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Blackwell Essential Literature
Old and Middle English Poetry Poetry from Chaucer to Spenser Renaissance Poetry Restoration Comedy Poetry from 1660 to 1780 Romantic Poetry Victorian Poetry
Victorian Poetry Edited by Duncan Wu based on The Victorians: An Anthology of Poetry and Poetics edited by Valentine Cunningham .
paper) 1. Duncan. Victorians. — (Blackwell essential literature) “Based on The Victorians: an anthology of poetry and poetics. electronic. For further information on Blackwell Publishing. edited by Valentine Cunningham. UK 550 Swanston Street. Wu. cm. stored in a retrieval system. USA 9600 Garsington Road. II. Victoria 3053. paper)—ISBN 0‐631‐23076‐9 (pbk.blackwellpublishing. except as permitted by the UK Copyright. : alk. recording or otherwise. Set in 8/10 pt Galliard by Kolam Information Services Pvt.V53 2002 821’. I. in any form or by any means. 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. p. Series PR1223 . or transmitted. Oxford OX4 2DQ. MA 02148‐5020. First published 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd 4 2007 Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data Victorian poetry / edited by Duncan Wu. Malden. Carlton.com . English poetry—19th century. Ltd.© 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd Editorial matter. III. Designs. : alk.808—dc21 2002020878 ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23075‐5 (alk. Furthermore.” Includes bibliographical references and index. and Patents Act 1988. and which has been manufactured from pulp processed using acid‐free and elementary chlorine‐free practices. photocopying. paper) A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. No part of this publication may be reproduced. visit our website: www. without the prior permission of the publisher. selection and arrangement © 2002 by Duncan Wu and Valentine Cunningham BLACKWELL PUBLISHING 350 Main Street. ISBN 0‐631‐23075‐0 (alk. Australia All rights reserved. paper)—ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23076‐2 (pbk. mechanical. Pondicherry. the publisher ensures that the text paper and cover board used have met acceptable environmental accreditation standards.
Break. The Charge of the Light Brigade From Maud I (`I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood') XXII (`Come into the garden. Break' From The Princess. 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. H.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. A Medley From In Memoriam A. from Abroad The Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church Meeting at Night Parting at Morning 63 64 65 67 68 69 72 72 .
and A. G.vi Contents Love Among the Ruins Fra Lippo Lippi A Toccata of Galuppi's `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' Memorabilia Andrea del Sarto Two in the Campagna A Grammarian's Funeral Never the Time and the Place 72 75 83 85 90 91 97 98 102 È Emily (Jane) Bronte (1818±1848) `What winter floods. what showers of spring' `Long neglect has worn away' `The night is darkening round me' `All hushed and still within the house' `O Dream. Brenzaida') Julian M. where art thou now?' `How still. walk with me' To Imagination Remembrance (`R. how happy! those are words' `Mild the mist upon the hill' `Come. Alcona to J. 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 .
Lord' 153 160 161 161 162 162 163 163 164 .Contents vii Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture Sonnet LIII: Without Her Sonnet LIV: Love's Fatality Part II: Change and Fate Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty Sonnet LXXXI: Memorial Thresholds Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy Sonnet XCVII: A Superscription Sonnet CI: The One Hope Nuptial Sleep `Found' (For a Picture) 129 130 130 130 131 131 131 132 132 132 133 133 134 134 Christina G. Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Goblin Market 135 135 Thomas Hardy (1840±1928) Neutral Tones Nature's Questioning The Impercipient In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury `I look into my glass' A Broken Appointment The Darkling Thrush The Self-Unseeing 148 148 149 150 151 151 151 152 Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844±1889) The Wreck of the Deutschland God's Grandeur The Windhover Pied Beauty Binsey Poplars Felix Randal `As Kingfishers Catch Fire' Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves `Thou art indeed just.
viii Contents A. Housman (1859±1936) From A Shropshire Lad From Last Poems 165 174 William Butler Yeats (1865±1939) The Stolen Child Down by the Salley Gardens The Rose of the World The Lake Isle of Innisfree When You Are Old Who Goes with Fergus? The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner The Song of Wandering Aengus He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Adam's Curse Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 175 176 176 177 177 177 178 178 179 179 180 181 Index of Titles and First Lines . E.
The acknowledged virtues of the Blackwell Anthologies are range and variety. Duncan Wu St Catherine's College. Oxford . compactness and ease of use. most of these volumes run to no more than 200 pages. Together. They will be particularly helpful to students hard-pressed for time. Each volume contains a general introduction designed to introduce the reader to those central works. those of the Essential Literature series are authoritative selection. these volumes comprise a crucial resource for anyone who reads or studies poetry. who need a digest of the poetry of each historical period.Series Editor's Preface The Blackwell Essential Literature series offers readers the chance to possess authoritative texts of key poems (and in one case drama) across the standard periods and movements. 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. Based on correspondent volumes in the Blackwell Anthologies series.
weather in the suburbs. omnibuses. `Dover Beach'. Robert Louis Stevenson.1 For range readers will require The Victorians ± and. Henley. as well as rural writers like John Clare. Alfred È (Lord) Tennyson. Psychical Research. dead dogs. Thomas Hardy. A. Ebenezer Elliot and William Barnes. booze. p. sado-masochism. poverty. Lewis Carroll. soap. In between he offers a rich selection of verse. There are few better examples of the Victorian preoccupation with death and its aftermath. `The Blessed Damozel'. Grimm's Law. soup. Emily (Jane) Bronte. Pressure of space necessarily denies admission to many of those anthologized by Professor Cunningham ± James Thomson. Rossetti. God. poems. In Memoriam is my comfort'. going to the dentist. cricket players. E. leeks. faith. Jemima Luke. to name a few. introduction. tobacco. Matthew Arnold. railway lines and railway trains. poets. pain. No less than the queen remarked to Tennyson that. poetry. This volume aims to do something different. science. war. . What this selection lacks in range it makes up for in depth. Christina G. Fanny Kemble. Gerard Manley Hopkins. Arthur Hugh Clough. including complete texts of `Fra Lippo Lippi'. 2000). Robert Browning. love. death. 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. fairies. xxxv. including anonymous street ballads. E. Tennyson and Browning predominate. Housman and Kipling at the other. Missing Links. W. Valentine Cunningham's invaluable The Victorians ranges from the late works of Wordsworth and Leigh Hunt at one end of the century to Yeats. It distills into a smaller space some of the most influential poetry of the period by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. chairs. The diversity is highlighted by Professor Cunningham in his introduction: So here are poems about cod-liver oil. which reflect the catholicity of interest within the period. `The Prisoner'. a cabbage leaf. It is on the one hand an intensely private poem about one man's 1 Valentine Cunningham. George Meredith. The Victorians: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. `The Scholar-Gipsy'. Eliza Cook and Dora Greenwell. the poetry of women poets such as Caroline Norton. genitalia. William Morris.Introduction Duncan Wu Recent anthologies of Victorian poetry and prose have provided readers with a remarkably diverse and wide-ranging body of work. should they desire even more. doubt. as they are the major poets of the age. New Women. other anthologies of Victorian writing. `Goblin Market' and `The Wreck of the Deutschland'. onions. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Housman and William Butler Yeats. snow. `Next to the Bible. paintings.
Tennyson: The Unquiet Heart (London: Faber. Browning's major contribution. H. and welcomed an acquaintance with their author. 1983). in common with that of Tennyson. In this sense In Memoriam. 1973). and is found in shorter poems such as `Tears. and not to yield' may not be the sort of sea-captain with whom we should set sail. Wordsworth possessed a copy of Tennyson's important 1842 Poems. the same year as In Memoriam. The influence of the Romantics was felt throughout the century. on a level beyond the verbal. which concerns the uncontrollable emotions that run deeply in the human heart. it doubtless has its faults ± it is relentless in its subjectivity. exemplifying Auden's contention that Tennyson's gift was for expressing feelings of `lonely terror and desire for death'. idle tears'.5 For his part. therefore. was to develop a new kind of psychological poetry ± one that explored the human mind from within. 311±13. 289±91. is a product of the zeitgeist. In such sonnets as `Surprised by joy' Wordsworth had attempted the same kind of investigation. 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. was the key to a new poetic. p. The Ulysses who in Tennyson's poem declares his desire `To strive. it can be.6 By the time Wordsworth died in 1850 Tennyson was in his early forties and Browning in his late thirties. was not published until 1850. Edward Mendelson (London: Faber.2 Introduction grief for another. 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. 3 See in particular In Memoriam lv and lvi. the divinely appointed one of Wordsworth. through the dramatic monologue. pp. Auden. 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. and on the other a work that speaks of the innermost anxieties of the age. As readers of such poetry we are in a privileged position. 4 In Memoriam lvi 15. Tennyson's preoccupation with states of mind looks back to Wordsworth. E. pp. to find. but their reign had ended: Tennyson and Browning were remaking the art. something rather important has happened. besides much else. a growing scepticism that was to find fuller expression in the poetry of Hardy and Housman later in the century. 6 See Robert Bernard Martin.7 2 W. Its potential would be further championed in the modern period by Eliot and Pound.3 The natural world of In Memoriam is not invariably. 1999). Fra Pandolf ± there is something darker at work. Warwick Slinn helpfully contextualizes In Memoriam in his essay on Victorian poetry in A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture ed. . 226. Forewords and Afterwords ed. rather. Wordsworth's most extensive examination of psychological process. And when the speaker of `A Toccata of Galuppi's' tells us that he feels `chilly and grown old'. 5 The Prelude. to seek. `red in tooth and claw'.4 the product of a cosmos lacking a benevolent deity. 7 See for instance Pound's `Piere Vidal Old' and Eliot's `Prufrock'. the most successful long poem of its day. comprehending moral failings with a clarity not always vouchsafed in life. Herbert Tucker (Oxford: Blackwell. which it is for us to infer.2 The fruit of nearly 17 years' labour. Tennyson and Browning exploited the form aware that our knowing so much more than their speakers.
Rochelle' (known in other versions as `The Prisoner') is a different kind of poem. In that context their aim was to introduce the qualities of Italian medieval painting. È Emily Bronte is best known as the author of Wuthering Heights (1847). an experimental (and partly autobiographical) verse-novel that describes the integration of love and work. G. Rochelle's vision shortly prior to expected death. This is evident from `Dover Beach'. sometimes approaching the subject of romantic passion. and it is easiest to think of the group as one of visual artists. Clough and Arnold knew each other from Oxford days. perhaps Arnold's greatest work. 9 Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology ed. they are not `from the Portuguese' at all. The extract from the First Book. `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. quite directly ± `active sexual demands and dangers'. they are original poems that are in some sense autobiographical. The emotional charge of the poetry is intense and often extreme. Where their subject was biblical or historical. which allows us to consider È Bronte as a mystic writer. The Victorians were not in themselves a movement. formed in 1848. 65. and reproducing in See for instance `Stanzas on the Death of Lord Byron'. Clough's agnosticism comes into sharp focus in the two poems presented here. like most movements. Duncan Wu (Oxford: Blackwell. particularly `That there are powers above us I admit'. hatred. in which he seeks for hope in a `Sea of Faith'. In Aurora Leigh (1856). moving easily from that of poet-lover to that of beloved. but the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Of course. 1995). and this often meant introducing `real' people into the work. using the colours of nature as they were. and are often considered as poets of doubt. Romanticism: An Anthology.Introduction 3 Browning's wife. at the centre of which is a moment. The pretence of translation sets up a bluff that allows Barrett Browning to explore her theme without anxiety. her subjects are love. but less so as the author of some of the most compelling poetry of the period. Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton (Oxford: Blackwell. 1108±9. only to turn to human love when faced by a world `Where ignorant armies clash by night'. 2000). 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. any more than the Romantics.9 That freedom also licenses her to experiment with different roles. they were less coherent and unified than they would have liked. it contrasts the `sick hurry' of the world with the comparative calm of the landscape. 2nd edn. below (see pp. and A.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. as experienced by women. was. She began her creative life as a Romantic poet ± publishing poems in national newspapers during the 1820s. and to choose subjects from contemporary life. engaging blank verse that in large measure accounts for the resurgence of this work's popularity in recent years. pp. p. In fact. 8 . 9±17). they wanted realism. working directly from the natural object in situ. begins this process with a kind of self-portrait written in a reflective. Taking its lead (and diction) from Keats. Elizabeth Barrett. has long been the subject of myth. suffering and fortitude. This is particularly evident in such lyrics as `No coward soul is mine' and `Cold in the earth'. ed. she set out to challenge more directly the gender discrimination of the day in an effort to formulate a feminist poetic. `Julian M.
James Sambrook notes that Rossetti's conception of the afterlife. p. Tom Paulin has noted how in `Neutral Tones' the poem culminates in a total picture. Her poetry is full of depression and denial. 438. it can be found in Tennyson's `Mariana' and some of the sonnets in Dante Gabriel Rossetti's House of Life sequence. his sister Christina is far less preoccupied with appearances. There is in all this a deliberation. and one also finds a frequent use of religious language for evocation (rather than its real meanings). In mood they cultivated a love of the morbid ± listlessness. its `philological and rhetorical passion'12 and concentration on the inner workings of the soul is pre-eminently a product of the nineteenth. 13 Tom Paulin. who is also thought of as a twentieth-century writer. which is why it is easy to regard as a product of the twentieth century. decay and desolation. 1975). The same cannot be said of the poetry of Hardy. Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology. As poets.10 Dante Gabriel was to make an art out of the decorativeness and elaboration of his verse. an `involute' or charged combination of emotion and concrete objects. which may have deterred some readers in earlier times. his concept of `inscape' referring to the interior perception into the being of the object. In Housman nature is `heartless. which during his subsequent painful experience has become a permanently meaningful impression. In fact. except that Housman's vision is if anything even more lacking in hope than Hardy's. most of his best poetry was written after 1900. p. have in the last two decades given her work an added resonance. and capable of blind indifference to human mortality. Thomas Hardy: The Poetry of Perception (London: Macmillan. 11 Reynolds and Leighton. In matters of style they sought a simplicity of manner. 1980). . stripped of the religious significance it possessed for such poets as Hopkins. 1988). The Victorians ed. 85. and the intense morbidity of her writing finds expression even in the fairy-tale `Goblin Market' (1862). witless'. Gerard Manley Hopkins's collected verse appeared only in 1918. `The Blessed Damozel' (1850) was intended as a companion piece to Poe's `The Raven' (1845).11 She is now one of the most widely studied of the Pre-Raphaelites. 31. Dante Gabriel and Christina Rossetti looked back to the Coleridge of `Christabel' and the Keats of `Isabella'.13 Not only is there no evidence of religious faith in Hardy's poetry. Unlike some of the Romantics. a sensitivity to sensory detail. a self-consciousness which can sometimes produce startlingly good poetry. p.4 Introduction minute detail the features of the natural world. In this sense it is not fanciful to consider Hardy and Housman alongside each other. nearly 30 years after his death. The poems included here are among the best of his Victorian period. Hopkins is insistently religious in his understanding: God is the inscape of the created world. 355. Preoccupations: Selected Prose 1968±1978 (London: Faber. Those feelings. as in both `Neutral Tones' and `The Darkling Thrush'. He is essentially a visionary writer. nature is bleak. stripped of all the redemptive power with which the Romantics had imbued it. 10 `The Rossettis and Other Contemporary Poets'. a selfconscious medievalism and a highly developed taste in decoration. 12 Seamus Heaney. so that in 1995 Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton could confirm her place as `one of the greatest poets of the nineteenth century'. published in Satires of Circumstance (1914) and Moments of Vision (1917). indeed. p. Arthur Pollard (London: Sphere Books. where the blessed damozel weeps in frustrated longing to join her lover (rather than God) `is not even remotely Christian'.
but in truth the Romantic urge to unify and idealize had never really evaporated. I am much indebted to Valentine Cunningham in what follows. 1999). Further Reading Cunningham. p. Margaret and Leighton. Raine writes of Yeats's place within a fugitive intellectual tradition of metaphysical and mystic thought. Valentine (ed. a pantheon that includes Thomas Taylor the Platonist. 1830±1870 (New Haven. to the outright desolation of Housman and Hardy. Yeats's great poetry. and anyone with a serious interest in this poetry should turn to his anthology. . to trace a course from the sublime hopes of Wordsworth. Irish fairy traditionalism. then.14 Never less than exalted in his imaginative ambitions. the immortal longings with which the 1800s had begun. and nationalist politics in a heady cocktail unlike anything else. Yeats. This knowledge is none the less exact and verifiable for being immeasurable. It underpins the medievalism of Tennyson and the Pre-Raphaelites. `The Lake Isle of Innisfree' seems like an unexpected way to end a century characterized by increasing doubt and despondency. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (1999). Swedenborg and Blake. listed below.) (2000) The Victorians: An Anthology of Poetry and Poetics (Oxford: Blackwell. for fuller scholarly treatment. Yeats's poetry combines the influences of the Pre-Raphaelites. There have been many fine books about this great writer. the French symbolists. B. Belief may be questioned. Walter E. W. was founded on an unquenchable aspiration.) 14 Kathleen Raine. which would produce its finest fruits in the next century. through the scepticism of Clough. Plotinus. B. Herbert F. uncovering the traces of that `vast generalization' he discerned in the fragmentary portions he assembled. and the author of the Upanishads: Yeats did not study Plato and Plotinus.) Houghton. as episodes in the `history of ideas' but because he was tracing a continuous tradition of knowledge. 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). but can't be eliminated from the human soul.Introduction 5 This collection of essential poetry of the nineteenth century would appear. Except that it doesn't. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (Ipswich: Golgonooza Press. its truth lies in experiences and disciplines of the mind itself and in the testimony (unanimous and worldwide) of `revelation'.) (1999) A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture (Oxford: Blackwell. but I can't think of a better short guide than Kathleen Raine's W. B.) Reynolds. can be heard beneath the `tremulous cadence' of the sea in `Dover Beach'. Angela (eds) (1995) Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. (1957) The Victorian Frame of Mind. Swedenborg. And in no one was it more vigorously evident than in the work of W. (ed.) Tucker. 76. CT: Yale University Press. the kabbalistic and spiritualist worthies with whom he consorted.
finding pure. let the silence of my womanhood Commend my woman-love to thy belief. me . Dearest.Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806±1861) Sonnets from the Portuguese (extracts) XIII And wilt thou have me fashion into speech The love I bear thee. The kiss my mother left here when she died. . while the winds are rough. XXIV Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife. By a most dauntless. And hold the torch out. any more. ± Seeing that I stand unwon. thou. but Love is justified: Take it. . in brief. Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully I ring out to the full brown length and say `Take it. XVIII I never gave a lock of hair away To a man. Between our faces. . Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside Through sorrow's trick. . to cast light on each! ± I drop it at thy feet. . My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee. I cannot teach My hand to hold my spirit so far off From myself . of love hid in me out of reach. Shut in upon itself and do no harm 5 10 5 10 . . Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree.' My day of youth went yesterday. except this to thee. that I should bring thee proof In words. I thought the funeral-shears Would take this first. voiceless fortitude. from all those years. As girls do. finding words enough. . Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief. Nay. It only may Now shade on two pale cheeks. however wooed. And rend the garment of my life. the mark of tears.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Than that first kiss. Smiles. now soft and warm. as they turn from Praise. all the summer through 5 10 5 10 5 10 . of all my life! ± and. thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden. The second passed in height The first. With sanctifying sweetness. and sought the forehead. Dear. O beyond meed! That was the chrism of love. And ever since it grew more clean and white. Life to life ± I lean upon thee. . tears. . After the click of the shutting. Growing straight. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here plainer to my sight. if God choose. as men strive for Right. I have been proud and said. Slow to world-greetings . I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach. . I love thee freely. . purple state! since when. Very whitely still The lilies of our lives may reassure Their blossoms from their roots! accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer. my own. who made us rich. he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write. The third. I love thee purely. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. by sun and candlelight. out of man's reach. without alarm. Against the stab of worldlings who if rife Are weak to injure. And let us hear no sound of human strife. indeed.' When the angels speak. ± I love thee with the breath. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs. and with my childhood's faith. can make us poor. was folded down In perfect. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need. Half falling on the hair. And feel as safe as guarded by a charm. and half missed. XXXVIII First time he kissed me. Sonnets from the Portuguese 7 In this close hand of Love. list. `My Love. did precede. quick with its `Oh. I shall but love thee better after death.' XLII How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. upon my lips. XLIII Beloved. God only. when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. . on the hill. which love's own crown.
5 10 From Aurora Leigh Dedication to John Kenyon. ± Will write my story for my better self. nor missed the sun and showers. and preparing once more to quit England. as I used to do Thy flowers. Here's ivy! ± take them. From Aurora Leigh And winter. As when you paint your portrait for a friend. those beds and bowers Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue. And which on warm and cold days I withdrew From my heart's ground. The words `cousin' and `friend' are constantly recurring in this poem. you have believed in me. and it seemed as if they grew In this close room. 1856 First Book Of writing many books there is no end. from your unforgetting E. the most mature of my works. in the like name of that love of ours. B. therefore. B. And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses. I have not so far left the coasts of life 5 10 . their roots are left in mine. And wait thy weeding: yet here's eglantine. and affection. will write now for mine. through my various efforts in literature and steps in life. I venture to leave in your hands this book. ± cousin and friend. So. in a sense of less equality and greater disinterestedness than `Romney''s. and been generous to me. just To hold together what he was and is. far beyond the common uses of mere relationship or sympathy of mind. Esq. the last pages of which have been finished under the hospitality of your roof. Take back these thoughts. writing thus. Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it Long after he has ceased to love you. this poor sign of esteem. and the one into which my highest convictions upon Life and Art have entered: that as. And tell thy soul.8 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. in sight of the public. gratitude. which here unfolded too. I. Indeed. October 17. so you may kindly accept. am still what men call young. Ending. my own dearest cousin and friend. 39. Devonshire Place. borne with me. and keep them where they shall not pine: Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true.
not so far. too young. pulling through the gap. victorious joy. . Some upstroke of an alpha and omega Expressing the old scripture. when she had left us both. Books. I nibbled here and there At this or that box. . ± where. stroke it heavily. Piled high. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 .' rather say. be reverent. Still I sit and feel My father's slow hand. ± The apocalypse. packed large. to sit alone. O my father's hand Stroke the poor hair down. mark. erased and covered by a monk's. But still I catch my mother at her post Beside the nursery-door. fine trace of what was written once. Sonnets from the Portuguese 9 To travel inland. be obedient.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Stroke out my childish curls across his knee. Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon. but the man Is born in ignorance of his element. ± his spirit-insight dulled And crossed by his sensations. ± Draw. ± For those dumb motions of imperfect life Are oracles of vital Deity Attesting the Hereafter. press the child's head closer to thy knee! I'm still too young. by a Longus! poring on Which obscene text. `Hush. books! I had found the secret of a garret-room Piled high with cases in my father's name. we may discern perhaps Some fair. a prophet's holograph Defiled. And hear Assunta's daily jest (she knew He liked it better than a better jest) Inquire how many golden scudi went To make such ringlets. books. creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past. with finger up. A palimpsest. I write .] The cygnet finds the water. Then. . that I cannot hear That murmur of the outer Infinite Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep When wondered at for smiling. . And feels out blind at first. hush ± here's too much noise!' while her sweet eyes Leap forward. haste. disorganised By sin i' the blood. Presently We feel it quicken in the dark sometimes. taking part against her word In the child's riot. [. . Let who says `The soul's a clean white paper. In heats of terror.
Opposed to relative. And temporal truths. That thus I love you. That carpet-dusting. Exaggerators of the sun and moon. dreamers after dark. and not laugh? Those virtuous liars. or our senators. clears herself To elemental freedom ± thus. The only teachers who instruct mankind. Erect. As the earth Plunges in fury. `This is soul. through conventional grey glooms. sublime. throwing flat The marts and temples. And that's the measure of an angel. am I one with you. From Aurora Leigh The first book first. and. I chanced upon the poets.10 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. ± or but one through love? Does all this smell of thyme about my feet 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . Is not the imperative labour after all. Ay. the triumphal gates And towers of observation. . because the time was ripe. reign. says The apostle. ± the measure of a man. . The poet suddenly will catch them up With his voice like a thunder . To find man's veritable stature out. and feel. the only holders by His sun-skirts. Look round. reap. Here's God down on us! what are you about?' How all those workers start amid their work. my soul. in the morning's dark. My own best poets. comparative. look up. And soothsayers in a teacup? I write so Of the only truth-tellers. dine. when the internal fires Have reached and pricked her heart. And how I felt it beat Under my pillow. And dust the flaunty carpets of the world For kings to walk on. This is life. ± The only speakers of essential truth. gauge railroads. a moment's space. An hour before the sun would let me read! My books! At last. What's this. now left to God. and while your common men Build pyramids. Let go conventions and sprang up surprised. Convicted of the great eternities Before two worlds. From just a shadow on a charnel-wall. At poetry's divine first finger-touch. Aurora Leigh. though a pretty trade. You write so of the poets. this word is being said in heaven.
And set me in the Olympian roar and round Of luminous faces. With eyes too happy. O delight And triumph of the poet. Sonnets from the Portuguese 11 Conclude my visit to your holy hill In personal presence. when the rhythmic turbulence Of blood and brain swept outward upon words. with their eyes! How those gods look! Enough so. Ganymede. As if one came back from the dead and spoke. Would no sound come? or is the music mine. O life. shakes the heart Of all the men and women in the world. are absolutely dumb If not melodious. blanching them By turning up their under-natures till They trembled in dilation. like the stops Of pipe or flute. you did not blow. the speaker. To keep the mouths of all the godheads moist For everlasting laughters. and dogs. or but testify The rustling of your vesture through my dreams With influent odours? When my joy and pain. do you play on me. ± I. a familiar thing Become divine i' the utterance! while for him The poet. sooth. ± passionate for truth Beyond these senses.' a woman's common `no. The palpitating angel in his flesh Thrills inly with consenting fellowship To those innumerous spirits who sun themselves Outside of time. sheep. O poetry. We shall not bear above a round or two ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 .Elizabeth Barrett Browning. ± Which means life in life! cognisant of life Beyond this blood-beat. my life. And says the word so that it burns you through With a special revelation. My pipers. he expands with joy. for a cup-bearer. with both grappling feet still hot From Zeus's thunder. My thought and aspiration. As wind upon the alders. ± and if. ± who would say A man's mere `yes. ± My eagle.' A little human hope of that or this. myself. ± poetry. Half drunk across the beaker. 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. As a man's voice or breath is called his own. who has ravished me Away from all the shepherds.
