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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 .
808—dc21 2002020878 ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23075‐5 (alk. Duncan. except as permitted by the UK Copyright.” Includes bibliographical references and index. selection and arrangement © 2002 by Duncan Wu and Valentine Cunningham BLACKWELL PUBLISHING 350 Main Street. and Patents Act 1988. visit our website: www. or transmitted. UK 550 Swanston Street. Ltd. Victorians.com . : alk. paper) A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. mechanical. paper)—ISBN 0‐631‐23076‐9 (pbk. stored in a retrieval system. electronic. Malden. in any form or by any means. Australia All rights reserved. the publisher ensures that the text paper and cover board used have met acceptable environmental accreditation standards. without the prior permission of the publisher. Set in 8/10 pt Galliard by Kolam Information Services Pvt. Wu. Pondicherry. photocopying. II. recording or otherwise.blackwellpublishing. III. paper)—ISBN‐13: 978‐0‐631‐23076‐2 (pbk. and which has been manufactured from pulp processed using acid‐free and elementary chlorine‐free practices.V53 2002 821’. No part of this publication may be reproduced. ISBN 0‐631‐23075‐0 (alk. Designs. For further information on Blackwell Publishing. : alk. Series PR1223 . Oxford OX4 2DQ.© 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd Editorial matter. I. Furthermore. USA 9600 Garsington Road. p. cm. First published 2002 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd 4 2007 Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data Victorian poetry / edited by Duncan Wu. Carlton. — (Blackwell essential literature) “Based on The Victorians: an anthology of poetry and poetics. English poetry—19th century. paper) 1. Victoria 3053. 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. edited by Valentine Cunningham. MA 02148‐5020.
Break. Break' From The Princess.Contents Series Editor's Preface Introduction Duncan Wu Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806±1861) Sonnets from the Portuguese (extracts) From Aurora Leigh: First Book ix 1 6 8 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson (1809±1892) Mariana The Lady of Shalott Ulysses Morte d'Arthur `Break. The Charge of the Light Brigade From Maud I (`I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood') XXII (`Come into the garden. Maud') Crossing the Bar 17 19 23 24 31 31 33 55 57 59 61 Robert Browning (1812±1889) My Last Duchess The Lost Leader Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister Porphyria's Lover Home-Thoughts. A Medley From In Memoriam A. 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. H.
Alcona to J. G. and A. Brenzaida') Julian M. walk with me' To Imagination Remembrance (`R. how happy! those are words' `Mild the mist upon the hill' `Come. Rochelle (`The Prisoner') `No coward soul is mine' 103 103 103 104 104 104 105 106 107 108 109 113 Arthur Hugh Clough (1819±1861) Matthew Arnold (1822±1888) To Marguerite Self-Dependence Dover Beach The Scholar-Gipsy `Say not the struggle naught availeth' `That there are powers above us I admit' 114 114 116 116 117 118 Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828±1882) The Blessed Damozel From The House of Life: A Sonnet-Sequence Part I Youth and Change Sonnet VI: The Kiss Sonnet VII: Supreme Surrender 125 128 128 128 129 .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. where art thou now?' `How still. what showers of spring' `Long neglect has worn away' `The night is darkening round me' `All hushed and still within the house' `O Dream.
Contents vii Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture Sonnet LIII: Without Her Sonnet LIV: Love's Fatality Part II: Change and Fate Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty Sonnet LXXXI: Memorial Thresholds Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy Sonnet XCVII: A Superscription Sonnet CI: The One Hope Nuptial Sleep `Found' (For a Picture) 129 130 130 130 131 131 131 132 132 132 133 133 134 134 Christina G. Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Goblin Market 135 135 Thomas Hardy (1840±1928) Neutral Tones Nature's Questioning The Impercipient In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury `I look into my glass' A Broken Appointment The Darkling Thrush The Self-Unseeing 148 148 149 150 151 151 151 152 Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844±1889) The Wreck of the Deutschland God's Grandeur The Windhover Pied Beauty Binsey Poplars Felix Randal `As Kingfishers Catch Fire' Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves `Thou art indeed just. Lord' 153 160 161 161 162 162 163 163 164 .
Housman (1859±1936) From A Shropshire Lad From Last Poems 165 174 William Butler Yeats (1865±1939) The Stolen Child Down by the Salley Gardens The Rose of the World The Lake Isle of Innisfree When You Are Old Who Goes with Fergus? The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner The Song of Wandering Aengus He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Adam's Curse Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 175 176 176 177 177 177 178 178 179 179 180 181 Index of Titles and First Lines . E.viii Contents A.
The acknowledged virtues of the Blackwell Anthologies are range and variety. Each volume contains a general introduction designed to introduce the reader to those central works. those of the Essential Literature series are authoritative selection. Duncan Wu St Catherine's College. They will be particularly helpful to students hard-pressed for time. who need a digest of the poetry of each historical period. Based on correspondent volumes in the Blackwell Anthologies series. Together. these volumes comprise a crucial resource for anyone who reads or studies poetry.Series Editor's Preface The Blackwell Essential Literature series offers readers the chance to possess authoritative texts of key poems (and in one case drama) across the standard periods and movements. compactness and ease of use. most of these volumes run to no more than 200 pages. 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. Oxford .
soap. going to the dentist. fairies. . There are few better examples of the Victorian preoccupation with death and its aftermath. This volume aims to do something different. Henley. No less than the queen remarked to Tennyson that. It is on the one hand an intensely private poem about one man's 1 Valentine Cunningham. Lewis Carroll. including anonymous street ballads.1 For range readers will require The Victorians ± and. A. love. cricket players. death. poverty. William Morris. p. The diversity is highlighted by Professor Cunningham in his introduction: So here are poems about cod-liver oil. Alfred È (Lord) Tennyson. as they are the major poets of the age. God. onions. Housman and Kipling at the other. Grimm's Law. chairs. Rossetti. Eliza Cook and Dora Greenwell. leeks. a cabbage leaf. `Goblin Market' and `The Wreck of the Deutschland'. 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. poets. New Women. other anthologies of Victorian writing. as well as rural writers like John Clare. introduction. doubt. E. `Dover Beach'. Missing Links. including complete texts of `Fra Lippo Lippi'. sado-masochism. the poetry of women poets such as Caroline Norton. dead dogs. Pressure of space necessarily denies admission to many of those anthologized by Professor Cunningham ± James Thomson. faith. `The Scholar-Gipsy'. Thomas Hardy. poems. science. George Meredith. It distills into a smaller space some of the most influential poetry of the period by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. poetry. Robert Louis Stevenson. railway lines and railway trains. In Memoriam is my comfort'. In between he offers a rich selection of verse. Emily (Jane) Bronte. Robert Browning. soup. tobacco. 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 Prisoner'. should they desire even more. booze. Housman and William Butler Yeats. snow. weather in the suburbs. Matthew Arnold. which reflect the catholicity of interest within the period. to name a few. Gerard Manley Hopkins. The Victorians: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. war.Introduction Duncan Wu Recent anthologies of Victorian poetry and prose have provided readers with a remarkably diverse and wide-ranging body of work. Ebenezer Elliot and William Barnes. `Next to the Bible. pain. xxxv. genitalia. Psychical Research. paintings. Fanny Kemble. 2000). W. Christina G. Jemima Luke. Tennyson and Browning predominate. What this selection lacks in range it makes up for in depth. E. `The Blessed Damozel'. omnibuses. Arthur Hugh Clough.
therefore. Wordsworth possessed a copy of Tennyson's important 1842 Poems. As readers of such poetry we are in a privileged position. Edward Mendelson (London: Faber. Tennyson: The Unquiet Heart (London: Faber. was to develop a new kind of psychological poetry ± one that explored the human mind from within. 289±91. Fra Pandolf ± there is something darker at work. idle tears'. which it is for us to infer. and welcomed an acquaintance with their author. 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. In this sense In Memoriam. was the key to a new poetic. pp.5 For his part. Tennyson's preoccupation with states of mind looks back to Wordsworth. on a level beyond the verbal. Browning's major contribution. besides much else. 1999). to find. E. Warwick Slinn helpfully contextualizes In Memoriam in his essay on Victorian poetry in A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture ed. 1983). 226. the same year as In Memoriam. rather. it can be. `red in tooth and claw'. 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. 1973). Herbert Tucker (Oxford: Blackwell.7 2 W. The Ulysses who in Tennyson's poem declares his desire `To strive. And when the speaker of `A Toccata of Galuppi's' tells us that he feels `chilly and grown old'.3 The natural world of In Memoriam is not invariably. it doubtless has its faults ± it is relentless in its subjectivity. is a product of the zeitgeist. 5 The Prelude. Auden.4 the product of a cosmos lacking a benevolent deity. the most successful long poem of its day. 7 See for instance Pound's `Piere Vidal Old' and Eliot's `Prufrock'. comprehending moral failings with a clarity not always vouchsafed in life. 3 See in particular In Memoriam lv and lvi. was not published until 1850. Its potential would be further championed in the modern period by Eliot and Pound. 311±13.6 By the time Wordsworth died in 1850 Tennyson was in his early forties and Browning in his late thirties. and not to yield' may not be the sort of sea-captain with whom we should set sail. a growing scepticism that was to find fuller expression in the poetry of Hardy and Housman later in the century. 4 In Memoriam lvi 15. but their reign had ended: Tennyson and Browning were remaking the art. 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. 6 See Robert Bernard Martin. to seek. Tennyson and Browning exploited the form aware that our knowing so much more than their speakers. and on the other a work that speaks of the innermost anxieties of the age. H. the divinely appointed one of Wordsworth. Forewords and Afterwords ed. In such sonnets as `Surprised by joy' Wordsworth had attempted the same kind of investigation. exemplifying Auden's contention that Tennyson's gift was for expressing feelings of `lonely terror and desire for death'. something rather important has happened. through the dramatic monologue. in common with that of Tennyson.2 Introduction grief for another. . The influence of the Romantics was felt throughout the century. which concerns the uncontrollable emotions that run deeply in the human heart.2 The fruit of nearly 17 years' labour. pp. p. and is found in shorter poems such as `Tears. Wordsworth's most extensive examination of psychological process.
they are original poems that are in some sense autobiographical. which allows us to consider È Bronte as a mystic writer. they wanted realism. This is evident from `Dover Beach'. This is particularly evident in such lyrics as `No coward soul is mine' and `Cold in the earth'.Introduction 3 Browning's wife. 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. but the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. but less so as the author of some of the most compelling poetry of the period. The extract from the First Book. `Julian M. an experimental (and partly autobiographical) verse-novel that describes the integration of love and work. it contrasts the `sick hurry' of the world with the comparative calm of the landscape.9 That freedom also licenses her to experiment with different roles. ed. formed in 1848. using the colours of nature as they were. p. moving easily from that of poet-lover to that of beloved. and to choose subjects from contemporary life. has long been the subject of myth. any more than the Romantics. particularly `That there are powers above us I admit'. Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton (Oxford: Blackwell. pp. Rochelle's vision shortly prior to expected death. like most movements. hatred. 65. begins this process with a kind of self-portrait written in a reflective. Clough's agnosticism comes into sharp focus in the two poems presented here. 8 . and this often meant introducing `real' people into the work. at the centre of which is a moment. Romanticism: An Anthology. they are not `from the Portuguese' at all. `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. She began her creative life as a Romantic poet ± publishing poems in national newspapers during the 1820s. and it is easiest to think of the group as one of visual artists. G. The emotional charge of the poetry is intense and often extreme. they were less coherent and unified than they would have liked. Where their subject was biblical or historical. quite directly ± `active sexual demands and dangers'. sometimes approaching the subject of romantic passion. The pretence of translation sets up a bluff that allows Barrett Browning to explore her theme without anxiety. her subjects are love. 9 Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology ed. she set out to challenge more directly the gender discrimination of the day in an effort to formulate a feminist poetic. Rochelle' (known in other versions as `The Prisoner') is a different kind of poem. was. 2000). Of course. perhaps Arnold's greatest work. In fact. only to turn to human love when faced by a world `Where ignorant armies clash by night'. 1995).8 Her Sonnets from the Portuguese (1850) are a remarkable series of love poems which further exploit some of the techniques arising from her husband's dramatic monologues. 9±17). below (see pp. as experienced by women. Taking its lead (and diction) from Keats. and reproducing in See for instance `Stanzas on the Death of Lord Byron'. suffering and fortitude. working directly from the natural object in situ. È Emily Bronte is best known as the author of Wuthering Heights (1847). Elizabeth Barrett. 1108±9. 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. Duncan Wu (Oxford: Blackwell. and are often considered as poets of doubt. In that context their aim was to introduce the qualities of Italian medieval painting. The Victorians were not in themselves a movement. 2nd edn. In Aurora Leigh (1856). in which he seeks for hope in a `Sea of Faith'.
p. The Victorians ed. 355. As poets. 1980). Tom Paulin has noted how in `Neutral Tones' the poem culminates in a total picture. In fact. his concept of `inscape' referring to the interior perception into the being of the object. an `involute' or charged combination of emotion and concrete objects. . published in Satires of Circumstance (1914) and Moments of Vision (1917).4 Introduction minute detail the features of the natural world. which during his subsequent painful experience has become a permanently meaningful impression. There is in all this a deliberation. 1988). Unlike some of the Romantics. where the blessed damozel weeps in frustrated longing to join her lover (rather than God) `is not even remotely Christian'. witless'. He is essentially a visionary writer. which may have deterred some readers in earlier times. stripped of all the redemptive power with which the Romantics had imbued it.13 Not only is there no evidence of religious faith in Hardy's poetry. James Sambrook notes that Rossetti's conception of the afterlife. In matters of style they sought a simplicity of manner. Those feelings. In this sense it is not fanciful to consider Hardy and Housman alongside each other. as in both `Neutral Tones' and `The Darkling Thrush'. have in the last two decades given her work an added resonance. Gerard Manley Hopkins's collected verse appeared only in 1918. a self-consciousness which can sometimes produce startlingly good poetry. In mood they cultivated a love of the morbid ± listlessness. a sensitivity to sensory detail. 438. nearly 30 years after his death. In Housman nature is `heartless. decay and desolation. Hopkins is insistently religious in his understanding: God is the inscape of the created world. p. and capable of blind indifference to human mortality. 85. Thomas Hardy: The Poetry of Perception (London: Macmillan. indeed. stripped of the religious significance it possessed for such poets as Hopkins. 11 Reynolds and Leighton. `The Blessed Damozel' (1850) was intended as a companion piece to Poe's `The Raven' (1845). his sister Christina is far less preoccupied with appearances. Arthur Pollard (London: Sphere Books.11 She is now one of the most widely studied of the Pre-Raphaelites. Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology. and one also finds a frequent use of religious language for evocation (rather than its real meanings). 1975). The poems included here are among the best of his Victorian period. most of his best poetry was written after 1900. nature is bleak. Her poetry is full of depression and denial. 31. which is why it is easy to regard as a product of the twentieth century. p. so that in 1995 Margaret Reynolds and Angela Leighton could confirm her place as `one of the greatest poets of the nineteenth century'.10 Dante Gabriel was to make an art out of the decorativeness and elaboration of his verse. who is also thought of as a twentieth-century writer. 12 Seamus Heaney. p. Preoccupations: Selected Prose 1968±1978 (London: Faber. 10 `The Rossettis and Other Contemporary Poets'. Dante Gabriel and Christina Rossetti looked back to the Coleridge of `Christabel' and the Keats of `Isabella'. and the intense morbidity of her writing finds expression even in the fairy-tale `Goblin Market' (1862). 13 Tom Paulin. The same cannot be said of the poetry of Hardy. a selfconscious medievalism and a highly developed taste in decoration. its `philological and rhetorical passion'12 and concentration on the inner workings of the soul is pre-eminently a product of the nineteenth. except that Housman's vision is if anything even more lacking in hope than Hardy's. it can be found in Tennyson's `Mariana' and some of the sonnets in Dante Gabriel Rossetti's House of Life sequence.
