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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 .
except as permitted by the UK Copyright.© 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd Editorial matter. No part of this publication may be reproduced. III. II.V53 2002 821’. — (Blackwell essential literature) “Based on The Victorians: an anthology of poetry and poetics. paper) 1. I. Pondicherry. paper) A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. 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. USA 9600 Garsington Road. : alk. recording or otherwise. without the prior permission of the publisher. stored in a retrieval system. cm. or transmitted. Oxford OX4 2DQ. Designs. mechanical. selection and arrangement © 2002 by Duncan Wu and Valentine Cunningham BLACKWELL PUBLISHING 350 Main Street. Series PR1223 . Furthermore. Victoria 3053. MA 02148‐5020. Set in 8/10 pt Galliard by Kolam Information Services Pvt.com . For further information on Blackwell Publishing. electronic. ISBN 0‐631‐23075‐0 (alk. Wu. First published 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd 4 2007 Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data Victorian poetry / edited by Duncan Wu. in any form or by any means.” Includes bibliographical references and index. and which has been manufactured from pulp processed using acid‐free and elementary chlorine‐free practices. : alk.808—dc21 2002020878 ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23075‐5 (alk. visit our website: www. English poetry—19th century. photocopying. Duncan.blackwellpublishing. Carlton. and Patents Act 1988. paper)—ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23076‐2 (pbk. Malden. Victorians. Australia All rights reserved. paper)—ISBN 0‐631‐23076‐9 (pbk. Ltd. UK 550 Swanston Street. the publisher ensures that the text paper and cover board used have met acceptable environmental accreditation standards. p. edited by Valentine Cunningham.
H. The Charge of the Light Brigade From Maud I (`I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood') XXII (`Come into the garden. A Medley From In Memoriam A.Contents Series Editor's Preface Introduction Duncan Wu Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806±1861) Sonnets from the Portuguese (extracts) From Aurora Leigh: First Book ix 1 6 8 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson (1809±1892) Mariana The Lady of Shalott Ulysses Morte d'Arthur `Break. Break' From The Princess. Break. 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. from Abroad The Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church Meeting at Night Parting at Morning 63 64 65 67 68 69 72 72 . H.
what showers of spring' `Long neglect has worn away' `The night is darkening round me' `All hushed and still within the house' `O Dream. where art thou now?' `How still. how happy! those are words' `Mild the mist upon the hill' `Come.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. walk with me' To Imagination Remembrance (`R. Brenzaida') Julian M. Alcona to J. G. 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 . and A.
Lord' 153 160 161 161 162 162 163 163 164 . Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Goblin Market 135 135 Thomas Hardy (1840±1928) Neutral Tones Nature's Questioning The Impercipient In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury `I look into my glass' A Broken Appointment The Darkling Thrush The Self-Unseeing 148 148 149 150 151 151 151 152 Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844±1889) The Wreck of the Deutschland God's Grandeur The Windhover Pied Beauty Binsey Poplars Felix Randal `As Kingfishers Catch Fire' Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves `Thou art indeed just.Contents vii Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture Sonnet LIII: Without Her Sonnet LIV: Love's Fatality Part II: Change and Fate Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty Sonnet LXXXI: Memorial Thresholds Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy Sonnet XCVII: A Superscription Sonnet CI: The One Hope Nuptial Sleep `Found' (For a Picture) 129 130 130 130 131 131 131 132 132 132 133 133 134 134 Christina G.
viii Contents A. E. Housman (1859±1936) From A Shropshire Lad From Last Poems 165 174 William Butler Yeats (1865±1939) The Stolen Child Down by the Salley Gardens The Rose of the World The Lake Isle of Innisfree When You Are Old Who Goes with Fergus? The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner The Song of Wandering Aengus He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Adam's Curse Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 175 176 176 177 177 177 178 178 179 179 180 181 Index of Titles and First Lines .
The acknowledged virtues of the Blackwell Anthologies are range and variety. these volumes comprise a crucial resource for anyone who reads or studies poetry. those of the Essential Literature series are authoritative selection. most of these volumes run to no more than 200 pages. Together.Series Editor's Preface The Blackwell Essential Literature series offers readers the chance to possess authoritative texts of key poems (and in one case drama) across the standard periods and movements. Based on correspondent volumes in the Blackwell Anthologies series. Duncan Wu St Catherine's College. Oxford . 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. compactness and ease of use. 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. who need a digest of the poetry of each historical period.
poetry. other anthologies of Victorian writing. The diversity is highlighted by Professor Cunningham in his introduction: So here are poems about cod-liver oil. to name a few.1 For range readers will require The Victorians ± and. Grimm's Law. 2000). Thomas Hardy. E. What this selection lacks in range it makes up for in depth. Gerard Manley Hopkins. Henley. `The Prisoner'. Eliza Cook and Dora Greenwell. The Victorians: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. In between he offers a rich selection of verse. Psychical Research. leeks. Ebenezer Elliot and William Barnes. Housman and William Butler Yeats. soup. It distills into a smaller space some of the most influential poetry of the period by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. p. soap. Emily (Jane) Bronte. faith. death. It is on the one hand an intensely private poem about one man's 1 Valentine Cunningham. poverty. This volume aims to do something different. which reflect the catholicity of interest within the period. snow. . cricket players. doubt. going to the dentist. There are few better examples of the Victorian preoccupation with death and its aftermath. Robert Browning. war. Arthur Hugh Clough. George Meredith. poems. tobacco.Introduction Duncan Wu Recent anthologies of Victorian poetry and prose have provided readers with a remarkably diverse and wide-ranging body of work. Fanny Kemble. sado-masochism. genitalia. Housman and Kipling at the other. William Morris. God. omnibuses. poets. Alfred È (Lord) Tennyson. Lewis Carroll. New Women. Christina G. W. Matthew Arnold. `Next to the Bible. dead dogs. onions. love. E. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Valentine Cunningham's invaluable The Victorians ranges from the late works of Wordsworth and Leigh Hunt at one end of the century to Yeats. 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. as they are the major poets of the age. weather in the suburbs. A. `Goblin Market' and `The Wreck of the Deutschland'. Robert Louis Stevenson. a cabbage leaf. `The Scholar-Gipsy'. `Dover Beach'. should they desire even more. chairs. Jemima Luke. No less than the queen remarked to Tennyson that. booze. fairies. Missing Links. railway lines and railway trains. including anonymous street ballads. pain. the poetry of women poets such as Caroline Norton. In Memoriam is my comfort'. science. including complete texts of `Fra Lippo Lippi'. xxxv. Tennyson and Browning predominate. as well as rural writers like John Clare. paintings. Pressure of space necessarily denies admission to many of those anthologized by Professor Cunningham ± James Thomson. introduction. Rossetti. `The Blessed Damozel'.
the divinely appointed one of Wordsworth. and not to yield' may not be the sort of sea-captain with whom we should set sail. was to develop a new kind of psychological poetry ± one that explored the human mind from within. . therefore. was not published until 1850.7 2 W. pp. which concerns the uncontrollable emotions that run deeply in the human heart. H. The Ulysses who in Tennyson's poem declares his desire `To strive. Wordsworth's most extensive examination of psychological process. Forewords and Afterwords ed. Browning's major contribution. 3 See in particular In Memoriam lv and lvi. In this sense In Memoriam. 1999).2 The fruit of nearly 17 years' labour. Fra Pandolf ± there is something darker at work. Auden.4 the product of a cosmos lacking a benevolent deity. Tennyson's preoccupation with states of mind looks back to Wordsworth. rather. E. 6 See Robert Bernard Martin. 1973). Tennyson: The Unquiet Heart (London: Faber. and welcomed an acquaintance with their author. 1983). As readers of such poetry we are in a privileged position. in common with that of Tennyson. to seek. 7 See for instance Pound's `Piere Vidal Old' and Eliot's `Prufrock'. it doubtless has its faults ± it is relentless in its subjectivity. the same year as In Memoriam. a growing scepticism that was to find fuller expression in the poetry of Hardy and Housman later in the century. but their reign had ended: Tennyson and Browning were remaking the art.3 The natural world of In Memoriam is not invariably.6 By the time Wordsworth died in 1850 Tennyson was in his early forties and Browning in his late thirties. exemplifying Auden's contention that Tennyson's gift was for expressing feelings of `lonely terror and desire for death'. is a product of the zeitgeist. Tennyson and Browning exploited the form aware that our knowing so much more than their speakers. to find.5 For his part. 311±13. Warwick Slinn helpfully contextualizes In Memoriam in his essay on Victorian poetry in A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture ed. Edward Mendelson (London: Faber. and is found in shorter poems such as `Tears. which it is for us to infer. 289±91. idle tears'. 5 The Prelude. besides much else. pp. Herbert Tucker (Oxford: Blackwell. something rather important has happened. In such sonnets as `Surprised by joy' Wordsworth had attempted the same kind of investigation. 4 In Memoriam lvi 15. The influence of the Romantics was felt throughout the century. And when the speaker of `A Toccata of Galuppi's' tells us that he feels `chilly and grown old'. the most successful long poem of its day. 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. `red in tooth and claw'. it can be. Its potential would be further championed in the modern period by Eliot and Pound. and on the other a work that speaks of the innermost anxieties of the age. 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. was the key to a new poetic.2 Introduction grief for another. p. comprehending moral failings with a clarity not always vouchsafed in life. 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. 226. on a level beyond the verbal. through the dramatic monologue. Wordsworth possessed a copy of Tennyson's important 1842 Poems.
below (see pp. The Victorians were not in themselves a movement. Rochelle's vision shortly prior to expected death. 9±17). quite directly ± `active sexual demands and dangers'. has long been the subject of myth. they wanted realism. and to choose subjects from contemporary life. This is particularly evident in such lyrics as `No coward soul is mine' and `Cold in the earth'. only to turn to human love when faced by a world `Where ignorant armies clash by night'. it contrasts the `sick hurry' of the world with the comparative calm of the landscape. pp. and this often meant introducing `real' people into the work. she set out to challenge more directly the gender discrimination of the day in an effort to formulate a feminist poetic. an experimental (and partly autobiographical) verse-novel that describes the integration of love and work. `Julian M. Its fascination lies partly in its brooding melancholy and the sense that its author lives in the shadow of some terrible grief in the recent past or anticipation of death to come. and A. The pretence of translation sets up a bluff that allows Barrett Browning to explore her theme without anxiety. moving easily from that of poet-lover to that of beloved.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.Introduction 3 Browning's wife. 8 . working directly from the natural object in situ. any more than the Romantics. begins this process with a kind of self-portrait written in a reflective. Clough and Arnold knew each other from Oxford days. engaging blank verse that in large measure accounts for the resurgence of this work's popularity in recent years. Romanticism: An Anthology. Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton (Oxford: Blackwell. p. and reproducing in See for instance `Stanzas on the Death of Lord Byron'. 65. 1995). which allows us to consider È Bronte as a mystic writer. The extract from the First Book. Rochelle' (known in other versions as `The Prisoner') is a different kind of poem. Elizabeth Barrett. Where their subject was biblical or historical. but less so as the author of some of the most compelling poetry of the period. Of course. ed. like most movements. 2nd edn. She began her creative life as a Romantic poet ± publishing poems in national newspapers during the 1820s. her subjects are love. particularly `That there are powers above us I admit'. formed in 1848. È Emily Bronte is best known as the author of Wuthering Heights (1847).9 That freedom also licenses her to experiment with different roles. The emotional charge of the poetry is intense and often extreme. was. perhaps Arnold's greatest work. at the centre of which is a moment. in which he seeks for hope in a `Sea of Faith'. hatred. In fact. In Aurora Leigh (1856). sometimes approaching the subject of romantic passion. In that context their aim was to introduce the qualities of Italian medieval painting. Taking its lead (and diction) from Keats. 1108±9. they are not `from the Portuguese' at all. and are often considered as poets of doubt. G. as experienced by women. 2000). This is evident from `Dover Beach'. they are original poems that are in some sense autobiographical. they were less coherent and unified than they would have liked. but the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. and it is easiest to think of the group as one of visual artists. `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. Duncan Wu (Oxford: Blackwell. suffering and fortitude. Clough's agnosticism comes into sharp focus in the two poems presented here. using the colours of nature as they were. 9 Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology ed.
10 `The Rossettis and Other Contemporary Poets'. The Victorians ed. witless'. it can be found in Tennyson's `Mariana' and some of the sonnets in Dante Gabriel Rossetti's House of Life sequence. Her poetry is full of depression and denial. . Unlike some of the Romantics. The poems included here are among the best of his Victorian period. 85. p. decay and desolation. stripped of the religious significance it possessed for such poets as Hopkins. his concept of `inscape' referring to the interior perception into the being of the object. so that in 1995 Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton could confirm her place as `one of the greatest poets of the nineteenth century'. a sensitivity to sensory detail. and one also finds a frequent use of religious language for evocation (rather than its real meanings). He is essentially a visionary writer. `The Blessed Damozel' (1850) was intended as a companion piece to Poe's `The Raven' (1845). In mood they cultivated a love of the morbid ± listlessness. Preoccupations: Selected Prose 1968±1978 (London: Faber.13 Not only is there no evidence of religious faith in Hardy's poetry. its `philological and rhetorical passion'12 and concentration on the inner workings of the soul is pre-eminently a product of the nineteenth. 438. Dante Gabriel and Christina Rossetti looked back to the Coleridge of `Christabel' and the Keats of `Isabella'. his sister Christina is far less preoccupied with appearances. 12 Seamus Heaney. which is why it is easy to regard as a product of the twentieth century. James Sambrook notes that Rossetti's conception of the afterlife. p. In this sense it is not fanciful to consider Hardy and Housman alongside each other. an `involute' or charged combination of emotion and concrete objects.11 She is now one of the most widely studied of the Pre-Raphaelites. In Housman nature is `heartless. as in both `Neutral Tones' and `The Darkling Thrush'. The same cannot be said of the poetry of Hardy. have in the last two decades given her work an added resonance.10 Dante Gabriel was to make an art out of the decorativeness and elaboration of his verse. nearly 30 years after his death. 11 Reynolds and Leighton. 1988). where the blessed damozel weeps in frustrated longing to join her lover (rather than God) `is not even remotely Christian'. 13 Tom Paulin. Arthur Pollard (London: Sphere Books.4 Introduction minute detail the features of the natural world. who is also thought of as a twentieth-century writer. Thomas Hardy: The Poetry of Perception (London: Macmillan. stripped of all the redemptive power with which the Romantics had imbued it. Those feelings. Gerard Manley Hopkins's collected verse appeared only in 1918. Hopkins is insistently religious in his understanding: God is the inscape of the created world. most of his best poetry was written after 1900. which during his subsequent painful experience has become a permanently meaningful impression. a selfconscious medievalism and a highly developed taste in decoration. 355. Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology. As poets. 1975). Tom Paulin has noted how in `Neutral Tones' the poem culminates in a total picture. There is in all this a deliberation. published in Satires of Circumstance (1914) and Moments of Vision (1917). which may have deterred some readers in earlier times. In matters of style they sought a simplicity of manner. and the intense morbidity of her writing finds expression even in the fairy-tale `Goblin Market' (1862). except that Housman's vision is if anything even more lacking in hope than Hardy's. 31. p. and capable of blind indifference to human mortality. indeed. a self-consciousness which can sometimes produce startlingly good poetry. 1980). In fact. nature is bleak. p.
(1957) The Victorian Frame of Mind. p. (ed. Raine writes of Yeats's place within a fugitive intellectual tradition of metaphysical and mystic thought. to the outright desolation of Housman and Hardy.) Reynolds.) (2000) The Victorians: An Anthology of Poetry and Poetics (Oxford: Blackwell. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (Ipswich: Golgonooza Press. and the author of the Upanishads: Yeats did not study Plato and Plotinus. W. but I can't think of a better short guide than Kathleen Raine's W.) 14 Kathleen Raine. Margaret and Leighton. can be heard beneath the `tremulous cadence' of the sea in `Dover Beach'. through the scepticism of Clough.14 Never less than exalted in his imaginative ambitions. listed below. Walter E. Yeats.Introduction 5 This collection of essential poetry of the nineteenth century would appear. then. uncovering the traces of that `vast generalization' he discerned in the fragmentary portions he assembled. It underpins the medievalism of Tennyson and the Pre-Raphaelites. And in no one was it more vigorously evident than in the work of W. . 76. Swedenborg and Blake.) Houghton. Further Reading Cunningham. Except that it doesn't. which would produce its finest fruits in the next century. Valentine (ed. B. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (1999). but can't be eliminated from the human soul. Irish fairy traditionalism. 1999).) Tucker. `The Lake Isle of Innisfree' seems like an unexpected way to end a century characterized by increasing doubt and despondency. and a longing for it even informs the `ecstatic sound' of Hardy's darkling thrush (which recalls the `darkling' experience of Keats's famous ode). CT: Yale University Press. the immortal longings with which the 1800s had begun. Herbert F. was founded on an unquenchable aspiration. Belief may be questioned. B. its truth lies in experiences and disciplines of the mind itself and in the testimony (unanimous and worldwide) of `revelation'. Angela (eds) (1995) Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. This knowledge is none the less exact and verifiable for being immeasurable. Yeats's poetry combines the influences of the Pre-Raphaelites. and anyone with a serious interest in this poetry should turn to his anthology. the kabbalistic and spiritualist worthies with whom he consorted. There have been many fine books about this great writer. Plotinus. to trace a course from the sublime hopes of Wordsworth. B. as episodes in the `history of ideas' but because he was tracing a continuous tradition of knowledge. Yeats's great poetry. but in truth the Romantic urge to unify and idealize had never really evaporated.) (1999) A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture (Oxford: Blackwell. Swedenborg. the French symbolists. 1830±1870 (New Haven. and nationalist politics in a heady cocktail unlike anything else. I am much indebted to Valentine Cunningham in what follows. a pantheon that includes Thomas Taylor the Platonist. for fuller scholarly treatment.
. As girls do. . Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief. . let the silence of my womanhood Commend my woman-love to thy belief. Nay. Dearest. except this to thee. while the winds are rough. Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree. however wooed. any more.' My day of youth went yesterday. of love hid in me out of reach. Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside Through sorrow's trick. Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully I ring out to the full brown length and say `Take it. Between our faces. XVIII I never gave a lock of hair away To a man. Shut in upon itself and do no harm 5 10 5 10 . I thought the funeral-shears Would take this first. voiceless fortitude. . And hold the torch out. . It only may Now shade on two pale cheeks. to cast light on each! ± I drop it at thy feet. finding pure. And rend the garment of my life.Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806±1861) Sonnets from the Portuguese (extracts) XIII And wilt thou have me fashion into speech The love I bear thee. but Love is justified: Take it. The kiss my mother left here when she died. . By a most dauntless. My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee. that I should bring thee proof In words. me . . from all those years. I cannot teach My hand to hold my spirit so far off From myself . ± Seeing that I stand unwon. XXIV Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife. finding words enough. in brief. the mark of tears. thou.
as they turn from Praise. purple state! since when. by sun and candlelight. on the hill.' When the angels speak. I love thee purely. XLIII Beloved. . The second passed in height The first.' XLII How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. tears. as men strive for Right. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need. he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write. And let us hear no sound of human strife. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here plainer to my sight. thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden. Growing straight. of all my life! ± and. and sought the forehead. all the summer through 5 10 5 10 5 10 . . . I shall but love thee better after death. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. which love's own crown. now soft and warm. `My Love. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs. And ever since it grew more clean and white. And feel as safe as guarded by a charm. Than that first kiss.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. list. O beyond meed! That was the chrism of love. Very whitely still The lilies of our lives may reassure Their blossoms from their roots! accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer. I love thee freely. Dear. . Smiles. upon my lips. if God choose. Against the stab of worldlings who if rife Are weak to injure. my own. can make us poor. Slow to world-greetings . Sonnets from the Portuguese 7 In this close hand of Love. who made us rich. . indeed. After the click of the shutting. Half falling on the hair. XXXVIII First time he kissed me. quick with its `Oh. God only. did precede. I have been proud and said. Life to life ± I lean upon thee. The third. was folded down In perfect. without alarm. and half missed. when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. ± I love thee with the breath. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach. out of man's reach. With sanctifying sweetness. and with my childhood's faith.
B. October 17. just To hold together what he was and is. through my various efforts in literature and steps in life. this poor sign of esteem. from your unforgetting E. I. As when you paint your portrait for a friend.8 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 1856 First Book Of writing many books there is no end. the most mature of my works. those beds and bowers Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue. and preparing once more to quit England. ± cousin and friend. So. Indeed. which here unfolded too. Devonshire Place. 39. nor missed the sun and showers. borne with me. Take back these thoughts. And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses. And tell thy soul. am still what men call young. will write now for mine. Esq. B. 5 10 From Aurora Leigh Dedication to John Kenyon. and it seemed as if they grew In this close room. the last pages of which have been finished under the hospitality of your roof. From Aurora Leigh And winter. therefore. Here's ivy! ± take them. and affection. And wait thy weeding: yet here's eglantine. I have not so far left the coasts of life 5 10 . I venture to leave in your hands this book. And which on warm and cold days I withdrew From my heart's ground. and keep them where they shall not pine: Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true. ± Will write my story for my better self. in the like name of that love of ours. gratitude. in a sense of less equality and greater disinterestedness than `Romney''s. so you may kindly accept. far beyond the common uses of mere relationship or sympathy of mind. as I used to do Thy flowers. Ending. their roots are left in mine. my own dearest cousin and friend. in sight of the public. Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it Long after he has ceased to love you. writing thus. you have believed in me. The words `cousin' and `friend' are constantly recurring in this poem. and the one into which my highest convictions upon Life and Art have entered: that as. and been generous to me.
victorious joy. Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon. . I write . I nibbled here and there At this or that box. not so far. `Hush. books! I had found the secret of a garret-room Piled high with cases in my father's name. ± The apocalypse. [. to sit alone. erased and covered by a monk's. Sonnets from the Portuguese 9 To travel inland. 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. And feels out blind at first. pulling through the gap. . packed large.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. with finger up. when she had left us both. haste. by a Longus! poring on Which obscene text. Let who says `The soul's a clean white paper. press the child's head closer to thy knee! I'm still too young. a prophet's holograph Defiled. ± Draw. disorganised By sin i' the blood. we may discern perhaps Some fair.' rather say. books. Books. . In heats of terror. But still I catch my mother at her post Beside the nursery-door. creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past. mark. ± For those dumb motions of imperfect life Are oracles of vital Deity Attesting the Hereafter. Then. Still I sit and feel My father's slow hand. too young. Presently We feel it quicken in the dark sometimes. but the man Is born in ignorance of his element. . be obedient. fine trace of what was written once. . stroke it heavily. Stroke out my childish curls across his knee. O my father's hand Stroke the poor hair down. Piled high. taking part against her word In the child's riot. hush ± here's too much noise!' while her sweet eyes Leap forward. that I cannot hear That murmur of the outer Infinite Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep When wondered at for smiling. Some upstroke of an alpha and omega Expressing the old scripture. ± his spirit-insight dulled And crossed by his sensations. be reverent. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . ± where. A palimpsest.] The cygnet finds the water.
What's this. That carpet-dusting. Here's God down on us! what are you about?' How all those workers start amid their work. dreamers after dark. And soothsayers in a teacup? I write so Of the only truth-tellers. From just a shadow on a charnel-wall. And that's the measure of an angel. now left to God. ± The only speakers of essential truth. this word is being said in heaven. and not laugh? Those virtuous liars. says The apostle. My own best poets. Look round. comparative. Erect. That thus I love you. or our senators. As the earth Plunges in fury. An hour before the sun would let me read! My books! At last. The poet suddenly will catch them up With his voice like a thunder . You write so of the poets. reign. and feel. `This is soul. Ay. Opposed to relative. when the internal fires Have reached and pricked her heart. Exaggerators of the sun and moon. Let go conventions and sprang up surprised. And how I felt it beat Under my pillow. sublime. I chanced upon the poets. reap. ± the measure of a man. Convicted of the great eternities Before two worlds. . dine.10 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. though a pretty trade. And temporal truths. look up. and while your common men Build pyramids. ± or but one through love? Does all this smell of thyme about my feet 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . clears herself To elemental freedom ± thus. And dust the flaunty carpets of the world For kings to walk on. through conventional grey glooms. Is not the imperative labour after all. am I one with you. From Aurora Leigh The first book first. in the morning's dark. The only teachers who instruct mankind. This is life. Aurora Leigh. because the time was ripe. throwing flat The marts and temples. gauge railroads. At poetry's divine first finger-touch. the triumphal gates And towers of observation. and. the only holders by His sun-skirts. . my soul. a moment's space. To find man's veritable stature out.
you did not blow. ± passionate for truth Beyond these senses. when the rhythmic turbulence Of blood and brain swept outward upon words. and dogs. As wind upon the alders. My pipers. like the stops Of pipe or flute. do you play on me. With eyes too happy.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. O life. And set me in the Olympian roar and round Of luminous faces. who has ravished me Away from all the shepherds. ± I. As if one came back from the dead and spoke. 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. My thought and aspiration. ± My eagle. As a man's voice or breath is called his own. with both grappling feet still hot From Zeus's thunder.' A little human hope of that or this. ± who would say A man's mere `yes. We shall not bear above a round or two ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 . O delight And triumph of the poet. shakes the heart Of all the men and women in the world. a familiar thing Become divine i' the utterance! while for him The poet. Half drunk across the beaker. Would no sound come? or is the music mine. sooth. are absolutely dumb If not melodious. To keep the mouths of all the godheads moist For everlasting laughters. or but testify The rustling of your vesture through my dreams With influent odours? When my joy and pain. sheep. The palpitating angel in his flesh Thrills inly with consenting fellowship To those innumerous spirits who sun themselves Outside of time. the speaker. with their eyes! How those gods look! Enough so. Ganymede.' a woman's common `no. And says the word so that it burns you through With a special revelation. ± poetry. for a cup-bearer. myself. he expands with joy. Sonnets from the Portuguese 11 Conclude my visit to your holy hill In personal presence. ± Which means life in life! cognisant of life Beyond this blood-beat. ± and if. my life. O poetry. blanching them By turning up their under-natures till They trembled in dilation.
