Victorian Poetry

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

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

blackwellpublishing.808—dc21    2002020878    ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23075‐5 (alk. paper)—ISBN 0‐631‐23076‐9 (pbk.  electronic. — (Blackwell essential literature)  “Based on The Victorians: an anthology of poetry and poetics.  ISBN 0‐631‐23075‐0 (alk. Oxford OX4 2DQ. Duncan. except as  permitted by the UK Copyright. MA 02148‐5020. and Patents Act 1988.   II. recording or otherwise. Designs. mechanical. UK  550 Swanston Street. the publisher ensures that the text paper and cover board  used have met acceptable environmental accreditation standards.  p. :  alk. paper)  1.    Set in 8/10 pt Galliard  by Kolam Information Services Pvt. 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. selection and arrangement © 2002 by Duncan Wu and  Valentine Cunningham    BLACKWELL PUBLISHING  350 Main Street. paper)—ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23076‐2 (pbk. Carlton.V53  2002    821’. stored  in a retrieval      . : alk. and which has been manufactured from pulp  processed using acid‐free and elementary chlorine‐free practices.      cm. Malden. photocopying.   I. edited by  Valentine Cunningham.”  Includes bibliographical references and index.© 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd  Editorial matter. visit our website:  www. Ltd. Victoria 3053. without the  prior permission of the publisher.   For further information on  Blackwell Publishing.     III. paper)    A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.    First published 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd    4   2007    Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data    Victorian poetry / edited by Duncan Wu. No part of this publication may be reproduced. English poetry—19th century. Series  PR1223 . in any form or by any means. Pondicherry.  Furthermore. USA  9600 Garsington Road. Australia    All rights reserved. or transmitted. Wu. Victorians.

Break. A Medley From In Memoriam A. H. Maud') Crossing the Bar 17 19 23 24 31 31 33 55 57 59 61 Robert Browning (1812±1889) My Last Duchess The Lost Leader Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister Porphyria's Lover Home-Thoughts. The Charge of the Light Brigade From Maud I (`I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood') XXII (`Come into the garden. 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 . H. Break' From The Princess.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.

walk with me' To Imagination Remembrance (`R. what showers of spring' `Long neglect has worn away' `The night is darkening round me' `All hushed and still within the house' `O Dream. Rochelle (`The Prisoner') `No coward soul is mine' 103 103 103 104 104 104 105 106 107 108 109 113 Arthur Hugh Clough (1819±1861) Matthew Arnold (1822±1888) To Marguerite Self-Dependence Dover Beach The Scholar-Gipsy `Say not the struggle naught availeth' `That there are powers above us I admit' 114 114 116 116 117 118 Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828±1882) The Blessed Damozel From The House of Life: A Sonnet-Sequence Part I Youth and Change Sonnet VI: The Kiss Sonnet VII: Supreme Surrender 125 128 128 128 129 . Brenzaida') Julian M. how happy! those are words' `Mild the mist upon the hill' `Come. Alcona to J. where art thou now?' `How still. G. and 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.

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

viii Contents A. E. Housman (1859±1936) From A Shropshire Lad From Last Poems 165 174 William Butler Yeats (1865±1939) The Stolen Child Down by the Salley Gardens The Rose of the World The Lake Isle of Innisfree When You Are Old Who Goes with Fergus? The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner The Song of Wandering Aengus He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Adam's Curse Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 175 176 176 177 177 177 178 178 179 179 180 181 Index of Titles and First Lines .