As children. I lived. who would strike steel on steel If steel had offered. And wrote because I lived ± unlicensed else: My heart beat in my brain. ± and. Too often sow their wild oats in tame verse. In full front sun-face. like most young poets. which my neighbour's field. cold with dew. Being acted on and acting seem the same: In that first onrush of life's chariot-wheels. ± and find ourselves Face-down among the pine-cones. Which mine. near all the birds Will sing at dawn. Young men. While the dogs bark. Many fervent souls Strike rhyme on rhyme. You catch a sight of Nature. The work more withers. and to sign it like a queen. ay. So. and maids. Alas. and many a shepherd scoffs. All analysis comes late. though. through seeing the light. with other power. earliest. confounded. in a flush Of individual life. and your eyelids wink And drop before the wonder of't. cowslips: ± the more pains they take. in a restless heat Of doing something. you miss The form. We scarce distinguish. And so. Before they sit down under their own vine And live for use. Many tender souls Have strung their losses on a rhyming thread. `What's come now to the youth?' Such ups and downs Have poets. The thing's too common.12 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. ± with imposthumes And manias usual to the race. I never analysed Myself even. if we are loved or love. In those days. those days. From Aurora Leigh Â We drop the golden cup at Here's foot And swoon back to the earth. And ape a Bourbon in a crown of straws. We know not if the forests move or we. Am I such indeed? The name Is royal. The love within us and the love without Are mixed. Howbeit I dare not: 'tis too easy to go mad. Life's violent flood Abolished bounds. With sense of power and ache. Is what I dare not. I poured myself 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 . We play at leap-frog over the god Term. ± though some royal blood Would seem to tingle in me now and then. what mattered? It is so in youth. ± and yet we do not take The chaffering swallow for the holy lark.
a little warped. And beardless Byron academical. 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . . now and then. From such white heats! ± bucolics. Oft. And so with others. And made the living answer for the dead. Weak for art only. Distilled to a mere drop. We call the Muse . in carrying the young blood. to make his mother laugh. falling like a tear Upon the world's cold cheek to make it burn For ever. writ On happy mornings. Profaning nature. to attain to clairvoyance. Will crack even.' ± we're too legal. . As if still ignorant of counterpoint. ± (the life of a long life. The wine-skins. Nor handle. And works it turbid. That nearly all young poets should write old. ± and still The memory mixes with the vision.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. not young. And died. perhaps. spoils. That leaps for love. What make-believe. where the cows Would scare the writer if they splashed the mud In lashing off the flies. indeed. and achieved Mere lifeless imitations of live verse. and songs of love. Spare the old bottles! ± spill not the new wine. ± didactics. With so much earnest! what effete results. shrill with trumps A babe might blow between two straining cheeks Of bubbled rose. Like cast-off nosegays picked up on the road. Such have not settled long and deep enough In trance. driven Against the heels of what the master said.) by that strong excepted soul. But. with a morning heart. start between the boughs As often as a stag's. And elegiac griefs. From virile efforts! what cold wire-drawn odes. who write young: We beat the phorminx till we hurt our thumbs. `O Muse. Ensphered himself in twenty perfect years. the man who never stepped In gradual progress like another man. I count it strange. By Keats's soul. And counterfeiting epics. Sonnets from the Portuguese 13 Along the veins of others. `Touch not. turning grandly on his central self. as the new wine gurgles in. do not taste. benignant Muse!' ± As if we had seen her purple-braided head With the eyes in it. The worse for being warm: all these things. is active for resolve. and hard to understand. the ancient forms Will thrill. That Pope was sexagenarian at sixteen. It may be.
In vortices of glory and blue air. They had not set there. struck a colour up the cheeks. And. My soul was singing at a work apart Behind the wall of sense. rounding to the spheric soul the thin Pined body. Who had set it there? My father's sister started when she caught My soul agaze in my eyes. Then I sate and teased The patient needle till it split the thread. Before the rain has got into my barn And set the grains a-sprouting. Because myself was true in writing them. `I know there's something wrong. Reduced the irregular blood to settled rhythms. Made cool the forehead with fresh-sprinkling dreams. But I could not hide My quickening inner life from those at watch. What. as safe from harm As sings the lark when sucked up out of sight. like the rest. ± and demurred. as before. They saw a light at a window now and then. 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 . therefore. `Aurora. . Behind you. And verify my abstract of the book? And should I sit down to the crochet work? Was such her pleasure?' . I wrote False poems. I was not. And so. I. sad. and thought them true. have you done Your task this morning? ± have you read that book? And are you ready for the crochet here?' ± As if she said. again. `Would she hear my task. In order to discover the Muse-Sphinx. . The inner life informed the outer life. through forced work and spontaneous work. But plainly she objected. ± For me. She could not say I had no business with a sort of soul. From Aurora Leigh Or perhaps. That souls were dangerous things to carry straight Through all the spilt saltpetre of the world. have writ true ones since With less complacence. She said sometimes.14 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Which oozed off from it in meandering lace From hour to hour. The melancholy desert must sweep round. I know I have not ground you down enough To flatten and bake you to a wholesome crust For household duties and properties. peradventure. you're green With out-door impudence? you almost grow?' To which I answered.
± so many a green slope built on slope Betwixt me and the enemy's house behind. `We'll live. scholars upon different tracks. lined with orchises. the sky Can stoop to tenderly and the wheatfields climb. Such nooks of valleys. paint a body well You paint a soul by implication. It sounded as an instrument that's played Too far off for the tune ± and yet it's fine To listen. ± And view the ground's most gentle dimplement. Sonnets from the Portuguese 15 Though somewhat faint. Ofter we walked only two. . shivering with the fear And passion of the course. Very oft. `When I was last in Italy' . Very oft alone. A ripple of land. ± at intervals The mythic oaks and elm-trees standing out Self-poised upon their prodigy of shade. We read. or quarrelled. . And said. or otherwise Through secret windings of the afternoons. Before the day was born. Fed full of noises by invisible streams. . ± I thought my father's land was worthy too Of being my Shakspeare's. The dogs are on us ± but we will not die. And open pastures. Vincent Carrington. Aurora! we'll be strong. or wander. Unlicensed. I clenched my brows across My blue eyes greatening in the looking-glass. such little hills. Because he holds that. And when. as it chanced: We were not lovers. Pleasant walks! for if He said .' Whoever lives true life. where you scarcely tell White daisies from white dew.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. will love true love. as a hunted stag Will take the waters. not unfrequently with leave To walk the third with Romney and his friend The rising painter. I threw my hunters off and plunged myself Among the deep hills. Whom men judge hardly. (As if God's finger touched but did not press In making England!) such an up and down Of verdure. nor even friends well matched ± Say rather. as bee-bonneted. 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 . ± like a rest Made sweeter for the step upon the grass. like The grand first Master. ± nothing too much up or down. . I learnt to love that England. at last Escaped. If cousin Romney pleased to walk with me. I dared to rest. or talked.
vales. Farms.16 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. let us pray. howsoe'er the world Went ill. ± Hills. and I. ± At which word His brow would soften. he. Confused with smell of orchards. where the cows push out Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths 'Twixt dripping ash-boughs. ± and he bore with me In melancholy patience. 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 . `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. And clapped my hands. But we. certainly The thrushes still sang in it.' I said. The evil is upon us while we speak: Deliver us from evil. overbold For what might be. . From Aurora Leigh And thinkers disagreed. Even then was evil near us. woods. indeed. who call things good and fair. netted in a silver mist. And shook my pulses and the elms' new leaves. and called all very fair. doubled up among the hills. I flattered all the beauteous country round. not unkind. as he related. While. `See. the clouds. ± The tangled hedgerows. And cottage gardens smelling everywhere. But then the thrushes sang. carrying gold. In the beginning when God called all good. and held my finger up. breaking into voluble ecstasy. the fields. the skies. granges. ± And then I turned. ± hedgerows all alive With birds and gnats and large white butterflies Which look as if the May-flower had caught life And palpitated forth upon the wind. overfull Of what is. The happy violets hiding from the roads The primroses run down to. And cottage chimneys smoking from the woods. it is writ. As poets use . haply. . And cattle grazing in the watered vales. And bade him mark that.
He cometh not. She drew her casement-curtain by. I would that I were dead!' III Upon the middle of the night. She only said `My life is dreary.' she said. Her tears fell ere the dews were dried. I would that I were dead!' II Her tears fell with the dews at even. He cometh not. She only said `The night is dreary. She said `I am aweary. Unlifted was the clinking latch. And glanced athwart the glooming flats. 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. aweary. After the flitting of the bats.' she said: She said `I am aweary.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson (1809±1892) Mariana `Mariana in the moated grange. The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the peach to the garden-wall. When thickest dark did trance the sky. one and all.' ± Measure for Measure I With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted. The broken sheds looked sad and strange. She could not look on the sweet heaven. Either at morn or eventide. aweary. Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. 5 10 15 20 25 .
She only said. He cometh not. `I am aweary. `The night is dreary. The doors upon their hinges creaked. She said. She said. He cometh not. `I am aweary. across her brow. Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed. She only said. The blue fly sung i' the pane. The clustered marish-mosses crept.18 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. `I am aweary. He cometh not. Mariana In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn. For leagues no other tree did dark The level waste. Hard by a poplar shook alway. to and fro.' she said. Old voices called her from without. I would that I were dead!' V And ever when the moon was low. aweary. She only said. Old faces glimmered thro' the doors. the rounding gray. the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked. `I am aweary. I would that I were dead!' VI All day within the dreamy house. I would that I were dead!' 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . He cometh not. round and small. And o'er it many. She said. All silver-green with gnarled bark. `The day is dreary. `My life is dreary. Old footsteps trod the upper floors.' she said.' she said. And the shrill winds were up and away. aweary. `My life is dreary. aweary. But when the moon was very low. Or from the crevice peered about. I would that I were dead!' IV About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blackened waters slept. And wild winds bound within their cell. She said. In the white curtain. aweary. She only said. She saw the gusty shadow sway.' she said.
Overlook a space of flowers. but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers. Slide the heavy barges trailed By slow horses. did all confound Her sense. The island of Shalott. and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made. The Lady of Shalott 19 VII The sparrow's chirrup on the roof. By the margin. The Lady of Shalott? 5 10 15 20 25 . The slow clock ticking. aspens quiver. and four gray towers. Four gray walls. willow-veiled. Then. `I am aweary.' she said. And up and down the people go. that I were dead!' 75 80 The Lady of Shalott Part I On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye. He will not come. Willows whiten. and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. `I am very dreary. And thro' the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot. and unhailed The shallop flitteth silken-sailed Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land. 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. said she. And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below. Oh God. She wept. That clothe the wold and meet the sky. aweary.
And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year. An abbot on an ambling pad. The Lady of Shalott Only reapers. Down to towered Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary. with plumes and lights And music. A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. Goes by to towered Camelot.' Part II There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. Pass onward from Shalott. And little other care hath she. 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . The Lady of Shalott. Shadows of the world appear. reaping early In among the bearded barley. And so she weaveth steadily. Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad. Listening. And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true.20 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. whispers `'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott. And the red cloaks of market-girls. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad. She has heard a whisper say. For often thro' the silent nights A funeral. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights. Came two young lovers lately wed. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls. went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead. Or long-haired page in crimson clad. The Lady of Shalott. Piling sheaves in uplands airy. And there the surly village-churls. Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly. She knows not what the curse may be.
She looked down to Camelot. The bridle-bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazoned baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung. Below the starry clusters bright. trailing light. And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. He rode between the barley-sheaves.' by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. She made three paces thro' the room. Some bearded meteor. The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves. The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned like one burning flame together. His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed. From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror. She left the web. The gemmy bridle glittered free. Beside remote Shalott. As he rode down to Camelot.' said The Lady of Shalott. she left the loom. Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves. The Lady of Shalott 21 `I am half-sick of shadows.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. From underneath his helmet flowed His coal-black curls as on he rode. And as he rode his armour rung. Moves over still Shalott. As often thro' the purple night. Beside remote Shalott. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather. As he rode down to Camelot. She saw the water-lily bloom. That sparkled on the yellow field. She saw the helmet and the plume. On burnished hooves his war-horse trode. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. `Tirra lirra. A redcross knight for ever kneeled To a lady in his shield.
The mirror cracked from side to side. and down she lay. Heard a carol. Till her blood was frozen slowly. By garden-wall and gallery. Seeing all his own mischance ± With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. The pale yellow woods were waning. Lying. And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. The broad stream bore her far away. Chanted loudly. The Lady of Shalott. holy. mournful. And down the river's dim expanse ± Like some bold seer in a trance. The broad stream in his banks complaining. Singing in her song she died. Under tower and balcony. Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining.22 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. A gleaming shape she floated by. robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right ± The leaves upon her falling light ± Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among. The Lady of Shalott Out flew the web and floated wide. `The curse is come upon me. The Lady of Shalott. The Lady of Shalott. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain. chanted lowly. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . They heard her singing her last song. For ere she reached upon the tide The first house by the water-side. And her eyes were darkened wholly. Heavily the low sky raining Over towered Camelot.' cried The Lady of Shalott. Turned to towered Camelot. Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat.
And round the prow they read her name. How dull it is to pause. I am a part of all that I have met. By this still hearth. To rust unburnished.' 160 165 170 Ulysses It little profits that an idle king. and know not me. and alone. Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer. For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known. Ulysses 23 A corse between the houses high. Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravelled world. cities of men And manners. `She has a lovely face. All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space. and feed. not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life. and vile it were 5 10 15 20 25 . but honoured of them all. And drunk delight of battle with my peers. That hoard. Myself not least. I am become a name. God in his mercy lend her grace. governments. something more. And they crossed themselves for fear. have suffered greatly. and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea. councils. both with those That loved me.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. among these barren crags. lord and dame. on shore. I cannot rest from travel: I will drink. Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race. to make an end. Knight and burgher. Life piled on life Were all too little. Out upon the wharfs they came. Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly. and sleep. He said. Matched with an aged wife. whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. climates. The Lady of Shalott. Silent into Camelot. and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence. A bringer of new things. The Lady of Shalott.
Some work of noble note. When I am gone. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles. and wrought. by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. One equal temper of heroic hearts. Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. And see the great Achilles. but strong in will To strive. discerning to fulfil This labour. Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. to find. To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle ± Well-loved of me. Morte d'Arthur For some three suns to store and hoard myself. and. and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven. for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset. Made weak by time and fate. until I die. There lies the port. decent not to fail In offices of tenderness. Push off. free foreheads ± you and I are old. Tho' much is taken. whom we knew. Most blameless is he. Come. and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. centred in the sphere Of common duties. Souls that have toiled. that which we are. Death closes all: but something ere the end. And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star. may yet be done. to seek. and not to yield.24 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. I mine. smite The sounding furrows. He works his work. mine own Telemachus. much abides. and pay Meet adoration to my household gods. and opposed Free hearts. and the baths Of all the western stars. 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. my friends. My mariners. and thought with me ± That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine. 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Old age hath yet his honour and his toil. This is my son. we are. sitting well in order. .
Clothed in white samite. On one side lay the Ocean. because his wound was deep. stepping down By zigzag paths. Morte d'Arthur 25 Until King Arthur's table. And bore him to a chapel nigh the field. Watch what I see. and the moon was full. Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot. Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. the last of all his knights. and lightly bring thee word. man by man. wonderful. Such a sleep They sleep ± the men I loved. and juts of pointed rock. I perish by this people which I made.' So saying. That stood on a dark strait of barren land. And fling him far into the middle meer: Watch what thou seest. an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake. Sir Bedivere. and lightly bring me word. Yet I thy hest will all perform at full. The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. to leave thee thus. 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . from the ruined shrine he stepped. and on one Lay a great water. I think that we Shall nevermore. ± Though Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more ± but let what will be. be. with flakes of foam. and have worn it. alone. He. A little thing may harm a wounded man. Aidless. King Arthur: then. chill. mystic. and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill. I am so deeply smitten through the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. And in the moon athwart the place of tombs. Had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord. one summer noon. as in the days that were. and smitten through the helm.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: `The sequel of today unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. Holding the sword ± and how I rowed across And took it. Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. like a king: And. Old knights.' To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: `It is not meet. at any future time. A broken chancel with a broken cross. this also shall be known: But now delay not: take Excalibur. Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days. wheresoever I am sung or told In aftertime. Sir King. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur.
and knows not what he does. fixed in thought. and lightly bring me word'. That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. Morte d'Arthur Came on the shining levels of the lake. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled. What record.' To whom replied King Arthur. if this were done? What harm. against himself ? The King is sick. watch. How curiously and strangely chased. Counting the dewy pebbles. he smote His palms together. and he cried aloud. Then went Sir Bedivere the second time. Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. as he stood. or else a motion of the meer. ran forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt: For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks. and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewellery. Or voice. And the wild water lapping on the crag. Were it well to obey then. or what relic of my lord Should be to aftertime. So strode he back slow to the wounded King. undone? deep harm to disobey. one worthy note. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur. either hand. Myriads of topaz-lights. Brightening the skirts of a long cloud. if a king demand An act unprofitable. But when he saw the wonder of the hilt. Yet now. faint and pale: `Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name. the winter moon. I charge thee. quickly go again As thou art lief and dear. but empty breath 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . In act to throw: but at the last it seemed Better to leave Excalibur concealed There in the many-knotted waterflags. `And if indeed I cast the brand away. This is a shameful thing for men to lie. And o'er him. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: `Hast thou performed my mission which I gave? What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: `I heard the ripple washing in the reeds. as beseemed È Thy fealty. Surely a precious thing. Not rendering true answer. Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. and do the thing I bad thee. This way and that dividing the swift mind. drawing it. What good should follow this. Should thus be lost for ever from the earth.26 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. nor like a noble knight: For surer sign had followed.
Excalibur. get thee hence: But.' Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere. winning reverence. or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. and drew him under in the meer. But now much honour and much fame were lost. Nine years she wrought it. In whom should meet the offices of all. Shot like a streamer of the northern morn. And the long ripple washing in the reeds. and clutched the sword. Morte d'Arthur 27 And rumours of a doubt? but were this kept. Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt. And lightly went the other to the King. Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night.' So spake he. and whirled in an arch. Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 . Either from lust of gold. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon. Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings. And. I see thee what thou art. and ran.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. miserable and unkind. For thou. traitor-hearted! Woe is me! Authority forgets a dying king. rose an arm Clothed in white samite. And flashing round and round. 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. clouded with his own conceit. sitting in the deeps Upon the hidden bases of the hills. wonderful. Yet.' So might some old man speak in the aftertime To all the people. So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur: But ere he dipt the surface. And caught him by the hilt. plunged Among the bulrush-beds. Then spoke King Arthur. for a man may fail in duty twice.' To whom replied King Arthur. `King Arthur's sword. if thou spare to fling Excalibur. leaping down the ridges lightly. much in wrath: `Ah. and brandished him Three times. And so strode back slow to the wounded King. the latest-left of all my knights. untrue. And strongly wheeled and threw it. with noises of the northern sea. Saying. Unknightly. Laid widowed of the power in his eye That bowed the will. And the third time may prosper. I will arise and slay thee with my hands. Some one might show it at a joust of arms. mystic.
till I die. mystic.28 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. for I never saw. So great a miracle as yonder hilt. with pain. 'tis time that I were gone. Slowly. and kneeling on one knee. behold an arm. I closed mine eyelids. Then with both hands I flung him. Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge. He heard the deep behind him. or seen?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: `Sir King. Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern.' So saying. Larger than human on the frozen hills. O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands. and descending they were ware 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 . `Quick. But. And bear me to the margin.' But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge. Not though I live three lives of mortal men. And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. here or elsewhere. That caught him by the hilt. lo! the level lake. yet I fear My wound hath taken cold. Muttering and murmuring at his ear. and I shall die. wonderful. Morte d'Arthur Then spoke King Arthur. and I shall die. And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes As in a picture. and looking. So sighed the King. lest the gems Should blind my purpose.' And answer made King Arthur. and brandished him Three times. But when I looked again. and a cry Before. Beneath them. breathing hard: `My end draws nigh. but he found not words. Then took with care. And the long glories of the winter moon. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight. and drew him under in the meer. Him Sir Bedivere Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears. Clothed with his breath. drawing thicker breath: `Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. Clothed in white samite. Speak out: what is it thou hast heard. as he walked. King Arthur panted hard. as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels ± And on a sudden. as he walked. wheeling him. and all to left and right The bare black cliff clanged round him. His own thought drove him like a goad. Nor shall see. reclining on his arm. from the pavement he half rose. Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms. quick! I fear it is too late. And would have spoken.
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,
È Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars.. Or red with spirted purple of the vats. sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears.. And come. and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me.. Now folds the lily all her sweetness up. And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. O Death in Life. Now sleeps the crimson petal. deep as love. Or foxlike in the vine. 10 15 20 5 10 5 10 15 . Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice. and wild with all regret. Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost. And slips into the bosom of the lake: So fold thyself.. And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others. O maid.32 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and leaves A shining furrow. now the white. Come down. from yonder mountain height: What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) In height and cold. so fresh. Ah. my dearest. when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square. by the happy threshold. Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize. Now slides the silent meteor on. Dear as remembered kisses after death. thou. To sit a star upon the sparkling spire. So sad. come. the splendour of the hills? But cease to move so near the Heavens. For Love is of the valley. come thou down And find him. for Love is of the valley. nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the Silver Horns. and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine. the days that are no more.. the days that are no more. he. Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me. . From: The Princess. So sad. so strange. . the days that are no more.. And all thy heart lies open unto me. Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk. A Medley Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge. as thy thoughts in me. Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine. Deep as first love.
and spill Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke. The moan of doves in immemorial elms. Thou madest Death. H. art more than they. the children call. H. H. Strong Son of God. Our wills are ours. Whom we. and lo. A beam in darkness: let it grow. that have not seen thy face. thou: Our wills are ours. and leave The monstrous ledges there to slope. 33 That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: But follow. O Lord. Thou seemest human and divine. We have but faith: we cannot know. immortal Love. From In Memoriam A. They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of thee. and I Thy shepherd pipe. Believing where we cannot prove. And thou hast made him: thou art just. That like a broken purpose waste in air: So waste not thou. The highest. Thou madest Life in man and brute. Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: Thou madest man. By faith. but every sound is sweet. He thinks he was not made to die. to make them thine. Sweeter thy voice. Our little systems have their day. let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley. thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made. And yet we trust it comes from thee. 5 10 15 20 . and sweet is every sound. And thou. azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee. and faith alone. Thine are these orbs of light and shade. embrace. Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn. 20 25 30 From In Memoriam A. we know not how. for all the vales Await thee.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And murmuring of innumerable bees. he knows not why. H. For knowledge is of things we see. holiest manhood. let the wild Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone. but come.
OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII I I held it truth. In Memoriam Let knowledge grow from more to more. Confusions of a wasted youth. Forgive them where they fail in truth. according well. We are fools and slight. to thee. Forgive these wild and wandering cries. But more of reverence in us dwell. But vaster. 1849 25 30 35 40 In Memoriam A.34 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones. What seemed my worth since I began. I trust he lives in thee. H. and there I find him worthier to be loved. 5 10 . To dance with death. We mock thee when we do not fear: But help thy foolish ones to bear. For merit lives from man to man. to beat the ground. Forgive what seemed my sin in me. And not from man. 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. whom I found so fair. And in thy wisdom make me wise. O Lord. Let darkness keep her raven gloss: Ah! sweeter to be drunk with loss. Thy creature. May make one music as before. That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things. H. That mind and soul. Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. Forgive my grief for one removed.
And murmurs from the dying sun: `And all the phantom. Upon the threshold of the mind? 5 5 15 10 15 10 15 . And in the dusk of thee. the clock Beats out the little lives of men. A hollow echo of my own. And bring the firstling to the flock. Thy fibres net the dreamless head. What whispers from thy lying lip? `The stars. Embrace her as my natural good. stands ± With all the music in her tone. From out waste places comes a cry. The seasons bring the flower again.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Or crush her. and boast: `Behold the man that loved and lost. `blindly run. I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee. Sick for thy stubborn hardihood. In Memoriam 35 Than that the victor Hours should scorn The long result of love. III O Sorrow. Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. the bloom. But all he was is overworn.' she whispers. ± A hollow form with empty hands. Nature.' II Old Yew. A web is woven across the sky. cruel fellowship! O Priestess in the vaults of Death! O sweet and bitter in a breath. O! not for thee the glow. which graspest at the stones That name the under-lying dead. Who changest not in any gale! Nor branding summer suns avail To touch thy thousand years of gloom. like a vice of blood. And gazing on the sullen tree.' And shall I take a thing so blind.
A use in measured language lies. Like coarsest clothes against the cold. half reveal And half conceal the Soul within. The sad mechanic exercise.' V I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel. how fares it with thee now. Who scarcely darest to inquire. and cries. Some pleasure from thine early years. And vacant chaff well meant for grain. I'll wrap me o'er. In words. And with my heart I muse and say: O heart. `What is it makes me beat so low?' Something it is which thou hast lost. Break. But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more. With morning wakes the will. for the unquiet heart and brain. rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening.36 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. That thou should'st fail from thy desire. `Thou shalt not be the fool of loss. like weeds. That grief hath shaken into frost! Such clouds of nameless trouble cross All night below the darkened eyes. In Memoriam IV To Sleep I give my powers away. VI One writes. Like dull narcotics. That loss is common would not make My own less bitter.' That `Loss is common to the race' ± And common is the commonplace. numbing pain. My will is bondsman to the dark. For words. But. that `Other friends remain. I sit within a helmless bark. but some heart did break. like nature. 5 5 5 10 15 10 . thou deep vase of chilling tears.
unconscious dove. And unto me no second friend. Poor child. perpetual maidenhood. O. ere half thy draught be done Hath stilled the life that beat from thee. Ye know no more than I who wrought At that last hour to please him well. something thought. O mother. VII Dark house. And ever met him on his way With wishes. here today. His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud Drops in his vast and wandering grave. having left the glass. that waitest for thy love! For now her father's chimney glows In expectation of a guest. A shot. and her future Lord Was drowned in passing thro' the ford. praying God will save Thy sailor. And with the thought her colour burns. Or killed in falling from his horse. even when she turned. Expecting still his advent home. In Memoriam 37 O father. waiting for a hand. where my heart was used to beat So quickly. For he will see them on to-night. she turns Once more to set a ringlet right. the curse Had fallen. ± while thy head is bowed. That sittest ranging golden hair.' She takes a riband or a rose. And something written. what to her shall be the end? And what to me remains of good? To her.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. That pledgest now thy gallant son. thinking. Who mused on all I had to tell. Doors. O! somewhere. And glad to find thyself so fair. by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street. 25 10 15 20 30 35 40 . And. Or here tomorrow will he come. meek. And thinking `this will please him best. And. wheresoe'er thou be.