`What's come now to the youth?' Such ups and downs Have poets. ± and find ourselves Face-down among the pine-cones. Alas. Life's violent flood Abolished bounds. in a flush Of individual life. As children. Young men. if we are loved or love. through seeing the light. And so. Too often sow their wild oats in tame verse. The love within us and the love without Are mixed.12 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. earliest. ay. ± and yet we do not take The chaffering swallow for the holy lark. cowslips: ± the more pains they take. In full front sun-face. We play at leap-frog over the god Term. and to sign it like a queen. The thing's too common. in a restless heat Of doing something. cold with dew. In those days. you miss The form. like most young poets. We know not if the forests move or we. Many tender souls Have strung their losses on a rhyming thread. ± though some royal blood Would seem to tingle in me now and then. which my neighbour's field. and many a shepherd scoffs. and your eyelids wink And drop before the wonder of't. And wrote because I lived ± unlicensed else: My heart beat in my brain. who would strike steel on steel If steel had offered. those days. confounded. what mattered? It is so in youth. I never analysed Myself even. ± and. with other power. With sense of power and ache. From Aurora Leigh Â We drop the golden cup at Here's foot And swoon back to the earth. Which mine. You catch a sight of Nature. though. and maids. While the dogs bark. Many fervent souls Strike rhyme on rhyme. ± with imposthumes And manias usual to the race. The work more withers. And ape a Bourbon in a crown of straws. Howbeit I dare not: 'tis too easy to go mad. All analysis comes late. near all the birds Will sing at dawn. Being acted on and acting seem the same: In that first onrush of life's chariot-wheels. Before they sit down under their own vine And live for use. We scarce distinguish. I lived. Is what I dare not. Am I such indeed? The name Is royal. So. I poured myself 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 .
What make-believe. perhaps. ± didactics. . falling like a tear Upon the world's cold cheek to make it burn For ever. Weak for art only. From virile efforts! what cold wire-drawn odes.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Nor handle. who write young: We beat the phorminx till we hurt our thumbs. . and songs of love. shrill with trumps A babe might blow between two straining cheeks Of bubbled rose. The worse for being warm: all these things. By Keats's soul. and achieved Mere lifeless imitations of live verse. ± (the life of a long life. And beardless Byron academical. writ On happy mornings. now and then. `O Muse. spoils. and hard to understand. Distilled to a mere drop. But. It may be. As if still ignorant of counterpoint. Will crack even. From such white heats! ± bucolics. Like cast-off nosegays picked up on the road. start between the boughs As often as a stag's. With so much earnest! what effete results. is active for resolve. Spare the old bottles! ± spill not the new wine. And works it turbid. The wine-skins.) by that strong excepted soul. 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . That leaps for love. benignant Muse!' ± As if we had seen her purple-braided head With the eyes in it. That nearly all young poets should write old. indeed. And counterfeiting epics. Sonnets from the Portuguese 13 Along the veins of others. the ancient forms Will thrill. to make his mother laugh.' ± we're too legal. And died. ± and still The memory mixes with the vision. Such have not settled long and deep enough In trance. `Touch not. the man who never stepped In gradual progress like another man. a little warped. And elegiac griefs. to attain to clairvoyance. And so with others. Ensphered himself in twenty perfect years. And made the living answer for the dead. where the cows Would scare the writer if they splashed the mud In lashing off the flies. That Pope was sexagenarian at sixteen. do not taste. as the new wine gurgles in. I count it strange. Profaning nature. in carrying the young blood. Oft. not young. We call the Muse . driven Against the heels of what the master said. turning grandly on his central self. with a morning heart.
I was not. My soul was singing at a work apart Behind the wall of sense. And so. I wrote False poems. therefore. Reduced the irregular blood to settled rhythms. again. I know I have not ground you down enough To flatten and bake you to a wholesome crust For household duties and properties. ± and demurred. They saw a light at a window now and then. That souls were dangerous things to carry straight Through all the spilt saltpetre of the world. The melancholy desert must sweep round. She could not say I had no business with a sort of soul. In vortices of glory and blue air. `Would she hear my task. They had not set there. She said sometimes. and thought them true. struck a colour up the cheeks. Which oozed off from it in meandering lace From hour to hour. I. . From Aurora Leigh Or perhaps. In order to discover the Muse-Sphinx. through forced work and spontaneous work. as before.14 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Then I sate and teased The patient needle till it split the thread. . 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 . Because myself was true in writing them. have you done Your task this morning? ± have you read that book? And are you ready for the crochet here?' ± As if she said. And verify my abstract of the book? And should I sit down to the crochet work? Was such her pleasure?' . But plainly she objected. Before the rain has got into my barn And set the grains a-sprouting. But I could not hide My quickening inner life from those at watch. `I know there's something wrong. rounding to the spheric soul the thin Pined body. ± For me. peradventure. sad. like the rest. The inner life informed the outer life. What. And. have writ true ones since With less complacence. Behind you. `Aurora. you're green With out-door impudence? you almost grow?' To which I answered. Who had set it there? My father's sister started when she caught My soul agaze in my eyes. Made cool the forehead with fresh-sprinkling dreams. as safe from harm As sings the lark when sucked up out of sight.
will love true love. . Because he holds that. We read. I learnt to love that England. ± nothing too much up or down. at last Escaped. And when. or otherwise Through secret windings of the afternoons. ± at intervals The mythic oaks and elm-trees standing out Self-poised upon their prodigy of shade. I clenched my brows across My blue eyes greatening in the looking-glass. Aurora! we'll be strong. If cousin Romney pleased to walk with me. shivering with the fear And passion of the course. like The grand first Master. or wander. ± And view the ground's most gentle dimplement. the sky Can stoop to tenderly and the wheatfields climb. . ± I thought my father's land was worthy too Of being my Shakspeare's. And open pastures. I dared to rest. as bee-bonneted. nor even friends well matched ± Say rather. as it chanced: We were not lovers. The dogs are on us ± but we will not die. such little hills. Such nooks of valleys. Unlicensed. Before the day was born. Fed full of noises by invisible streams. It sounded as an instrument that's played Too far off for the tune ± and yet it's fine To listen. 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 . A ripple of land. not unfrequently with leave To walk the third with Romney and his friend The rising painter. or quarrelled. Very oft. Sonnets from the Portuguese 15 Though somewhat faint. I threw my hunters off and plunged myself Among the deep hills. Ofter we walked only two. or talked. lined with orchises. . ± like a rest Made sweeter for the step upon the grass. . as a hunted stag Will take the waters. paint a body well You paint a soul by implication.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Pleasant walks! for if He said . ± so many a green slope built on slope Betwixt me and the enemy's house behind. And said. Whom men judge hardly.' Whoever lives true life. Vincent Carrington. `We'll live. where you scarcely tell White daisies from white dew. `When I was last in Italy' . scholars upon different tracks. Very oft alone. (As if God's finger touched but did not press In making England!) such an up and down Of verdure.
± The tangled hedgerows. And cottage gardens smelling everywhere. While. as he related. ± At which word His brow would soften. the fields. granges. overfull Of what is. the clouds. As poets use . certainly The thrushes still sang in it. the skies. And clapped my hands. ± And then I turned. . 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 . ± and he bore with me In melancholy patience. indeed. it is writ. doubled up among the hills. And bade him mark that. Confused with smell of orchards. From Aurora Leigh And thinkers disagreed. ± Hills. vales. and I. netted in a silver mist. In the beginning when God called all good. . And shook my pulses and the elms' new leaves. The happy violets hiding from the roads The primroses run down to. `See. haply. And cattle grazing in the watered vales. and held my finger up. But then the thrushes sang. But we. woods. let us pray.16 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. breaking into voluble ecstasy. he. howsoe'er the world Went ill. carrying gold.' I said. ± 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. not unkind. who call things good and fair. And cottage chimneys smoking from the woods. overbold For what might be. The evil is upon us while we speak: Deliver us from evil. `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. where the cows push out Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths 'Twixt dripping ash-boughs. and called all very fair. Even then was evil near us. Farms. I flattered all the beauteous country round.
The broken sheds looked sad and strange. 5 10 15 20 25 . I would that I were dead!' II Her tears fell with the dews at even. He cometh not. She could not look on the sweet heaven. The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the peach to the garden-wall.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson (1809±1892) Mariana `Mariana in the moated grange. Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. aweary. She only said `The night is dreary. After the flitting of the bats.' she said: She said `I am aweary. Either at morn or eventide. When thickest dark did trance the sky. He cometh not. I would that I were dead!' III Upon the middle of the night. She only said `My life is dreary. 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. Unlifted was the clinking latch. And glanced athwart the glooming flats. Her tears fell ere the dews were dried.' ± Measure for Measure I With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted. She said `I am aweary.' she said. one and all. She drew her casement-curtain by. aweary.
She said. She saw the gusty shadow sway. And o'er it many. For leagues no other tree did dark The level waste. to and fro. He cometh not. Or from the crevice peered about. She said. I would that I were dead!' IV About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blackened waters slept. She only said. Old voices called her from without. Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. The doors upon their hinges creaked. aweary. the rounding gray.' she said. `The day is dreary. But when the moon was very low. aweary. Mariana In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn. She only said. The blue fly sung i' the pane. I would that I were dead!' 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . She only said. And wild winds bound within their cell. aweary. `I am aweary.' she said. She only said. I would that I were dead!' VI All day within the dreamy house. across her brow. `I am aweary. `My life is dreary. She said. `I am aweary.' she said. aweary. Old footsteps trod the upper floors.' she said. Hard by a poplar shook alway. the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked. The clustered marish-mosses crept. `My life is dreary. The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed. `The night is dreary. He cometh not. In the white curtain. He cometh not. I would that I were dead!' V And ever when the moon was low.18 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. `I am aweary. round and small. He cometh not. Old faces glimmered thro' the doors. All silver-green with gnarled bark. And the shrill winds were up and away. She said.
and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. And up and down the people go. aspens quiver. aweary. The slow clock ticking. The Lady of Shalott? 5 10 15 20 25 . Oh God. And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. 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. Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below. She wept. Slide the heavy barges trailed By slow horses. That clothe the wold and meet the sky. and four gray towers. He will not come. Four gray walls. `I am very dreary. said she.' she said. The island of Shalott. Then. that I were dead!' 75 80 The Lady of Shalott Part I On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye. and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made. did all confound Her sense. 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. but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers. And thro' the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot. Overlook a space of flowers. By the margin. `I am aweary. The Lady of Shalott 19 VII The sparrow's chirrup on the roof. willow-veiled. Willows whiten.
And there the surly village-churls. Listening. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights. An abbot on an ambling pad. Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad. Piling sheaves in uplands airy. The Lady of Shalott. And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year. Or long-haired page in crimson clad. A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad.20 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And the red cloaks of market-girls.' Part II There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls. She knows not what the curse may be. with plumes and lights And music. reaping early In among the bearded barley. The Lady of Shalott. Pass onward from Shalott. And little other care hath she. For often thro' the silent nights A funeral. The Lady of Shalott Only reapers. Goes by to towered Camelot. 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . Came two young lovers lately wed. She has heard a whisper say. whispers `'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott. And so she weaveth steadily. went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead. Down to towered Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary. Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly. And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true. Shadows of the world appear.
The bridle-bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazoned baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung. On burnished hooves his war-horse trode. Moves over still Shalott. `Tirra lirra. Beside remote Shalott. She left the web. That sparkled on the yellow field. Some bearded meteor. As he rode down to Camelot. she left the loom. The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned like one burning flame together. Beside remote Shalott. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . She saw the water-lily bloom. The gemmy bridle glittered free. The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves. trailing light. And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror. His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed.' by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. As often thro' the purple night. Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves. Below the starry clusters bright. And as he rode his armour rung.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. She made three paces thro' the room. She saw the helmet and the plume. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather. She looked down to Camelot. From underneath his helmet flowed His coal-black curls as on he rode. Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy.' said The Lady of Shalott. The Lady of Shalott 21 `I am half-sick of shadows. He rode between the barley-sheaves. As he rode down to Camelot. A redcross knight for ever kneeled To a lady in his shield.
And down the river's dim expanse ± Like some bold seer in a trance. Chanted loudly. The broad stream in his banks complaining. The mirror cracked from side to side. chanted lowly. Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat. Seeing all his own mischance ± With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . The broad stream bore her far away. Lying. Under tower and balcony. holy. and down she lay. Turned to towered Camelot. `The curse is come upon me. Heard a carol.' cried The Lady of Shalott. For ere she reached upon the tide The first house by the water-side. The Lady of Shalott. A gleaming shape she floated by.22 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. They heard her singing her last song. 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 pale yellow woods were waning. By garden-wall and gallery. Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining. The Lady of Shalott. The Lady of Shalott Out flew the web and floated wide. Till her blood was frozen slowly. Heavily the low sky raining Over towered Camelot. And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. mournful. Singing in her song she died. And her eyes were darkened wholly. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain. The Lady of Shalott.
And they crossed themselves for fear. both with those That loved me. Silent into Camelot. I cannot rest from travel: I will drink. Out upon the wharfs they came. and alone. `She has a lovely face. He said. And drunk delight of battle with my peers. and feed. A bringer of new things. The Lady of Shalott. Matched with an aged wife. Myself not least. Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly. on shore. For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known. God in his mercy lend her grace. cities of men And manners. councils. I am become a name. Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravelled world. lord and dame. and vile it were 5 10 15 20 25 . climates. and sleep. Knight and burgher. And round the prow they read her name. among these barren crags. The Lady of Shalott. to make an end. not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life. I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race. something more. and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence. Ulysses 23 A corse between the houses high. By this still hearth. Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. governments. How dull it is to pause. whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. Life piled on life Were all too little. have suffered greatly.' 160 165 170 Ulysses It little profits that an idle king. but honoured of them all. and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea. That hoard.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. To rust unburnished. All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space. I am a part of all that I have met. and know not me. Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer.
One equal temper of heroic hearts. He works his work. Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. mine own Telemachus. and the baths Of all the western stars. Tho' much is taken.24 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. free foreheads ± you and I are old. Morte d'Arthur For some three suns to store and hoard myself. Push off. discerning to fulfil This labour. and not to yield. and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven. When I am gone. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Most blameless is he. to find. There lies the port. To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle ± Well-loved of me. my friends. smite The sounding furrows. Souls that have toiled. may yet be done. 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. to seek. And see the great Achilles. and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. until I die. Old age hath yet his honour and his toil. we are. and thought with me ± That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine. sitting well in order. Some work of noble note. And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star. and opposed Free hearts. Made weak by time and fate. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles. 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. Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people. and wrought. that which we are. but strong in will To strive. This is my son. . My mariners. I mine. Come. whom we knew. for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset. decent not to fail In offices of tenderness. centred in the sphere Of common duties. and. and pay Meet adoration to my household gods. Death closes all: but something ere the end. much abides. the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas.
On one side lay the Ocean. and the moon was full. and on one Lay a great water. He. I think that we Shall nevermore. Such a sleep They sleep ± the men I loved. an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake. stepping down By zigzag paths. alone. Morte d'Arthur 25 Until King Arthur's table. the last of all his knights. wheresoever I am sung or told In aftertime.' So saying.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. be. and have worn it. Sir Bedivere. and lightly bring thee word. chill.' To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: `It is not meet. and juts of pointed rock. Watch what I see. man by man. And fling him far into the middle meer: Watch what thou seest. one summer noon. this also shall be known: But now delay not: take Excalibur. wonderful. Sir King. Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. mystic. King Arthur: then. to leave thee thus. and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill. That stood on a dark strait of barren land. with flakes of foam. 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. Aidless. And bore him to a chapel nigh the field. I am so deeply smitten through the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. at any future time. like a king: And. Had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord. because his wound was deep. And in the moon athwart the place of tombs. A little thing may harm a wounded man. Old knights. Yet I thy hest will all perform at full. Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur. ± Though Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more ± but let what will be. as in the days that were. and smitten through the helm. A broken chancel with a broken cross. 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . Clothed in white samite. and lightly bring me word. from the ruined shrine he stepped. Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days. Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot. I perish by this people which I made.
`And if indeed I cast the brand away. But when he saw the wonder of the hilt. So strode he back slow to the wounded King. and lightly bring me word'. Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. nor like a noble knight: For surer sign had followed. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur. What record. That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. I charge thee. 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. the winter moon. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled. but empty breath 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . fixed in thought. and do the thing I bad thee. either hand. drawing it. if this were done? What harm. as he stood.26 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. In act to throw: but at the last it seemed Better to leave Excalibur concealed There in the many-knotted waterflags. How curiously and strangely chased. Surely a precious thing. or what relic of my lord Should be to aftertime.' To whom replied King Arthur. And the wild water lapping on the crag. Brightening the skirts of a long cloud. This way and that dividing the swift mind. Yet now. he smote His palms together. as beseemed È Thy fealty. And o'er him. faint and pale: `Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name. and knows not what he does. This is a shameful thing for men to lie. and he cried aloud. quickly go again As thou art lief and dear. and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewellery. ran forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt: For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks. against himself ? The King is sick. undone? deep harm to disobey. What good should follow this. one worthy note. Morte d'Arthur Came on the shining levels of the lake. Myriads of topaz-lights. or else a motion of the meer. Or voice. Counting the dewy pebbles. Then went Sir Bedivere the second time. Should thus be lost for ever from the earth. Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. Not rendering true answer. Were it well to obey then. if a king demand An act unprofitable. watch.
Saying. For thou. And. and brandished him Three times. Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night. And the long ripple washing in the reeds.' So might some old man speak in the aftertime To all the people. plunged Among the bulrush-beds. Then spoke King Arthur. And so strode back slow to the wounded King. with noises of the northern sea. traitor-hearted! Woe is me! Authority forgets a dying king. sitting in the deeps Upon the hidden bases of the hills. But now much honour and much fame were lost. and drew him under in the meer. Laid widowed of the power in his eye That bowed the will. So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur: But ere he dipt the surface. untrue. And lightly went the other to the King. get thee hence: But. And flashing round and round. wonderful.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Some one might show it at a joust of arms. `King Arthur's sword. if thou spare to fling Excalibur. much in wrath: `Ah. the latest-left of all my knights. Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt. In whom should meet the offices of all. leaping down the ridges lightly. Morte d'Arthur 27 And rumours of a doubt? but were this kept. and clutched the sword. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon.' Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere. And caught him by the hilt. and whirled in an arch. Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings. Nine years she wrought it. Shot like a streamer of the northern morn. 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 . I see thee what thou art. mystic. rose an arm Clothed in white samite. or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. I will arise and slay thee with my hands. clouded with his own conceit.' To whom replied King Arthur. winning reverence. Yet. Unknightly. And the third time may prosper. and ran.' So spake he. miserable and unkind. 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. for a man may fail in duty twice. Excalibur. Either from lust of gold. And hid Excalibur the second time. And strongly wheeled and threw it. Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake.
from the pavement he half rose. or seen?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: `Sir King. Then took with care. Him Sir Bedivere Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears. I closed mine eyelids. O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands. wonderful. as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels ± And on a sudden. but he found not words. till I die. mystic.' And answer made King Arthur. Larger than human on the frozen hills. and a cry Before. Slowly. Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern. And would have spoken. with pain.28 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. quick! I fear it is too late. Morte d'Arthur Then spoke King Arthur. as he walked. Then with both hands I flung him. Not though I live three lives of mortal men. reclining on his arm.' So saying. So great a miracle as yonder hilt. So sighed the King. Beneath them. and I shall die. But. That caught him by the hilt. And bear me to the margin. His own thought drove him like a goad. here or elsewhere. for I never saw. behold an arm. breathing hard: `My end draws nigh. And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes As in a picture. Clothed in white samite. King Arthur panted hard. and kneeling on one knee. And the long glories of the winter moon. wheeling him. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight. Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge. lo! the level lake. Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. and looking. drawing thicker breath: `Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. `Quick. and I shall die. Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms. He heard the deep behind him. and drew him under in the meer. Nor shall see. 'tis time that I were gone. as he walked. Clothed with his breath. lest the gems Should blind my purpose. Muttering and murmuring at his ear. and all to left and right The bare black cliff clanged round him. But when I looked again. yet I fear My wound hath taken cold. and descending they were ware 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 . Speak out: what is it thou hast heard. And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. and brandished him Three times.' But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge.
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,
Deep as first love. .. Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize. by the happy threshold. from yonder mountain height: What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) In height and cold. my dearest. and leaves A shining furrow. the days that are no more. Or foxlike in the vine. now the white. thou. the days that are no more. To sit a star upon the sparkling spire. come. È Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars. Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost. O maid. And come. the days that are no more. Now sleeps the crimson petal. So sad. so fresh. and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine. . deep as love. Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk.. From: The Princess.32 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 10 15 20 5 10 5 10 15 .. And slips into the bosom of the lake: So fold thyself. So sad. he. And all thy heart lies open unto me. Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice. 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.. as thy thoughts in me.. nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the Silver Horns. and wild with all regret. And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others. A Medley Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge.. so strange. Now folds the lily all her sweetness up. Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me. Now slides the silent meteor on. O Death in Life. Come down. Dear as remembered kisses after death. And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square. come thou down And find him. Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine. for Love is of the valley. For Love is of the valley. Ah. the splendour of the hills? But cease to move so near the Heavens. and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me.
20 25 30 From In Memoriam A. They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of thee. we know not how. And thou. Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn. By faith. Thou madest Death. And murmuring of innumerable bees. H. Strong Son of God. and sweet is every sound. H. And thou hast made him: thou art just. O Lord. but come. let the wild Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone. for all the vales Await thee. art more than they. For knowledge is of things we see. A beam in darkness: let it grow. Our little systems have their day. holiest manhood. Thou seemest human and divine. immortal Love. Whom we. thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made. The highest. let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley. And yet we trust it comes from thee.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. H. the children call. 33 That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: But follow. but every sound is sweet. thou: Our wills are ours. and lo. to make them thine. and faith alone. From In Memoriam A. We have but faith: we cannot know. embrace. 5 10 15 20 . azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee. He thinks he was not made to die. and spill Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke. Sweeter thy voice. Believing where we cannot prove. that have not seen thy face. The moan of doves in immemorial elms. That like a broken purpose waste in air: So waste not thou. Our wills are ours. H. he knows not why. Thou madest Life in man and brute. and I Thy shepherd pipe. Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: Thou madest man. and leave The monstrous ledges there to slope. Thine are these orbs of light and shade.
But more of reverence in us dwell. Forgive what seemed my sin in me. Forgive them where they fail in truth. Confusions of a wasted youth. 5 10 . to thee. and there I find him worthier to be loved. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII I I held it truth. I trust he lives in thee. Forgive these wild and wandering cries. H. What seemed my worth since I began. Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. whom I found so fair. In Memoriam Let knowledge grow from more to more. We mock thee when we do not fear: But help thy foolish ones to bear. 1849 25 30 35 40 In Memoriam A. May make one music as before. to beat the ground. To dance with death. That mind and soul. Let darkness keep her raven gloss: Ah! sweeter to be drunk with loss. 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. For merit lives from man to man. That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things. But vaster. Thy creature.34 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones. And in thy wisdom make me wise. H. O Lord. according well. Forgive my grief for one removed. And not from man. We are fools and slight.
III O Sorrow.' And shall I take a thing so blind. and boast: `Behold the man that loved and lost. But all he was is overworn. And murmurs from the dying sun: `And all the phantom. Thy fibres net the dreamless head. A hollow echo of my own. ± A hollow form with empty hands. I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee. the clock Beats out the little lives of men. What whispers from thy lying lip? `The stars.' II Old Yew. which graspest at the stones That name the under-lying dead. From out waste places comes a cry. Nature. Who changest not in any gale! Nor branding summer suns avail To touch thy thousand years of gloom.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And bring the firstling to the flock. like a vice of blood. cruel fellowship! O Priestess in the vaults of Death! O sweet and bitter in a breath. the bloom. Embrace her as my natural good. Upon the threshold of the mind? 5 5 15 10 15 10 15 . Sick for thy stubborn hardihood. In Memoriam 35 Than that the victor Hours should scorn The long result of love. Or crush her. And in the dusk of thee.' she whispers. `blindly run. And gazing on the sullen tree. A web is woven across the sky. The seasons bring the flower again. O! not for thee the glow. stands ± With all the music in her tone. Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.
numbing pain. But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more. And with my heart I muse and say: O heart. The sad mechanic exercise.' That `Loss is common to the race' ± And common is the commonplace. VI One writes. That loss is common would not make My own less bitter. In Memoriam IV To Sleep I give my powers away.36 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. That thou should'st fail from thy desire. That grief hath shaken into frost! Such clouds of nameless trouble cross All night below the darkened eyes.' V I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel. Like dull narcotics. half reveal And half conceal the Soul within. how fares it with thee now. rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening. A use in measured language lies. But. that `Other friends remain. For words. Like coarsest clothes against the cold. With morning wakes the will. and cries. like nature. Some pleasure from thine early years. My will is bondsman to the dark. `Thou shalt not be the fool of loss. I'll wrap me o'er. `What is it makes me beat so low?' Something it is which thou hast lost. like weeds. Who scarcely darest to inquire. for the unquiet heart and brain. 5 5 5 10 15 10 . And vacant chaff well meant for grain. thou deep vase of chilling tears. but some heart did break. Break. I sit within a helmless bark. In words.
and her future Lord Was drowned in passing thro' the ford. 25 10 15 20 30 35 40 . And ever met him on his way With wishes. His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud Drops in his vast and wandering grave.' She takes a riband or a rose. Who mused on all I had to tell. even when she turned. that waitest for thy love! For now her father's chimney glows In expectation of a guest. ere half thy draught be done Hath stilled the life that beat from thee. where my heart was used to beat So quickly. Expecting still his advent home. O mother. That sittest ranging golden hair. the curse Had fallen. she turns Once more to set a ringlet right. And. In Memoriam 37 O father. And glad to find thyself so fair. wheresoe'er thou be. For he will see them on to-night. A shot. Ye know no more than I who wrought At that last hour to please him well. And thinking `this will please him best. having left the glass. O. unconscious dove. waiting for a hand.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. That pledgest now thy gallant son. ± while thy head is bowed. And something written. praying God will save Thy sailor. VII Dark house. Or killed in falling from his horse. something thought. perpetual maidenhood. And unto me no second friend. And with the thought her colour burns. thinking. And. Doors. Or here tomorrow will he come. O! somewhere. meek. here today. by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street. what to her shall be the end? And what to me remains of good? To her. Poor child.
