has worn away Half the sweet enchanting smile Time has turned the bloom to grey Mould and damp the face defile But that lock of silky hair Still beneath the picture twined Tells what once those features were Paints their image on the mind Fair the hand that traced that line `Dearest ever deem me true' Swiftly flew the fingers fine When the pen that motto drew 5 10 `The night is darkening round me' The night is darkening round me The wild winds coldly blow But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot.
The summer-eve divine. 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. Wastes beyond wastes below. how happy! those are words That once would scarce agree together . where art thou now?' O Dream.104 Emily (Jane) Bronte. I will not. 5 10 15 `How still. how happy! those are words' How still. cannot go 5 10 `All hushed and still within the house' All hushed and still within the house Without ± all wind and driving rain But something whispers to my mind Through rain and [through the] wailing wind ± Never again Never again? Why not again? Memory has power as real as thine 5 `O Dream. `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. The full moon's cloudless shine Were once entwined with thee But now. But nothing drear can move me. with weary pain ± Lost vision! 'tis enough for me ± Thou canst not shine again. The silent night of solemn calm. where art thou now? Long years have passed away Since last from off thine angel brow I saw the light decay ± Alas.
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.Emily (Jane) Bronte. the breezy weather. soothing. 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 . `Mild the mist upon the hill' 105 È I loved the plashing of the surge ± The changing heaven.
come walk with me. 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. So closer would my feelings twine Because they have no stay but thine ± `Nay call me not ± it may not be Is human love so true? Can Friendship's flower droop on for years And then revive anew? No. sweet mists of summer pall The horizon's mountain chain The damp stands on the long green grass As thick as morning's tears And dreamy scents of fragrance pass That breathe of other years 10 15 `Come. How fair soe'er it grew The vital sap once perished Will never flow again And surer than that dwelling dread. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . walk with me. Can we not woo back old delights? The clouds rush dark and wild They fleck with shade our mountain heights The same as long ago And on the horizon rest at last In looming masses piled. `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. There's only thee To bless my spirit now ± We used to love on winter nights To wander through the snow. though the soil be wet with tears.106 Emily (Jane) Bronte. While moonbeams flash and fly so fast We scarce can say they smiled ± Come walk with me.
and I. And whisper. my true friend! I am not lone. in evening's quiet hour. While thou canst speak with such a tone! So hopeless is the world without. all around. Danger. and doubt. indeed. may oft complain For Nature's sad reality And tell the suffering heart how vain Its cherished dreams must always be. and guilt. 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. with a voice divine. Sure solacer of human cares. when hope despairs! 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 . What matters it. newly-blown: But. And Truth may rudely trample down The flowers of Fancy. untroubled sky. Benignant Power. Where thou. Have undisputed sovereignty. that. Of real worlds. Yet. If but within our bosom's bound We hold a bright. and breathe New glories o'er the blighted spring And call a lovelier Life from Death. And lost and ready to despair. And sweeter hope. And cold suspicion never rise. where guile. Warm with ten thousand mingled rays Of suns that know no winter days? Reason. Thy world. I welcome thee. thou art ever there. Thy kind voice calls me back again: Oh.Emily (Jane) Bronte. still. and darkness lie. With never-failing thankfulness. I trust not to thy phantom bliss. as bright as thine. and hate. And earthly change from pain to pain. and Liberty. The world within I doubly prize. to bring The hovering vision back.
Then did I check the tears of useless passion. 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. I dare not let it languish. Strengthened and fed without the aid of joy. forgive if I forget thee While the World's tide is bearing me along: Other desires and other Hopes beset me. Remembrance È Remembrance (also known as `R. No later light has lightened up my heaven. Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine! And even yet. Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine. Then did I learn how existence could be cherished. to love thee.108 Emily (Jane) Bronte. when alone. do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains on Angora's shore. Brenzaida') Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee! Far. my only Love. Hopes which obscure but cannot do thee wrong. But when the days of golden dreams had perished And even Despair was powerless to destroy. Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? Now. cold in the dreary grave: Have I forgot. Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover That noble heart for ever. far removed. Dare not indulge in Memory's rapturous pain. How could I seek the empty world again? 25 5 10 15 20 30 . Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish. All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given ± All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. Alcona to J. ever more? Cold in the earth. No second morn has ever shone for me.
looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep. `Confined in triple walls.Emily (Jane) Bronte. soft the matted floor. chide. forgive my careless tongue! I scoffed as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung. 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. In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray Reckless of the lives wasting there away. Cheerful is the hearth. God forgive my youth. Frown. That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?' The captive raised her face. and A. threaten me with shame. The little lamp burns straight. Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door. `and I am suffering now. art thou so much to fear. G. `Draw the ponderous bars. your bolts and irons strong. alone.' 25 5 10 15 20 30 . it was as soft and mild As sculptured marble saint or slumbering. open Warder stern!' He dare not say me nay ± the hinges harshly turn. Rochelle 109 È Julian M. my haughty Sire.' I whispered gazing through The vault whose grated eye showed heaven more grey than blue (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride). Set your slaves to spy. Yet these are little worth. `Aye. `Our guests are darkly lodged. G. Julian M. dreading every breeze That whirls the 'wildering drifts and bends the groaning trees. But neither sire nor dame. One. unweaned child. darkly lodged enough!' returned my sullen guide. and A. Then. It was so soft and mild. my angry Dame. And were they forged in steel they could not hold me long. nor prying serf shall know What angel nightly tracks that waste of winter snow. Watching every cloud. its rays shoot strong and far: I trim it well to be the Wanderer's guiding-star.' she said. Rochelle (also known as `The Prisoner') Silent is the House ± all are laid asleep.
for short life. Then may I weep and sue ± but. He comes with western winds. and A. When you my parents' lives ± my lost life can restore. Julian. too loving Child. too warmly. `Shall I be won to hear. With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. how former days upon my heart were borne. Dost think fond. you. Winds take a pensive tone and stars a tender fire. The dungeon seemed to swim in strange confusion round. remember me? Nay start not at my words. G. unless you deem it shame To own from conquered foe. And offers. his aspect bland and kind. all. its fair curls swept the ground. How memory mirrored then the prisoner's joyous morn ± Too blithe. yet. Rochelle È Hoarse laughed the jailor grim. 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. 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. tell them. dreaming wretch that I shall grant thy prayer? Or better still.' she gently said. `Is she so near to death?' I murmured. eternal liberty. A messenger of Hope comes every night to me. But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind: And I am rough and rude. And insult and contempt I lightly brook from you. with evening's wandering airs. alone. half aloud. a once familiar name ± I can not wonder now at ought the world will do. `Lord Julian. wildly gay! Was that the wintry close of thy celestial May? She knew me and she sighed. wilt melt my master's heart with groans? Ah sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones! My master's voice is low. never. before!' Her head sank on her hands. parted back the floating golden cloud. And visions rise and change which kill me with desire ± 65 45 35 40 50 55 60 70 . And kneeling. Of all my playmates. `you have not heard me mourn. Alas. By ball or speedy knife or headsman's skilful blow ± A quick and welcome pang instead of lingering woe! Yet.110 Emily (Jane) Bronte. Julian M. I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom and desolate despair. Friend. can it be.
When. unanswering. My outward sense is gone. When the pulse begins to throb. Mute music soothes my breast ± unuttered harmony That I could never dream till earth was lost to me. I'd leave this badge of mine with you Not doubting that you'd prove a jailor stern and true. watched her there. Not daring now to touch one lock of silken hair ± As I had knelt in scorn. the vision is divine. The struggle of distress and fierce impatience ends. the captive's drooping lid Beneath its shady lash a sudden lightning hid. a soundless calm descends. G. Then dawns the Invisible.Emily (Jane) Bronte. dreadful is the check ± intense the agony When the ear begins to hear and the eye begins to see. The keeper. Lord Julian. The more that anguish racks the earlier it will bless: And robed in fires of Hell. heaven's home was not so dear: I read it in that flash of longing quelled by fear. He said. the brain to think again. loosing off his belt the rusty dungeon key. the flagstones damp and foul. I heard and yet heard not the surly keeper growl. the Unseen its truth reveals. from sun or thunderstorm. `You may be pleased. Rochelle 111 È Desire for nothing known in my maturer years When joy grew mad with awe at counting future tears.' I took the proffered charge. But duty will not let me linger here all day. Measuring the gulf it stoops and dares the final bound! O. on the dank floor I knelt still. swore ± While my cheek glowed in flame.' She ceased to speak and I. 105 85 75 80 90 95 100 110 . my inward essence feels ± Its wings are almost free. If I might go. its home. I saw. My fingers in the links of that iron hard and chill. or bright with heavenly shine If it but herald Death. But first a hush of peace. would wish no torture less. if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm. still to stay. I knew not whence they came. its harbour found. The soul to feel the flesh and the flesh to feel the chain! Yet I would lose no sting. paced by the bolted door And shivered as he walked and as he shivered. Earth's hope was not so dead. Then. 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. and A. yet did not see. to and fro. Julian M.
Thus ruth and selfish love together striving tore The heart all newly taught to pity and adore. By never-doubting love. she turned aside from noon's unwonted beam. contempt and calumny. How the trumpet's voice might call. Julian M. I earned at last an equal love from thee! 145 125 115 120 130 135 140 150 . faint. G.112 Emily (Jane) Bronte. And by the patient strength that could that world defy. Then oft with taunting smile. Short strife! what rest could soothe ± what peace could visit me While she lay pining there for Death to set her free? `Rochelle. So ready to condemn.' And I. 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. When though the cage was wide ± the heaven around it lay ± Its pinion would not waft my wounded dove away. 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. with calm mind. Rochelle. Yet I must break the chain or seal the prisoner's woe. unswerving constancy. Oh. who am so quick to answer sneer with sneer. Another hand than mine my rightful banner held And gathered my renown on Freedom's crimson field. the battle-standard wave But Julian had no heart to fill a patriot's grave. When pierced with one wild glance from the troubled hazel eye It gushes into tears and lets its treasure fly. more than I could dream ± When. Rochelle È Then like a tender child whose hand did just enfold Safe in its eager grasp a bird it wept to hold. Through thirteen anxious weeks of terror-blent delight I guarded her by day and guarded her by night. While foes were prowling near and Death gazed greedily And only Hope remained a faithful friend to me. I was over-blest by the warm unasked embrace ± By the smile of grateful joy that lit her angel face! And I was over-blest ± aye. By suffering. If I should break the chain I felt my bird would go. I heard my kindred tell `How Julian loved his hearth and sheltering rooftree well. Yet I had no desire the glorious prize to gain ± It needed braver nerve to face the world's disdain. and A.