The field. And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door. and waft him o'er. And learns her gone and far from home. but far away The noise of life begins again. Which once she fostered up with care. Yet as that other. So find I every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet. with thee And this poor flower of poesy Which little cared for fades not yet. O my forsaken heart. For all is dark where thou art not. wandering there In those deserted walks. In Memoriam A hand that can be clasped no more ± Behold me. IX Fair ship. Who lights and rings the gateway bell. He is not here. But since it pleased a vanished eye. So draw him home to those that mourn In vain. That if it can it there may bloom. that from the Italian shore Sailest the placid ocean-plains With my lost Arthur's loved remains. may find A flower beat with rain and wind. He saddens. the chamber and the street. I go to plant it on his tomb. So seems it in my deep regret. for I cannot sleep. a favourable speed 5 5 5 10 10 15 20 . Spread thy full wings. and all The chambers emptied of delight. all the magic light Dies off at once from bower and hall.38 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day. Or dying. And all the place is dark. there at least may die. VIII A happy lover who has come To look on her that loves him well.
Sphere all your lights around. Sleep. a vanished life.1 bright As our pure love. The fools of habit. as he sleeps now. And hands so often clasped in mine. And. sweeter seems To rest beneath the clover sod. thy dark freight.).Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. So bring him: we have idle dreams: This look of quiet flatters thus Our home-bred fancies: O to us. Than if with thee the roaring wells Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine. My friend. That takes the sunshine and the rains. and lead Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn. More than my brothers are to me. Dear as the mother to the son. whom I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. Should toss with tangle2 and with shells. And letters unto trembling hands. 1 2 10 15 20 5 10 15 20 `star of dawn' (T. . `oar-weed' (T. Thou bringest the sailor to his wife. XI Calm is the morn without a sound. Calm as to suit a calmer grief. the brother of my love. All night no ruder air perplex Thy sliding keel. I see the sailor at the wheel. I hear the bell struck in the night: I see the cabin-window bright. gentle heavens. In Memoriam 39 Ruffle thy mirrored mast. My Arthur. before the prow. thro' early light Shall glimmer on the dewy decks. above. Or where the kneeling hamlet drains The chalice of the grapes of God. X I hear the noise about thy keel. Sleep. And travelled men from foreign lands. till Phosphor.). gentle winds.
and silver sleep. my friend? Is this the end of all my care?' And circle moaning in the air: `Is this the end? Is this the end?' And forward dart again. and haste away O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large. And leave the cliffs. And crowded farms and lessening towers. And waves that sway themselves in rest. and back return To where the body sits. a calm despair: Calm on the seas. If any calm. A weight of nerves without a mind. and learn That I have been an hour away. `Comes he thus. if calm at all. And in my heart. Like her I go. 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. To mingle with the bounding main: Calm and deep peace in this wide air. And saying. And on these dews that drench the furze. and play About the prow. 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. Some dolorous message knit below The wild pulsation of her wings. XII Lo! as a dove when up she springs To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe. These leaves that redden to the fall.40 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. I cannot stay. And linger weeping on the marge. And reach the glow of southern skies. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . I leave this mortal ark behind. And see the sails at distance rise.
In Memoriam 41 XIII Tears of the widower. As tho' they brought but merchants' bales. Should see thy passengers in rank Come stepping lightly down the plank. till I be silent too. And I went down unto the quay. And standing. A void where heart on heart reposed.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And I should tell him all my pain. where warm hands have prest and closed. And if along with these should come The man I held as half-divine. And beckoning unto those they know. And how my life had dropped of late. when he sees A late-lost form that sleep reveals. and teach me. Mine eyes have leisure for their tears. And not the burthen that they bring. Which weep the comrade of my choice. And found thee lying in the port. And. Should strike a sudden hand in mine. many years. A spirit. muffled round with woe. For now so strange do these things seem. That thou hadst touched the land today. And he should sorrow o'er my state And marvel what possessed my brain. The human-hearted man I loved. And glance about the approaching sails. fall like these. I do not suffer in a dream. Come Time. Which weep a loss for ever new. XIV If one should bring me this report. And ask a thousand things of home. not a breathing voice. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 . Silence. And moves his doubtful arms. a life removed. My fancies time to rise on wing. An awful thought. and feels Her place is empty.
No hint of death in all his frame. And wildly dashed on tower and tree The sunbeam strikes along the world: And but for fancies. And onward drags a labouring breast.42 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. But knows no more of transient form In her deep self. I scarce could brook the strain and stir That makes the barren branches loud. Or sorrow such a changeling be? Or doth she only seem to take The touch of change in calm or storm. The wild unrest that lives in woe Would dote and pore on yonder cloud That rises upward always higher. XVI What words are these have fallen from me? Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast. The cattle huddled on the lea. I should not feel it to be strange. But found him all in all the same. And staggers blindly ere she sink? 5 5 20 10 15 20 10 . And topples round the dreary west. than some dead lake That holds the shadow of a lark Hung in the shadow of a heaven? Or has the shock. The rooks are blown about the skies. so harshly given. In Memoriam And I perceived no touch of change. And but for fear it is not so. the waters curled. which aver That all thy motions gently pass Athwart a plane of molten glass. A looming bastion fringed with fire. Confused me like the unhappy bark That strikes by night a craggy shelf. XV To-night the winds begin to rise And roar from yonder dropping day: The last red leaf is whirled away. The forest cracked.
Henceforth. And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land. and bear the head That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep. So may whatever tempest mars Mid-ocean. sacred bark. 'Tis little. The dust of him I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. Week after week: the days go by: Come quick. 'tis something. So kind an office hath been done. And flashes into false and true. spare thee. My blessing. Is on the waters day and night. and my prayer Was as the whisper of an air To breathe thee over lonely seas. And hear the ritual of the dead. thou bringest all I love. wherever thou may'st roam. And mingles all without a plan? XVII Thou comest. XVIII 'Tis well. And come. In Memoriam 43 And stunned me from my power to think And all my knowledge of myself. And like a beacon guards thee home. And made me that delirious man Whose fancy fuses old and new.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Such precious relics brought by thee. like a line of light. pure hands. 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 10 . much wept for: such a breeze Compelled thy canvas. we may stand Where he in English earth is laid. 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. And balmy drops in summer dark Slide from the bosom of the stars. For I in spirit saw thee move Thro' circles of the bounding sky. Come then.
`to find Another service such as this. And tears that at their fountain freeze. . Treasuring the look it cannot find.3 They laid him by the pleasant shore. I. I brim with sorrow drowning song. And hushed my deepest grief of all. 3 15 20 5 10 15 5 10 `He died at Vienna and was brought to Clevedon to be buried' (T. but endures with pain.44 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And I can speak a little then. The words that are not heard again. There twice a day the Severn fills. The salt sea-water passes by. Would breathing thro' his lips impart The life that almost dies in me: That dies not. The tide flows down. if this might be. The Wye is hushed nor moved along. Are but as servants in a house Where lies the master newly dead. That breathe a thousand tender vows. even yet. And weep the fulness from the mind: `It will be hard. XIX The Danube to the Severn gave The darkened heart that beat no more. XX The lesser griefs that may be said. And hushes half the babbling Wye. When filled with tears that cannot fall. In Memoriam Ah! yet. That out of words a comfort win. Who speak their feeling as it is. the wave again Is vocal in its wooded walls: My deeper anguish also falls. And in the hearing of the wave. But there are other griefs within. And slowly forms the firmer mind. And makes a silence in the hills.).' they say. falling on his faithful heart.' My lighter moods are like to these.
And. and charms Her secret from the latest moon?' Behold. And scarce endure to draw the breath. In Memoriam 45 For by the hearth the children sit Cold in that atmosphere of Death. `How good! how kind! and he is gone. For now her little ones have ranged.' A third is wroth: `Is this an hour For private sorrow's barren song.' Another answers. Which led by tracts that pleased us well. When science reaches forth her arms To feel from world to world. When more and more the people throng The chairs and thrones of civil power? `A time to sicken and to swoon. And make them pipes whereon to blow. `This fellow would make weakness weak. and think. That with his piping he may gain The praise that comes to constancy. And sometimes harshly will he speak.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. `Let him be. And one unto her note is changed. XXII The path by which we twain did go. Or like to noiseless phantoms flit: But open converse is there none. The traveller hears me now and then. He loves to make parade of pain. And pipe but as the linnets sing: And one unto her note is gay. I take the grasses of the grave. since the grasses round me wave. Because her brood is stol'n away.' XXI I sing to him that rests below. And melt the waxen hearts of men. 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . So much the vital spirits sink To see the vacant chair. ye speak an idle thing: Ye never knew the sacred dust: I do but sing because I must.
And all was good that Time could bring. From flower to flower. how changed from where it ran Thro' lands where not a leaf was dumb. But all the lavish hills would hum The murmur of a happy Pan: When each by turns was guide to each. Who broke our fair companionship. In Memoriam Thro' four sweet years arose and fell. somewhere in the waste. And crying. Ere thought could wed itself with Speech. And wrapt thee formless in the fold. And crowned with all the season lent.46 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. As we descended following Hope. And Fancy light from Fancy caught. And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought. Or on to where the pathway leads. Alone. And all the secret of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood: 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . There sat the Shadow feared of man. from snow to snow: And we with singing cheered the way. The Shadow cloaked from head to foot Who keeps the keys of all the creeds. Or breaking into song by fits. often falling lame. And glad at heart from May to May: But where the path we walked began To slant the fifth autumnal slope. sometimes in my sorrow shut. And dulled the murmur on thy lip. And all we met was fair and good. alone. The Shadow sits and waits for me. And think that. From April on to April went. And bore thee where I could not see Nor follow. I wander. to where he sits. And spread his mantle dark and cold. XXIII Now. And looking back to whence I came. tho' I walk in haste.
Because it needed help of Love: Nor could I weary. And part it. as now. When mighty Love would cleave in twain The lading of a single pain. And then.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. But this it was that made me move As light as carrier-birds in air. Whatever fickle tongues may say. If all was good and fair we met. heart or limb. XXVI Still onward winds the dreary way. the day prepared The daily burden for the back. And if that eye which watches guilt And goodness. This earth had been the Paradise It never looked to human eyes Since Adam left his garden yet. That sets the past in this relief ? Or that the past will always win A glory from its being far. when we moved therein? XXV I know that this was Life. for I long to prove No lapse of moons can canker Love. ± the track Whereon with equal feet we fared. I with it. And is it that the haze of grief Hath stretched my former joy so great? The lowness of the present state. And orb into the perfect star We saw not. I loved the weight I had to bear. giving half to him. and hath power to see 5 5 5 10 15 10 . In Memoriam 47 And many an old philosophy On Argive heights divinely sang. 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. And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady.
my friend. when I sorrow most. But thou art turned to something strange.48 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. I hold it true. 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. 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. And towers fallen as soon as built ± Oh. To whom a conscience never wakes. So might I find. to thee: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . whate'er befall. As mounts the heavenward altar-fire. 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. XLI Thy spirit ere our fatal loss Did ever rise from high to higher. XXVII I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage. And flash at once. Unfettered by the sense of crime. Nor any want-begotten rest. That Shadow waiting with the keys. Nor. what may count itself as blest. ere yet the morn Breaks hither over Indian seas. To cloak me from my proper scorn. No more partaker of thy change. The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth. As flies the lighter thro' the gross. In Memoriam Within the green the mouldered tree. And I have lost the links that bound Thy changes. 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.
from the schools. Let random influences glance. from nature. She takes. And look thy look. indeed. And holds it sin and shame to draw The deepest measure from the chords: Nor dare she trust a larger lay. Yet oft when sundown skirts the moor An inner trouble I behold. XLVIII If these brief lays. What slender shade of doubt may flit. But rather loosens from the lip Short swallow-flights of song. of Sorrow born. and skim away.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The slightest air of song shall breathe To make the sullen surface crisp. That I shall be thy mate no more. Thro' all the secular to be. Tho' following with an upward mind The wonders that have come to thee. And makes it vassal unto love: And hence. XLIX From art. But better serves a wholesome law. Nor shudders at the gulfs beneath. Like light in many a shivered lance That breaks about the dappled pools: The lightest wave of thought shall lisp. and go thy way. Then these were such as men might scorn: Her care is not to part and prove. The howlings from forgotten fields. she sports with words. The fancy's tenderest eddy wreathe. A spectral doubt which makes me cold. but blame not thou the winds that make 5 5 15 20 10 15 10 . that dip Their wings in tears. Were taken to be such as closed Grave doubts and answers here proposed. when harsher moods remit. In Memoriam 49 For though my nature rarely yields To that vague fear implied in death. But evermore a life behind.
Or but subserves another's gain. The tender-pencilled shadow play. That not one life shall be destroyed. and taints of blood. Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife. that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave. And finding that of fifty seeds She often brings but one to bear. I can but trust that good shall fall At last ± far off ± at last. considering everywhere Her secret meaning in her deeds. LIV Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill. 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.50 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Whose muffled motions blindly drown The bases of my life in tears. To pangs of nature. Or cast as rubbish to the void. That not a worm is cloven in vain. That not a moth with vain desire Is shriveled in a fruitless fire. Beneath all fancied hopes and fears Ay me! the sorrow deepens down. That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems. LV The wish. Defects of doubt. That nothing walks with aimless feet. So careless of the single life. And every winter change to spring. sins of will. That I. When God hath made the pile complete. In Memoriam The seeming-wanton ripple break. 5 5 15 10 15 20 10 . Behold! we know not anything. to all.
Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer. and call To what I feel is Lord of all. And gather dust and chaff. Were mellow music matched with him. Be blown about the desert dust. Who battled for the True. who seemed so fair. LVI `So careful of the type?' but no. shall he. a dream. all shall go. A discord. That tare each other in their slime. Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life. I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more. shrieked against his creed ± Who loved. LVII Peace. or redress? Behind the veil. And faintly trust the larger hope. Or sealed within the iron hills? No more? A monster then. In Memoriam 51 I falter where I firmly trod. her last work. and grope. Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. come away: the song of woe Is after all an earthly song: 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God. then. red in tooth and claw With ravine. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries. I stretch lame hands of faith. behind the veil. `A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing. Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law ± Tho' Nature. Dragons of the prime. as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless! What hope of answer. Such splendid purpose in his eyes. who suffered countless ills.' And he. Man. the Just. O life as futile.
adieu' for evermore! LXXXVI Sweet after showers. One set slow bell will seem to toll The passing of the sweetest soul That ever looked with human eyes. Ave. though it spake and made appeal To chances where our lots were cast Together in the days behind. But I shall pass. and rapt below Thro' all the dewy-tasselled wood. and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame. Ave.52 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. come away: we do him wrong To sing so wildly: let us go. I hear it now. And `Ave. let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas On leagues of odour streaming far. my work will fail. . and o'er and o'er.' said. fan my brows and blow The fever from my cheek. Come. That rollest from the gorgeous gloom Of evening over brake and bloom And meadow. I might count it vain As but the canker of the brain. but it will not last' (T. let us go. But half my life I leave behind. your cheeks are pale. Ill brethren. Methinks my friend is richly shrined. Methinks I have built a rich shrine to my friend. In Memoriam Peace. slowly breathing bare The round of space. Eternal greetings to the dead. 5 5 5 10 15 10 15 4 `The poet speaks of these poems. `Adieu. till Doubt and Death.4 Yet in these ears till hearing dies. And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples.' XCII If any vision should reveal Thy likeness. ambrosial air. Yea.). To where in yonder orient star A hundred spirits whisper `Peace.
Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The conscience as a sea at rest: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . The memory like a cloudless air. from the distance of the abyss Of tenfold-complicated change. But spiritual presentiments. O. thou too canst say. therefore from thy sightless range With gods in unconjectured bliss. They might not seem thy prophecies. That in this blindness of the frame My Ghost may feel that thine is near. In vain shalt thou. like them. They haunt the silence of the breast. Should prove the phantom-warning true. XCIII I shall not see thee. But he. hear The wish too strong for words to name. Except. or any. Imaginations calm and fair. revolving near. My spirit is at peace with all. Descend. And tho' the months. call The spirits from their golden day. Spirit to Spirit. O. may come Where all the nerve of sense is numb. I hear a wind Of memory murmuring the past. Yea. tho' it spake and bared to view A fact within the coming year. With what divine affections bold Should be the man whose thought would hold An hour's communion with the dead. 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 touch. and enter. the Spirit himself. And such refraction of events As often rises ere they rise. Ghost to Ghost. XCIV How pure at heart and sound in head. In Memoriam 53 I might but say.
when most I feel There is a lower and a higher. lest I stiffen into stone.54 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And vacant yearning. CXIX Doors. the city sleeps. so near in woe and weal. Whatever wisdom sleep with thee. They can but listen at the gates. where my heart was used to beat So quickly. I hear a chirp of birds. And bright the friendship of thine eye. I smell the meadow in the street. But mine own phantom chanting hymns? And on the depths of death there swims The reflex of a human face. CVIII I will not shut me from my kind. O loved the most. my lost desire. So far. I'll rather take what fruit may be Of sorrow under human skies: 'Tis held that sorrow makes us wise. Or dive below the wells of Death? What find I in the highest place. And think of early days and thee. CXXIX Dear friend. I will not eat my heart alone. And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh I take the pressure of thine hand. 5 5 15 10 15 10 . And. far off. tho' with might To scale the heaven's highest height. And bless thee. not as one that weeps I come once more. And doubt beside the portal waits. In Memoriam But when the heart is full of din. for thy lips are bland. Nor feed with sighs a passing wind: What profit lies in barren faith. And hear the household jar within. I see Betwixt the black fronts long-withdrawn A light-blue lane of early dawn.
I have thee still. Half a league onward. the Light Brigade!' Was there a man dismayed? Not tho' the soldier knew 5 10 . Far off thou art. I shall not lose thee though I die. Loved deeplier. darklier understood. Thou standest in the rising sun. and to be. 5 5 10 10 15 The Charge of the Light Brigade I Half a league. Dear heavenly friend that canst not die. the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!' he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. circled with thy voice. I do not therefore love thee less: My love involves the love before. Mine. My love is vaster passion now. past. I hear thee where the waters run. `Forward. The Charge of the Light Brigade 55 Known and unknown. present. I prosper. divine! Sweet human hand and lips and eye. But tho' I seem in star and flower To feel thee. Tho' mixed with God and Nature thou. mine. but ever night. I seem to love thee more and more. Behold I dream a dream of good. human. some diffusive power. And in the setting thou art fair. ever mine! Strange friend. CXXX Thy voice is on the rolling air.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. What art thou then? I cannot guess. for ever. All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. half a league. And mingle all the world with thee. II `Forward. and I rejoice.
The Charge of the Light Brigade Some one had blundered: Their's not to make reply. VI When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . Stormed at with shot and shell. Flashed as they turned in air Sabring the gunners there. but not Not the six hundred. Cannon to left of them. Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre-stroke Shattered and sundered. Their's but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Then they rode back. Charging an army. Their's not to reason why. III Cannon to right of them. V Cannon to right of them. Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered. while All the world wondered: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke. Cannon to left of them. Back from the mouth of Hell. Left of six hundred. They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death. IV Flashed all their sabres bare. Into the jaws of Death. Stormed at with shot and shell.56 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. All that was left of them. Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered. While horse and hero fell. Boldly they rode and well.
for the roots of my hair were stirred By a shuffled step. 6 Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? we have made them a curse. And the flying gold of the ruined woodlands drove thro' the air. each hand lusting for all that is not its own. And my pulses closed their gates with a shock on my heart as I heard The shrill-edged shriek of a mother divide the shuddering night. and crushed.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade. by a whispered fright. When who but a fool would have faith in a tradesman's ware or his word? 5 10 15 20 25 .' 2 For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was found. His who had given me life ± O father! O God! was it well? ± Mangled. From: Maud 57 All the world wondered. The red-ribbed ledges drip with a silent horror of blood. Not he: his honest fame should at least by me be maintained: But that old man. in the spirit of Cain. whatever is asked her. and flattened. by a dead weight trailed. And ever he muttered and maddened. we are villains all. And out he walked when the wind like a broken worldling wailed. now lord of the broad estate and the Hall. Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-red heath. Pickpockets. and dinted into the ground: There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he fell. 3 Did he fling himself down? who knows? for a vast speculation had failed. answers `Death. and ever wanned with despair. the works of the men of mind. 5 Villainy somewhere! whose? One says. Noble six hundred! 55 From: Maud I 1 I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood. And Echo there. And lust of gain. Dropt off gorged from a scheme that had left us flaccid and drained. 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. 4 I remember the time.
And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the foam. 13 For I trust if an enemy's fleet came yonder round by the hill. 9 Peace sitting under her olive. home. From: Maud Is it peace or war? Civil war. ± 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. as he sits To pestle a poisoned poison behind his crimson lights. When only the ledger lives. nevermore to brood On a horror of shattered limbs and a wretched swindler's lie? 30 35 40 45 50 55 . and that of a kind The viler. war! loud war by land and by sea. not openly bearing the sword. as underhand. 10 And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffian's head. 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. 11 And Sleep must lie down armed. and die: who knows? we are ashes and dust. And chalk and alum and plaster are sold to the poor for bread. like swine. While another is cheating the sick of a few last gasps. each sex. and when only not all men lie. for the villainous centre-bits Grind on the wakeful ear in the hush of the moonless nights. Peace in her vineyard ± yes! ± but a company forges the wine. and shaking a hundred thrones. set my face as a flint.58 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 8 Sooner or later I too may passively take the print Of the golden age ± why not? I have neither hope nor trust. if he could. 12 When a Mammonite mother kills her babe for a burial fee. That the smoothfaced snubnosed rogue would leap from his counter and till. And Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of children's bones. Is it peace or war? better. as I think. Cheat and be cheated. and slurring the days gone by. were it but with his cheating yardwand. And strike. May make my heart as a millstone. When the poor are hovelled and hustled together.
Maud with her sweet purse-mouth when my father dangled the grapes. 18 Maud with her venturous climbings and tumbles and childish escapes. Maud. having the nerves of motion as well as the nerves of pain. I am here at the gate alone. ah God. she will let me alone. Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky. ± 19 What is she now? My dreams are bad. for the fiend best knows whether woman or man be the worse. 2 For a breeze of morning moves. Why should I stay? can a sweeter chance ever come to me here? O. Maud the delight of the village. I know not whence. has flown. night. the moon-faced darling of all. Were it not wise if I fled from the place and the pit and the fear? 17 There are workmen up at the Hall: they are coming back from abroad. the ringing joy of the Hall. as he used to rave. Thanks. No. I played with the girl when a child.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 60 65 70 75 5 10 . as I saw him. I will bury myself in myself. For the black bat. And the planet of Love is on high. of the singular beauty of Maud. From: Maud 59 15 Would there be sorrow for me? there was love in the passionate shriek. and thought he would rise and speak And rave at the lie and the liar. 16 I am sick of the Hall and the hill. She may bring me a curse. Maud. and the Devil may pipe to his own. The dark old place will be gilt by the touch of a millionaire: I have heard. there is fatter game on the moor. Come into the garden. And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad. Maud the beloved of my mother. I am sick of the moor and the main. And the musk of the rose is blown. she promised then to be fair. XXII 1 Come into the garden. Love for the silent thing that had made false haste to the grave ± Wrapt in a cloak.
that is dearer than all. O young lord-lover. For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood. And a hush with the setting moon. All night has the casement jessamine stirred To the dancers dancing in tune. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . violin.60 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. From: Maud To faint in the light of the sun she loves. And long by the garden lake I stood. mine. As the music clashed in the hall. `There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay. Our wood. but mine. To faint in his light. Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away. `The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine. what sighs are those. And half to the rising day. bassoon. 8 The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree. and to die. 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.' so I sware to the rose.' Now half to the setting moon are gone. When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance and play.' 6 And the soul of the rose went into my blood. 4 I said to the lily. For one that will never be thine? But mine. 5 I said to the rose. To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise. Till a silence fell with the waking bird. `For ever and ever. 3 All night have the roses heard The flute.
my sweet. Come hither. my fate. 10 There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. 5 . my dove. Crossing the Bar The white lake-blossom fell into the lake As the pimpernel dozed on the lea. My heart would hear her and beat. she is near.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And blossom in purple and red. `I hear. Knowing your promise to me. They sighed for the dawn and thee. When I put out to sea. little head. But such a tide as moving seems asleep. `I wait. In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls. My dust would hear her and beat. The red rose cries. my life. my own. The lilies and roses were all awake. She is coming. the dances are done. sunning over with curls. `She is late.' And the white rose weeps.' And the lily whispers.' 11 She is coming. and be their sun. Had I lain for a century dead. And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar. But the rose was awake all night for your sake. Shine out. Were it ever so airy a tread. Were it earth in an earthy bed. `She is near. Too full for sound and foam. 61 50 55 60 65 70 Crossing the Bar Sunset and evening star.' The larkspur listens. Would start and tremble under her feet. To the flowers. Queen lily and rose in one. She is coming. my dear. When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. I hear. 9 Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls.
62 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Crossing the Bar Twilight and evening bell. I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell. For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far. When I embark. .
. 'twas not Her husband's presence only. as if she ranked My gift of a nine hundred years old name With anybody's gift. but thanked Somehow. Sir. but I) And seemed as they would ask me. She had A heart .Robert Browning (1812±1889) My Last Duchess Ferrara That's my last Duchess painted on the wall. Sir. .I know not how. . But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you. Too easily impressed. I call That piece a wonder. how shall I say? . ± good. and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. she liked whate'er She looked on. such stuff Was courtesy. The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her. Looking as if she were alive. she thought. and there she stands. the white mule She rode with round the terrace ± all and each Would draw from her alike the forward speech. The depth and passion of its earnest glance. too soon made glad. Will't please you sit and look at her? I said `Fra Pandolf' by design. 'twas all one! My favour at her breast. at least. for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance. and her looks went everywhere. if they durst. . .' or `Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat'. so not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. How such a glance came there. The dropping of the daylight in the West. Or blush. She thanked men. Who'd stoop to blame 5 10 15 20 25 30 . . now: Fra Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day. 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.
caught his clear accents. Milton was for us. I repeat. and say. So much was their's who so little allowed: How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags ± were they purple. ± He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! II We shall march prospering. I gave commands.64 Robert Browning. Then all smiles stopped together. his heart had been proud! We that had loved him so. tho'. Though his fair daughter's self. The Lost Leader This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech ± (which I have not) ± to make your will Quite clear to such an one. as I avowed At starting. Sir. forsooth. and I chuse Never to stoop. Songs may excite us. Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us. were with us. ± not thro' his presence. ± E'en then would be some stooping. 35 40 45 50 55 The Lost Leader I Just for a handful of silver he left us. Burns. is my object. ± they watch from their graves! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen. Taming a sea-horse. 5 10 15 . Will't please you rise? We'll meet The company below then. she smiled. honoured him. Oh. and made excuse. here you miss. with the gold to give. Nay. The Count your Master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed. There she stands As if alive. Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me. Or there exceed the mark' ± and if she let Herself be lessoned so. They. no doubt. ± while he boasts his quiescence. Lost all the others she lets us devote. we'll go Together down. Just for a ribband to stick in his coat ± Got the one gift of which fortune bereft us. Shelley. nor plainly set Her wits to yours. but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew. Lived in his mild and magnificent eye. `Just this Or that in you disgusts me. thought a rarity. Sir! Notice Neptune. followed him. Deeds will be done. ± not from his lyre. doled him out silver. Whene'er I passed her. Learned his great language.