And learns her gone and far from home. with thee And this poor flower of poesy Which little cared for fades not yet. IX Fair ship. there at least may die. He saddens. And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door. the chamber and the street. So seems it in my deep regret. VIII A happy lover who has come To look on her that loves him well. For all is dark where thou art not. Which once she fostered up with care. The field. And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day. And all the place is dark. So draw him home to those that mourn In vain. I go to plant it on his tomb. In Memoriam A hand that can be clasped no more ± Behold me. But since it pleased a vanished eye. a favourable speed 5 5 5 10 10 15 20 .38 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. for I cannot sleep. that from the Italian shore Sailest the placid ocean-plains With my lost Arthur's loved remains. Spread thy full wings. So find I every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet. Or dying. Who lights and rings the gateway bell. wandering there In those deserted walks. Yet as that other. may find A flower beat with rain and wind. and all The chambers emptied of delight. He is not here. and waft him o'er. but far away The noise of life begins again. O my forsaken heart. That if it can it there may bloom. all the magic light Dies off at once from bower and hall.
Should toss with tangle2 and with shells. Sleep. That takes the sunshine and the rains. And letters unto trembling hands.1 bright As our pure love. as he sleeps now. gentle heavens. I hear the bell struck in the night: I see the cabin-window bright. gentle winds. Thou bringest the sailor to his wife. And hands so often clasped in mine. And.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. a vanished life. So bring him: we have idle dreams: This look of quiet flatters thus Our home-bred fancies: O to us. More than my brothers are to me. thy dark freight. Sphere all your lights around. I see the sailor at the wheel. Or where the kneeling hamlet drains The chalice of the grapes of God. X I hear the noise about thy keel. XI Calm is the morn without a sound. the brother of my love. My friend. All night no ruder air perplex Thy sliding keel. . Calm as to suit a calmer grief. Sleep. Than if with thee the roaring wells Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine.). The fools of habit.). `oar-weed' (T. And travelled men from foreign lands. Dear as the mother to the son. before the prow. and lead Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn. sweeter seems To rest beneath the clover sod. above. 1 2 10 15 20 5 10 15 20 `star of dawn' (T. thro' early light Shall glimmer on the dewy decks. In Memoriam 39 Ruffle thy mirrored mast. till Phosphor. whom I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. My Arthur.
And reach the glow of southern skies. In Memoriam And only thro' the faded leaf The chestnut pattering to the ground: Calm and deep peace on this high wold. And on these dews that drench the furze. I cannot stay. And waves that sway themselves in rest. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . 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 crowded farms and lessening towers. and back return To where the body sits. `Comes he thus. And leave the cliffs. And linger weeping on the marge. a calm despair: Calm on the seas. And saying. And see the sails at distance rise. And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep. if calm at all. These leaves that redden to the fall. And all the silvery gossamers That twinkle into green and gold: Calm and still light on yon great plain That sweeps with all its autumn bowers. And in my heart. and silver sleep. I leave this mortal ark behind. and learn That I have been an hour away. and play About the prow. To mingle with the bounding main: Calm and deep peace in this wide air. Like her I go. A weight of nerves without a mind. XII Lo! as a dove when up she springs To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe. and haste away O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large. If any calm. Some dolorous message knit below The wild pulsation of her wings.40 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.
And standing. A void where heart on heart reposed. where warm hands have prest and closed. Silence. Mine eyes have leisure for their tears. And not the burthen that they bring. Which weep the comrade of my choice. when he sees A late-lost form that sleep reveals. And found thee lying in the port. The human-hearted man I loved. As tho' they brought but merchants' bales. My fancies time to rise on wing. An awful thought. Should strike a sudden hand in mine. And. For now so strange do these things seem. In Memoriam 41 XIII Tears of the widower. a life removed. And how my life had dropped of late. fall like these. not a breathing voice. Come Time. And beckoning unto those they know. And glance about the approaching sails. and feels Her place is empty. That thou hadst touched the land today. I do not suffer in a dream. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 . And ask a thousand things of home. XIV If one should bring me this report. And moves his doubtful arms. Which weep a loss for ever new. muffled round with woe. A spirit. and teach me. till I be silent too. Should see thy passengers in rank Come stepping lightly down the plank. And he should sorrow o'er my state And marvel what possessed my brain. And I should tell him all my pain. And if along with these should come The man I held as half-divine. And I went down unto the quay. many years.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.
But found him all in all the same. so harshly given. The rooks are blown about the skies. XV To-night the winds begin to rise And roar from yonder dropping day: The last red leaf is whirled away. I should not feel it to be strange. No hint of death in all his frame.42 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. the waters curled. And staggers blindly ere she sink? 5 5 20 10 15 20 10 . And topples round the dreary west. which aver That all thy motions gently pass Athwart a plane of molten glass. Or sorrow such a changeling be? Or doth she only seem to take The touch of change in calm or storm. But knows no more of transient form In her deep self. In Memoriam And I perceived no touch of change. than some dead lake That holds the shadow of a lark Hung in the shadow of a heaven? Or has the shock. The forest cracked. I scarce could brook the strain and stir That makes the barren branches loud. And wildly dashed on tower and tree The sunbeam strikes along the world: And but for fancies. XVI What words are these have fallen from me? Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast. The wild unrest that lives in woe Would dote and pore on yonder cloud That rises upward always higher. The cattle huddled on the lea. Confused me like the unhappy bark That strikes by night a craggy shelf. A looming bastion fringed with fire. And onward drags a labouring breast. And but for fear it is not so.
sacred bark. For I in spirit saw thee move Thro' circles of the bounding sky. we may stand Where he in English earth is laid. And flashes into false and true. whatever loves to weep. So kind an office hath been done. My blessing.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. thou bringest all I love. 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 10 . And made me that delirious man Whose fancy fuses old and new. and my prayer Was as the whisper of an air To breathe thee over lonely seas. And balmy drops in summer dark Slide from the bosom of the stars. wherever thou may'st roam. Is on the waters day and night. And come. The dust of him I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. Such precious relics brought by thee. Come then. And like a beacon guards thee home. 'tis something. and bear the head That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep. And hear the ritual of the dead. In Memoriam 43 And stunned me from my power to think And all my knowledge of myself. much wept for: such a breeze Compelled thy canvas. but it looks in truth As if the quiet bones were blest Among familiar names to rest And in the places of his youth. So may whatever tempest mars Mid-ocean. pure hands. spare thee. Week after week: the days go by: Come quick. XVIII 'Tis well. like a line of light. 'Tis little. And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land. And mingles all without a plan? XVII Thou comest. Henceforth.
And slowly forms the firmer mind. I brim with sorrow drowning song. . And weep the fulness from the mind: `It will be hard. The salt sea-water passes by. even yet. Who speak their feeling as it is. 3 15 20 5 10 15 5 10 `He died at Vienna and was brought to Clevedon to be buried' (T. And I can speak a little then. XIX The Danube to the Severn gave The darkened heart that beat no more. Would breathing thro' his lips impart The life that almost dies in me: That dies not. And hushed my deepest grief of all. falling on his faithful heart. The Wye is hushed nor moved along. That out of words a comfort win. Treasuring the look it cannot find. And in the hearing of the wave.' they say.' My lighter moods are like to these.44 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And makes a silence in the hills. When filled with tears that cannot fall. That breathe a thousand tender vows. I.). But there are other griefs within. And tears that at their fountain freeze. In Memoriam Ah! yet. if this might be. The words that are not heard again. And hushes half the babbling Wye. the wave again Is vocal in its wooded walls: My deeper anguish also falls. The tide flows down. Are but as servants in a house Where lies the master newly dead.3 They laid him by the pleasant shore. There twice a day the Severn fills. but endures with pain. XX The lesser griefs that may be said. `to find Another service such as this.
Because her brood is stol'n away. And sometimes harshly will he speak. He loves to make parade of pain.' XXI I sing to him that rests below. and think. The traveller hears me now and then. `This fellow would make weakness weak. And melt the waxen hearts of men.' Another answers. since the grasses round me wave. In Memoriam 45 For by the hearth the children sit Cold in that atmosphere of Death. I take the grasses of the grave.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And. Or like to noiseless phantoms flit: But open converse is there none. 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . And pipe but as the linnets sing: And one unto her note is gay. `Let him be.' A third is wroth: `Is this an hour For private sorrow's barren song. And one unto her note is changed. `How good! how kind! and he is gone. and charms Her secret from the latest moon?' Behold. When more and more the people throng The chairs and thrones of civil power? `A time to sicken and to swoon. For now her little ones have ranged. That with his piping he may gain The praise that comes to constancy. And make them pipes whereon to blow. So much the vital spirits sink To see the vacant chair. When science reaches forth her arms To feel from world to world. ye speak an idle thing: Ye never knew the sacred dust: I do but sing because I must. XXII The path by which we twain did go. Which led by tracts that pleased us well. And scarce endure to draw the breath.
46 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The Shadow sits and waits for me. And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought. And dulled the murmur on thy lip. From flower to flower. And think that. And all was good that Time could bring. sometimes in my sorrow shut. As we descended following Hope. And spread his mantle dark and cold. And glad at heart from May to May: But where the path we walked began To slant the fifth autumnal slope. The Shadow cloaked from head to foot Who keeps the keys of all the creeds. And all we met was fair and good. And crowned with all the season lent. how changed from where it ran Thro' lands where not a leaf was dumb. And all the secret of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood: 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . tho' I walk in haste. from snow to snow: And we with singing cheered the way. And crying. In Memoriam Thro' four sweet years arose and fell. Who broke our fair companionship. I wander. And wrapt thee formless in the fold. to where he sits. And looking back to whence I came. Alone. often falling lame. alone. There sat the Shadow feared of man. And bore thee where I could not see Nor follow. And Fancy light from Fancy caught. From April on to April went. Or on to where the pathway leads. XXIII Now. But all the lavish hills would hum The murmur of a happy Pan: When each by turns was guide to each. Ere thought could wed itself with Speech. somewhere in the waste. Or breaking into song by fits.
Because it needed help of Love: Nor could I weary. as now. This earth had been the Paradise It never looked to human eyes Since Adam left his garden yet. When mighty Love would cleave in twain The lading of a single pain. And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady. 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. giving half to him. And part it. That sets the past in this relief ? Or that the past will always win A glory from its being far. And then. But this it was that made me move As light as carrier-birds in air. for I long to prove No lapse of moons can canker Love. and hath power to see 5 5 5 10 15 10 . heart or limb. Whatever fickle tongues may say. And orb into the perfect star We saw not. And is it that the haze of grief Hath stretched my former joy so great? The lowness of the present state. the day prepared The daily burden for the back. I loved the weight I had to bear. when we moved therein? XXV I know that this was Life. I with it. And if that eye which watches guilt And goodness. ± the track Whereon with equal feet we fared.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. In Memoriam 47 And many an old philosophy On Argive heights divinely sang. XXVI Still onward winds the dreary way. If all was good and fair we met.
As flies the lighter thro' the gross. Nor. And flash at once. And I have lost the links that bound Thy changes. Unfettered by the sense of crime. To cloak me from my proper scorn. ere yet the morn Breaks hither over Indian seas. Deep folly! yet that this could be ± That I could wing my will with might To leap the grades of life and light. to thee: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . what may count itself as blest. 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. XXVII I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage. The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth. XLI Thy spirit ere our fatal loss Did ever rise from high to higher. That Shadow waiting with the keys. In Memoriam Within the green the mouldered tree. No more partaker of thy change. So might I find. when I sorrow most.48 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. I hold it true. I feel it. The linnet born within the cage That never knew the summer woods: I envy not the beast that takes His license in the field of time. And towers fallen as soon as built ± Oh. whate'er befall. Nor any want-begotten rest. my friend. But thou art turned to something strange. here upon the ground. As mounts the heavenward altar-fire. To whom a conscience never wakes.
Then these were such as men might scorn: Her care is not to part and prove. Tho' following with an upward mind The wonders that have come to thee. The slightest air of song shall breathe To make the sullen surface crisp. and go thy way. when harsher moods remit. But better serves a wholesome law. Nor shudders at the gulfs beneath. from the schools. The howlings from forgotten fields. She takes. indeed. In Memoriam 49 For though my nature rarely yields To that vague fear implied in death. Let random influences glance. from nature. of Sorrow born. A spectral doubt which makes me cold. Were taken to be such as closed Grave doubts and answers here proposed. and skim away. What slender shade of doubt may flit. But evermore a life behind. And look thy look. Yet oft when sundown skirts the moor An inner trouble I behold. but blame not thou the winds that make 5 5 15 20 10 15 10 . she sports with words. But rather loosens from the lip Short swallow-flights of song. XLIX From art. that dip Their wings in tears. The fancy's tenderest eddy wreathe. Thro' all the secular to be. Like light in many a shivered lance That breaks about the dappled pools: The lightest wave of thought shall lisp. And holds it sin and shame to draw The deepest measure from the chords: Nor dare she trust a larger lay.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. XLVIII If these brief lays. That I shall be thy mate no more. And makes it vassal unto love: And hence.
And every winter change to spring. When God hath made the pile complete. That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems. So careless of the single life. And finding that of fifty seeds She often brings but one to bear. considering everywhere Her secret meaning in her deeds. that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave. In Memoriam The seeming-wanton ripple break. That nothing walks with aimless feet. Whose muffled motions blindly drown The bases of my life in tears. Defects of doubt. sins of will. and taints of blood. That not a moth with vain desire Is shriveled in a fruitless fire. 5 5 15 10 15 20 10 . That not one life shall be destroyed. That not a worm is cloven in vain.50 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The tender-pencilled shadow play. LV The wish. That I. Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife. Beneath all fancied hopes and fears Ay me! the sorrow deepens down. LIV Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill. Behold! we know not anything. I can but trust that good shall fall At last ± far off ± at last. 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. Or but subserves another's gain. Or cast as rubbish to the void. to all. To pangs of nature.
Such splendid purpose in his eyes. Be blown about the desert dust.' And he. all shall go. Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law ± Tho' Nature. I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more. A discord. Were mellow music matched with him. Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries. who seemed so fair. LVI `So careful of the type?' but no. Who battled for the True. and grope. who suffered countless ills. Man. shrieked against his creed ± Who loved. Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life. her last work. `A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing. And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God. or redress? Behind the veil. Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies. That tare each other in their slime. then. Dragons of the prime. a dream. red in tooth and claw With ravine. And faintly trust the larger hope. LVII Peace. come away: the song of woe Is after all an earthly song: 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . shall he. the Just. as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless! What hope of answer. And gather dust and chaff. O life as futile. behind the veil. In Memoriam 51 I falter where I firmly trod.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. I stretch lame hands of faith. and call To what I feel is Lord of all. Or sealed within the iron hills? No more? A monster then.
till Doubt and Death. and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame. adieu' for evermore! LXXXVI Sweet after showers. let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas On leagues of odour streaming far. my work will fail. Methinks I have built a rich shrine to my friend.52 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. I might count it vain As but the canker of the brain. Methinks my friend is richly shrined. But half my life I leave behind. though it spake and made appeal To chances where our lots were cast Together in the days behind. ambrosial air. slowly breathing bare The round of space. In Memoriam Peace. your cheeks are pale. One set slow bell will seem to toll The passing of the sweetest soul That ever looked with human eyes. Come. . Ave. `Adieu. come away: we do him wrong To sing so wildly: let us go.). Ave.4 Yet in these ears till hearing dies. That rollest from the gorgeous gloom Of evening over brake and bloom And meadow. I hear it now.' XCII If any vision should reveal Thy likeness.' said. And `Ave. fan my brows and blow The fever from my cheek. But I shall pass. Yea. 5 5 5 10 15 10 15 4 `The poet speaks of these poems. And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples. but it will not last' (T. Eternal greetings to the dead. let us go. and rapt below Thro' all the dewy-tasselled wood. To where in yonder orient star A hundred spirits whisper `Peace. Ill brethren. and o'er and o'er.
O. tho' it spake and bared to view A fact within the coming year. My spirit is at peace with all. revolving near. With what divine affections bold Should be the man whose thought would hold An hour's communion with the dead. But spiritual presentiments. call The spirits from their golden day. O. Should prove the phantom-warning true. and touch. 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. Ghost to Ghost. Except. may come Where all the nerve of sense is numb. In vain shalt thou. XCIV How pure at heart and sound in head. and enter. They might not seem thy prophecies. Spirit to Spirit. the Spirit himself. The conscience as a sea at rest: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . And such refraction of events As often rises ere they rise. XCIII I shall not see thee. That in this blindness of the frame My Ghost may feel that thine is near. I hear a wind Of memory murmuring the past. from the distance of the abyss Of tenfold-complicated change. like them.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Yea. In Memoriam 53 I might but say. hear The wish too strong for words to name. or any. therefore from thy sightless range With gods in unconjectured bliss. And tho' the months. Descend. They haunt the silence of the breast. Imaginations calm and fair. The memory like a cloudless air. thou too canst say. But he.
lest I stiffen into stone. where my heart was used to beat So quickly. And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh I take the pressure of thine hand. tho' with might To scale the heaven's highest height. They can but listen at the gates. so near in woe and weal. far off. And bright the friendship of thine eye. CXXIX Dear friend. for thy lips are bland. O loved the most. And bless thee. I will not eat my heart alone. I hear a chirp of birds. Whatever wisdom sleep with thee. Nor feed with sighs a passing wind: What profit lies in barren faith. Or dive below the wells of Death? What find I in the highest place. So far. And. not as one that weeps I come once more. 5 5 15 10 15 10 . I smell the meadow in the street. I'll rather take what fruit may be Of sorrow under human skies: 'Tis held that sorrow makes us wise. But mine own phantom chanting hymns? And on the depths of death there swims The reflex of a human face. I see Betwixt the black fronts long-withdrawn A light-blue lane of early dawn. my lost desire. when most I feel There is a lower and a higher. And hear the household jar within. the city sleeps.54 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. In Memoriam But when the heart is full of din. CXIX Doors. And think of early days and thee. And vacant yearning. CVIII I will not shut me from my kind. And doubt beside the portal waits.
mine. for ever. What art thou then? I cannot guess. Thou standest in the rising sun. And mingle all the world with thee. but ever night. circled with thy voice. Loved deeplier. I shall not lose thee though I die. I do not therefore love thee less: My love involves the love before. half a league. Dear heavenly friend that canst not die. and I rejoice. My love is vaster passion now. I hear thee where the waters run. present. divine! Sweet human hand and lips and eye. CXXX Thy voice is on the rolling air. and to be. darklier understood. And in the setting thou art fair. Half a league onward. some diffusive power. All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The Charge of the Light Brigade 55 Known and unknown. past. Mine. Behold I dream a dream of good. Tho' mixed with God and Nature thou. Far off thou art. human. `Forward. I seem to love thee more and more. the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!' he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. But tho' I seem in star and flower To feel thee. ever mine! Strange friend. I have thee still. II `Forward. I prosper. 5 5 10 10 15 The Charge of the Light Brigade I Half a league. the Light Brigade!' Was there a man dismayed? Not tho' the soldier knew 5 10 .
All that was left of them. while All the world wondered: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke. Cannon to left of them. Then they rode back. Left of six hundred. The Charge of the Light Brigade Some one had blundered: Their's not to make reply.56 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Flashed as they turned in air Sabring the gunners there. Their's not to reason why. Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered. Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered. Cannon to left of them. Back from the mouth of Hell. IV Flashed all their sabres bare. Boldly they rode and well. but not Not the six hundred. Stormed at with shot and shell. They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death. Into the jaws of Death. Their's but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Charging an army. III Cannon to right of them. Stormed at with shot and shell. V Cannon to right of them. VI When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . While horse and hero fell. Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre-stroke Shattered and sundered. Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred.
And lust of gain. for the roots of my hair were stirred By a shuffled step. 3 Did he fling himself down? who knows? for a vast speculation had failed. and crushed. From: Maud 57 All the world wondered. now lord of the broad estate and the Hall. is it better or worse Than the heart of the citizen hissing in war on his own hearthstone? 7 But these are the days of advance. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade. 5 Villainy somewhere! whose? One says. and ever wanned with despair.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And the flying gold of the ruined woodlands drove thro' the air. 4 I remember the time. Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-red heath. His who had given me life ± O father! O God! was it well? ± Mangled. Pickpockets. and flattened. whatever is asked her. When who but a fool would have faith in a tradesman's ware or his word? 5 10 15 20 25 . by a whispered fright. And out he walked when the wind like a broken worldling wailed. Dropt off gorged from a scheme that had left us flaccid and drained. And Echo there.' 2 For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was found. the works of the men of mind. 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. Not he: his honest fame should at least by me be maintained: But that old man. we are villains all. by a dead weight trailed. answers `Death. And ever he muttered and maddened. in the spirit of Cain. The red-ribbed ledges drip with a silent horror of blood. and dinted into the ground: There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he fell. 6 Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? we have made them a curse. each hand lusting for all that is not its own. Noble six hundred! 55 From: Maud I 1 I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood.
And strike. as underhand. as I think. for the villainous centre-bits Grind on the wakeful ear in the hush of the moonless nights. That the smoothfaced snubnosed rogue would leap from his counter and till. and slurring the days gone by. And chalk and alum and plaster are sold to the poor for bread. 10 And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffian's head. Peace in her vineyard ± yes! ± but a company forges the wine. When the poor are hovelled and hustled together. war! loud war by land and by sea. While another is cheating the sick of a few last gasps. Till the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the trampled wife.58 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. May make my heart as a millstone. not openly bearing the sword. like swine. as he sits To pestle a poisoned poison behind his crimson lights. and that of a kind The viler. set my face as a flint. 11 And Sleep must lie down armed. From: Maud Is it peace or war? Civil war. and when only not all men lie. War with a thousand battles. each sex. if he could. And the spirit of murder works in the very means of life. and die: who knows? we are ashes and dust. Cheat and be cheated. ± 14 What! am I raging alone as my father raged in his mood? Must I too creep to the hollow and dash myself down and die Rather than hold by the law that I made. And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the foam. 9 Peace sitting under her olive. home. Is it peace or war? better. 8 Sooner or later I too may passively take the print Of the golden age ± why not? I have neither hope nor trust. nevermore to brood On a horror of shattered limbs and a wretched swindler's lie? 30 35 40 45 50 55 . When only the ledger lives. and shaking a hundred thrones. And Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of children's bones. were it but with his cheating yardwand. 12 When a Mammonite mother kills her babe for a burial fee. 13 For I trust if an enemy's fleet came yonder round by the hill.
Maud the delight of the village. Come into the garden. as I saw him. I played with the girl when a child. night. ah God. and thought he would rise and speak And rave at the lie and the liar. The dark old place will be gilt by the touch of a millionaire: I have heard. 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. Maud with her sweet purse-mouth when my father dangled the grapes. XXII 1 Come into the garden. I am here at the gate alone. she will let me alone. there is fatter game on the moor. as he used to rave. For the black bat. and the Devil may pipe to his own. Love for the silent thing that had made false haste to the grave ± Wrapt in a cloak. Maud the beloved of my mother. She may bring me a curse. Maud. 2 For a breeze of morning moves. Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky. Maud. 16 I am sick of the Hall and the hill. And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad. And the planet of Love is on high. ± 19 What is she now? My dreams are bad. the ringing joy of the Hall. having the nerves of motion as well as the nerves of pain. for the fiend best knows whether woman or man be the worse. Thanks. From: Maud 59 15 Would there be sorrow for me? there was love in the passionate shriek. 18 Maud with her venturous climbings and tumbles and childish escapes.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. No. And the musk of the rose is blown. I know not whence. I will bury myself in myself. she promised then to be fair. 60 65 70 75 5 10 . Why should I stay? can a sweeter chance ever come to me here? O. has flown. I am sick of the moor and the main. of the singular beauty of Maud. the moon-faced darling of all.
and to die. For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood. `For ever and ever. 4 I said to the lily.60 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. bassoon. From: Maud To faint in the light of the sun she loves. O young lord-lover.' so I sware to the rose. As the music clashed in the hall. Our wood. And long by the garden lake I stood. Till a silence fell with the waking bird. Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away. violin. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . 3 All night have the roses heard The flute.' 6 And the soul of the rose went into my blood. what sighs are those. All night has the casement jessamine stirred To the dancers dancing in tune. but mine. For one that will never be thine? But mine. `The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine. mine. When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance and play. To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise. And half to the rising day. `There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay.' Now half to the setting moon are gone. 8 The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree. 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. that is dearer than all. 5 I said to the rose. And a hush with the setting moon. To faint in his light.
My heart would hear her and beat. my sweet. `I wait. my dove. They sighed for the dawn and thee. Had I lain for a century dead. she is near.' 11 She is coming. Queen lily and rose in one. Knowing your promise to me. In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls. my dear. 10 There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. The red rose cries. my life. sunning over with curls. When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. 61 50 55 60 65 70 Crossing the Bar Sunset and evening star. To the flowers. And blossom in purple and red. `I hear. 5 . little head.' And the lily whispers. my own. And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar. Come hither. Were it earth in an earthy bed. She is coming. The lilies and roses were all awake. Shine out. Were it ever so airy a tread. the dances are done. `She is near. I hear. and be their sun. When I put out to sea. My dust would hear her and beat. Would start and tremble under her feet. Too full for sound and foam. 9 Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls. But such a tide as moving seems asleep. `She is late.' The larkspur listens.' And the white rose weeps. my fate.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. She is coming. But the rose was awake all night for your sake. Crossing the Bar The white lake-blossom fell into the lake As the pimpernel dozed on the lea.
I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar.62 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far. When I embark. . Crossing the Bar Twilight and evening bell. And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell.
how shall I say? . the white mule She rode with round the terrace ± all and each Would draw from her alike the forward speech. The dropping of the daylight in the West. How such a glance came there. . at least. She thanked men. now: Fra Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day. But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you. so not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. . 'twas not Her husband's presence only.Robert Browning (1812±1889) My Last Duchess Ferrara That's my last Duchess painted on the wall. Who'd stoop to blame 5 10 15 20 25 30 . ± good. Will't please you sit and look at her? I said `Fra Pandolf' by design. she liked whate'er She looked on. The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her. I call That piece a wonder. Sir. she thought.I know not how. and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance. Looking as if she were alive. . and her looks went everywhere. but I) And seemed as they would ask me. . 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. Too easily impressed. and there she stands. . too soon made glad. but thanked Somehow. Sir. 'twas all one! My favour at her breast. as if she ranked My gift of a nine hundred years old name With anybody's gift. such stuff Was courtesy. Or blush. if they durst. . The depth and passion of its earnest glance. She had A heart .' or `Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat'.