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

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

besides much else. pp. Tennyson's preoccupation with states of mind looks back to Wordsworth. Wordsworth's most extensive examination of psychological process. p. 311±13. comprehending moral failings with a clarity not always vouchsafed in life. the same year as In Memoriam. 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. Fra Pandolf ± there is something darker at work. The Ulysses who in Tennyson's poem declares his desire `To strive.6 By the time Wordsworth died in 1850 Tennyson was in his early forties and Browning in his late thirties.5 For his part. to seek. was to develop a new kind of psychological poetry ± one that explored the human mind from within. the most successful long poem of its day.3 The natural world of In Memoriam is not invariably. 3 See in particular In Memoriam lv and lvi. 1983). which concerns the uncontrollable emotions that run deeply in the human heart. 226.7 2 W. E. Edward Mendelson (London: Faber. pp. through the dramatic monologue. Tennyson and Browning exploited the form aware that our knowing so much more than their speakers. exemplifying Auden's contention that Tennyson's gift was for expressing feelings of `lonely terror and desire for death'. it doubtless has its faults ± it is relentless in its subjectivity. 6 See Robert Bernard Martin. 1999). from the very moment that the speaker of Browning's `My Last Duchess' notes that the portrait of his former wife looks `as if she were alive' we Á know that this is no mere compliment to the painter. idle tears'. something rather important has happened. H.2 Introduction grief for another. and is found in shorter poems such as `Tears. 5 The Prelude. Forewords and Afterwords ed. and on the other a work that speaks of the innermost anxieties of the age. In such sonnets as `Surprised by joy' Wordsworth had attempted the same kind of investigation. but their reign had ended: Tennyson and Browning were remaking the art. rather. Herbert Tucker (Oxford: Blackwell. Tennyson: The Unquiet Heart (London: Faber. is a product of the zeitgeist. And when the speaker of `A Toccata of Galuppi's' tells us that he feels `chilly and grown old'. 7 See for instance Pound's `Piere Vidal Old' and Eliot's `Prufrock'. 4 In Memoriam lvi 15. . was not published until 1850. In this sense In Memoriam.4 the product of a cosmos lacking a benevolent deity. Its potential would be further championed in the modern period by Eliot and Pound. therefore. and not to yield' may not be the sort of sea-captain with whom we should set sail. 1973). The influence of the Romantics was felt throughout the century. in common with that of Tennyson. Wordsworth possessed a copy of Tennyson's important 1842 Poems. `red in tooth and claw'. was the key to a new poetic. Browning's major contribution. a growing scepticism that was to find fuller expression in the poetry of Hardy and Housman later in the century. it can be. and welcomed an acquaintance with their author. As readers of such poetry we are in a privileged position. There were precedents in the Romantic period ± all `big six' poets had tried their hand at writing plays ± but the achievement of Browning and Tennyson was to adapt the form so as to bring the science of disclosure through verbal nuance to a fine art. to find.2 The fruit of nearly 17 years' labour. 289±91. Auden. which it is for us to infer. the divinely appointed one of Wordsworth. on a level beyond the verbal. Warwick Slinn helpfully contextualizes In Memoriam in his essay on Victorian poetry in A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture ed.

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

85. most of his best poetry was written after 1900. Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology. 1980). `The Blessed Damozel' (1850) was intended as a companion piece to Poe's `The Raven' (1845). In matters of style they sought a simplicity of manner. Preoccupations: Selected Prose 1968±1978 (London: Faber. a sensitivity to sensory detail. In this sense it is not fanciful to consider Hardy and Housman alongside each other. . There is in all this a deliberation. an `involute' or charged combination of emotion and concrete objects. In Housman nature is `heartless. James Sambrook notes that Rossetti's conception of the afterlife. 1988). and capable of blind indifference to human mortality. Unlike some of the Romantics. Dante Gabriel and Christina Rossetti looked back to the Coleridge of `Christabel' and the Keats of `Isabella'. 12 Seamus Heaney. The same cannot be said of the poetry of Hardy. indeed.4 Introduction minute detail the features of the natural world. who is also thought of as a twentieth-century writer. except that Housman's vision is if anything even more lacking in hope than Hardy's. nature is bleak. a self-consciousness which can sometimes produce startlingly good poetry.11 She is now one of the most widely studied of the Pre-Raphaelites. Tom Paulin has noted how in `Neutral Tones' the poem culminates in a total picture.13 Not only is there no evidence of religious faith in Hardy's poetry. where the blessed damozel weeps in frustrated longing to join her lover (rather than God) `is not even remotely Christian'. He is essentially a visionary writer. decay and desolation. which is why it is easy to regard as a product of the twentieth century. 355. 1975). The Victorians ed. In fact. so that in 1995 Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton could confirm her place as `one of the greatest poets of the nineteenth century'. 11 Reynolds and Leighton. Hopkins is insistently religious in his understanding: God is the inscape of the created world. his sister Christina is far less preoccupied with appearances. p. 31. The poems included here are among the best of his Victorian period. which may have deterred some readers in earlier times. as in both `Neutral Tones' and `The Darkling Thrush'. his concept of `inscape' referring to the interior perception into the being of the object. its `philological and rhetorical passion'12 and concentration on the inner workings of the soul is pre-eminently a product of the nineteenth. which during his subsequent painful experience has become a permanently meaningful impression. In mood they cultivated a love of the morbid ± listlessness.10 Dante Gabriel was to make an art out of the decorativeness and elaboration of his verse. Arthur Pollard (London: Sphere Books. have in the last two decades given her work an added resonance. As poets. Her poetry is full of depression and denial. stripped of the religious significance it possessed for such poets as Hopkins. stripped of all the redemptive power with which the Romantics had imbued it. 10 `The Rossettis and Other Contemporary Poets'. and one also finds a frequent use of religious language for evocation (rather than its real meanings). published in Satires of Circumstance (1914) and Moments of Vision (1917). and the intense morbidity of her writing finds expression even in the fairy-tale `Goblin Market' (1862). p. nearly 30 years after his death. Those feelings. 438. a selfconscious medievalism and a highly developed taste in decoration. p. p. it can be found in Tennyson's `Mariana' and some of the sonnets in Dante Gabriel Rossetti's House of Life sequence. witless'. Gerard Manley Hopkins's collected verse appeared only in 1918. 13 Tom Paulin. Thomas Hardy: The Poetry of Perception (London: Macmillan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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,