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. sustains. dissolves. that in me hast rest As I Undying Life. `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.Emily (Jane) Bronte. have power in thee Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts. unutterably vain. 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 . Changes.
in yon smoke concealed. Far back through creeks and inlets making Comes silent. 5 10 15 `That there are powers above us I admit' That there are powers above us I admit. A hand that is not ours upstays our steps. That when we see the o'ertopping waves advance. It may be true too That while we walk the troublous tossing sea. And not by eastern windows only. Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers. things remain. but for you.Arthur Hugh Clough (1819±1861) `Say not the struggle naught availeth' Say not the struggle naught availeth. and whispers in our ear. flooding in. And as things have been. and the cry That rises so spontaneous to the lips. how slowly. But westward. When daylight comes. And. For while the tired waves vainly breaking.' is not nought. the main. A voice that is not ours commands the waves. fears may be liars. There are who walk beside us. It may be. An evanescent spectrum of disease. Seem here no painful inch to gain. In front the sun climbs slow. possess the field. look! the land is bright. 5 10 . And when [we] feel our feet beneath us sink. Commands the waves. comes in the light. The enemy faints not nor faileth. The labor and the wounds are vain. If hopes were dupes. It may be that in deed and not in fancy. The `Help us or we perish.
I will not say they will not give us aid. I believe. 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. And when we lift up holy hands of prayer. 15 .Arthur Hugh Clough.
from shore to shore. cooled? Who renders vain their deep desire? A God. o'er the starlit sea. which bears me Forwards. At this vessel's prow I stand. And then their endless bounds they know. a God their severance ruled! And bade betwixt their shores to be The unplumbed. 5 10 15 20 Self-Dependence Weary of myself. that their longing's fire Should be. salt. estranging sea. And lovely notes. We mortal millions live alone. Across the sounds and channels pour. . we were Parts of a single continent. Oh then a longing like despair Is to their farthest caverns sent. And in their glens. forwards. And they are swept by balms of spring. as soon as kindled. they feel. The nightingales divinely sing.Matthew Arnold (1822±1888) To Marguerite In Returning a Volume of the Letters of Ortis Yes: in the sea of life enisled. The islands feel the enclasping flow. and sick of asking What I am. on starry nights. ± For surely once. But when the moon their hollows lights. With echoing straits between us thrown. Dotting the shoreless watery wild. Now round us spreads the watery plain ± Oh might our marges meet again! Who ordered. and what I ought to be.
as I gaze upon you.' O air-born Voice! long since. compose me to the end. `Unaffrighted by the silence round them. 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. These attain the mighty life you see. sympathy. Feel my soul becoming vast like you. the moon lies fair Upon the Straits. Come to the window. Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves suck back. `Bounded by themselves. star-sown vault of heaven. `Ah. clear. on the French coast. Undistracted by the sights they see. severely clear. once more. the cliffs of England stand. ah. still let me. On my heart your mighty charm renew: Still. In the rustling night-air came the answer ± `Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they. the light Gleams. Glimmering and vast. and unobservant In what state God's other works may be. out in the tranquil bay. And the sea its long moon-silvered roll. `Resolve to be thyself. `ye Stars. ye Waters. loses his misery!' 25 5 10 15 20 30 Dover Beach The sea is calm tonight. sweet is the night air! Only. These demand not that the things without them Yield them love. A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear. Calm me. nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul. Over the lit sea's unquiet way. For alone they live. 5 10 . The tide is full. In their own tasks all their powers pouring. `And with joy the stars perform their shining. and is gone.Matthew Arnold. and know that he.' I cried. Who finds himself. from the long line of spray Where the ebb meets the moon-blanched land.' From the intense. amusement. and fling.
but that they had a traditional kind of learning among them. The Scholar-Gipsy At their return. so beautiful. and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery. by the insinuating subtilty of his carriage. down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. Begin. and could do wonders by the power of imagination. at the full. nor light. nor help for pain. and told them that the people he went with were not such impostors as they were taken for. to leave their company. there chanced to ride by a couple of scholars. their fancy binding that of others: that himself had learned much of their art. Retreating to the breath Of the night-wind. and when he had compassed the whole secret.' ± Glanvil's Vanity of Dogmatizing. 15 20 25 30 35 The Scholar-Gipsy `There was very lately a lad in the University of Oxford. and he gave them an account of the necessity which drove him to that kind of life. too. nor love. Nor certitude. and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. and then again begin. But now I only hear Its melancholy. love. With tremulous cadence slow. . we Find also in the sound a thought. who was by his poverty forced to leave his studies there. and cease. And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight. and at last to join himself to a company of vagabond gipsies. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the ágean. Where ignorant armies clash by night. The sea of faith Was once. So various. up the high strand. Ah. so new.118 Matthew Arnold. Hearing it by this distant northern sea. After he had been a pretty while well exercised in the trade. he said. long withdrawing roar. who had formerly been of his acquaintance. Hath really neither joy. he intended. which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams. 1661. and give the world an account of what he had learned. They quickly spied out their old friend among the gipsies. let us be true To one another! for the world. and bring The eternal note of sadness in. Among these extravagant people. he quickly got so much of their love and esteem as that they discovered to him their mystery. nor peace.
in the country lanes Two scholars. And bower me from the August sun with shade.Matthew Arnold. and rustle down their perfumed showers Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid. But when the fields are still. at noon. And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest. whom at college erst he knew Met him. Shepherd. tired of knocking at Preferment's door. Shepherd. to little good. But once. In this high field's dark corner. Whereat he answered. as most men deemed. While to my ear from uplands far away The bleating of the folded flocks is borne. and of his way of life enquired. One summer morn forsook His friends. 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 mates. Shepherd. And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's book ± Come. and untie the wattled cotes: No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed. Here. Come. Shepherd. And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves. But came to Oxford and his friends no more. With distant cries of reapers in the corn ± All the live murmur of a summer's day. And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers. Go. where the reaper was at work of late. half-reaped field. his basket. Screened is this nook o'er the high. And here till sun-down. where he leaves His coat. years after. Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats. Who. and his earthen cruise. will I be. let me read the oft-read tale again. and went to learn the Gipsy lore. Nor the cropped herbage shoot another head. had arts to rule as they desired 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . And came. The story of the Oxford scholar poor Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain. The Scholar-Gipsy 119 Go. And roamed the world with that wild brotherhood. Here will I sit and wait. from the hill. Then here. that the Gipsy crew. comes back his stores to use. for they call you. and again renew the quest. And only the white sheep are sometimes seen Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanched green.
For most. And put the shepherds. `the secret of their art.' he said. pensive and tongue-tied. Returning home on summer nights. white anemone ± Dark bluebells drenched with dews of summer eves ± And purple orchises with spotted leaves ± But none hath words she can report of thee. And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place. and cloak of grey. at the ferry. will to the world impart: But it needs happy moments for this skill. On the warm ingle bench. Oxford riders blithe. That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray. Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills. and returned no more. Or in my boat I lie Moored to the cool bank in the summer heats. Or cross a stile into the public way. Thee. And they can bind them to what thoughts they will: `And I. Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers ± the frail-leafed. Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam. But. he left them. thou lov'st retired ground. When fully learned. who from the distant hamlets come To dance around the Fyfield elm in May. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors. I know. And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring. The same the Gipsies wore. And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream And then they land. and thou art seen no more. In hat of antique shape. As the slow punt swings round: And leaning backward in a pensive dream. And watch the warm green muffled Cumnor hills. Wanderer. have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe. But rumours hung about the countryside. Maidens. The Scholar-Gipsy The workings of men's brains. Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet. he would fly: And I myself seem half to know thy looks.' This said.120 Matthew Arnold. the smock-frocked boors Had found him seated at their entering. on thy trace. Seen by rare glimpses. And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers Plucked in shy fields and distant woodland bowers. mid their drink and clatter.
or hanging on a gate To watch the threshers in the mossy barns. and every bush you see With scarlet patches tagged and shreds of grey. above Godstow Bridge. twirling in thy hand a withered spray. and soft abstracted air. The Scholar-Gipsy 121 And. on the skirts of Bagley Wood Where most the Gipsies by the turf-edged way Pitch their smoked tents. At some lone homestead in the Cumnor hills. thou wert gone. Above the forest ground called Thessaly ± The blackbird picking food Sees thee. Thou hast been seen. when the stars come out and shine. nor stops his meal. In Autumn. And the grave Glanvil did the tale inscribe That thou wert wandered from the studious walls 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . So often has he known thee past him stray Rapt. But. And marked thee. Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass Where black-winged swallows haunt the glittering Thames. Children. But what ± I dream! Two hundred years are flown Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls. Turned once to watch. Have often passed thee near Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown: Marked thy outlandish garb. Thy dark vague eyes.Matthew Arnold. The line of festal light in Christ-Church hall ± Then sought thy straw in some sequestered grange. in winter. when they came from bathing. Have I not passed thee on the wooden bridge. To bathe in the abandoned lasher pass. And gained the white brow of the Cumnor range. Have known thee watching. all an April day. Where at her open door the housewife darns. who early range these slopes and late For cresses from the rills. and many a scythe in sunshine flames. And once. And waiting for the spark from Heaven to fall. thy figure spare. Thy face towards Hinksey and its wintry ridge? And thou hast climbed the hill. on the causeway chill Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go. The springing pastures and the feeding kine. nor fears at all. when haytime's here In June. Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow. Through the long dewy grass move slow away. while thick the snowflakes fall.
in much been baffled. no. in hope. Because thou hadst ± what we. again. Of whom each strives. And numb the elastic powers. Who never deeply felt. Thou waitest for the spark from Heaven and we. so? Thou hadst one aim. Till having used our nerves with bliss and teen. nor clearly willed. For what wears out the life of mortal men? 'Tis that from change to change their being rolls: 'Tis that repeated shocks. Free from the sick fatigue. undiverted to the world without. one desire: Else wert thou long since numbered with the dead ± Else hadst thou spent. thy fire. red-fruited yew-tree's shade. Which much to have tried. And we ourselves shall go. Who wait like thee. For early didst thou leave the world. with powers Fresh. The Scholar-Gipsy To learn strange arts. and are ± what we have been. Whose vague resolves never have been fulfilled. And we imagine thee exempt from age And living as thou liv'st on Glanvil's page. like other men. brings. Who hesitate and falter life away. thou hast not felt the lapse of hours. Under a dark. the languid doubt. Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds. The generations of thy peers are fled. alas. O life unlike to ours! Who fluctuate idly without term or scope. To the just-pausing Genius we remit Our worn-out life. but not. And each half lives a hundred different lives. one business.122 Matthew Arnold. disappointments new. But thou possessest an immortal lot. where o'er thy unknown grave Tall grasses and white flowering nettles wave. again. have not. For whom each year we see Breeds new beginnings. and join a Gipsy tribe: And thou from earth art gone Long since. nor knows for what he strives. not spent on other things. and in some quiet churchyard laid. ± No. Some country nook. Exhaust the energy of strongest souls. Firm to their mark. why should'st thou perish. Light half-believers of our casual creeds. Thou hast not lived. 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 . like thee. And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit.