± not thro' his presence. There she stands As if alive. thought a rarity. his heart had been proud! We that had loved him so. Then all smiles stopped together. Learned his great language. followed him. doled him out silver. forsooth. Whene'er I passed her. but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew. I gave commands. as I avowed At starting. Just for a ribband to stick in his coat ± Got the one gift of which fortune bereft us. ± E'en then would be some stooping. The Count your Master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed. So much was their's who so little allowed: How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags ± were they purple. is my object. ± He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! II We shall march prospering. Milton was for us. we'll go Together down. They. tho'. Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me. nor plainly set Her wits to yours. 35 40 45 50 55 The Lost Leader I Just for a handful of silver he left us. Lost all the others she lets us devote. Sir! Notice Neptune. Burns. Songs may excite us. and say. Lived in his mild and magnificent eye. Though his fair daughter's self. Will't please you rise? We'll meet The company below then. Shelley. `Just this Or that in you disgusts me. ± not from his lyre. Deeds will be done. Sir. I repeat. ± while he boasts his quiescence. Nay. here you miss. with the gold to give. Oh. and I chuse Never to stoop. Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us.64 Robert Browning. ± they watch from their graves! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen. were with us. 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. caught his clear accents. Or there exceed the mark' ± and if she let Herself be lessoned so. Taming a sea-horse. she smiled. no doubt. honoured him. 5 10 15 . and made excuse.
Laid with care on our own shelf ! With a fire-new spoon we're furnished. Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well. one more insult to God! Life's night begins: let him never come back to us! There would be doubt. for we taught him. Rinsed like something sacrificial Ere 'tis fit to touch our chaps ± Marked with L. Brother Lawrence. ± record one lost soul more. Sort of season. Pardoned in Heaven. do! If hate killed men. then. 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. Strike our face hard ere we shatter his own. One wrong more to man. ± come gallantly. would not mine kill you! What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming? Oh. One task unaccepted. Forced praise on our part ± the glimmer of twilight. One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels. And a goblet for ourself. hesitation and pain. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister 65 Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire: Blot out his name. my heart's abhorrence! Water your damned flower-pots. the first by the throne! 20 25 30 Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister I GR-R-R ± there go. Then let him get the new knowledge and wait us.Robert Browning. time of year: Not a plenteous cork-crop: scarcely Dare we hope oak-galls. one footpath untrod. God's blood. for our initial! (He-he! There his lily snaps!) 5 10 15 20 . 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.
Steeping tresses in the tank. so nice! One goes to the Abbot's table. you grovel Hand and foot in Belial's gripe. I. telling stories. All of us get each a slice. if another fails: If I trip him just a-dying. Keep 'em close-nipped on the sly! VII There's a great text in Galatians. to my recollection. forsooth! While brown Dolores Squats outside the Convent bank With Sanchicha. Blue-black. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 . As do I. Drinking watered orange-pulp. One sure. In three sips the Arian frustrate. If I double down its pages At the woeful sixteenth print. the Trinity illustrate. How go on your flowers? None double? Not one fruit-sort can you spy? Strange! ± And I. entails Twenty-nine distinct damnations. thick like horsehairs. lustrous. Once you trip on it. in Jesu's praise. too. my scrofulous French novel On grey paper with blunt type! Simply glance at it. Bright as 'twere a Barbary corsair's? That is. at such trouble. if he'd let it show! V When he finishes refection.66 Robert Browning. ± Can't I see his dead eye grow. those melons? If he's able We're to have a feast. Knife and fork across he lays Never. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister IV Saint. Spin him round and send him flying Off to hell a Manichee? VIII Or. Sure of Heaven as sure can be. While he drains his at one gulp! VI Oh.
Which done. there's Vespers! Plena gratia Ave. It tore the elm-tops down for spite. I listened with heart fit to break. And did its worst to vex the lake. and vainer ties dissever. Be sure I looked up at her eyes Proud. Blasted lay that rose-acacia We're so proud of ! Hy. last. And all her yellow hair displaced. Murmuring how she loved me. And she was come through wind and rain. The sullen wind was soon awake. straight She shut the cold out and the storm. Virgo! Gr-r-r ± you swine! 65 70 Porphyria's Lover The rain set early in tonight. and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl. she Too weak. she rose. And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up. made my cheek lie there. the Devil! ± one might venture Pledge one's soul yet slily leave Such a flaw in the indenture As he'd miss till. And give herself to me for ever: But passion sometimes would prevail. . and all the cottage warm. Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her. When glided in Porphyria. And. she sat down by my side And called me. very proud. . Hine . Ã St. And made her smooth white shoulder bare. untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall. She put my arm about her waist. And spread o'er all her yellow hair. When no voice replied. past retrieve. Ope a sieve and slip it in't? IX Or. And. Zy. and all in vain. To set its struggling passion free From pride. Porphyria's Lover 67 When he gathers his greengages. stooping. for all her heart's endeavour.Robert Browning. at last I knew 5 10 15 20 25 30 . And laid her soiled gloves by.
this time my shoulder bore Her head. am gained instead! Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before. some morning.68 Robert Browning. surprise Made my heart swell. again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. fair. and all the swallows ± Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops ± at the bent spray's edge ± 5 10 . And the whitethroat builds. And I. And whoever wakes in England Sees. to be in England Now that April's there. from Abroad Porphyria worshipped me. That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. As a shut bud that holds a bee I warily oped her lids. Home-Thoughts. And all night long we have not stirred. No pain felt she. Only. And yet God has not said a word! 35 40 45 50 55 60 Home-Thoughts. While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England ± now! II And after April. and still it grew While I debated what to do. I am quite sure she felt no pain. its love. And strangled her. That moment she was mine. when May follows. And thus we sit together now. which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head. from Abroad I Oh. Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do. mine. That all it scorned at once is fled. And I untightened next the tress About her neck. and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around. So glad it has its utmost will. unaware.
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!
(So they say) Of our country's very capital. And quench its speed in the slushy sand. And the need of a world of men for me. gathered councils. Meeting at Night Meeting at Night I The grey sea and the long black land.72 Robert Browning. Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward thro' the twilight. 5 10 . thro' its joys and fears. Love Among the Ruins 1 Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles. A tap at the pane. And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep. its prince Ages since Held his court in. stray or stop As they crop ± 2 Was the site once of a city great and gay. the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match. And the yellow half-moon large and low. II Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach. And the sun looked over the mountain's rim ± And straight was a path of gold for him. Than the two hearts beating each to each! 5 10 Parting at Morning Round the cape of a sudden came the sea. As I gain the cove with pushing prow. Three fields to cross till a farm appears. And a voice less loud. wielding far Peace or war.
certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to (else they run Into one). men might march on nor be pressed. 7 Now. And that glory and that shame alike. Twelve abreast.Robert Browning. 4 Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all. To distinguish slopes of verdure. the gold Bought and sold. by the gourd Overscored. While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks Through the chinks ± 8 Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time Sprang sublime. of grass Never was! Such a carpet as. 5 And such plenty and perfection. Lust of glory pricked their hearts up. And a burning ring all round. guessed alone. the chariots traced As they raced. see. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . ± the single little turret that remains On the plains. By the caper over-rooted. this summer-time. Stock or stone ± 6 Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Long ago. Love Among the Ruins 73 3 Now ± the country does not even boast a tree. o'erspreads And embeds Every vestige of the city. Made of marble. dread of shame Struck them tame. As you see.
14 Oh. breathless. All the men! 12 When I do come. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 .74 Robert Browning. bridges. noise and sin! Shut them in. give her eyes the first embrace Of my face. Either hand On my shoulder. heart! oh. blood that burns! Earth's returns For whole centuries of folly. When the king looked. she will stand. all the glades' Colonnades. 13 In one year they sent a million fighters forth South and North. Far and wide. And they built their gods a brazen pillar high As the sky. ± and then. 11 But he looked upon the city. Love Among the Ruins And the monarch and his minions and his dames Viewed the games. 9 And I know. while thus the quiet-coloured eve Smiles to leave to their folding. Ere we rush. where she looks now. she will speak not. every side. All the mountains topped with temples. of course. dumb Till I come. all our many-tinkling fleece In such peace. All the causeys. ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each. blood that freezes. Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force ± Gold. aqueducts. 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.
it concerns you that your knaves Pick up a manner nor discredit you. it's past midnight. Boh! you were best! Remember and tell me. since you style me so. one. ± for the slave that holds John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair With one hand (`Look you. weke. by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! But you. the day you're hanged. I'd like his face ± His.' as who should say) And his weapon in the other. sir. sir. you'll take Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat. . 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 . . Do. What. there. that they sweep the streets And count fair prize what comes into their net? He's Judas to a tittle. Cosimo of the Medici. that man is! Just such a face! why. Whatever rat. A wood-coal or the like? or you should see! Yes. now. you know your betters! Then. lads! more beside!) And all's come square again. how d'ye call? Master ± a . are we pilchards. And please to know me likewise. The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up. I' the house that caps the corner. who is lodging with a friend Three streets off ± he's a certain . 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. up and down. And nip each softling of a wee white mouse. . that's crept to keep him company! Aha. haps on his wrong hole. brother Lippo's doings. and you go the rounds. . what's to blame? you think you see a monk! What. Fra Lippo Lippi I am poor brother Lippo. yet unwiped! It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk. sir. And here you catch me at an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar.Robert Browning. elbowing on his comrade in the door With the pike and lantern. Fra Lippo Lippi 75 With their triumphs and their glories and the rest! Love is best. Weke. Who am I? Why. Zooks. I'm the painter. Lord. Zooks. you make amends. if you must show your zeal. ± harry out.
76 Robert Browning. . I let Lisa go. melon-parings. Refuse and rubbish. now! I was a baby when my mother died And father died and left me in the street. over the bridge. Here's spring come. If I've been merry. what am I a beast for? tell us. Curtain and counterpane and coverlet. laughs. Hands and feet. hip to haunch. The wind doubled me up and down I went. well met. sir. Ah. and our earth is a tomb! Flower o' the quince. zooks. There came a hurry of feet and little feet. You snap me of the sudden. Round they went. hail fellow. A-painting for the great man. And I've been three weeks shut within my mew. I could not paint all night ± Ouf ! I leaned out of window for fresh air. scrambling somehow. There was a ladder! down I let myself. I starved there. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight. and what good's in life since? Flower o' the thyme ± and so on. Fra Lippo Lippi 'Tell you I liked your looks at very first. and the nights one makes up bands To roam the town and sing out carnival. rinds and shucks. ± a monk. That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went. I came up with the fun Hard by Saint Laurence. a year or two On fig-skins. ± Flower o' the rose. you shake your head ± Mine's shaved. My stomach being empty as your hat. One fine frosty day. Let's sit and set things straight now. Take away love. A sweep of lute-strings. (Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) And so along the wall. 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . but a monk! Come. All the bed-furniture ± a dozen knots. ± Flower o' the broom. God knows how. Mum's the word naturally. you say ± the sting's in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself. And after them. Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand. 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. I see! Though your eye twinkles still. flesh and blood. . and whifts of song. and so dropped. saints and saints And saints again. ± three slim shapes ± And a face that looked up .
Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped. be sure. they'd have taught me Latin in pure waste! Flower o' the clove. The warm serge and the rope that goes all round. you're minded. And made a string of pictures of the world Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun. He learns the look of things. and none the less For admonitions from the hunger-pinch.s. On the wall. as my fortune was. the bench. `Nay. . which dog bites. Found eyes and nose and chin for A.Robert Browning. Fra Lippo Lippi 77 By the straight cut to the convent. Watching folk's faces to know who will fling The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires. Which. Six words. I did renounce the world. Not overmuch their way. mind you. Well. Trash. Lord. ± `To quit this very miserable world? Will you renounce' . boy. . By no means! Brief. its pride and greed. there.' quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth. after I found leisure. I had a store of such remarks.' quoth the Prior. `turn him out. 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 .s and B. `amo' I love! But. And day-long blessed idleness beside! `Let's see what the urchin's fit for' ± that came next. What if at last we get our man of parts. 'Twas not for nothing ± the good bellyful. While I stood munching my first bread that month: `So. All the Latin I construe is. I found in time. Palace. Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes. Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge. which lets drop His bone from the heap of offal in the street! ± The soul and sense of him grow sharp alike. 'twas refection-time. d'ye say? In no wise. farm. shop and banking-house. Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch The droppings of the wax to sell again. sir. when a boy starves in the streets Eight years together. they made a monk of me. And who will curse or kick him for his pains ± Which gentleman processional and fine. you may be sure. I must confess. turned to use: I drew men's faces on my copy-books. the mouthful of bread? thought I. The monks looked black. Such a to-do! they tried me with their books. ± How say I? ± nay. such as these poor devils of Medici Have given their hearts to ± all at eight years old. Lose a crow and catch a lark. Holding a candle to the Sacrament. villa. the door.
Fresh from his murder. ignore it all. smoke . to do our church up fine And put the front on it that ought to be!' And hereupon he bade me daub away. every sort of monk. Your business is to paint the souls of men ± Man's soul. With homage to the perishable clay. But lift them over it. I drew them. the black and white. Her pair of earrings and a bunch of flowers The brute took growling. and it's a fire. 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 . (taught what to see and not to see. From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of barrel-droppings. . candle-ends. . arms. prayed. Thank you! my head being crammed.no. then cried `'tis ask and have ± Choose. fat and lean: then. Fra Lippo Lippi We Carmelites. . 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. Make them forget there's such a thing as flesh. And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall.78 Robert Browning. it's not. her apron o'er her head Which the intense eyes looked through. bless us all! Faces. `How? what's here? Quite from the mark of painting. their walls a blank. Their betters took their turn to see and say: The Prior and the learned pulled a face And stopped all that in no time. for more's ready!' ± laid the ladder flat. half for his beard and half For that white anger of his victim's son Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm. dropped in a loaf. ± To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot. folk at church. Signing himself with the other because of Christ (Whose sad face on the cross sees only this After the passion of a thousand years) Till some poor girl. First. came at eve On tip-toe. I painted all. legs and bodies like the true As much as pea and pea! it's devil's-game! Your business is not to catch men with show. and then was gone. safe and sitting there With the little children round him in a row Of admiration. said a word. like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars. Never was such prompt disemburdening. . The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked.
the old grave eyes Are peeping o'er my shoulder as I work. in the Corner-house! Lord. with his Saint a-praising God. . That sets us praising. what matters talking. You get about the best thing God invents. She's just my niece . I'm grown a man no doubt. in short. Why can't a painter lift each foot in turn. yellow does for white When what you put for yellow's simply black. I ask? A fine way to paint soul. never mind the legs and arms! Rub all out. The heads shake still ± `It's Art's decline. Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash. by painting body So ill. And you'll find the soul you have missed. paint now as I please ± Having a friend. that white smallish female with the breasts. well. when you return Him thanks! `Rub all out!' well. the eye can't stop there. Herodias. there's my life. . Fra Lippo Lippi 79 It's. Both in their order? Take the prettiest face. Sorrow or joy? won't beauty go with these? Suppose I've made her eyes all right and blue. go a double step. must go further And can't fare worse! Thus. fear. . Make his flesh liker and his soul more like. it's fast holding by the rings in front ± Those great rings serve more purposes than just To plant a flag in. my son! You're not of the true painters. . I've broken bounds ± You should not take a fellow eight years old And make him swear to never kiss the girls ± I'm my own master. The Prior's niece . ± Who went and danced and got men's heads cut off ! Have it all out!' Now. ± why not stop with him? Why put all thoughts of praise out of our heads With wonder at lines. And so the thing has gone on ever since. Oh. 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. and what not? Paint the soul. patron-saint ± is it so pretty You can't discover if it means hope. And any sort of meaning looks intense When all beside itself means and looks nought. it's the soul! Give us no more of body than shows soul! Here's Giotto. Within yourself. is this sense. ± That's somewhat. try at it a second time. . well. colours. I would say. . Left foot and right foot. great and old: 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . you see.Robert Browning. or tie up a horse! And yet the old schooling sticks.
You do like what. You tell too many lies and hurt yourself. then: bless us. my lesson learned. manners. doing most.80 Robert Browning. belike ± However. You find abundantly detestable. and his own life for each!) And my whole soul revolves. Although the miller does not preach to him The only good of grass is to make chaff. The world and life's too big to pass for a dream. the cup runs o'er. and I'll stick to mine! I'm not the third. I know what's sure to follow. you'll never make the third!' Flower o' the pine. And I do these wild things in sheer despite. you'll find: Brother Lorenzo stands his single peer. the business of the world ± (Flower o' the peach. 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 think I speak as I was taught. I see as certainly As that the morning-star's about to shine. But see. Clench my teeth. You understand me: I'm a beast. Fra Lippo Lippi Brother Angelico's the man. now ± why. You keep your mistr. throws up his stiff heels so. You be judge! You speak no Latin more than I. I know. he lets them talk ± He picks my practice up ± he'll paint apace. . a cry. they must know! Don't you think they're the likeliest to know. I always see the Garden and God there A-making man's wife ± and. you've seen the world 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 . For me. Slouches and stares and lets no atom drop ± His name is Guidi ± he'll not mind the monks ± They call him Hulking Tom. . The value and significance of flesh. with their Latin? so. We've a youngster here Comes to our convent. And play the fooleries you catch me at. For. if given you at your word. Death for us all. I can't unlearn ten minutes afterwards. out at grass After hard years. I swallow my rage. They. studies what I do. suck my lips in tight. What will hap some day. I hope so ± though I never live so long. Fag on at flesh. and paint To please them ± sometimes do and sometimes don't. You don't like what you only like too much. you're my man. there's pretty sure to come A turn ± some warm eve finds me at my saints ± A laugh. In pure rage! the old mill-horse.
nature is complete: Suppose you reproduce her ± (which you can't) There's no advantage! you must beat her. surprises. For this fair town's face. this last of course. though! How much more. Much more the figures of man. what's best. If I drew higher things with the same truth! That were to take the Prior's pulpit-place. or. and count it crime To let a truth slip. It makes me mad to see what men shall do And we in our graves! This world's no blot for us. A bell to chime the hour with. careless what comes of it? God's works ± paint anyone. yonder river's line. their colours. things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see. These are the frame to? What's it all about? To be passed o'er. woman.Robert Browning. splashed the fresco in fine style.' he returns ± `Already not one phiz of your three slaves Who turn the Deacon off his toasted side. now the scaffold's down?' I ask a brother: `Hugely. I painted a St Laurence six months since At Prato. Lending our minds out. mind you fast next Friday!' Why. And trust me but you should. Nor blank ± it means intensely. Two bits of stick nailed crosswise. now. 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. Wondered at? oh. painted ± better to us. The shapes of things. don't you mark? we're made so that we love First when we see them painted. `His works Are here already. does as well. And so they are better.' For. child. for this What need of art at all? A skull and bones. The mountain round it and the sky above. Which is the same thing. Have you noticed. Art was given for that ± God uses us to help each other so. and means good: To find its meaning is my meat and drink. `How looks my painting. lights and shades. you say. Interpret God to all of you! oh. But why not do as well as say. `Ay. Don't object. Fra Lippo Lippi 81 ± The beauty and the wonder and the power. But's scratched and prodded to our heart's content. Changes. ± and God made it all! ± For what? do you feel thankful. ± paint these Just as they are. ay or no. The pious people have so eased their own 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 . oh. despised? or dwelt upon. Your cullion's hanging face? A bit of chalk. then.
after all. where's a corner for escape? Then steps a sweet angelic slip of a thing Forward. I. And Job.82 Robert Browning. My old serge gown and rope that goes all round. because he saves the Florentines. Ringed by a bowery. caught up with my monk's-things by mistake. Saint Ambrose. the church knows! don't misreport me. Well. The man of Uz (and Us without the z. And then in the front. Lilies and vestments and white faces. I have bethought me: I shall paint a piece . Tasting the air this spicy night which turns The unaccustomed head like Chianti wine! Oh. . then go. all smile ± 335 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 375 . sweet As puff on puff of grated orris-root When ladies crowd to Church at midsummer. who puts down in black and white The convent's friends and gives them a long day. As one by a dark stair into a great light Music and talking. flowery angel-brood. For pity and religion grow i' the crowd ± Your painting serves its purpose!' Hang the fools! ± That is ± you'll not mistake an idle word Spoke in a huff by a poor monk. of course a saint or two ± Saint John. Madonna and her babe. Though he's none of you! Could Saint John there. in this presence. Got wot. Painters who need his patience). 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. puts out a soft palm ± `Not so fast!' ± Addresses the celestial presence. There's for you! Give me six months. up shall come Out of a corner when you least expect. who but Lippo! I! ± Mazed. Fra Lippo Lippi With coming to say prayers there in a rage. all these Secured at their devotions. motionless and moon-struck ± I'm the man! Back I shrink ± what is this I see and hear? I. We get on fast to see the bricks beneath. this pure company! Where's a hole. . see Something in Sant' Ambrogio's! (bless the nuns! They want a cast of my office). I shall paint God in the midst. `nay ± He made you and devised you. I must have him there past mistake. Expect another job this time next year. Iste perfecit opus! So. draw ± His camel-hair make up a painting-brush? We come to brother Lippo for all that.
. six months hence! Your hand. While you sat and played Toccatas. I would say. O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might base his head? 6 Well. do you say? 5 Was a lady such a lady. he to finger on his sword. this is very sad to find! I can hardly misconceive you. all the doors being shut. . stately at the clavichord? 5 10 15 . (and it was graceful of them) they'd break talk off and afford ± She. because the sea's the street there. and for the church A pretty picture gained. Go. no lights! The street's hushed. wholly unexpected. burning ever to midday. But although I take your meaning. . cheeks so round and lips so red. where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings? 3 Ay.Robert Browning. not letting go The palm of her. 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. . and I know my own way back ± Don't fear me! There's the grey beginning. the little lily thing That spoke the good word for me in the nick. and good bye: no lights. What. and 'tis arched by . . 'tis with such a heavy mind! 2 Here you come with your old music. Where Saint Mark's is. . where they kept the carnival! I was never out of England ± it's as if I saw it all. Shylock's bridge with houses on it. Zooks! 380 385 390 A Toccata of Galuppi's 1 Oh Galuppi. Till. in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off To some safe bench behind. Baldassaro. Like the Prior's niece . they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were the kings. And so all's saved for me. and here's all the good it brings. ± On her neck the small face buoyant. sir. Saint Lucy. When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow. it would prove me deaf and blind. what you call . like a bell-flower on its bed. 4 Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May? Balls and masks begun at midnight. to bite her mask's black velvet.
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. A Toccata of Galuppi's 7 What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive. ± you'll not die. Death stepped tacitly and took them where they never see the sun. sixths diminished. one by one. with such hair. dead and done with. souls shall rise in their degree. Butterflies may dread extinction. Mathematics are your pastime.84 Robert Browning.' ± `And are you still as happy?' ± `Yes ± And you?' ± `Then. While I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close reserve. 13 `Yours for instance: you know physics. and I want the heart to scold. sigh on sigh. they praised you. 12 Yes. merely born to bloom and drop. Oh. Told them something? Those suspensions. mirth and folly were the crop. when a million seemed so few?' Hark ± the dominant's persistence. Here on earth they bore their fruitage. Venice spent what Venice earned. more kisses' ± `Did I stop them. The soul. it cannot be! 14 `As for Venice and its people. some with deeds as well undone. is immortal ± where a soul can be discerned. when the kissing had to stop? 15 `Dust and ashes!' So you creak it. Dear dead women. till it must be answered to! 9 So an octave struck the answer. In you come with your cold music till I creep thro' every nerve. What of soul was left. I wonder. those solutions ± `Must we die?' Those commiserating sevenths ± `Life might last! we can but try!' 8 `Were you happy?' ± `Yes. something of geology. 11 But when I sit down to reason. Some with lives that came to nothing. like a ghostly cricket. doubtless.' 10 Then they left you for their pleasure: till in due time. you. ± think to take my stand nor swerve. 20 25 30 35 40 45 . creaking where a house was burned ± `Dust and ashes. too ± what's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old.
ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there. with malicious eye Askance to watch the working of his lie On mine. he lied in every word. `And the blow fallen no grieving can amend') 5 10 15 20 25 30 . (`since all is o'er. save to waylay with his lies. finding failure in its scope. 4 For. What with my search drawn out thro' years. And hears one bid the other go. my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring. And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break.Robert Browning. all agree. Hides the Dark Tower. So much as gladness that some end might be. ± I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made. Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed: neither pride Nor hope rekindling at the end descried. and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee that pursed and scored Its edge at one more victim gained thereby. That hoary cripple. with his staff ? What. 3 If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which. what with my whole world-wide wandering. what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare. 5 As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed. draw breath Freelier outside. and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend. `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.' he saith. 2 What else should he be set for.
seemed best. 8 So. yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. after a pace or two. 'twas gone! grey plain all round! Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. 11 No! penury.' 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . been writ So many times among `The Band' ± to wit. naught else remained to do. Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free. spurge. The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed Their steps ± that just to fail as they. and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay. and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away. All the day Had been a dreary one at best. And all the doubt was now ± should I be fit. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 6 While some discuss if near the other graves Be room enough for this. Heard failure prophesied so oft. I might go on. ± And still the man hears all. scarves and staves. with none to awe. inertness and grimace. That hateful cripple. out of his highway Into the path he pointed. were the land's portion. I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature. 7 Thus. and dim Was settling to its close. In some strange sort. 9 For mark! no sooner was I fairly found Pledged to the plain. 10 So on I went. a burr had been a treasure-trove.86 Robert Browning. Than pausing to throw backward a last view O'er the safe road. I had so long suffered in this quest. I turned from him. according to their law Might propagate their kind. You'd think. `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. quiet as despair. nothing throve: For flowers ± as well expect a cedar grove! But cockle. With care about the banners.