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

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

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

Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Who changest not in any gale! Nor branding summer suns avail To touch thy thousand years of gloom. What whispers from thy lying lip? `The stars. O! not for thee the glow. Sick for thy stubborn hardihood. stands ± With all the music in her tone. Or crush her. III O Sorrow. Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. Embrace her as my natural good. And bring the firstling to the flock. `blindly run. A web is woven across the sky. the clock Beats out the little lives of men. and boast: `Behold the man that loved and lost. From out waste places comes a cry. like a vice of blood.' she whispers. I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee.' II Old Yew. A hollow echo of my own. Nature. The seasons bring the flower again. the bloom. And murmurs from the dying sun: `And all the phantom. And gazing on the sullen tree. And in the dusk of thee. which graspest at the stones That name the under-lying dead. cruel fellowship! O Priestess in the vaults of Death! O sweet and bitter in a breath. But all he was is overworn.' And shall I take a thing so blind. In Memoriam 35 Than that the victor Hours should scorn The long result of love. Thy fibres net the dreamless head. Upon the threshold of the mind? 5 5 15 10 15 10 15 . ± A hollow form with empty hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the day prepared The daily burden for the back. In Memoriam 47 And many an old philosophy On Argive heights divinely sang. Because it needed help of Love: Nor could I weary. 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. Whatever fickle tongues may say. But this it was that made me move As light as carrier-birds in air. XXVI Still onward winds the dreary way. And if that eye which watches guilt And goodness. ± the track Whereon with equal feet we fared. If all was good and fair we met. when we moved therein? XXV I know that this was Life. And part it. And orb into the perfect star We saw not. as now. And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady. heart or limb. This earth had been the Paradise It never looked to human eyes Since Adam left his garden yet. for I long to prove No lapse of moons can canker Love.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And then. And is it that the haze of grief Hath stretched my former joy so great? The lowness of the present state. 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. I with it. 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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. .62 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far. And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell. Crossing the Bar Twilight and evening bell. When I embark.

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

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

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

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

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

her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before. unaware. from Abroad I Oh. While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England ± now! II And after April.68 Robert Browning. Only. and all the swallows ± Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops ± at the bent spray's edge ± 5 10 . No pain felt she. That moment she was mine. That all it scorned at once is fled. and still it grew While I debated what to do. And whoever wakes in England Sees. this time my shoulder bore Her head. Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do. Home-Thoughts. And yet God has not said a word! 35 40 45 50 55 60 Home-Thoughts. mine. its love. some morning. And all night long we have not stirred. again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. And thus we sit together now. And I. And the whitethroat builds. from Abroad Porphyria worshipped me. I am quite sure she felt no pain. So glad it has its utmost will. surprise Made my heart swell. And I untightened next the tress About her neck. fair. That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. And strangled her. am gained instead! Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. to be in England Now that April's there. As a shut bud that holds a bee I warily oped her lids. when May follows. and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around. which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head.

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!