This for our wisest: and we others pine. With a free onward impulse brushing through. its palsied hearts. And how the dying spark of hope was fed. And how the breast was soothed. as Dido did with gesture stern From her false friend's approach in Hades turn. Roaming the country side. And all his store of sad experience he Lays bare of wretched days. And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames. O born in days when wits were fresh and clear. Who most has suffered. Its heads o'ertaxed. And waive all claim to bliss. With its sick hurry. a truant boy. And then we suffer and amongst us One. From the dark dingles. the silvered branches of the glade ± Far on the forest skirts. Freshen thy flowers. And every doubt long blown by time away. too near neighbour to Despair: But none has hope like thine. was rife ± Fly hence. Nursing thy project in unclouded joy. The Scholar-Gipsy 123 And lose tomorrow the ground won today ± Ah! do not we. or listen with enchanted ears. where none pursue. to the nightingales. and resting on the moonlit pales. Still clutching the inviolable shade. and how the head. By night. On some mild pastoral slope Emerge. Before this strange disease of modern life. With dew. but it still delays.Matthew Arnold. Thou through the fields and through the woods dost stray. await it too? Yes. Tells us his misery's birth and growth and signs. plunge deeper in the bowering wood! Averse. and try to bear With close-lipped Patience for our only friend. and keep thy solitude! Still nursing the unconquerable hope. Sad Patience. 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 . our contact fear! Still fly. takes dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne. its divided aims. And all his hourly varied anodynes. Wanderer. And wish the long unhappy dream would end. Wave us away. we await it. as in former years.
Which. and shook out more sail. The fringes of a southward-facing brow Among the ágean isles. And day and night held on indignantly O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale. fly our speech and smiles! ± As some grave Tyrian trader. The Scholar-Gipsy But fly our paths. the dark Iberians come. and like us unblest. through sheets of foam. Green bursting figs. The young light-hearted Masters of the waves. from the sea. and unbent sails There. our feverish contact fly! For strong the infection of our mental strife. And we should win thee from thy own fair life. Descried at sunrise an emerging prow Lifting the cool-haired creepers stealthily. Soon. 225 230 235 240 245 250 . And on the beach undid his corded bales. And knew the intruders on his ancient home. And saw the merry Grecian coaster come. Shy traffickers. soon thy cheer would die. Fade. and tunnies steeped in brine. and Chian wine. And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made: And then thy glad perennial youth would fade. though it gives no bliss. Freighted with amber grapes. yet spoils for rest. Then fly our greetings. Like us distracted. where down cloudy cliffs. and grow old at last and die like ours. Thy hopes grow timorous. and unfixed thy powers. Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily. And snatched his rudder.124 Matthew Arnold. To where the Atlantic raves Outside the Western Straits.
Was yellow like ripe corn. as a bridge. . . lying down her back. . Albeit to them she left. The whole year sets apace. that looking downward thence.) It was the terrace of God's house That she was standing on. Her seemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers. But a white rose of Mary's gift On the neck meetly worn. ± her hair Fell all about my face . (To one it is ten years of years: . The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers. . . No wrought flowers did adorn. Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves. Yet now. . . And her hair. Her robe. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . here in this place Surely she leaned o'er me. . ungirt from clasp to hem. She had three lilies in her hand. her day Had counted as ten years. And the stars in her hair were seven. . . It lies from Heaven across the flood Of ether. She could scarce see the sun. So high. ± By God built over the sheer depth In which Space is begun.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. . .
mounting up to God. Playing at holy games. no echo there. For he will come. Heard hardly. it was The peace of utter light And silence. `I wish that he were come to me. The Blessed Damozel Beneath. Spake. And the souls. withheld. Went by her like thin flames. Till her bosom's pressure must have made The bar she leaned on warm.126 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. In that steep gulph. some of her new friends. Her gaze still strove. Beyond all depth or height. has he not prayed? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? `When round his head the aureole clings. to pierce The swarm: and then she spake.' she said. like a pulse. And he is clothed in white. `We two will stand beside that shrine. and stooped Into the vast waste calm. And we will step down as to a stream And bathe there in God's sight. with her. as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. gentle-mouthed. and go with him To the deep wells of light. Their virginal chaste names. shake fierce Through all the worlds. For no breeze may stir Along the steady flight Of seraphim. she saw Time. From the fixt lull of heaven. And still she bowed herself. I'll take his hand. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . `Have I not prayed in solemn heaven? On earth. And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. untrod. Occult. the tides of day and night With flame and blackness ridge The void. among themselves. But in those tracts. as when The stars sang in their spheres.
being dead. expects Its patient period. To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born. The Blessed Damozel 127 Whose lamps tremble continually With prayer sent up to God. and Rosalys. Magdalen. . `We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Sometimes is felt to be. revealed. Into the fine cloth. and be dumb. and though the end were reached? . hushed and slow. will teach to him ± I myself.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His name audibly. which his mouth Shall pause in. `And I myself. `Circle-wise sit they. Margaret. With her five handmaidens. Gertrude. ± The songs I sing here. And where each need. lying so. `will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is. 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. whose names Are five sweet symphonies: ± Cecily.' (Alas! to her wise simple mind These things were all but known Before: they trembled on her sense. Weaving the golden thread. ± Her voice had caught their tone. with bound locks And bosoms covered. . white like flame.' she said. Alas for lonely Heaven! Alas For life wrung out alone! Alas. `He shall fear haply. Then I will lay my cheek 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 . Finding some knowledge at each pause And some new thing to know. though they would?) `We two.
and then said. And laid her face between her hands. verily. hand in hand. and let me speak. `Yea. shall sing To their citherns and citoles. Not once abashed or weak: And the dear Mother will approve My pride. in strong level lapse. Less sad of speech than mild: `All this is when he comes.' She gazed.) 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 FROM: THE HOUSE OF LIFE: A SONNET-SEQUENCE Part I Youth and Change Sonnet VI: The Kiss What smouldering senses in death's sick delay Or seizure of malign vicissitude . `There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me: ± To have more blessing than on earth In nowise. and tell about our love. (I saw her smile.) But soon their flight Was vague 'mid the poised spheres. ± being as then At peace. Her eyes prayed. and she smiled. (I heard her tears. meeting us.128 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. and listened. filled With Angels. one life.' She ceased. verily. And wept. Yea. We two will live at once. And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers. And peace shall be with us. The light thrilled past her. `Herself shall bring us. when he is come We will do thus and thus: Till this my vigil seem quite strange And almost fabulous. Part I Youth and Change To his. but to be As then we were. To Him round whom all souls Kneel ± the unnumbered solemn heads Bowed with their aureoles: And Angels.
± A spirit when her spirit looked through me. Her bosom to the writing closelier pressed. even I and she. till love's emulous ardours ran. and no man sees but I. ± a man When breast to breast we clung. Fire within fire. And her breast's secrets peered into her breast. 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. Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Can rob this body of honour. 129 5 10 Sonnet VII: Supreme Surrender To all the spirits of Love that wander by Along his love-sown harvest-field of sleep My lady lies apparent. and the deep Calls to the deep. I was a child beneath her touch. ± Sweet fluttering sheet.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. at some fond thought. ± Oh let thy silent song disclose to me That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree Like married music in Love's answering air. Fain had I watched her when. desire in deity. the hand now warm around my neck Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo! Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow. 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. at length so nigh. even of her breath aware. 5 10 . ± A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood. Whereof the articulate throbs accompany The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair. The bliss so long afar. First touched. 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. Rests there attained. Methinks proud Love must weep When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap The sacred hour for which the years did sigh.
till I am mirrored there Light-circled in a heaven of deep-drawn rays? What clasp. through eyes raised an instant. hand to hand: . 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. Where the long cloud. 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. Her paths without her? Day's appointed sway Usurped by desolate night. what kiss mine inmost heart can prove. whose summoning eyes. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love Life-thwarted. attuned above All modulation of the deep-bowered dove. Of thee what word remains ere speech be still? A wayfarer by barren ways and chill. Shed very dawn. Whose kiss seems still the first. O lovely and beloved. 5 10 Sonnet LIV: Love's Fatality Sweet Love. ah me! for love's good grace. and from the sudden confluence caught The words that made her love the loveliest. her soul sought My soul. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture Thou lovely and beloved. whose voice. which now absorbs within its sphere My worshipping face. poor heart. Love shackled with vain-longing. Even now.130 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Sheds doubled darkness up the labouring hill. without her thou art. Linked in gyves I saw them stand. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture When. Is like a hand laid softly on the soul. as for our love-world's new sunrise. thou my love. ± what gaze To thine. And cold forgetfulness of night or day. Her pillowed place Without her? Tears. Steep ways and weary. What of the heart without her? Nay. the long wood's counterpart. Her dress without her? The tossed empty space Of cloud-rack whence the moon has passed away.
being foresters of old. ± which can draw. and will not let him shun The day. But with a blessing every glade receives High salutation. This is that Lady Beauty. guard her shrine. in whose praise Thy voice and hand shake still. though bough with bough be overrun. that which I should do. Terror and mystery. dappled white and dun. while from hillock-eaves The deer gaze calling. thy cowering self. And here the lost hours the lost hours renew While I still lead my shadow o'er the grass.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. and though her gaze struck awe. Till eve bring rest when other good things pass. the sun Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves. ± long known to thee 5 10 . wing-shouldered. thus leashed with me! Wing-footed thou. once born free: And I. I drew it in as simply as my breath. ± Life's iron heart. to one law. even as in his whose wand Vainly all night with spell-wrought power has spanned The unyielding caves of some deep treasure-trove. 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. The sky and sea bend on thee.' 5 10 Part II: Change and Fate Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness This sunlight shames November where he grieves In dead red leaves. 5 10 Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty Under the arch of Life. in chains grown tame. As if. The alloted bondman of her palm and wreath. Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew. Here dawn today unveiled her magic glass. named with thy name. where love and death. Hers are the eyes which. ± Bound to thy body and soul. Made moan: `Alas O love. Nor know. over and beneath. even Love's Fatality. I saw Beauty enthroned. Also his lips. for longing. two writhen flakes of flame.
O Lilith. and lo! This is the very place which to mine eyes Those mortal hours in vain immortalize. Till heart and body and life are in its hold.132 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. By some new Power reduplicate. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXI: Memorial Thresholds Á What place so strange. so went Thy spell through him. with what alone I know. as once of yore: Or mocking winds whirl round a chaff-strown floor Thee and thy years and these my words and me. ere the snake's. Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave. ± though unrevealed snow With unimaginable fires arise At the earth's end. Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty By flying hair and fluttering hem. ± the beat Following her daily of thy heart and feet. whom shed scent And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine. of thine a single simple door. And still she sits. Even with one presence filled.) That. And. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy I said: `Nay. how many ways and days! Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty Of Adam's first wife. ± let the first fruit be: Even as thou sayest. must be Even yet my life-porch in eternity. . In what fond flight. 'Mid hurrying crowds. young while the earth is old. Lilith. And her enchanted hair was the first gold. City. pluck not. for where Is he not found. How passionately and irretrievably. ± what passion of surprise Like frost-bound fire-girt scenes of long ago? Lo! this is none but I this hour. it is told (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve. her sweet tongue could deceive. it is sweet and red. The rose and poppy are her flowers. subtly of herself contemplative. and left his straight neck bent And round his heart one strangling golden hair.