Stood stupefied. Think first. As a man calls for wine before he fights. Poor traitor. however he came there ± Thrust out past service from the devil's stud! 14 Alive? he might be dead for aught I know. till I almost felt him fold An arm in mine to fix me to the place. Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. the head was chopped ± the bents Were jealous else. I asked one draught of earlier. spit upon and curst! 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 . 17 Giles. Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe: I never saw a brute I hated so ± He must be wicked to deserve such pain. it grew as scant as hair In leprosy ± thin dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood. 15 I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. Alas! one night's disgrace! Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold. One stiff blind horse. 16 Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face Beneath its garniture of curly gold.Robert Browning. 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. And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane. his every bone a-stare. the soul of honour ± there he stands Frank as ten years ago when knighted first. Good ± but the scene shifts ± faugh! what hangman's hands Pin to his breast a parchment? his own bands Read it. With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain. happier sights. Dear fellow. 13 As for the grass. That way he used. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 87 12 If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates. with a brute's intents. fight afterwards ± the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights. then. What honest man should dare (he said) he durst.
a suicidal throng: The river which had done them all the wrong. Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it. rolled by. or feel the spear I thrust to seek For hollows. 20 So petty yet so spiteful! All along. Each step. Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank Soil to a plash? toads in a poisoned tank. No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms ± This. ± good saints. Christians against Jews. But. while I forded. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 18 Better this present than a past like that ± Back therefore to my darkening path again. No sound. Vain presage! Who were the strugglers. what war did they wage. Now for a better country. What penned them there. 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . 19 A sudden little river crossed my path As unexpected as a serpent comes. 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. None out of it: mad brewage set to work Their brains. as it frothed by. tangled in his hair or beard! ± It may have been a water-rat I speared. Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage ± 23 The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque.88 Robert Browning. Whate'er that was. with all the plain to choose? No footprint leading to that horrid mews. deterred no whit. might have been a bath For the fiend's glowing hoof ± to see the wrath Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes. no sight as far as eye could strain. ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek. like galley-slaves the Turk Pits for his pastime. how I feared To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek. Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit Of mute despair. 22 Glad was I when I reached the other bank. no doubt.
Here ended. a cleft in him Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim Gaping at death. Then came some palsied oak. sand and stark black dearth. on earth left unaware. the plain had given place All round to mountains ± with such name to grace Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view. it would seem. then. one time more. A great black bird. God knows when ± In a bad dream perhaps. aware I somehow grew. not wheel ± that harrow fit to reel Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air Of Tophet's tool. nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned That brushed my cap ± perchance the guide I sought. looking up. Or brake. there! What bad use was that engine for. Sailed past. and now mere earth Desperate and done with. Apollyon's bosom-friend. 26 Now blotches rankling. clay and rubble. you! How to get from them was no plain case. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 89 24 And more than that ± a furlong on ± why. came a click As when a trap shuts ± you're inside the den! 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 . till his mood Changes and off he goes!) within a rood ± Bog. once a wood. Makes a thing and then mars it. (so a fool finds mirth. coloured gay and grim. Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel. ± solve it.Robert Browning. 27 And just as far as ever from the end! Naught in the distance but the evening. When. 25 Then came a bit of stubbed ground. Next a marsh. 'Spite of the dusk. nought To point my footstep further! At the thought. in the very nick Of giving up. Progress this way. Now patches where some leanness of the soil's Broke into moss or substances like boils. How thus they had surprised me. 29 Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick Of mischief happened to me. and dies while it recoils. 28 For. that wheel.
Built of brown stone.' 175 180 185 190 195 200 Memorabilia 1 Ah. lay ± Chin upon hand. Of all the lost adventures my peers. like giants at a hunting. day ± Came back again for that! before it left. only when the timbers start. 32 Not see? because of night perhaps? ± Why. Memorabilia 30 Burningly it came on me all at once.90 Robert Browning. to see the game at bay. to be dozing at the very nonce. did you once see Shelley plain. Names in my ears. ranged along the hillsides ± met To view the last of me. . . The tempest's mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on. 34 There they stood. lost! one moment knelled the woe of years. And did he stop and speak to you? And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems. and new! . yet each of old Lost. Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight ± While to the left. blind as the fool's heart. Fool. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came. without a counterpart In the whole world. And blew. After a life spent training for the sight! 31 What in the midst lay but the Tower itself ? The round squat turret. ± `Now stab and end the creature ± to the heft!' 33 Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled Increasing like a bell. Dunce. And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set. And such was fortunate. This was the place! those two hills on the right. ± How such a one was strong. and such was bold. The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: The hills. a tall scalped mountain . a living frame For one more picture! in a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all.
This evening more than usual. Treat his own subject after his own way. Both of one mind. Will it? tenderly? Oh. but does it bring your heart? I'll work then for your friend's friend. 5 10 15 Andrea del Sarto (Called `The Faultless Painter') But do not let us quarrel any more. how you shall be glad for this! Your soft hand is a woman of itself. either. you must serve For each of the five pictures we require ± 5 10 15 20 . Don't count the time lost.Robert Browning. You turn your face. And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside. I'll content him. Love! I often am much wearier than you think. To-morrow. an eagle-feather ± Well. bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. accept too his own price. Fix his own time. I forget the rest. 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. And shut the money into this small hand When next it takes mine. Andrea del Sarto 91 2 But you were living before that. and it seems As if ± forgive now ± should you let me sit Here by the window with your hand in mine And look a half-hour forth on Fiesole. And also you are living after. my Lucrezia. I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. never fear. 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. ± but tomorrow. as married people use. Quietly. quietly the evening through. Let us try. No.
you and I alike ± You. no studies. And. My youth. The last monk leaves the garden. At any rate 'tis easy. my everybody's moon. I suppose. But you can hear at least when people speak. rounds on rounds! ± How could you ever prick those perfect ears. my art. at every point. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . that's long past ± I do what many dream of all their lives ± Dream? strive to do. How strange now. Which everybody looks on and calls his. huddled more inside. Who listened to the Legate's talk last week. no less! You smile? why. While she looks ± no one's: very dear. at the point of your first pride in me (That's gone you know). if I ever wish so deep ± Do easily. too ± when I say perfectly I do not boast. 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. all of it. Love! so such things should be ± Behold Madonna. ± but I. And that cartoon. my moon. And autumn grows. I am bold to say. ± All in a twilight. what at bottom of my heart I wish for.92 Robert Browning. perhaps: yourself are judge. And just as much they used to say in France. Andrea del Sarto It saves a model. days decrease. I can do with my pencil what I know. there's my picture ready made. autumn in everything. my hope. is looked on by in turn. and not leave this town. being all toned down To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. the second from the door ± It is the thing. And fail in doing. There's what we painters call our harmony! A common greyness silvers everything. What I see. Even to put the pearl there! oh. and agonise to do. There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top. I could count twenty such On twice your fingers. so sweet ± My face. A twilight-piece. 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. No sketches first. looks the life he makes us lead! So free we seem. So! keep looking so ± My serpentining beauty. That length of convent-wall across the way Holds the trees safer. Love. we are in God's hand.
There burns a truer light of God in them. He means right ± that. 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. Yet do much less. but themselves. My works are nearer heaven. another and myself. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 . than goes on to prompt This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine. yes. given me soul. no matter) so much less! Well. Above and through his art ± for it gives way. that Heaven might so replenish him. George Vasari sent it me. but a man's reach should exceed his grasp. Lucrezia! I am judged. Their works drop groundward. Its body. Love. Know what I do. I think ± More than I merit. I can fancy how he did it all. 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. Rightly traced and well ordered.) Well. Yonder's a work now. We might have risen to Rafael. the insight and the stretch ± Out of me! out of me! And wherefore out? Had you enjoined them on me. Somebody remarks Morello's outline there is wrongly traced. or whate'er else. Enter and take their place there sure enough. you did give all I asked. (I know his name. am unmoved by men's blame Or their praise either. His hue mistaken. I and you. it boils too. In their vexed. Heart. or blame them. beating stuffed and stopped-up brain. so to speak! its soul is right. to sigh `Had I been two. I. Reaching. The sudden blood of these men! at a word ± Praise them.Robert Browning. with kings and popes to see. Our head would have o'erlooked the world!' No doubt. a child may understand. That arm is wrongly put ± and there again ± A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines. by many times. But all the play. painting from myself and to myself. so much less. of that famous youth The Urbinate who died five years ago. less is more. ('Tis copied. what of that? or else. but I sit here. Still. Pouring his soul. I know. some one says. it boils. Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me. what of that? Ah. Though they come back and cannot tell the world. Nay. what an arm! and I could alter it.
this. The rest avail not. Rafael's daily wear. And that long festal year at Fontainebleau! I surely then could sometimes leave the ground. I must bear it all. One arm about my shoulder. Well may they speak! That Francis. my hand kept plying by those hearts. punishes. best of all. the power ± And thus we half-men struggle. And perfect 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 . my instinct said. God. At the end. Had the mouth there urged `God and the glory! never care for gain. side by side with Angelo ± Rafael is waiting: up to God. I dared not. You painting proudly with his breath on me. In that humane great monarch's golden look. this. my kingly days? And had you not grown restless ± but I know ± 'Tis done and past. this face beyond. will not ± And who would do it. And the low voice my soul hears.94 Robert Browning. and follows to the snare ± Had you. The jingle of his gold chain in my ear. who can do a thing. For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. compensates. Such frank French eyes. leave home all day. but brought a mind! Some women do so. So it seems ± Perhaps not. seeing with his eyes. Why do I need you? What wife had Rafael. what is that? Live for fame. or has Angelo? In this world. all three!' I might have done it for you. The present by the future. 'Tis safer for me. round my neck. too. Andrea del Sarto But had you ± oh. and more than perfect mouth. with these the same. All is as God over-rules. do you know. The best is when they pass and look aside. I conclude. to speak the truth. This in the background. despised. ± And. with the same perfect brow. waiting on my work. That I am something underrated here. as a bird The fowler's pipe. and such a fire of souls Profuse. that first time. Poor this long while. ± One finger in his beard or twisted curl Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile. Beside. cannot. 'twas right. Put on the glory. But they speak sometimes. To crown the issue with a last reward! A good time. if the award be strict. Too live the life grew. I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat ± somewhat. All his court round him. incentives come from the soul's self. was it not.
. The triumph was to have ended there ± then if I reached it ere the triumph. The walls become illumined. who but Michel Angelo? Do you forget already words like those?) If really there was such a chance. But still the other's Virgin was his wife ±' Men will excuse me. ± come in. For. so lost. Said one day Angelo. at last. only you to see. it is settled dusk now. Who. eyes tired out. Well. . do you comprehend? I mean that I should earn more. The Roman's is the better when you pray. thus the line should go! Ay. I am glad to judge Both pictures in your presence. Love. what is lost? Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold. . King Francis may forgive me. Too lifted up in heart because of it) `Friend. 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 . You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! `Rafael did this. all I care for. there's a certain sorry little scrub Goes up and down our Florence. there's a star. Come from the window. Give the chalk here ± quick. whether you're ± not grateful ± but more pleased. let me think so. Andrea painted that. . I resolve to think. give you more. none cares how. How could it end in any other way? You called me. (What he? why. Is. as God lives. if he spoke the truth. brick from brick Distinct. To Rafael . Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!' To Rafael's! ± And indeed the arm is wrong. do you know. I hardly dare ± yet. were he set to plan and execute As you are pricked on by your popes and kings.Robert Browning. I have known it all these years . God is just. instead of mortar fierce bright gold. See. 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. Inside the melancholy little house We built to be so gay with. Morello's gone. and I came home to your heart. Lucrezia. Oft at nights When I look up from painting. Andrea del Sarto 95 Out of the grange whose four walls make his world. (When the young man was flaming out his thoughts Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see. The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. his very self. the watch-lights show the wall. clearer grows My better fortune. but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out! Still.
Rafael. Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff ! Love. Andrea del Sarto That gold of his I did cement them with! Let us but love each other. Finish the portrait out of hand ± there. I take the subjects for his corridor. there's something strikes a balance. My father and my mother died of want. Michel Angelo ± Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. there. and all is said. This must suffice me here. Beside. Only let me sit The grey remainder of the evening out. And built this house and sinned. and muse perfectly How I could paint. was tempted and complied. Must you go? That Cousin here again? he waits outside? Must see you ± you. but what does he.96 Robert Browning. Not yours this time! I want you at my side To hear them ± that is. Will you? Tomorrow. I regret little. The Cousin! what does he to please you more? I am grown peaceful as old age tonight. work's my ware. perhaps. lived poor. Angelo and me To cover ± the three first without a wife. Meted on each side by the angel's reed. What's better and what's all I care about. why alter it? The very wrong to Francis! it is true I took his coin. were I but back in France. Some good son Paint my two hundred pictures ± let him try! No doubt. I would change still less. it seems to-night. satisfy your friend. and what's it worth? I'll pay my fancy. You loved me quite enough. let smiles buy me! have you more to spend? While hand and eye and something of a heart Are left me. For Leonard. One picture. Since there my past life lies. does that please you? Ah. and not with me? Those loans! More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? Well. What would one have? In heaven. Well. had I riches of my own? you see How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. Idle. Yes. the whole should prove enough To pay for this same Cousin's freak. one more chance ± Four great walls in the New Jerusalem. new chances. 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 . They were born poor. And throw him in another thing or two If he demurs. you call it. just one more ± the Virgin's face. and poor they died: And I have laboured somewhat in my time And not been paid profusely.
through such lengths of hours. I know. to stray In spirit better through the land. Has tantalised me many times. branching from the brickwork's cleft. 265 Two in the Campagna 1 I wonder do you feel today As I have felt. Two in the Campagna 97 While I have mine! So ± still they overcome Because there's still Lucrezia. An everlasting wash of air ± Rome's ghost since her decease. 3 Help me to hold it: first it left The yellowing fennel.Robert Browning. ± and last Everywhere on the grassy slope I traced it. my Love. We sat down on the grass. ± blind and green they grope Among the honey-meal. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Again the Cousin's whistle! Go. I touched a thought. Such letting Nature have her way While Heaven looks from its towers. run to seed There. This morn of Rome and May? 2 For me. ± as I choose. (Like turns of thread the spiders throw Mocking across our path) for rhymes To catch at and let go. 4 Where one small orange cup amassed Five beetles. hand in hand. Such miracles performed in play. since. Hold it fast! 5 The champaign with its endless fleece Of feathery grasses everywhere! Silence and passion. 6 Such life there. Some old tomb's ruin: yonder weed Took up the floating weft. Such primal naked forms of flowers. joy and peace.
How is it under our control To love or not to love? 8 I would that you were all to me. 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.98 Robert Browning. no bar. ± nor slave nor free! Where does the fault lie? what the core Of the wound. 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. Singing together. Let us be unashamed of soul. I yearn upward ± touch you close. 11 Already how am I so far Out of that minute? Must I go Still like the thistle-ball. . whenever light winds blow. Catch your soul's warmth. Then stand away. See with your eyes. A Grammarian's Funeral 7 How say you? Let us. ± I pluck the rose And love it more than tongue can speak ± Then the good minute goes. and drink my fill At your soul's springs. You that are just so much. and set my heart Beating by yours. nor mine. for good and ill. As earth lies bare to heaven above. 10 No. and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn. O my dove. ± your part my part In life. since wound must be? 9 I would I could adopt your will. I kiss your cheek. Onward. no more ± Nor yours.
Clouds overcome it. man's thought. who most studied man. that's the world's way! (keep the mountainside. `New measures.' quoth he. the bard and sage. famous calm and dead. the little touch. square chests. Make for the city. Sleep. Self-gathered for an outbreak. darkling thorpe and croft. whom we convoy to his grave aloft. A Grammarian's Funeral 99 Leave we the common crofts.Robert Browning. the vulgar thorpes Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain. Safe from the weather! He. and grappled with the world Bent on escaping: `What's in the scroll. intenser. as it ought. Lyric Apollo! Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note Winter would follow? Till lo. Left play for work. 'Ware the beholders! This is our master. Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop. Rarer.) He knew the signal. He's for the morning! Step to a tune. Cared-for till cock-crow: Look out if yonder be not day again Rimming the rock-row! That's the appropriate country ± there. `thou keepest furled? Show me their shaping. other feet anon! My dance is finished?' No. He was a man born with thy face and throat. Borne on our shoulders. Singing together. No. and stepped on with pride Over men's pity. Crowded with culture! All the peaks soar. but one the rest excels. ± 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . and youth was gone! Cramped and diminished. Theirs. crop and herd! sleep. Seek we sepulture On a tall mountain. 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. erect each head. Moaned he. Chafes in the censer. citied to the top.
he gowned him. Sooner. then execute the parts ± Fancy the fabric Quite. `Actual life comes next? Patience a moment! Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text. ere you build. his eyes grew dross of lead: Tussis attacked him.' another would have said. this in him was the peculiar grace (Hearten our chorus) Still before living he'd learn how to live ± No end to learning. Accents uncertain: `Time to taste life.) Yea. ± Live now or never!' He said. nor feel queasy!' Oh. but we found him bald too ± eyes like lead. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . When he had learned it. Ere mortar dab brick! (Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market-place Gaping before us. Ay. Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon. A Grammarian's Funeral Give!' ± So. `Now. he spurned it! Image the whole. Let me know all. Others mistrust and say ± `But time escapes. such a life as he resolved to live.' Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head: Calculus racked him: Leaden before. fresher than at first. Earn the means first ± God surely will contrive Use for our earning. ere steel strike fire from quartz. `What's Time? leave Now for dogs and apes! Man has For ever. Master. we found him! Yea. the way winds narrowly. When he had gathered all books had to give. Painful or easy: Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast.) Not a whit troubled Back to his studies.100 Robert Browning. Straight got by heart that book to its last page: Learned. take a little rest!' ± not he! (Caution redoubled! Step two a-breast. Prate not of most or least. Still there's the comment. `Up with the curtain!' This man said rather.
aiming at a million. here's the platform. with the throttling hands of Death at strife. A Grammarian's Funeral 101 Oh. sure Bad is our bargain! Was it not great? did not he throw on God. or earth's failure: `Wilt thou trust death or not?' he answered `Yes. His hundred's soon hit: This high man. Lightnings are loosened. Well. Stars come and gol let joy break with the storm ± Peace let the dew send! 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 . through the rattle. here's the proper place: Hail to your purlieus All ye highfliers of the feathered race. Still. and unperplext Seeking shall find Him. Misses an unit. for they can.Robert Browning. there. parts of speech were rife. Heedless of far gain. shew clear Just what it all meant? He would not discount life. Dies ere he knows it. if we draw a circle premature. While he could stammer He settled Hoti's business ± let it be! ± Properly based Oun ± Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De. This man decided not to Live but Know ± Bury this man there? Here ± here's his place. `Hence with life's pale lure!' That low man seeks a little thing to do. with a great thing to pursue. Greedy for quick returns of profit. Paid by instalment! He ventured neck or nothing ± heaven's success Found. throws himself on God. has the world here ± should he need the next. Dead from the waist down. Let the world mind him! This. Sees it and does it: This high man. clouds form. Ground he at grammar. where meteors shoot. That low man goes on adding one to one. That. Swallows and curlews! Here's the top-peak! the multitude below Live. (He loves the burthen) ± God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen? Did not he magnify the mind. So. as fools do here.
outside. rain and wind combine With a furtive ear.102 Robert Browning. each sign! O enemy sly and serpentine. Living and dying. the place is bleak Where. Outside are the storms and strangers: we ± Oh. close. safe. Never the Time and the Place Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying. warm sleep I and she. 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. ± I and she! 5 10 15 20 . But the house is narrow. Leave him ± still loftier than the world suspects. Uncoil thee from the waking man! Do I hold the Past Thus firm and fast Yet doubt if the Future hold I can? This path so soft to pace shall lead Thro' the magic of May to herself indeed! Or narrow if needs the house must be. With a malice that marks each word.
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.Emily (Jane) Bronte È (1818±1848) `What winter floods. what showers of spring' What winter floods. cannot go .
The summer-eve divine. The full moon's cloudless shine Were once entwined with thee But now. how happy! those are words' How still. I will not. how happy! those are words That once would scarce agree together . `All hushed and still within the house' È The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow And the storm is fast descending And yet I cannot go Clouds beyond cloud above me. The silent night of solemn calm. 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. where art thou now? Long years have passed away Since last from off thine angel brow I saw the light decay ± Alas. where art thou now?' O Dream. But nothing drear can move me. 5 10 15 `How still. Wastes beyond wastes below. with weary pain ± Lost vision! 'tis enough for me ± Thou canst not shine again. 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.104 Emily (Jane) Bronte.
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.Emily (Jane) Bronte. `Mild the mist upon the hill' 105 È I loved the plashing of the surge ± The changing heaven. softened airs That in the forest woke no sighs And from the green spray shook no tears How still. More than smooth seas and cloudless skies And solemn. the breezy weather. soothing. 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 .
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. 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.106 Emily (Jane) Bronte. walk with me' Come. How fair soe'er it grew The vital sap once perished Will never flow again And surer than that dwelling dread. walk with me. While moonbeams flash and fly so fast We scarce can say they smiled ± Come walk with me. walk with me' È And 'neath my father's sheltering roof And near the old hall door I watch this cloudy evening fall After a day of rain Blue mists. So closer would my feelings twine Because they have no stay but thine ± `Nay call me not ± it may not be Is human love so true? Can Friendship's flower droop on for years And then revive anew? No. come walk with me. `Come. There's only thee To bless my spirit now ± We used to love on winter nights To wander through the snow. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . though the soil be wet with tears. 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.
and doubt. I trust not to thy phantom bliss. with a voice divine. Thy kind voice calls me back again: Oh. And Truth may rudely trample down The flowers of Fancy. indeed. Sure solacer of human cares. thou art ever there. I welcome thee. Of real worlds. While thou canst speak with such a tone! So hopeless is the world without. as bright as thine. Where thou. And earthly change from pain to pain. and darkness lie. What matters it. untroubled sky. Benignant Power. and Liberty. With never-failing thankfulness.Emily (Jane) Bronte. The world within I doubly prize. and I. in evening's quiet hour. to bring The hovering vision back. Yet. Thy world. And lost and ready to despair. where guile. newly-blown: But. may oft complain For Nature's sad reality And tell the suffering heart how vain Its cherished dreams must always be. Have undisputed sovereignty. that. And cold suspicion never rise. when hope despairs! 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 . Danger. 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 whisper. all around. and guilt. and hate. If but within our bosom's bound We hold a bright. still. And sweeter hope. and breathe New glories o'er the blighted spring And call a lovelier Life from Death. Warm with ten thousand mingled rays Of suns that know no winter days? Reason. my true friend! I am not lone.
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine. Brenzaida') Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee! Far. Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine! And even yet. Strengthened and fed without the aid of joy. No second morn has ever shone for me. ever more? Cold in the earth. cold in the dreary grave: Have I forgot. Then did I check the tears of useless passion. I dare not let it languish. How could I seek the empty world again? 25 5 10 15 20 30 .108 Emily (Jane) Bronte. Then did I learn how existence could be cherished. my only Love. Remembrance È Remembrance (also known as `R. All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given ± All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish. No later light has lightened up my heaven. forgive if I forget thee While the World's tide is bearing me along: Other desires and other Hopes beset me. Dare not indulge in Memory's rapturous pain. Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover That noble heart for ever. far removed. Alcona to J. Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? Now. do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains on Angora's shore. Hopes which obscure but cannot do thee wrong. 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. But when the days of golden dreams had perished And even Despair was powerless to destroy. when alone. to love thee.
and A.' I whispered gazing through The vault whose grated eye showed heaven more grey than blue (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride). Rochelle (also known as `The Prisoner') Silent is the House ± all are laid asleep. Set your slaves to spy. darkly lodged enough!' returned my sullen guide.' she said. your bolts and irons strong.' 25 5 10 15 20 30 . `and I am suffering now. `Confined in triple walls. `Draw the ponderous bars. Rochelle 109 È Julian M. my angry Dame. art thou so much to fear. Julian M. alone. Cheerful is the hearth. it was as soft and mild As sculptured marble saint or slumbering. One. threaten me with shame. forgive my careless tongue! I scoffed as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung. open Warder stern!' He dare not say me nay ± the hinges harshly turn. and A. And were they forged in steel they could not hold me long. In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray Reckless of the lives wasting there away. Then. `Aye. my haughty Sire. G. `Our guests are darkly lodged. 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. dreading every breeze That whirls the 'wildering drifts and bends the groaning trees. The little lamp burns straight. But neither sire nor dame.Emily (Jane) Bronte. Frown. unweaned child. nor prying serf shall know What angel nightly tracks that waste of winter snow. God forgive my youth. Watching every cloud. That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?' The captive raised her face. looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep. its rays shoot strong and far: I trim it well to be the Wanderer's guiding-star. chide. G. It was so soft and mild. soft the matted floor. Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door. Yet these are little worth.
parted back the floating golden cloud. How memory mirrored then the prisoner's joyous morn ± Too blithe. too loving Child. Friend. And visions rise and change which kill me with desire ± 65 45 35 40 50 55 60 70 . 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 insult and contempt I lightly brook from you. unless you deem it shame To own from conquered foe. wilt melt my master's heart with groans? Ah sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones! My master's voice is low. Rochelle È Hoarse laughed the jailor grim. dreaming wretch that I shall grant thy prayer? Or better still. wildly gay! Was that the wintry close of thy celestial May? She knew me and she sighed. with evening's wandering airs. G. And offers. and A. Julian M. a once familiar name ± I can not wonder now at ought the world will do. I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom and desolate despair. can it be. how former days upon my heart were borne. `Shall I be won to hear.' she gently said. He comes with western winds. remember me? Nay start not at my words. When you my parents' lives ± my lost life can restore. Alas. never. Then may I weep and sue ± but. `Lord Julian. Of all my playmates. Winds take a pensive tone and stars a tender fire. `you have not heard me mourn. By ball or speedy knife or headsman's skilful blow ± A quick and welcome pang instead of lingering woe! Yet. too warmly. tell them. 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. alone. eternal liberty. The dungeon seemed to swim in strange confusion round. for short life. you. its fair curls swept the ground. half aloud. Julian. yet. his aspect bland and kind. But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind: And I am rough and rude. before!' Her head sank on her hands.110 Emily (Jane) Bronte. And kneeling. With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. Dost think fond. `Is she so near to death?' I murmured. all. A messenger of Hope comes every night to me.
would wish no torture less. My fingers in the links of that iron hard and chill. I saw. Then. I marked that he did rave Of air that froze his blood and moisture like the grave ± `We have been two hours good!' he muttered peevishly. watched her there. `You may be pleased. Lord Julian. He said. Julian M. its harbour found. still to stay. But duty will not let me linger here all day. heaven's home was not so dear: I read it in that flash of longing quelled by fear.Emily (Jane) Bronte. from sun or thunderstorm.' She ceased to speak and I. the vision is divine. its home. Mute music soothes my breast ± unuttered harmony That I could never dream till earth was lost to me. unanswering. on the dank floor I knelt still. and A. The more that anguish racks the earlier it will bless: And robed in fires of Hell. Then dawns the Invisible. if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm. Rochelle 111 È Desire for nothing known in my maturer years When joy grew mad with awe at counting future tears. But first a hush of peace. a soundless calm descends. the flagstones damp and foul. the brain to think again. If I might go. The soul to feel the flesh and the flesh to feel the chain! Yet I would lose no sting. my inward essence feels ± Its wings are almost free. swore ± While my cheek glowed in flame. dreadful is the check ± intense the agony When the ear begins to hear and the eye begins to see. When. I'd leave this badge of mine with you Not doubting that you'd prove a jailor stern and true. When the pulse begins to throb. loosing off his belt the rusty dungeon key. Measuring the gulf it stoops and dares the final bound! O. yet did not see. the captive's drooping lid Beneath its shady lash a sudden lightning hid. paced by the bolted door And shivered as he walked and as he shivered. The struggle of distress and fierce impatience ends. or bright with heavenly shine If it but herald Death. to and fro. 105 85 75 80 90 95 100 110 . I knew not whence they came.' I took the proffered charge. Not daring now to touch one lock of silken hair ± As I had knelt in scorn. Earth's hope was not so dead. The keeper. the Unseen its truth reveals. G. My outward sense is gone. I heard and yet heard not the surly keeper growl.