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

dread of shame Struck them tame. men might march on nor be pressed. Love Among the Ruins 73 3 Now ± the country does not even boast a tree. By the caper over-rooted. Twelve abreast. the chariots traced As they raced. certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to (else they run Into one). the gold Bought and sold. And a burning ring all round. Made of marble. While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks Through the chinks ± 8 Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time Sprang sublime. see. Stock or stone ± 6 Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Long ago. guessed alone. o'erspreads And embeds Every vestige of the city. this summer-time. of grass Never was! Such a carpet as. As you see. 7 Now. by the gourd Overscored. Lust of glory pricked their hearts up. 4 Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all. And that glory and that shame alike. 5 And such plenty and perfection. ± the single little turret that remains On the plains. To distinguish slopes of verdure. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 .Robert Browning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow. and for the church A pretty picture gained. Till. 'tis with such a heavy mind! 2 Here you come with your old music. wholly unexpected. . and good bye: no lights. Where Saint Mark's is. 4 Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May? Balls and masks begun at midnight. it would prove me deaf and blind. sir. do you say? 5 Was a lady such a lady. stately at the clavichord? 5 10 15 . Like the Prior's niece . because the sea's the street there. . six months hence! Your hand. they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were the kings. no lights! The street's hushed. I would say. not letting go The palm of her. ± On her neck the small face buoyant. But although I take your meaning. . like a bell-flower on its bed. and here's all the good it brings. to bite her mask's black velvet. Saint Lucy. burning ever to midday. where they kept the carnival! I was never out of England ± it's as if I saw it all. and I know my own way back ± Don't fear me! There's the grey beginning. cheeks so round and lips so red. A Toccata of Galuppi's 83 I shuffle sideways with my blushing face Under the cover of a hundred wings Thrown like a spread of kirtles when you're gay And play hot cockles. where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings? 3 Ay. O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might base his head? 6 Well. the little lily thing That spoke the good word for me in the nick. . and 'tis arched by . What. Baldassaro. (and it was graceful of them) they'd break talk off and afford ± She. And so all's saved for me.Robert Browning. all the doors being shut. what you call . Shylock's bridge with houses on it. Go. . While you sat and played Toccatas. . he to finger on his sword. this is very sad to find! I can hardly misconceive you. Zooks! 380 385 390 A Toccata of Galuppi's 1 Oh Galuppi. in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off To some safe bench behind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Built of brown stone. did you once see Shelley plain. Of all the lost adventures my peers. After a life spent training for the sight! 31 What in the midst lay but the Tower itself ? The round squat turret. ± How such a one was strong. Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight ± While to the left. Fool. The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: The hills. blind as the fool's heart. And did he stop and speak to you? And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems. without a counterpart In the whole world. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.' 175 180 185 190 195 200 Memorabilia 1 Ah. and such was bold. day ± Came back again for that! before it left. . yet each of old Lost. And such was fortunate. Names in my ears. The tempest's mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on. lost! one moment knelled the woe of years. lay ± Chin upon hand. This was the place! those two hills on the right. .90 Robert Browning. to see the game at bay. to be dozing at the very nonce. Memorabilia 30 Burningly it came on me all at once. Dunce. 34 There they stood. like giants at a hunting. And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set. ranged along the hillsides ± met To view the last of me. 32 Not see? because of night perhaps? ± Why. and new! . only when the timbers start. ± `Now stab and end the creature ± to the heft!' 33 Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled Increasing like a bell. a living frame For one more picture! in a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all. a tall scalped mountain . And blew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

102 Robert Browning. each sign! O enemy sly and serpentine. safe. Never the Time and the Place Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying. rain and wind combine With a furtive ear. Living and dying. But the house is narrow. warm sleep I and she. if I strive to speak. outside. the place is bleak Where. ± I and she! 5 10 15 20 . close. Outside are the storms and strangers: we ± Oh. Leave him ± still loftier than the world suspects. With a malice that marks each word. 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. 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. With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek.

cannot go .Emily (Jane) Bronte È (1818±1848) `What winter floods. what showers of spring' What winter floods. what showers of spring Have drenched the grass by night and day And yet beneath that spectre ring Unmoved and undiscovered lay A mute remembrancer of crime Long lost concealed forgot for years It comes at last to cancel time And waken unavailing tears 5 `Long neglect has worn away' Long neglect has worn away Half the sweet enchanting smile Time has turned the bloom to grey Mould and damp the face defile But that lock of silky hair Still beneath the picture twined Tells what once those features were Paints their image on the mind Fair the hand that traced that line `Dearest ever deem me true' Swiftly flew the fingers fine When the pen that motto drew 5 10 `The night is darkening round me' The night is darkening round me The wild winds coldly blow But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot.

alas for me Thou wert so bright and fair I could not think thy memory Would yield me nought but care! The sun-beam and the storm. The silent night of solemn calm. The summer-eve divine. how happy! those are words That once would scarce agree together . I will not. where art thou now? Long years have passed away Since last from off thine angel brow I saw the light decay ± Alas. with weary pain ± Lost vision! 'tis enough for me ± Thou canst not shine again. 5 10 15 `How still. Wastes beyond wastes below. The full moon's cloudless shine Were once entwined with thee But now. `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. how happy! those are words' How still.104 Emily (Jane) Bronte. cannot go 5 10 `All hushed and still within the house' All hushed and still within the house Without ± all wind and driving rain But something whispers to my mind Through rain and [through the] wailing wind ± Never again Never again? Why not again? Memory has power as real as thine 5 `O Dream. But nothing drear can move me. where art thou now?' O Dream.

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

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. though the soil be wet with tears. How fair soe'er it grew The vital sap once perished Will never flow again And surer than that dwelling dread. `Come. come walk with me. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . So closer would my feelings twine Because they have no stay but thine ± `Nay call me not ± it may not be Is human love so true? Can Friendship's flower droop on for years And then revive anew? No.106 Emily (Jane) Bronte. 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. walk with me' Come. There's only thee To bless my spirit now ± We used to love on winter nights To wander through the snow. 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. 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. While moonbeams flash and fly so fast We scarce can say they smiled ± Come walk with me.