Too-late.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 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. ± 5 10 . 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. my name is Might-have-been. ± Then shalt thou see me smile. ± 'tis fallen and floats adown the stream. ere the gleam Of autumn set the year's pent sorrow free. Lo. Sonnet CI: The One Hope 133 But let it ripen still. Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen. the last clusters! Pluck them every one. And claim our fruit before its ripeness fade. and all is vain. 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. Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between. Farewell. And eat it from the branch and praise the tree?' I say: `Alas! our fruit hath wooed the sun Too long. I am also called No-more. and turn apart Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes. What shall assuage the unforgotten pain And teach the unforgetful to forget? Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet. And let us sup with summer.' 5 10 Sonnet XCVII: A Superscription Look in my face. Mark me. And the woods wail like echoes from the sea. Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen Which had Life's form and Love's. but by my spell Is now a shaken shadow intolerable.
with sweet smart: And as the last slow sudden drops are shed From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled. Dark breaks to dawn. Nuptial Sleep At length their long kiss severed. So singly flagged the pulses of each heart. with the opening start Of married flowers to either side outspread From the knit stem. ± `Leave me ± I do not know you ± go away!' 5 10 . Their bosoms sundered.134 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. through gleams Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day. But o'er the deadly blight Of Love deflowered and sorrow of none avail Which makes this man gasp and this woman quail. our English nightingale. O God! today He only knows he holds her. Fawned on each other where they lay apart. but even that word alone. Under one mantle sheltered 'neath the hedge In gloaming courtship? And. And here. Till from some wonder of new woods and streams He woke. And their dreams watched them sink. ± Not less nor more. ± but what part Can life now take? She cries in her locked heart. Slowly their souls swam up again. Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams. burnt red. 5 10 `Found' (For a Picture) `There is a budding morrow in midnight:' ± So sang our Keats. as lamps across the bridge turn pale In London's smokeless resurrection-light. and wondered more: for there she lay. Nuptial Sleep Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er But only the one Hope's one name be there. and slid away. yet still their mouths. Can day from darkness ever again take flight? Ah! gave not these two hearts their mutual pledge.
blackberries. Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Apricots. Plump unpecked cherries. Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had. Gone far away into the silent land. Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Remember me when I am gone away. Bloom-down-cheeked peaches. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me. Lemons and oranges. Crab-apples. you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. come buy: Apples and quinces. strawberries. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember. dewberries. Wild free-born cranberries. When you can no more hold me by the hand. Melons and raspberries. Fair eves that fly. Come buy. Pine-apples. ± All ripe together In summer weather. 5 10 15 . Swart-headed mulberries.Christina G. ± Morns that pass by. 5 10 Goblin Market Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits.
Lizzie. Citrons from the South. Lizzie.' Evening by evening Among the brookside rushes. And whispered like the restless brook: `Look. Goblin Market Come buy. With tingling cheeks and finger tips. Laura. Damsons and bilberries. come buy: Our grapes fresh from the vine. Pricking up her golden head: `We must not look at goblin men. You should not peep at goblin men.' Laura said. Rossetti. Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries. One hauls a basket. One lugs a golden dish Of many pounds weight. How fair the vine must grow Whose grapes are so luscious.' cried Lizzie. `Lie close. Covered close lest they should look. Lizzie veiled her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather.' `No. Rare pears and greengages. no. Come buy. Pomegranates full and fine. Laura bowed her head to hear.' Lizzie covered up her eyes. Their offers should not charm us. look. Laura reared her glossy head. Down the glen tramp little men.' said Lizzie: `No.136 Christina G. 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 .' call the goblins Hobbling down the glen. `Oh. Dates and sharp bullaces. `Laura. We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?' `Come buy. With clasping arms and cautioning lips. Figs to fill your mouth. One bears a plate. How warm the wind must blow Through those fruit bushes. Bright-fire-like barberries. come buy. Sweet to tongue and sound to eye. no.
One began to weave a crown Of tendrils. Like a moonlit poplar branch. Longed but had no money: The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste In tones as smooth as honey. come buy. With their shrill repeated cry. Rossetti. One heaved the golden weight Of dish and fruit to offer her: `Come buy. The rat-paced spoke a word Of welcome. Laura stretched her gleaming neck Like a rush-imbedded swan.' When they reached where Laura was They stood stock still upon the moss. One set his basket down. and the snail-paced even was heard. One crawled like a snail. Goblin Market 137 Their evil gifts would harm us. leaves. and rough nuts brown (Men sell not such in any town). One reared his plate. Like a vessel at the launch When its last restraint is gone. Brother with sly brother.' She thrust a dimpled finger In each ear. shut eyes and ran: Curious Laura chose to linger Wondering at each merchant man. `Come buy. One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry. Leering at each other. One tramped at a rat's pace. The cat-faced purred. Laura stared but did not stir. Like a lily from the beck.Christina G.' was still their cry. come buy. 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . Signalling each other. One whisked a tail. One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry. One had a cat's face. Brother with queer brother. She heard a voice like voice of doves Cooing all together: They sounded kind and full of loves In the pleasant weather. Backwards up the mossy glen Turned and trooped the goblin men.
She never tasted such before.' They answered all together: `Buy from us with a golden curl.138 Christina G. Stronger than man-rejoicing wine. Then fell with the first snow. Then flung the emptied rinds away But gathered up one kernel-stone. But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: `Good folk. Lizzie met her at the gate Full of wise upbraidings: `Dear. Should not loiter in the glen In the haunts of goblin men. Twilight is not good for maidens. Sought them by night and day. Clearer than water flowed that juice. Rossetti.' She clipped a precious golden lock. Found them no more but dwindled and grew grey. To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse. Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: Sweeter than honey from the rock. 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. Took their gifts both choice and many. How she met them in the moonlight. Goblin Market One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried `Pretty Goblin' still for `Pretty Polly. Do you not remember Jeanie. And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusty heather. She sucked until her lips were sore.' ± One whistled like a bird. She dropped a tear more rare than pearl.' `You have much gold upon your head. I have no coin. How should it cloy with length of use? She sucked and sucked and sucked the more Fruits which that unknown orchard bore. I have no silver either. you should not stay so late. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . And knew not was it night or day As she turned home alone.
I'll bring you plums to-morrow Fresh on their mother twigs. Pellucid grapes without one seed: Odorous indeed must be the mead Whereon they grow. Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other's wings. Cherries worth getting. What peaches with a velvet nap. Not a bat flapped to and fro Round their nest: Cheek to cheek and breast to breast Locked together in one nest. milked the cows. Neat like bees. You cannot think what figs My teeth have met in. and pure the wave they drink With lilies at the brink. Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetched in honey. 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.' said Laura: `Nay. Lumbering owls forbore to fly. Rossetti. hush. You should not loiter so. my sister: I ate and ate my fill. as sweet and busy. Early in the morning When the first cock crowed his warning. They lay down in their curtained bed: Like two blossoms on one stem. hush. Like two wands of ivory Tipped with gold for awful kings. Yet my mouth waters still. Moon and stars gazed in at them. Like two flakes of new-fallen snow. To-morrow night I will Buy more:' and kissed her: `Have done with sorrow.' Golden head by golden head. What melons icy-cold Piled on a dish of gold Too huge for me to hold. Wind sang to them lullaby.Christina G. And sugar-sweet their sap.' `Nay. 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 .
The dew not fallen. `O Laura. but not catching The customary cry. Then turning homewards said: `The sunset flushes Those furthest loftiest crags. At length slow evening came: They went with pitchers to the reedy brook. No wilful squirrel wags. Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags. tumbling. Laura most like a leaping flame. Till Lizzie urged. `Come buy.140 Christina G.' But Laura loitered still among the rushes And said the bank was steep. hobbling. One warbling for the mere bright day's delight. Fed their poultry. Goblin Market Aired and set to rights the house. Next churned butter. Laura. Talked as modest maidens should: Lizzie with an open heart. Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat. whipped up cream. Come. the wind not chill: Listening ever. Cakes for dainty mouths to eat. Lizzie most placid in her look. Laura in an absent dream. I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look: You should not loiter longer at this brook: Come with me home. Rossetti.' With its iterated jingle Of sugar-baited words: Not for all her watching Once discerning even one goblin Racing. not another maiden lags. One content. The stars rise. In groups or single. Each glowworm winks her spark. Of brisk fruit-merchant men. whisking. come. Let us get home before the night grows dark: 205 210 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 . And said the hour was early still. the moon bends her arc. Let alone the herds That used to tramp along the glen. One longing for the night. one sick in part. come buy. They drew the gurgling water from its deep. The beasts and birds are fast asleep. sat and sewed.
That goblin cry. as the fair full moon doth turn To swift decay and burn Her fire away. and wept As if her heart would break. And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. So crept to bed. Goblin Market 141 For clouds may gather Though this is summer weather.' ± She never spied the goblin men Hawking their fruits along the glen: But when the noon waxed bright Her hair grew thin and grey. come buy. and lay Silent till Lizzie slept. Day after day. She never caught again the goblin cry: `Come buy. Then sat up in a passionate yearning. nought discerning. She dwindled. Watched for a waxing shoot. hoped for a root. her pitcher dripping all the way. 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 . It never felt the trickling moisture run: While with sunk eyes and faded mouth She dreamed of melons. come buy. But peering thro' the dimness.' Must she then buy no more such dainty fruits? Must she no more such succous pasture find. Dewed it with tears. night after night. Laura kept watch in vain In sullen silence of exceeding pain. `Come buy our fruits. It never saw the sun. Rossetti. 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. But there came none.Christina G. 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. Trudged home. And gnashed her teeth for baulked desire. Put out the lights and drench us through.
Chuckling. She heard the tramp of goblin men. 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 . Kissed Laura. Tender Lizzie could not bear To watch her sister's cankerous care Yet not to share. halted by the brook: And for the first time in her life Began to listen and look. Mopping and mowing. leaping. Who should have been a bride. She night and morning Caught the goblins' cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. Clucking and gobbling. But feared to pay too dear. Come buy. Longed to buy fruit to comfort her.142 Christina G. Rossetti. Tended the fowls or cows. Brought water from the brook: But sat down listless in the chimney-nook And would not eat. come buy:' ± Beside the brook. Puffing and blowing. Till Laura dwindling Seemed knocking at Death's door: Then Lizzie weighed no more Better and worse. Full of airs and graces. With the first glazing rime. crossed the heath with clumps of furze At twilight. crowing. In earliest Winter time. Laughed every goblin When they spied her peeping: Came towards her hobbling. running. Goblin Market She no more swept the house. along the glen. The voice and stir Poor Laura could not hear. kneaded cakes of wheat. But put a silver penny in her purse. But who for joys brides hope to have Fell sick and died In her gay prime. clapping. With the first snowfall of crisp Winter time. Fetched honey. She thought of Jeanie in her grave. Flying.