Another hand than mine my rightful banner held And gathered my renown on Freedom's crimson field. unswerving constancy. When though the cage was wide ± the heaven around it lay ± Its pinion would not waft my wounded dove away. I earned at last an equal love from thee! 145 125 115 120 130 135 140 150 . Short strife! what rest could soothe ± what peace could visit me While she lay pining there for Death to set her free? `Rochelle. Oh. the battle-standard wave But Julian had no heart to fill a patriot's grave. Julian M. she turned aside from noon's unwonted beam. and A. G.' And I. By never-doubting love. Then oft with taunting smile. Rochelle È Then like a tender child whose hand did just enfold Safe in its eager grasp a bird it wept to hold. And by the patient strength that could that world defy. When pierced with one wild glance from the troubled hazel eye It gushes into tears and lets its treasure fly. contempt and calumny. the dungeons teem with foes to gorge our hate ± Thou art too young to die by such a bitter fate!' With hurried blow on blow I struck the fetters through Regardless how that deed my after hours might rue. with calm mind. to scorn a coward's fear ± I held my peace like one whose conscience keeps him dumb And saw my kinsmen go ± and lingered still at home. So ready to condemn. Yet I must break the chain or seal the prisoner's woe. How the trumpet's voice might call. While foes were prowling near and Death gazed greedily And only Hope remained a faithful friend to me. Yet I had no desire the glorious prize to gain ± It needed braver nerve to face the world's disdain. Thus ruth and selfish love together striving tore The heart all newly taught to pity and adore. Through thirteen anxious weeks of terror-blent delight I guarded her by day and guarded her by night. Rochelle. who am so quick to answer sneer with sneer.112 Emily (Jane) Bronte. I heard my kindred tell `How Julian loved his hearth and sheltering rooftree well. more than I could dream ± When. By suffering. faint. If I should break the chain I felt my bird would go. 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.
have power in thee Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts. sustains. Changes. creates and rears Though Earth and moon were gone And suns and universes ceased to be And thou wert left alone Every Existence would exist in thee There is not room for Death Nor atom that his might could render void Since thou are Being and Breath And what thou art may never be destroyed 25 5 10 15 20 . 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. that in me hast rest As I Undying Life.Emily (Jane) Bronte. unutterably vain. `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. dissolves.
A hand that is not ours upstays our steps. the main. But westward. For while the tired waves vainly breaking. It may be true too That while we walk the troublous tossing sea. flooding in. 5 10 15 `That there are powers above us I admit' That there are powers above us I admit. A voice that is not ours commands the waves. fears may be liars. Commands the waves.Arthur Hugh Clough (1819±1861) `Say not the struggle naught availeth' Say not the struggle naught availeth. The labor and the wounds are vain. If hopes were dupes. It may be. Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers. In front the sun climbs slow. how slowly. comes in the light. And when [we] feel our feet beneath us sink. look! the land is bright. That when we see the o'ertopping waves advance. The enemy faints not nor faileth. And not by eastern windows only. things remain. and whispers in our ear. Seem here no painful inch to gain. When daylight comes. but for you. Far back through creeks and inlets making Comes silent. And. The `Help us or we perish. And as things have been. There are who walk beside us. and the cry That rises so spontaneous to the lips. possess the field. 5 10 . in yon smoke concealed. It may be that in deed and not in fancy. An evanescent spectrum of disease.' is not nought.
why didst thou doubt? At any rate ± That there are beings above us. `That there are powers above us I admit' 115 O thou of little faith. I believe. I will not say they will not give us aid. 15 .Arthur Hugh Clough. And when we lift up holy hands of prayer.
± For surely once. But when the moon their hollows lights. salt. 5 10 15 20 Self-Dependence Weary of myself. and sick of asking What I am. which bears me Forwards. cooled? Who renders vain their deep desire? A God. Oh then a longing like despair Is to their farthest caverns sent. Across the sounds and channels pour. and what I ought to be. estranging sea. Now round us spreads the watery plain ± Oh might our marges meet again! Who ordered.Matthew Arnold (1822±1888) To Marguerite In Returning a Volume of the Letters of Ortis Yes: in the sea of life enisled. o'er the starlit sea. that their longing's fire Should be. as soon as kindled. And in their glens. we were Parts of a single continent. We mortal millions live alone. on starry nights. With echoing straits between us thrown. . they feel. And then their endless bounds they know. At this vessel's prow I stand. from shore to shore. The nightingales divinely sing. The islands feel the enclasping flow. forwards. Dotting the shoreless watery wild. a God their severance ruled! And bade betwixt their shores to be The unplumbed. And lovely notes. And they are swept by balms of spring.
Over the lit sea's unquiet way. severely clear. the moon lies fair Upon the Straits. amusement. In the rustling night-air came the answer ± `Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they. `And with joy the stars perform their shining. compose me to the end. out in the tranquil bay. ye Waters. ah. on the French coast.' I cried. Undistracted by the sights they see. and fling. sweet is the night air! Only. star-sown vault of heaven. clear. Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves suck back. `Bounded by themselves. the cliffs of England stand. Glimmering and vast. A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear. These demand not that the things without them Yield them love. In their own tasks all their powers pouring. nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul. The tide is full. the light Gleams. and is gone. Calm me. `Resolve to be thyself. sympathy. and know that he. from the long line of spray Where the ebb meets the moon-blanched land. On my heart your mighty charm renew: Still. still let me. `Ah.' O air-born Voice! long since. and unobservant In what state God's other works may be. once more. Feel my soul becoming vast like you. Come to the window. And the sea its long moon-silvered roll. as I gaze upon you. 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. For alone they live.Matthew Arnold. 5 10 . These attain the mighty life you see. Who finds himself. `ye Stars. loses his misery!' 25 5 10 15 20 30 Dover Beach The sea is calm tonight. `Unaffrighted by the silence round them.' From the intense.
and bring The eternal note of sadness in. and told them that the people he went with were not such impostors as they were taken for. With tremulous cadence slow. nor light. long withdrawing roar. who had formerly been of his acquaintance. nor help for pain.' ± Glanvil's Vanity of Dogmatizing. at the full. he intended.118 Matthew Arnold. love. by the insinuating subtilty of his carriage. up the high strand. and give the world an account of what he had learned. nor peace. The Scholar-Gipsy At their return. They quickly spied out their old friend among the gipsies. So various. their fancy binding that of others: that himself had learned much of their art. Ah. Retreating to the breath Of the night-wind. who was by his poverty forced to leave his studies there. so new. but that they had a traditional kind of learning among them. 15 20 25 30 35 The Scholar-Gipsy `There was very lately a lad in the University of Oxford. let us be true To one another! for the world. and cease. nor love. he quickly got so much of their love and esteem as that they discovered to him their mystery. Hath really neither joy. Hearing it by this distant northern sea. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the ágean. and he gave them an account of the necessity which drove him to that kind of life. The sea of faith Was once. Where ignorant armies clash by night. and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery. Among these extravagant people. Nor certitude. and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. too. so beautiful. . and at last to join himself to a company of vagabond gipsies. And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight. and when he had compassed the whole secret. we Find also in the sound a thought. there chanced to ride by a couple of scholars. and could do wonders by the power of imagination. and then again begin. But now I only hear Its melancholy. which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams. he said. Begin. to leave their company. 1661. down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. After he had been a pretty while well exercised in the trade.
whom at college erst he knew Met him. Here. and rustle down their perfumed showers Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid. One summer morn forsook His friends. Screened is this nook o'er the high. Here will I sit and wait. Shepherd. And bower me from the August sun with shade. Who. for they call you. And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's book ± Come. to little good. as most men deemed. In this high field's dark corner. and of his way of life enquired. and again renew the quest. Shepherd. where he leaves His coat. Shepherd. from the hill. Go. in the country lanes Two scholars. Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats. And came. and untie the wattled cotes: No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed. and his earthen cruise. 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. Come. And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves. And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest. The story of the Oxford scholar poor Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain. Shepherd. comes back his stores to use. at noon. But came to Oxford and his friends no more. will I be. The Scholar-Gipsy 119 Go. But once. And only the white sheep are sometimes seen Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanched green. Then here. let me read the oft-read tale again. And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers. Nor the cropped herbage shoot another head. and went to learn the Gipsy lore. And roamed the world with that wild brotherhood. tired of knocking at Preferment's door. that the Gipsy crew. his basket. With distant cries of reapers in the corn ± All the live murmur of a summer's day. And here till sun-down.Matthew Arnold. While to my ear from uplands far away The bleating of the folded flocks is borne. where the reaper was at work of late. half-reaped field. But when the fields are still. had arts to rule as they desired 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . years after. Whereat he answered. His mates.
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 left them. That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray. pensive and tongue-tied. Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam. Wanderer. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet. On the warm ingle bench. Or cross a stile into the public way. and cloak of grey. But rumours hung about the countryside.' This said. When fully learned. At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors. have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe. Seen by rare glimpses. For most. Returning home on summer nights. And put the shepherds. and thou art seen no more. The same the Gipsies wore. and returned no more. at the ferry. mid their drink and clatter. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring. And watch the warm green muffled Cumnor hills. `the secret of their art. But. who from the distant hamlets come To dance around the Fyfield elm in May.' he said. Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers ± the frail-leafed. Thee. And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. In hat of antique shape. And they can bind them to what thoughts they will: `And I. Maidens. Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills. 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.120 Matthew Arnold. And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place. The Scholar-Gipsy The workings of men's brains. he would fly: And I myself seem half to know thy looks. thou lov'st retired ground. the smock-frocked boors Had found him seated at their entering. will to the world impart: But it needs happy moments for this skill. And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream And then they land. Or in my boat I lie Moored to the cool bank in the summer heats. I know. on thy trace. Oxford riders blithe.
The line of festal light in Christ-Church hall ± Then sought thy straw in some sequestered grange. in winter. and many a scythe in sunshine flames. nor fears at all. The Scholar-Gipsy 121 And. when the stars come out and shine. nor stops his meal. And gained the white brow of the Cumnor range. So often has he known thee past him stray Rapt. And waiting for the spark from Heaven to fall. Thy dark vague eyes. Have known thee watching. Turned once to watch. To bathe in the abandoned lasher pass. Where at her open door the housewife darns. and soft abstracted air. Have often passed thee near Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown: Marked thy outlandish garb. while thick the snowflakes fall. above Godstow Bridge. The springing pastures and the feeding kine. And once.Matthew Arnold. thy figure spare. Children. Above the forest ground called Thessaly ± The blackbird picking food Sees thee. And marked thee. on the causeway chill Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go. And the grave Glanvil did the tale inscribe That thou wert wandered from the studious walls 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . At some lone homestead in the Cumnor hills. when haytime's here In June. or hanging on a gate To watch the threshers in the mossy barns. But what ± I dream! Two hundred years are flown Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls. Have I not passed thee on the wooden bridge. Thou hast been seen. In Autumn. But. and every bush you see With scarlet patches tagged and shreds of grey. all an April day. twirling in thy hand a withered spray. Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass Where black-winged swallows haunt the glittering Thames. Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow. Through the long dewy grass move slow away. when they came from bathing. Thy face towards Hinksey and its wintry ridge? And thou hast climbed the hill. on the skirts of Bagley Wood Where most the Gipsies by the turf-edged way Pitch their smoked tents. who early range these slopes and late For cresses from the rills. thou wert gone.
And we ourselves shall go. thou hast not felt the lapse of hours. Which much to have tried. Who hesitate and falter life away. and join a Gipsy tribe: And thou from earth art gone Long since. Who never deeply felt. have not. And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit. again. why should'st thou perish. Free from the sick fatigue. red-fruited yew-tree's shade. 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. disappointments new. Thou hast not lived. again. no.122 Matthew Arnold. But thou possessest an immortal lot. To the just-pausing Genius we remit Our worn-out life. but not. alas. with powers Fresh. so? Thou hadst one aim. Thou waitest for the spark from Heaven and we. The Scholar-Gipsy To learn strange arts. Because thou hadst ± what we. one desire: Else wert thou long since numbered with the dead ± Else hadst thou spent. in hope. The generations of thy peers are fled. Whose vague resolves never have been fulfilled. For whom each year we see Breeds new beginnings. like other men. thy fire. ± No. not spent on other things. Under a dark. Light half-believers of our casual creeds. Who wait like thee. and are ± what we have been. the languid doubt. Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds. like thee. undiverted to the world without. in much been baffled. Some country nook. Firm to their mark. And numb the elastic powers. 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 . where o'er thy unknown grave Tall grasses and white flowering nettles wave. brings. one business. For early didst thou leave the world. And we imagine thee exempt from age And living as thou liv'st on Glanvil's page. Exhaust the energy of strongest souls. Of whom each strives. and in some quiet churchyard laid. nor knows for what he strives. nor clearly willed. For what wears out the life of mortal men? 'Tis that from change to change their being rolls: 'Tis that repeated shocks.
Freshen thy flowers. Sad Patience. was rife ± Fly hence. as Dido did with gesture stern From her false friend's approach in Hades turn. await it too? Yes. where none pursue. Nursing thy project in unclouded joy. Who most has suffered. From the dark dingles. and keep thy solitude! Still nursing the unconquerable hope. and how the head. This for our wisest: and we others pine. By night. Thou through the fields and through the woods dost stray. On some mild pastoral slope Emerge. And how the dying spark of hope was fed. takes dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne. And wish the long unhappy dream would end. a truant boy. we await it. but it still delays. And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames. its palsied hearts. Before this strange disease of modern life. The Scholar-Gipsy 123 And lose tomorrow the ground won today ± Ah! do not we. its divided aims. and resting on the moonlit pales.Matthew Arnold. And every doubt long blown by time away. And then we suffer and amongst us One. our contact fear! Still fly. to the nightingales. Its heads o'ertaxed. Tells us his misery's birth and growth and signs. or listen with enchanted ears. O born in days when wits were fresh and clear. plunge deeper in the bowering wood! Averse. And waive all claim to bliss. With a free onward impulse brushing through. the silvered branches of the glade ± Far on the forest skirts. Wanderer. Roaming the country side. Wave us away. and try to bear With close-lipped Patience for our only friend. Still clutching the inviolable shade. With dew. too near neighbour to Despair: But none has hope like thine. 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 . With its sick hurry. And all his hourly varied anodynes. And how the breast was soothed. And all his store of sad experience he Lays bare of wretched days. as in former years.
Like us distracted. and like us unblest. And on the beach undid his corded bales. where down cloudy cliffs. Green bursting figs. from the sea. Soon. yet spoils for rest. The fringes of a southward-facing brow Among the ágean isles. and grow old at last and die like ours. the dark Iberians come. Fade. Which. and shook out more sail. And day and night held on indignantly O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale. The Scholar-Gipsy But fly our paths. and Chian wine. And we should win thee from thy own fair life. and unfixed thy powers. Freighted with amber grapes. Shy traffickers. Descried at sunrise an emerging prow Lifting the cool-haired creepers stealthily. And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made: And then thy glad perennial youth would fade. 225 230 235 240 245 250 .124 Matthew Arnold. soon thy cheer would die. Then fly our greetings. and tunnies steeped in brine. through sheets of foam. our feverish contact fly! For strong the infection of our mental strife. And knew the intruders on his ancient home. Thy hopes grow timorous. though it gives no bliss. And saw the merry Grecian coaster come. To where the Atlantic raves Outside the Western Straits. And snatched his rudder. fly our speech and smiles! ± As some grave Tyrian trader. Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily. and unbent sails There. The young light-hearted Masters of the waves.
. (To one it is ten years of years: . . Was yellow like ripe corn. Yet now. ± By God built over the sheer depth In which Space is begun. And the stars in her hair were seven. lying down her back. So high. as a bridge. . Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves. She had three lilies in her hand. . Albeit to them she left. even. . ungirt from clasp to hem. . It lies from Heaven across the flood Of ether. . . But a white rose of Mary's gift On the neck meetly worn. No wrought flowers did adorn. She could scarce see the sun. The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers.) It was the terrace of God's house That she was standing on. .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. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . . . And her hair. Her robe. ± her hair Fell all about my face . her day Had counted as ten years. Her seemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers. here in this place Surely she leaned o'er me. The whole year sets apace. . that looking downward thence.
among themselves. as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. Her gaze still strove. And he is clothed in white. she saw Time. it was The peace of utter light And silence. And we will step down as to a stream And bathe there in God's sight. Their virginal chaste names. mounting up to God. with her. `We two will stand beside that shrine. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . The Blessed Damozel Beneath. the tides of day and night With flame and blackness ridge The void. From the fixt lull of heaven. In that steep gulph. I'll take his hand. And still she bowed herself. Playing at holy games. Spake. as when The stars sang in their spheres. Beyond all depth or height. and stooped Into the vast waste calm. has he not prayed? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? `When round his head the aureole clings. And the souls. to pierce The swarm: and then she spake.' she said. like a pulse. no echo there. and go with him To the deep wells of light. `I wish that he were come to me. untrod. shake fierce Through all the worlds. Occult. Went by her like thin flames. But in those tracts. gentle-mouthed. Heard hardly.126 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Till her bosom's pressure must have made The bar she leaned on warm. For no breeze may stir Along the steady flight Of seraphim. some of her new friends. `Have I not prayed in solemn heaven? On earth. For he will come. withheld. And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm.
Alas for lonely Heaven! Alas For life wrung out alone! Alas. Finding some knowledge at each pause And some new thing to know. and be dumb. `will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is. ± The songs I sing here. though they would?) `We two. And where each need. While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His name audibly. whose names Are five sweet symphonies: ± Cecily. expects Its patient period. . Then I will lay my cheek 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 . `He shall fear haply. Magdalen. lying so. with bound locks And bosoms covered. `We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Sometimes is felt to be. Margaret.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born.' she said. which his mouth Shall pause in. . revealed. `And I myself. and though the end were reached? . being dead. 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. ± Her voice had caught their tone. `Circle-wise sit they. Into the fine cloth. Weaving the golden thread. and Rosalys. white like flame. hushed and slow. The Blessed Damozel 127 Whose lamps tremble continually With prayer sent up to God. Gertrude. With her five handmaidens.' (Alas! to her wise simple mind These things were all but known Before: they trembled on her sense. will teach to him ± I myself.
And wept. hand in hand.) But soon their flight Was vague 'mid the poised spheres. `Yea. in strong level lapse. Part I Youth and Change To his. and then said. Yea. To Him round whom all souls Kneel ± the unnumbered solemn heads Bowed with their aureoles: And Angels.) 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 . and tell about our love. ± being as then At peace. We two will live at once. verily. but to be As then we were.' She ceased. meeting us. `There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me: ± To have more blessing than on earth In nowise. filled With Angels. And laid her face between her hands. (I heard her tears. one life. `Herself shall bring us. (I saw her smile. and listened. when he is come We will do thus and thus: Till this my vigil seem quite strange And almost fabulous.' She gazed. And peace shall be with us. The light thrilled past her. verily. and she smiled.128 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Not once abashed or weak: And the dear Mother will approve My pride. Her eyes prayed. Less sad of speech than mild: `All this is when he comes. and let me speak. And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers. shall sing To their citherns and citoles.
the hand now warm around my neck Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo! Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow. Fain had I watched her when. desire in deity. at length so nigh. Methinks proud Love must weep When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap The sacred hour for which the years did sigh. till love's emulous ardours ran. Where one shorn tress long stirred the longing ache: And next the heart that trembled for its sake Lies the queen-heart in sovereign overthrow. Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Can rob this body of honour.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 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. Fire within fire. Her bosom to the writing closelier pressed. 5 10 . Rests there attained. And her breast's secrets peered into her breast. 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. ± A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood. ± Sweet fluttering sheet. ± Oh let thy silent song disclose to me That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree Like married music in Love's answering air. even I and she. The bliss so long afar. 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. ± A spirit when her spirit looked through me. I was a child beneath her touch. and the deep Calls to the deep. even of her breath aware. and no man sees but I. Whereof the articulate throbs accompany The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair. First touched. at some fond thought. ± a man When breast to breast we clung.
Whose kiss seems still the first. Where the long cloud. the long wood's counterpart. 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. attuned above All modulation of the deep-bowered dove. hand to hand: . Of thee what word remains ere speech be still? A wayfarer by barren ways and chill. and from the sudden confluence caught The words that made her love the loveliest. Love shackled with vain-longing. And cold forgetfulness of night or day. whose summoning eyes. thou my love. Linked in gyves I saw them stand. Even now. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture Thou lovely and beloved. 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. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love Life-thwarted. Her pillowed place Without her? Tears. Shed very dawn. ± what gaze To thine. till I am mirrored there Light-circled in a heaven of deep-drawn rays? What clasp. O lovely and beloved. Her paths without her? Day's appointed sway Usurped by desolate night. 5 10 Sonnet LIV: Love's Fatality Sweet Love. through eyes raised an instant. whose voice. which now absorbs within its sphere My worshipping face. what kiss mine inmost heart can prove. poor heart. Is like a hand laid softly on the soul. Steep ways and weary. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture When. What of the heart without her? Nay. Sheds doubled darkness up the labouring hill. her soul sought My soul. ah me! for love's good grace. as for our love-world's new sunrise.130 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Her dress without her? The tossed empty space Of cloud-rack whence the moon has passed away. without her thou art.
to one law. ± long known to thee 5 10 . where love and death. while from hillock-eaves The deer gaze calling. 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. once born free: And I. Here dawn today unveiled her magic glass. and though her gaze struck awe. By sea or sky or woman. in whose praise Thy voice and hand shake still. The alloted bondman of her palm and wreath. 5 10 Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty Under the arch of Life. over and beneath. guard her shrine. even as in his whose wand Vainly all night with spell-wrought power has spanned The unyielding caves of some deep treasure-trove. I drew it in as simply as my breath.' 5 10 Part II: Change and Fate Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness This sunlight shames November where he grieves In dead red leaves. for longing. dappled white and dun. The sky and sea bend on thee. Till eve bring rest when other good things pass. Terror and mystery. that which I should do. Hers are the eyes which. Made moan: `Alas O love. thy cowering self. in chains grown tame. Also his lips. being foresters of old. thus leashed with me! Wing-footed thou. even Love's Fatality. Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew. ± Bound to thy body and soul. This is that Lady Beauty.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. though bough with bough be overrun. two writhen flakes of flame. I saw Beauty enthroned. As if. wing-shouldered. ± Life's iron heart. the sun Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves. But with a blessing every glade receives High salutation. and will not let him shun The day. Nor know. ± which can draw. named with thy name. And here the lost hours the lost hours renew While I still lead my shadow o'er the grass.
and left his straight neck bent And round his heart one strangling golden hair. ± let the first fruit be: Even as thou sayest. young while the earth is old. ere the snake's.132 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. In what fond flight. Till heart and body and life are in its hold. ± what passion of surprise Like frost-bound fire-girt scenes of long ago? Lo! this is none but I this hour. whom shed scent And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine. it is told (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve. City. Even with one presence filled. ± the beat Following her daily of thy heart and feet. O Lilith. subtly of herself contemplative. . The rose and poppy are her flowers. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXI: Memorial Thresholds Á What place so strange. it is sweet and red. How passionately and irretrievably. By some new Power reduplicate. with what alone I know. of thine a single simple door. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy I said: `Nay. Lilith. And her enchanted hair was the first gold. how many ways and days! Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty Of Adam's first wife. And. Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave.) That. ± though unrevealed snow With unimaginable fires arise At the earth's end. as once of yore: Or mocking winds whirl round a chaff-strown floor Thee and thy years and these my words and me. pluck not. 'Mid hurrying crowds. for where Is he not found. so went Thy spell through him. her sweet tongue could deceive. must be Even yet my life-porch in eternity. and lo! This is the very place which to mine eyes Those mortal hours in vain immortalize. Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty By flying hair and fluttering hem. And still she sits.
Mark me. the last clusters! Pluck them every one. Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen.' 5 10 Sonnet XCVII: A Superscription Look in my face. Lo. ± Then shalt thou see me smile. I am also called No-more. my name is Might-have-been. and all is vain. Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between. The tree's bent head Sees in the stream its own fecundity And bides the day of fulness. how still I am! But should there dart One moment through thy soul the soft surprise Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs. and turn apart Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes. ± 5 10 . ± 'tis fallen and floats adown the stream. ± Or may the soul at once in a green plain Stoop through the spray of some sweet life-fountain And cull the dew-drenched flowering amulet? Ah! when the wan soul in that golden air Between the scriptured petals softly blown Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown. Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen Which had Life's form and Love's. 5 10 Sonnet CI: The One Hope When vain desire at last and vain regret Go hand in hand to death. but by my spell Is now a shaken shadow intolerable. Sonnet CI: The One Hope 133 But let it ripen still. And let us sup with summer. Too-late. Shall not we At the sun's hour that day possess the shade. And eat it from the branch and praise the tree?' I say: `Alas! our fruit hath wooed the sun Too long. ere the gleam Of autumn set the year's pent sorrow free.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. And claim our fruit before its ripeness fade. And the woods wail like echoes from the sea. What shall assuage the unforgotten pain And teach the unforgetful to forget? Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet. Farewell.