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

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

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

you. a once familiar name ± I can not wonder now at ought the world will do. Since those who vowed away their souls to win my love Around this living grave like utter strangers move: Nor has one voice been raised to plead that I might die Not buried under earth but in the open sky. too loving Child. With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. alone. half aloud. for short life. wilt melt my master's heart with groans? Ah sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones! My master's voice is low. Rochelle È Hoarse laughed the jailor grim. his aspect bland and kind. not more rough to see Than is the hidden ghost which has its home in me!' About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn: `My friend. G. `Lord Julian. A messenger of Hope comes every night to me. never. `Shall I be won to hear. Friend. Dost think fond. how former days upon my heart were borne. By ball or speedy knife or headsman's skilful blow ± A quick and welcome pang instead of lingering woe! Yet. He comes with western winds. all. And visions rise and change which kill me with desire ± 65 45 35 40 50 55 60 70 . remember me? Nay start not at my words.110 Emily (Jane) Bronte. And kneeling. `Is she so near to death?' I murmured. with evening's wandering airs. too warmly.' she gently said. yet. tell them. parted back the floating golden cloud. I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom and desolate despair. `you have not heard me mourn. Then may I weep and sue ± but. When you my parents' lives ± my lost life can restore. Of all my playmates. can it be. And offers. dreaming wretch that I shall grant thy prayer? Or better still. And insult and contempt I lightly brook from you. unless you deem it shame To own from conquered foe. its fair curls swept the ground. eternal liberty. But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind: And I am rough and rude. wildly gay! Was that the wintry close of thy celestial May? She knew me and she sighed. Julian. The dungeon seemed to swim in strange confusion round. and A. How memory mirrored then the prisoner's joyous morn ± Too blithe. Alas. Winds take a pensive tone and stars a tender fire. before!' Her head sank on her hands. Julian M.

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

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

dissolves. that in me hast rest As I Undying Life. Changes. creates and rears Though Earth and moon were gone And suns and universes ceased to be And thou wert left alone Every Existence would exist in thee There is not room for Death Nor atom that his might could render void Since thou are Being and Breath And what thou art may never be destroyed 25 5 10 15 20 .Emily (Jane) Bronte. `No coward soul is mine' 113 È `No coward soul is mine' No coward soul is mine No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere I see Heaven's glories shine And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear O God within my breast Almighty ever-present Deity Life. Worthless as withered weeds Or idlest froth amid the boundless main To waken doubt in one Holding so fast by thy infinity So surely anchored on The steadfast rock of Immortality With wide-embracing love Thy Spirit animates eternal years Pervades and broods above. sustains. have power in thee Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts. unutterably vain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . And watch the warm green muffled Cumnor hills. mid their drink and clatter. And they can bind them to what thoughts they will: `And I. who from the distant hamlets come To dance around the Fyfield elm in May. And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream And then they land. `the secret of their art. And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place. Or in my boat I lie Moored to the cool bank in the summer heats. That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray. As the slow punt swings round: And leaning backward in a pensive dream.' This said. Returning home on summer nights. on thy trace. and returned no more. And put the shepherds. And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers Plucked in shy fields and distant woodland bowers. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring. white anemone ± Dark bluebells drenched with dews of summer eves ± And purple orchises with spotted leaves ± But none hath words she can report of thee. the smock-frocked boors Had found him seated at their entering. The Scholar-Gipsy The workings of men's brains. at the ferry. he would fly: And I myself seem half to know thy looks. Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam. Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers ± the frail-leafed. pensive and tongue-tied. he left them. Maidens. In hat of antique shape. Wanderer. Thee. When fully learned. Seen by rare glimpses. I know. But rumours hung about the countryside. And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. The same the Gipsies wore.' he said. and cloak of grey. will to the world impart: But it needs happy moments for this skill. thou lov'st retired ground. Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills. On the warm ingle bench. Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet. At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors. Oxford riders blithe.120 Matthew Arnold. have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe. But. For most. Or cross a stile into the public way. and thou art seen no more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fain had I watched her when. And her breast's secrets peered into her breast.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. desire in deity. and no man sees but I. Her bosom to the writing closelier pressed. or denude This soul of wedding-raiment worn today? For lo! even now my lady's lips did play With these my lips such consonant interlude As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay. Fire within fire. even of her breath aware. ± Sweet fluttering sheet. the hand now warm around my neck Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo! Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow. and the deep Calls to the deep. ± A spirit when her spirit looked through me. Where one shorn tress long stirred the longing ache: And next the heart that trembled for its sake Lies the queen-heart in sovereign overthrow. 5 10 . Methinks proud Love must weep When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap The sacred hour for which the years did sigh. First touched. even I and she. 129 5 10 Sonnet VII: Supreme Surrender To all the spirits of Love that wander by Along his love-sown harvest-field of sleep My lady lies apparent. till love's emulous ardours ran. Whereof the articulate throbs accompany The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair. at some fond thought. Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Can rob this body of honour. 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. The bliss so long afar. ± Oh let thy silent song disclose to me That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree Like married music in Love's answering air. ± A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood. Rests there attained. ± a man When breast to breast we clung. I was a child beneath her touch. at length so nigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rossetti. Do you not remember Jeanie. Then flung the emptied rinds away But gathered up one kernel-stone. How she met them in the moonlight. But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: `Good folk. Ate their fruits and wore their flowers Plucked from bowers Where summer ripens at all hours? But ever in the moonlight She pined and pined away. Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: Sweeter than honey from the rock.' They answered all together: `Buy from us with a golden curl. And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusty heather. How should it cloy with length of use? She sucked and sucked and sucked the more Fruits which that unknown orchard bore. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . I have no coin. She dropped a tear more rare than pearl. And knew not was it night or day As she turned home alone.138 Christina G. Clearer than water flowed that juice.' `You have much gold upon your head. She never tasted such before. I have no silver either. Then fell with the first snow. you should not stay so late. Found them no more but dwindled and grew grey.' She clipped a precious golden lock. Stronger than man-rejoicing wine. Goblin Market One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried `Pretty Goblin' still for `Pretty Polly.' ± One whistled like a bird. Took their gifts both choice and many. To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse. Should not loiter in the glen In the haunts of goblin men. Sought them by night and day. She sucked until her lips were sore. Lizzie met her at the gate Full of wise upbraidings: `Dear. Twilight is not good for maidens.

Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other's wings. Lumbering owls forbore to fly. and pure the wave they drink With lilies at the brink. Wind sang to them lullaby. as sweet and busy. hush. Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetched in honey. Like two wands of ivory Tipped with gold for awful kings. They lay down in their curtained bed: Like two blossoms on one stem. You cannot think what figs My teeth have met in. hush. Like two flakes of new-fallen snow. 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 . milked the cows. my sister: I ate and ate my fill. Pellucid grapes without one seed: Odorous indeed must be the mead Whereon they grow. 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. And sugar-sweet their sap. Early in the morning When the first cock crowed his warning.' Golden head by golden head. Moon and stars gazed in at them. Neat like bees.' said Laura: `Nay. I'll bring you plums to-morrow Fresh on their mother twigs.' `Nay. Yet my mouth waters still. To-morrow night I will Buy more:' and kissed her: `Have done with sorrow.Christina G. 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. Rossetti. What melons icy-cold Piled on a dish of gold Too huge for me to hold. Cherries worth getting. You should not loiter so.

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

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

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

Christina G. Rossetti, Goblin Market 143 Pulling wry faces, Demure grimaces, Cat-like and rat-like, Ratel- and wombat-like, Snail-paced in a hurry, Parrot-voiced and whistler, Helter skelter, hurry skurry, Chattering like magpies, Fluttering like pigeons, Gliding like fishes, ± Hugged her and kissed her: Squeezed and caressed her: Stretched up their dishes, Panniers, and plates: `Look at our apples Russet and dun, Bob at our cherries, Bite at our peaches, Citrons and dates, Grapes for the asking, Pears red with basking Out in the sun, Plums on their twigs; Pluck them and suck them, Pomegranates, figs.' ± `Good folk,' said Lizzie, Mindful of Jeanie: `Give me much and many:' ± Held out her apron, Tossed them her penny. `Nay, take a seat with us, Honour and eat with us,' They answered grinning: `Our feast is but beginning. Night yet is early, Warm and dew-pearly, Wakeful and starry: Such fruits as these No man can carry; Half their bloom would fly, Half their dew would dry, Half their flavour would pass by. Sit down and feast with us, Be welcome guest with us, Cheer you and rest with us.' ± `Thank you,' said Lizzie: `But one waits At home alone for me:










144 Christina G. Rossetti, Goblin Market So without further parleying, If you will not sell me any Of your fruits though much and many, Give me back my silver penny I tossed you for a fee.' ± They began to scratch their pates, No longer wagging, purring, But visibly demurring, Grunting and snarling. One called her proud, Cross-grained, uncivil; Their tones waxed loud, Their looks were evil. Lashing their tails They trod and hustled her, Elbowed and jostled her, Clawed with their nails, Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking, Tore her gown and soiled her stocking, Twitched her hair out by the roots, Stamped upon her tender feet, Held her hands and squeezed their fruits Against her mouth to make her eat. White and golden Lizzie stood, Like a lily in a flood, ± Like a rock of blue-veined stone Lashed by tides obstreperously, ± Like a beacon left alone In a hoary roaring sea, Sending up a golden fire, ± Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree White with blossoms honey-sweet Sore beset by wasp and bee, ± Like a royal virgin town Topped with gilded dome and spire Close beleaguered by a fleet Mad to tug her standard down. One may lead a horse to water, Twenty cannot make him drink. Though the goblins cuffed and caught her, Coaxed and fought her, Bullied and besought her, Scratched her, pinched her black as ink, Kicked and knocked her, Mauled and mocked her, Lizzie uttered not a word;