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,
Shaking with aguish fear. 480 485 490 495 500 505 510 515 520 . That juice was wormwood to her tongue. Like a wind-uprooted tree Spun about. She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. She gorged on bitterness without a name. Kissed and kissed and kissed her: Tears once again Refreshed her shrunken eyes. Or like an eagle when she stems the light Straight toward the sun. and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste. Rent all her robe. And beat her breast. Undone in mine undoing And ruined in my ruin.146 Christina G. Or like a flying flag when armies run. Like a lightning-stricken mast. She fell at last. Lizzie. goblin-ridden?' ± She clung about her sister. Your young life like mine be wasted. cankered. Dropping like rain After long sultry drouth. Thirsty. 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. Or like the mane of horses in their flight. Goblin Market Clutched her hair: `Lizzie. She loathed the feast: Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung. have you tasted For my sake the fruit forbidden? Must your light like mine be hidden. Or like a caged thing freed. Ah! fool. Like a foam-topped waterspout Cast down headlong in the sea. Swift fire spread through her veins. knocked at her heart. Her lips began to scorch. Met the fire smouldering there And overbore its lesser flame. Rossetti. and pain. Her locks streamed like the torch Borne by a racer at full speed.
Christina G. Rossetti, Goblin Market 147 Pleasure past and anguish past, Is it death or is it life? Life out of death. That night long Lizzie watched by her, Counted her pulse's flagging stir, Felt for her breath, Held water to her lips, and cooled her face With tears and fanning leaves: But when the first birds chirped about their eaves, And early reapers plodded to the place Of golden sheaves, And dew-wet grass Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass, And new buds with new day Opened of cup-like lilies on the stream, Laura awoke as from a dream, Laughed in the innocent old way, Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice; Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of grey, Her breath was sweet as May And light danced in her eyes. Days, weeks, months, years Afterwards, when both were wives With children of their own; Their mother-hearts beset with fears, Their lives bound up in tender lives; Laura would call the little ones And tell them of her early prime, Those pleasant days long gone Of not-returning time: Would talk about the haunted glen, The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men, Their fruits like honey to the throat But poison in the blood (Men sell not such in any town); Would tell them how her sister stood In deadly peril to do her good, And win the fiery antidote: Then joining hands to little hands Would bid them cling together, `For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands.'
Thomas Hardy (1840±1928)
We stood by a pond that winter day, And the sun was white, as though chidden of God, And a few leaves lay on the starving sod, ± They had fallen from an ash, and were gray. Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove Over tedious riddles of years ago; And some words played between us to and fro ± On which lost the more by our love. The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing Alive enough to have strength to die; And a grin of bitterness swept thereby Like an ominous bird a-wing. . . . Since then, keen lessons that love deceives, And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree, And a pond edged with grayish leaves.
When I look forth at dawning, pool, Field, flock, and lonely tree, All seem to gaze at me Like chastened children sitting silent in a school; Their faces dulled, constrained, and worn, As though the master's way Through the long teaching day Had cowed them till their early zest was overborne. Upon them stirs in lippings mere (As if once clear in call, But now scarce breathed at all)Ð `We wonder, ever wonder, why we find us here!
Thomas Hardy, The Impercipient 149 `Has some Vast Imbecility, Mighty to build and blend, But impotent to tend, Framed us in jest, and left us now to hazardry? `Or come we of an Automaton Unconscious of our pains? . . . Or are we live remains Of Godhead dying downwards, brain and eye now gone? `Or is it that some high Plan betides, As yet not understood, Of Evil stormed by Good, We the Forlorn Hope over which Achievement strides?' Thus things around. No answerer I. . . . Meanwhile the winds, and rains, And Earth's old glooms and pains Are still the same, and Life and Death are neighbours nigh.
(At a Cathedral Service)
That with this bright believing band I have no claim to be, That faiths by which my comrades stand Seem fantasies to me, And mirage-mists their Shining Land, Is a strange destiny. Why thus my soul should be consigned To infelicity, Why always I must feel as blind To sights my brethren see, Why joys they have found I cannot find, Abides a mystery. Since heart of mine knows not that ease Which they know; since it be That He who breathes All's Well to these Breathes no All's-Well to me, My lack might move their sympathies And Christian charity! I am like a gazer who should mark An inland company
I would shun divinest duty To resume her worshipping. 1890. `Alas. 'tis but yon dark And wind-swept pine to me!' Yet I would bear my shortcomings With meet tranquillity. `Hark! hark! The glorious distant sea!' And feel. Still.150 Thomas Hardy.. As yet disquiet clings About us. with.... Yet I note the little chisel Of never-napping Time Defacing wan and grizzel The blazon of my prime. In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury Standing upfingered. Rest shall we. But for the charge that blessed things I'd liefer not have be. O. 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. But she'd scorn my brave endeavour.. Enough.. She would not balm the breeze By murmuring `Thine for ever!' As she did upon this leaze. and heaping Quaintest pains for by-and-by. I would laugh with her and sing. I'd go the world with Beauty.. doth a bird beshorn of wings Go earth-bound wilfully! . 5 10 15 20 . When at night he thinks me sleeping I feel him boring sly Within my bones. I remain what I was then In each essential feature Of the fantasies of men.
Was it not worth a little hour or more To add yet this: Once you. I. And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. Could lonely wait my endless rest With equanimity. unto the store Of human deeds divine in all but name. And view my wasting skin. But. 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.Thomas Hardy. And shakes this fragile frame at eve With throbbings of noontide. lets part abide. 5 10 A Broken Appointment You did not come. to make me grieve. 5 . `Would God it came to pass My heart had shrunk as thin!' For then. And marching Time drew on. The Darkling Thrush 151 `I look into my glass' I look into my glass. came To soothe a time-torn man. And love alone can lend you loyalty.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. ÐI know and knew it. You love not me. and wore me numb. But Time. as the hope-hour stroked its sum. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres. Part steals. And say. when. undistrest By hearts grown cold to me. You did not come. a woman.
She sat here in her chair. The land's sharp features seemed to be The Century's corpse outleant. Childlike. At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead In a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited. gaunt. Bowing it higher and higher. Blessings emblazoned that day. In blast-beruffled plume. He who played stood there. An aged thrush. The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry. 31st December 1900 10 15 20 25 30 The Self-Unseeing Here is the ancient floor. So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around. And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I. I danced in a dream. Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom. That I could think there trembled through His happy goodnight air Some blessed Hope. Footworn and hollowed and thin. Everything glowed with a gleam. The wind his death-lament. Yet we were looking away! 5 10 . frail. Here was the former door Where the dead feet walked in. Smiling into the fire. and small. The Self-Unseeing And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires. whereof he knew And I was unaware.152 Thomas Hardy. His crypt the cloudy canopy.
O Christ. the hurtle of hell Behind. where was a. 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. 1875 Part the First 1 Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread. I can tell. but you were dovewinged. Thou hast bound bones and veins in me. My heart. World's strand. And after it almost unmade. laced with fire of stress. 5 10 15 20 . fastened me flesh. Lord of living and dead. Thou knowest the walls. Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh? Over again I feel thy finger and find thee. what with dread. 7th. 2 I did say yes O at lightning and lashed rod. 3 The frown of his face Before me. where was a place? I whirled out wings that spell And fled with a fling of the heart to the heart of the Host. sway of the sea.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. where. Thou heardst me truer than tongue confess Thy terror. O God.
8 Is out with it! Oh. though in high flood yet ± What none would have known of it. Christ's gift. Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey. 4 I am soft sift In an hourglass ± at the wall Fast. I am bold to boast. all the way down from the tall Fells or flanks of the voel. I steady as a water in a well. tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder. wafting him out of it. to a poise. For I greet him the days I meet him. The Wreck of the Deutschland Carrier-witted. a principle. to a pane. 7 It dates from day Of his going in Galilee. To flash from the flame to the flame then.154 Gerard Manley Hopkins. 6 Not out of his bliss Springs the stress felt Nor first from heaven (and few know this) Swings the stroke dealt ± Stroke and a stress that stars and storms deliver. hearts are flushed by and melt ± But it rides time like riding a river (And here the faithful waver. Though felt before. a pressure. Kiss my hand to the dappled-with-damson west: Since. a drift. only the heart. and frightful sweat: Thence the discharge of it. there its swelling to be. maiden's knee. stressed. That guilt is hushed by. lovely-asunder Starlight. but mined with a motion. We lash with the best or worst Word last! How a lush-kept plush-capped sloe 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . a vein Of the gospel proffer. But roped with. 5 I kiss my hand To the stars. His mystery must be instressed. the faithless fable and miss). always. The dense and the driven Passion. tower from the grace to the grace. and Glow. Manger. glory in thunder. and bless when I understand. And it crowds and it combs to the fall. being hard at bay.
9 Be adored among men. To hero of Calvary. of a fourth the doom to be drowned. a lingering-out sweet skõll. Take settler and seamen. American-outward-bound. dogged in den. some The flange and the rail. I found it. 12 On Saturday sailed from Bremen. Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung: Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then. The Wreck of the Deutschland 155 Will. Wring thy rebel. Â Â Or as Austin. Man's malice. Christ's feet ± Never ask if meaning it. sour or sweet. wanting it. or flood' goes Death on drum. the being with it. melt him but master him still: Whether at once. and the blear share come. warned of it ± men go. Wave with the meadow. Gush! ± flush the man. Two hundred souls in the round ± O Father. but be adored. Brim. but be adored King. last or first. Â But we dream we are rooted in earth ± Dust! Flesh falls within sight of us. we. Fang. stealing as Spring Through him. Yet did the dark side of the bay of thy blessing Not vault them. rather then. as once at a crash Paul. full! ± Hither then. in a flash. And storms bugle his fame. with wrecking and storm. flame. not under thy feathers nor ever as guessing The goal was a shoal. Á God. mouthed to flesh-burst. out of us all Mastery. forget that there must The sour scythe cringe. 10 With an anvil-ding And with fire in him forge thy will Or rather. Beyond saying sweet. three-numbered form. the million of rounds of thy mercy not reeve even them in? 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . Make mercy in all of us. though our flower the same. Thou art lightning and love. Part the Second 11 `Some find me a sword. a winter and warm. tell men with women.Gerard Manley Hopkins. past telling of tongue.
the whorl and the wheel Idle for ever to waft her or wind her with. the crying of child without check ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . carved with cares. buck and the flood of the wave? 17 They fought with God's cold ± And they could not and fell to the deck (Crushed them) or water (and drowned them) or rolled With the sea-romp over the wreck. dandled the to and fro Through the cobbled foam-fleece. The Deutschland. Night roared. The breakers rolled on her beam with ruinous shock. And canvas and compass. 14 She drove in the dark to leeward. and so the sky keeps. And frightful a nightfall folded rueful a day Nor rescue. What could he do With the burl of the fountains of air. on Sunday.156 Gerard Manley Hopkins. Trenched with tears. Hope was twelve hours gone. For the infinite air is unkind. And the sea flint-flake. The woman's wailing. And lives at last were washing away: To the shrouds they took. the wind. The Wreck of the Deutschland 13 Into the snows she sweeps. black-backed in the regular blow. Hurling the haven behind. 16 One stirred from the rigging to save The wild woman-kind below. And she beat the bank down with her bows and the ride of her keel. Á Wiry and white-fiery and whirlwind-swivelled snow Spins to the widow-making unchilding unfathering deeps. only rocket and lightship. ± they shook in the hurling and horrible airs. in cursed quarter. With a rope's end round the man. For all his dreadnought breast and braids of thew: They could tell him for hours. 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. Hope had mourning on. these she endured. with the heart-break hearing a heart-broke rabble. 15 Hope had grown grey hairs. handy and brave ± He was pitched to his death at a blow. Sitting Eastnortheast.
double a desperate name! O world wide of its good! But Gertrude. Banned by the land of their birth. are two of a town. lily. the mark is of man's make 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 . Thy unchancelling poising palms were weighing the worth. Why. thou Orion of light. but uttering truth. a sister calling A master. this glee? the good you have there of your own? 19 Sister. Has one fetch in her: she rears herself to divine Ears. tears! is it? tears. What can it be. The Wreck of the Deutschland 157 Till a lioness arose breasting the babble. The rash smart sloggering brine Blinds her. Rhine refused them. Christ's lily and beast of the waste wood: From life's dawn it is drawn down. A prophetess towered in the tumult. her master and mine! ± And the inboard seas run swirling and hawling. 20 She was first of a five and came Á Of a coifed sisterhood. Are you! turned for an exquisite smart. and the call of the tall nun To the men in the tops and the tackle rode over the storm's brawling. and Luther. Mark. but she that weather sees one thing. river and earth Gnashed: but thou art above. Thames would ruin them. 22 Five! the finding and sake And cipher of suffering Christ. a madrigal start! Never-eldering revel and river of youth. (O Deutschland. such a melting. Thou martyr-master: in thy sight Storm flakes were scroll-leaved flowers. a virginal tongue told. snow. one. 18 Ah. Surf. Do you! ± mother of being in me.Gerard Manley Hopkins. lily showers ± sweet heaven was astrew in them. touched in your bower of bone. Abel is Cain's brother and breasts they have sucked the same.) 21 Loathed for a love men knew in them. O unteachably after evil. heart. Have you! make words break from me here all alone.