O God! today He only knows he holds her. ± `Leave me ± I do not know you ± go away!' 5 10 . ± Not less nor more. Slowly their souls swam up again. And here. Nuptial Sleep At length their long kiss severed. 5 10 `Found' (For a Picture) `There is a budding morrow in midnight:' ± So sang our Keats. Dark breaks to dawn.134 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Nuptial Sleep Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er But only the one Hope's one name be there. 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. and slid away. our English nightingale. yet still their mouths. but even that word alone. Till from some wonder of new woods and streams He woke. Under one mantle sheltered 'neath the hedge In gloaming courtship? And. ± but what part Can life now take? She cries in her locked heart. So singly flagged the pulses of each heart. And their dreams watched them sink. Fawned on each other where they lay apart. But o'er the deadly blight Of Love deflowered and sorrow of none avail Which makes this man gasp and this woman quail. Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams. with the opening start Of married flowers to either side outspread From the knit stem. with sweet smart: And as the last slow sudden drops are shed From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled. and wondered more: for there she lay. through gleams Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day. Their bosoms sundered. burnt red.
dewberries. ± All ripe together In summer weather. Gone far away into the silent land. Pine-apples. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me. Come buy. 5 10 Goblin Market Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. 5 10 15 . ± Morns that pass by. Swart-headed mulberries. blackberries. Plump unpecked cherries. Bloom-down-cheeked peaches. Crab-apples. you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Wild free-born cranberries. Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Remember me when I am gone away. Fair eves that fly. Apricots. do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had. Melons and raspberries. Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. When you can no more hold me by the hand. come buy: Apples and quinces. Lemons and oranges. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember. strawberries.Christina G. Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.
136 Christina G. Figs to fill your mouth. Damsons and bilberries. Citrons from the South. Sweet to tongue and sound to eye. come buy: Our grapes fresh from the vine. With tingling cheeks and finger tips. Rossetti. One lugs a golden dish Of many pounds weight. Their offers should not charm us.' said Lizzie: `No. How fair the vine must grow Whose grapes are so luscious.' call the goblins Hobbling down the glen. And whispered like the restless brook: `Look. `Oh. `Laura. With clasping arms and cautioning lips. Dates and sharp bullaces. Bright-fire-like barberries. Lizzie. 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . come buy.' cried Lizzie. Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries. Rare pears and greengages.' `No. Pomegranates full and fine. look. Down the glen tramp little men. One hauls a basket. `Lie close. no.' Lizzie covered up her eyes. Laura.' Laura said. We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?' `Come buy.' Evening by evening Among the brookside rushes. Laura bowed her head to hear. Goblin Market Come buy. Come buy. Covered close lest they should look. Lizzie veiled her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather. You should not peep at goblin men. no. One bears a plate. Lizzie. Laura reared her glossy head. How warm the wind must blow Through those fruit bushes. Pricking up her golden head: `We must not look at goblin men.
come buy. 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . One reared his plate. Goblin Market 137 Their evil gifts would harm us. Like a moonlit poplar branch. One began to weave a crown Of tendrils. One whisked a tail.' was still their cry. One had a cat's face.' When they reached where Laura was They stood stock still upon the moss. Leering at each other.Christina G. The cat-faced purred. Longed but had no money: The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste In tones as smooth as honey. With their shrill repeated cry. She heard a voice like voice of doves Cooing all together: They sounded kind and full of loves In the pleasant weather. Signalling each other. Like a lily from the beck. come buy. Backwards up the mossy glen Turned and trooped the goblin men. and the snail-paced even was heard. Laura stretched her gleaming neck Like a rush-imbedded swan. Laura stared but did not stir. One heaved the golden weight Of dish and fruit to offer her: `Come buy. One tramped at a rat's pace. shut eyes and ran: Curious Laura chose to linger Wondering at each merchant man. Rossetti. Like a vessel at the launch When its last restraint is gone. One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry. One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry. The rat-paced spoke a word Of welcome. `Come buy. leaves. One set his basket down. and rough nuts brown (Men sell not such in any town). Brother with queer brother. One crawled like a snail.' She thrust a dimpled finger In each ear. Brother with sly brother.
I have no silver either. Sought them by night and day. Should not loiter in the glen In the haunts of goblin men.138 Christina G. Do you not remember Jeanie.' `You have much gold upon your head. 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. How she met them in the moonlight. Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: Sweeter than honey from the rock. And knew not was it night or day As she turned home alone. Took their gifts both choice and many. But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: `Good folk. you should not stay so late.' She clipped a precious golden lock. Twilight is not good for maidens. She never tasted such before. Goblin Market One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried `Pretty Goblin' still for `Pretty Polly. To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse. I have no coin. Lizzie met her at the gate Full of wise upbraidings: `Dear. She sucked until her lips were sore. Found them no more but dwindled and grew grey. Then fell with the first snow.' ± One whistled like a bird. Stronger than man-rejoicing wine. Then flung the emptied rinds away But gathered up one kernel-stone. And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusty heather. How should it cloy with length of use? She sucked and sucked and sucked the more Fruits which that unknown orchard bore. Clearer than water flowed that juice. Rossetti. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . She dropped a tear more rare than pearl.' They answered all together: `Buy from us with a golden curl.
To-morrow night I will Buy more:' and kissed her: `Have done with sorrow. They lay down in their curtained bed: Like two blossoms on one stem. Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other's wings. Cherries worth getting. Like two wands of ivory Tipped with gold for awful kings.' said Laura: `Nay. as sweet and busy.' `Nay. What peaches with a velvet nap. Wind sang to them lullaby. hush. 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 . You cannot think what figs My teeth have met in. Neat like bees. Early in the morning When the first cock crowed his warning. You should not loiter so. hush. What melons icy-cold Piled on a dish of gold Too huge for me to hold. And sugar-sweet their sap. and pure the wave they drink With lilies at the brink. I'll bring you plums to-morrow Fresh on their mother twigs. Lumbering owls forbore to fly. my sister: I ate and ate my fill. Moon and stars gazed in at them.' Golden head by golden head. Like two flakes of new-fallen snow. Pellucid grapes without one seed: Odorous indeed must be the mead Whereon they grow.Christina G. Not a bat flapped to and fro Round their nest: Cheek to cheek and breast to breast Locked together in one nest. Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetched in honey. Yet my mouth waters still. Rossetti. 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. milked the cows.
Till Lizzie urged. Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat.' But Laura loitered still among the rushes And said the bank was steep. Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags.' With its iterated jingle Of sugar-baited words: Not for all her watching Once discerning even one goblin Racing. One longing for the night. Let us get home before the night grows dark: 205 210 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 . At length slow evening came: They went with pitchers to the reedy brook. Talked as modest maidens should: Lizzie with an open heart. The dew not fallen. sat and sewed. `Come buy. One warbling for the mere bright day's delight. Lizzie most placid in her look. but not catching The customary cry. Laura in an absent dream. Then turning homewards said: `The sunset flushes Those furthest loftiest crags. Laura most like a leaping flame. Each glowworm winks her spark. `O Laura. They drew the gurgling water from its deep. Come. whipped up cream. Fed their poultry. Goblin Market Aired and set to rights the house. And said the hour was early still. In groups or single. Cakes for dainty mouths to eat. come. whisking. come buy. The stars rise. Let alone the herds That used to tramp along the glen. the wind not chill: Listening ever. hobbling. Next churned butter. Laura. The beasts and birds are fast asleep. tumbling. Of brisk fruit-merchant men. One content.140 Christina G. No wilful squirrel wags. not another maiden lags. the moon bends her arc. I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look: You should not loiter longer at this brook: Come with me home. one sick in part. Rossetti.
Put out the lights and drench us through. Then sat up in a passionate yearning. come buy. It never saw the sun.Christina G. Goblin Market 141 For clouds may gather Though this is summer weather. Dewed it with tears. And gnashed her teeth for baulked desire. `Come buy our fruits.' Must she then buy no more such dainty fruits? Must she no more such succous pasture find. So crept to bed. But there came none. Trudged home. nought discerning. Rossetti. That goblin cry. hoped for a root. She never caught again the goblin cry: `Come buy. Day after day.' ± She never spied the goblin men Hawking their fruits along the glen: But when the noon waxed bright Her hair grew thin and grey. as the fair full moon doth turn To swift decay and burn Her fire away. Gone deaf and blind? Her tree of life drooped from the root: She said not one word in her heart's sore ache. It never felt the trickling moisture run: While with sunk eyes and faded mouth She dreamed of melons. 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 . She dwindled. Laura kept watch in vain In sullen silence of exceeding pain. her pitcher dripping all the way. One day remembering her kernel-stone She set it by a wall that faced the south. Then if we lost our way what should we do?' Laura turned cold as stone To find her sister heard that cry alone. night after night. and wept As if her heart would break. come buy. And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. and lay Silent till Lizzie slept. as a traveller sees False waves in desert drouth With shade of leaf-crowned trees. But peering thro' the dimness. Watched for a waxing shoot.
Flying. But who for joys brides hope to have Fell sick and died In her gay prime. Laughed every goblin When they spied her peeping: Came towards her hobbling. Tended the fowls or cows. Chuckling. crossed the heath with clumps of furze At twilight. Mopping and mowing. halted by the brook: And for the first time in her life Began to listen and look. leaping. running. Kissed Laura. Tender Lizzie could not bear To watch her sister's cankerous care Yet not to share. Puffing and blowing. With the first glazing rime. But put a silver penny in her purse. Longed to buy fruit to comfort her. 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 . But feared to pay too dear. She night and morning Caught the goblins' cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. Who should have been a bride. along the glen. Goblin Market She no more swept the house. Fetched honey. The voice and stir Poor Laura could not hear. She thought of Jeanie in her grave. crowing. She heard the tramp of goblin men.142 Christina G. kneaded cakes of wheat. Rossetti. With the first snowfall of crisp Winter time. Brought water from the brook: But sat down listless in the chimney-nook And would not eat. Come buy. come buy:' ± Beside the brook. clapping. Clucking and gobbling. Till Laura dwindling Seemed knocking at Death's door: Then Lizzie weighed no more Better and worse. Full of airs and graces. In earliest Winter time.
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,
She gorged on bitterness without a name. Like a lightning-stricken mast. Ah! fool. Or like a caged thing freed. Your young life like mine be wasted. Thirsty. 480 485 490 495 500 505 510 515 520 . and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste. 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. She loathed the feast: Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung. Rossetti. Met the fire smouldering there And overbore its lesser flame. Rent all her robe. Kissed and kissed and kissed her: Tears once again Refreshed her shrunken eyes. Or like the mane of horses in their flight. Her locks streamed like the torch Borne by a racer at full speed. Swift fire spread through her veins. Goblin Market Clutched her hair: `Lizzie. She fell at last. Or like an eagle when she stems the light Straight toward the sun. Shaking with aguish fear. goblin-ridden?' ± She clung about her sister. Undone in mine undoing And ruined in my ruin. Or like a flying flag when armies run. She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. Lizzie.146 Christina G. Like a wind-uprooted tree Spun about. cankered. Dropping like rain After long sultry drouth. That juice was wormwood to her tongue. Like a foam-topped waterspout Cast down headlong in the sea. and pain. knocked at her heart. And beat her breast. Her lips began to scorch.
Christina G. Rossetti, Goblin Market 147 Pleasure past and anguish past, Is it death or is it life? Life out of death. That night long Lizzie watched by her, Counted her pulse's flagging stir, Felt for her breath, Held water to her lips, and cooled her face With tears and fanning leaves: But when the first birds chirped about their eaves, And early reapers plodded to the place Of golden sheaves, And dew-wet grass Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass, And new buds with new day Opened of cup-like lilies on the stream, Laura awoke as from a dream, Laughed in the innocent old way, Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice; Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of grey, Her breath was sweet as May And light danced in her eyes. Days, weeks, months, years Afterwards, when both were wives With children of their own; Their mother-hearts beset with fears, Their lives bound up in tender lives; Laura would call the little ones And tell them of her early prime, Those pleasant days long gone Of not-returning time: Would talk about the haunted glen, The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men, Their fruits like honey to the throat But poison in the blood (Men sell not such in any town); Would tell them how her sister stood In deadly peril to do her good, And win the fiery antidote: Then joining hands to little hands Would bid them cling together, `For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands.'
Thomas Hardy (1840±1928)
We stood by a pond that winter day, And the sun was white, as though chidden of God, And a few leaves lay on the starving sod, ± They had fallen from an ash, and were gray. Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove Over tedious riddles of years ago; And some words played between us to and fro ± On which lost the more by our love. The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing Alive enough to have strength to die; And a grin of bitterness swept thereby Like an ominous bird a-wing. . . . Since then, keen lessons that love deceives, And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree, And a pond edged with grayish leaves.
When I look forth at dawning, pool, Field, flock, and lonely tree, All seem to gaze at me Like chastened children sitting silent in a school; Their faces dulled, constrained, and worn, As though the master's way Through the long teaching day Had cowed them till their early zest was overborne. Upon them stirs in lippings mere (As if once clear in call, But now scarce breathed at all)Ð `We wonder, ever wonder, why we find us here!
Thomas Hardy, The Impercipient 149 `Has some Vast Imbecility, Mighty to build and blend, But impotent to tend, Framed us in jest, and left us now to hazardry? `Or come we of an Automaton Unconscious of our pains? . . . Or are we live remains Of Godhead dying downwards, brain and eye now gone? `Or is it that some high Plan betides, As yet not understood, Of Evil stormed by Good, We the Forlorn Hope over which Achievement strides?' Thus things around. No answerer I. . . . Meanwhile the winds, and rains, And Earth's old glooms and pains Are still the same, and Life and Death are neighbours nigh.
(At a Cathedral Service)
That with this bright believing band I have no claim to be, That faiths by which my comrades stand Seem fantasies to me, And mirage-mists their Shining Land, Is a strange destiny. Why thus my soul should be consigned To infelicity, Why always I must feel as blind To sights my brethren see, Why joys they have found I cannot find, Abides a mystery. Since heart of mine knows not that ease Which they know; since it be That He who breathes All's Well to these Breathes no All's-Well to me, My lack might move their sympathies And Christian charity! I am like a gazer who should mark An inland company
I'd go the world with Beauty.. But for the charge that blessed things I'd liefer not have be... Yet I note the little chisel Of never-napping Time Defacing wan and grizzel The blazon of my prime. `Hark! hark! The glorious distant sea!' And feel... When at night he thinks me sleeping I feel him boring sly Within my bones.. doth a bird beshorn of wings Go earth-bound wilfully! . O. Still. 25 30 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury The years have gathered grayly Since I danced upon this leaze With one who kindled gaily Love's fitful ecstasies! But despite the term as teacher. with. In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury Standing upfingered. I would laugh with her and sing. She would not balm the breeze By murmuring `Thine for ever!' As she did upon this leaze. Enough. I would shun divinest duty To resume her worshipping. and heaping Quaintest pains for by-and-by. I remain what I was then In each essential feature Of the fantasies of men. 5 10 15 20 . But she'd scorn my brave endeavour. Rest shall we. As yet disquiet clings About us.150 Thomas Hardy. `Alas. 'tis but yon dark And wind-swept pine to me!' Yet I would bear my shortcomings With meet tranquillity.. 1890.
as the hope-hour stroked its sum. But Time. You love not me. And say. ÐI know and knew it. And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. And shakes this fragile frame at eve With throbbings of noontide. and wore me numb. 5 10 A Broken Appointment You did not come. came To soothe a time-torn man. unto the store Of human deeds divine in all but name. `Would God it came to pass My heart had shrunk as thin!' For then. to make me grieve. undistrest By hearts grown cold to me. But. And love alone can lend you loyalty. Could lonely wait my endless rest With equanimity. lets part abide. You did not come. a woman. And marching Time drew on. I. when. Was it not worth a little hour or more To add yet this: Once you. Part steals. 5 . even though it be You love not me? 5 10 15 The Darkling Thrush I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray. And view my wasting skin.Thomas Hardy.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. The Darkling Thrush 151 `I look into my glass' I look into my glass. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres.
In blast-beruffled plume. Everything glowed with a gleam. Yet we were looking away! 5 10 . Here was the former door Where the dead feet walked in. She sat here in her chair. frail. Bowing it higher and higher. So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around. The Self-Unseeing And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires. Childlike. He who played stood there. Blessings emblazoned that day. 31st December 1900 10 15 20 25 30 The Self-Unseeing Here is the ancient floor. And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I. gaunt.152 Thomas Hardy. Footworn and hollowed and thin. whereof he knew And I was unaware. and small. That I could think there trembled through His happy goodnight air Some blessed Hope. The land's sharp features seemed to be The Century's corpse outleant. The wind his death-lament. Smiling into the fire. The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry. His crypt the cloudy canopy. An aged thrush. 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. I danced in a dream.
the hurtle of hell Behind. O God. Thou hast bound bones and veins in me. but you were dovewinged. laced with fire of stress. 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. Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh? Over again I feel thy finger and find thee. 1875 Part the First 1 Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread. where was a place? I whirled out wings that spell And fled with a fling of the heart to the heart of the Host. Thou knowest the walls. Thou heardst me truer than tongue confess Thy terror. And after it almost unmade. My heart. 3 The frown of his face Before me. I can tell. 2 I did say yes O at lightning and lashed rod.Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844±1889) The Wreck of the Deutschland To the happy memory of five Franciscan nuns exiles by the Falck Laws drowned between midnight and morning of Dec. fastened me flesh. Lord of living and dead. sway of the sea. 7th. where. where was a. 5 10 15 20 . World's strand. O Christ. what with dread.
Kiss my hand to the dappled-with-damson west: Since. 5 I kiss my hand To the stars. Though felt before.154 Gerard Manley Hopkins. a principle. the faithless fable and miss). all the way down from the tall Fells or flanks of the voel. to a poise. maiden's knee. I steady as a water in a well. being hard at bay. only the heart. lovely-asunder Starlight. hearts are flushed by and melt ± But it rides time like riding a river (And here the faithful waver. tower from the grace to the grace. 8 Is out with it! Oh. and bless when I understand. wafting him out of it. a drift. To flash from the flame to the flame then. 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. And it crowds and it combs to the fall. stressed. Christ's gift. 7 It dates from day Of his going in Galilee. Manger. The Wreck of the Deutschland Carrier-witted. though in high flood yet ± What none would have known of it. glory in thunder. His mystery must be instressed. a pressure. I am bold to boast. but mined with a motion. and Glow. and frightful sweat: Thence the discharge of it. Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey. 4 I am soft sift In an hourglass ± at the wall Fast. to a pane. there its swelling to be. a vein Of the gospel proffer. The dense and the driven Passion. tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder. But roped with. We lash with the best or worst Word last! How a lush-kept plush-capped sloe 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . That guilt is hushed by. For I greet him the days I meet him. always.
of a fourth the doom to be drowned. Make mercy in all of us. a lingering-out sweet skõll. Christ's feet ± Never ask if meaning it. full! ± Hither then. Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung: Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then. Brim. sour or sweet. with wrecking and storm. 9 Be adored among men. we. forget that there must The sour scythe cringe. wanting it. Â But we dream we are rooted in earth ± Dust! Flesh falls within sight of us. tell men with women. 12 On Saturday sailed from Bremen. Yet did the dark side of the bay of thy blessing Not vault them. Fang. melt him but master him still: Whether at once. the million of rounds of thy mercy not reeve even them in? 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 .Gerard Manley Hopkins. mouthed to flesh-burst. some The flange and the rail. in a flash. the being with it. Wring thy rebel. not under thy feathers nor ever as guessing The goal was a shoal. Take settler and seamen. Á God. but be adored. American-outward-bound. Two hundred souls in the round ± O Father. And storms bugle his fame. Gush! ± flush the man. I found it. Man's malice. a winter and warm. Part the Second 11 `Some find me a sword. To hero of Calvary. though our flower the same. Thou art lightning and love. 10 With an anvil-ding And with fire in him forge thy will Or rather. Wave with the meadow. and the blear share come. past telling of tongue. stealing as Spring Through him. warned of it ± men go. or flood' goes Death on drum. but be adored King. flame. out of us all Mastery. three-numbered form. last or first. as once at a crash Paul. Â Â Or as Austin. Beyond saying sweet. The Wreck of the Deutschland 155 Will. dogged in den. rather then.
16 One stirred from the rigging to save The wild woman-kind below. dandled the to and fro Through the cobbled foam-fleece. Night roared. the whorl and the wheel Idle for ever to waft her or wind her with. black-backed in the regular blow. only rocket and lightship. carved with cares. Trenched with tears. She struck ± not a reef or a rock But the combs of a smother of sand: night drew her Dead to the Kentish Knock. The Wreck of the Deutschland 13 Into the snows she sweeps. The woman's wailing. the crying of child without check ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . And frightful a nightfall folded rueful a day Nor rescue. With a rope's end round the man. 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. For the infinite air is unkind.156 Gerard Manley Hopkins. Hope was twelve hours gone. the wind. And the sea flint-flake. shone. 14 She drove in the dark to leeward. The breakers rolled on her beam with ruinous shock. The Deutschland. And canvas and compass. in cursed quarter. ± they shook in the hurling and horrible airs. 15 Hope had grown grey hairs. And she beat the bank down with her bows and the ride of her keel. What could he do With the burl of the fountains of air. these she endured. Hurling the haven behind. Sitting Eastnortheast. and so the sky keeps. handy and brave ± He was pitched to his death at a blow. Hope had mourning on. For all his dreadnought breast and braids of thew: They could tell him for hours. on Sunday. with the heart-break hearing a heart-broke rabble. Á Wiry and white-fiery and whirlwind-swivelled snow Spins to the widow-making unchilding unfathering deeps. And lives at last were washing away: To the shrouds they took.
but she that weather sees one thing. Mark. Thames would ruin them. Abel is Cain's brother and breasts they have sucked the same. 22 Five! the finding and sake And cipher of suffering Christ. river and earth Gnashed: but thou art above. Has one fetch in her: she rears herself to divine Ears. a virginal tongue told. her master and mine! ± And the inboard seas run swirling and hawling. this glee? the good you have there of your own? 19 Sister. a sister calling A master. Banned by the land of their birth. Surf. touched in your bower of bone. are two of a town. Thou martyr-master: in thy sight Storm flakes were scroll-leaved flowers. Rhine refused them.) 21 Loathed for a love men knew in them. but uttering truth. lily showers ± sweet heaven was astrew in them. Are you! turned for an exquisite smart. tears! is it? tears. and Luther. snow. 18 Ah. double a desperate name! O world wide of its good! But Gertrude. Christ's lily and beast of the waste wood: From life's dawn it is drawn down. The Wreck of the Deutschland 157 Till a lioness arose breasting the babble. A prophetess towered in the tumult. lily. 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. Why. What can it be.Gerard Manley Hopkins. 20 She was first of a five and came Á Of a coifed sisterhood. the mark is of man's make 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 . such a melting. O unteachably after evil. a madrigal start! Never-eldering revel and river of youth. Do you! ± mother of being in me. thou Orion of light. Thy unchancelling poising palms were weighing the worth. heart. one. (O Deutschland. The rash smart sloggering brine Blinds her.
With the gnarls of the nails in thee. The Wreck of the Deutschland And the word of it Sacrificed. body of lovely Death. still higher. On a pastoral forehead of Wales. niche of the lance. Or is it that she cried for the crown then. father Francis. but it was not these. 23 Joy fall to thee. to the breaker. the jay-blue heavens appearing Of pied and peeled May! Blue-beating and hoary-glow height. Christ. to breathe in his all-fire glances. Drawn to the Life that died. 205 With belled fire and the moth-soft Milky Way. 210 . ruddying of the rose-flake. What by your measure is the heaven of desire. The treasure never eyesight got. They were else-minded then. And they the prey of the gales. The jading and jar of the cart. Is it love in her of the being as her lover had been? Breathe. I was under a roof here. christens her wild-worst Best. to the throng that catches and quails Was calling `O Christ. Are sisterly sealed in wild waters. the men Woke thee with a We are perishing in the weather of Gennesareth. She to the black-about air. arch and original Breath. or night. signal. I was at rest. altogether. come quickly': The cross to her she calls Christ to her. But he scores it in scarlet himself on his own bespoken. his Lovescape crucified And seal of his seraph-arrival! and these thy daughters Á Á And five-lived and leaved favour and pride. Á Before-time-taken. To bathe in his fall-gold mercies. nor was ever guessed what for the hearing? 27 No. the thickly Falling flakes. dearest prized and priced ± Stigma. 24 Away in the loveable west. 25 The majesty! what did she mean? Breathe. cinquefoil token For lettering of the lamb's fleece. 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.158 Gerard Manley Hopkins.
. 29 Ah! there was a heart right! There was single eye! Read the unshapeable shock night And knew the who and the why. Heaven and earth are word of. for the Patience. Á For so conceived. deal. 30 Jesu. Ipse. the breast of the Maiden could obey so. King. make me room there: Reach me a . she has thee for the pain. O of a feathery delicacy. in his triumph.Gerard Manley Hopkins. electrical horror. that heard and kept thee and uttered thee outright. Do. . it is fathers that asking for ease Of the sodden-with-its-sorrowing heart. in wind's burly and beat of endragoned seas. so to conceive thee is done. Word. and Startle the poor sheep back! is the shipwrack then a harvest. Jesu. I gather. 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. but pity of the rest of them! Heart. 215 220 225 230 235 240 31 Well. ring of it. worded by? ± The Simon Peter of a soul! to the blast È Tarpeõan-fast. What was the feast followed the night Thou hadst glory of this nun? ± Feast of the one woman without stain. but a blown beacon of light. her pride. birth of a brain. There then! the Master. . Fancy. But here was heart-throe. Let him ride. Not danger. 28 But how shall I . then further it finds The appealing of the Passion is tenderer in prayer apart: Other. . Thing that she . . heart's light. lord it with living and dead. come faster ± Strike you the sight of it? look at it loom there. maid's son. be a bell to. The Wreck of the Deutschland 159 Time's tasking. the only one. Christ. in measure her mind's Á Burden. . Wording it how but by him that present and past. does tempest carry the grain for thee? . despatch and have done with his doom there. Head: He was to cure the extremity where he had cast her.
hero of us. More brightening her. It will flame out. 34 Now burn.160 Gerard Manley Hopkins. an ark For the listener. master of the tides. Remember us in the roads. The recurb and the recovery of the gulf's sides. be a dayspring to the dimness of us. 270 Kind. Oh. Stanching. 35 Dame. our thoughts' chivalry's throng's Lord. fetched in the storm of his strides. of the year's fall. let flash to the shire. throned behind Death with a sovereignty that heeds but hides. The girth of it and the wharf of it and the wall. rose. high-priest. The-last-breath penitent spirits ± the uttermost mark Á Our passion-plunged giant risen. Pride. The Christ of the Father compassionate. quenching ocean of a motionable mind. the heaven-haven of the reward: Our King back. The heaven-flung. God's Grandeur 32 I admire thee. and among our shoals. and granite of it: past all Grasp God. . prince. 265 Á Double-natured name. Á Mid-numbered he in three of the thunder-throne! Not a dooms-day dazzle in his coming nor dark as he came. 250 255 33 With a mercy that outrides The all of water. pent in prison. but royally reclaiming his own. A released shower. for the lingerer with a love glides Lower than death and the dark. as his reign rolls. bodes but abides. Of the Yore-flood. Our hearts' charity's hearth's fire. new born to the world. 260 A vein for the visiting of the past-prayer. heart-fleshed. Ground of being. like shining from shook foil. rare-dear Britain. at our door Drowned. 275 280 God's Grandeur The world is charged with the grandeur of God. upon English souls! Let him easter in us. maiden-furled Miracle-in-Mary-of-flame. be a crimson-cresseted east. not a lightning of fire hard-hurled.