Yeats. but can't be eliminated from the human soul. can be heard beneath the `tremulous cadence' of the sea in `Dover Beach'. Yeats's great poetry. was founded on an unquenchable aspiration. . the immortal longings with which the 1800s had begun. Yeats's poetry combines the influences of the Pre-Raphaelites. Plotinus. Belief may be questioned. CT: Yale University Press. its truth lies in experiences and disciplines of the mind itself and in the testimony (unanimous and worldwide) of `revelation'. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (Ipswich: Golgonooza Press. Further Reading Cunningham. Raine writes of Yeats's place within a fugitive intellectual tradition of metaphysical and mystic thought. Herbert F.) Reynolds.) (1999) A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture (Oxford: Blackwell. (1957) The Victorian Frame of Mind. `The Lake Isle of Innisfree' seems like an unexpected way to end a century characterized by increasing doubt and despondency. as episodes in the `history of ideas' but because he was tracing a continuous tradition of knowledge. to the outright desolation of Housman and Hardy. Except that it doesn't. It underpins the medievalism of Tennyson and the Pre-Raphaelites. Angela (eds) (1995) Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell. and nationalist politics in a heady cocktail unlike anything else.) 14 Kathleen Raine. 1830±1870 (New Haven. Swedenborg and Blake.Introduction 5 This collection of essential poetry of the nineteenth century would appear. 1999). B. the kabbalistic and spiritualist worthies with whom he consorted. This knowledge is none the less exact and verifiable for being immeasurable. p. for fuller scholarly treatment. And in no one was it more vigorously evident than in the work of W. Irish fairy traditionalism. Walter E. the French symbolists.) Tucker. (ed.14 Never less than exalted in his imaginative ambitions. and anyone with a serious interest in this poetry should turn to his anthology. a pantheon that includes Thomas Taylor the Platonist. but I can't think of a better short guide than Kathleen Raine's W. 76. Valentine (ed. I am much indebted to Valentine Cunningham in what follows. Margaret and Leighton. B. B. There have been many fine books about this great writer. but in truth the Romantic urge to unify and idealize had never really evaporated. to trace a course from the sublime hopes of Wordsworth. Yeats and the Learning of the Imagination (1999). uncovering the traces of that `vast generalization' he discerned in the fragmentary portions he assembled. W.) Houghton. and a longing for it even informs the `ecstatic sound' of Hardy's darkling thrush (which recalls the `darkling' experience of Keats's famous ode). Swedenborg. and the author of the Upanishads: Yeats did not study Plato and Plotinus. listed below. through the scepticism of Clough. which would produce its finest fruits in the next century. then.) (2000) The Victorians: An Anthology of Poetry and Poetics (Oxford: Blackwell.
the mark of tears. Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside Through sorrow's trick. . . By a most dauntless. except this to thee. . Shut in upon itself and do no harm 5 10 5 10 . any more. voiceless fortitude. And rend the garment of my life. let the silence of my womanhood Commend my woman-love to thy belief. I thought the funeral-shears Would take this first. thou. XVIII I never gave a lock of hair away To a man. however wooed. of love hid in me out of reach. . finding words enough.' My day of youth went yesterday. . ± Seeing that I stand unwon. And hold the torch out. . . My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee. As girls do. Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully I ring out to the full brown length and say `Take it. I cannot teach My hand to hold my spirit so far off From myself . while the winds are rough. It only may Now shade on two pale cheeks. me . in brief. Between our faces.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. to cast light on each! ± I drop it at thy feet. that I should bring thee proof In words. XXIV Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife. Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree. finding pure. from all those years. The kiss my mother left here when she died. Dearest. Nay. Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm. I have been proud and said.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I shall but love thee better after death. who made us rich. . of all my life! ± and. And let us hear no sound of human strife. God only. . as men strive for Right. Growing straight. can make us poor. was folded down In perfect. purple state! since when. by sun and candlelight. out of man's reach. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. XXXVIII First time he kissed me. XLIII Beloved. list. did precede. quick with its `Oh. I love thee purely. The second passed in height The first. Smiles. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs. upon my lips. I love thee freely. Sonnets from the Portuguese 7 In this close hand of Love. The third. and with my childhood's faith. tears. ± I love thee with the breath. Against the stab of worldlings who if rife Are weak to injure. now soft and warm. without alarm. indeed. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here plainer to my sight. as they turn from Praise. thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden. O beyond meed! That was the chrism of love. all the summer through 5 10 5 10 5 10 . Half falling on the hair.' XLII How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.' When the angels speak. when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. Life to life ± I lean upon thee. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach. Dear. Than that first kiss. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need. And ever since it grew more clean and white. he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write. and sought the forehead. my own. `My Love. After the click of the shutting. . on the hill. if God choose. . Very whitely still The lilies of our lives may reassure Their blossoms from their roots! accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer. . and half missed. Slow to world-greetings . which love's own crown. With sanctifying sweetness.
The words `cousin' and `friend' are constantly recurring in this poem. ± Will write my story for my better self. and the one into which my highest convictions upon Life and Art have entered: that as. from your unforgetting E. borne with me. which here unfolded too. October 17. Here's ivy! ± take them. 39. and keep them where they shall not pine: Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true. am still what men call young. my own dearest cousin and friend. B. in a sense of less equality and greater disinterestedness than `Romney''s. in the like name of that love of ours. nor missed the sun and showers. I have not so far left the coasts of life 5 10 . As when you paint your portrait for a friend. will write now for mine. the most mature of my works. Esq. this poor sign of esteem. From Aurora Leigh And winter. far beyond the common uses of mere relationship or sympathy of mind. And which on warm and cold days I withdrew From my heart's ground. 1856 First Book Of writing many books there is no end. B. I. Indeed. those beds and bowers Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue. 5 10 From Aurora Leigh Dedication to John Kenyon. gratitude. so you may kindly accept. their roots are left in mine. in sight of the public. ± cousin and friend. And tell thy soul. and preparing once more to quit England. And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses. So. and been generous to me. and affection.8 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I venture to leave in your hands this book. you have believed in me. Devonshire Place. And wait thy weeding: yet here's eglantine. writing thus. Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it Long after he has ceased to love you. and it seemed as if they grew In this close room. Take back these thoughts. as I used to do Thy flowers. just To hold together what he was and is. the last pages of which have been finished under the hospitality of your roof. Ending. through my various efforts in literature and steps in life. therefore.
taking part against her word In the child's riot. mark. but the man Is born in ignorance of his element.] The cygnet finds the water. . victorious joy. that I cannot hear That murmur of the outer Infinite Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep When wondered at for smiling. packed large. ± Draw. pulling through the gap. Presently We feel it quicken in the dark sometimes. Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon. be obedient. we may discern perhaps Some fair. And hear Assunta's daily jest (she knew He liked it better than a better jest) Inquire how many golden scudi went To make such ringlets. ± For those dumb motions of imperfect life Are oracles of vital Deity Attesting the Hereafter. fine trace of what was written once. ± where. Still I sit and feel My father's slow hand. creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past. a prophet's holograph Defiled. too young. hush ± here's too much noise!' while her sweet eyes Leap forward. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . Some upstroke of an alpha and omega Expressing the old scripture. Then. I nibbled here and there At this or that box. Piled high. with finger up. I write . . erased and covered by a monk's. books. But still I catch my mother at her post Beside the nursery-door. ± The apocalypse. .Elizabeth Barrett Browning. be reverent. books! I had found the secret of a garret-room Piled high with cases in my father's name. . stroke it heavily.' rather say. . `Hush. not so far. [. disorganised By sin i' the blood. A palimpsest. by a Longus! poring on Which obscene text. In heats of terror. Sonnets from the Portuguese 9 To travel inland. press the child's head closer to thy knee! I'm still too young. And feels out blind at first. Stroke out my childish curls across his knee. haste. O my father's hand Stroke the poor hair down. ± his spirit-insight dulled And crossed by his sensations. when she had left us both. to sit alone. Let who says `The soul's a clean white paper. Books.
10 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. this word is being said in heaven. An hour before the sun would let me read! My books! At last. throwing flat The marts and temples. comparative. Erect. and not laugh? Those virtuous liars. dine. the triumphal gates And towers of observation. Exaggerators of the sun and moon. the only holders by His sun-skirts. though a pretty trade. Let go conventions and sprang up surprised. Is not the imperative labour after all. reap. And how I felt it beat Under my pillow. As the earth Plunges in fury. And dust the flaunty carpets of the world For kings to walk on. and. in the morning's dark. am I one with you. And temporal truths. Ay. Here's God down on us! what are you about?' How all those workers start amid their work. The poet suddenly will catch them up With his voice like a thunder . look up. ± the measure of a man. Aurora Leigh. sublime. and feel. says The apostle. now left to God. and while your common men Build pyramids. gauge railroads. . To find man's veritable stature out. when the internal fires Have reached and pricked her heart. . dreamers after dark. The only teachers who instruct mankind. Opposed to relative. my soul. At poetry's divine first finger-touch. ± or but one through love? Does all this smell of thyme about my feet 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . `This is soul. You write so of the poets. I chanced upon the poets. clears herself To elemental freedom ± thus. And soothsayers in a teacup? I write so Of the only truth-tellers. or our senators. Look round. Convicted of the great eternities Before two worlds. From just a shadow on a charnel-wall. ± The only speakers of essential truth. From Aurora Leigh The first book first. because the time was ripe. a moment's space. And that's the measure of an angel. That carpet-dusting. My own best poets. What's this. That thus I love you. reign. This is life. through conventional grey glooms.
± and if. you did not blow. like the stops Of pipe or flute. As a man's voice or breath is called his own.' a woman's common `no. for a cup-bearer. My pipers. Would no sound come? or is the music mine. With eyes too happy. he expands with joy. And says the word so that it burns you through With a special revelation. my life. Half drunk across the beaker. who has ravished me Away from all the shepherds. are absolutely dumb If not melodious. with both grappling feet still hot From Zeus's thunder. 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. ± passionate for truth Beyond these senses. blanching them By turning up their under-natures till They trembled in dilation. when the rhythmic turbulence Of blood and brain swept outward upon words. O delight And triumph of the poet. As if one came back from the dead and spoke. a familiar thing Become divine i' the utterance! while for him The poet. sheep. As wind upon the alders. and dogs. myself.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. ± My eagle. O life. do you play on me. Ganymede. sooth. ± poetry.' A little human hope of that or this. ± who would say A man's mere `yes. the speaker. My thought and aspiration. And set me in the Olympian roar and round Of luminous faces. We shall not bear above a round or two ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 . shakes the heart Of all the men and women in the world. Sonnets from the Portuguese 11 Conclude my visit to your holy hill In personal presence. or but testify The rustling of your vesture through my dreams With influent odours? When my joy and pain. The palpitating angel in his flesh Thrills inly with consenting fellowship To those innumerous spirits who sun themselves Outside of time. ± Which means life in life! cognisant of life Beyond this blood-beat. O poetry. To keep the mouths of all the godheads moist For everlasting laughters. ± I. with their eyes! How those gods look! Enough so.
± with imposthumes And manias usual to the race. ay. With sense of power and ache. near all the birds Will sing at dawn. who would strike steel on steel If steel had offered. The love within us and the love without Are mixed. Howbeit I dare not: 'tis too easy to go mad. ± though some royal blood Would seem to tingle in me now and then. those days. cold with dew. Young men. Before they sit down under their own vine And live for use. through seeing the light. I lived. `What's come now to the youth?' Such ups and downs Have poets. I poured myself 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 . So. Many fervent souls Strike rhyme on rhyme. You catch a sight of Nature. The work more withers. And so. if we are loved or love. Is what I dare not. ± and. and maids. earliest.12 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I never analysed Myself even. In those days. Am I such indeed? The name Is royal. And wrote because I lived ± unlicensed else: My heart beat in my brain. From Aurora Leigh Â We drop the golden cup at Here's foot And swoon back to the earth. what mattered? It is so in youth. Being acted on and acting seem the same: In that first onrush of life's chariot-wheels. Alas. While the dogs bark. though. We play at leap-frog over the god Term. In full front sun-face. in a restless heat Of doing something. and your eyelids wink And drop before the wonder of't. The thing's too common. and many a shepherd scoffs. We know not if the forests move or we. Many tender souls Have strung their losses on a rhyming thread. And ape a Bourbon in a crown of straws. As children. ± and find ourselves Face-down among the pine-cones. We scarce distinguish. Life's violent flood Abolished bounds. with other power. Which mine. Too often sow their wild oats in tame verse. you miss The form. and to sign it like a queen. All analysis comes late. cowslips: ± the more pains they take. confounded. which my neighbour's field. like most young poets. ± and yet we do not take The chaffering swallow for the holy lark. in a flush Of individual life.
shrill with trumps A babe might blow between two straining cheeks Of bubbled rose. with a morning heart. That Pope was sexagenarian at sixteen.) by that strong excepted soul. turning grandly on his central self. and hard to understand.' ± we're too legal. 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . not young. perhaps. driven Against the heels of what the master said. ± didactics. Nor handle. spoils. in carrying the young blood. . Weak for art only. We call the Muse . where the cows Would scare the writer if they splashed the mud In lashing off the flies. From virile efforts! what cold wire-drawn odes. a little warped. From such white heats! ± bucolics. and songs of love. What make-believe. With so much earnest! what effete results. That nearly all young poets should write old. Like cast-off nosegays picked up on the road. `O Muse. And made the living answer for the dead. to attain to clairvoyance. And elegiac griefs. And died. And works it turbid. ± (the life of a long life. do not taste. Spare the old bottles! ± spill not the new wine. Ensphered himself in twenty perfect years. benignant Muse!' ± As if we had seen her purple-braided head With the eyes in it. who write young: We beat the phorminx till we hurt our thumbs. And so with others. as the new wine gurgles in. The wine-skins. Oft. I count it strange.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. and achieved Mere lifeless imitations of live verse. By Keats's soul. It may be. . That leaps for love. `Touch not. the ancient forms Will thrill. And counterfeiting epics. start between the boughs As often as a stag's. is active for resolve. Profaning nature. As if still ignorant of counterpoint. But. Such have not settled long and deep enough In trance. Distilled to a mere drop. the man who never stepped In gradual progress like another man. writ On happy mornings. indeed. The worse for being warm: all these things. now and then. ± and still The memory mixes with the vision. Will crack even. And beardless Byron academical. Sonnets from the Portuguese 13 Along the veins of others. falling like a tear Upon the world's cold cheek to make it burn For ever. to make his mother laugh.
and thought them true. And verify my abstract of the book? And should I sit down to the crochet work? Was such her pleasure?' . She said sometimes. But I could not hide My quickening inner life from those at watch. And so. again. Which oozed off from it in meandering lace From hour to hour. I was not. struck a colour up the cheeks. I wrote False poems. That souls were dangerous things to carry straight Through all the spilt saltpetre of the world. Reduced the irregular blood to settled rhythms. as safe from harm As sings the lark when sucked up out of sight. Because myself was true in writing them. From Aurora Leigh Or perhaps. therefore. `Would she hear my task. They had not set there. They saw a light at a window now and then. `Aurora. peradventure. have you done Your task this morning? ± have you read that book? And are you ready for the crochet here?' ± As if she said. Made cool the forehead with fresh-sprinkling dreams. you're green With out-door impudence? you almost grow?' To which I answered. through forced work and spontaneous work.14 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Before the rain has got into my barn And set the grains a-sprouting. . The melancholy desert must sweep round. Then I sate and teased The patient needle till it split the thread. as before. What. ± For me. But plainly she objected. In vortices of glory and blue air. The inner life informed the outer life. Behind you. And. I know I have not ground you down enough To flatten and bake you to a wholesome crust For household duties and properties. rounding to the spheric soul the thin Pined body. sad. have writ true ones since With less complacence. 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 . My soul was singing at a work apart Behind the wall of sense. ± and demurred. like the rest. I. In order to discover the Muse-Sphinx. `I know there's something wrong. Who had set it there? My father's sister started when she caught My soul agaze in my eyes. She could not say I had no business with a sort of soul. .
Very oft alone. ± I thought my father's land was worthy too Of being my Shakspeare's. It sounded as an instrument that's played Too far off for the tune ± and yet it's fine To listen. paint a body well You paint a soul by implication. The dogs are on us ± but we will not die. scholars upon different tracks. or talked. (As if God's finger touched but did not press In making England!) such an up and down Of verdure. as a hunted stag Will take the waters. at last Escaped.' Whoever lives true life. Very oft. If cousin Romney pleased to walk with me. ± at intervals The mythic oaks and elm-trees standing out Self-poised upon their prodigy of shade. such little hills. shivering with the fear And passion of the course. `We'll live. I learnt to love that England. ± nothing too much up or down. Because he holds that. Vincent Carrington. . We read. ± like a rest Made sweeter for the step upon the grass. Ofter we walked only two. Aurora! we'll be strong. And said. or quarrelled. nor even friends well matched ± Say rather. Fed full of noises by invisible streams. A ripple of land. as it chanced: We were not lovers. or wander. lined with orchises. Pleasant walks! for if He said . ± so many a green slope built on slope Betwixt me and the enemy's house behind. or otherwise Through secret windings of the afternoons. I dared to rest.Elizabeth Barrett Browning. will love true love. not unfrequently with leave To walk the third with Romney and his friend The rising painter. Before the day was born. I threw my hunters off and plunged myself Among the deep hills. ± And view the ground's most gentle dimplement. where you scarcely tell White daisies from white dew. the sky Can stoop to tenderly and the wheatfields climb. 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 . Whom men judge hardly. I clenched my brows across My blue eyes greatening in the looking-glass. . `When I was last in Italy' . like The grand first Master. Sonnets from the Portuguese 15 Though somewhat faint. And open pastures. . Unlicensed. And when. as bee-bonneted. . Such nooks of valleys.
While. The happy violets hiding from the roads The primroses run down to.16 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. breaking into voluble ecstasy. But then the thrushes sang. . it is writ. ± The tangled hedgerows. as he related. overfull Of what is. 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 . and I. he. doubled up among the hills. and held my finger up. overbold For what might be. `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. indeed. carrying gold. let us pray. And shook my pulses and the elms' new leaves. Even then was evil near us. And clapped my hands. ± And then I turned. and called all very fair. certainly The thrushes still sang in it. I flattered all the beauteous country round. And cottage chimneys smoking from the woods. Confused with smell of orchards. where the cows push out Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths 'Twixt dripping ash-boughs. And bade him mark that. woods. the clouds. As poets use . And cottage gardens smelling everywhere. ± At which word His brow would soften. haply. . the fields. Farms. ± and he bore with me In melancholy patience. the skies. ± 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. granges. In the beginning when God called all good. `See. From Aurora Leigh And thinkers disagreed. netted in a silver mist. The evil is upon us while we speak: Deliver us from evil. vales.' I said. And cattle grazing in the watered vales. who call things good and fair. howsoe'er the world Went ill. ± Hills. But we.