Christina G. Rossetti, Goblin Market 145 Would not open lip from lip Lest they should cram a mouthful in: But laughed in heart to feel the drip Of juice that syrupped all her face, And lodged in dimples of her chin, And streaked her neck which quaked like curd. At last the evil people Worn out by her resistance Flung back her penny, kicked their fruit Along whichever road they took, Not leaving root or stone or shoot; Some writhed into the ground, Some dived into the brook With ring and ripple, Some scudded on the gale without a sound, Some vanished in the distance. In a smart, ache, tingle, Lizzie went her way; Knew not was it night or day; Sprang up the bank, tore thro' the furze, Threaded copse and dingle, And heard her penny jingle Bouncing in her purse, ± Its bounce was music to her ear. She ran and ran As if she feared some goblin man Dogged her with gibe or curse Or something worse: But not one goblin skurried after, Nor was she pricked by fear; The kind heart made her windy-paced That urged her home quite out of breath with haste And inward laughter. She cried `Laura,' up the garden, `Did you miss me? Come and kiss me. Never mind my bruises, Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices Squeezed from goblin fruits for you, Goblin pulp and goblin dew. Eat me, drink me, love me; Laura, make much of me: For your sake I have braved the glen And had to do with goblin merchant men.' Laura started from her chair, Flung her arms up in the air,










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

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









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



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


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



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





`Alas.. Still. But she'd scorn my brave endeavour.150 Thomas Hardy. `Hark! hark! The glorious distant sea!' And feel. 5 10 15 20 . In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury Standing upfingered. 'tis but yon dark And wind-swept pine to me!' Yet I would bear my shortcomings With meet tranquillity. doth a bird beshorn of wings Go earth-bound wilfully! ... and heaping Quaintest pains for by-and-by.. 25 30 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury The years have gathered grayly Since I danced upon this leaze With one who kindled gaily Love's fitful ecstasies! But despite the term as teacher.. As yet disquiet clings About us. But for the charge that blessed things I'd liefer not have be. She would not balm the breeze By murmuring `Thine for ever!' As she did upon this leaze. I would shun divinest duty To resume her worshipping. When at night he thinks me sleeping I feel him boring sly Within my bones. Yet I note the little chisel Of never-napping Time Defacing wan and grizzel The blazon of my prime. I would laugh with her and sing. I remain what I was then In each essential feature Of the fantasies of men.. O. I'd go the world with Beauty.. 1890. with. Enough. Rest shall we.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christ. worded by? ± The Simon Peter of a soul! to the blast È Tarpeõan-fast. Wording it how but by him that present and past. . her pride. the breast of the Maiden could obey so. in his triumph. then further it finds The appealing of the Passion is tenderer in prayer apart: Other. lord it with living and dead. Á For so conceived. Let him ride. and Startle the poor sheep back! is the shipwrack then a harvest. so to conceive thee is done. be a bell to. O of a feathery delicacy. But here was heart-throe. . heart's light. . does tempest carry the grain for thee? . There then! the Master. What was the feast followed the night Thou hadst glory of this nun? ± Feast of the one woman without stain. . birth of a brain. 28 But how shall I . 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. it is fathers that asking for ease Of the sodden-with-its-sorrowing heart. but pity of the rest of them! Heart. Heaven and earth are word of. The Wreck of the Deutschland 159 Time's tasking. electrical horror. . make me room there: Reach me a . ring of it. in wind's burly and beat of endragoned seas. she has thee for the pain. Thing that she . 29 Ah! there was a heart right! There was single eye! Read the unshapeable shock night And knew the who and the why. . Not danger. in measure her mind's Á Burden. Fancy. 30 Jesu. Ipse. deal. Word.Gerard Manley Hopkins. I gather. Head: He was to cure the extremity where he had cast her. the only one. but a blown beacon of light. despatch and have done with his doom there. King. come faster ± Strike you the sight of it? look at it loom there. that heard and kept thee and uttered thee outright. 215 220 225 230 235 240 31 Well. maid's son. for the Patience. Do. Jesu.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