Landscape plotted and pieced ± fold. finches' wings. their gear and tackle and trim. being shod. a billion Times told lovelier. plume. air. My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird. And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil Is bare now. have trod. morning. strange. O my chevalier! Â Â No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine. 5 10 The Windhover To Christ our Lord I caught this morning morning's minion. nor can foot feel. and striding High there. fallow. smeared with toil. bleared. more dangerous. For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim. And for all this.Gerard Manley Hopkins. in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air. Whatever is fickle. and gash gold-vermilion. have trod. And though the last lights off the black West went Oh. here Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then. like the ooze of oil Crushed. Fall. And all is seared with trade. As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding Rebuffed the big wind. spare. freckled (who knows how?) 5 . ah my dear. ± the achieve of. off forth on swing. There lives the dearest freshness deep down things. at the brown brink eastward. nature is never spent. oh. how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off. gall themselves. and plough. springs ± Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings. All things counter. 5 10 Pied Beauty Glory be to God for dappled things ± For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow. Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls. kingdom of daylight's dauphin. Pied Beauty 161 It gathers to a greatness. the mastery of the thing! Brute beauty and valour and act. and blue-bleak embers. pride. Why do men then now not reck his rod? Generations have trod. original. dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon. Â Â And all trades.
since I had our sweet reprieve and ransom Tendered to him. Sweet especial rural scene. O is he dead then? my duty all ended. he cursed at first. felled. like this sleek and seeing ball But a prick will make no eye at all. big-boned and hardy-handsome Pining. a rural scene. That. 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. When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. Ah well. though a heavenlier heart began some Months earlier.162 Gerard Manley Hopkins. He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. All felled. Where we. Rural scene. all contended? Sickness broke him. 5 10 15 20 Felix Randal Felix Randal the farrier. fleshed there. God rest him all road ever he offended! 5 . sweet. slow. till time when reason rambled in it and some Fatal four disorders. sour. Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun. even where we mean To mend her we end her. Impatient. her being so slender. 10 Binsey Poplars Felled 1879 My aspens dear. but mended Being anointed and all. are all felled. only ten or twelve Â Strokes of havoc unselve The sweet especial scene. dim. pining. Ten or twelve. adazzle. whose airy cages quelled. Binsey Poplars With swift. not one That dandled a sandalled Shadow that swam or sank On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank. Who have watched his mould of man. Of a fresh and following folded rank Not spared.
. Â Â Â Â Â Ever so black on it. Â I say more: the just man justices. each hung bell's Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name. poor Felix Randal. | womb-of-all. child. For earth | her being has unbound. home-of-all. equal. stupendous Â Â Evening strains to be tõme's vast. Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west. Heart. For Christ plays in ten thousand places. voluminous. dõsmembering | all now. My tongue had taught thee comfort. attuneable. | self Ân self steeped and pashed õ Â ± quite Â Â Â Disremembering. like each tucked string tells. Â Â Fõre-featuring heaven. .Gerard Manley Hopkins. touch had quenched thy tears. overbend us. | stars principal. Crying What I do is me: for that I came. Selves ± goes itself. her dapple is at end. and will end us. dragonflies draw flame. powerful amidst peers. . Thy tears that touched my heart. whelms. part. waned. Â pack . Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells. 5 10 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves Earnest. all through her. hearse-of-all night. Only the beakleaved boughs dragonish | damask the tool-smooth bleak light. her earliest stars. black. Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 This seeing the sick endears them to us. in throngs. all thy more boisterous years. and lovely in eyes not his To the Father through the features of men's faces. myself it speaks and spells. o night | whelms. you round me right Â Â Âur Â Â Â With: Our evening is over us. | vaulty. earthless. Â Â Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces. Lovely in limbs. earlstars. us too it endears. | her wild hollow hoarlight hung to the height Â Waste. pen. Our tale. O our oracle! | Let life. as5 Á Â tray or aswarm. Didst fettle for the great grey drayhorse his bright and battering sandal! 10 `As Kingfishers Catch Fire' As kingfishers catch fire. When thou at the random grim forge. ah let life wind 10 Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Off her once skeined stained veined varõety | upon. Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is ± Â Chrõst. Felix. all on two spools. How far from then forethought of. As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring.
See. but. birds build ± but not I build. no. each off the other. | right. reck but. thwart me? Oh. selfwrung. and fresh wind shakes Them. the sots and thralls of lust Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend. si disputem tecum. but strain. Sir. `Thou art indeed just. if I contend With thee. I wonder. reckon but. two folds ± black.164 Gerard Manley Hopkins. of a rack Â Â Where. õ `Thou art indeed just. Domine. wrong. banks and brakes Á Á Now. send my roots rain. | thoughts agaõnst Â thoughts Ân groans grõnd. Time's eunuch. 5 10 . so what I plead is just. life upon thy cause. leaved how thick! laced they are again With fretty chervil. sir. sheathe-and shelterless. Thou art indeed just. Mine. O thou my friend. white. Lord' Â Â Â Now her all in two flocks. selfstrung. O thou lord of life. How wouldst thou worse. and not breed one work that wakes. Why do sinners' ways prosper? and why must Disappointment all I endeavour end? Wert thou my enemy. verumtamen justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c. Lord' Justus quidem tu es. mind Â Â Â Â Â Ât But these two. look. ware of a world where bu these | two tell. Lord. than thou dost Defeat.
It dawns in Asia. the hills are bright. The shires have seen it plain. Now. And with the rest your voices ring. Housman (1859±1936) From: A Shropshire Lad I 1887 From Clee to heaven the beacon burns.A. From height to height 'tis heard. `God save the Queen' we living sing. Because 'tis fifty years tonight That God has saved the Queen. To skies that knit their heartstrings right. The saviours come not home to-night: Themselves they could not save. E. look right. The dales are light between. 25 5 10 15 20 . Lads of the Fifty-third. And the Nile spills his overflow Beside the Severn's dead. tombstones show And Shropshire names are read. when the flame they watch not towers About the soil they trod. we'll remember friends of ours Who shared the work with God. Look left. And fire the beacons up and down The land they perished for. We pledge in peace by farm and town The Queen they served in war. Lads. To fields that bred them brave. From north and south the sign returns And beacons burn again.
God will save her. Hark. And God will save the Queen. IV Reveille Wake: the silver dusk returning Up the beach of darkness brims. 'tis late for lying: Hear the drums of morning play. II Loveliest of trees. Forelands beacon. Twenty will not come again. And the ship of sunrise burning Strands upon the eastern rims. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room. up. lad: thews that lie and cumber Sunlit pallets never thrive. E. belfries call. And the tent of night in tatters Straws the sky-pavilioned land. Up. the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough. the empty highways crying `Who'll beyond the hills away?' Towns and countries woo together. And take from seventy springs a score. Housman. lad. From: A Shropshire Lad Oh. Now. Trampled to the floor it spanned. And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow. of my threescore years and ten. It only leaves me fifty more.166 A. Never lad that trod on leather Lived to feast his heart with all. Up. fear you not: Be you the men you've been. Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters. Morns abed and daylight slumber Were not meant for man alive. 5 5 30 10 10 15 20 . Get you the sons your fathers got.
he does not move. The man. And the bridegroom all night through Never turns him to the bride. Shoulder-high we bring you home. the lover That hanged himself for love. lad: when the journey's over There'll be time enough to sleep. XII When I watch the living meet. XIX To an Athlete Dying Young The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the marketplace. The nettle on the graves of lovers That hanged themselves for love. And home we brought you shoulder-high. Lovers lying two and two Ask not whom they sleep beside. Housman. Today. In the nation that is not Nothing stands that stood before. Up. XVI It nods and curtseys and recovers When the wind blows above. And the moving pageant file Warm and breathing through the street Where I lodge a little while. but blood's a rover. Breath's a ware that will not keep. And set you at your threshold down. There revenges are forgot. E. Townsman of a stiller town. And the hater hates no more. the wind blows over. 5 5 5 10 15 . Let me mind the house of dust Where my sojourn shall be long. the road all runners come.A. If the heats of hate and lust In the house of flesh are strong. The lover of the grave. From: A Shropshire Lad 167 Clay lies still. The nettle nods. Man and boy stood cheering by.
Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut. And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears: Now you will not swell the rout Of lads that wore their honours out. That I was used to drive And hear the harness jingle When I was man alive?' Ay. `Is my girl happy.168 A. So set. she lies down lightly. Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose. From: A Shropshire Lad Smart lad. `Is football playing Along the river shore. She lies not down to weep: 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . No change though you lie under The land you used to plough. the keeper Stands up to keep the goal. The harness jingles now. E. Housman. The lads play heart and soul. the ball is flying. XXVII `Is my team ploughing. And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup. With lads to chase the leather. Now I stand up no more?' Ay. The fleet foot on the sill of shade. The goal stands up. That I thought hard to leave. And has she tired of weeping As she lies down at eve?' Ay. the horses trample. before its echoes fade.
lad. But then it threshed another wood. His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves. 5 5 25 30 10 15 10 . And has he found to sleep in A better bed than mine?' Yes. 'tis nothing new. I lie as lads would choose. Have stood and sweated hot and cold. And thick on Severn snow the leaves. Be still. 'twas before my time.A. More than I. And fire and ice within me fight Beneath the suffocating night. Agued once like me were they. Never ask me whose. But from my grave across my brow Plays no wind of healing now. the Roman At yonder heaving hill would stare: The blood that warms an English yeoman. From: A Shropshire Lad 169 Your girl is well contented. my lad. Housman. The thoughts that hurt him. XXX Others. and sleep. The gale. it plies the saplings double. Now I am thin and pine. XXXI On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble. if truth were told. I lie easy. they were there. 'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger When Uricon the city stood: 'Tis the old wind in the old anger. I cheer a dead man's sweetheart. `Is my friend hearty. E. And through their reins in ice and fire Fear contended with desire. Then. I am not the first. Have willed more mischief than they durst: If in the breathless night I too Shiver now. But I like them shall win my way Lastly to the bed of mould Where there's neither heat nor cold.
what farms are those? That is the land of lost content. son of sorrow. E. The gale. I see it shining plain. so clean an ending? Oh that was right. lad. you died as fits a man. now 'tis I.170 A. You shot dead the household traitor. and better so than later After long disgrace and scorn. It blows so hard. Now to your grave shall friend and stranger With ruth and some with envy come: 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 . 'twill soon be gone: Today the Roman and his trouble Are ashes under Uricon. Souls undone. XLIV Shot? so quick. like the wind through woods in riot. And saw your road and where it led. XL Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills. that was brave: Yours was not an ill for mending. The happy highways where I went And cannot come again. you could reason. ± Long time since the tale began. it plies the saplings double. What spires. From: A Shropshire Lad There. You would not live to wrong your brothers: Oh lad. And early wise and brave in season Put the pistol to your head. Through him the gale of life blew high. Oh soon. 'Twas best to take it to the grave. Oh you had forethought. Housman. 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. But men may come to worse than dust. undoing others. The soul that should not have been born.
And here. in this timeless grave to throw. no dreams. Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and foundedstrong. Turn safe to rest. bright with rime And sparkling to the cruel clime. and feel the sun. 5 25 5 10 15 20 10 . it is but for a reason: Let us endure an hour and see injustice done. never two. 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. E. but lightless in the quarry I slept and saw not. Men loved unkindness then. the arms you bear are brittle. and I muse for why and never find the reason. The days when we had rest. O soul. man. pass hence and home. no waking. To give him comfort: he and those Shall bide eternal bedfellows Where low upon the couch he lies Whence he never shall arise. Think rather. bring from hill and stream and plain Whatever will not flower again. Or shrivelled flax. I did not mourn. tears fell down. No cypress.A. Or if one haulm whose year is o'er Shivers on the upland frore. ± call to thought. XLVIII Be still. From: A Shropshire Lad 171 Undishonoured. But wear it and it will not fade. Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry: Then it was well with me. Break no rosemary. Now. XLVI Bring. sombre on the snow. ± Oh. be still. here's the wreath I've made: 'Tis not a gift that's worth the taking. for they were long. Clean of guilt. But if the Christmas field has kept Awns the last gleaner overstept. Snap not from the bitter yew His leaves that live December through. Be still. whose flower is blue A single season. and drink the air. my soul. if now you grieve a little. my soul. clear of danger. in days ere I was born. I pace the earth. be still. Housman.
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. the horned head: We poor lads. good Lord. But oh. lad. she is dead. It gives a chap the belly-ache. Oh I have been to Ludlow fair And left my necktie God knows where. And faith.172 A. All thoughts to rive the heart are here. Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time Moping melancholy mad: Come. From: A Shropshire Lad Ay. nought's to dread. Say. lift your pack. 'tis our turn now To hear such tunes as killed the cow. And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. man. this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough. Housman. Ale. pipe a tune to dance to. There's brisker pipes than poetry. the verse you make. Look not left nor right: In all the endless road you tread There's nothing but the night. LXII `Terence. 5 15 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse. E. 'tis clear. the old cow. To see the rate you drink your beer. There can't be much amiss. The cow. 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. man.' Why. if 'tis dancing you would be. for what were hop-yards meant. And leave your friends and go. Oh never fear. look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation. It sleeps well. 'tis pleasant till 'tis past: The mischief is that 'twill not last. And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders.
Then I saw the morning sky: Heigho. Mithridates. E. thence to more. they stared as white's their shirt: Them it was their poison hurt. But take it: if the smack is sour. Sate the king when healths went round. And I will friend you. if I may. it was the old world yet. First a little. seasoned sound. smiling. From: A Shropshire Lad 173 And carried half way home. but much less good than ill. I was I. He gathered all that springs to birth From the many-venomed earth. They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat. And easy. And nothing now remained to do But begin the game anew. since the world has still Much good. The world. ± I tell the tale that I heard told. or near. In the dark and cloudy day. he died old. 'Tis true. but trouble's sure. I'd face it as a wise man would. The better for the embittered hour. And while the sun and moon endure Luck's a chance. my things were wet. There was a king reigned in the East: There. Happy till I woke again. And down in lovely muck I've lain. when kings will sit to feast.A. He sampled all her killing store. They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up: They shook. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 . Therefore. 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 myself a sterling lad. the tale was all a lie. Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer: Then the world seemed none so bad. Housman. They get their fill before they think With poisoned meat and poisoned drink. It should do good to heart and head When your soul is in my soul's stead. And train for ill and not for good.
And full of shade the pillared forest Would murmur and be mine. Or marshalled under moons of harvest Stand still all night the sheaves. The countries I resign. Nor ask amid the dews of morning If they are mine or no.174 A. And traveller's joy beguiles in autumn Hearts that have lost their own. On russet floors. Will neither care nor know What stranger's feet may find the meadow And trespass there and go. heartless. The pine lets fall its cone. From: Last Poems From: Last Poems XL Tell me not here. it needs not saying. as I possessed a season. Possess. For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways. witless nature. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . E. The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing In leafy dells alone. On acres of the seeded grasses The changing burnish heaves. Or beeches strip in storms for winter And stain the wind with leaves. Where over elmy plains the highway Would mount the hills and shine. For nature. What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays. by waters idle. Housman.
hand in hand. There we've hid our faery vats. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. To and fro we leap And chase the forthy bubbles.William Butler Yeats (1865±1939) The Stolen Child Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water-rats. In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star. We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears 5 10 15 20 25 30 . O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. Weaving olden dances. Come away. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. hand in hand. And of reddest stolen cherries. Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight. Come away. Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries. Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light. Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night.
We and the labouring world are passing by: Amid men's souls. 5 10 . 5 The Rose of the World Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips. For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand. But I. Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam. hand in hand. and now am full of tears. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. Away with us he's going. In a field by the river my love and I did stand. Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. For he comes. Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams. She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid me take love easy. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. And Usna's children died. Lives on this lonely face. that waver and give place Like the pale waters in their wintry race. with her would not agree. Down by the Salley Gardens Give them unquiet dreams. as the grass grows on the weirs. the human child. foam of the sky. as the leaves grow on the tree. 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. hand in hand. Mournful that no new wonder may betide. Under the passing stars. with all their mournful pride. Come away. being young and foolish. 35 40 45 50 Down by the Salley Gardens Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet. But I was young and foolish.176 William Butler Yeats. To the waters and the wild With a faery. She bid me take life easy.
and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once. But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you. archangels. Weary and kind one lingered by His seat. and noon a purple glow. for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore. And I shall have some peace there. in your dim abode: Before you were.William Butler Yeats. And live alone in the bee-loud glade. for peace comes dropping slow. Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings. 5 10 Who Goes with Fergus? Who will go drive with Fergus now. How many loved your moments of glad grace. or any hearts to beat. and go to Innisfree. And nodding by the fire. And loved the sorrows of your changing face. lift up your russet brow. . a little sadly. or on the pavements grey. I will arise and go now. And slowly read. 15 The Lake Isle of Innisfree I will arise and go now. While I stand on the roadway. how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. And evening full of the linnet's wings. 5 10 When You Are Old When you are old and grey and full of sleep. And pierce the deep wood's woven shade. There midnight's all a glimmer. And dance upon the level shore? Young man. a hive for the honey bee. take down this book. of clay and wattles made: Nine bean rows will I have there. Murmur. and of their shadows deep. And loved your beauty with love false or true. Who Goes with Fergus? 177 Bow down. And bending down beside the glowing bars. And a small cabin build there. I hear it in the deep heart's core. He made the world to be a grassy road Before her wandering feet.
178 William Butler Yeats. But something rustled on the floor. And when white moths were on the wing. And hooked a berry to a thread. And moth-like stars were flickering out. Though lads are making pikes again For some conspiracy. I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me. 5 10 . And no more turn aside and brood Upon love's bitter mystery. Because a fire was in my head. Ere Time transfigured me. And rules the shadows of the wood. 5 10 The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner Although I shelter from the rain Under a broken tree. The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner And lift your tender eyelids. My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics. 5 10 15 The Song of Wandering Aengus I went out to the hazel wood. And brood on hopes and fear no more. I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. And yet the beauties that I loved Are in my memory. My contemplations are of Time That has transfigured me. For Fergus rules the brazen cars. And cut and peeled a hazel wand. And crazy rascals rage their fill At human tyranny. There's not a woman turns her face Upon a broken tree. And the white breast of the dim sea And all dishevelled wandering stars. maid. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame.
I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I. schoolmasters. and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers. and clergymen The martyrs call the world. your close friend. `A line will take us hours maybe. Adam's Curse 179 And some one called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. The golden apples of the sun. For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these. And kiss her lips and take her hands.' And thereupon That beautiful mild woman for whose sake 5 10 15 . And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon. 15 20 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. being poor. And walk among long dappled grass. Enwrought with golden and silver light. I will find out where she has gone. in all kinds of weather. Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought. Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. I have spread my dreams under your feet. 5 Adam's Curse We sat together at one summer's end. That beautiful mild woman. have only my dreams. And you and I. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands. I said. or break stones Like an old pauper.William Butler Yeats. The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light. and talked of poetry. Better go down upon your marrow-bones And scrub a kitchen pavement.
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. And thrown the thunder on the stones for all that Maeve can say.' I said. and yet we'd grown As weary-hearted as that hollow moon. Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand. Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies.180 William Butler Yeats. 5 10 15 . That it had all seemed happy.' We sat grown quiet at the name of love. 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. For the wet winds are blowing out of the clinging air. Yet now it seems an idle trade enough. the daughter of Houlihan. Like heavy flooded waters our bodies and our blood. But purer than a tall candle before the Holy Rood Is Cathleen. But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes Of Cathleen. `To be born woman is to know ± Although they do not talk of it at school ± That we must labour to be 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. the daughter of Houlihan. The wind has bundled up the clouds high over Knocknarea. But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet Of Cathleen. The yellow pool has overflowed high up on Clooth-na-Bare. and that I strove To love you in the old high way of love. the daughter of Houlihan. And in the trembling blue-green of the sky A moon. 20 25 30 35 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland The old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. We saw the last embers of daylight die. I had a thought for no one's but your ears: That you were beautiful. Angers that are like noisy clouds have set our hearts abeat. `It's certain there is no fine thing Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring.
dragonflies draw flame' 163 `At length their long kiss severed. The 69 `blessed Damozel leaned out. The' 125 Blessed Damozel. The 55 Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came 85 `Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee!' `Come. voluminous. did you once see Shelley plain' 90 `All hushed and still within the house' 104 `Although I shelter from the rain' 178 `And wilt thou have me fashion into speech' 6 Andrea del Sarto 91 As Kingfishers Catch Fire 163 `As kingfishers catch fire. | vaulty. Break. . The 125 Body's Beauty 132 Break. . attuneable. Break 31 `Bring. stupendous' 163 Felix Randal 162 `First time he kissed me. the arms you bear are brittle' 171 `Beloved. equal. in this timeless grave to throw' 171 Broken Appointment. be still. with sweet smart' 134 Aurora Leigh 8 Autumn Idleness 131 `Be still. thou hast brought me many flowers' 7 Binsey Poplars 162 Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church. . earthless. my soul. walk with me' 106 Crossing the Bar 61 Darkling Thrush.Index of Titles and First Lines Adam's Curse 179 `Ah. The 151 Dover Beach 117 `Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet' Down by the Salley Gardens 176 108 176 `Earnest. A 151 `But do not let us quarrel any more' 91 Charge of the Light Brigade. he but only kissed' 7 .
my heart's abhorrence!' 65 `Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths' 179 `Half a league. 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. H. from the hill' 119 Goblin Market 135 God's Grandeur 160 Grammarian's Funeral. The 128 Lady of Shalott.182 Index of Titles and First Lines Found 134 Fra Lippo Lippi 75 `From Clee to heaven the beacon burns' 165 `Glory be to God for dappled things' 161 `Go. The 177 Lamentation of the Old Pensioner. H. and go to Innisfree' 177 `I wonder do you feel today' 97 Impercipient. ± let the first fruit be' 132 `I went out to the hazel wood' 178 `I will arise and go now. The 128 `How do I love thee? Let me count the ways' 7 `How still. for they call you. half a league' 55 `Here is the ancient floor' 152 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven 179 Hoarded Joy 132 Home-Thoughts. Rochelle 109 `Just for a handful of silver he left us' Kiss. G. pluck not. The' 72 `GR-R-R ± there go. how happy! those are words' 104 `I am poor brother Lippo. The 19 Lake Isle of Innisfree. and A. The 178 `Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife' `Let us begin and carry up this corpse' 98 64 6 . The 149 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury 150 In Memoriam A. from Abroad 68 House of Life: A Sonnet-Sequence. 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. A 98 `grey sea and the long black land. Shepherd.
The 129 `Loveliest of trees. The' 67 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 180 `Remember me when I am gone away' 135 Remember 135 Remembrance 108 133 180 . this is very sad to find!' 83 `Oh. to be in England' 68 `old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand. he lied in every word' 85 My Last Duchess 63 Nature's Questioning 148 Neutral Tones 148 Never the Time and the Place 102 `night is darkening round me. 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. Baldassaro. The' 103 `No coward soul is mine' 113 `Now hollow fires burn out to black' 172 Nuptial Sleep 134 `O Dream. where art thou now?' 104 `Of Adam's first wife. The 31 Prisoner. whose airy cages quelled' 162 `My first thought was. The 133 `Others. A Medley. The 109 `rain set early in tonight.Index of Titles and First Lines 183 `Long neglect has worn away' 103 `Look in my face. I am not the first' 169 Parting at Morning 72 Pied Beauty 161 Porphyria's Lover 67 Princess. my name is Might-have-been' Lost Leader. The' `On either side the river lie' 19 `On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble' 169 One Hope. Lilith. The 64 Love Among the Ruins 72 Love-Letter. it is told' 132 `Of writing many books there is no end' 8 `Oh Galuppi.
The 175 `Strong Son of God. The 118 `sea is calm tonight. this is stupid stuff ' 172 `That there are powers above us I admit' 114 `That with this bright believing band' 149 `That's my last Duchess painted on the wall' 63 `There is a budding morrow in midnight' 134 `This sunlight shames November where he grieves' 131 Thou art indeed just. The 176 `Round the cape of a sudden came the sea' 72 `Say not the struggle naught availeth' 114 Scholar-Gipsy. A 83 Two in the Campagna 97 Ulysses 23 `Under the arch of Life. it needs not saying' 174 `Terence. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love' 130 `Tears. where love and death' `Vanity. vanity!' `Wake: the silver dusk returning' 69 166 131 . 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. thou my love' 130 `Thou mastering me' 153 `time you won your town the race. so clean an ending?' 170 Shropshire Lad. The' 117 Self-Dependence 116 Self-Unseeing. immortal Love' 33 `Sunset and evening star' 61 Superscription. Lord 164 `Thou lovely and beloved. saith the preacher.184 Index of Titles and First Lines Reveille 166 Rose of the World. The 178 Sonnets from the Portuguese 6 Soul's Beauty 131 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 Stolen Child. The 152 `Shot? so quick. idle tears. I know not what they mean' 31 `Tell me not here. 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. A 133 Supreme Surrender 129 `Sweet Love.
what showers of spring' 103 `When I look forth at dawning.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' 150 `Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd' 116 `You did not come' 151 1887 165 . ± though unrevealed snow' 132 `What smouldering senses in death's sick delay' 128 `What winter floods. pool' 148 `When I watch the living meet' 167 `When vain desire at last and vain regret' 133 `When weary with the long day's care' 107 `When you are old and grey and full of sleep' 177 When You Are Old 177 `Where dips the rocky highland' 175 `Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles' 72 `Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?' 176 Who Goes with Fergus? 177 `Who will go drive with Fergus now' 177 Windhover. and sick of asking' 116 `What of her glass without her? The blank grey' 130 Á `What place so strange. The' 160 Wreck of the Deutschland. The 153 `years have gathered grayly. The 161 `With blackest moss the flower-plots' 17 Without Her 130 `world is charged with the grandeur of God.