I would that I were dead!' II Her tears fell with the dews at even. I would that I were dead!' III Upon the middle of the night. He cometh not. Her tears fell ere the dews were dried. aweary. one and all. aweary.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson (1809±1892) Mariana `Mariana in the moated grange. He cometh not. After the flitting of the bats. When thickest dark did trance the sky. The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the peach to the garden-wall. The broken sheds looked sad and strange.' she said: She said `I am aweary. 5 10 15 20 25 . She drew her casement-curtain by. She only said `My life is dreary. And glanced athwart the glooming flats. Waking she heard the night-fowl crow: The cock sung out an hour ere light: From the dark fen the oxen's low Came to her: without hope of change. Unlifted was the clinking latch. Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. Either at morn or eventide.' ± Measure for Measure I With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted. She could not look on the sweet heaven. She only said `The night is dreary.' she said. She said `I am aweary.
the rounding gray.18 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. She only said. The clustered marish-mosses crept. round and small. Old footsteps trod the upper floors. She said. aweary. `The night is dreary. She said. Old faces glimmered thro' the doors. She saw the gusty shadow sway. The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed. I would that I were dead!' V And ever when the moon was low. All silver-green with gnarled bark. And o'er it many. I would that I were dead!' IV About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blackened waters slept. And wild winds bound within their cell. Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange.' she said. aweary. She only said. `I am aweary. For leagues no other tree did dark The level waste. He cometh not.' she said. across her brow. `The day is dreary. She said. `My life is dreary. aweary. The doors upon their hinges creaked. The blue fly sung i' the pane. the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked. Old voices called her from without. She only said. to and fro. `My life is dreary. He cometh not.' she said. But when the moon was very low. Mariana In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn. She said. Hard by a poplar shook alway. `I am aweary. He cometh not.' she said. Or from the crevice peered about. I would that I were dead!' 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . And the shrill winds were up and away. In the white curtain. `I am aweary. He cometh not. `I am aweary. aweary. I would that I were dead!' VI All day within the dreamy house. She only said.
`I am aweary.' she said. By the margin. She wept.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And thro' the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot. Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below. aweary. Overlook a space of flowers. but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers. He will not come. And up and down the people go. Willows whiten. The island of Shalott. Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. That clothe the wold and meet the sky. The Lady of Shalott? 5 10 15 20 25 . and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made. and unhailed The shallop flitteth silken-sailed Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land. and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. The slow clock ticking. The Lady of Shalott 19 VII The sparrow's chirrup on the roof. And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. Oh God. Then. and four gray towers. Slide the heavy barges trailed By slow horses. did all confound Her sense. `I am very dreary. 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. Four gray walls. aspens quiver. willow-veiled. said she.
whispers `'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott. Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad. reaping early In among the bearded barley. She has heard a whisper say. A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. The Lady of Shalott Only reapers. went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead. And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true. The Lady of Shalott. Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly. And so she weaveth steadily. Shadows of the world appear. Down to towered Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary. Goes by to towered Camelot.' Part II There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. And the red cloaks of market-girls. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls. And little other care hath she.20 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Pass onward from Shalott. An abbot on an ambling pad. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad. And there the surly village-churls. And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights. The Lady of Shalott. with plumes and lights And music. Listening. 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . Came two young lovers lately wed. Piling sheaves in uplands airy. She knows not what the curse may be. Or long-haired page in crimson clad. For often thro' the silent nights A funeral.
As he rode down to Camelot. `Tirra lirra. Some bearded meteor. As he rode down to Camelot. The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves. His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed. The gemmy bridle glittered free. she left the loom. The Lady of Shalott 21 `I am half-sick of shadows.' by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. Below the starry clusters bright.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. From underneath his helmet flowed His coal-black curls as on he rode. She looked down to Camelot. She saw the helmet and the plume. The bridle-bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazoned baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung. Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves. Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. She made three paces thro' the room. On burnished hooves his war-horse trode. Beside remote Shalott. Moves over still Shalott. And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot.' said The Lady of Shalott. As often thro' the purple night. The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned like one burning flame together. She saw the water-lily bloom. She left the web. And as he rode his armour rung. trailing light. That sparkled on the yellow field. A redcross knight for ever kneeled To a lady in his shield. He rode between the barley-sheaves. Beside remote Shalott. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather.
The broad stream bore her far away. `The curse is come upon me. And her eyes were darkened wholly. Till her blood was frozen slowly. The Lady of Shalott Out flew the web and floated wide. Under tower and balcony. Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat. Turned to towered Camelot. Heard a carol. The Lady of Shalott. The Lady of Shalott. robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right ± The leaves upon her falling light ± Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain. The pale yellow woods were waning. Seeing all his own mischance ± With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining. And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott.22 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Chanted loudly. For ere she reached upon the tide The first house by the water-side. They heard her singing her last song. and down she lay. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . The broad stream in his banks complaining. By garden-wall and gallery. Lying.' cried The Lady of Shalott. And down the river's dim expanse ± Like some bold seer in a trance. Singing in her song she died. Heavily the low sky raining Over towered Camelot. The Lady of Shalott. chanted lowly. holy. The mirror cracked from side to side. A gleaming shape she floated by. mournful.
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly. `She has a lovely face. That hoard. And round the prow they read her name. on shore. Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravelled world. climates. and vile it were 5 10 15 20 25 . And drunk delight of battle with my peers. And they crossed themselves for fear. Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. Myself not least. All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space. and feed. cities of men And manners. and alone. governments. lord and dame. For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known. The Lady of Shalott. Knight and burgher. and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence. both with those That loved me. I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race. but honoured of them all. not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life. Matched with an aged wife. and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea. Silent into Camelot. Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer. among these barren crags. Ulysses 23 A corse between the houses high. have suffered greatly. To rust unburnished. A bringer of new things. How dull it is to pause. something more. I am become a name. councils. God in his mercy lend her grace. I cannot rest from travel: I will drink. He said.' 160 165 170 Ulysses It little profits that an idle king. and sleep. The Lady of Shalott. Out upon the wharfs they came. Life piled on life Were all too little. I am a part of all that I have met. to make an end. By this still hearth. and know not me.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move.
Most blameless is he. to seek.24 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Morte d'Arthur For some three suns to store and hoard myself. Push off. decent not to fail In offices of tenderness. we are. my friends. and not to yield. for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. centred in the sphere Of common duties. mine own Telemachus. until I die. Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. And see the great Achilles. and pay Meet adoration to my household gods. and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven. Made weak by time and fate. Come. This is my son. Souls that have toiled. sitting well in order. and opposed Free hearts. free foreheads ± you and I are old. the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. may yet be done. Old age hath yet his honour and his toil. To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle ± Well-loved of me. Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star. and. . One equal temper of heroic hearts. and wrought. smite The sounding furrows. by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people. He works his work. There lies the port. and thought with me ± That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine. When I am gone. 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. discerning to fulfil This labour. Tho' much is taken. whom we knew. to find. much abides. and the baths Of all the western stars. Some work of noble note. but strong in will To strive. My mariners. and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles. Death closes all: but something ere the end. that which we are. I mine.
5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . And in the moon athwart the place of tombs. like a king: And. Old knights. Watch what I see. and the moon was full. alone. and lightly bring me word.' So saying. mystic. to leave thee thus. wonderful.' To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere: `It is not meet. And fling him far into the middle meer: Watch what thou seest. Morte d'Arthur 25 Until King Arthur's table. I am so deeply smitten through the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. I perish by this people which I made. That stood on a dark strait of barren land. Such a sleep They sleep ± the men I loved. the last of all his knights. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: `The sequel of today unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. Aidless. Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur. and smitten through the helm. I think that we Shall nevermore. And bore him to a chapel nigh the field. Sir Bedivere. Holding the sword ± and how I rowed across And took it. be. an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake. Sir King. one summer noon. at any future time. Yet I thy hest will all perform at full. stepping down By zigzag paths. He. this also shall be known: But now delay not: take Excalibur. Clothed in white samite. and juts of pointed rock.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill. A little thing may harm a wounded man. Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. and have worn it. man by man. King Arthur: then. A broken chancel with a broken cross. and on one Lay a great water. and lightly bring thee word. wheresoever I am sung or told In aftertime. Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. Had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord. as in the days that were. ± Though Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more ± but let what will be. Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot. from the ruined shrine he stepped. chill. with flakes of foam. On one side lay the Ocean. because his wound was deep.
But when he saw the wonder of the hilt. nor like a noble knight: For surer sign had followed. Were it well to obey then. the winter moon. ran forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt: For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks. fixed in thought. he smote His palms together. either hand. I charge thee. as he stood. Surely a precious thing. Morte d'Arthur Came on the shining levels of the lake. In act to throw: but at the last it seemed Better to leave Excalibur concealed There in the many-knotted waterflags. Should thus be lost for ever from the earth. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur. Myriads of topaz-lights. and do the thing I bad thee. And o'er him. quickly go again As thou art lief and dear. That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. What good should follow this. Then went Sir Bedivere the second time. if a king demand An act unprofitable. This way and that dividing the swift mind. and he cried aloud. How curiously and strangely chased. `And if indeed I cast the brand away. Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. but empty breath 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewellery.26 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. faint and pale: `Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name. if this were done? What harm. Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. one worthy note. as beseemed È Thy fealty. This is a shameful thing for men to lie.' To whom replied King Arthur. and lightly bring me word'. against himself ? The King is sick. So strode he back slow to the wounded King. What record. undone? deep harm to disobey. Counting the dewy pebbles. And the wild water lapping on the crag. Not rendering true answer. or else a motion of the meer. 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. Or voice. or what relic of my lord Should be to aftertime. and knows not what he does. Brightening the skirts of a long cloud. Yet now. drawing it. watch.
Some one might show it at a joust of arms. if thou spare to fling Excalibur. And strongly wheeled and threw it. Excalibur. and brandished him Three times. So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur: But ere he dipt the surface. Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings. and drew him under in the meer. Morte d'Arthur 27 And rumours of a doubt? but were this kept. get thee hence: But. sitting in the deeps Upon the hidden bases of the hills. Shot like a streamer of the northern morn. Nine years she wrought it. But now much honour and much fame were lost. Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. And so strode back slow to the wounded King. For thou. Laid widowed of the power in his eye That bowed the will. much in wrath: `Ah. And. breathing heavily: `What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: `I heard the water lapping on the crag. clouded with his own conceit. for a man may fail in duty twice. In whom should meet the offices of all. wonderful. And the third time may prosper. And the long ripple washing in the reeds.' So might some old man speak in the aftertime To all the people. or like a girl Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. I will arise and slay thee with my hands. and clutched the sword. Saying.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. plunged Among the bulrush-beds. miserable and unkind. And flashing round and round. Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night. and ran. rose an arm Clothed in white samite. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon.' Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere. Unknightly. 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 . traitor-hearted! Woe is me! Authority forgets a dying king. leaping down the ridges lightly. and whirled in an arch. I see thee what thou art.' To whom replied King Arthur. And hid Excalibur the second time. And lightly went the other to the King. Then spoke King Arthur. winning reverence. with noises of the northern sea. Yet. mystic.' So spake he. Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt. `King Arthur's sword. untrue. the latest-left of all my knights. Either from lust of gold. And caught him by the hilt.
But. lo! the level lake. And bear me to the margin. and I shall die. and I shall die. reclining on his arm. quick! I fear it is too late. as he walked. O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands. Clothed with his breath. as he walked. Muttering and murmuring at his ear. and descending they were ware 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 .' So saying. King Arthur panted hard. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight. That caught him by the hilt. lest the gems Should blind my purpose. So sighed the King. `Quick. with pain. Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms. But when I looked again. I closed mine eyelids. and drew him under in the meer. or seen?' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: `Sir King. And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes As in a picture. His own thought drove him like a goad. Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern. Speak out: what is it thou hast heard. behold an arm. So great a miracle as yonder hilt. Him Sir Bedivere Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears. and a cry Before. breathing hard: `My end draws nigh. He heard the deep behind him. as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels ± And on a sudden. from the pavement he half rose. Slowly. Morte d'Arthur Then spoke King Arthur. here or elsewhere. Nor shall see. and looking. And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. Then took with care. And the long glories of the winter moon. 'tis time that I were gone. mystic. Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute.28 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Beneath them.' And answer made King Arthur. yet I fear My wound hath taken cold. Larger than human on the frozen hills. And would have spoken. and all to left and right The bare black cliff clanged round him. but he found not words. drawing thicker breath: `Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. and brandished him Three times.' But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge. wheeling him. Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge. Clothed in white samite. wonderful. for I never saw. and kneeling on one knee. till I die. Then with both hands I flung him. Not though I live three lives of mortal men.
Alfred (Lord) Tennyson, Morte d'Arthur 29 That all the decks were dense with stately forms Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream ± by these Three Queens with crowns of gold ± and from them rose A cry that shivered to the tingling stars, And, as it were one voice, an agony Of lamentation, like a wind, that shrills All night in a waste land, where no one comes, Or hath come, since the making of the world. Then murmured Arthur, `Place me in the barge,' And to the barge they came. There those three Queens Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept. But she, that rose the tallest of them all And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, And loosed the shattered casque, and chafed his hands, And called him by his name, complaining loud, And dropping bitter tears against his brow Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white And colourless, and like the withered moon Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east; And all his greaves and cuisses dashed with drops Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls ± That made his forehead like a rising sun High from the dais-throne ± were parched with dust; Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, Mixed with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. So like a shattered column lay the King; Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest, From spur to plume a star of tournament, Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere, `Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go? Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? For now I see the true old times are dead, When every morning brought a noble chance, And every chance brought out a noble knight. Such times have been not since the light that led The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved Which was an image of the mighty world; And I, the last, go forth companionless, And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.' And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: `The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils Himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
30 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson, Morte d'Arthur I have lived my life, and that which I have done May He within Himself make pure! but thou ± If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seest ± if indeed I go ± (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) To the island-valley of Avilion; Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard-lawns And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.' So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere Revolving many memories, till the hull Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn, And on the meer the wailing died away. Here ended Hall, and our last light, that long Had winked and threatened darkness, flared and fell: At which the Parson, sent to sleep with sound, And waked with silence, grunted `Good!' but we Sat rapt: it was the tone with which he read ± Perhaps some modern touches here and there Redeemed it from the charge of nothingness ± Or else we loved the man, and prized his work; I know not: but we sitting, as I said, The cock crew loud; as at that time of year The lusty bird takes every hour for dawn: Then Francis, muttering, like a man ill-used, `There now ± that's nothing!' drew a little back, And drove his heel into the smouldered log, That sent a blast of sparkles up the flue: And so to bed; where yet in sleep I seemed To sail with Arthur under looming shores, Point after point; till on to dawn, when dreams
Alfred (Lord) Tennyson, From: The Princess; A Medley 31 Begin to feel the truth and stir of day, To me, methought, who waited with a crowd, There came a bark that, blowing forward, bore King Arthur, like a modern gentleman Of stateliest port; and all the people cried, `Arthur is come again: he cannot die.' Then those that stood upon the hills behind Repeated ± `Come again, and thrice as fair;' And, further inland, voices echoed ± `Come With all good things, and war shall be no more.' At this a hundred bells began to peal, That with the sound I woke, and heard indeed The clear church-bells ring in the Christmas-morn.
`Break, Break, Break'
Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
From: The Princess; A Medley
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld,
. and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me. To sit a star upon the sparkling spire. and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine. by the happy threshold. And come. A Medley Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge. Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk. And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others. O maid. the splendour of the hills? But cease to move so near the Heavens.... the days that are no more. nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the Silver Horns. when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square. and leaves A shining furrow. Now sleeps the crimson petal. Ah.32 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Dear as remembered kisses after death. So sad. Come down. . Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me. Or foxlike in the vine. And all thy heart lies open unto me. And slips into the bosom of the lake: So fold thyself. come. For Love is of the valley. and wild with all regret. Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine. sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears. come thou down And find him. Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice. . 10 15 20 5 10 5 10 15 .. Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize. so strange. Now slides the silent meteor on. Or red with spirted purple of the vats. he. Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost. O Death in Life. deep as love. Now folds the lily all her sweetness up. as thy thoughts in me. now the white.. Deep as first love. So sad. from yonder mountain height: What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) In height and cold. From: The Princess. so fresh. for Love is of the valley. È Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars. my dearest. thou. the days that are no more. And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. the days that are no more.
and I Thy shepherd pipe. H. thou: Our wills are ours. By faith. Believing where we cannot prove. 5 10 15 20 . that have not seen thy face.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. H. 33 That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: But follow. The moan of doves in immemorial elms. and lo. We have but faith: we cannot know. From In Memoriam A. H. The highest. to make them thine. but every sound is sweet. 20 25 30 From In Memoriam A. but come. Thou madest Life in man and brute. Thine are these orbs of light and shade. That like a broken purpose waste in air: So waste not thou. and faith alone. And thou hast made him: thou art just. And murmuring of innumerable bees. And yet we trust it comes from thee. For knowledge is of things we see. Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn. H. immortal Love. He thinks he was not made to die. Whom we. the children call. Thou madest Death. Sweeter thy voice. art more than they. for all the vales Await thee. azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee. And thou. and sweet is every sound. A beam in darkness: let it grow. Thou seemest human and divine. he knows not why. O Lord. let the wild Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone. and leave The monstrous ledges there to slope. Strong Son of God. and spill Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke. Our little systems have their day. They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of thee. thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made. holiest manhood. embrace. let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley. Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: Thou madest man. we know not how. Our wills are ours.