in days ere I was born. bring from hill and stream and plain Whatever will not flower again. But if the Christmas field has kept Awns the last gleaner overstept. ± Oh. never two. E. O soul. XLVIII Be still. in this timeless grave to throw. man. 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. From: A Shropshire Lad 171 Undishonoured. whose flower is blue A single season. Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and foundedstrong. and feel the sun. Think rather. Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry: Then it was well with me. if now you grieve a little. be still. no waking. clear of danger. Now. and I muse for why and never find the reason. Turn safe to rest. I pace the earth. Be still. the arms you bear are brittle. Clean of guilt. But wear it and it will not fade. for they were long. it is but for a reason: Let us endure an hour and see injustice done. here's the wreath I've made: 'Tis not a gift that's worth the taking. And here. my soul. be still. XLVI Bring. The days when we had rest. Housman. pass hence and home. Men loved unkindness then. Snap not from the bitter yew His leaves that live December through. I did not mourn. my soul. ± call to thought. sombre on the snow. No cypress. bright with rime And sparkling to the cruel clime. Or shrivelled flax. Break no rosemary. but lightless in the quarry I slept and saw not. and drink the air.A. tears fell down. no dreams. 5 25 5 10 15 20 10 . To give him comfort: he and those Shall bide eternal bedfellows Where low upon the couch he lies Whence he never shall arise. Or if one haulm whose year is o'er Shivers on the upland frore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rochelle 109 `Just for a handful of silver he left us' Kiss. my heart's abhorrence!' 65 `Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths' 179 `Half a league. The 128 Lady of Shalott. and A. from Abroad 68 House of Life: A Sonnet-Sequence. Shepherd. ± let the first fruit be' 132 `I went out to the hazel wood' 178 `I will arise and go now. 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. how happy! those are words' 104 `I am poor brother Lippo. The 177 Lamentation of the Old Pensioner. The 128 `How do I love thee? Let me count the ways' 7 `How still. 33 `Into my heart an air that kills' 170 `Is my team ploughing' 168 `It little profits that an idle king' 23 `It nods and curtseys and recovers' 167 Julian M.182 Index of Titles and First Lines Found 134 Fra Lippo Lippi 75 `From Clee to heaven the beacon burns' 165 `Glory be to God for dappled things' 161 `Go. The 178 `Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife' `Let us begin and carry up this corpse' 98 64 6 . for they call you. and go to Innisfree' 177 `I wonder do you feel today' 97 Impercipient. half a league' 55 `Here is the ancient floor' 152 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven 179 Hoarded Joy 132 Home-Thoughts. The 19 Lake Isle of Innisfree. H. The' 72 `GR-R-R ± there go. H. pluck not. A 98 `grey sea and the long black land. from the hill' 119 Goblin Market 135 God's Grandeur 160 Grammarian's Funeral. The 149 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury 150 In Memoriam A. G.

I am not the first' 169 Parting at Morning 72 Pied Beauty 161 Porphyria's Lover 67 Princess. Lilith. A Medley. The 129 `Loveliest of trees. this is very sad to find!' 83 `Oh.Index of Titles and First Lines 183 `Long neglect has worn away' 103 `Look in my face. the cherry now' 166 Love's Fatality 130 Mariana 17 `Maud' 57 Meeting at Night 72 Memorabilia 90 Memorial Thresholds 132 Mid-Rapture 130 `Mild the mist upon the hill' 105 `Morning and evening' 135 Morte D'Arthur 24 `My aspens dear. The 31 Prisoner. where art thou now?' 104 `Of Adam's first wife. The' 103 `No coward soul is mine' 113 `Now hollow fires burn out to black' 172 Nuptial Sleep 134 `O Dream. The 64 Love Among the Ruins 72 Love-Letter. The 109 `rain set early in tonight. The' `On either side the river lie' 19 `On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble' 169 One Hope. The' 67 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 180 `Remember me when I am gone away' 135 Remember 135 Remembrance 108 133 180 . it is told' 132 `Of writing many books there is no end' 8 `Oh Galuppi. The 133 `Others. whose airy cages quelled' 162 `My first thought was. to be in England' 68 `old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. 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. my name is Might-have-been' Lost Leader. Baldassaro.

The' 117 Self-Dependence 116 Self-Unseeing. The 152 `Shot? so quick. so clean an ending?' 170 Shropshire Lad. A 83 Two in the Campagna 97 Ulysses 23 `Under the arch of Life. 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. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love' 130 `Tears. immortal Love' 33 `Sunset and evening star' 61 Superscription. The 176 `Round the cape of a sudden came the sea' 72 `Say not the struggle naught availeth' 114 Scholar-Gipsy. Lord 164 `Thou lovely and beloved. where love and death' `Vanity. The 178 Sonnets from the Portuguese 6 Soul's Beauty 131 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 Stolen Child. 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.184 Index of Titles and First Lines Reveille 166 Rose of the World. 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. I know not what they mean' 31 `Tell me not here. thou my love' 130 `Thou mastering me' 153 `time you won your town the race. A 133 Supreme Surrender 129 `Sweet Love. The 118 `sea is calm tonight. vanity!' `Wake: the silver dusk returning' 69 166 131 . it needs not saying' 174 `Terence. idle tears.

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. The 161 `With blackest moss the flower-plots' 17 Without Her 130 `world is charged with the grandeur of God. The 153 `years have gathered grayly. ± though unrevealed snow' 132 `What smouldering senses in death's sick delay' 128 `What winter floods. 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. what showers of spring' 103 `When I look forth at dawning. The' 150 `Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd' 116 `You did not come' 151 1887 165 . and sick of asking' 116 `What of her glass without her? The blank grey' 130 Á `What place so strange. The' 160 Wreck of the Deutschland.