One task unaccepted. time of year: Not a plenteous cork-crop: scarcely Dare we hope oak-galls. 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. the first by the throne! 20 25 30 Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister I GR-R-R ± there go. my heart's abhorrence! Water your damned flower-pots. would not mine kill you! What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming? Oh. for we taught him. Brother Lawrence.Robert Browning. then. Then let him get the new knowledge and wait us. Rinsed like something sacrificial Ere 'tis fit to touch our chaps ± Marked with L. Sort of season. One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels. Forced praise on our part ± the glimmer of twilight. one footpath untrod. Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well. for our initial! (He-he! There his lily snaps!) 5 10 15 20 . hesitation and pain. God's blood. One wrong more to man. And a goblet for ourself. 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. do! If hate killed men. one more insult to God! Life's night begins: let him never come back to us! There would be doubt. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister 65 Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire: Blot out his name. ± record one lost soul more. ± come gallantly. Strike our face hard ere we shatter his own. Laid with care on our own shelf ! With a fire-new spoon we're furnished. Pardoned in Heaven.
so nice! One goes to the Abbot's table. if he'd let it show! V When he finishes refection. Bright as 'twere a Barbary corsair's? That is. telling stories. In three sips the Arian frustrate. the Trinity illustrate. if another fails: If I trip him just a-dying.66 Robert Browning. Drinking watered orange-pulp. Knife and fork across he lays Never. Blue-black. too. One sure. How go on your flowers? None double? Not one fruit-sort can you spy? Strange! ± And I. those melons? If he's able We're to have a feast. in Jesu's praise. my scrofulous French novel On grey paper with blunt type! Simply glance at it. Keep 'em close-nipped on the sly! VII There's a great text in Galatians. Spin him round and send him flying Off to hell a Manichee? VIII Or. If I double down its pages At the woeful sixteenth print. entails Twenty-nine distinct damnations. at such trouble. thick like horsehairs. While he drains his at one gulp! VI Oh. Sure of Heaven as sure can be. ± Can't I see his dead eye grow. forsooth! While brown Dolores Squats outside the Convent bank With Sanchicha. All of us get each a slice. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 . I. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister IV Saint. Once you trip on it. lustrous. you grovel Hand and foot in Belial's gripe. Steeping tresses in the tank. to my recollection. As do I.
last. and all the cottage warm. and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl. made my cheek lie there. Blasted lay that rose-acacia We're so proud of ! Hy. she sat down by my side And called me. And did its worst to vex the lake. And give herself to me for ever: But passion sometimes would prevail. And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up. And all her yellow hair displaced. at last I knew 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Murmuring how she loved me. Be sure I looked up at her eyes Proud. Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her. stooping. And. she Too weak. Ope a sieve and slip it in't? IX Or. very proud. Zy. When glided in Porphyria. And. To set its struggling passion free From pride. untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall. I listened with heart fit to break. straight She shut the cold out and the storm. there's Vespers! Plena gratia Ave. And spread o'er all her yellow hair. And she was come through wind and rain. . Porphyria's Lover 67 When he gathers his greengages. and all in vain. And laid her soiled gloves by. It tore the elm-tops down for spite. The sullen wind was soon awake. the Devil! ± one might venture Pledge one's soul yet slily leave Such a flaw in the indenture As he'd miss till. Hine . Ã St.Robert Browning. Which done. and vainer ties dissever. for all her heart's endeavour. she rose. When no voice replied. And made her smooth white shoulder bare. . Virgo! Gr-r-r ± you swine! 65 70 Porphyria's Lover The rain set early in tonight. She put my arm about her waist. past retrieve.
And I untightened next the tress About her neck. And the whitethroat builds. again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. And whoever wakes in England Sees. I am quite sure she felt no pain. That moment she was mine. when May follows. And I. Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do. That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. Only. to be in England Now that April's there. That all it scorned at once is fled. and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around. her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before. unaware. And strangled her. its love. 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 . Home-Thoughts. surprise Made my heart swell. and still it grew While I debated what to do.68 Robert Browning. And all night long we have not stirred. am gained instead! Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. And thus we sit together now. which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head. While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England ± now! II And after April. from Abroad Porphyria worshipped me. mine. And yet God has not said a word! 35 40 45 50 55 60 Home-Thoughts. So glad it has its utmost will. some morning. No pain felt she. from Abroad I Oh. As a shut bud that holds a bee I warily oped her lids. fair. this time my shoulder bore Her 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!
And the need of a world of men for me. Three fields to cross till a farm appears. the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match. A tap at the pane. Love Among the Ruins 1 Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles. wielding far Peace or war. its prince Ages since Held his court in. gathered councils. 5 10 . And the yellow half-moon large and low. And quench its speed in the slushy sand.72 Robert Browning. stray or stop As they crop ± 2 Was the site once of a city great and gay. Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward thro' the twilight. Meeting at Night Meeting at Night I The grey sea and the long black land. thro' its joys and fears. (So they say) Of our country's very capital. And a voice less loud. As I gain the cove with pushing prow. Than the two hearts beating each to each! 5 10 Parting at Morning Round the cape of a sudden came the sea. II Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach. And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep. And the sun looked over the mountain's rim ± And straight was a path of gold for him.
± the single little turret that remains On the plains. While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks Through the chinks ± 8 Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time Sprang sublime. this summer-time. certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to (else they run Into one). Stock or stone ± 6 Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Long ago. dread of shame Struck them tame. the chariots traced As they raced. And that glory and that shame alike. men might march on nor be pressed. 5 And such plenty and perfection. of grass Never was! Such a carpet as. And a burning ring all round. by the gourd Overscored. o'erspreads And embeds Every vestige of the city. To distinguish slopes of verdure. Love Among the Ruins 73 3 Now ± the country does not even boast a tree. Lust of glory pricked their hearts up. Made of marble. guessed alone. see. Twelve abreast. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 .Robert Browning. the gold Bought and sold. 4 Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all. By the caper over-rooted. 7 Now. As you see.
bridges. ± and then. blood that freezes. breathless. 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. And they built their gods a brazen pillar high As the sky. dumb Till I come. Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force ± Gold. where she looks now. aqueducts. 13 In one year they sent a million fighters forth South and North. 14 Oh. all our many-tinkling fleece In such peace. 9 And I know. ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each. Either hand On my shoulder. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 . 11 But he looked upon the city. All the men! 12 When I do come. blood that burns! Earth's returns For whole centuries of folly. every side. Love Among the Ruins And the monarch and his minions and his dames Viewed the games. heart! oh. she will speak not. all the glades' Colonnades. of course. All the mountains topped with temples. When the king looked. give her eyes the first embrace Of my face.74 Robert Browning. she will stand. All the causeys. noise and sin! Shut them in. while thus the quiet-coloured eve Smiles to leave to their folding. Far and wide. Ere we rush.
Weke. The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up. yet unwiped! It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk. ± harry out. . ± for the slave that holds John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair With one hand (`Look you. Zooks. that's crept to keep him company! Aha. sir. Boh! you were best! Remember and tell me. I'd like his face ± His. now. Fra Lippo Lippi I am poor brother Lippo. A wood-coal or the like? or you should see! Yes. you'll take Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat. the day you're hanged. Whatever rat. I' the house that caps the corner. sir. you know your betters! Then. And nip each softling of a wee white mouse. are we pilchards. weke. up and down. that they sweep the streets And count fair prize what comes into their net? He's Judas to a tittle. I'm the painter. Do. Zooks. that man is! Just such a face! why. elbowing on his comrade in the door With the pike and lantern. and you go the rounds. lads! more beside!) And all's come square again. And here you catch me at an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar. it's past midnight. . Who am I? Why. haps on his wrong hole. it concerns you that your knaves Pick up a manner nor discredit you. there. I'm not angry! Bid your hangdogs go Drink out this quarter-florin to the health Of the munificent House that harbours me (And many more beside. you make amends. how d'ye call? Master ± a . if you must show your zeal. Cosimo of the Medici. How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! But you. And please to know me likewise. What.Robert Browning. since you style me so. who is lodging with a friend Three streets off ± he's a certain . Lord. 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 . . by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. Fra Lippo Lippi 75 With their triumphs and their glories and the rest! Love is best. . brother Lippo's doings. one. what's to blame? you think you see a monk! What. sir.' as who should say) And his weapon in the other.
A-painting for the great man. There was a ladder! down I let myself. a year or two On fig-skins. laughs. well met. saints and saints And saints again. and so dropped. you say ± the sting's in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself. zooks. what am I a beast for? tell us. Fra Lippo Lippi 'Tell you I liked your looks at very first. I let Lisa go. I came up with the fun Hard by Saint Laurence. and the nights one makes up bands To roam the town and sing out carnival. Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand. and what good's in life since? Flower o' the thyme ± and so on. I see! Though your eye twinkles still. I could not paint all night ± Ouf ! I leaned out of window for fresh air. . Mum's the word naturally. Refuse and rubbish. and our earth is a tomb! Flower o' the quince. hail fellow. You snap me of the sudden. (Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) And so along the wall. Hands and feet. And I've been three weeks shut within my mew. hip to haunch. God knows how.76 Robert Browning. That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went. ± a monk. 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . flesh and blood. Ah. ± three slim shapes ± And a face that looked up . but a monk! Come. A sweep of lute-strings. My stomach being empty as your hat. Let's sit and set things straight now. now! I was a baby when my mother died And father died and left me in the street. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight. scrambling somehow. All the bed-furniture ± a dozen knots. Curtain and counterpane and coverlet. I starved there. . And after them. If I've been merry. Round they went. Here's spring come. and whifts of song. over the bridge. rinds and shucks. ± Flower o' the rose. There came a hurry of feet and little feet. 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. sir. One fine frosty day. melon-parings. you shake your head ± Mine's shaved. Take away love. The wind doubled me up and down I went. ± Flower o' the broom.
Holding a candle to the Sacrament. which lets drop His bone from the heap of offal in the street! ± The soul and sense of him grow sharp alike. Trash. mind you. On the wall.' quoth the Prior. 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 .s and B. Palace. ± `To quit this very miserable world? Will you renounce' . such as these poor devils of Medici Have given their hearts to ± all at eight years old. Six words. I did renounce the world. `amo' I love! But. farm. turned to use: I drew men's faces on my copy-books. boy.' quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth. And who will curse or kick him for his pains ± Which gentleman processional and fine. as my fortune was. ± How say I? ± nay. The warm serge and the rope that goes all round. the mouthful of bread? thought I. Lose a crow and catch a lark. 'twas refection-time. they made a monk of me. By no means! Brief. Not overmuch their way. `turn him out. and none the less For admonitions from the hunger-pinch. the bench. Found eyes and nose and chin for A. I must confess. Such a to-do! they tried me with their books. Which. you're minded. its pride and greed. He learns the look of things. The monks looked black. the door. Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch The droppings of the wax to sell again. While I stood munching my first bread that month: `So.s. And made a string of pictures of the world Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun. . which dog bites. Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge. Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped. 'Twas not for nothing ± the good bellyful. And day-long blessed idleness beside! `Let's see what the urchin's fit for' ± that came next. All the Latin I construe is. Watching folk's faces to know who will fling The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires. Well. they'd have taught me Latin in pure waste! Flower o' the clove. I had a store of such remarks. when a boy starves in the streets Eight years together. Lord. What if at last we get our man of parts. you may be sure. after I found leisure. d'ye say? In no wise. shop and banking-house. . villa. `Nay. Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes. there. sir. I found in time. be sure. Fra Lippo Lippi 77 By the straight cut to the convent.Robert Browning.
The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked. 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 . `How? what's here? Quite from the mark of painting. dropped in a loaf. ± To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot.78 Robert Browning. Never was such prompt disemburdening. to do our church up fine And put the front on it that ought to be!' And hereupon he bade me daub away. came at eve On tip-toe. Thank you! my head being crammed. it's not. Your business is to paint the souls of men ± Man's soul. And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall. bless us all! Faces. . With homage to the perishable clay. Her pair of earrings and a bunch of flowers The brute took growling. 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. (taught what to see and not to see. her apron o'er her head Which the intense eyes looked through. prayed. their walls a blank. . safe and sitting there With the little children round him in a row Of admiration. like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars. arms. and then was gone. every sort of monk. . But lift them over it. ignore it all. folk at church. candle-ends. Their betters took their turn to see and say: The Prior and the learned pulled a face And stopped all that in no time. 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.no. I painted all. I drew them. half for his beard and half For that white anger of his victim's son Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm. . Fra Lippo Lippi We Carmelites. 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. said a word. for more's ready!' ± laid the ladder flat. First. Fresh from his murder. From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of barrel-droppings. fat and lean: then. then cried `'tis ask and have ± Choose. the black and white. and it's a fire. Make them forget there's such a thing as flesh. smoke .
Robert Browning. And any sort of meaning looks intense When all beside itself means and looks nought. I ask? A fine way to paint soul. ± That's somewhat. that white smallish female with the breasts. Make his flesh liker and his soul more like. . . Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash. or tie up a horse! And yet the old schooling sticks. colours. I would say. great and old: 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . fear. in short. it's the soul! Give us no more of body than shows soul! Here's Giotto. is this sense. Within yourself. ± Who went and danced and got men's heads cut off ! Have it all out!' Now. Left foot and right foot. the old grave eyes Are peeping o'er my shoulder as I work. . never mind the legs and arms! Rub all out. yellow does for white When what you put for yellow's simply black. Fra Lippo Lippi 79 It's. And you'll find the soul you have missed. the eye can't stop there. patron-saint ± is it so pretty You can't discover if it means hope. 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. She's just my niece . The heads shake still ± `It's Art's decline. 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. in the Corner-house! Lord. . go a double step. with his Saint a-praising God. it's fast holding by the rings in front ± Those great rings serve more purposes than just To plant a flag in. And so the thing has gone on ever since. Both in their order? Take the prettiest face. That sets us praising. Sorrow or joy? won't beauty go with these? Suppose I've made her eyes all right and blue. by painting body So ill. Why can't a painter lift each foot in turn. . what matters talking. Oh. must go further And can't fare worse! Thus. ± why not stop with him? Why put all thoughts of praise out of our heads With wonder at lines. my son! You're not of the true painters. you see. and what not? Paint the soul. Herodias. You get about the best thing God invents. there's my life. . well. paint now as I please ± Having a friend. well. The Prior's niece . try at it a second time. I'm grown a man no doubt. when you return Him thanks! `Rub all out!' well.
But see. You tell too many lies and hurt yourself. Death for us all. You be judge! You speak no Latin more than I. You don't like what you only like too much. What will hap some day. and his own life for each!) And my whole soul revolves.80 Robert Browning. throws up his stiff heels so. the business of the world ± (Flower o' the peach. I see as certainly As that the morning-star's about to shine. Fra Lippo Lippi Brother Angelico's the man. And play the fooleries you catch me at. and paint To please them ± sometimes do and sometimes don't. I swallow my rage. with their Latin? so. the cup runs o'er. For. Although the miller does not preach to him The only good of grass is to make chaff. You understand me: I'm a beast. I always see the Garden and God there A-making man's wife ± and. And I do these wild things in sheer despite. I think I speak as I was taught. . a cry. you're my man. out at grass After hard years. For me. manners. The world and life's too big to pass for a dream. doing most. I know what's sure to follow. there's pretty sure to come A turn ± some warm eve finds me at my saints ± A laugh. Fag on at flesh. if given you at your word. I know. They. then: bless us. you've seen the world 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 . suck my lips in tight. In pure rage! the old mill-horse. now ± why. my lesson learned. . I hope so ± though I never live so long. Slouches and stares and lets no atom drop ± His name is Guidi ± he'll not mind the monks ± They call him Hulking Tom. We've a youngster here Comes to our convent. you'll never make the third!' Flower o' the pine. belike ± However. he lets them talk ± He picks my practice up ± he'll paint apace. The value and significance of flesh. You keep your mistr. You find abundantly detestable. they must know! Don't you think they're the likeliest to know. 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. I can't unlearn ten minutes afterwards. you'll find: Brother Lorenzo stands his single peer. Clench my teeth. and I'll stick to mine! I'm not the third. studies what I do. You do like what.
does as well. yonder river's line. splashed the fresco in fine style. lights and shades. what's best. nature is complete: Suppose you reproduce her ± (which you can't) There's no advantage! you must beat her. Interpret God to all of you! oh. These are the frame to? What's it all about? To be passed o'er. It makes me mad to see what men shall do And we in our graves! This world's no blot for us. ay or no. The shapes of things. woman. For this fair town's face. `How looks my painting. despised? or dwelt upon. ± paint these Just as they are. Lending our minds out. their colours. Changes. and means good: To find its meaning is my meat and drink. Which is the same thing. don't you mark? we're made so that we love First when we see them painted. 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 so they are better. If I drew higher things with the same truth! That were to take the Prior's pulpit-place. surprises. things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see. mind you fast next Friday!' Why. though! How much more. Don't object. painted ± better to us. Art was given for that ± God uses us to help each other so. And trust me but you should. for this What need of art at all? A skull and bones. then. `His works Are here already. But why not do as well as say. Nor blank ± it means intensely. Fra Lippo Lippi 81 ± The beauty and the wonder and the power. oh. child. A bell to chime the hour with. careless what comes of it? God's works ± paint anyone.Robert Browning. Two bits of stick nailed crosswise. I painted a St Laurence six months since At Prato. now the scaffold's down?' I ask a brother: `Hugely. Have you noticed. ± and God made it all! ± For what? do you feel thankful. Wondered at? oh. But's scratched and prodded to our heart's content. or. Your cullion's hanging face? A bit of chalk. The pious people have so eased their own 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 . you say. now.' he returns ± `Already not one phiz of your three slaves Who turn the Deacon off his toasted side. The mountain round it and the sky above. Much more the figures of man.' For. and count it crime To let a truth slip. this last of course. `Ay.
this pure company! Where's a hole. My old serge gown and rope that goes all round. 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. The man of Uz (and Us without the z. Iste perfecit opus! So. Expect another job this time next year. Painters who need his patience). sweet As puff on puff of grated orris-root When ladies crowd to Church at midsummer. Though he's none of you! Could Saint John there. And Job. I must have him there past mistake. flowery angel-brood. . Tasting the air this spicy night which turns The unaccustomed head like Chianti wine! Oh. because he saves the Florentines. caught up with my monk's-things by mistake. motionless and moon-struck ± I'm the man! Back I shrink ± what is this I see and hear? I. Got wot. in this presence. then go. where's a corner for escape? Then steps a sweet angelic slip of a thing Forward. up shall come Out of a corner when you least expect. Lilies and vestments and white faces. Saint Ambrose.82 Robert Browning. all these Secured at their devotions. see Something in Sant' Ambrogio's! (bless the nuns! They want a cast of my office). I have bethought me: I shall paint a piece . I shall paint God in the midst. after all. of course a saint or two ± Saint John. There's for you! Give me six months. who but Lippo! I! ± Mazed. We get on fast to see the bricks beneath. Fra Lippo Lippi With coming to say prayers there in a rage. 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. draw ± His camel-hair make up a painting-brush? We come to brother Lippo for all that. Well. Madonna and her babe. `nay ± He made you and devised you. who puts down in black and white The convent's friends and gives them a long day. puts out a soft palm ± `Not so fast!' ± Addresses the celestial presence. . Ringed by a bowery. And then in the front. As one by a dark stair into a great light Music and talking. I. the church knows! don't misreport me. all smile ± 335 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 375 .
. Like the Prior's niece . it would prove me deaf and blind. .Robert Browning. Where Saint Mark's is. and here's all the good it brings. six months hence! Your hand. 4 Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May? Balls and masks begun at midnight. because the sea's the street there. 'tis with such a heavy mind! 2 Here you come with your old music. . . Baldassaro. I would say. While you sat and played Toccatas. . where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings? 3 Ay. . (and it was graceful of them) they'd break talk off and afford ± She. Shylock's bridge with houses on it. Zooks! 380 385 390 A Toccata of Galuppi's 1 Oh Galuppi. Till. and for the church A pretty picture gained. they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were the kings. Go. 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. stately at the clavichord? 5 10 15 . what you call . the little lily thing That spoke the good word for me in the nick. where they kept the carnival! I was never out of England ± it's as if I saw it all. cheeks so round and lips so red. and 'tis arched by . burning ever to midday. ± On her neck the small face buoyant. he to finger on his sword. and good bye: no lights. And so all's saved for me. no lights! The street's hushed. What. do you say? 5 Was a lady such a lady. O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might base his head? 6 Well. When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow. in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off To some safe bench behind. But although I take your meaning. not letting go The palm of her. this is very sad to find! I can hardly misconceive you. Saint Lucy. sir. wholly unexpected. to bite her mask's black velvet. and I know my own way back ± Don't fear me! There's the grey beginning. all the doors being shut. like a bell-flower on its bed.
is immortal ± where a soul can be discerned. till it must be answered to! 9 So an octave struck the answer. What of soul was left. merely born to bloom and drop. Oh. creaking where a house was burned ± `Dust and ashes. one by one.' ± `And are you still as happy?' ± `Yes ± And you?' ± `Then. ± think to take my stand nor swerve. when a million seemed so few?' Hark ± the dominant's persistence. doubtless. with such hair. Here on earth they bore their fruitage. mirth and folly were the crop. too ± what's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old. Some with lives that came to nothing. 13 `Yours for instance: you know physics. sigh on sigh. 12 Yes. souls shall rise in their degree. 11 But when I sit down to reason. Butterflies may dread extinction. sixths diminished. Dear dead women. In you come with your cold music till I creep thro' every nerve. Death stepped tacitly and took them where they never see the sun. some with deeds as well undone. Mathematics are your pastime. I dare say! `Brave Galuppi! that was music! good alike at grave and gay! I can always leave off talking when I hear a master play. it cannot be! 14 `As for Venice and its people. they praised you. when the kissing had to stop? 15 `Dust and ashes!' So you creak it. Told them something? Those suspensions. Venice spent what Venice earned. While I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close reserve. more kisses' ± `Did I stop them. and I want the heart to scold.84 Robert Browning. The soul. 20 25 30 35 40 45 .' 10 Then they left you for their pleasure: till in due time. I wonder. something of geology. like a ghostly cricket. you. dead and done with. ± you'll not die. those solutions ± `Must we die?' Those commiserating sevenths ± `Life might last! we can but try!' 8 `Were you happy?' ± `Yes. A Toccata of Galuppi's 7 What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive.
finding failure in its scope. with his staff ? What. 4 For. draw breath Freelier outside. `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. all agree.Robert Browning. That hoary cripple. what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare.' he saith. So much as gladness that some end might be. ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there. (`since all is o'er. 2 What else should he be set for. What with my search drawn out thro' years. 3 If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which. ± I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made. Hides the Dark Tower. with malicious eye Askance to watch the working of his lie On mine. my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring. Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed: neither pride Nor hope rekindling at the end descried. And hears one bid the other go. save to waylay with his lies. 5 As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed. what with my whole world-wide wandering. 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. he lied in every word. and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee that pursed and scored Its edge at one more victim gained thereby. `And the blow fallen no grieving can amend') 5 10 15 20 25 30 .
and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay. Than pausing to throw backward a last view O'er the safe road. naught else remained to do. inertness and grimace. yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away. I might go on. quiet as despair.86 Robert Browning. and dim Was settling to its close. 'twas gone! grey plain all round! Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. 7 Thus. ± And still the man hears all. scarves and staves. with none to awe. With care about the banners. 11 No! penury. a burr had been a treasure-trove. All the day Had been a dreary one at best. I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature. 8 So. 9 For mark! no sooner was I fairly found Pledged to the plain. were the land's portion. out of his highway Into the path he pointed. In some strange sort. seemed best. nothing throve: For flowers ± as well expect a cedar grove! But cockle. And all the doubt was now ± should I be fit. I had so long suffered in this quest. That hateful cripple.' 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed Their steps ± that just to fail as they. 10 So on I went. been writ So many times among `The Band' ± to wit. according to their law Might propagate their kind. `See Or shut your eyes' ± said Nature peevishly ± `It nothing skills: I cannot help my case: The Last Judgment's fire alone can cure this place. I turned from him. Heard failure prophesied so oft. You'd think. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 6 While some discuss if near the other graves Be room enough for this. after a pace or two. spurge. Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free.
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. till I almost felt him fold An arm in mine to fix me to the place. Good ± but the scene shifts ± faugh! what hangman's hands Pin to his breast a parchment? his own bands Read it. 13 As for the grass. Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane. 16 Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face Beneath its garniture of curly gold. Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe: I never saw a brute I hated so ± He must be wicked to deserve such pain. What honest man should dare (he said) he durst. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 87 12 If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates. then.Robert Browning. 17 Giles. As a man calls for wine before he fights. Dear fellow. the soul of honour ± there he stands Frank as ten years ago when knighted first. That way he used. 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. the head was chopped ± the bents Were jealous else. happier sights. I asked one draught of earlier. Stood stupefied. fight afterwards ± the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights. his every bone a-stare. it grew as scant as hair In leprosy ± thin dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood. Think first. Poor traitor. with a brute's intents. One stiff blind horse. however he came there ± Thrust out past service from the devil's stud! 14 Alive? he might be dead for aught I know. With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain. spit upon and curst! 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 .