But who shall so forecast the years And find in loss a gain to match? Or reach a hand thro' time to catch The far-off interest of tears? Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drowned. And not from man. H. H. May make one music as before. That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII I I held it truth. We mock thee when we do not fear: But help thy foolish ones to bear. To dance with death. Thy creature. Forgive these wild and wandering cries. What seemed my worth since I began. Confusions of a wasted youth. For merit lives from man to man. O Lord. Let darkness keep her raven gloss: Ah! sweeter to be drunk with loss. In Memoriam Let knowledge grow from more to more.34 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and there I find him worthier to be loved. But vaster. But more of reverence in us dwell. Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. 5 10 . Forgive what seemed my sin in me. 1849 25 30 35 40 In Memoriam A. Forgive my grief for one removed. I trust he lives in thee. Forgive them where they fail in truth. with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones. whom I found so fair. to thee. We are fools and slight. to beat the ground. And in thy wisdom make me wise. according well. That mind and soul.
A hollow echo of my own. III O Sorrow. the clock Beats out the little lives of men. What whispers from thy lying lip? `The stars. `blindly run. The seasons bring the flower again. O! not for thee the glow. Embrace her as my natural good. And gazing on the sullen tree.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. cruel fellowship! O Priestess in the vaults of Death! O sweet and bitter in a breath. And murmurs from the dying sun: `And all the phantom. A web is woven across the sky. Thy fibres net the dreamless head. and boast: `Behold the man that loved and lost. And in the dusk of thee.' II Old Yew. ± A hollow form with empty hands. Nature. I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee. And bring the firstling to the flock. Who changest not in any gale! Nor branding summer suns avail To touch thy thousand years of gloom. Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. Upon the threshold of the mind? 5 5 15 10 15 10 15 . stands ± With all the music in her tone. Or crush her. Sick for thy stubborn hardihood. From out waste places comes a cry.' And shall I take a thing so blind. the bloom. In Memoriam 35 Than that the victor Hours should scorn The long result of love. But all he was is overworn.' she whispers. which graspest at the stones That name the under-lying dead. like a vice of blood.
A use in measured language lies. thou deep vase of chilling tears. for the unquiet heart and brain. half reveal And half conceal the Soul within. VI One writes. Like coarsest clothes against the cold. The sad mechanic exercise. In Memoriam IV To Sleep I give my powers away. that `Other friends remain. With morning wakes the will.' V I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel. That thou should'st fail from thy desire. `What is it makes me beat so low?' Something it is which thou hast lost. like nature. That grief hath shaken into frost! Such clouds of nameless trouble cross All night below the darkened eyes. In words. My will is bondsman to the dark. Some pleasure from thine early years. numbing pain.' That `Loss is common to the race' ± And common is the commonplace. Who scarcely darest to inquire. but some heart did break.36 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 5 5 5 10 15 10 . And with my heart I muse and say: O heart. But. That loss is common would not make My own less bitter. how fares it with thee now. rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening. Like dull narcotics. And vacant chaff well meant for grain. For words. and cries. like weeds. But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more. I'll wrap me o'er. Break. I sit within a helmless bark. `Thou shalt not be the fool of loss.
And something written.' She takes a riband or a rose. perpetual maidenhood. Ye know no more than I who wrought At that last hour to please him well. 25 10 15 20 30 35 40 . praying God will save Thy sailor. ± while thy head is bowed. And. Doors. In Memoriam 37 O father. meek. And with the thought her colour burns. For he will see them on to-night. she turns Once more to set a ringlet right. A shot. Or killed in falling from his horse. That sittest ranging golden hair. unconscious dove. And unto me no second friend. VII Dark house. what to her shall be the end? And what to me remains of good? To her. And ever met him on his way With wishes. by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street. and her future Lord Was drowned in passing thro' the ford. that waitest for thy love! For now her father's chimney glows In expectation of a guest. And glad to find thyself so fair. His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud Drops in his vast and wandering grave. Poor child. thinking. here today. even when she turned. waiting for a hand. Expecting still his advent home. Or here tomorrow will he come. having left the glass. O. the curse Had fallen. O! somewhere. O mother. That pledgest now thy gallant son. something thought. And. Who mused on all I had to tell. And thinking `this will please him best. wheresoe'er thou be. where my heart was used to beat So quickly.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. ere half thy draught be done Hath stilled the life that beat from thee.
for I cannot sleep. But since it pleased a vanished eye. a favourable speed 5 5 5 10 10 15 20 . Or dying. and all The chambers emptied of delight. So draw him home to those that mourn In vain. the chamber and the street. Who lights and rings the gateway bell. I go to plant it on his tomb. there at least may die. And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door. VIII A happy lover who has come To look on her that loves him well. may find A flower beat with rain and wind. wandering there In those deserted walks. with thee And this poor flower of poesy Which little cared for fades not yet. In Memoriam A hand that can be clasped no more ± Behold me. So find I every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet. The field. but far away The noise of life begins again. all the magic light Dies off at once from bower and hall. Spread thy full wings. For all is dark where thou art not. Which once she fostered up with care. IX Fair ship. He is not here. So seems it in my deep regret. That if it can it there may bloom. He saddens. And all the place is dark. and waft him o'er. Yet as that other. that from the Italian shore Sailest the placid ocean-plains With my lost Arthur's loved remains. And learns her gone and far from home.38 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. O my forsaken heart. And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day.
All night no ruder air perplex Thy sliding keel. Calm as to suit a calmer grief. the brother of my love. I see the sailor at the wheel. Sleep. Or where the kneeling hamlet drains The chalice of the grapes of God. That takes the sunshine and the rains. Than if with thee the roaring wells Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine. XI Calm is the morn without a sound. My Arthur. Sleep. I hear the bell struck in the night: I see the cabin-window bright.). as he sleeps now.1 bright As our pure love. And. In Memoriam 39 Ruffle thy mirrored mast. above. 1 2 10 15 20 5 10 15 20 `star of dawn' (T. and lead Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn. till Phosphor. a vanished life. Sphere all your lights around. whom I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. Dear as the mother to the son. thro' early light Shall glimmer on the dewy decks. And hands so often clasped in mine. .). Should toss with tangle2 and with shells. So bring him: we have idle dreams: This look of quiet flatters thus Our home-bred fancies: O to us. And travelled men from foreign lands. The fools of habit. More than my brothers are to me. And letters unto trembling hands.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. My friend. X I hear the noise about thy keel. gentle winds. before the prow. Thou bringest the sailor to his wife. thy dark freight. gentle heavens. `oar-weed' (T. sweeter seems To rest beneath the clover sod.
I leave this mortal ark behind. And crowded farms and lessening towers. And linger weeping on the marge. and back return To where the body sits. my friend? Is this the end of all my care?' And circle moaning in the air: `Is this the end? Is this the end?' And forward dart again. if calm at all. And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep. Some dolorous message knit below The wild pulsation of her wings. These leaves that redden to the fall. And saying. And waves that sway themselves in rest. In Memoriam And only thro' the faded leaf The chestnut pattering to the ground: Calm and deep peace on this high wold. and play About the prow. A weight of nerves without a mind. To mingle with the bounding main: Calm and deep peace in this wide air.40 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. `Comes he thus. I cannot stay. XII Lo! as a dove when up she springs To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe. And in my heart. And all the silvery gossamers That twinkle into green and gold: Calm and still light on yon great plain That sweeps with all its autumn bowers. If any calm. and learn That I have been an hour away. And leave the cliffs. And see the sails at distance rise. a calm despair: Calm on the seas. and haste away O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . Like her I go. And reach the glow of southern skies. And on these dews that drench the furze. and silver sleep.
Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And I should tell him all my pain. fall like these. And. And glance about the approaching sails. Should see thy passengers in rank Come stepping lightly down the plank. Should strike a sudden hand in mine. In Memoriam 41 XIII Tears of the widower. And beckoning unto those they know. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 . Mine eyes have leisure for their tears. And found thee lying in the port. Which weep the comrade of my choice. Silence. and teach me. many years. Which weep a loss for ever new. And standing. and feels Her place is empty. not a breathing voice. As tho' they brought but merchants' bales. For now so strange do these things seem. muffled round with woe. An awful thought. where warm hands have prest and closed. when he sees A late-lost form that sleep reveals. I do not suffer in a dream. Come Time. till I be silent too. And how my life had dropped of late. And he should sorrow o'er my state And marvel what possessed my brain. And ask a thousand things of home. That thou hadst touched the land today. And I went down unto the quay. And not the burthen that they bring. And if along with these should come The man I held as half-divine. And moves his doubtful arms. a life removed. My fancies time to rise on wing. A spirit. XIV If one should bring me this report. A void where heart on heart reposed. The human-hearted man I loved.
The forest cracked. But found him all in all the same. The rooks are blown about the skies. A looming bastion fringed with fire. which aver That all thy motions gently pass Athwart a plane of molten glass. No hint of death in all his frame. Or sorrow such a changeling be? Or doth she only seem to take The touch of change in calm or storm. But knows no more of transient form In her deep self. The wild unrest that lives in woe Would dote and pore on yonder cloud That rises upward always higher. the waters curled. Confused me like the unhappy bark That strikes by night a craggy shelf. XV To-night the winds begin to rise And roar from yonder dropping day: The last red leaf is whirled away.42 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And topples round the dreary west. The cattle huddled on the lea. so harshly given. I should not feel it to be strange. And but for fear it is not so. 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. And onward drags a labouring breast. than some dead lake That holds the shadow of a lark Hung in the shadow of a heaven? Or has the shock. In Memoriam And I perceived no touch of change. And staggers blindly ere she sink? 5 5 20 10 15 20 10 . I scarce could brook the strain and stir That makes the barren branches loud.
Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. thou bringest all I love. spare thee. And mingles all without a plan? XVII Thou comest. And made me that delirious man Whose fancy fuses old and new. So may whatever tempest mars Mid-ocean. And hear the ritual of the dead. And come. whatever loves to weep. Is on the waters day and night. but it looks in truth As if the quiet bones were blest Among familiar names to rest And in the places of his youth. sacred bark. much wept for: such a breeze Compelled thy canvas. wherever thou may'st roam. we may stand Where he in English earth is laid. In Memoriam 43 And stunned me from my power to think And all my knowledge of myself. So kind an office hath been done. and bear the head That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep. The dust of him I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run. pure hands. Week after week: the days go by: Come quick. and my prayer Was as the whisper of an air To breathe thee over lonely seas. XVIII 'Tis well. And flashes into false and true. For I in spirit saw thee move Thro' circles of the bounding sky. And like a beacon guards thee home. 5 5 15 20 10 15 20 10 . Come then. Henceforth. And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land. like a line of light. And balmy drops in summer dark Slide from the bosom of the stars. Such precious relics brought by thee. My blessing. 'Tis little. 'tis something.
I. `to find Another service such as this. . The tide flows down. Who speak their feeling as it is.' they say.). XIX The Danube to the Severn gave The darkened heart that beat no more. That breathe a thousand tender vows. falling on his faithful heart. And hushed my deepest grief of all. And in the hearing of the wave. And hushes half the babbling Wye. That out of words a comfort win. And I can speak a little then. And tears that at their fountain freeze. I brim with sorrow drowning song. But there are other griefs within.3 They laid him by the pleasant shore. the wave again Is vocal in its wooded walls: My deeper anguish also falls. The Wye is hushed nor moved along. The words that are not heard again. And slowly forms the firmer mind. When filled with tears that cannot fall. The salt sea-water passes by. Would breathing thro' his lips impart The life that almost dies in me: That dies not.44 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Treasuring the look it cannot find. XX The lesser griefs that may be said.' My lighter moods are like to these. 3 15 20 5 10 15 5 10 `He died at Vienna and was brought to Clevedon to be buried' (T. And makes a silence in the hills. even yet. There twice a day the Severn fills. Are but as servants in a house Where lies the master newly dead. if this might be. In Memoriam Ah! yet. but endures with pain. And weep the fulness from the mind: `It will be hard.
And make them pipes whereon to blow. And. So much the vital spirits sink To see the vacant chair. I take the grasses of the grave.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. and charms Her secret from the latest moon?' Behold. `How good! how kind! and he is gone. Because her brood is stol'n away. `This fellow would make weakness weak. He loves to make parade of pain.' Another answers. Or like to noiseless phantoms flit: But open converse is there none. When more and more the people throng The chairs and thrones of civil power? `A time to sicken and to swoon. And scarce endure to draw the breath. XXII The path by which we twain did go. And sometimes harshly will he speak. The traveller hears me now and then. And pipe but as the linnets sing: And one unto her note is gay. That with his piping he may gain The praise that comes to constancy. 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . And one unto her note is changed. 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. since the grasses round me wave. Which led by tracts that pleased us well. `Let him be.' XXI I sing to him that rests below. And melt the waxen hearts of men. In Memoriam 45 For by the hearth the children sit Cold in that atmosphere of Death. For now her little ones have ranged. and think.' A third is wroth: `Is this an hour For private sorrow's barren song.
to where he sits. how changed from where it ran Thro' lands where not a leaf was dumb. And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought. sometimes in my sorrow shut. There sat the Shadow feared of man. tho' I walk in haste. And crowned with all the season lent. from snow to snow: And we with singing cheered the way. And think that. But all the lavish hills would hum The murmur of a happy Pan: When each by turns was guide to each. And crying. And wrapt thee formless in the fold. Who broke our fair companionship. often falling lame. And bore thee where I could not see Nor follow. And all was good that Time could bring. And dulled the murmur on thy lip. From flower to flower. And spread his mantle dark and cold. And all the secret of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood: 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 .46 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Or on to where the pathway leads. somewhere in the waste. From April on to April went. Ere thought could wed itself with Speech. In Memoriam Thro' four sweet years arose and fell. Alone. alone. And all we met was fair and good. I wander. XXIII Now. 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 looking back to whence I came. The Shadow sits and waits for me. Or breaking into song by fits. And Fancy light from Fancy caught. As we descended following Hope.
Whatever fickle tongues may say. for I long to prove No lapse of moons can canker Love. the day prepared The daily burden for the back. ± the track Whereon with equal feet we fared. In Memoriam 47 And many an old philosophy On Argive heights divinely sang. and hath power to see 5 5 5 10 15 10 . But this it was that made me move As light as carrier-birds in air. And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. When mighty Love would cleave in twain The lading of a single pain. And orb into the perfect star We saw not. 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. Because it needed help of Love: Nor could I weary. giving half to him. And then. as now. And part it. That sets the past in this relief ? Or that the past will always win A glory from its being far. I loved the weight I had to bear. If all was good and fair we met. And if that eye which watches guilt And goodness. when we moved therein? XXV I know that this was Life. heart or limb. XXVI Still onward winds the dreary way. I with it. This earth had been the Paradise It never looked to human eyes Since Adam left his garden yet. And is it that the haze of grief Hath stretched my former joy so great? The lowness of the present state.
Unfettered by the sense of crime. Deep folly! yet that this could be ± That I could wing my will with might To leap the grades of life and light. As flies the lighter thro' the gross. And I have lost the links that bound Thy changes. if indeed that eye foresee Or see (in Him is no before) In more of life true life no more And Love the indifference to be. when I sorrow most. XXVII I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage. To cloak me from my proper scorn. to thee: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . whate'er befall. No more partaker of thy change. So might I find. here upon the ground. But thou art turned to something strange. To whom a conscience never wakes. As mounts the heavenward altar-fire. Nor any want-begotten rest. I feel it. That Shadow waiting with the keys. 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. Nor. I hold it true. And towers fallen as soon as built ± Oh. what may count itself as blest.48 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And flash at once. The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth. ere yet the morn Breaks hither over Indian seas. In Memoriam Within the green the mouldered tree. XLI Thy spirit ere our fatal loss Did ever rise from high to higher. 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. my friend.
but blame not thou the winds that make 5 5 15 20 10 15 10 . And holds it sin and shame to draw The deepest measure from the chords: Nor dare she trust a larger lay. But evermore a life behind. What slender shade of doubt may flit. That I shall be thy mate no more. indeed. Tho' following with an upward mind The wonders that have come to thee. The fancy's tenderest eddy wreathe. And makes it vassal unto love: And hence. Were taken to be such as closed Grave doubts and answers here proposed. Nor shudders at the gulfs beneath. But better serves a wholesome law. Then these were such as men might scorn: Her care is not to part and prove. Yet oft when sundown skirts the moor An inner trouble I behold. of Sorrow born. Let random influences glance. and skim away. She takes. that dip Their wings in tears. XLVIII If these brief lays. XLIX From art. and go thy way. from nature. Thro' all the secular to be. But rather loosens from the lip Short swallow-flights of song. In Memoriam 49 For though my nature rarely yields To that vague fear implied in death. And look thy look. Like light in many a shivered lance That breaks about the dappled pools: The lightest wave of thought shall lisp. The slightest air of song shall breathe To make the sullen surface crisp.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The howlings from forgotten fields. A spectral doubt which makes me cold. from the schools. she sports with words. when harsher moods remit.
To pangs of nature. When God hath made the pile complete. sins of will. LV The wish. That not a worm is cloven in vain. That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems. LIV Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill. Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife. And every winter change to spring. Beneath all fancied hopes and fears Ay me! the sorrow deepens down. that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave. That not a moth with vain desire Is shriveled in a fruitless fire. And finding that of fifty seeds She often brings but one to bear. That I. In Memoriam The seeming-wanton ripple break. Whose muffled motions blindly drown The bases of my life in tears. and taints of blood. That not one life shall be destroyed. considering everywhere Her secret meaning in her deeds. The tender-pencilled shadow play. Or cast as rubbish to the void. Or but subserves another's gain. So runs my dream: but what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry. Behold! we know not anything. Defects of doubt. That nothing walks with aimless feet.50 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. So careless of the single life. I can but trust that good shall fall At last ± far off ± at last. 5 5 15 10 15 20 10 . to all.
and grope. Who battled for the True. shall he. Were mellow music matched with him. `A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing. LVI `So careful of the type?' but no. the Just. Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer. Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies. as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless! What hope of answer. A discord. I stretch lame hands of faith. LVII Peace. then.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And faintly trust the larger hope. red in tooth and claw With ravine. behind the veil.' And he. a dream. O life as futile. Dragons of the prime. her last work. I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more. who suffered countless ills. all shall go. Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life. And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God. Be blown about the desert dust. And gather dust and chaff. Man. and call To what I feel is Lord of all. shrieked against his creed ± Who loved. Such splendid purpose in his eyes. Or sealed within the iron hills? No more? A monster then. who seemed so fair. In Memoriam 51 I falter where I firmly trod. come away: the song of woe Is after all an earthly song: 25 5 15 20 10 15 20 . That tare each other in their slime. or redress? Behind the veil. Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law ± Tho' Nature. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries.