The Wreck of the Deutschland And the word of it Sacrificed. still higher. To bathe in his fall-gold mercies. On a pastoral forehead of Wales. dearest prized and priced ± Stigma. father Francis. 205 With belled fire and the moth-soft Milky Way. I was under a roof here. body of lovely Death. to the breaker. And they the prey of the gales. altogether. his Lovescape crucified And seal of his seraph-arrival! and these thy daughters Á Á And five-lived and leaved favour and pride. ruddying of the rose-flake. the thickly Falling flakes. to breathe in his all-fire glances. cinquefoil token For lettering of the lamb's fleece. the jay-blue heavens appearing Of pied and peeled May! Blue-beating and hoary-glow height. the men Woke thee with a We are perishing in the weather of Gennesareth. come quickly': The cross to her she calls Christ to her. Drawn to the Life that died. She to the black-about air. Are sisterly sealed in wild waters. The treasure never eyesight got. 24 Away in the loveable west. Or is it that she cried for the crown then. arch and original Breath. christens her wild-worst Best. Á Before-time-taken. What by your measure is the heaven of desire. But he scores it in scarlet himself on his own bespoken. I was at rest.158 Gerard Manley Hopkins. They were else-minded then. Is it love in her of the being as her lover had been? Breathe. but it was not these. 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. Christ. With the gnarls of the nails in thee. The jading and jar of the cart. or night. 210 . nor was ever guessed what for the hearing? 27 No. signal. 25 The majesty! what did she mean? Breathe. 23 Joy fall to thee. niche of the lance. to the throng that catches and quails Was calling `O Christ.
that heard and kept thee and uttered thee outright. the breast of the Maiden could obey so. 215 220 225 230 235 240 31 Well. Fancy. and Startle the poor sheep back! is the shipwrack then a harvest. heart's light. for the Patience. deal. 29 Ah! there was a heart right! There was single eye! Read the unshapeable shock night And knew the who and the why. What was the feast followed the night Thou hadst glory of this nun? ± Feast of the one woman without stain. . maid's son. 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. Head: He was to cure the extremity where he had cast her. 30 Jesu. Thing that she . come faster ± Strike you the sight of it? look at it loom there. I gather. she has thee for the pain. But here was heart-throe. Ipse. Heaven and earth are word of. Wording it how but by him that present and past. in wind's burly and beat of endragoned seas. Not danger. but pity of the rest of them! Heart. her pride. birth of a brain. but a blown beacon of light. does tempest carry the grain for thee? . . Jesu. Word. the only one. . The Wreck of the Deutschland 159 Time's tasking. 28 But how shall I . ring of it. so to conceive thee is done. King. There then! the Master. Á For so conceived. Do. O of a feathery delicacy.Gerard Manley Hopkins. electrical horror. worded by? ± The Simon Peter of a soul! to the blast È Tarpeõan-fast. be a bell to. . lord it with living and dead. Christ. despatch and have done with his doom there. . make me room there: Reach me a . then further it finds The appealing of the Passion is tenderer in prayer apart: Other. it is fathers that asking for ease Of the sodden-with-its-sorrowing heart. in measure her mind's Á Burden. in his triumph. . Let him ride.
The heaven-flung. The-last-breath penitent spirits ± the uttermost mark Á Our passion-plunged giant risen. 34 Now burn. hero of us. throned behind Death with a sovereignty that heeds but hides. fetched in the storm of his strides. Pride. and among our shoals. God's Grandeur 32 I admire thee. The Christ of the Father compassionate. 260 A vein for the visiting of the past-prayer. upon English souls! Let him easter in us. Oh. let flash to the shire. 275 280 God's Grandeur The world is charged with the grandeur of God. for the lingerer with a love glides Lower than death and the dark. Stanching. bodes but abides. as his reign rolls. our thoughts' chivalry's throng's Lord. 265 Á Double-natured name. high-priest. new born to the world. rose. More brightening her. Remember us in the roads. an ark For the listener. Á Mid-numbered he in three of the thunder-throne! Not a dooms-day dazzle in his coming nor dark as he came. Of the Yore-flood. . It will flame out. like shining from shook foil. and granite of it: past all Grasp God. 270 Kind. be a dayspring to the dimness of us. Ground of being. rare-dear Britain.160 Gerard Manley Hopkins. The recurb and the recovery of the gulf's sides. A released shower. maiden-furled Miracle-in-Mary-of-flame. prince. not a lightning of fire hard-hurled. 250 255 33 With a mercy that outrides The all of water. master of the tides. 35 Dame. The girth of it and the wharf of it and the wall. but royally reclaiming his own. be a crimson-cresseted east. at our door Drowned. heart-fleshed. pent in prison. Our hearts' charity's hearth's fire. of the year's fall. quenching ocean of a motionable mind. the heaven-haven of the reward: Our King back.
more dangerous. Pied Beauty 161 It gathers to a greatness. Landscape plotted and pieced ± fold. here Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then. For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim. Â Â And all trades. And for all this. oh. and blue-bleak embers. off forth on swing. As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding Rebuffed the big wind. and gash gold-vermilion. dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon. have trod. Why do men then now not reck his rod? Generations have trod. bleared. fallow. gall themselves. 5 10 The Windhover To Christ our Lord I caught this morning morning's minion. And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil Is bare now. the mastery of the thing! Brute beauty and valour and act. There lives the dearest freshness deep down things. Whatever is fickle. smeared with toil. how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off. at the brown brink eastward. springs ± Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings. morning. strange. finches' wings. their gear and tackle and trim. original. in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air. spare. nor can foot feel. O my chevalier! Â Â No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine. plume. freckled (who knows how?) 5 . have trod. 5 10 Pied Beauty Glory be to God for dappled things ± For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow. being shod. Fall. kingdom of daylight's dauphin. My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird. a billion Times told lovelier.Gerard Manley Hopkins. pride. And all is seared with trade. All things counter. ± the achieve of. ah my dear. nature is never spent. And though the last lights off the black West went Oh. and plough. air. Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls. like the ooze of oil Crushed. and striding High there.
whose airy cages quelled. a rural scene. 5 10 15 20 Felix Randal Felix Randal the farrier. till time when reason rambled in it and some Fatal four disorders. Who have watched his mould of man. all contended? Sickness broke him. pining. O if we but knew what we do When we delve or hew ± Hack and rack the growing green! Since country is so tender Â To touch. he cursed at first. When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. God rest him all road ever he offended! 5 . Binsey Poplars With swift. even where we mean To mend her we end her. Ten or twelve. since I had our sweet reprieve and ransom Tendered to him. 10 Binsey Poplars Felled 1879 My aspens dear. big-boned and hardy-handsome Pining. That.162 Gerard Manley Hopkins. Where we. are all felled. though a heavenlier heart began some Months earlier. slow. O is he dead then? my duty all ended. fleshed there. her being so slender. Rural scene. He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. sour. not one That dandled a sandalled Shadow that swam or sank On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank. dim. sweet. adazzle. but mended Being anointed and all. felled. only ten or twelve Â Strokes of havoc unselve The sweet especial scene. Ah well. All felled. like this sleek and seeing ball But a prick will make no eye at all. Of a fresh and following folded rank Not spared. Sweet especial rural scene. Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun. Impatient.
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells. o night | whelms. poor Felix Randal. Â Â Â Â Â Ever so black on it. stupendous Â Â Evening strains to be tõme's vast. powerful amidst peers. overbend us. | self Ân self steeped and pashed õ Â ± quite Â Â Â Disremembering. How far from then forethought of. home-of-all. each hung bell's Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name. whelms. touch had quenched thy tears. | womb-of-all. Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west. all through her. in throngs. Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 This seeing the sick endears them to us. Crying What I do is me: for that I came. and will end us. Â I say more: the just man justices. all on two spools. | vaulty. equal. Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is ± Â Chrõst. her dapple is at end. myself it speaks and spells. child. Thy tears that touched my heart. hearse-of-all night. part. as5 Á Â tray or aswarm. black.Gerard Manley Hopkins. . Â Â Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces. her earliest stars. For Christ plays in ten thousand places. attuneable. My tongue had taught thee comfort. voluminous. dõsmembering | all now. Our tale. earlstars. all thy more boisterous years. Selves ± goes itself. waned. 5 10 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves Earnest. ah let life wind 10 Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Off her once skeined stained veined varõety | upon. Â Â Fõre-featuring heaven. Didst fettle for the great grey drayhorse his bright and battering sandal! 10 `As Kingfishers Catch Fire' As kingfishers catch fire. dragonflies draw flame. us too it endears. O our oracle! | Let life. Felix. Â pack . Lovely in limbs. and lovely in eyes not his To the Father through the features of men's faces. Heart. like each tucked string tells. As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring. earthless. you round me right Â Â Âur Â Â Â With: Our evening is over us. . Only the beakleaved boughs dragonish | damask the tool-smooth bleak light. | stars principal. When thou at the random grim forge. | her wild hollow hoarlight hung to the height Â Waste. pen. For earth | her being has unbound. .
| thoughts agaõnst Â thoughts Ân groans grõnd. than thou dost Defeat. and not breed one work that wakes. 5 10 . two folds ± black. Lord' Justus quidem tu es. leaved how thick! laced they are again With fretty chervil. õ `Thou art indeed just. Mine. the sots and thralls of lust Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend. birds build ± but not I build. Why do sinners' ways prosper? and why must Disappointment all I endeavour end? Wert thou my enemy. wrong. See. How wouldst thou worse. thwart me? Oh. but. `Thou art indeed just. Domine.164 Gerard Manley Hopkins. selfwrung. O thou my friend. no. send my roots rain. Lord' Â Â Â Now her all in two flocks. sheathe-and shelterless. selfstrung. white. if I contend With thee. O thou lord of life. but strain. sir. Sir. each off the other. reckon but. si disputem tecum. look. mind Â Â Â Â Â Ât But these two. | right. reck but. life upon thy cause. verumtamen justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c. ware of a world where bu these | two tell. and fresh wind shakes Them. Thou art indeed just. I wonder. so what I plead is just. of a rack Â Â Where. Time's eunuch. Lord. banks and brakes Á Á Now.