Christians against Jews. no doubt. rolled by. Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage ± 23 The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque. None out of it: mad brewage set to work Their brains. 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank Soil to a plash? toads in a poisoned tank. a suicidal throng: The river which had done them all the wrong. But. Now for a better country. Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it. 22 Glad was I when I reached the other bank. like galley-slaves the Turk Pits for his pastime.88 Robert Browning. how I feared To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek. What penned them there. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 18 Better this present than a past like that ± Back therefore to my darkening path again. 19 A sudden little river crossed my path As unexpected as a serpent comes. Each step. ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek. 20 So petty yet so spiteful! All along. with all the plain to choose? No footprint leading to that horrid mews. might have been a bath For the fiend's glowing hoof ± to see the wrath Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes. what war did they wage. deterred no whit. no sight as far as eye could strain. Vain presage! Who were the strugglers. tangled in his hair or beard! ± It may have been a water-rat I speared. while I forded. or feel the spear I thrust to seek For hollows. Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit Of mute despair. Whate'er that was. No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms ± This. No sound. 21 Which. Will the night send a howlet or a bat? I asked: when something on the dismal flat Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train. ± good saints. as it frothed by.
aware I somehow grew. nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned That brushed my cap ± perchance the guide I sought. When. Progress this way. Apollyon's bosom-friend. and now mere earth Desperate and done with. a cleft in him Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim Gaping at death. on earth left unaware. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 89 24 And more than that ± a furlong on ± why. God knows when ± In a bad dream perhaps. Makes a thing and then mars it. you! How to get from them was no plain case. How thus they had surprised me. came a click As when a trap shuts ± you're inside the den! 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 . Here ended. Then came some palsied oak. Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel. there! What bad use was that engine for. 'Spite of the dusk. sand and stark black dearth. 25 Then came a bit of stubbed ground. Now patches where some leanness of the soil's Broke into moss or substances like boils. not wheel ± that harrow fit to reel Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air Of Tophet's tool. one time more. 27 And just as far as ever from the end! Naught in the distance but the evening. that wheel. once a wood. nought To point my footstep further! At the thought. Next a marsh. the plain had given place All round to mountains ± with such name to grace Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view. coloured gay and grim. 26 Now blotches rankling. then.Robert Browning. Or brake. ± solve it. clay and rubble. Sailed past. looking up. it would seem. A great black bird. 28 For. (so a fool finds mirth. 29 Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick Of mischief happened to me. in the very nick Of giving up. and dies while it recoils. till his mood Changes and off he goes!) within a rood ± Bog.
`Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came. 32 Not see? because of night perhaps? ± Why. The tempest's mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on. and such was bold. Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight ± While to the left. And blew. yet each of old Lost. a tall scalped mountain .90 Robert Browning. to see the game at bay. Dunce. . 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. day ± Came back again for that! before it left. And such was fortunate.' 175 180 185 190 195 200 Memorabilia 1 Ah. only when the timbers start. lay ± Chin upon hand. Built of brown stone. like giants at a hunting. This was the place! those two hills on the right. and new! . a living frame For one more picture! in a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all. blind as the fool's heart. Of all the lost adventures my peers. Memorabilia 30 Burningly it came on me all at once. 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. to be dozing at the very nonce. And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set. Fool. lost! one moment knelled the woe of years. 34 There they stood. ± `Now stab and end the creature ± to the heft!' 33 Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled Increasing like a bell. . did you once see Shelley plain. ranged along the hillsides ± met To view the last of me. The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: The hills. Names in my ears.
my Lucrezia. I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. accept too his own price. To-morrow. bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. as married people use. Don't count the time lost. Treat his own subject after his own way. Love! I often am much wearier than you think. but does it bring your heart? I'll work then for your friend's friend. Quietly. Andrea del Sarto 91 2 But you were living before that. quietly the evening through. And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside. No. Let us try. 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. either. 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. 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. You turn your face. Both of one mind. an eagle-feather ± Well. I'll content him. Fix his own time. 5 10 15 Andrea del Sarto (Called `The Faultless Painter') But do not let us quarrel any more.Robert Browning. never fear. how you shall be glad for this! Your soft hand is a woman of itself. ± but tomorrow. I forget the rest. Will it? tenderly? Oh. And shut the money into this small hand When next it takes mine. And also you are living after. This evening more than usual. you must serve For each of the five pictures we require ± 5 10 15 20 .
Love. ± but I. too ± when I say perfectly I do not boast. so sweet ± My face. and not leave this town. Which everybody looks on and calls his. At any rate 'tis easy. if I ever wish so deep ± Do easily. my hope. all of it. The last monk leaves the garden. no less! You smile? why. perhaps: yourself are judge. There's what we painters call our harmony! A common greyness silvers everything. While she looks ± no one's: very dear. No sketches first. Love! so such things should be ± Behold Madonna. Who listened to the Legate's talk last week. the second from the door ± It is the thing. at the point of your first pride in me (That's gone you know). There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top. days decrease. being all toned down To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. But you can hear at least when people speak. my art. What I see. autumn in everything. huddled more inside. So! keep looking so ± My serpentining beauty. And autumn grows. I can do with my pencil what I know. no studies. I could count twenty such On twice your fingers. you and I alike ± You. And. is looked on by in turn. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . 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. I suppose. there's my picture ready made. ± All in a twilight. I am bold to say. we are in God's hand. 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. Andrea del Sarto It saves a model. my moon. what at bottom of my heart I wish for. looks the life he makes us lead! So free we seem. my everybody's moon. That length of convent-wall across the way Holds the trees safer. and agonise to do. rounds on rounds! ± How could you ever prick those perfect ears. My youth. How strange now. And fail in doing.92 Robert Browning. A twilight-piece. 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. at every point. And that cartoon. Even to put the pearl there! oh.
but a man's reach should exceed his grasp. than goes on to prompt This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine. Pouring his soul. Rightly traced and well ordered. Yonder's a work now. ('Tis copied. But all the play. Love. Reaching. of that famous youth The Urbinate who died five years ago. am unmoved by men's blame Or their praise either. that Heaven might so replenish him. a child may understand. some one says. it boils too. Somebody remarks Morello's outline there is wrongly traced. Its body. to sigh `Had I been two. no matter) so much less! Well. (I know his name. Heart. another and myself. so much less. given me soul. Yet do much less. Lucrezia! I am judged. My works are nearer heaven. but I sit here. so to speak! its soul is right. That arm is wrongly put ± and there again ± A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines.) Well. His hue mistaken. Above and through his art ± for it gives way. He means right ± that. I and you. I can fancy how he did it all. Still. yes. Nay. or whate'er else. Though they come back and cannot tell the world. Our head would have o'erlooked the world!' No doubt. Their works drop groundward. beating stuffed and stopped-up brain. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 . what an arm! and I could alter it. There burns a truer light of God in them. you did give all I asked. by many times. We might have risen to Rafael. I. but themselves. In their vexed. George Vasari sent it me.Robert Browning. Know what I do. the insight and the stretch ± Out of me! out of me! And wherefore out? Had you enjoined them on me. what of that? or else. or blame them. Enter and take their place there sure enough. painting from myself and to myself. Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me. The sudden blood of these men! at a word ± Praise them. I know. it boils. what of that? Ah. less is more. 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. I think ± More than I merit. with kings and popes to see.
round my neck. Put on the glory. 'twas right. Too live the life grew. I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat ± somewhat. All is as God over-rules. was it not. The rest avail not. the power ± And thus we half-men struggle. and such a fire of souls Profuse. as a bird The fowler's pipe. this face beyond. waiting on my work. Beside. with the same perfect brow. with these the same. The best is when they pass and look aside.94 Robert Browning. and follows to the snare ± Had you. this. I must bear it all. what is that? Live for fame. But they speak sometimes. or has Angelo? In this world. punishes. to speak the truth. my hand kept plying by those hearts. And perfect eyes. and more than perfect mouth. God. this. ± And. The present by the future. who can do a thing. Poor this long while. all three!' I might have done it for you. my kingly days? And had you not grown restless ± but I know ± 'Tis done and past. will not ± And who would do it. To crown the issue with a last reward! A good time. if the award be strict. my instinct said. but brought a mind! Some women do so. do you know. At the end. Andrea del Sarto But had you ± oh. I conclude. One arm about my shoulder. despised. side by side with Angelo ± Rafael is waiting: up to God. leave home all day. Had the mouth there urged `God and the glory! never care for gain. incentives come from the soul's self. ± One finger in his beard or twisted curl Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile. That I am something underrated here. Such frank French eyes. golden and not grey ± And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 . For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. Well may they speak! That Francis. seeing with his eyes. best of all. I dared not. that first time. And that long festal year at Fontainebleau! I surely then could sometimes leave the ground. In that humane great monarch's golden look. 'Tis safer for me. And the low voice my soul hears. Rafael's daily wear. cannot. This in the background. All his court round him. compensates. too. You painting proudly with his breath on me. The jingle of his gold chain in my ear. So it seems ± Perhaps not. Why do I need you? What wife had Rafael.
Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!' To Rafael's! ± And indeed the arm is wrong. only you to see. I resolve to think. what is lost? Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold. Well. Oft at nights When I look up from painting. 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 . thus the line should go! Ay. See. . brick from brick Distinct. I am glad to judge Both pictures in your presence. But still the other's Virgin was his wife ±' Men will excuse me. The walls become illumined. it is settled dusk now. The triumph was to have ended there ± then if I reached it ere the triumph. (What he? why. eyes tired out. the watch-lights show the wall. I hardly dare ± yet. ± come in. as God lives. all I care for. there's a certain sorry little scrub Goes up and down our Florence. his very self. there's a star. at last. who but Michel Angelo? Do you forget already words like those?) If really there was such a chance. do you know. clearer grows My better fortune. none cares how. were he set to plan and execute As you are pricked on by your popes and kings. The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. Said one day Angelo. To Rafael . I have known it all these years .Robert Browning. Who. Andrea del Sarto 95 Out of the grange whose four walls make his world. Love. (When the young man was flaming out his thoughts Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see. Is. if he spoke the truth. . Andrea painted that. Give the chalk here ± quick. For. give you more. God is just. Come from the window. The Roman's is the better when you pray. Morello's gone. King Francis may forgive me. whether you're ± not grateful ± but more pleased. . do you comprehend? I mean that I should earn more. so lost. . You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! `Rafael did this. 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. instead of mortar fierce bright gold. Inside the melancholy little house We built to be so gay with. let me think so. How could it end in any other way? You called me. but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out! Still. Too lifted up in heart because of it) `Friend. Lucrezia. and I came home to your heart.
had I riches of my own? you see How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. and what's it worth? I'll pay my fancy. the whole should prove enough To pay for this same Cousin's freak. Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff ! Love. one more chance ± Four great walls in the New Jerusalem. Angelo and me To cover ± the three first without a wife. was tempted and complied. Must you go? That Cousin here again? he waits outside? Must see you ± you. I take the subjects for his corridor. And built this house and sinned. Some good son Paint my two hundred pictures ± let him try! No doubt. there's something strikes a balance. Will you? Tomorrow. Andrea del Sarto That gold of his I did cement them with! Let us but love each other. were I but back in France. Not yours this time! I want you at my side To hear them ± that is. Meted on each side by the angel's reed. The Cousin! what does he to please you more? I am grown peaceful as old age tonight. you call it. it seems to-night. and poor they died: And I have laboured somewhat in my time And not been paid profusely. lived poor. Michel Angelo ± Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. Well. and muse perfectly How I could paint. They were born poor. new chances. My father and my mother died of want. Finish the portrait out of hand ± there. work's my ware. but what does he. I regret little. Only let me sit The grey remainder of the evening out. satisfy your friend. And throw him in another thing or two If he demurs. This must suffice me here. just one more ± the Virgin's face. For Leonard. One picture. Yes. What would one have? In heaven. What's better and what's all I care about. and all is said. there. 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 . does that please you? Ah. perhaps. Idle. I would change still less. You loved me quite enough.96 Robert Browning. why alter it? The very wrong to Francis! it is true I took his coin. Beside. 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. Since there my past life lies. Rafael.
I touched a thought. Such primal naked forms of flowers. to stray In spirit better through the land. Two in the Campagna 97 While I have mine! So ± still they overcome Because there's still Lucrezia. 4 Where one small orange cup amassed Five beetles. Has tantalised me many times. Such miracles performed in play. We sat down on the grass. joy and peace. hand in hand. run to seed There. I know. since. 265 Two in the Campagna 1 I wonder do you feel today As I have felt. (Like turns of thread the spiders throw Mocking across our path) for rhymes To catch at and let go. 3 Help me to hold it: first it left The yellowing fennel. Hold it fast! 5 The champaign with its endless fleece Of feathery grasses everywhere! Silence and passion. This morn of Rome and May? 2 For me. ± as I choose. Some old tomb's ruin: yonder weed Took up the floating weft. An everlasting wash of air ± Rome's ghost since her decease. through such lengths of hours.Robert Browning. ± and last Everywhere on the grassy slope I traced it. my Love. Such letting Nature have her way While Heaven looks from its towers. ± blind and green they grope Among the honey-meal. branching from the brickwork's cleft. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . 6 Such life there. Again the Cousin's whistle! Go.
As earth lies bare to heaven above. Catch your soul's warmth. Fixed by no friendly star? 12 Just when I seemed about to learn! Where is the thread now? Off again! The old trick! Only I discern ± Infinite passion. . Then stand away. See with your eyes. You that are just so much. and drink my fill At your soul's springs. I yearn upward ± touch you close. nor mine. A Grammarian's Funeral 7 How say you? Let us. and set my heart Beating by yours. ± nor slave nor free! Where does the fault lie? what the core Of the wound. Onward. whenever light winds blow. O my dove. since wound must be? 9 I would I could adopt your will. Let us be unashamed of soul. 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. Singing together.98 Robert Browning. 10 No. no bar. no more ± Nor yours. How is it under our control To love or not to love? 8 I would that you were all to me. 11 Already how am I so far Out of that minute? Must I go Still like the thistle-ball. for good and ill. ± your part my part In life. ± I pluck the rose And love it more than tongue can speak ± Then the good minute goes. I kiss your cheek. and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.
Crowded with culture! All the peaks soar. `New measures. 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. Cared-for till cock-crow: Look out if yonder be not day again Rimming the rock-row! That's the appropriate country ± there. Theirs. man's thought. that's the world's way! (keep the mountainside. but one the rest excels. ± 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . Singing together. famous calm and dead. and youth was gone! Cramped and diminished. square chests. Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop. citied to the top. He was a man born with thy face and throat. Make for the city. Sleep.) He knew the signal. Chafes in the censer. Clouds overcome it. Left play for work. Self-gathered for an outbreak. the bard and sage. erect each head. as it ought. and grappled with the world Bent on escaping: `What's in the scroll. the vulgar thorpes Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain. whom we convoy to his grave aloft. No.Robert Browning. who most studied man. and stepped on with pride Over men's pity. Moaned he. 'Ware the beholders! This is our master. He's for the morning! Step to a tune.' quoth he. Borne on our shoulders. Seek we sepulture On a tall mountain. the little touch. darkling thorpe and croft. other feet anon! My dance is finished?' No. Rarer. crop and herd! sleep. `thou keepest furled? Show me their shaping. A Grammarian's Funeral 99 Leave we the common crofts. Safe from the weather! He. Lyric Apollo! Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note Winter would follow? Till lo. intenser.
Straight got by heart that book to its last page: Learned. nor feel queasy!' Oh.' another would have said. When he had gathered all books had to give. Ay. Still there's the comment. Prate not of most or least. fresher than at first.' Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head: Calculus racked him: Leaden before. `Now. we found him! Yea.) Yea. he gowned him. his eyes grew dross of lead: Tussis attacked him. Let me know all. Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon.100 Robert Browning. the way winds narrowly.) Not a whit troubled Back to his studies. take a little rest!' ± not he! (Caution redoubled! Step two a-breast. Master. When he had learned it. then execute the parts ± Fancy the fabric Quite. this in him was the peculiar grace (Hearten our chorus) Still before living he'd learn how to live ± No end to learning. but we found him bald too ± eyes like lead. Others mistrust and say ± `But time escapes. ere you build. he spurned it! Image the whole. Accents uncertain: `Time to taste life. ere steel strike fire from quartz. Ere mortar dab brick! (Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market-place Gaping before us. Painful or easy: Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast. `Actual life comes next? Patience a moment! Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text. ± Live now or never!' He said. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . Sooner. Earn the means first ± God surely will contrive Use for our earning. such a life as he resolved to live. A Grammarian's Funeral Give!' ± So. `What's Time? leave Now for dogs and apes! Man has For ever. `Up with the curtain!' This man said rather.
Heedless of far gain. for they can. Let the world mind him! This. throws himself on God. Greedy for quick returns of profit. clouds form. parts of speech were rife. where meteors shoot. with a great thing to pursue. A Grammarian's Funeral 101 Oh. and unperplext Seeking shall find Him. Well. That low man goes on adding one to one. here's the proper place: Hail to your purlieus All ye highfliers of the feathered race. Stars come and gol let joy break with the storm ± Peace let the dew send! 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 .Robert Browning. That. While he could stammer He settled Hoti's business ± let it be! ± Properly based Oun ± Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De. Dies ere he knows it. or earth's failure: `Wilt thou trust death or not?' he answered `Yes. Paid by instalment! He ventured neck or nothing ± heaven's success Found. through the rattle. Swallows and curlews! Here's the top-peak! the multitude below Live. Still. as fools do here. sure Bad is our bargain! Was it not great? did not he throw on God. (He loves the burthen) ± God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen? Did not he magnify the mind. So. `Hence with life's pale lure!' That low man seeks a little thing to do. Misses an unit. with the throttling hands of Death at strife. Sees it and does it: This high man. there. if we draw a circle premature. has the world here ± should he need the next. aiming at a million. here's the platform. Lightnings are loosened. This man decided not to Live but Know ± Bury this man there? Here ± here's his place. His hundred's soon hit: This high man. Ground he at grammar. shew clear Just what it all meant? He would not discount life. Dead from the waist down.
Outside are the storms and strangers: we ± Oh. close. Leave him ± still loftier than the world suspects. warm sleep I and she. With a malice that marks each word. each sign! O enemy sly and serpentine. ± I and she! 5 10 15 20 . Living and dying. 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. rain and wind combine With a furtive ear.102 Robert Browning. safe. Never the Time and the Place Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying. But the house is narrow. the place is bleak Where. outside. if I strive to speak. With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek. 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.
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. what showers of spring' What winter floods. cannot go .Emily (Jane) Bronte È (1818±1848) `What winter floods.
The silent night of solemn calm. `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. 5 10 15 `How still. where art thou now? Long years have passed away Since last from off thine angel brow I saw the light decay ± Alas. 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. how happy! those are words That once would scarce agree together . cannot go 5 10 `All hushed and still within the house' All hushed and still within the house Without ± all wind and driving rain But something whispers to my mind Through rain and [through the] wailing wind ± Never again Never again? Why not again? Memory has power as real as thine 5 `O Dream. how happy! those are words' How still. Wastes beyond wastes below. with weary pain ± Lost vision! 'tis enough for me ± Thou canst not shine again. The summer-eve divine. But nothing drear can move me. The full moon's cloudless shine Were once entwined with thee But now. I will not.104 Emily (Jane) Bronte. where art thou now?' O Dream.
`Mild the mist upon the hill' 105 È I loved the plashing of the surge ± The changing heaven. how happy! now I feel Where silence dwells is sweeter far Than laughing mirth's most joyous swell However pure its raptures are Come sit down on this sunny stone 'Tis wintery light o'er flowerless moors ± But sit ± for we are all alone And clear expand heaven's breathless shores I could think in the withered grass Spring's budding wreaths we might discern The violet's eye might shyly flash And young leaves shoot among the fern It is but thought ± full many a night The snow shall clothe those hills afar And storms shall add a drearier blight And winds shall wage a wilder war Before the lark may herald in Fresh foliage twined with blossoms fair And summer days again begin Their glory-haloed crown to wear Yet my heart loves December's smile As much as July's golden beam Then let us sit and watch the while The blue ice curdling on the stream ± 25 5 10 15 20 30 `Mild the mist upon the hill' Mild the mist upon the hill Telling not of storms tomorrow No. soothing.Emily (Jane) Bronte. the breezy weather. 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 . More than smooth seas and cloudless skies And solemn. softened airs That in the forest woke no sighs And from the green spray shook no tears How still.
5 10 15 20 25 30 . We were not once so few But Death has stolen our company As sunshine steals the dew ± He took them one by one and we Are left the only two. `Come. So closer would my feelings twine Because they have no stay but thine ± `Nay call me not ± it may not be Is human love so true? Can Friendship's flower droop on for years And then revive anew? No. walk with me' Come. 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. sweet mists of summer pall The horizon's mountain chain The damp stands on the long green grass As thick as morning's tears And dreamy scents of fragrance pass That breathe of other years 10 15 `Come. walk with me. How fair soe'er it grew The vital sap once perished Will never flow again And surer than that dwelling dread. come walk with me.106 Emily (Jane) Bronte. There's only thee To bless my spirit now ± We used to love on winter nights To wander through the snow. While moonbeams flash and fly so fast We scarce can say they smiled ± Come walk with me. though the soil be wet with tears. 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.
to bring The hovering vision back. The world within I doubly prize. that. And sweeter hope. I trust not to thy phantom bliss. Have undisputed sovereignty. Thy world. still. And whisper. when hope despairs! 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 . While thou canst speak with such a tone! So hopeless is the world without. Of real worlds. and I. and doubt. With never-failing thankfulness. where guile. and hate. Thy kind voice calls me back again: Oh. may oft complain For Nature's sad reality And tell the suffering heart how vain Its cherished dreams must always be. Benignant Power. Sure solacer of human cares. Danger.Emily (Jane) Bronte. with a voice divine. Where thou. And lost and ready to despair. newly-blown: But. and guilt. as bright as thine. What matters it. To Imagination 107 È The narrow dungeon of the dead Time parts the hearts of men ±' To Imagination When weary with the long day's care. and Liberty. my true friend! I am not lone. And earthly change from pain to pain. and breathe New glories o'er the blighted spring And call a lovelier Life from Death. Yet. and darkness lie. And cold suspicion never rise. If but within our bosom's bound We hold a bright. all around. indeed. in evening's quiet hour. untroubled sky. And Truth may rudely trample down The flowers of Fancy. Warm with ten thousand mingled rays Of suns that know no winter days? Reason. I welcome thee. thou art ever there.
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine. far removed. Remembrance È Remembrance (also known as `R. do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains on Angora's shore. Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? Now. 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. cold in the dreary grave: Have I forgot. 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. when alone. Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine! And even yet. Then did I learn how existence could be cherished. Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover That noble heart for ever.108 Emily (Jane) Bronte. But when the days of golden dreams had perished And even Despair was powerless to destroy. No second morn has ever shone for me. Strengthened and fed without the aid of joy. forgive if I forget thee While the World's tide is bearing me along: Other desires and other Hopes beset me. ever more? Cold in the earth. Alcona to J. Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish. I dare not let it languish. No later light has lightened up my heaven. my only Love. Then did I check the tears of useless passion. How could I seek the empty world again? 25 5 10 15 20 30 . Hopes which obscure but cannot do thee wrong. to love thee. Dare not indulge in Memory's rapturous pain.
Rochelle 109 È Julian M. my haughty Sire. chide. Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door. `Draw the ponderous bars.' 25 5 10 15 20 30 . open Warder stern!' He dare not say me nay ± the hinges harshly turn. Cheerful is the hearth. That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?' The captive raised her face. 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. The little lamp burns straight. In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray Reckless of the lives wasting there away. and A. art thou so much to fear. G. Frown. God forgive my youth. And were they forged in steel they could not hold me long.Emily (Jane) Bronte. `Confined in triple walls. it was as soft and mild As sculptured marble saint or slumbering. your bolts and irons strong. `and I am suffering now. Then. alone. Watching every cloud. and A. its rays shoot strong and far: I trim it well to be the Wanderer's guiding-star. my angry Dame. One.' she said. But neither sire nor dame. Rochelle (also known as `The Prisoner') Silent is the House ± all are laid asleep. darkly lodged enough!' returned my sullen guide. soft the matted floor. dreading every breeze That whirls the 'wildering drifts and bends the groaning trees. `Our guests are darkly lodged. Julian M.' I whispered gazing through The vault whose grated eye showed heaven more grey than blue (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride). threaten me with shame. Yet these are little worth. forgive my careless tongue! I scoffed as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung. looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep. It was so soft and mild. Set your slaves to spy. `Aye. nor prying serf shall know What angel nightly tracks that waste of winter snow. unweaned child. G.
dreaming wretch that I shall grant thy prayer? Or better still. before!' Her head sank on her hands. With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. `Shall I be won to hear. how former days upon my heart were borne. Friend. I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom and desolate despair. never. When you my parents' lives ± my lost life can restore. Julian. Of all my playmates. with evening's wandering airs. A messenger of Hope comes every night to me.110 Emily (Jane) Bronte. 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. But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind: And I am rough and rude. Alas. yet. And offers. too loving Child.' she gently said. The dungeon seemed to swim in strange confusion round. and A. all. `Lord Julian. you. How memory mirrored then the prisoner's joyous morn ± Too blithe. too warmly. And kneeling. unless you deem it shame To own from conquered foe. its fair curls swept the ground. 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. And visions rise and change which kill me with desire ± 65 45 35 40 50 55 60 70 . parted back the floating golden cloud. eternal liberty. alone. `Is she so near to death?' I murmured. Rochelle È Hoarse laughed the jailor grim. wilt melt my master's heart with groans? Ah sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones! My master's voice is low. Julian M. Then may I weep and sue ± but. his aspect bland and kind. G. And insult and contempt I lightly brook from you. He comes with western winds. Winds take a pensive tone and stars a tender fire. tell them. for short life. a once familiar name ± I can not wonder now at ought the world will do. By ball or speedy knife or headsman's skilful blow ± A quick and welcome pang instead of lingering woe! Yet. wildly gay! Was that the wintry close of thy celestial May? She knew me and she sighed. Dost think fond. remember me? Nay start not at my words. half aloud. can it be. `you have not heard me mourn.