). but it will not last' (T. And `Ave. though it spake and made appeal To chances where our lots were cast Together in the days behind. Methinks my friend is richly shrined.52 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Yea. Eternal greetings to the dead. till Doubt and Death. Methinks I have built a rich shrine to my friend. slowly breathing bare The round of space. come away: we do him wrong To sing so wildly: let us go. That rollest from the gorgeous gloom Of evening over brake and bloom And meadow. my work will fail. And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples. But I shall pass. and o'er and o'er. . adieu' for evermore! LXXXVI Sweet after showers. Ave. One set slow bell will seem to toll The passing of the sweetest soul That ever looked with human eyes.' said. Come. and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame. I might count it vain As but the canker of the brain. In Memoriam Peace. your cheeks are pale. I hear it now. To where in yonder orient star A hundred spirits whisper `Peace. 5 5 5 10 15 10 15 4 `The poet speaks of these poems. let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas On leagues of odour streaming far.' XCII If any vision should reveal Thy likeness. fan my brows and blow The fever from my cheek. ambrosial air. let us go. Ave. `Adieu. Ill brethren.4 Yet in these ears till hearing dies. But half my life I leave behind. and rapt below Thro' all the dewy-tasselled wood.
like them. The conscience as a sea at rest: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . Should prove the phantom-warning true. XCIV How pure at heart and sound in head. or any. tho' it spake and bared to view A fact within the coming year. In vain shalt thou. That in this blindness of the frame My Ghost may feel that thine is near. call The spirits from their golden day. And tho' the months. Yea. thou too canst say.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. In Memoriam 53 I might but say. therefore from thy sightless range With gods in unconjectured bliss. But he. may come Where all the nerve of sense is numb. Except. O. from the distance of the abyss Of tenfold-complicated change. I hear a wind Of memory murmuring the past. the Spirit himself. The memory like a cloudless air. My spirit is at peace with all. They might not seem thy prophecies. Imaginations calm and fair. But spiritual presentiments. And such refraction of events As often rises ere they rise. With what divine affections bold Should be the man whose thought would hold An hour's communion with the dead. O. and enter. Ghost to Ghost. revolving near. Spirit to Spirit. Descend. They haunt the silence of the breast. 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. hear The wish too strong for words to name. XCIII I shall not see thee.
I smell the meadow in the street. the city sleeps. 5 5 15 10 15 10 . And hear the household jar within. Whatever wisdom sleep with thee. In Memoriam But when the heart is full of din. when most I feel There is a lower and a higher. my lost desire. And think of early days and thee. And doubt beside the portal waits. far off. I see Betwixt the black fronts long-withdrawn A light-blue lane of early dawn. And bless thee. And. Or dive below the wells of Death? What find I in the highest place. CVIII I will not shut me from my kind. so near in woe and weal. CXIX Doors. And vacant yearning. They can but listen at the gates. And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh I take the pressure of thine hand. I'll rather take what fruit may be Of sorrow under human skies: 'Tis held that sorrow makes us wise. tho' with might To scale the heaven's highest height. O loved the most. And bright the friendship of thine eye. I hear a chirp of birds. where my heart was used to beat So quickly.54 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. I will not eat my heart alone. CXXIX Dear friend. for thy lips are bland. Nor feed with sighs a passing wind: What profit lies in barren faith. not as one that weeps I come once more. So far. But mine own phantom chanting hymns? And on the depths of death there swims The reflex of a human face. lest I stiffen into stone.
And mingle all the world with thee. present. the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!' he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. circled with thy voice. I do not therefore love thee less: My love involves the love before. the Light Brigade!' Was there a man dismayed? Not tho' the soldier knew 5 10 . and I rejoice.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. for ever. I shall not lose thee though I die. CXXX Thy voice is on the rolling air. Behold I dream a dream of good. I seem to love thee more and more. All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. 5 5 10 10 15 The Charge of the Light Brigade I Half a league. mine. Half a league onward. and to be. My love is vaster passion now. But tho' I seem in star and flower To feel thee. past. Far off thou art. darklier understood. divine! Sweet human hand and lips and eye. Tho' mixed with God and Nature thou. Thou standest in the rising sun. `Forward. The Charge of the Light Brigade 55 Known and unknown. I have thee still. What art thou then? I cannot guess. Dear heavenly friend that canst not die. And in the setting thou art fair. Mine. ever mine! Strange friend. human. half a league. some diffusive power. I prosper. I hear thee where the waters run. II `Forward. Loved deeplier. but ever night.
Their's not to reason why. Left of six hundred. Then they rode back. Charging an army. Their's but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. While horse and hero fell. Into the jaws of Death. Flashed as they turned in air Sabring the gunners there. Stormed at with shot and shell. VI When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 . Cannon to left of them. Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. while All the world wondered: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke. Back from the mouth of Hell. Boldly they rode and well. Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered. Cannon to left of them. Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre-stroke Shattered and sundered. IV Flashed all their sabres bare.56 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death. All that was left of them. III Cannon to right of them. but not Not the six hundred. V Cannon to right of them. Stormed at with shot and shell. Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered. The Charge of the Light Brigade Some one had blundered: Their's not to make reply.
Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. now lord of the broad estate and the Hall. When who but a fool would have faith in a tradesman's ware or his word? 5 10 15 20 25 . Pickpockets. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade. And out he walked when the wind like a broken worldling wailed. and flattened. Noble six hundred! 55 From: Maud I 1 I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood. Not he: his honest fame should at least by me be maintained: But that old man. And the flying gold of the ruined woodlands drove thro' the air. 5 Villainy somewhere! whose? One says. Dropt off gorged from a scheme that had left us flaccid and drained. Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-red heath. The red-ribbed ledges drip with a silent horror of blood. in the spirit of Cain. His who had given me life ± O father! O God! was it well? ± Mangled. And Echo there. 3 Did he fling himself down? who knows? for a vast speculation had failed. each hand lusting for all that is not its own. is it better or worse Than the heart of the citizen hissing in war on his own hearthstone? 7 But these are the days of advance. 6 Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? we have made them a curse. From: Maud 57 All the world wondered. And lust of gain.' 2 For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was found. and crushed. by a dead weight trailed. and dinted into the ground: There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he fell. And ever he muttered and maddened. and ever wanned with despair. by a whispered fright. whatever is asked her. for the roots of my hair were stirred By a shuffled step. 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. we are villains all. answers `Death. 4 I remember the time.
And the spirit of murder works in the very means of life. nevermore to brood On a horror of shattered limbs and a wretched swindler's lie? 30 35 40 45 50 55 . 9 Peace sitting under her olive. And chalk and alum and plaster are sold to the poor for bread. home. From: Maud Is it peace or war? Civil war. Is it peace or war? better. May make my heart as a millstone. When the poor are hovelled and hustled together. and when only not all men lie. 13 For I trust if an enemy's fleet came yonder round by the hill. Cheat and be cheated. like swine. War with a thousand battles. Peace in her vineyard ± yes! ± but a company forges the wine. if he could. and shaking a hundred thrones. and die: who knows? we are ashes and dust. were it but with his cheating yardwand. as underhand. set my face as a flint. 10 And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffian's head. ± 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 Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of children's bones. 8 Sooner or later I too may passively take the print Of the golden age ± why not? I have neither hope nor trust. and slurring the days gone by. While another is cheating the sick of a few last gasps. That the smoothfaced snubnosed rogue would leap from his counter and till. each sex. war! loud war by land and by sea. And strike. not openly bearing the sword. as he sits To pestle a poisoned poison behind his crimson lights. for the villainous centre-bits Grind on the wakeful ear in the hush of the moonless nights.58 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 11 And Sleep must lie down armed. And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the foam. 12 When a Mammonite mother kills her babe for a burial fee. and that of a kind The viler. Till the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the trampled wife. as I think. When only the ledger lives.
I will bury myself in myself. Thanks. I know not whence. she will let me alone. XXII 1 Come into the garden. 60 65 70 75 5 10 . Maud the delight of the village. Why should I stay? can a sweeter chance ever come to me here? O. For the black bat. Maud the beloved of my mother. 2 For a breeze of morning moves. as I saw him. 16 I am sick of the Hall and the hill. there is fatter game on the moor. Come into the garden. she promised then to be fair. 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. I played with the girl when a child. 18 Maud with her venturous climbings and tumbles and childish escapes. From: Maud 59 15 Would there be sorrow for me? there was love in the passionate shriek. And the planet of Love is on high. I am here at the gate alone. Maud. ah God. I am sick of the moor and the main. has flown. night. and thought he would rise and speak And rave at the lie and the liar. having the nerves of motion as well as the nerves of pain. for the fiend best knows whether woman or man be the worse. of the singular beauty of Maud. as he used to rave. Maud. the moon-faced darling of all.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad. She may bring me a curse. the ringing joy of the Hall. Love for the silent thing that had made false haste to the grave ± Wrapt in a cloak. ± 19 What is she now? My dreams are bad. No. The dark old place will be gilt by the touch of a millionaire: I have heard. Maud with her sweet purse-mouth when my father dangled the grapes. And the musk of the rose is blown. and the Devil may pipe to his own. Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky.
that is dearer than all. And a hush with the setting moon.' 6 And the soul of the rose went into my blood. 3 All night have the roses heard The flute. When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance and play. 4 I said to the lily. And long by the garden lake I stood. And half to the rising day. Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away. As the music clashed in the hall. Till a silence fell with the waking bird.' so I sware to the rose. To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise. O young lord-lover. For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood. violin. `For ever and ever. mine. what sighs are those. `The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine. and to die. bassoon. but mine. To faint in his light. 5 I said to the rose. For one that will never be thine? But mine. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 .' Now half to the setting moon are gone.60 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. `There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay. From: Maud To faint in the light of the sun she loves. Our wood. 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. All night has the casement jessamine stirred To the dancers dancing in tune.
Would start and tremble under her feet. 5 . my dove. Come hither. the dances are done.' And the white rose weeps. And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar. They sighed for the dawn and thee. She is coming. Were it earth in an earthy bed. My dust would hear her and beat. Shine out. `I hear. Queen lily and rose in one. And blossom in purple and red. Knowing your promise to me. The red rose cries. my dear. my life. When I put out to sea. and be their sun. When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. She is coming.' 11 She is coming. `I wait. Had I lain for a century dead. Too full for sound and foam. she is near. But the rose was awake all night for your sake. my sweet. My heart would hear her and beat. To the flowers. 10 There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. I hear. Were it ever so airy a tread. Crossing the Bar The white lake-blossom fell into the lake As the pimpernel dozed on the lea.' The larkspur listens. `She is late. `She is near. 61 50 55 60 65 70 Crossing the Bar Sunset and evening star. little head.' And the lily whispers. In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. The lilies and roses were all awake. But such a tide as moving seems asleep. 9 Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls. sunning over with curls. my fate. my own.
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far. And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell. .62 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. When I embark. I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. Crossing the Bar Twilight and evening bell.
now: Fra Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day.Robert Browning (1812±1889) My Last Duchess Ferrara That's my last Duchess painted on the wall. and there she stands. The dropping of the daylight in the West. Or blush. and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. . Too easily impressed.I know not how. so not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. and her looks went everywhere. but I) And seemed as they would ask me. at least. How such a glance came there. . But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you. She had A heart . . . how shall I say? . The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her. Sir. 'twas not Her husband's presence only. Who'd stoop to blame 5 10 15 20 25 30 . for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance. if they durst. she liked whate'er She looked on.' or `Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat'. Will't please you sit and look at her? I said `Fra Pandolf' by design. called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say `Her mantle laps Over my lady's wrist too much. . but thanked Somehow. too soon made glad. She thanked men. . the white mule She rode with round the terrace ± all and each Would draw from her alike the forward speech. such stuff Was courtesy. 'twas all one! My favour at her breast. The depth and passion of its earnest glance. as if she ranked My gift of a nine hundred years old name With anybody's gift. Looking as if she were alive. ± good. Sir. she thought. I call That piece a wonder.
no doubt. I repeat. doled him out silver. caught his clear accents. honoured him. Shelley. were with us. and made excuse. Then all smiles stopped together. with the gold to give. Or there exceed the mark' ± and if she let Herself be lessoned so. Though his fair daughter's self. tho'. Songs may excite us. ± not from his lyre. forsooth. 5 10 15 . Deeds will be done. ± not thro' his presence. Burns. They. Just for a ribband to stick in his coat ± Got the one gift of which fortune bereft us. Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us. his heart had been proud! We that had loved him so. but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew. Lost all the others she lets us devote. Learned his great language.64 Robert Browning. Sir! Notice Neptune. nor plainly set Her wits to yours. Sir. Nay. I gave commands. `Just this Or that in you disgusts me. she smiled. thought a rarity. as I avowed At starting. Lived in his mild and magnificent eye. here you miss. and I chuse Never to stoop. we'll go Together down. There she stands As if alive. Oh. Whene'er I passed her. ± while he boasts his quiescence. ± He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! II We shall march prospering. and say. 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. 35 40 45 50 55 The Lost Leader I Just for a handful of silver he left us. The Count your Master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed. ± E'en then would be some stooping. Milton was for us. ± they watch from their graves! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen. is my object. Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me. followed him. Taming a sea-horse. Will't please you rise? We'll meet The company below then. So much was their's who so little allowed: How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags ± were they purple.
for our initial! (He-he! There his lily snaps!) 5 10 15 20 . one footpath untrod. do! If hate killed men. God's blood. would not mine kill you! What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming? Oh. One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels. 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. Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well. my heart's abhorrence! Water your damned flower-pots. time of year: Not a plenteous cork-crop: scarcely Dare we hope oak-galls. And a goblet for ourself. Laid with care on our own shelf ! With a fire-new spoon we're furnished. the first by the throne! 20 25 30 Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister I GR-R-R ± there go. Pardoned in Heaven. Rinsed like something sacrificial Ere 'tis fit to touch our chaps ± Marked with L. Sort of season. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister 65 Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire: Blot out his name. Forced praise on our part ± the glimmer of twilight. One wrong more to man. 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. ± come gallantly. one more insult to God! Life's night begins: let him never come back to us! There would be doubt. ± record one lost soul more. Brother Lawrence. then. One task unaccepted. hesitation and pain. Then let him get the new knowledge and wait us.Robert Browning. Strike our face hard ere we shatter his own. for we taught him.
to my recollection. While he drains his at one gulp! VI Oh.66 Robert Browning. so nice! One goes to the Abbot's table. How go on your flowers? None double? Not one fruit-sort can you spy? Strange! ± And I. In three sips the Arian frustrate. All of us get each a slice. Sure of Heaven as sure can be. at such trouble. if another fails: If I trip him just a-dying. Steeping tresses in the tank. thick like horsehairs. my scrofulous French novel On grey paper with blunt type! Simply glance at it. the Trinity illustrate. If I double down its pages At the woeful sixteenth print. ± Can't I see his dead eye grow. Blue-black. if he'd let it show! V When he finishes refection. Once you trip on it. Bright as 'twere a Barbary corsair's? That is. forsooth! While brown Dolores Squats outside the Convent bank With Sanchicha. lustrous. entails Twenty-nine distinct damnations. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 . Knife and fork across he lays Never. in Jesu's praise. Drinking watered orange-pulp. those melons? If he's able We're to have a feast. As do I. Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister IV Saint. too. Keep 'em close-nipped on the sly! VII There's a great text in Galatians. telling stories. One sure. Spin him round and send him flying Off to hell a Manichee? VIII Or. you grovel Hand and foot in Belial's gripe. I.
and all in vain. Be sure I looked up at her eyes Proud. untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall. she sat down by my side And called me. Murmuring how she loved me. And did its worst to vex the lake. And made her smooth white shoulder bare. Ope a sieve and slip it in't? IX Or. Porphyria's Lover 67 When he gathers his greengages. Virgo! Gr-r-r ± you swine! 65 70 Porphyria's Lover The rain set early in tonight. And give herself to me for ever: But passion sometimes would prevail. And laid her soiled gloves by. The sullen wind was soon awake. . And spread o'er all her yellow hair. she rose. last. for all her heart's endeavour. and vainer ties dissever. And she was come through wind and rain. I listened with heart fit to break. Hine . When glided in Porphyria. When no voice replied. at last I knew 5 10 15 20 25 30 . And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up. the Devil! ± one might venture Pledge one's soul yet slily leave Such a flaw in the indenture As he'd miss till. and all the cottage warm. Ã St. Zy. straight She shut the cold out and the storm. there's Vespers! Plena gratia Ave. and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl. past retrieve. very proud. stooping. Blasted lay that rose-acacia We're so proud of ! Hy. It tore the elm-tops down for spite. And all her yellow hair displaced. And. Which done. .Robert Browning. And. Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her. To set its struggling passion free From pride. she Too weak. She put my arm about her waist. made my cheek lie there.