Because 'tis fifty years tonight That God has saved the Queen. Lads of the Fifty-third. And the Nile spills his overflow Beside the Severn's dead. From north and south the sign returns And beacons burn again. the hills are bright. E. The dales are light between. It dawns in Asia. Look left. Housman (1859±1936) From: A Shropshire Lad I 1887 From Clee to heaven the beacon burns. 25 5 10 15 20 . `God save the Queen' we living sing. And fire the beacons up and down The land they perished for. when the flame they watch not towers About the soil they trod.A. look right. From height to height 'tis heard. Lads. And with the rest your voices ring. To fields that bred them brave. tombstones show And Shropshire names are read. To skies that knit their heartstrings right. Now. The shires have seen it plain. we'll remember friends of ours Who shared the work with God. We pledge in peace by farm and town The Queen they served in war. The saviours come not home to-night: Themselves they could not save.
About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow. It only leaves me fifty more. 'tis late for lying: Hear the drums of morning play. IV Reveille Wake: the silver dusk returning Up the beach of darkness brims. 5 5 30 10 10 15 20 . up. And the tent of night in tatters Straws the sky-pavilioned land. Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters. Hark. God will save her.166 A. lad. Now. And the ship of sunrise burning Strands upon the eastern rims. fear you not: Be you the men you've been. of my threescore years and ten. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room. the empty highways crying `Who'll beyond the hills away?' Towns and countries woo together. the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough. lad: thews that lie and cumber Sunlit pallets never thrive. And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. belfries call. Never lad that trod on leather Lived to feast his heart with all. And take from seventy springs a score. Up. Forelands beacon. Trampled to the floor it spanned. From: A Shropshire Lad Oh. II Loveliest of trees. E. Up. Get you the sons your fathers got. And God will save the Queen. Housman. Morns abed and daylight slumber Were not meant for man alive. Twenty will not come again.
If the heats of hate and lust In the house of flesh are strong. Lovers lying two and two Ask not whom they sleep beside. lad: when the journey's over There'll be time enough to sleep. Breath's a ware that will not keep. 5 5 5 10 15 . XII When I watch the living meet. XIX To an Athlete Dying Young The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the marketplace. And the moving pageant file Warm and breathing through the street Where I lodge a little while. Let me mind the house of dust Where my sojourn shall be long. Up. In the nation that is not Nothing stands that stood before. XVI It nods and curtseys and recovers When the wind blows above. Townsman of a stiller town. the road all runners come. the lover That hanged himself for love. E. There revenges are forgot. The man.A. Man and boy stood cheering by. From: A Shropshire Lad 167 Clay lies still. And set you at your threshold down. And the bridegroom all night through Never turns him to the bride. The nettle on the graves of lovers That hanged themselves for love. Shoulder-high we bring you home. the wind blows over. The nettle nods. And the hater hates no more. but blood's a rover. Today. And home we brought you shoulder-high. he does not move. The lover of the grave. Housman.
`Is my girl happy.168 A. And has she tired of weeping As she lies down at eve?' Ay. the horses trample. So set. 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. She lies not down to weep: 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . That I was used to drive And hear the harness jingle When I was man alive?' Ay. And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup. Now I stand up no more?' Ay. she lies down lightly. The goal stands up. Housman. The lads play heart and soul. `Is football playing Along the river shore. From: A Shropshire Lad Smart lad. With lads to chase the leather. to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose. The fleet foot on the sill of shade. the keeper Stands up to keep the goal. No change though you lie under The land you used to plough. The harness jingles now. Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut. That I thought hard to leave. XXVII `Is my team ploughing. before its echoes fade. the ball is flying. E.
XXX Others. Be still. if truth were told. The thoughts that hurt him. And has he found to sleep in A better bed than mine?' Yes. Then. I lie easy. my lad. and sleep. From: A Shropshire Lad 169 Your girl is well contented. Housman. Now I am thin and pine. I am not the first. it plies the saplings double. But from my grave across my brow Plays no wind of healing now. But I like them shall win my way Lastly to the bed of mould Where there's neither heat nor cold. But then it threshed another wood. I cheer a dead man's sweetheart. More than I. they were there. 5 5 25 30 10 15 10 . 'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger When Uricon the city stood: 'Tis the old wind in the old anger. lad. Never ask me whose. And through their reins in ice and fire Fear contended with desire. 'twas before my time. I lie as lads would choose. E. 'tis nothing new. Have stood and sweated hot and cold. Agued once like me were they. the Roman At yonder heaving hill would stare: The blood that warms an English yeoman. His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves. And fire and ice within me fight Beneath the suffocating night. And thick on Severn snow the leaves. Have willed more mischief than they durst: If in the breathless night I too Shiver now. `Is my friend hearty. The gale.A. XXXI On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble.
Through him the gale of life blew high. what farms are those? That is the land of lost content. Housman. E. The gale. The tree of man was never quiet: Then 'twas the Roman. Souls undone. Now to your grave shall friend and stranger With ruth and some with envy come: 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 . you died as fits a man. Right you guessed the rising morrow And scorned to tread the mire you must: Dust's your wages. And saw your road and where it led. undoing others. You shot dead the household traitor. XLIV Shot? so quick. I see it shining plain. But men may come to worse than dust. and better so than later After long disgrace and scorn. It blows so hard. Oh soon. son of sorrow. 'Twas best to take it to the grave. 'twill soon be gone: Today the Roman and his trouble Are ashes under Uricon. like the wind through woods in riot. lad.170 A. And early wise and brave in season Put the pistol to your head. so clean an ending? Oh that was right. ± Long time since the tale began. XL Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills. The happy highways where I went And cannot come again. You would not live to wrong your brothers: Oh lad. you could reason. that was brave: Yours was not an ill for mending. From: A Shropshire Lad There. The soul that should not have been born. now 'tis I. What spires. Oh you had forethought. it plies the saplings double.
clear of danger. bring from hill and stream and plain Whatever will not flower again. for they were long. Snap not from the bitter yew His leaves that live December through. and I muse for why and never find the reason. but lightless in the quarry I slept and saw not. Housman. no dreams. it is but for a reason: Let us endure an hour and see injustice done. bright with rime And sparkling to the cruel clime. XLVIII Be still. the arms you bear are brittle. E. ± call to thought. be still. I pace the earth. But wear it and it will not fade. I did not mourn. my soul. Break no rosemary. pass hence and home. 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 feel the sun. Men loved unkindness then. man. The days when we had rest.A. 5 25 5 10 15 20 10 . be still. Think rather. Or if one haulm whose year is o'er Shivers on the upland frore. Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and foundedstrong. Now. never two. ± Oh. in this timeless grave to throw. here's the wreath I've made: 'Tis not a gift that's worth the taking. in days ere I was born. if now you grieve a little. whose flower is blue A single season. my soul. sombre on the snow. no waking. Clean of guilt. and drink the air. XLVI Bring. From: A Shropshire Lad 171 Undishonoured. O soul. Turn safe to rest. Or shrivelled flax. But if the Christmas field has kept Awns the last gleaner overstept. And here. No cypress. To give him comfort: he and those Shall bide eternal bedfellows Where low upon the couch he lies Whence he never shall arise. tears fell down. Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry: Then it was well with me. Be still.
But oh. Look not left nor right: In all the endless road you tread There's nothing but the night. man. Oh never fear. Say. this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough. All thoughts to rive the heart are here. 'tis pleasant till 'tis past: The mischief is that 'twill not last. And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders. lad. There can't be much amiss. The cow. the verse you make. Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse. And faith. for what were hop-yards meant. Ale. Oh I have been to Ludlow fair And left my necktie God knows where. she is dead. good Lord. the horned head: We poor lads. To see the rate you drink your beer. There's brisker pipes than poetry. 'tis our turn now To hear such tunes as killed the cow.172 A. And leave your friends and go. E. pipe a tune to dance to. nought's to dread. 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. look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation. lift your pack. 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. And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. It sleeps well. 'tis clear. From: A Shropshire Lad Ay. the old cow. man.' Why. LXII `Terence. 5 15 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Housman. Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time Moping melancholy mad: Come. if 'tis dancing you would be. It gives a chap the belly-ache.
if I may. the tale was all a lie. In the dark and cloudy day. I was I. They get their fill before they think With poisoned meat and poisoned drink. it was the old world yet. but much less good than ill. since the world has still Much good. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 . 'Tis true. They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up: They shook. but trouble's sure. Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer: Then the world seemed none so bad. or near. thence to more. And I will friend you. my things were wet.A. Then I saw the morning sky: Heigho. E. Housman. when kings will sit to feast. And down in lovely muck I've lain. Sate the king when healths went round. And while the sun and moon endure Luck's a chance. The better for the embittered hour. And I myself a sterling lad. seasoned sound. There was a king reigned in the East: There. the stuff I bring for sale Is not so brisk a brew as ale: Out of a stem that scored the hand I wrung it in a weary land. And easy. He gathered all that springs to birth From the many-venomed earth. smiling. Therefore. ± I tell the tale that I heard told. I'd face it as a wise man would. he died old. They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat. they stared as white's their shirt: Them it was their poison hurt. From: A Shropshire Lad 173 And carried half way home. Happy till I woke again. He sampled all her killing store. And nothing now remained to do But begin the game anew. First a little. It should do good to heart and head When your soul is in my soul's stead. But take it: if the smack is sour. And train for ill and not for good. The world. Mithridates.
heartless. Or beeches strip in storms for winter And stain the wind with leaves. Possess. And full of shade the pillared forest Would murmur and be mine. Nor ask amid the dews of morning If they are mine or no. it needs not saying. Will neither care nor know What stranger's feet may find the meadow And trespass there and go.174 A. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . by waters idle. as I possessed a season. And traveller's joy beguiles in autumn Hearts that have lost their own. From: Last Poems From: Last Poems XL Tell me not here. The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing In leafy dells alone. For nature. For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways. The pine lets fall its cone. E. On russet floors. The countries I resign. On acres of the seeded grasses The changing burnish heaves. Housman. witless nature. What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays. Where over elmy plains the highway Would mount the hills and shine. Or marshalled under moons of harvest Stand still all night the sheaves.
hand in hand. Come away. In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star. hand in hand.William Butler Yeats (1865±1939) The Stolen Child Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water-rats. Come away. Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light. Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries. Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. And of reddest stolen cherries. To and fro we leap And chase the forthy bubbles. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car. While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. Weaving olden dances. We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears 5 10 15 20 25 30 . For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight. There we've hid our faery vats.