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 heard and yet heard not the surly keeper growl. a soundless calm descends. still to stay. But first a hush of peace. the captive's drooping lid Beneath its shady lash a sudden lightning hid. and A. 105 85 75 80 90 95 100 110 .Emily (Jane) Bronte. But duty will not let me linger here all day. If I might go. Not daring now to touch one lock of silken hair ± As I had knelt in scorn. My outward sense is gone. `You may be pleased. Then dawns the Invisible. unanswering. Earth's hope was not so dead. to and fro. its home. from sun or thunderstorm. I'd leave this badge of mine with you Not doubting that you'd prove a jailor stern and true. on the dank floor I knelt still. When the pulse begins to throb. The struggle of distress and fierce impatience ends. Measuring the gulf it stoops and dares the final bound! O. Lord Julian. The keeper. its harbour found. When. I knew not whence they came. watched her there. heaven's home was not so dear: I read it in that flash of longing quelled by fear. The soul to feel the flesh and the flesh to feel the chain! Yet I would lose no sting. I saw. Mute music soothes my breast ± unuttered harmony That I could never dream till earth was lost to me. Julian M. the Unseen its truth reveals. Then. loosing off his belt the rusty dungeon key. the vision is divine. my inward essence feels ± Its wings are almost free. He said. yet did not see. The more that anguish racks the earlier it will bless: And robed in fires of Hell. Rochelle 111 È Desire for nothing known in my maturer years When joy grew mad with awe at counting future tears. or bright with heavenly shine If it but herald Death. swore ± While my cheek glowed in flame.' She ceased to speak and I. if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm. My fingers in the links of that iron hard and chill. the brain to think again. would wish no torture less. G. paced by the bolted door And shivered as he walked and as he shivered. dreadful is the check ± intense the agony When the ear begins to hear and the eye begins to see.' I took the proffered charge. the flagstones damp and foul.
who am so quick to answer sneer with sneer. Through thirteen anxious weeks of terror-blent delight I guarded her by day and guarded her by night. Julian M. And by the patient strength that could that world defy. By never-doubting love. Oh. faint. So ready to condemn. Yet I had no desire the glorious prize to gain ± It needed braver nerve to face the world's disdain. the battle-standard wave But Julian had no heart to fill a patriot's grave. Thus ruth and selfish love together striving tore The heart all newly taught to pity and adore. When though the cage was wide ± the heaven around it lay ± Its pinion would not waft my wounded dove away. How the trumpet's voice might call.' And I. she turned aside from noon's unwonted beam. If I should break the chain I felt my bird would go. with calm mind. Another hand than mine my rightful banner held And gathered my renown on Freedom's crimson field. While foes were prowling near and Death gazed greedily And only Hope remained a faithful friend to me. I heard my kindred tell `How Julian loved his hearth and sheltering rooftree well. Yet I must break the chain or seal the prisoner's woe. 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 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. When pierced with one wild glance from the troubled hazel eye It gushes into tears and lets its treasure fly. and A. G. Short strife! what rest could soothe ± what peace could visit me While she lay pining there for Death to set her free? `Rochelle. 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. I earned at last an equal love from thee! 145 125 115 120 130 135 140 150 .112 Emily (Jane) Bronte. contempt and calumny. By suffering. more than I could dream ± When. unswerving constancy. Rochelle È Then like a tender child whose hand did just enfold Safe in its eager grasp a bird it wept to hold. Then oft with taunting smile. Rochelle.
Emily (Jane) Bronte. that in me hast rest As I Undying Life. unutterably vain. 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. creates and rears Though Earth and moon were gone And suns and universes ceased to be And thou wert left alone Every Existence would exist in thee There is not room for Death Nor atom that his might could render void Since thou are Being and Breath And what thou art may never be destroyed 25 5 10 15 20 . Changes. dissolves. `No coward soul is mine' 113 È `No coward soul is mine' No coward soul is mine No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere I see Heaven's glories shine And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear O God within my breast Almighty ever-present Deity Life. sustains. have power in thee Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts.
A voice that is not ours commands the waves. A hand that is not ours upstays our steps. In front the sun climbs slow. But westward. It may be that in deed and not in fancy. The enemy faints not nor faileth. It may be true too That while we walk the troublous tossing sea. how slowly. The `Help us or we perish. An evanescent spectrum of disease. It may be.' is not nought. 5 10 . And. and the cry That rises so spontaneous to the lips. Seem here no painful inch to gain. Commands the waves. Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers. the main. and whispers in our ear. in yon smoke concealed. things remain. Far back through creeks and inlets making Comes silent. And as things have been. flooding in. When daylight comes.Arthur Hugh Clough (1819±1861) `Say not the struggle naught availeth' Say not the struggle naught availeth. For while the tired waves vainly breaking. possess the field. comes in the light. The labor and the wounds are vain. And when [we] feel our feet beneath us sink. That when we see the o'ertopping waves advance. but for you. look! the land is bright. And not by eastern windows only. There are who walk beside us. If hopes were dupes. 5 10 15 `That there are powers above us I admit' That there are powers above us I admit. fears may be liars.
15 . why didst thou doubt? At any rate ± That there are beings above us. And when we lift up holy hands of prayer.Arthur Hugh Clough. I believe. `That there are powers above us I admit' 115 O thou of little faith. I will not say they will not give us aid.
. The nightingales divinely sing. from shore to shore. At this vessel's prow I stand. and what I ought to be. a God their severance ruled! And bade betwixt their shores to be The unplumbed. and sick of asking What I am. We mortal millions live alone. But when the moon their hollows lights. And in their glens. 5 10 15 20 Self-Dependence Weary of myself. And then their endless bounds they know. ± For surely once. forwards. o'er the starlit sea. The islands feel the enclasping flow. they feel. salt. which bears me Forwards. on starry nights. estranging sea. Across the sounds and channels pour. that their longing's fire Should be. Oh then a longing like despair Is to their farthest caverns sent. Now round us spreads the watery plain ± Oh might our marges meet again! Who ordered. And lovely notes. With echoing straits between us thrown. cooled? Who renders vain their deep desire? A God. Dotting the shoreless watery wild.Matthew Arnold (1822±1888) To Marguerite In Returning a Volume of the Letters of Ortis Yes: in the sea of life enisled. as soon as kindled. we were Parts of a single continent. And they are swept by balms of spring.
and unobservant In what state God's other works may be. These attain the mighty life you see. `ye Stars. sweet is the night air! Only.Matthew Arnold. `Bounded by themselves. 5 10 . star-sown vault of heaven. the light Gleams. In their own tasks all their powers pouring. Over the lit sea's unquiet way. severely clear. Come to the window. `Ah. compose me to the end. out in the tranquil bay. the cliffs of England stand. `And with joy the stars perform their shining. Glimmering and vast. clear.' I cried. as I gaze upon you. ye Waters. Calm me. 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. still let me. On my heart your mighty charm renew: Still. Who finds himself. and is gone. amusement. And the sea its long moon-silvered roll. `Unaffrighted by the silence round them. ah. from the long line of spray Where the ebb meets the moon-blanched land. Undistracted by the sights they see. once more. For alone they live. on the French coast.' O air-born Voice! long since.' From the intense. and fling. The tide is full. These demand not that the things without them Yield them love. Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves suck back. sympathy. A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear. Feel my soul becoming vast like you. the moon lies fair Upon the Straits. nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul. In the rustling night-air came the answer ± `Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they. loses his misery!' 25 5 10 15 20 30 Dover Beach The sea is calm tonight. `Resolve to be thyself. and know that he.
nor light. which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams. After he had been a pretty while well exercised in the trade. With tremulous cadence slow. and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery. Retreating to the breath Of the night-wind. nor love. love. So various. 15 20 25 30 35 The Scholar-Gipsy `There was very lately a lad in the University of Oxford. . nor help for pain. The Scholar-Gipsy At their return. 1661. there chanced to ride by a couple of scholars. up the high strand. and cease. Begin. Nor certitude. he said. so beautiful. and when he had compassed the whole secret.118 Matthew Arnold. we Find also in the sound a thought. their fancy binding that of others: that himself had learned much of their art. and then again begin. Among these extravagant people. Ah. and told them that the people he went with were not such impostors as they were taken for. and at last to join himself to a company of vagabond gipsies. Hearing it by this distant northern sea. he intended. by the insinuating subtilty of his carriage. who was by his poverty forced to leave his studies there. long withdrawing roar. let us be true To one another! for the world. he quickly got so much of their love and esteem as that they discovered to him their mystery.' ± Glanvil's Vanity of Dogmatizing. Where ignorant armies clash by night. and he gave them an account of the necessity which drove him to that kind of life. at the full. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the ágean. down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. to leave their company. and could do wonders by the power of imagination. But now I only hear Its melancholy. nor peace. The sea of faith Was once. Hath really neither joy. and bring The eternal note of sadness in. who had formerly been of his acquaintance. so new. And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight. and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. but that they had a traditional kind of learning among them. and give the world an account of what he had learned. too. They quickly spied out their old friend among the gipsies.
whom at college erst he knew Met him. let me read the oft-read tale again. 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. and again renew the quest. will I be. The Scholar-Gipsy 119 Go. While to my ear from uplands far away The bleating of the folded flocks is borne. And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves. in the country lanes Two scholars. But once. comes back his stores to use. Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats. Shepherd. as most men deemed. Shepherd. where he leaves His coat. and untie the wattled cotes: No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed. The story of the Oxford scholar poor Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain. and his earthen cruise. But came to Oxford and his friends no more. Come. years after. Screened is this nook o'er the high. tired of knocking at Preferment's door. In this high field's dark corner. and rustle down their perfumed showers Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid. where the reaper was at work of late. Then here.Matthew Arnold. Here. But when the fields are still. And only the white sheep are sometimes seen Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanched green. And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers. And roamed the world with that wild brotherhood. Who. And bower me from the August sun with shade. And here till sun-down. that the Gipsy crew. from the hill. his basket. to little good. and of his way of life enquired. Nor the cropped herbage shoot another head. And came. for they call you. Here will I sit and wait. His mates. 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. Shepherd. And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest. One summer morn forsook His friends. Shepherd. half-reaped field. and went to learn the Gipsy lore. had arts to rule as they desired 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . Whereat he answered. Go. at noon.
And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats.120 Matthew Arnold. Thee. Returning home on summer nights. Wanderer. At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors. Oxford riders blithe. And put the shepherds. For most. That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray. And watch the warm green muffled Cumnor hills. And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream And then they land.' he said. Or in my boat I lie Moored to the cool bank in the summer heats.' This said. And they can bind them to what thoughts they will: `And I. Or cross a stile into the public way. Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam. The same the Gipsies wore. he left them. I know. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . will to the world impart: But it needs happy moments for this skill. and cloak of grey. But. In hat of antique shape. On the warm ingle bench. and returned no more. Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills. The Scholar-Gipsy The workings of men's brains. When fully learned. thou lov'st retired ground. But rumours hung about the countryside. the smock-frocked boors Had found him seated at their entering. pensive and tongue-tied. and thou art seen no more. on thy trace. 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. he would fly: And I myself seem half to know thy looks. mid their drink and clatter. `the secret of their art. And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers Plucked in shy fields and distant woodland bowers. As the slow punt swings round: And leaning backward in a pensive dream. And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place. at the ferry. Seen by rare glimpses. Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers ± the frail-leafed. who from the distant hamlets come To dance around the Fyfield elm in May. have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe. Maidens. Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet.
and every bush you see With scarlet patches tagged and shreds of grey. And gained the white brow of the Cumnor range. above Godstow Bridge. thy figure spare. Have I not passed thee on the wooden bridge. nor stops his meal. while thick the snowflakes fall. And waiting for the spark from Heaven to fall. Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass Where black-winged swallows haunt the glittering Thames. on the causeway chill Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go. when haytime's here In June. all an April day. in winter. Where at her open door the housewife darns. In Autumn. But. when the stars come out and shine. and many a scythe in sunshine flames. Above the forest ground called Thessaly ± The blackbird picking food Sees thee. who early range these slopes and late For cresses from the rills. Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow. twirling in thy hand a withered spray.Matthew Arnold. Through the long dewy grass move slow away. The line of festal light in Christ-Church hall ± Then sought thy straw in some sequestered grange. So often has he known thee past him stray Rapt. At some lone homestead in the Cumnor hills. Have often passed thee near Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown: Marked thy outlandish garb. But what ± I dream! Two hundred years are flown Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls. And marked thee. and soft abstracted air. To bathe in the abandoned lasher pass. The springing pastures and the feeding kine. or hanging on a gate To watch the threshers in the mossy barns. The Scholar-Gipsy 121 And. And once. Thou hast been seen. when they came from bathing. on the skirts of Bagley Wood Where most the Gipsies by the turf-edged way Pitch their smoked tents. nor fears at all. Turned once to watch. Thy face towards Hinksey and its wintry ridge? And thou hast climbed the hill. And the grave Glanvil did the tale inscribe That thou wert wandered from the studious walls 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . thou wert gone. Children. Have known thee watching. Thy dark vague eyes.
disappointments new. Thou waitest for the spark from Heaven and we. nor clearly willed. 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 . why should'st thou perish. with powers Fresh. have not. thou hast not felt the lapse of hours. ± No. Who never deeply felt. And we ourselves shall go. To the just-pausing Genius we remit Our worn-out life. For whom each year we see Breeds new beginnings. Thou hast not lived. undiverted to the world without. Who hesitate and falter life away. And we imagine thee exempt from age And living as thou liv'st on Glanvil's page. And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit. Because thou hadst ± what we. Light half-believers of our casual creeds. again. but not. so? Thou hadst one aim. and join a Gipsy tribe: And thou from earth art gone Long since. not spent on other things. The generations of thy peers are fled. And numb the elastic powers. But thou possessest an immortal lot. Exhaust the energy of strongest souls. no. alas. Firm to their mark. where o'er thy unknown grave Tall grasses and white flowering nettles wave. and are ± what we have been. For early didst thou leave the world. Which much to have tried. like thee. brings. red-fruited yew-tree's shade. Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds. Till having used our nerves with bliss and teen. O life unlike to ours! Who fluctuate idly without term or scope. And each half lives a hundred different lives. Free from the sick fatigue. nor knows for what he strives. one desire: Else wert thou long since numbered with the dead ± Else hadst thou spent. Whose vague resolves never have been fulfilled. the languid doubt. one business. Some country nook. The Scholar-Gipsy To learn strange arts. Who wait like thee. thy fire. Of whom each strives. and in some quiet churchyard laid. Under a dark. For what wears out the life of mortal men? 'Tis that from change to change their being rolls: 'Tis that repeated shocks. in much been baffled. in hope. again.122 Matthew Arnold. like other men.
And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames. and resting on the moonlit pales. the silvered branches of the glade ± Far on the forest skirts. to the nightingales. 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 . Sad Patience. we await it. Its heads o'ertaxed. And all his store of sad experience he Lays bare of wretched days. With its sick hurry. From the dark dingles. its divided aims. Wanderer. And waive all claim to bliss. Nursing thy project in unclouded joy. Freshen thy flowers. And all his hourly varied anodynes. too near neighbour to Despair: But none has hope like thine. On some mild pastoral slope Emerge. await it too? Yes. Still clutching the inviolable shade. Wave us away.Matthew Arnold. was rife ± Fly hence. The Scholar-Gipsy 123 And lose tomorrow the ground won today ± Ah! do not we. our contact fear! Still fly. Roaming the country side. With dew. its palsied hearts. O born in days when wits were fresh and clear. and keep thy solitude! Still nursing the unconquerable hope. With a free onward impulse brushing through. and try to bear With close-lipped Patience for our only friend. where none pursue. And then we suffer and amongst us One. And every doubt long blown by time away. Before this strange disease of modern life. Thou through the fields and through the woods dost stray. but it still delays. takes dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne. Tells us his misery's birth and growth and signs. Who most has suffered. and how the head. as Dido did with gesture stern From her false friend's approach in Hades turn. And how the dying spark of hope was fed. a truant boy. And wish the long unhappy dream would end. This for our wisest: and we others pine. plunge deeper in the bowering wood! Averse. or listen with enchanted ears. And how the breast was soothed. as in former years. By night.
Freighted with amber grapes. and unbent sails There. though it gives no bliss. fly our speech and smiles! ± As some grave Tyrian trader. The fringes of a southward-facing brow Among the ágean isles.124 Matthew Arnold. And day and night held on indignantly O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale. and grow old at last and die like ours. our feverish contact fly! For strong the infection of our mental strife. Descried at sunrise an emerging prow Lifting the cool-haired creepers stealthily. The Scholar-Gipsy But fly our paths. And snatched his rudder. Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily. And on the beach undid his corded bales. and shook out more sail. And we should win thee from thy own fair life. Green bursting figs. soon thy cheer would die. yet spoils for rest. The young light-hearted Masters of the waves. and like us unblest. and tunnies steeped in brine. And saw the merry Grecian coaster come. Thy hopes grow timorous. Fade. through sheets of foam. and Chian wine. Which. from the sea. To where the Atlantic raves Outside the Western Straits. Like us distracted. Shy traffickers. Then fly our greetings. the dark Iberians come. where down cloudy cliffs. And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made: And then thy glad perennial youth would fade. And knew the intruders on his ancient home. and unfixed thy powers. Soon. 225 230 235 240 245 250 .
ungirt from clasp to hem. And her hair. ± By God built over the sheer depth In which Space is begun. . . even. She had three lilies in her hand.) It was the terrace of God's house That she was standing on. No wrought flowers did adorn. So high. She could scarce see the sun. . her day Had counted as ten years. . Was yellow like ripe corn. that looking downward thence. But a white rose of Mary's gift On the neck meetly worn. .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. And the stars in her hair were seven. as a bridge. . here in this place Surely she leaned o'er me. . Yet now. It lies from Heaven across the flood Of ether. . (To one it is ten years of years: . . Her robe. Albeit to them she left. The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers. . The whole year sets apace. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . lying down her back. Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves. . ± her hair Fell all about my face . Her seemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers. .
For no breeze may stir Along the steady flight Of seraphim. Till her bosom's pressure must have made The bar she leaned on warm. shake fierce Through all the worlds. Their virginal chaste names. But in those tracts. it was The peace of utter light And silence. And the souls. `We two will stand beside that shrine. Spake. From the fixt lull of heaven. Beyond all depth or height. as when The stars sang in their spheres. Playing at holy games. And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm.126 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. some of her new friends. she saw Time. and stooped Into the vast waste calm. untrod. Her gaze still strove. In that steep gulph. I'll take his hand. with her. And still she bowed herself. no echo there. Heard hardly. withheld. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. Occult. For he will come. Went by her like thin flames. `Have I not prayed in solemn heaven? On earth.' she said. like a pulse. `I wish that he were come to me. And he is clothed in white. among themselves. mounting up to God. And we will step down as to a stream And bathe there in God's sight. to pierce The swarm: and then she spake. the tides of day and night With flame and blackness ridge The void. has he not prayed? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? `When round his head the aureole clings. gentle-mouthed. and go with him To the deep wells of light. The Blessed Damozel Beneath.
which his mouth Shall pause in. Magdalen. and though the end were reached? . Alas for lonely Heaven! Alas For life wrung out alone! Alas. white like flame. though they would?) `We two. Margaret. 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. Finding some knowledge at each pause And some new thing to know. `We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Sometimes is felt to be. Weaving the golden thread. hushed and slow. Gertrude. with bound locks And bosoms covered. whose names Are five sweet symphonies: ± Cecily. expects Its patient period.' she said.' (Alas! to her wise simple mind These things were all but known Before: they trembled on her sense. Into the fine cloth. Then I will lay my cheek 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 . With her five handmaidens. ± Her voice had caught their tone. While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His name audibly. will teach to him ± I myself. and be dumb. being dead. `Circle-wise sit they. `And I myself. `will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is. `He shall fear haply. lying so.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born. And where each need. and Rosalys. . revealed. ± The songs I sing here. The Blessed Damozel 127 Whose lamps tremble continually With prayer sent up to God. .
And peace shall be with us. `Yea. `There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me: ± To have more blessing than on earth In nowise. shall sing To their citherns and citoles. hand in hand.128 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers. and she smiled. To Him round whom all souls Kneel ± the unnumbered solemn heads Bowed with their aureoles: And Angels. Part I Youth and Change To his. We two will live at once. And laid her face between her hands. but to be As then we were.) But soon their flight Was vague 'mid the poised spheres. Yea. (I heard her tears. and tell about our love. (I saw her smile. verily. and listened.' She ceased. The light thrilled past her. in strong level lapse.' She gazed. and let me speak. And wept. and then said.) 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 . ± being as then At peace. meeting us. Not once abashed or weak: And the dear Mother will approve My pride. `Herself shall bring us. verily. filled With Angels. when he is come We will do thus and thus: Till this my vigil seem quite strange And almost fabulous. Less sad of speech than mild: `All this is when he comes. Her eyes prayed. one life.
at length so nigh. or denude This soul of wedding-raiment worn today? For lo! even now my lady's lips did play With these my lips such consonant interlude As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay. at some fond thought. 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. and no man sees but I. First touched. the hand now warm around my neck Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo! Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow. Her bosom to the writing closelier pressed. The bliss so long afar. Methinks proud Love must weep When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap The sacred hour for which the years did sigh.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 5 10 . 129 5 10 Sonnet VII: Supreme Surrender To all the spirits of Love that wander by Along his love-sown harvest-field of sleep My lady lies apparent. even I and she. Whereof the articulate throbs accompany The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair. ± Oh let thy silent song disclose to me That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree Like married music in Love's answering air. and the deep Calls to the deep. Fain had I watched her when. 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. desire in deity. ± A spirit when her spirit looked through me. till love's emulous ardours ran. Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Can rob this body of honour. I was a child beneath her touch. Rests there attained. even of her breath aware. ± a man When breast to breast we clung. ± A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood. ± Sweet fluttering sheet. And her breast's secrets peered into her breast. Fire within fire.
Love shackled with vain-longing. ah me! for love's good grace. Even now. Her paths without her? Day's appointed sway Usurped by desolate night. O lovely and beloved. ± what gaze To thine. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture When. Is like a hand laid softly on the soul.130 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. her soul sought My soul. through eyes raised an instant. Sheds doubled darkness up the labouring hill. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture Thou lovely and beloved. and from the sudden confluence caught The words that made her love the loveliest. which now absorbs within its sphere My worshipping face. hand to hand: . Of thee what word remains ere speech be still? A wayfarer by barren ways and chill. the long wood's counterpart. thou my love. till I am mirrored there Light-circled in a heaven of deep-drawn rays? What clasp. Where the long cloud. Steep ways and weary. poor heart. Linked in gyves I saw them stand. 5 10 Sonnet LIV: Love's Fatality Sweet Love. And cold forgetfulness of night or day. What of the heart without her? Nay. attuned above All modulation of the deep-bowered dove. Shed very dawn. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love Life-thwarted. O my love? 5 10 Sonnet LIII: Without Her What of her glass without her? The blank grey There where the pool is blind of the moon's face. Her dress without her? The tossed empty space Of cloud-rack whence the moon has passed away. whose summoning eyes. what kiss mine inmost heart can prove. Her pillowed place Without her? Tears. as for our love-world's new sunrise. whose voice. without her thou art. Whose kiss seems still the first. 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.
Here dawn today unveiled her magic glass. in whose praise Thy voice and hand shake still. ± long known to thee 5 10 . 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. Terror and mystery. even Love's Fatality. while from hillock-eaves The deer gaze calling. and will not let him shun The day. 5 10 Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty Under the arch of Life.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. and though her gaze struck awe. Hers are the eyes which. to one law. The sky and sea bend on thee. guard her shrine. though bough with bough be overrun. ± Bound to thy body and soul. The alloted bondman of her palm and wreath. over and beneath. that which I should do. I saw Beauty enthroned. named with thy name. I drew it in as simply as my breath. thus leashed with me! Wing-footed thou.' 5 10 Part II: Change and Fate Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness This sunlight shames November where he grieves In dead red leaves. two writhen flakes of flame. By sea or sky or woman. But with a blessing every glade receives High salutation. ± Life's iron heart. dappled white and dun. Also his lips. wing-shouldered. thy cowering self. where love and death. Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew. even as in his whose wand Vainly all night with spell-wrought power has spanned The unyielding caves of some deep treasure-trove. for longing. Made moan: `Alas O love. And here the lost hours the lost hours renew While I still lead my shadow o'er the grass. This is that Lady Beauty. in chains grown tame. once born free: And I. As if. being foresters of old. Till eve bring rest when other good things pass. Nor know. ± which can draw. the sun Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves.
pluck not. and lo! This is the very place which to mine eyes Those mortal hours in vain immortalize. of thine a single simple door. In what fond flight. young while the earth is old. subtly of herself contemplative. her sweet tongue could deceive. ere the snake's.) That.132 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. how many ways and days! Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty Of Adam's first wife. it is told (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve. And still she sits. with what alone I know. for where Is he not found. must be Even yet my life-porch in eternity. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXI: Memorial Thresholds Á What place so strange. Till heart and body and life are in its hold. Lilith. Even with one presence filled. By some new Power reduplicate. How passionately and irretrievably. And her enchanted hair was the first gold. so went Thy spell through him. Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty By flying hair and fluttering hem. The rose and poppy are her flowers. ± the beat Following her daily of thy heart and feet. 'Mid hurrying crowds. whom shed scent And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine. . as once of yore: Or mocking winds whirl round a chaff-strown floor Thee and thy years and these my words and me. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy I said: `Nay. ± though unrevealed snow With unimaginable fires arise At the earth's end. Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave. and left his straight neck bent And round his heart one strangling golden hair. it is sweet and red. ± what passion of surprise Like frost-bound fire-girt scenes of long ago? Lo! this is none but I this hour. ± let the first fruit be: Even as thou sayest. O Lilith. City. And.
Mark me. I am also called No-more. And let us sup with summer.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. ± 5 10 . And the woods wail like echoes from the sea. 5 10 Sonnet CI: The One Hope When vain desire at last and vain regret Go hand in hand to death. ± Then shalt thou see me smile. and turn apart Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes. Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between. my name is Might-have-been. Lo. but by my spell Is now a shaken shadow intolerable. Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen. Sonnet CI: The One Hope 133 But let it ripen still. Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen Which had Life's form and Love's. ± 'tis fallen and floats adown the stream. Shall not we At the sun's hour that day possess the shade. And claim our fruit before its ripeness fade. Farewell. the last clusters! Pluck them every one. 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. Too-late.' 5 10 Sonnet XCVII: A Superscription Look in my face. ere the gleam Of autumn set the year's pent sorrow free. ± Or may the soul at once in a green plain Stoop through the spray of some sweet life-fountain And cull the dew-drenched flowering amulet? Ah! when the wan soul in that golden air Between the scriptured petals softly blown Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown. What shall assuage the unforgotten pain And teach the unforgetful to forget? Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet. And eat it from the branch and praise the tree?' I say: `Alas! our fruit hath wooed the sun Too long. The tree's bent head Sees in the stream its own fecundity And bides the day of fulness. and all is vain.
Their bosoms sundered. So singly flagged the pulses of each heart. Till from some wonder of new woods and streams He woke. yet still their mouths. Can day from darkness ever again take flight? Ah! gave not these two hearts their mutual pledge. as lamps across the bridge turn pale In London's smokeless resurrection-light. Dark breaks to dawn. ± Not less nor more. O God! today He only knows he holds her. our English nightingale.134 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Fawned on each other where they lay apart. ± `Leave me ± I do not know you ± go away!' 5 10 . and wondered more: for there she lay. And here. and slid away. Nuptial Sleep Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er But only the one Hope's one name be there. Nuptial Sleep At length their long kiss severed. burnt red. 5 10 `Found' (For a Picture) `There is a budding morrow in midnight:' ± So sang our Keats. with sweet smart: And as the last slow sudden drops are shed From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled. Under one mantle sheltered 'neath the hedge In gloaming courtship? And. ± but what part Can life now take? She cries in her locked heart. 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. with the opening start Of married flowers to either side outspread From the knit stem. through gleams Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day. Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams. And their dreams watched them sink. Slowly their souls swam up again.