And whoever wakes in England Sees. That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. when May follows. again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. fair. Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do. unaware. And I untightened next the tress About her neck.68 Robert Browning. I am quite sure she felt no pain. surprise Made my heart swell. from Abroad I Oh. And strangled her. mine. to be in England Now that April's there. this time my shoulder bore Her head. which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head. and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around. While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England ± now! II And after April. And thus we sit together now. Home-Thoughts. Only. its love. her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before. That all it scorned at once is fled. from Abroad Porphyria worshipped me. And I. some morning. No pain felt she. That moment she was mine. As a shut bud that holds a bee I warily oped her lids. 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 . So glad it has its utmost will. and still it grew While I debated what to do. And all night long we have not stirred. And yet God has not said a word! 35 40 45 50 55 60 Home-Thoughts. am gained instead! Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. And the whitethroat builds.
Robert Browning, The Bishop Orders His Tomb 69 That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower, ± Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
The Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church
Rome, 15 Ð Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews ± sons mine . . . ah God, I know not! Well ± She, men would have to be your mother once, Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was! What's done is done, and she is dead beside, Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since, And as she died so must we die ourselves, And thence ye may perceive the world's a dream. Life, how and what is it? As here I lie In this state-chamber, dying by degrees, Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask `Do I live, am I dead?' Peace, peace seems all: St Praxed's ever was the church for peace; And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know: ± Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care; Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South He graced his carrion with, God curse the same! Yet still my niche is not so cramped but thence One sees the pulpit o' the epistle-side, And somewhat of the choir, those silent seats, And up into the aery dome where live The angels, and a sunbeam's sure to lurk: And I shall fill my slab of basalt there, And 'neath my tabernacle take my rest With those nine columns round me, two and two, The odd one at my feet where Anselm stands: Peach-blossom marble all, the rare, the ripe As fresh-poured red wine of a mighty pulse. ± Old Gandolf with his paltry onion-stone, Put me where I may look at him! True peach, Rosy and flawless: how I earned the prize! Draw close: that conflagration of my church
70 Robert Browning, The Bishop Orders His Tomb ± What then? So much was saved if aught were missed! My sons, ye would not be my death? Go dig The white-grape vineyard where the oil-press stood, Drop water gently till the surface sinks, And if ye find . . . Ah, God, I know not, I! . . . Bedded in store of rotten figleaves soft, And corded up in a tight olive-frail, Some lump, ah God, of lapis lazuli, Big as a Jew's head cut off at the nape, Blue as a vein o'er the Madonna's breast . . . Sons, all have I bequeathed you, villas, all, That brave Frascati villa with its bath, So let the blue lump poise between my knees, Like God the Father's globe on both his hands Ye worship in the Jesu Church so gay, For Gandolf shall not choose but see and burst! Swift as a weaver's shuttle fleet our years: Man goeth to the grave, and where is he? Did I say basalt for my slab, sons? Black ± 'Twas ever antique-black I meant! How else Shall ye contrast my frieze to come beneath? The bas-relief in bronze ye promised me, Those Pans and Nymphs ye wot of, and perchance Some tripod, thyrsus, with a vase or so, The Saviour at his sermon on the mount, St Praxed in a glory, and one Pan Ready to twitch the Nymph's last garment off, And Moses with the tables . . . but I know Ye mark me not! What do they whisper thee, Child of my bowels, Anselm? Ah, ye hope To revel down my villas while I gasp Bricked o'er with beggar's mouldy travertine Which Gandolf from his tomb-top chuckles at! Nay, boys, ye love me ± all of jasper, then! 'Tis jasper ye stand pledged to, lest I grieve My bath must needs be left behind, alas! One block, pure green as a pistachio-nut, There's plenty jasper somewhere in the world ± And have I not St Praxed's ear to pray Horses for ye, and brown Greek manuscripts, And mistresses with great smooth marbly limbs? ± That's if ye carve my epitaph aright, Choice Latin, picked phrase, Tully's every word, No gaudy ware like Gandolf's second line ± Tully, my masters? Ulpian serves his need! And then how I shall lie through centuries,
Robert Browning, The Bishop Orders His Tomb 71 And hear the blessed mutter of the mass, And see God made and eaten all day long, And feel the steady candle-flame, and taste Good strong thick stupifying incense-smoke! For as I lie here, hours of the dead night, Dying in state and by such slow degrees, I fold my arms as if they clasped a crook, And stretch my feet forth straight as stone can point, And let the bedclothes for a mortcloth drop Into great laps and folds of sculptor's-work: And as yon tapers dwindle, and strange thoughts Grow, with a certain humming in my ears, About the life before this life I lived, And this life too, Popes, Cardinals and Priests, St Praxed at his sermon on the mount, Your tall pale mother with her talking eyes, And new-found agate urns as fresh as day, And marble's language, Latin pure, discreet, ± Aha, ELUCESCEBAT quoth our friend? No Tully, said I, Ulpian at the best! Evil and brief hath been my pilgrimage, All lapis, all, sons! Else I give the Pope My villas: will ye ever eat my heart? Ever your eyes were as a lizard's quick, They glitter like your mother's for my soul, Or ye would heighten my impoverished frieze, Piece out its starved design, and fill my vase With grapes, and add a vizor and a Term, And to the tripod ye would tie a lynx That in his struggle throws the thyrsus down, To comfort me on my entablature Whereon I am to lie till I must ask `Do I live, am I dead?' There, leave me, there! For ye have stabbed me with ingratitude To death ± ye wish it ± God, ye wish it! Stone ± Gritstone, a-crumble! Clammy squares which sweat As if the corpse they keep were oozing through ± And no more lapis to delight the world! Well go! I bless ye. Fewer tapers there, But in a row: and, going, turn your backs ± Ay, like departing altar-ministrants, And leave me in my church, the church for peace, That I may watch at leisure if he leers ± Old Gandolf, at me, from his onion-stone, As still he envied me, so fair she was!
And the need of a world of men for me. its prince Ages since Held his court in. Than the two hearts beating each to each! 5 10 Parting at Morning Round the cape of a sudden came the sea. gathered councils. the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match. wielding far Peace or war. And the sun looked over the mountain's rim ± And straight was a path of gold for him. And the yellow half-moon large and low. (So they say) Of our country's very capital. Love Among the Ruins 1 Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles. And a voice less loud.72 Robert Browning. A tap at the pane. Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward thro' the twilight. Three fields to cross till a farm appears. II Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach. thro' its joys and fears. stray or stop As they crop ± 2 Was the site once of a city great and gay. As I gain the cove with pushing prow. And quench its speed in the slushy sand. Meeting at Night Meeting at Night I The grey sea and the long black land. 5 10 . And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep.
And that glory and that shame alike. this summer-time. the chariots traced As they raced. Lust of glory pricked their hearts up. o'erspreads And embeds Every vestige of the city.Robert Browning. And a burning ring all round. 5 And such plenty and perfection. Stock or stone ± 6 Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Long ago. certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to (else they run Into one). men might march on nor be pressed. 4 Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all. Made of marble. As you see. To distinguish slopes of verdure. the gold Bought and sold. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . ± the single little turret that remains On the plains. dread of shame Struck them tame. see. Love Among the Ruins 73 3 Now ± the country does not even boast a tree. Twelve abreast. guessed alone. by the gourd Overscored. 7 Now. While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks Through the chinks ± 8 Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time Sprang sublime. By the caper over-rooted. of grass Never was! Such a carpet as.
All the men! 12 When I do come. heart! oh. noise and sin! Shut them in. all our many-tinkling fleece In such peace. all the glades' Colonnades. where she looks now. she will speak not. ± and then. 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. blood that freezes. 14 Oh. Either hand On my shoulder. And they built their gods a brazen pillar high As the sky. Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force ± Gold. she will stand. All the mountains topped with temples. while thus the quiet-coloured eve Smiles to leave to their folding. All the causeys.74 Robert Browning. ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each. of course. Far and wide. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 . blood that burns! Earth's returns For whole centuries of folly. 9 And I know. breathless. aqueducts. bridges. When the king looked. Love Among the Ruins And the monarch and his minions and his dames Viewed the games. 11 But he looked upon the city. every side. Ere we rush. give her eyes the first embrace Of my face. dumb Till I come. 13 In one year they sent a million fighters forth South and North.
sir. Lord. lads! more beside!) And all's come square again. How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! But you. the day you're hanged. Zooks. And nip each softling of a wee white mouse. sir. A wood-coal or the like? or you should see! Yes. haps on his wrong hole. . that man is! Just such a face! why.Robert Browning. weke. up and down. Cosimo of the Medici. who is lodging with a friend Three streets off ± he's a certain . I'm the painter. elbowing on his comrade in the door With the pike and lantern. that they sweep the streets And count fair prize what comes into their net? He's Judas to a tittle. ± for the slave that holds John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair With one hand (`Look you. Who am I? Why. Fra Lippo Lippi I am poor brother Lippo. You know them and they take you? like enough! I saw the proper twinkle in your eye ± 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 . by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. What. there. I' the house that caps the corner. that's crept to keep him company! Aha. Boh! you were best! Remember and tell me. And here you catch me at an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar. you make amends. yet unwiped! It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk. are we pilchards. Fra Lippo Lippi 75 With their triumphs and their glories and the rest! Love is best. Whatever rat. . And please to know me likewise. sir. brother Lippo's doings. Zooks. you know your betters! Then. . and you go the rounds. how d'ye call? Master ± a . if you must show your zeal. 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. The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up.' as who should say) And his weapon in the other. I'd like his face ± His. since you style me so. . Do. it's past midnight. ± harry out. now. what's to blame? you think you see a monk! What. Weke. you'll take Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat. it concerns you that your knaves Pick up a manner nor discredit you. one.
(Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) And so along the wall. . melon-parings. laughs. A sweep of lute-strings. scrambling somehow. ± Flower o' the broom. And I've been three weeks shut within my mew. Round they went. All the bed-furniture ± a dozen knots. and the nights one makes up bands To roam the town and sing out carnival. hip to haunch. If I've been merry. I came up with the fun Hard by Saint Laurence. I could not paint all night ± Ouf ! I leaned out of window for fresh air. You snap me of the sudden. and whifts of song. Ah. Mum's the word naturally. God knows how. ± a monk. sir. A-painting for the great man. One fine frosty day. Here's spring come. saints and saints And saints again. rinds and shucks. Take away love. but a monk! Come. I starved there. Fra Lippo Lippi 'Tell you I liked your looks at very first. And after them. zooks. flesh and blood. Hands and feet. Refuse and rubbish. Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand. you shake your head ± Mine's shaved. over the bridge. 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . . My stomach being empty as your hat. you say ± the sting's in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself. The wind doubled me up and down I went. a year or two On fig-skins. ± three slim shapes ± And a face that looked up . Curtain and counterpane and coverlet. and what good's in life since? Flower o' the thyme ± and so on. ± Flower o' the rose. what matter who knows? And so as I was stealing back again To get to bed and have a bit of sleep Ere I rise up tomorrow and go work On Jerome knocking at his poor old breast With his great round stone to subdue the flesh. now! I was a baby when my mother died And father died and left me in the street. and our earth is a tomb! Flower o' the quince. what am I a beast for? tell us. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight. hail fellow. I see! Though your eye twinkles still. well met. and so dropped. Let's sit and set things straight now. There came a hurry of feet and little feet. That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went.76 Robert Browning. I let Lisa go. There was a ladder! down I let myself.
On the wall. the bench. Lord. you're minded. By no means! Brief. Palace. The monks looked black. you may be sure. the door. Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped. and none the less For admonitions from the hunger-pinch. Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge. Such a to-do! they tried me with their books. farm.Robert Browning. they'd have taught me Latin in pure waste! Flower o' the clove. mind you. Holding a candle to the Sacrament. shop and banking-house. 'twas refection-time. Found eyes and nose and chin for A. sir. Not overmuch their way. ± How say I? ± nay. I must confess. 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. such as these poor devils of Medici Have given their hearts to ± all at eight years old. `amo' I love! But. boy. While I stood munching my first bread that month: `So. Fra Lippo Lippi 77 By the straight cut to the convent. All the Latin I construe is. Six words. Lose a crow and catch a lark. I found in time. after I found leisure. villa. ± `To quit this very miserable world? Will you renounce' . Watching folk's faces to know who will fling The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires. 'Twas not for nothing ± the good bellyful. there. I had a store of such remarks. they made a monk of me. Well. turned to use: I drew men's faces on my copy-books.' quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth.' quoth the Prior. as my fortune was. when a boy starves in the streets Eight years together. He learns the look of things. its pride and greed. I did renounce the world. the mouthful of bread? thought I. d'ye say? In no wise. which lets drop His bone from the heap of offal in the street! ± The soul and sense of him grow sharp alike. Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch The droppings of the wax to sell again. And who will curse or kick him for his pains ± Which gentleman processional and fine. which dog bites. `Nay.s and B. Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes.s. `turn him out. The warm serge and the rope that goes all round. be sure. Trash. . 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . . And made a string of pictures of the world Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun. Which.
With homage to the perishable clay. From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of barrel-droppings. But lift them over it. their walls a blank. and then was gone. every sort of monk. safe and sitting there With the little children round him in a row Of admiration. came at eve On tip-toe. (taught what to see and not to see. 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. half for his beard and half For that white anger of his victim's son Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm. it's not. Signing himself with the other because of Christ (Whose sad face on the cross sees only this After the passion of a thousand years) Till some poor girl. Never was such prompt disemburdening.78 Robert Browning. . . `How? what's here? Quite from the mark of painting. The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked. Her pair of earrings and a bunch of flowers The brute took growling. for more's ready!' ± laid the ladder flat. arms. said a word. to do our church up fine And put the front on it that ought to be!' And hereupon he bade me daub away. 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. her apron o'er her head Which the intense eyes looked through. ignore it all. like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars. Fra Lippo Lippi We Carmelites. I painted all. folk at church. then cried `'tis ask and have ± Choose. I drew them. First. And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall. fat and lean: then. Fresh from his murder. and it's a fire.no. 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 . Thank you! my head being crammed. . Their betters took their turn to see and say: The Prior and the learned pulled a face And stopped all that in no time. ± To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot. candle-ends. Your business is to paint the souls of men ± Man's soul. . the black and white. Make them forget there's such a thing as flesh. prayed. dropped in a loaf. bless us all! Faces. smoke .
what matters talking. . and what not? Paint the soul. the old grave eyes Are peeping o'er my shoulder as I work. . paint now as I please ± Having a friend. ± Who went and danced and got men's heads cut off ! Have it all out!' Now. by painting body So ill. Make his flesh liker and his soul more like. . must go further And can't fare worse! Thus. my son! You're not of the true painters. Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash. You get about the best thing God invents. is this sense. you see.Robert Browning. . the eye can't stop there. well. in the Corner-house! Lord. colours. Fra Lippo Lippi 79 It's. when you return Him thanks! `Rub all out!' well. The heads shake still ± `It's Art's decline. And any sort of meaning looks intense When all beside itself means and looks nought. in short. patron-saint ± is it so pretty You can't discover if it means hope. She's just my niece . with his Saint a-praising God. well. That sets us praising. great and old: 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 . ± why not stop with him? Why put all thoughts of praise out of our heads With wonder at lines. Sorrow or joy? won't beauty go with these? Suppose I've made her eyes all right and blue. I ask? A fine way to paint soul. try at it a second time. never mind the legs and arms! Rub all out. I'm grown a man no doubt. Left foot and right foot. I've broken bounds ± You should not take a fellow eight years old And make him swear to never kiss the girls ± I'm my own master. I would say. Oh. yellow does for white When what you put for yellow's simply black. that white smallish female with the breasts. Both in their order? Take the prettiest face. . Within yourself. And so the thing has gone on ever since. . go a double step. it's fast holding by the rings in front ± Those great rings serve more purposes than just To plant a flag in. And you'll find the soul you have missed. The Prior's niece . ± That's somewhat. there's my life. or tie up a horse! And yet the old schooling sticks. Why can't a painter lift each foot in turn. it's the soul! Give us no more of body than shows soul! Here's Giotto. 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. Herodias. fear.
there's pretty sure to come A turn ± some warm eve finds me at my saints ± A laugh.80 Robert Browning. But see. I know what's sure to follow. And play the fooleries you catch me at. the business of the world ± (Flower o' the peach. and paint To please them ± sometimes do and sometimes don't. you've seen the world 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 . and his own life for each!) And my whole soul revolves. they must know! Don't you think they're the likeliest to know. I can't unlearn ten minutes afterwards. You find abundantly detestable. throws up his stiff heels so. I hope so ± though I never live so long. with their Latin? so. now ± why. out at grass After hard years. I see as certainly As that the morning-star's about to shine. you'll find: Brother Lorenzo stands his single peer. You don't like what you only like too much. I swallow my rage. The value and significance of flesh. he lets them talk ± He picks my practice up ± he'll paint apace. . I always see the Garden and God there A-making man's wife ± and. manners. you're my man. Slouches and stares and lets no atom drop ± His name is Guidi ± he'll not mind the monks ± They call him Hulking Tom. You understand me: I'm a beast. studies what I do. suck my lips in tight. Although the miller does not preach to him The only good of grass is to make chaff. You do like what. then: bless us. You tell too many lies and hurt yourself. belike ± However. I know. Fra Lippo Lippi Brother Angelico's the man. For. They. We've a youngster here Comes to our convent. And I do these wild things in sheer despite. Fag on at flesh. Clench my teeth. I think I speak as I was taught. and I'll stick to mine! I'm not the third. The world and life's too big to pass for a dream. Death for us all. you'll never make the third!' Flower o' the pine. my lesson learned. a cry. You keep your mistr. the cup runs o'er. For me. You be judge! You speak no Latin more than I. . In pure rage! the old mill-horse. What would men have? Do they like grass or no ± May they or mayn't they? all I want's the thing Settled for ever one way: as it is. doing most. What will hap some day. if given you at your word.