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. hand in hand. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand. Mournful that no new wonder may betide. She bid me take life easy. foam of the sky. But I. and now am full of tears. Away with us he's going. being young and foolish. Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. Down by the Salley Gardens Give them unquiet dreams. hand in hand. Lives on this lonely face. with her would not agree. And Usna's children died. She bid me take love easy.176 William Butler Yeats. 35 40 45 50 Down by the Salley Gardens Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet. Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams. The solemn-eyed: He'll hear no more the lowing Of the calves on the warm hillside Or the kettle on the hob Sing peace into his breast. In a field by the river my love and I did stand. 5 10 . To the waters and the wild With a faery. Come away. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. We and the labouring world are passing by: Amid men's souls. that waver and give place Like the pale waters in their wintry race. as the grass grows on the weirs. with all their mournful pride. For he comes. And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. the human child. 5 The Rose of the World Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips. Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam. Under the passing stars. But I was young and foolish. as the leaves grow on the tree.
or any hearts to beat. and of their shadows deep. lift up your russet brow. I will arise and go now. How many loved your moments of glad grace. Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings. 5 10 When You Are Old When you are old and grey and full of sleep. and noon a purple glow. take down this book. for peace comes dropping slow. And live alone in the bee-loud glade. There midnight's all a glimmer. a hive for the honey bee. And slowly read. 15 The Lake Isle of Innisfree I will arise and go now. But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you. And a small cabin build there. And bending down beside the glowing bars. or on the pavements grey. And loved the sorrows of your changing face. in your dim abode: Before you were. 5 10 Who Goes with Fergus? Who will go drive with Fergus now. And dance upon the level shore? Young man. And loved your beauty with love false or true. Who Goes with Fergus? 177 Bow down. how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. And pierce the deep wood's woven shade. And evening full of the linnet's wings. of clay and wattles made: Nine bean rows will I have there. and go to Innisfree. Weary and kind one lingered by His seat. He made the world to be a grassy road Before her wandering feet. and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once. While I stand on the roadway.William Butler Yeats. And I shall have some peace there. I hear it in the deep heart's core. . And nodding by the fire. archangels. Murmur. a little sadly. for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore.
I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me. But something rustled on the floor. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame. And brood on hopes and fear no more. 5 10 15 The Song of Wandering Aengus I went out to the hazel wood. There's not a woman turns her face Upon a broken tree. Though lads are making pikes again For some conspiracy. For Fergus rules the brazen cars. Ere Time transfigured me. And when white moths were on the wing. And the white breast of the dim sea And all dishevelled wandering stars. My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics. 5 10 The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner Although I shelter from the rain Under a broken tree. And yet the beauties that I loved Are in my memory. 5 10 . And hooked a berry to a thread. And no more turn aside and brood Upon love's bitter mystery. The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner And lift your tender eyelids. And rules the shadows of the wood. And cut and peeled a hazel wand. maid. And moth-like stars were flickering out. Because a fire was in my head.178 William Butler Yeats. And crazy rascals rage their fill At human tyranny. My contemplations are of Time That has transfigured me.
in all kinds of weather. and clergymen The martyrs call the world.William Butler Yeats. Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought. For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these. 15 20 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths. have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. And kiss her lips and take her hands. I will find out where she has gone. 5 Adam's Curse We sat together at one summer's end. Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. schoolmasters. and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers. And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. and talked of poetry. I said. `A line will take us hours maybe. That beautiful mild woman. The golden apples of the sun. your close friend. or break stones Like an old pauper. I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I. Enwrought with golden and silver light. And walk among long dappled grass. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands. And you and I.' And thereupon That beautiful mild woman for whose sake 5 10 15 . The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light. Adam's Curse 179 And some one called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. Better go down upon your marrow-bones And scrub a kitchen pavement. being poor.
We saw the last embers of daylight die. But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes Of Cathleen. the daughter of Houlihan.180 William Butler Yeats. the daughter of Houlihan. But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet Of Cathleen. Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland There's many a one shall find out all heartache On finding that her voice is sweet and low Replied. Yet now it seems an idle trade enough. That it had all seemed happy. Angers that are like noisy clouds have set our hearts abeat. I had a thought for no one's but your ears: That you were beautiful. `To be born woman is to know ± Although they do not talk of it at school ± That we must labour to be beautiful. Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand. Like heavy flooded waters our bodies and our blood. For the wet winds are blowing out of the clinging air. and yet we'd grown As weary-hearted as that hollow moon. worn as if it had been a shell Washed by time's waters as they rose and fell About the stars and broke in days and years. And in the trembling blue-green of the sky A moon. 20 25 30 35 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland The old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand.' I said. There have been lovers who thought love should be So much compounded of high courtesy That they would sigh and quote with learned looks Precedents out of beautiful old books. But purer than a tall candle before the Holy Rood Is Cathleen. Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies. and that I strove To love you in the old high way of love. The yellow pool has overflowed high up on Clooth-na-Bare. The wind has bundled up the clouds high over Knocknarea. `It's certain there is no fine thing Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring. And thrown the thunder on the stones for all that Maeve can say.' We sat grown quiet at the name of love. the daughter of Houlihan. 5 10 15 .
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. earthless. he but only kissed' 7 . walk with me' 106 Crossing the Bar 61 Darkling Thrush. | vaulty. thou hast brought me many flowers' 7 Binsey Poplars 162 Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church. be still. The 125 Body's Beauty 132 Break. A 151 `But do not let us quarrel any more' 91 Charge of the Light Brigade. equal. The 69 `blessed Damozel leaned out. . Break. The' 125 Blessed Damozel.Index of Titles and First Lines Adam's Curse 179 `Ah. voluminous. the arms you bear are brittle' 171 `Beloved. Break 31 `Bring. in this timeless grave to throw' 171 Broken Appointment. with sweet smart' 134 Aurora Leigh 8 Autumn Idleness 131 `Be still. my soul. The 55 Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came 85 `Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee!' `Come. attuneable. stupendous' 163 Felix Randal 162 `First time he kissed me. did you once see Shelley plain' 90 `All hushed and still within the house' 104 `Although I shelter from the rain' 178 `And wilt thou have me fashion into speech' 6 Andrea del Sarto 91 As Kingfishers Catch Fire 163 `As kingfishers catch fire. . . dragonflies draw flame' 163 `At length their long kiss severed.
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. and A. G. half a league' 55 `Here is the ancient floor' 152 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven 179 Hoarded Joy 132 Home-Thoughts. A 98 `grey sea and the long black land. and go to Innisfree' 177 `I wonder do you feel today' 97 Impercipient. H. The 149 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury 150 In Memoriam A. how happy! those are words' 104 `I am poor brother Lippo. from the hill' 119 Goblin Market 135 God's Grandeur 160 Grammarian's Funeral. ± 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. my heart's abhorrence!' 65 `Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths' 179 `Half a league. from Abroad 68 House of Life: A Sonnet-Sequence. for they call you. 33 `Into my heart an air that kills' 170 `Is my team ploughing' 168 `It little profits that an idle king' 23 `It nods and curtseys and recovers' 167 Julian M. Rochelle 109 `Just for a handful of silver he left us' Kiss. The 177 Lamentation of the Old Pensioner. H. The 178 `Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife' `Let us begin and carry up this corpse' 98 64 6 .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. pluck not. The 128 Lady of Shalott. Shepherd. The 128 `How do I love thee? Let me count the ways' 7 `How still.
The 64 Love Among the Ruins 72 Love-Letter. it is told' 132 `Of writing many books there is no end' 8 `Oh Galuppi. Lilith. whose airy cages quelled' 162 `My first thought was. The' `On either side the river lie' 19 `On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble' 169 One Hope. my name is Might-have-been' Lost Leader. The' 103 `No coward soul is mine' 113 `Now hollow fires burn out to black' 172 Nuptial Sleep 134 `O Dream. where art thou now?' 104 `Of Adam's first wife. The 31 Prisoner. The' 67 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 180 `Remember me when I am gone away' 135 Remember 135 Remembrance 108 133 180 . The 109 `rain set early in tonight. Baldassaro. A Medley. the cherry now' 166 Love's Fatality 130 Mariana 17 `Maud' 57 Meeting at Night 72 Memorabilia 90 Memorial Thresholds 132 Mid-Rapture 130 `Mild the mist upon the hill' 105 `Morning and evening' 135 Morte D'Arthur 24 `My aspens dear.Index of Titles and First Lines 183 `Long neglect has worn away' 103 `Look in my face. I am not the first' 169 Parting at Morning 72 Pied Beauty 161 Porphyria's Lover 67 Princess. to be in England' 68 `old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. The 129 `Loveliest of trees. he lied in every word' 85 My Last Duchess 63 Nature's Questioning 148 Neutral Tones 148 Never the Time and the Place 102 `night is darkening round me. The 133 `Others. this is very sad to find!' 83 `Oh.
I know not what they mean' 31 `Tell me not here. The 178 Sonnets from the Portuguese 6 Soul's Beauty 131 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 Stolen Child. The' 117 Self-Dependence 116 Self-Unseeing. A 133 Supreme Surrender 129 `Sweet Love. where love and death' `Vanity. it needs not saying' 174 `Terence. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love' 130 `Tears. so clean an ending?' 170 Shropshire Lad. The 176 `Round the cape of a sudden came the sea' 72 `Say not the struggle naught availeth' 114 Scholar-Gipsy. The' 167 `To all the spirits of Love that wander by' 129 To an Athlete Dying Young 167 To Imagination 107 To Marguerite 116 Toccata of Galuppi's. The 175 `Strong Son of God.184 Index of Titles and First Lines Reveille 166 Rose of the World. The 152 `Shot? so quick. immortal Love' 33 `Sunset and evening star' 61 Superscription. Lord 164 `Thou lovely and beloved. thou my love' 130 `Thou mastering me' 153 `time you won your town the race. saith the preacher. this is stupid stuff ' 172 `That there are powers above us I admit' 114 `That with this bright believing band' 149 `That's my last Duchess painted on the wall' 63 `There is a budding morrow in midnight' 134 `This sunlight shames November where he grieves' 131 Thou art indeed just. 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 . idle tears. A 83 Two in the Campagna 97 Ulysses 23 `Under the arch of Life. The 118 `sea is calm tonight.
what showers of spring' 103 `When I look forth at dawning. The 161 `With blackest moss the flower-plots' 17 Without Her 130 `world is charged with the grandeur of God. The' 160 Wreck of the Deutschland. ± though unrevealed snow' 132 `What smouldering senses in death's sick delay' 128 `What winter floods. The 153 `years have gathered grayly. and sick of asking' 116 `What of her glass without her? The blank grey' 130 Á `What place so strange. pool' 148 `When I watch the living meet' 167 `When vain desire at last and vain regret' 133 `When weary with the long day's care' 107 `When you are old and grey and full of sleep' 177 When You Are Old 177 `Where dips the rocky highland' 175 `Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles' 72 `Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?' 176 Who Goes with Fergus? 177 `Who will go drive with Fergus now' 177 Windhover. The' 150 `Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd' 116 `You did not come' 151 1887 165 .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.