Melons and raspberries. come buy: Apples and quinces. Plump unpecked cherries. ± Morns that pass by. 5 10 Goblin Market Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits.Christina G. Come buy. Gone far away into the silent land. Apricots. Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. blackberries. Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. Fair eves that fly. ± All ripe together In summer weather. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember. 5 10 15 . Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me. Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Remember me when I am gone away. strawberries. do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had. Swart-headed mulberries. Pine-apples. Lemons and oranges. Bloom-down-cheeked peaches. When you can no more hold me by the hand. you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Wild free-born cranberries. dewberries. Crab-apples.
Dates and sharp bullaces. Sweet to tongue and sound to eye. Figs to fill your mouth. One lugs a golden dish Of many pounds weight. With clasping arms and cautioning lips. You should not peep at goblin men. Come buy. We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?' `Come buy. Rare pears and greengages.136 Christina G.' `No.' Lizzie covered up her eyes. Down the glen tramp little men. look. Lizzie. How fair the vine must grow Whose grapes are so luscious. And whispered like the restless brook: `Look. Lizzie.' Laura said. `Lie close.' Evening by evening Among the brookside rushes. Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries. Lizzie veiled her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather. Laura bowed her head to hear. no. How warm the wind must blow Through those fruit bushes.' call the goblins Hobbling down the glen. Bright-fire-like barberries. Laura reared her glossy head. Citrons from the South.' cried Lizzie. One bears a plate. Covered close lest they should look. Pricking up her golden head: `We must not look at goblin men. come buy.' said Lizzie: `No. `Laura. 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . One hauls a basket. Damsons and bilberries. Their offers should not charm us. Rossetti. come buy: Our grapes fresh from the vine. Goblin Market Come buy. Laura. no. `Oh. With tingling cheeks and finger tips. Pomegranates full and fine.
' was still their cry. Longed but had no money: The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste In tones as smooth as honey. Rossetti. One heaved the golden weight Of dish and fruit to offer her: `Come buy. One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry. One tramped at a rat's pace. One set his basket down. One had a cat's face. come buy. The cat-faced purred. and the snail-paced even was heard.' When they reached where Laura was They stood stock still upon the moss. come buy. One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry.Christina G. One crawled like a snail. Signalling each other. One reared his plate. leaves. Laura stared but did not stir. Like a lily from the beck. Leering at each other. Brother with sly brother. She heard a voice like voice of doves Cooing all together: They sounded kind and full of loves In the pleasant weather. One began to weave a crown Of tendrils. With their shrill repeated cry.' She thrust a dimpled finger In each ear. Goblin Market 137 Their evil gifts would harm us. `Come buy. and rough nuts brown (Men sell not such in any town). shut eyes and ran: Curious Laura chose to linger Wondering at each merchant man. Backwards up the mossy glen Turned and trooped the goblin men. The rat-paced spoke a word Of welcome. Like a vessel at the launch When its last restraint is gone. Like a moonlit poplar branch. 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . One whisked a tail. Brother with queer brother. Laura stretched her gleaming neck Like a rush-imbedded swan.
Sought them by night and day. Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: Sweeter than honey from the rock. How she met them in the moonlight. To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse. Then flung the emptied rinds away But gathered up one kernel-stone. Do you not remember Jeanie. I have no silver either. She never tasted such before.' `You have much gold upon your head. Stronger than man-rejoicing wine.' ± One whistled like a bird.138 Christina G. And knew not was it night or day As she turned home alone. And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusty heather. Lizzie met her at the gate Full of wise upbraidings: `Dear. Found them no more but dwindled and grew grey. Clearer than water flowed that juice. But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: `Good folk.' They answered all together: `Buy from us with a golden curl. Took their gifts both choice and many. How should it cloy with length of use? She sucked and sucked and sucked the more Fruits which that unknown orchard bore. 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. She dropped a tear more rare than pearl. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . Then fell with the first snow. Rossetti. you should not stay so late. I have no coin. Twilight is not good for maidens. Goblin Market One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried `Pretty Goblin' still for `Pretty Polly.' She clipped a precious golden lock. Should not loiter in the glen In the haunts of goblin men. She sucked until her lips were sore.
What melons icy-cold Piled on a dish of gold Too huge for me to hold.' Golden head by golden head. Neat like bees. as sweet and busy. They lay down in their curtained bed: Like two blossoms on one stem. And sugar-sweet their sap. Wind sang to them lullaby. and pure the wave they drink With lilies at the brink. You should not loiter so. Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other's wings. Pellucid grapes without one seed: Odorous indeed must be the mead Whereon they grow. Early in the morning When the first cock crowed his warning. Cherries worth getting.Christina G. Like two wands of ivory Tipped with gold for awful kings. 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 . I'll bring you plums to-morrow Fresh on their mother twigs. Yet my mouth waters still. Like two flakes of new-fallen snow. To-morrow night I will Buy more:' and kissed her: `Have done with sorrow. my sister: I ate and ate my fill. Moon and stars gazed in at them. Rossetti. hush. Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetched in honey.' `Nay. You cannot think what figs My teeth have met in. Lumbering owls forbore to fly. Goblin Market 139 While to this day no grass will grow Where she lies low: I planted daisies there a year ago That never blow.' said Laura: `Nay. What peaches with a velvet nap. Not a bat flapped to and fro Round their nest: Cheek to cheek and breast to breast Locked together in one nest. milked the cows. hush.
Talked as modest maidens should: Lizzie with an open heart. Goblin Market Aired and set to rights the house. And said the hour was early still. Cakes for dainty mouths to eat. one sick in part. Come. Of brisk fruit-merchant men. tumbling. Let us get home before the night grows dark: 205 210 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 . One longing for the night. Rossetti. One warbling for the mere bright day's delight. the moon bends her arc. not another maiden lags. They drew the gurgling water from its deep. Next churned butter. One content. whipped up cream. I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look: You should not loiter longer at this brook: Come with me home. Laura. Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags. whisking. The stars rise. come buy. but not catching The customary cry. At length slow evening came: They went with pitchers to the reedy brook.' With its iterated jingle Of sugar-baited words: Not for all her watching Once discerning even one goblin Racing. Laura in an absent dream.140 Christina G.' But Laura loitered still among the rushes And said the bank was steep. Let alone the herds That used to tramp along the glen. the wind not chill: Listening ever. In groups or single. No wilful squirrel wags. `O Laura. Till Lizzie urged. The dew not fallen. Lizzie most placid in her look. come. Each glowworm winks her spark. Then turning homewards said: `The sunset flushes Those furthest loftiest crags. Laura most like a leaping flame. sat and sewed. Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat. `Come buy. Fed their poultry. The beasts and birds are fast asleep. hobbling.
Then if we lost our way what should we do?' Laura turned cold as stone To find her sister heard that cry alone. It never saw the sun.Christina G. `Come buy our fruits. as the fair full moon doth turn To swift decay and burn Her fire away. Then sat up in a passionate yearning. Trudged home. One day remembering her kernel-stone She set it by a wall that faced the south. But peering thro' the dimness. She never caught again the goblin cry: `Come buy. come buy. Laura kept watch in vain In sullen silence of exceeding pain. Goblin Market 141 For clouds may gather Though this is summer weather. night after night. Watched for a waxing shoot. Day after day. It never felt the trickling moisture run: While with sunk eyes and faded mouth She dreamed of melons. And gnashed her teeth for baulked desire. So crept to bed. as a traveller sees False waves in desert drouth With shade of leaf-crowned trees. come buy. and lay Silent till Lizzie slept. That goblin cry. and wept As if her heart would break. And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. Gone deaf and blind? Her tree of life drooped from the root: She said not one word in her heart's sore ache. nought discerning. She dwindled. Rossetti. Dewed it with tears.' Must she then buy no more such dainty fruits? Must she no more such succous pasture find. 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 . hoped for a root. her pitcher dripping all the way.' ± She never spied the goblin men Hawking their fruits along the glen: But when the noon waxed bright Her hair grew thin and grey. Put out the lights and drench us through. But there came none.
Puffing and blowing. She night and morning Caught the goblins' cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. clapping. Till Laura dwindling Seemed knocking at Death's door: Then Lizzie weighed no more Better and worse. Rossetti. Tender Lizzie could not bear To watch her sister's cankerous care Yet not to share. Chuckling. But feared to pay too dear. Brought water from the brook: But sat down listless in the chimney-nook And would not eat. come buy:' ± Beside the brook. along the glen. halted by the brook: And for the first time in her life Began to listen and look. 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 . With the first snowfall of crisp Winter time. Come buy.142 Christina G. With the first glazing rime. Who should have been a bride. Kissed Laura. Longed to buy fruit to comfort her. leaping. Tended the fowls or cows. Goblin Market She no more swept the house. Full of airs and graces. But put a silver penny in her purse. In earliest Winter time. kneaded cakes of wheat. Clucking and gobbling. Mopping and mowing. She thought of Jeanie in her grave. Laughed every goblin When they spied her peeping: Came towards her hobbling. crowing. But who for joys brides hope to have Fell sick and died In her gay prime. running. Fetched honey. crossed the heath with clumps of furze At twilight. The voice and stir Poor Laura could not hear. Flying. She heard the tramp of goblin men.
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,
Ah! fool. 480 485 490 495 500 505 510 515 520 . Thirsty. and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste. Or like a caged thing freed. And beat her breast. Or like an eagle when she stems the light Straight toward the sun. Dropping like rain After long sultry drouth. She fell at last. Like a wind-uprooted tree Spun about.146 Christina G. Shaking with aguish fear. She loathed the feast: Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung. have you tasted For my sake the fruit forbidden? Must your light like mine be hidden. to choose such part Of soul-consuming care! Sense failed in the mortal strife: Like the watch-tower of a town Which an earthquake shatters down. goblin-ridden?' ± She clung about her sister. Like a lightning-stricken mast. Or like a flying flag when armies run. Met the fire smouldering there And overbore its lesser flame. knocked at her heart. Like a foam-topped waterspout Cast down headlong in the sea. Kissed and kissed and kissed her: Tears once again Refreshed her shrunken eyes. and pain. Rossetti. Your young life like mine be wasted. Her lips began to scorch. Rent all her robe. cankered. Undone in mine undoing And ruined in my ruin. That juice was wormwood to her tongue. Or like the mane of horses in their flight. She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. She gorged on bitterness without a name. Swift fire spread through her veins. Her locks streamed like the torch Borne by a racer at full speed. Lizzie. Goblin Market Clutched her hair: `Lizzie.
Christina G. Rossetti, Goblin Market 147 Pleasure past and anguish past, Is it death or is it life? Life out of death. That night long Lizzie watched by her, Counted her pulse's flagging stir, Felt for her breath, Held water to her lips, and cooled her face With tears and fanning leaves: But when the first birds chirped about their eaves, And early reapers plodded to the place Of golden sheaves, And dew-wet grass Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass, And new buds with new day Opened of cup-like lilies on the stream, Laura awoke as from a dream, Laughed in the innocent old way, Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice; Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of grey, Her breath was sweet as May And light danced in her eyes. Days, weeks, months, years Afterwards, when both were wives With children of their own; Their mother-hearts beset with fears, Their lives bound up in tender lives; Laura would call the little ones And tell them of her early prime, Those pleasant days long gone Of not-returning time: Would talk about the haunted glen, The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men, Their fruits like honey to the throat But poison in the blood (Men sell not such in any town); Would tell them how her sister stood In deadly peril to do her good, And win the fiery antidote: Then joining hands to little hands Would bid them cling together, `For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands.'
Thomas Hardy (1840±1928)
We stood by a pond that winter day, And the sun was white, as though chidden of God, And a few leaves lay on the starving sod, ± They had fallen from an ash, and were gray. Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove Over tedious riddles of years ago; And some words played between us to and fro ± On which lost the more by our love. The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing Alive enough to have strength to die; And a grin of bitterness swept thereby Like an ominous bird a-wing. . . . Since then, keen lessons that love deceives, And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree, And a pond edged with grayish leaves.
When I look forth at dawning, pool, Field, flock, and lonely tree, All seem to gaze at me Like chastened children sitting silent in a school; Their faces dulled, constrained, and worn, As though the master's way Through the long teaching day Had cowed them till their early zest was overborne. Upon them stirs in lippings mere (As if once clear in call, But now scarce breathed at all)Ð `We wonder, ever wonder, why we find us here!
Thomas Hardy, The Impercipient 149 `Has some Vast Imbecility, Mighty to build and blend, But impotent to tend, Framed us in jest, and left us now to hazardry? `Or come we of an Automaton Unconscious of our pains? . . . Or are we live remains Of Godhead dying downwards, brain and eye now gone? `Or is it that some high Plan betides, As yet not understood, Of Evil stormed by Good, We the Forlorn Hope over which Achievement strides?' Thus things around. No answerer I. . . . Meanwhile the winds, and rains, And Earth's old glooms and pains Are still the same, and Life and Death are neighbours nigh.
(At a Cathedral Service)
That with this bright believing band I have no claim to be, That faiths by which my comrades stand Seem fantasies to me, And mirage-mists their Shining Land, Is a strange destiny. Why thus my soul should be consigned To infelicity, Why always I must feel as blind To sights my brethren see, Why joys they have found I cannot find, Abides a mystery. Since heart of mine knows not that ease Which they know; since it be That He who breathes All's Well to these Breathes no All's-Well to me, My lack might move their sympathies And Christian charity! I am like a gazer who should mark An inland company
with... When at night he thinks me sleeping I feel him boring sly Within my bones. Rest shall we.. 5 10 15 20 .. doth a bird beshorn of wings Go earth-bound wilfully! . O.. Enough. In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury Standing upfingered. Yet I note the little chisel Of never-napping Time Defacing wan and grizzel The blazon of my prime. I remain what I was then In each essential feature Of the fantasies of men. 1890.150 Thomas Hardy. 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. Still. 'tis but yon dark And wind-swept pine to me!' Yet I would bear my shortcomings With meet tranquillity. I would shun divinest duty To resume her worshipping. `Hark! hark! The glorious distant sea!' And feel. `Alas.. I'd go the world with Beauty. But she'd scorn my brave endeavour. But for the charge that blessed things I'd liefer not have be. and heaping Quaintest pains for by-and-by.. As yet disquiet clings About us. I would laugh with her and sing. She would not balm the breeze By murmuring `Thine for ever!' As she did upon this leaze.
came To soothe a time-torn man. But Time. 5 10 A Broken Appointment You did not come. unto the store Of human deeds divine in all but name. You did not come. ÐI know and knew it. to make me grieve. And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres.Thomas Hardy. And marching Time drew on. Could lonely wait my endless rest With equanimity. lets part abide. The Darkling Thrush 151 `I look into my glass' I look into my glass. as the hope-hour stroked its sum. But. undistrest By hearts grown cold to me. You love not me. I. Was it not worth a little hour or more To add yet this: Once you. Part steals.Ð Yet less for loss of your dear presence there Than that I thus found lacking in your make That high compassion which can overbear Reluctance for pure lovingkindness' sake Grieved I. 5 . And love alone can lend you loyalty. when. and wore me numb. `Would God it came to pass My heart had shrunk as thin!' For then. 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. a woman. And say. And view my wasting skin. And shakes this fragile frame at eve With throbbings of noontide.
Childlike. whereof he knew And I was unaware.152 Thomas Hardy. and small. Yet we were looking away! 5 10 . Footworn and hollowed and thin. In blast-beruffled plume. An aged thrush. So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around. That I could think there trembled through His happy goodnight air Some blessed Hope. The wind his death-lament. He who played stood there. Blessings emblazoned that day. The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry. gaunt. She sat here in her chair. His crypt the cloudy canopy. Everything glowed with a gleam. Here was the former door Where the dead feet walked in. Bowing it higher and higher. And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I. I danced in a dream. The land's sharp features seemed to be The Century's corpse outleant. frail. Smiling into the fire. At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead In a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited. Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom. 31st December 1900 10 15 20 25 30 The Self-Unseeing Here is the ancient floor. The Self-Unseeing And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires.
5 10 15 20 . 3 The frown of his face Before me. where. My heart. 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. 2 I did say yes O at lightning and lashed rod. O Christ. Thou hast bound bones and veins in me. 1875 Part the First 1 Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread. where was a. where was a place? I whirled out wings that spell And fled with a fling of the heart to the heart of the Host. 7th. Lord of living and dead. World's strand. O God. sway of the sea. Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh? Over again I feel thy finger and find thee. And after it almost unmade. but you were dovewinged. the hurtle of hell Behind. laced with fire of stress. I can tell. Thou knowest the walls. 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. Thou heardst me truer than tongue confess Thy terror. what with dread.
always. I steady as a water in a well. and frightful sweat: Thence the discharge of it.154 Gerard Manley Hopkins. all the way down from the tall Fells or flanks of the voel. glory in thunder. But roped with. only the heart. hearts are flushed by and melt ± But it rides time like riding a river (And here the faithful waver. 8 Is out with it! Oh. To flash from the flame to the flame then. a vein Of the gospel proffer. there its swelling to be. The Wreck of the Deutschland Carrier-witted. wafting him out of it. stressed. and bless when I understand. Christ's gift. a drift. I am bold to boast. tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder. Kiss my hand to the dappled-with-damson west: Since. Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey. For I greet him the days I meet him. to a pane. lovely-asunder Starlight. And it crowds and it combs to the fall. maiden's knee. though in high flood yet ± What none would have known of it. That guilt is hushed by. Manger. and Glow. a pressure. 7 It dates from day Of his going in Galilee. 4 I am soft sift In an hourglass ± at the wall Fast. to a poise. being hard at bay. 5 I kiss my hand To the stars. tower from the grace to the grace. His mystery must be instressed. We lash with the best or worst Word last! How a lush-kept plush-capped sloe 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . a principle. the faithless fable and miss). 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. but mined with a motion. Though felt before. The dense and the driven Passion.
The Wreck of the Deutschland 155 Will. stealing as Spring Through him. not under thy feathers nor ever as guessing The goal was a shoal. American-outward-bound. with wrecking and storm. but be adored. forget that there must The sour scythe cringe. tell men with women. dogged in den. last or first. as once at a crash Paul. Christ's feet ± Never ask if meaning it. mouthed to flesh-burst. warned of it ± men go. though our flower the same. Yet did the dark side of the bay of thy blessing Not vault them. in a flash.Gerard Manley Hopkins. Wave with the meadow. or flood' goes Death on drum. melt him but master him still: Whether at once. Wring thy rebel. Beyond saying sweet. past telling of tongue. I found it. out of us all Mastery. rather then. Man's malice. Â But we dream we are rooted in earth ± Dust! Flesh falls within sight of us. Take settler and seamen. Gush! ± flush the man. 9 Be adored among men. a lingering-out sweet skõll. Make mercy in all of us. 12 On Saturday sailed from Bremen. full! ± Hither then. some The flange and the rail. Á God. the being with it. of a fourth the doom to be drowned. 10 With an anvil-ding And with fire in him forge thy will Or rather. And storms bugle his fame. and the blear share come. Brim. Part the Second 11 `Some find me a sword. To hero of Calvary. Thou art lightning and love. Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung: Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then. we. Â Â Or as Austin. but be adored King. the million of rounds of thy mercy not reeve even them in? 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . wanting it. a winter and warm. sour or sweet. three-numbered form. Two hundred souls in the round ± O Father. Fang. flame.
the wind. With a rope's end round the man. And frightful a nightfall folded rueful a day Nor rescue. 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. these she endured. dandled the to and fro Through the cobbled foam-fleece. For all his dreadnought breast and braids of thew: They could tell him for hours. The Deutschland. And lives at last were washing away: To the shrouds they took. And the sea flint-flake. And canvas and compass. and so the sky keeps. And she beat the bank down with her bows and the ride of her keel. The woman's wailing. 14 She drove in the dark to leeward. carved with cares. 15 Hope had grown grey hairs. the whorl and the wheel Idle for ever to waft her or wind her with. handy and brave ± He was pitched to his death at a blow. The Wreck of the Deutschland 13 Into the snows she sweeps. The breakers rolled on her beam with ruinous shock. She struck ± not a reef or a rock But the combs of a smother of sand: night drew her Dead to the Kentish Knock. Sitting Eastnortheast. Night roared. the crying of child without check ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . What could he do With the burl of the fountains of air. Hope was twelve hours gone. black-backed in the regular blow. For the infinite air is unkind. 16 One stirred from the rigging to save The wild woman-kind below. Trenched with tears. only rocket and lightship. Á Wiry and white-fiery and whirlwind-swivelled snow Spins to the widow-making unchilding unfathering deeps.156 Gerard Manley Hopkins. ± they shook in the hurling and horrible airs. shone. Hope had mourning on. in cursed quarter. with the heart-break hearing a heart-broke rabble. Hurling the haven behind. on Sunday.
lily. one. the mark is of man's make 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 . but uttering truth. (O Deutschland. this glee? the good you have there of your own? 19 Sister. a virginal tongue told. Abel is Cain's brother and breasts they have sucked the same. Why. O unteachably after evil. snow. Rhine refused them. 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. Have you! make words break from me here all alone. lily showers ± sweet heaven was astrew in them. What can it be. Thou martyr-master: in thy sight Storm flakes were scroll-leaved flowers. The Wreck of the Deutschland 157 Till a lioness arose breasting the babble. heart.Gerard Manley Hopkins. double a desperate name! O world wide of its good! But Gertrude. 18 Ah. river and earth Gnashed: but thou art above.) 21 Loathed for a love men knew in them. a madrigal start! Never-eldering revel and river of youth. A prophetess towered in the tumult. Do you! ± mother of being in me. Mark. Christ's lily and beast of the waste wood: From life's dawn it is drawn down. 22 Five! the finding and sake And cipher of suffering Christ. Thames would ruin them. a sister calling A master. Banned by the land of their birth. and Luther. Are you! turned for an exquisite smart. her master and mine! ± And the inboard seas run swirling and hawling. touched in your bower of bone. but she that weather sees one thing. The rash smart sloggering brine Blinds her. tears! is it? tears. Thy unchancelling poising palms were weighing the worth. Has one fetch in her: she rears herself to divine Ears. are two of a town. thou Orion of light. such a melting. Surf.
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. Are sisterly sealed in wild waters. cinquefoil token For lettering of the lamb's fleece. or night. 23 Joy fall to thee. Á Before-time-taken. I was at rest.158 Gerard Manley Hopkins. christens her wild-worst Best. Drawn to the Life that died. Is it love in her of the being as her lover had been? Breathe. They were else-minded then. The treasure never eyesight got. niche of the lance. ruddying of the rose-flake. his Lovescape crucified And seal of his seraph-arrival! and these thy daughters Á Á And five-lived and leaved favour and pride. To bathe in his fall-gold mercies. 24 Away in the loveable west. arch and original Breath. to the breaker. She to the black-about air. to breathe in his all-fire glances. signal. still higher. to the throng that catches and quails Was calling `O Christ. With the gnarls of the nails in thee. 25 The majesty! what did she mean? Breathe. the jay-blue heavens appearing Of pied and peeled May! Blue-beating and hoary-glow height. On a pastoral forehead of Wales. father Francis. the thickly Falling flakes. And they the prey of the gales. I was under a roof here. The Wreck of the Deutschland And the word of it Sacrificed. The jading and jar of the cart. altogether. What by your measure is the heaven of desire. body of lovely Death. but it was not these. Christ. Or is it that she cried for the crown then. 210 . nor was ever guessed what for the hearing? 27 No. But he scores it in scarlet himself on his own bespoken. 205 With belled fire and the moth-soft Milky Way. come quickly': The cross to her she calls Christ to her. the men Woke thee with a We are perishing in the weather of Gennesareth. dearest prized and priced ± Stigma.
but a blown beacon of light. Ipse. despatch and have done with his doom there. go and bleed at a bitterer vein for the Comfortless unconfessed of them ± No not uncomforted: lovely-felicitous Providence 245 Finger of a tender of. in his triumph. that heard and kept thee and uttered thee outright. electrical horror. Á For so conceived. . O of a feathery delicacy. Do. does tempest carry the grain for thee? .Gerard Manley Hopkins. but pity of the rest of them! Heart. 29 Ah! there was a heart right! There was single eye! Read the unshapeable shock night And knew the who and the why. . ring of it. 28 But how shall I . . Jesu. her pride. Christ. it is fathers that asking for ease Of the sodden-with-its-sorrowing heart. 215 220 225 230 235 240 31 Well. deal. for the Patience. then further it finds The appealing of the Passion is tenderer in prayer apart: Other. King. But here was heart-throe. heart's light. so to conceive thee is done. birth of a brain. maid's son. Thing that she . Wording it how but by him that present and past. she has thee for the pain. I gather. . in wind's burly and beat of endragoned seas. What was the feast followed the night Thou hadst glory of this nun? ± Feast of the one woman without stain. Let him ride. and Startle the poor sheep back! is the shipwrack then a harvest. come faster ± Strike you the sight of it? look at it loom there. Word. . 30 Jesu. Heaven and earth are word of. in measure her mind's Á Burden. worded by? ± The Simon Peter of a soul! to the blast È Tarpeõan-fast. The Wreck of the Deutschland 159 Time's tasking. Fancy. Head: He was to cure the extremity where he had cast her. make me room there: Reach me a . lord it with living and dead. Not danger. There then! the Master. be a bell to. the breast of the Maiden could obey so. the only one. .
throned behind Death with a sovereignty that heeds but hides. fetched in the storm of his strides. pent in prison. Á Mid-numbered he in three of the thunder-throne! Not a dooms-day dazzle in his coming nor dark as he came. God's Grandeur 32 I admire thee. Stanching. the heaven-haven of the reward: Our King back. The girth of it and the wharf of it and the wall.160 Gerard Manley Hopkins. 250 255 33 With a mercy that outrides The all of water. 270 Kind. bodes but abides. 275 280 God's Grandeur The world is charged with the grandeur of God. but royally reclaiming his own. prince. More brightening her. heart-fleshed. new born to the world. rose. Ground of being. for the lingerer with a love glides Lower than death and the dark. and granite of it: past all Grasp God. as his reign rolls. not a lightning of fire hard-hurled. like shining from shook foil. and among our shoals. The heaven-flung. Pride. be a dayspring to the dimness of us. be a crimson-cresseted east. 260 A vein for the visiting of the past-prayer. high-priest. quenching ocean of a motionable mind. Oh. Remember us in the roads. of the year's fall. our thoughts' chivalry's throng's Lord. 265 Á Double-natured name. Of the Yore-flood. . rare-dear Britain. master of the tides. The recurb and the recovery of the gulf's sides. Our hearts' charity's hearth's fire. maiden-furled Miracle-in-Mary-of-flame. The-last-breath penitent spirits ± the uttermost mark Á Our passion-plunged giant risen. A released shower. an ark For the listener. at our door Drowned. hero of us. 34 Now burn. It will flame out. let flash to the shire. 35 Dame. upon English souls! Let him easter in us. The Christ of the Father compassionate.