yonder river's line. and means good: To find its meaning is my meat and drink. These are the frame to? What's it all about? To be passed o'er. or.' he returns ± `Already not one phiz of your three slaves Who turn the Deacon off his toasted side. don't you mark? we're made so that we love First when we see them painted. does as well. The shapes of things. Art was given for that ± God uses us to help each other so. child. The mountain round it and the sky above.Robert Browning. surprises. you say. But why not do as well as say. things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see. and count it crime To let a truth slip. The pious people have so eased their own 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 . careless what comes of it? God's works ± paint anyone. Nor blank ± it means intensely. Much more the figures of man. though! How much more. oh. woman.' For. Don't object. despised? or dwelt upon. Have you noticed. ± paint these Just as they are. Two bits of stick nailed crosswise. For this fair town's face. Interpret God to all of you! oh. Wondered at? oh. `Ay. Changes. A bell to chime the hour with. And so they are better. But's scratched and prodded to our heart's content. If I drew higher things with the same truth! That were to take the Prior's pulpit-place. 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. lights and shades. nature is complete: Suppose you reproduce her ± (which you can't) There's no advantage! you must beat her. then. painted ± better to us. Your cullion's hanging face? A bit of chalk. Fra Lippo Lippi 81 ± The beauty and the wonder and the power. I painted a St Laurence six months since At Prato. now. It makes me mad to see what men shall do And we in our graves! This world's no blot for us. And trust me but you should. their colours. now the scaffold's down?' I ask a brother: `Hugely. ± and God made it all! ± For what? do you feel thankful. Which is the same thing. Lending our minds out. mind you fast next Friday!' Why. for this What need of art at all? A skull and bones. splashed the fresco in fine style. this last of course. `His works Are here already. `How looks my painting. what's best. ay or no.
who puts down in black and white The convent's friends and gives them a long day. . Ringed by a bowery. this pure company! Where's a hole. And then in the front.82 Robert Browning. I must have him there past mistake. . I have bethought me: I shall paint a piece . Tasting the air this spicy night which turns The unaccustomed head like Chianti wine! Oh. 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. Painters who need his patience). motionless and moon-struck ± I'm the man! Back I shrink ± what is this I see and hear? I. Expect another job this time next year. I shall paint God in the midst. who but Lippo! I! ± Mazed. Though he's none of you! Could Saint John there. in this presence. see Something in Sant' Ambrogio's! (bless the nuns! They want a cast of my office). Fra Lippo Lippi With coming to say prayers there in a rage. There's for you! Give me six months. puts out a soft palm ± `Not so fast!' ± Addresses the celestial presence. of course a saint or two ± Saint John. I. Saint Ambrose. now! It's natural a poor monk out of bounds Should have his apt word to excuse himself: And hearken how I plot to make amends. the church knows! don't misreport me. Got wot. Well. Iste perfecit opus! So. then go. flowery angel-brood. `nay ± He made you and devised you. because he saves the Florentines. up shall come Out of a corner when you least expect. 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. after all. As one by a dark stair into a great light Music and talking. Madonna and her babe. And Job. We get on fast to see the bricks beneath. Lilies and vestments and white faces. caught up with my monk's-things by mistake. draw ± His camel-hair make up a painting-brush? We come to brother Lippo for all that. where's a corner for escape? Then steps a sweet angelic slip of a thing Forward. My old serge gown and rope that goes all round. The man of Uz (and Us without the z. all these Secured at their devotions.
I would say. . Saint Lucy. not letting go The palm of her. Like the Prior's niece .Robert Browning. But although I take your meaning. 4 Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May? Balls and masks begun at midnight. Where Saint Mark's is. . A Toccata of Galuppi's 83 I shuffle sideways with my blushing face Under the cover of a hundred wings Thrown like a spread of kirtles when you're gay And play hot cockles. Zooks! 380 385 390 A Toccata of Galuppi's 1 Oh Galuppi. and I know my own way back ± Don't fear me! There's the grey beginning. no lights! The street's hushed. And so all's saved for me. cheeks so round and lips so red. six months hence! Your hand. the little lily thing That spoke the good word for me in the nick. do you say? 5 Was a lady such a lady. and good bye: no lights. what you call . this is very sad to find! I can hardly misconceive you. stately at the clavichord? 5 10 15 . burning ever to midday. they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were the kings. where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings? 3 Ay. where they kept the carnival! I was never out of England ± it's as if I saw it all. he to finger on his sword. Go. . and for the church A pretty picture gained. Shylock's bridge with houses on it. (and it was graceful of them) they'd break talk off and afford ± She. . Till. . . all the doors being shut. it would prove me deaf and blind. sir. 'tis with such a heavy mind! 2 Here you come with your old music. like a bell-flower on its bed. O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might base his head? 6 Well. in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off To some safe bench behind. While you sat and played Toccatas. and here's all the good it brings. When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow. What. because the sea's the street there. to bite her mask's black velvet. wholly unexpected. Baldassaro. and 'tis arched by . ± On her neck the small face buoyant.
Death stepped tacitly and took them where they never see the sun. with such hair.' ± `And are you still as happy?' ± `Yes ± And you?' ± `Then. like a ghostly cricket. Venice spent what Venice earned. and I want the heart to scold. Told them something? Those suspensions. 12 Yes. I wonder. some with deeds as well undone. too ± what's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old.84 Robert Browning. Some with lives that came to nothing. when a million seemed so few?' Hark ± the dominant's persistence. mirth and folly were the crop. dead and done with. one by one. Mathematics are your pastime. souls shall rise in their degree. sixths diminished. Dear dead women. till it must be answered to! 9 So an octave struck the answer. 20 25 30 35 40 45 . While I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close reserve. What of soul was left. merely born to bloom and drop. is immortal ± where a soul can be discerned. Oh. they praised you. The soul. 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. Butterflies may dread extinction. In you come with your cold music till I creep thro' every nerve. 13 `Yours for instance: you know physics. something of geology. ± you'll not die. doubtless. when the kissing had to stop? 15 `Dust and ashes!' So you creak it. you. ± think to take my stand nor swerve. sigh on sigh. A Toccata of Galuppi's 7 What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive. creaking where a house was burned ± `Dust and ashes. it cannot be! 14 `As for Venice and its people. Here on earth they bore their fruitage. those solutions ± `Must we die?' Those commiserating sevenths ± `Life might last! we can but try!' 8 `Were you happy?' ± `Yes. 11 But when I sit down to reason. more kisses' ± `Did I stop them.' 10 Then they left you for their pleasure: till in due time.
4 For. 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. with his staff ? What. ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there. what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare. `And the blow fallen no grieving can amend') 5 10 15 20 25 30 . (`since all is o'er. he lied in every word.Robert Browning. And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break. 3 If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which. And hears one bid the other go. 5 As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed. That hoary cripple. draw breath Freelier outside. save to waylay with his lies. my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring.' he saith. So much as gladness that some end might be. what with my whole world-wide wandering. and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend. with malicious eye Askance to watch the working of his lie On mine. What with my search drawn out thro' years. ± I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made. 2 What else should he be set for. finding failure in its scope. Hides the Dark Tower. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 85 `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' (See Edgar's song in `Lear') 1 My first thought was. all agree.
You'd think. The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed Their steps ± that just to fail as they. a burr had been a treasure-trove. `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. nothing throve: For flowers ± as well expect a cedar grove! But cockle. ± And still the man hears all. In some strange sort. I had so long suffered in this quest. Heard failure prophesied so oft. I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature. 10 So on I went. 8 So. All the day Had been a dreary one at best. and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay. inertness and grimace. 7 Thus. spurge. with none to awe. I might go on. quiet as despair. 'twas gone! grey plain all round! Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. And all the doubt was now ± should I be fit. according to their law Might propagate their kind. Than pausing to throw backward a last view O'er the safe road. yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. That hateful cripple.' 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . I turned from him. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 6 While some discuss if near the other graves Be room enough for this.86 Robert Browning. scarves and staves. and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away. out of his highway Into the path he pointed. been writ So many times among `The Band' ± to wit. Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free. seemed best. naught else remained to do. and dim Was settling to its close. 9 For mark! no sooner was I fairly found Pledged to the plain. after a pace or two. were the land's portion. With care about the banners. 11 No! penury.
the soul of honour ± there he stands Frank as ten years ago when knighted first. And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane. Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe: I never saw a brute I hated so ± He must be wicked to deserve such pain.Robert Browning. Stood stupefied. Alas! one night's disgrace! Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold. That way he used. 15 I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. 13 As for the grass. till I almost felt him fold An arm in mine to fix me to the place. Poor traitor. Good ± but the scene shifts ± faugh! what hangman's hands Pin to his breast a parchment? his own bands Read it. spit upon and curst! 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 . Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. with a brute's intents. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 87 12 If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates. One stiff blind horse. his every bone a-stare. As a man calls for wine before he fights. What made those holes and rents In the dock's harsh swarth leaves ± bruised as to baulk All hope of greenness? 'tis a brute must walk Pashing their life out. it grew as scant as hair In leprosy ± thin dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood. Dear fellow. With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain. happier sights. fight afterwards ± the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights. 17 Giles. then. Think first. the head was chopped ± the bents Were jealous else. 16 Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face Beneath its garniture of curly gold. What honest man should dare (he said) he durst. however he came there ± Thrust out past service from the devil's stud! 14 Alive? he might be dead for aught I know. I asked one draught of earlier.
Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank Soil to a plash? toads in a poisoned tank. But. Christians against Jews. might have been a bath For the fiend's glowing hoof ± to see the wrath Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes. 21 Which. no sight as far as eye could strain. ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek. Each step. 20 So petty yet so spiteful! All along. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 18 Better this present than a past like that ± Back therefore to my darkening path again. like galley-slaves the Turk Pits for his pastime. Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit Of mute despair. Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage ± 23 The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque. what war did they wage. as it frothed by. no doubt. No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms ± This. None out of it: mad brewage set to work Their brains. No sound. with all the plain to choose? No footprint leading to that horrid mews. Now for a better country. Whate'er that was. while I forded. Will the night send a howlet or a bat? I asked: when something on the dismal flat Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train. tangled in his hair or beard! ± It may have been a water-rat I speared. 19 A sudden little river crossed my path As unexpected as a serpent comes. 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 . deterred no whit. Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it. ± good saints. Vain presage! Who were the strugglers. rolled by. What penned them there.88 Robert Browning. a suicidal throng: The river which had done them all the wrong. how I feared To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek. 22 Glad was I when I reached the other bank. or feel the spear I thrust to seek For hollows.
in the very nick Of giving up. then. Now patches where some leanness of the soil's Broke into moss or substances like boils. you! How to get from them was no plain case. Sailed past. on earth left unaware. aware I somehow grew. Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel.Robert Browning. (so a fool finds mirth. and dies while it recoils. Progress this way. it would seem. 28 For. looking up. Or brake. nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned That brushed my cap ± perchance the guide I sought. and now mere earth Desperate and done with. that wheel. 29 Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick Of mischief happened to me. the plain had given place All round to mountains ± with such name to grace Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view. A great black bird. ± solve it. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came' 89 24 And more than that ± a furlong on ± why. clay and rubble. How thus they had surprised me. there! What bad use was that engine for. once a wood. 26 Now blotches rankling. one time more. 'Spite of the dusk. Apollyon's bosom-friend. Here ended. coloured gay and grim. nought To point my footstep further! At the thought. a cleft in him Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim Gaping at death. Next a marsh. 25 Then came a bit of stubbed ground. When. till his mood Changes and off he goes!) within a rood ± Bog. came a click As when a trap shuts ± you're inside the den! 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 . not wheel ± that harrow fit to reel Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air Of Tophet's tool. Then came some palsied oak. Makes a thing and then mars it. sand and stark black dearth. God knows when ± In a bad dream perhaps. 27 And just as far as ever from the end! Naught in the distance but the evening.
yet each of old Lost. Names in my ears. ± How such a one was strong. ± `Now stab and end the creature ± to the heft!' 33 Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled Increasing like a bell. lost! one moment knelled the woe of years. lay ± Chin upon hand. blind as the fool's heart. This was the place! those two hills on the right. Of all the lost adventures my peers. The tempest's mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on. only when the timbers start. a living frame For one more picture! in a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all. like giants at a hunting. And blew. and new! . And such was fortunate. to see the game at bay. ranged along the hillsides ± met To view the last of me. Dunce. Built of brown stone. . And did he stop and speak to you? And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems. . day ± Came back again for that! before it left. The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: The hills. to be dozing at the very nonce. Fool. And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set. did you once see Shelley plain.' 175 180 185 190 195 200 Memorabilia 1 Ah. After a life spent training for the sight! 31 What in the midst lay but the Tower itself ? The round squat turret. without a counterpart In the whole world. 34 There they stood. Memorabilia 30 Burningly it came on me all at once. `Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.90 Robert Browning. a tall scalped mountain . 32 Not see? because of night perhaps? ± Why. Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight ± While to the left. and such was bold.
Andrea del Sarto 91 2 But you were living before that. Don't count the time lost. No. 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. my Lucrezia. I'll content him. Quietly. accept too his own price. And also you are living after. ± but tomorrow. Let us try. I forget the rest. 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. I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. but does it bring your heart? I'll work then for your friend's friend. This evening more than usual. either. And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside.Robert Browning. you must serve For each of the five pictures we require ± 5 10 15 20 . Treat his own subject after his own way. an eagle-feather ± Well. You turn your face. Fix his own time. 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. To-morrow. Both of one mind. quietly the evening through. And shut the money into this small hand When next it takes mine. as married people use. Will it? tenderly? Oh. bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. how you shall be glad for this! Your soft hand is a woman of itself. never fear. 5 10 15 Andrea del Sarto (Called `The Faultless Painter') But do not let us quarrel any more. Love! I often am much wearier than you think.
How strange now. my hope. my everybody's moon. And fail in doing. Which everybody looks on and calls his. ± All in a twilight. At any rate 'tis easy. That length of convent-wall across the way Holds the trees safer.92 Robert Browning. I am bold to say. too ± when I say perfectly I do not boast. Love. Who listened to the Legate's talk last week. While she looks ± no one's: very dear. at the point of your first pride in me (That's gone you know). days decrease. looks the life he makes us lead! So free we seem. and not leave this town. my art. There's what we painters call our harmony! A common greyness silvers everything. Love! so such things should be ± Behold Madonna. And. So! keep looking so ± My serpentining beauty. 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. being all toned down To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. at every point. The last monk leaves the garden. What I see. no studies. all of it. huddled more inside. 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . autumn in everything. And that cartoon. no less! You smile? why. 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. No sketches first. I can do with my pencil what I know. I could count twenty such On twice your fingers. my moon. you and I alike ± You. perhaps: yourself are judge. Andrea del Sarto It saves a model. rounds on rounds! ± How could you ever prick those perfect ears. if I ever wish so deep ± Do easily. and agonise to do. And just as much they used to say in France. But you can hear at least when people speak. I suppose. ± but I. so sweet ± My face. Even to put the pearl there! oh. we are in God's hand. there's my picture ready made. A twilight-piece. There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top. And autumn grows. My youth. what at bottom of my heart I wish for. the second from the door ± It is the thing. is looked on by in turn. that's long past ± I do what many dream of all their lives ± Dream? strive to do.
Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me. Still. His hue mistaken. am unmoved by men's blame Or their praise either. I know. of that famous youth The Urbinate who died five years ago. or whate'er else. no matter) so much less! Well. another and myself. less is more. than goes on to prompt This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine. Heart. beating stuffed and stopped-up brain. ('Tis copied. (I know his name. Its body. a child may understand. That arm is wrongly put ± and there again ± A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines. yes. Above and through his art ± for it gives way. Nay. We might have risen to Rafael. Yonder's a work now. 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 . Pouring his soul. I can fancy how he did it all. what of that? Ah. Somebody remarks Morello's outline there is wrongly traced. He means right ± that. 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. Lucrezia! I am judged. There burns a truer light of God in them. In their vexed. it boils. with kings and popes to see. George Vasari sent it me. The sudden blood of these men! at a word ± Praise them. I think ± More than I merit. But all the play. to sigh `Had I been two. Our head would have o'erlooked the world!' No doubt. what an arm! and I could alter it. I. Rightly traced and well ordered. but themselves. I and you. by many times.) Well.Robert Browning. that Heaven might so replenish him. but I sit here. it boils too. Love. 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. painting from myself and to myself. Their works drop groundward. Yet do much less. Though they come back and cannot tell the world. but a man's reach should exceed his grasp. so to speak! its soul is right. you did give all I asked. so much less. My works are nearer heaven. given me soul. Enter and take their place there sure enough. the insight and the stretch ± Out of me! out of me! And wherefore out? Had you enjoined them on me. Reaching. or blame them. some one says. what of that? or else. Know what I do.
the power ± And thus we half-men struggle. And perfect eyes. waiting on my work. best of all. One arm about my shoulder. compensates. But they speak sometimes. and follows to the snare ± Had you. ± One finger in his beard or twisted curl Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile. I dared not. And the low voice my soul hears. as a bird The fowler's pipe. round my neck. The present by the future. was it not. leave home all day. will not ± And who would do it. seeing with his eyes. Andrea del Sarto But had you ± oh. You painting proudly with his breath on me. to speak the truth. my hand kept plying by those hearts. The rest avail not. That I am something underrated here. Beside. golden and not grey ± And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 . who can do a thing. 'Tis safer for me. all three!' I might have done it for you. cannot. or has Angelo? In this world. For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. 'twas right. what is that? Live for fame. punishes. Put on the glory. At the end. In that humane great monarch's golden look. incentives come from the soul's self. Well may they speak! That Francis. with the same perfect brow. my kingly days? And had you not grown restless ± but I know ± 'Tis done and past. too.94 Robert Browning. if the award be strict. The best is when they pass and look aside. with these the same. I conclude. This in the background. despised. my instinct said. Why do I need you? What wife had Rafael. do you know. All his court round him. Such frank French eyes. Rafael's daily wear. I must bear it all. side by side with Angelo ± Rafael is waiting: up to God. Too live the life grew. God. Poor this long while. All is as God over-rules. Had the mouth there urged `God and the glory! never care for gain. To crown the issue with a last reward! A good time. and such a fire of souls Profuse. The jingle of his gold chain in my ear. this face beyond. And that long festal year at Fontainebleau! I surely then could sometimes leave the ground. and more than perfect mouth. but brought a mind! Some women do so. this. I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat ± somewhat. that first time. this. ± And. So it seems ± Perhaps not.