a billion Times told lovelier. For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim. original. Landscape plotted and pieced ± fold. dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon. plume. finches' wings. their gear and tackle and trim. air. fallow. oh. the mastery of the thing! Brute beauty and valour and act. off forth on swing. bleared. Why do men then now not reck his rod? Generations have trod. and gash gold-vermilion. spare. pride. And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil Is bare now. 5 10 The Windhover To Christ our Lord I caught this morning morning's minion. O my chevalier! Â Â No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine. freckled (who knows how?) 5 . And though the last lights off the black West went Oh. strange. As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding Rebuffed the big wind. at the brown brink eastward. 5 10 Pied Beauty Glory be to God for dappled things ± For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow. here Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then. being shod.Gerard Manley Hopkins. Â Â And all trades. morning. ± the achieve of. There lives the dearest freshness deep down things. have trod. Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls. My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird. gall themselves. in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air. All things counter. kingdom of daylight's dauphin. and blue-bleak embers. how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off. And for all this. and striding High there. smeared with toil. more dangerous. Pied Beauty 161 It gathers to a greatness. like the ooze of oil Crushed. nor can foot feel. Fall. springs ± Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings. Whatever is fickle. nature is never spent. ah my dear. and plough. have trod. And all is seared with trade.
all contended? Sickness broke him. O if we but knew what we do When we delve or hew ± Hack and rack the growing green! Since country is so tender Â To touch. a rural scene. Ten or twelve. sour. Who have watched his mould of man. That. sweet. dim. till time when reason rambled in it and some Fatal four disorders. adazzle. Where we. Of a fresh and following folded rank Not spared. Rural scene. not one That dandled a sandalled Shadow that swam or sank On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank. like this sleek and seeing ball But a prick will make no eye at all. God rest him all road ever he offended! 5 . When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. O is he dead then? my duty all ended. Sweet especial rural scene. but mended Being anointed and all. felled. he cursed at first. since I had our sweet reprieve and ransom Tendered to him. Ah well. whose airy cages quelled. big-boned and hardy-handsome Pining. her being so slender. fleshed there. Impatient. pining. only ten or twelve Â Strokes of havoc unselve The sweet especial scene. though a heavenlier heart began some Months earlier. Binsey Poplars With swift. even where we mean To mend her we end her. 10 Binsey Poplars Felled 1879 My aspens dear.162 Gerard Manley Hopkins. Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun. He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. slow. All felled. 5 10 15 20 Felix Randal Felix Randal the farrier. are all felled.
us too it endears. home-of-all. How far from then forethought of. Only the beakleaved boughs dragonish | damask the tool-smooth bleak light. | vaulty. child. As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring. When thou at the random grim forge. Didst fettle for the great grey drayhorse his bright and battering sandal! 10 `As Kingfishers Catch Fire' As kingfishers catch fire. her dapple is at end. Â Â Â Â Â Ever so black on it. voluminous. o night | whelms.Gerard Manley Hopkins. you round me right Â Â Âur Â Â Â With: Our evening is over us. hearse-of-all night. and lovely in eyes not his To the Father through the features of men's faces. Our tale. Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west. For earth | her being has unbound. black. powerful amidst peers. waned. earthless. ah let life wind 10 Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Off her once skeined stained veined varõety | upon. Felix. 5 10 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves Earnest. part. all thy more boisterous years. Heart. as5 Á Â tray or aswarm. My tongue had taught thee comfort. poor Felix Randal. whelms. | her wild hollow hoarlight hung to the height Â Waste. like each tucked string tells. attuneable. stupendous Â Â Evening strains to be tõme's vast. dõsmembering | all now. For Christ plays in ten thousand places. Thy tears that touched my heart. myself it speaks and spells. O our oracle! | Let life. Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells. all on two spools. Â I say more: the just man justices. | womb-of-all. Crying What I do is me: for that I came. Â Â Fõre-featuring heaven. dragonflies draw flame. Lovely in limbs. all through her. . Â Â Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces. . earlstars. touch had quenched thy tears. and will end us. overbend us. her earliest stars. Â pack . . equal. pen. in throngs. Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is ± Â Chrõst. | stars principal. Selves ± goes itself. Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 This seeing the sick endears them to us. each hung bell's Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name. | self Ân self steeped and pashed õ Â ± quite Â Â Â Disremembering.
`Thou art indeed just. Lord. if I contend With thee.164 Gerard Manley Hopkins. life upon thy cause. Why do sinners' ways prosper? and why must Disappointment all I endeavour end? Wert thou my enemy. O thou my friend. sir. mind Â Â Â Â Â Ât But these two. and fresh wind shakes Them. but strain. Thou art indeed just. | thoughts agaõnst Â thoughts Ân groans grõnd. the sots and thralls of lust Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend. See. sheathe-and shelterless. but. | right. birds build ± but not I build. no. look. I wonder. O thou lord of life. ware of a world where bu these | two tell. of a rack Â Â Where. 5 10 . two folds ± black. than thou dost Defeat. and not breed one work that wakes. banks and brakes Á Á Now. Mine. How wouldst thou worse. wrong. Domine. õ `Thou art indeed just. verumtamen justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c. so what I plead is just. selfstrung. Lord' Â Â Â Now her all in two flocks. reckon but. each off the other. selfwrung. send my roots rain. thwart me? Oh. Sir. leaved how thick! laced they are again With fretty chervil. Lord' Justus quidem tu es. white. si disputem tecum. reck but. Time's eunuch.
25 5 10 15 20 . the hills are bright. we'll remember friends of ours Who shared the work with God. Lads of the Fifty-third. The shires have seen it plain. And fire the beacons up and down The land they perished for. From height to height 'tis heard. Housman (1859±1936) From: A Shropshire Lad I 1887 From Clee to heaven the beacon burns. when the flame they watch not towers About the soil they trod.A. Now. From north and south the sign returns And beacons burn again. look right. The dales are light between. Look left. Lads. And the Nile spills his overflow Beside the Severn's dead. The saviours come not home to-night: Themselves they could not save. `God save the Queen' we living sing. To skies that knit their heartstrings right. We pledge in peace by farm and town The Queen they served in war. And with the rest your voices ring. It dawns in Asia. Because 'tis fifty years tonight That God has saved the Queen. tombstones show And Shropshire names are read. E. To fields that bred them brave.
Never lad that trod on leather Lived to feast his heart with all. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room. lad: thews that lie and cumber Sunlit pallets never thrive. Up. And take from seventy springs a score. God will save her. the empty highways crying `Who'll beyond the hills away?' Towns and countries woo together. fear you not: Be you the men you've been. Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters. of my threescore years and ten. 'tis late for lying: Hear the drums of morning play. And the ship of sunrise burning Strands upon the eastern rims. II Loveliest of trees. And God will save the Queen.166 A. And the tent of night in tatters Straws the sky-pavilioned land. up. It only leaves me fifty more. Morns abed and daylight slumber Were not meant for man alive. Housman. About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow. the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough. IV Reveille Wake: the silver dusk returning Up the beach of darkness brims. Hark. Forelands beacon. Trampled to the floor it spanned. belfries call. 5 5 30 10 10 15 20 . Up. Get you the sons your fathers got. lad. From: A Shropshire Lad Oh. Twenty will not come again. Now. And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. E.
Breath's a ware that will not keep. And home we brought you shoulder-high. And set you at your threshold down.A. If the heats of hate and lust In the house of flesh are strong. In the nation that is not Nothing stands that stood before. XIX To an Athlete Dying Young The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the marketplace. Let me mind the house of dust Where my sojourn shall be long. the wind blows over. XII When I watch the living meet. Shoulder-high we bring you home. 5 5 5 10 15 . the road all runners come. Lovers lying two and two Ask not whom they sleep beside. the lover That hanged himself for love. Up. Today. lad: when the journey's over There'll be time enough to sleep. he does not move. The nettle nods. The lover of the grave. And the hater hates no more. And the moving pageant file Warm and breathing through the street Where I lodge a little while. Housman. There revenges are forgot. The man. E. From: A Shropshire Lad 167 Clay lies still. but blood's a rover. And the bridegroom all night through Never turns him to the bride. Townsman of a stiller town. Man and boy stood cheering by. The nettle on the graves of lovers That hanged themselves for love. XVI It nods and curtseys and recovers When the wind blows above.
The fleet foot on the sill of shade. With lads to chase the leather. the horses trample. And has she tired of weeping As she lies down at eve?' Ay. That I thought hard to leave. No change though you lie under The land you used to plough. From: A Shropshire Lad Smart lad. So set. `Is football playing Along the river shore. Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup. Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut. E. before its echoes fade.168 A. Now I stand up no more?' Ay. `Is my girl happy. The goal stands up. And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears: Now you will not swell the rout Of lads that wore their honours out. The harness jingles now. XXVII `Is my team ploughing. the ball is flying. the keeper Stands up to keep the goal. she lies down lightly. Housman. That I was used to drive And hear the harness jingle When I was man alive?' Ay. The lads play heart and soul. She lies not down to weep: 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose.
The gale. But I like them shall win my way Lastly to the bed of mould Where there's neither heat nor cold. I lie easy. they were there. lad. More than I. and sleep. 'twas before my time. And fire and ice within me fight Beneath the suffocating night. XXX Others. But then it threshed another wood. And has he found to sleep in A better bed than mine?' Yes. Never ask me whose. my lad. But from my grave across my brow Plays no wind of healing now. I lie as lads would choose. I am not the first. 5 5 25 30 10 15 10 . Then. I cheer a dead man's sweetheart. XXXI On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble. And thick on Severn snow the leaves. Have willed more mischief than they durst: If in the breathless night I too Shiver now. the Roman At yonder heaving hill would stare: The blood that warms an English yeoman. His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves. From: A Shropshire Lad 169 Your girl is well contented. `Is my friend hearty. it plies the saplings double. Now I am thin and pine. 'tis nothing new. E. Housman. The thoughts that hurt him. Agued once like me were they. Have stood and sweated hot and cold. 'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger When Uricon the city stood: 'Tis the old wind in the old anger. if truth were told. Be still. And through their reins in ice and fire Fear contended with desire.A.
E. I see it shining plain. Souls undone. and better so than later After long disgrace and scorn. undoing others. XL Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills. The happy highways where I went And cannot come again. It blows so hard. You shot dead the household traitor. like the wind through woods in riot. that was brave: Yours was not an ill for mending. And saw your road and where it led. Housman. The soul that should not have been born.170 A. Oh you had forethought. it plies the saplings double. son of sorrow. What spires. You would not live to wrong your brothers: Oh lad. what farms are those? That is the land of lost content. Oh soon. From: A Shropshire Lad There. 'twill soon be gone: Today the Roman and his trouble Are ashes under Uricon. Now to your grave shall friend and stranger With ruth and some with envy come: 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 . you died as fits a man. lad. Right you guessed the rising morrow And scorned to tread the mire you must: Dust's your wages. The tree of man was never quiet: Then 'twas the Roman. you could reason. The gale. And early wise and brave in season Put the pistol to your head. ± Long time since the tale began. XLIV Shot? so quick. 'Twas best to take it to the grave. But men may come to worse than dust. Through him the gale of life blew high. so clean an ending? Oh that was right. now 'tis I.
bring from hill and stream and plain Whatever will not flower again. But wear it and it will not fade. From: A Shropshire Lad 171 Undishonoured. Be still. and I muse for why and never find the reason. Snap not from the bitter yew His leaves that live December through. my soul.A. pass hence and home. and feel the sun. in this timeless grave to throw. 5 25 5 10 15 20 10 . my soul. O soul. Now. Break no rosemary. no waking. never two. ± Oh. the arms you bear are brittle. clear of danger. The days when we had rest. and drink the air. Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and foundedstrong. Or shrivelled flax. 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. man. No cypress. tears fell down. E. but lightless in the quarry I slept and saw not. Think rather. And here. But if the Christmas field has kept Awns the last gleaner overstept. sombre on the snow. I did not mourn. whose flower is blue A single season. I pace the earth. ± call to thought. no dreams. Turn safe to rest. in days ere I was born. it is but for a reason: Let us endure an hour and see injustice done. for they were long. be still. Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry: Then it was well with me. here's the wreath I've made: 'Tis not a gift that's worth the taking. Housman. To give him comfort: he and those Shall bide eternal bedfellows Where low upon the couch he lies Whence he never shall arise. XLVIII Be still. Men loved unkindness then. XLVI Bring. Clean of guilt. Or if one haulm whose year is o'er Shivers on the upland frore. bright with rime And sparkling to the cruel clime. be still. if now you grieve a little.
man. 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. 'tis clear. From: A Shropshire Lad Ay. All thoughts to rive the heart are here. LXII `Terence. 'tis pleasant till 'tis past: The mischief is that 'twill not last. man. There can't be much amiss. It sleeps well. look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation. There's brisker pipes than poetry.172 A. 'tis our turn now To hear such tunes as killed the cow. But oh. nought's to dread. Oh never fear. The cow. And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. she is dead. Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse. It gives a chap the belly-ache. 5 15 5 10 15 20 25 30 . this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough. pipe a tune to dance to. E. To see the rate you drink your beer. Ale. for what were hop-yards meant. lad. the old cow. And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders. Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time Moping melancholy mad: Come. good Lord. Oh I have been to Ludlow fair And left my necktie God knows where. if 'tis dancing you would be. Look not left nor right: In all the endless road you tread There's nothing but the night. and all are vain: Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation ± Oh why did I awake? when shall I sleep again? LX Now hollow fires burn out to black. the horned head: We poor lads. lift your pack. Housman.' Why. Say. And faith. And leave your friends and go. the verse you make.
since the world has still Much good. seasoned sound. Then I saw the morning sky: Heigho. And while the sun and moon endure Luck's a chance. Sate the king when healths went round. He sampled all her killing store. He gathered all that springs to birth From the many-venomed earth. But take it: if the smack is sour. they stared as white's their shirt: Them it was their poison hurt. E. 'Tis true. 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. or near. There was a king reigned in the East: There. I'd face it as a wise man would. From: A Shropshire Lad 173 And carried half way home. I was I. The world. They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up: They shook. Housman. it was the old world yet. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 . my things were wet. he died old. ± I tell the tale that I heard told. And nothing now remained to do But begin the game anew. They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat. if I may. Happy till I woke again. And train for ill and not for good. Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer: Then the world seemed none so bad. Therefore. And I myself a sterling lad. And down in lovely muck I've lain.A. And easy. It should do good to heart and head When your soul is in my soul's stead. They get their fill before they think With poisoned meat and poisoned drink. the tale was all a lie. smiling. but much less good than ill. First a little. In the dark and cloudy day. but trouble's sure. when kings will sit to feast. Mithridates. thence to more. The better for the embittered hour.
174 A. Nor ask amid the dews of morning If they are mine or no. From: Last Poems From: Last Poems XL Tell me not here. The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing In leafy dells alone. What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays. Will neither care nor know What stranger's feet may find the meadow And trespass there and go. Or beeches strip in storms for winter And stain the wind with leaves. Housman. And full of shade the pillared forest Would murmur and be mine. On russet floors. Where over elmy plains the highway Would mount the hills and shine. as I possessed a season. by waters idle. The countries I resign. it needs not saying. heartless. The pine lets fall its cone. For nature. For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways. Or marshalled under moons of harvest Stand still all night the sheaves. And traveller's joy beguiles in autumn Hearts that have lost their own. witless nature. On acres of the seeded grasses The changing burnish heaves. E. Possess. 5 10 15 20 25 30 .
O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight. Weaving olden dances. Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car. Come away. To and fro we leap And chase the forthy bubbles. And of reddest stolen cherries. We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears 5 10 15 20 25 30 . For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. hand in hand. Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries. hand in hand. Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light. There we've hid our faery vats. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night. While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star. Come away.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.
Down by the Salley Gardens Give them unquiet dreams. the human child. Lives on this lonely face. She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. 5 10 . O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. To the waters and the wild With a faery. But I was young and foolish. with all their mournful pride. as the leaves grow on the tree. She bid me take love easy. For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand. 5 The Rose of the World Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips. 35 40 45 50 Down by the Salley Gardens Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet. Away with us he's going. Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam. Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. with her would not agree. Mournful that no new wonder may betide. For he comes. But I. And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. Come away. In a field by the river my love and I did stand. She bid me take life easy. hand in hand. foam of the sky. as the grass grows on the weirs. Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams. hand in hand. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. And Usna's children died. Under the passing stars. that waver and give place Like the pale waters in their wintry race.176 William Butler Yeats. The solemn-eyed: He'll hear no more the lowing Of the calves on the warm hillside Or the kettle on the hob Sing peace into his breast. and now am full of tears. We and the labouring world are passing by: Amid men's souls. being young and foolish.
of clay and wattles made: Nine bean rows will I have there.William Butler Yeats. There midnight's all a glimmer. And bending down beside the glowing bars. a hive for the honey bee. Weary and kind one lingered by His seat. Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings. And slowly read. or on the pavements grey. archangels. Murmur. . I hear it in the deep heart's core. and go to Innisfree. how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. He made the world to be a grassy road Before her wandering feet. in your dim abode: Before you were. And nodding by the fire. While I stand on the roadway. And loved your beauty with love false or true. 15 The Lake Isle of Innisfree I will arise and go now. And a small cabin build there. 5 10 Who Goes with Fergus? Who will go drive with Fergus now. take down this book. lift up your russet brow. But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you. Who Goes with Fergus? 177 Bow down. for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore. and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once. And loved the sorrows of your changing face. for peace comes dropping slow. And evening full of the linnet's wings. And dance upon the level shore? Young man. And live alone in the bee-loud glade. or any hearts to beat. I will arise and go now. and of their shadows deep. How many loved your moments of glad grace. 5 10 When You Are Old When you are old and grey and full of sleep. And pierce the deep wood's woven shade. And I shall have some peace there. and noon a purple glow. a little sadly.
I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me. maid. And when white moths were on the wing. And yet the beauties that I loved Are in my memory. 5 10 15 The Song of Wandering Aengus I went out to the hazel wood. For Fergus rules the brazen cars.178 William Butler Yeats. And rules the shadows of the wood. My contemplations are of Time That has transfigured me. There's not a woman turns her face Upon a broken tree. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame. And the white breast of the dim sea And all dishevelled wandering stars. And crazy rascals rage their fill At human tyranny. And cut and peeled a hazel wand. My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics. And moth-like stars were flickering out. The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner And lift your tender eyelids. I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. 5 10 The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner Although I shelter from the rain Under a broken tree. And no more turn aside and brood Upon love's bitter mystery. Though lads are making pikes again For some conspiracy. And brood on hopes and fear no more. But something rustled on the floor. Because a fire was in my head. And hooked a berry to a thread. Ere Time transfigured me. 5 10 .
The golden apples of the sun. That beautiful mild woman. 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 blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light. I said. in all kinds of weather. schoolmasters. 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. 5 Adam's Curse We sat together at one summer's end. your close friend.William Butler Yeats. Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought. And kiss her lips and take her hands. I will find out where she has gone. And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon. and clergymen The martyrs call the world. Better go down upon your marrow-bones And scrub a kitchen pavement.' And thereupon That beautiful mild woman for whose sake 5 10 15 . I have spread my dreams under your feet. and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers. `A line will take us hours maybe. I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I. Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. 15 20 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths. being poor. Enwrought with golden and silver light. have only my dreams. and talked of poetry. or break stones Like an old pauper. And you and I. And walk among long dappled grass.
The wind has bundled up the clouds high over Knocknarea. 20 25 30 35 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland The old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. Angers that are like noisy clouds have set our hearts abeat.' We sat grown quiet at the name of love. `It's certain there is no fine thing Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring. the daughter of Houlihan. We saw the last embers of daylight die.' I said. I had a thought for no one's but your ears: That you were beautiful. 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. And in the trembling blue-green of the sky A moon. But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes Of Cathleen. Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies. The yellow pool has overflowed high up on Clooth-na-Bare. For the wet winds are blowing out of the clinging air. the daughter of Houlihan.180 William Butler Yeats. 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. There have been lovers who thought love should be So much compounded of high courtesy That they would sigh and quote with learned looks Precedents out of beautiful old books. But purer than a tall candle before the Holy Rood Is Cathleen. Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand. But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet Of Cathleen. Like heavy flooded waters our bodies and our blood. And thrown the thunder on the stones for all that Maeve can say. `To be born woman is to know ± Although they do not talk of it at school ± That we must labour to be beautiful. and yet we'd grown As weary-hearted as that hollow moon. Yet now it seems an idle trade enough. the daughter of Houlihan. That it had all seemed happy. 5 10 15 . and that I strove To love you in the old high way of love.
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. with sweet smart' 134 Aurora Leigh 8 Autumn Idleness 131 `Be still. attuneable. equal. thou hast brought me many flowers' 7 Binsey Poplars 162 Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church. earthless. . voluminous. . . walk with me' 106 Crossing the Bar 61 Darkling Thrush. stupendous' 163 Felix Randal 162 `First time he kissed me. | vaulty. The 125 Body's Beauty 132 Break. The 69 `blessed Damozel leaned out. the arms you bear are brittle' 171 `Beloved. my soul. be still. A 151 `But do not let us quarrel any more' 91 Charge of the Light Brigade. Break 31 `Bring. Break.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. The' 125 Blessed Damozel. he but only kissed' 7 . 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. dragonflies draw flame' 163 `At length their long kiss severed.
The 178 `Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife' `Let us begin and carry up this corpse' 98 64 6 . my heart's abhorrence!' 65 `Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths' 179 `Half a league.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. pluck not. H. from the hill' 119 Goblin Market 135 God's Grandeur 160 Grammarian's Funeral. 33 `Into my heart an air that kills' 170 `Is my team ploughing' 168 `It little profits that an idle king' 23 `It nods and curtseys and recovers' 167 Julian M. for they call you. The 149 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury 150 In Memoriam A. and A. A 98 `grey sea and the long black land. The 128 `How do I love thee? Let me count the ways' 7 `How still. ± let the first fruit be' 132 `I went out to the hazel wood' 178 `I will arise and go now. how happy! those are words' 104 `I am poor brother Lippo. The 19 Lake Isle of Innisfree. Rochelle 109 `Just for a handful of silver he left us' Kiss. The 128 Lady of Shalott. The' 72 `GR-R-R ± there go. by your leave!' 75 `I caught this morning morning's minion' 161 `I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood' 57 `I leant upon a coppice gate' 151 `I look into my glass' 151 `I never gave a lock of hair away' 6 `I said: `Nay. half a league' 55 `Here is the ancient floor' 152 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven 179 Hoarded Joy 132 Home-Thoughts. from Abroad 68 House of Life: A Sonnet-Sequence. and go to Innisfree' 177 `I wonder do you feel today' 97 Impercipient. H. The 177 Lamentation of the Old Pensioner. G. Shepherd.
The' 67 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 180 `Remember me when I am gone away' 135 Remember 135 Remembrance 108 133 180 . The 31 Prisoner. The 129 `Loveliest of trees. The 64 Love Among the Ruins 72 Love-Letter. he lied in every word' 85 My Last Duchess 63 Nature's Questioning 148 Neutral Tones 148 Never the Time and the Place 102 `night is darkening round me. Baldassaro. where art thou now?' 104 `Of Adam's first wife. to be in England' 68 `old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. I am not the first' 169 Parting at Morning 72 Pied Beauty 161 Porphyria's Lover 67 Princess. it is told' 132 `Of writing many books there is no end' 8 `Oh Galuppi. this is very sad to find!' 83 `Oh. Lilith. 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' `On either side the river lie' 19 `On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble' 169 One Hope. my name is Might-have-been' Lost Leader.Index of Titles and First Lines 183 `Long neglect has worn away' 103 `Look in my face. The 133 `Others. whose airy cages quelled' 162 `My first thought was. A Medley. The' 103 `No coward soul is mine' 113 `Now hollow fires burn out to black' 172 Nuptial Sleep 134 `O Dream. The 109 `rain set early in tonight.
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. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love' 130 `Tears. 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. idle tears. The 175 `Strong Son of God. The 176 `Round the cape of a sudden came the sea' 72 `Say not the struggle naught availeth' 114 Scholar-Gipsy. The 118 `sea is calm tonight. it needs not saying' 174 `Terence. immortal Love' 33 `Sunset and evening star' 61 Superscription. The 178 Sonnets from the Portuguese 6 Soul's Beauty 131 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 Stolen Child. vanity!' `Wake: the silver dusk returning' 69 166 131 . A 133 Supreme Surrender 129 `Sweet Love. saith the preacher. so clean an ending?' 170 Shropshire Lad. A 83 Two in the Campagna 97 Ulysses 23 `Under the arch of Life. thou my love' 130 `Thou mastering me' 153 `time you won your town the race. 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. Lord 164 `Thou lovely and beloved. I know not what they mean' 31 `Tell me not here.184 Index of Titles and First Lines Reveille 166 Rose of the World. where love and death' `Vanity. The 152 `Shot? so quick. The' 117 Self-Dependence 116 Self-Unseeing.
The' 160 Wreck of the Deutschland. The 161 `With blackest moss the flower-plots' 17 Without Her 130 `world is charged with the grandeur of God. The' 150 `Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd' 116 `You did not come' 151 1887 165 .Index of Titles and First Lines 185 `Warmed by her hand and shadowed by her hair' 129 `We sat together at one summer's end' 179 `We stood by a pond that winter day' 148 `Weary of myself. The 153 `years have gathered grayly. what showers of spring' 103 `When I look forth at dawning. pool' 148 `When I watch the living meet' 167 `When vain desire at last and vain regret' 133 `When weary with the long day's care' 107 `When you are old and grey and full of sleep' 177 When You Are Old 177 `Where dips the rocky highland' 175 `Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles' 72 `Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?' 176 Who Goes with Fergus? 177 `Who will go drive with Fergus now' 177 Windhover. and sick of asking' 116 `What of her glass without her? The blank grey' 130 Á `What place so strange. ± though unrevealed snow' 132 `What smouldering senses in death's sick delay' 128 `What winter floods.
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