Andrea del Sarto 95 Out of the grange whose four walls make his world. instead of mortar fierce bright gold.Robert Browning. ± come in. as God lives. whether you're ± not grateful ± but more pleased. Love. all I care for. Inside the melancholy little house We built to be so gay with. Come from the window. none cares how. Who. brick from brick Distinct. eyes tired out. Morello's gone. the watch-lights show the wall. Is. For. Too lifted up in heart because of it) `Friend. do you know. The triumph was to have ended there ± then if I reached it ere the triumph. 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 . . and I came home to your heart. let me think so. The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. King Francis may forgive me. only you to see. were he set to plan and execute As you are pricked on by your popes and kings. You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! `Rafael did this. . Well. 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. Lucrezia. who but Michel Angelo? Do you forget already words like those?) If really there was such a chance. there's a star. clearer grows My better fortune. but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out! Still. I resolve to think. so lost. thus the line should go! Ay. I am glad to judge Both pictures in your presence. what is lost? Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold. there's a certain sorry little scrub Goes up and down our Florence. Said one day Angelo. I have known it all these years . at last. How could it end in any other way? You called me. See. The walls become illumined. . if he spoke the truth. his very self. do you comprehend? I mean that I should earn more. Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!' To Rafael's! ± And indeed the arm is wrong. God is just. Andrea painted that. (What he? why. (When the young man was flaming out his thoughts Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see. it is settled dusk now. . But still the other's Virgin was his wife ±' Men will excuse me. give you more. Give the chalk here ± quick. I hardly dare ± yet. To Rafael . The Roman's is the better when you pray. Oft at nights When I look up from painting.
let smiles buy me! have you more to spend? While hand and eye and something of a heart Are left me. Well. Some good son Paint my two hundred pictures ± let him try! No doubt. My father and my mother died of want. Only let me sit The grey remainder of the evening out.96 Robert Browning. And built this house and sinned. One picture. Since there my past life lies. I take the subjects for his corridor. it seems to-night. work's my ware. What's better and what's all I care about. just one more ± the Virgin's face. one more chance ± Four great walls in the New Jerusalem. was tempted and complied. had I riches of my own? you see How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. Will you? Tomorrow. there. Andrea del Sarto That gold of his I did cement them with! Let us but love each other. and what's it worth? I'll pay my fancy. Must you go? That Cousin here again? he waits outside? Must see you ± you. but what does he. Not yours this time! I want you at my side To hear them ± that is. you call it. Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff ! Love. Yes. and all is said. What would one have? In heaven. They were born poor. lived poor. the whole should prove enough To pay for this same Cousin's freak. and not with me? Those loans! More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? Well. The Cousin! what does he to please you more? I am grown peaceful as old age tonight. Michel Angelo ± Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. And throw him in another thing or two If he demurs. Rafael. This must suffice me here. For Leonard. I would change still less. satisfy your friend. there's something strikes a balance. new chances. Idle. You loved me quite enough. perhaps. Beside. Meted on each side by the angel's reed. why alter it? The very wrong to Francis! it is true I took his coin. I regret little. and poor they died: And I have laboured somewhat in my time And not been paid profusely. does that please you? Ah. and muse perfectly How I could paint. Finish the portrait out of hand ± there. 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 . were I but back in France. Angelo and me To cover ± the three first without a wife.
to stray In spirit better through the land. Some old tomb's ruin: yonder weed Took up the floating weft. ± as I choose. 4 Where one small orange cup amassed Five beetles. Hold it fast! 5 The champaign with its endless fleece Of feathery grasses everywhere! Silence and passion. Such miracles performed in play. (Like turns of thread the spiders throw Mocking across our path) for rhymes To catch at and let go. This morn of Rome and May? 2 For me.Robert Browning. Such letting Nature have her way While Heaven looks from its towers. branching from the brickwork's cleft. We sat down on the grass. 265 Two in the Campagna 1 I wonder do you feel today As I have felt. through such lengths of hours. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . joy and peace. since. ± and last Everywhere on the grassy slope I traced it. I touched a thought. ± blind and green they grope Among the honey-meal. run to seed There. An everlasting wash of air ± Rome's ghost since her decease. my Love. 3 Help me to hold it: first it left The yellowing fennel. Two in the Campagna 97 While I have mine! So ± still they overcome Because there's still Lucrezia. 6 Such life there. Such primal naked forms of flowers. Again the Cousin's whistle! Go. hand in hand. I know. Has tantalised me many times.
As earth lies bare to heaven above. no bar. . whenever light winds blow. ± your part my part In life. How is it under our control To love or not to love? 8 I would that you were all to me. Let us be unashamed of soul. Onward. 11 Already how am I so far Out of that minute? Must I go Still like the thistle-ball. no more ± Nor yours. since wound must be? 9 I would I could adopt your will.98 Robert Browning. 35 40 45 50 55 60 A Grammarian's Funeral Time ± Shortly after the Revival of Learning in Europe Let us begin and carry up this corpse. I kiss your cheek. Singing together. nor mine. and drink my fill At your soul's springs. A Grammarian's Funeral 7 How say you? Let us. I yearn upward ± touch you close. for good and ill. and set my heart Beating by yours. 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. ± I pluck the rose And love it more than tongue can speak ± Then the good minute goes. You that are just so much. and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn. 10 No. Catch your soul's warmth. See with your eyes. O my dove. Then stand away. ± nor slave nor free! Where does the fault lie? what the core Of the wound.
whom we convoy to his grave aloft. Moaned he. Crowded with culture! All the peaks soar. man's thought. ± 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . Singing together.Robert Browning. and youth was gone! Cramped and diminished. darkling thorpe and croft. square chests. citied to the top. erect each head. yonder sparkle is the citadel's Circling its summit! Thither our path lies ± wind we up the heights ± Wait ye the warning? Our low life was the level's and the night's. the vulgar thorpes Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain. A Grammarian's Funeral 99 Leave we the common crofts. Theirs. Clouds overcome it. Rarer.) He knew the signal.' quoth he. Left play for work. `New measures. who most studied man. `thou keepest furled? Show me their shaping. and grappled with the world Bent on escaping: `What's in the scroll. Borne on our shoulders. Cared-for till cock-crow: Look out if yonder be not day again Rimming the rock-row! That's the appropriate country ± there. Seek we sepulture On a tall mountain. other feet anon! My dance is finished?' No. and stepped on with pride Over men's pity. He's for the morning! Step to a tune. No. He was a man born with thy face and throat. Lyric Apollo! Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note Winter would follow? Till lo. Make for the city. 'Ware the beholders! This is our master. the little touch. famous calm and dead. Sleep. but one the rest excels. Safe from the weather! He. Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop. as it ought. crop and herd! sleep. that's the world's way! (keep the mountainside. the bard and sage. Self-gathered for an outbreak. intenser. Chafes in the censer.
Others mistrust and say ± `But time escapes. Prate not of most or least. Painful or easy: Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast. `Up with the curtain!' This man said rather. this in him was the peculiar grace (Hearten our chorus) Still before living he'd learn how to live ± No end to learning. fresher than at first. he spurned it! Image the whole. ere you build. When he had gathered all books had to give. Ere mortar dab brick! (Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market-place Gaping before us. Accents uncertain: `Time to taste life. then execute the parts ± Fancy the fabric Quite. take a little rest!' ± not he! (Caution redoubled! Step two a-breast. When he had learned it.100 Robert Browning. Earn the means first ± God surely will contrive Use for our earning. Ay. Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon. Let me know all.' another would have said. Sooner. but we found him bald too ± eyes like lead. `Actual life comes next? Patience a moment! Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text. `What's Time? leave Now for dogs and apes! Man has For ever. `Now. he gowned him. A Grammarian's Funeral Give!' ± So. ± Live now or never!' He said.' Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head: Calculus racked him: Leaden before. ere steel strike fire from quartz. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . Straight got by heart that book to its last page: Learned. his eyes grew dross of lead: Tussis attacked him. Master. nor feel queasy!' Oh. such a life as he resolved to live.) Yea.) Not a whit troubled Back to his studies. we found him! Yea. the way winds narrowly. Still there's the comment.
That. (He loves the burthen) ± God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen? Did not he magnify the mind. here's the proper place: Hail to your purlieus All ye highfliers of the feathered race. and unperplext Seeking shall find Him. if we draw a circle premature. Lightnings are loosened. His hundred's soon hit: This high man. clouds form. This man decided not to Live but Know ± Bury this man there? Here ± here's his place. Misses an unit. aiming at a million. parts of speech were rife.Robert Browning. Dead from the waist down. Stars come and gol let joy break with the storm ± Peace let the dew send! 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 . `Hence with life's pale lure!' That low man seeks a little thing to do. Dies ere he knows it. Still. with a great thing to pursue. for they can. A Grammarian's Funeral 101 Oh. throws himself on God. or earth's failure: `Wilt thou trust death or not?' he answered `Yes. has the world here ± should he need the next. Let the world mind him! This. While he could stammer He settled Hoti's business ± let it be! ± Properly based Oun ± Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De. through the rattle. as fools do here. Sees it and does it: This high man. Well. here's the platform. sure Bad is our bargain! Was it not great? did not he throw on God. Ground he at grammar. Greedy for quick returns of profit. there. shew clear Just what it all meant? He would not discount life. So. with the throttling hands of Death at strife. Paid by instalment! He ventured neck or nothing ± heaven's success Found. Heedless of far gain. Swallows and curlews! Here's the top-peak! the multitude below Live. That low man goes on adding one to one. where meteors shoot.
With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek. the place is bleak Where. Never the Time and the Place Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying. warm sleep I and she. With a malice that marks each word. outside. if I strive to speak. Living and dying. ± I and she! 5 10 15 20 . safe. each sign! O enemy sly and serpentine. Outside are the storms and strangers: we ± Oh. 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. Leave him ± still loftier than the world suspects. rain and wind combine With a furtive ear.102 Robert Browning. close. But the house is narrow. 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.
what showers of spring' What winter floods. cannot go .Emily (Jane) Bronte È (1818±1848) `What winter floods. what showers of spring Have drenched the grass by night and day And yet beneath that spectre ring Unmoved and undiscovered lay A mute remembrancer of crime Long lost concealed forgot for years It comes at last to cancel time And waken unavailing tears 5 `Long neglect has worn away' Long neglect has worn away Half the sweet enchanting smile Time has turned the bloom to grey Mould and damp the face defile But that lock of silky hair Still beneath the picture twined Tells what once those features were Paints their image on the mind Fair the hand that traced that line `Dearest ever deem me true' Swiftly flew the fingers fine When the pen that motto drew 5 10 `The night is darkening round me' The night is darkening round me The wild winds coldly blow But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot.
`All hushed and still within the house' È The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow And the storm is fast descending And yet I cannot go Clouds beyond cloud above me. how happy! those are words' How still. The silent night of solemn calm. with weary pain ± Lost vision! 'tis enough for me ± Thou canst not shine again. where art thou now?' O Dream. how happy! those are words That once would scarce agree together . The summer-eve divine. I will not. 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. 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. Wastes beyond wastes below. The full moon's cloudless shine Were once entwined with thee But now. where art thou now? Long years have passed away Since last from off thine angel brow I saw the light decay ± Alas.104 Emily (Jane) Bronte. But nothing drear can move me. 5 10 15 `How still.
Emily (Jane) Bronte. the breezy weather. the day has wept its fill Spent its store of silent sorrow Oh I'm gone back to the days of youth I am a child once more 5 . soothing. 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. `Mild the mist upon the hill' 105 È I loved the plashing of the surge ± The changing heaven. how happy! now I feel Where silence dwells is sweeter far Than laughing mirth's most joyous swell However pure its raptures are Come sit down on this sunny stone 'Tis wintery light o'er flowerless moors ± But sit ± for we are all alone And clear expand heaven's breathless shores I could think in the withered grass Spring's budding wreaths we might discern The violet's eye might shyly flash And young leaves shoot among the fern It is but thought ± full many a night The snow shall clothe those hills afar And storms shall add a drearier blight And winds shall wage a wilder war Before the lark may herald in Fresh foliage twined with blossoms fair And summer days again begin Their glory-haloed crown to wear Yet my heart loves December's smile As much as July's golden beam Then let us sit and watch the while The blue ice curdling on the stream ± 25 5 10 15 20 30 `Mild the mist upon the hill' Mild the mist upon the hill Telling not of storms tomorrow No.
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. While moonbeams flash and fly so fast We scarce can say they smiled ± Come walk with me. How fair soe'er it grew The vital sap once perished Will never flow again And surer than that dwelling dread. 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. Can we not woo back old delights? The clouds rush dark and wild They fleck with shade our mountain heights The same as long ago And on the horizon rest at last In looming masses piled.106 Emily (Jane) Bronte. walk with me' È And 'neath my father's sheltering roof And near the old hall door I watch this cloudy evening fall After a day of rain Blue mists. though the soil be wet with tears. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . walk with me. `Come. So closer would my feelings twine Because they have no stay but thine ± `Nay call me not ± it may not be Is human love so true? Can Friendship's flower droop on for years And then revive anew? No. come walk with me. walk with me' Come. There's only thee To bless my spirit now ± We used to love on winter nights To wander through the snow.
and darkness lie. I welcome thee. Danger.Emily (Jane) Bronte. where guile. And cold suspicion never rise. and breathe New glories o'er the blighted spring And call a lovelier Life from Death. With never-failing thankfulness. And earthly change from pain to pain. Sure solacer of human cares. to bring The hovering vision back. and guilt. Benignant Power. Thy world. I trust not to thy phantom bliss. when hope despairs! 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 . indeed. And whisper. If but within our bosom's bound We hold a bright. and doubt. Warm with ten thousand mingled rays Of suns that know no winter days? Reason. And sweeter hope. Have undisputed sovereignty. and I. still. and hate. Yet. may oft complain For Nature's sad reality And tell the suffering heart how vain Its cherished dreams must always be. Of real worlds. thou art ever there. as bright as thine. in evening's quiet hour. What matters it. Thy kind voice calls me back again: Oh. Where thou. The world within I doubly prize. untroubled sky. with a voice divine. And Truth may rudely trample down The flowers of Fancy. And lost and ready to despair. 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. my true friend! I am not lone. that. all around. newly-blown: But. While thou canst speak with such a tone! So hopeless is the world without. and Liberty.
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. Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? Now. Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine! And even yet. Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine. cold in the dreary grave: Have I forgot. far removed. my only Love. Dare not indulge in Memory's rapturous pain. Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover That noble heart for ever. Remembrance È Remembrance (also known as `R. But when the days of golden dreams had perished And even Despair was powerless to destroy. All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given ± All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. I dare not let it languish. Then did I learn how existence could be cherished. No second morn has ever shone for me. to love thee. How could I seek the empty world again? 25 5 10 15 20 30 . Brenzaida') Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee! Far. Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish. ever more? Cold in the earth.108 Emily (Jane) Bronte. Then did I check the tears of useless passion. Hopes which obscure but cannot do thee wrong. Strengthened and fed without the aid of joy. do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains on Angora's shore. No later light has lightened up my heaven. when alone. Alcona to J. forgive if I forget thee While the World's tide is bearing me along: Other desires and other Hopes beset me.
and A. soft the matted floor. Rochelle (also known as `The Prisoner') Silent is the House ± all are laid asleep. Watching every cloud. One. your bolts and irons strong. That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?' The captive raised her face.Emily (Jane) Bronte.' 25 5 10 15 20 30 . Frown. It was so soft and mild. God forgive my youth. alone. open Warder stern!' He dare not say me nay ± the hinges harshly turn. Julian M. `and I am suffering now. Then. art thou so much to fear. Set your slaves to spy. its rays shoot strong and far: I trim it well to be the Wanderer's guiding-star. The little lamp burns straight. it was as soft and mild As sculptured marble saint or slumbering. Yet these are little worth. unweaned child.' she said. chide. 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. and A. And were they forged in steel they could not hold me long. `Draw the ponderous bars. my angry Dame.' I whispered gazing through The vault whose grated eye showed heaven more grey than blue (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride). `Confined in triple walls. G. nor prying serf shall know What angel nightly tracks that waste of winter snow. `Aye. Rochelle 109 È Julian M. looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep. Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door. Cheerful is the hearth. my haughty Sire. G. darkly lodged enough!' returned my sullen guide. In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray Reckless of the lives wasting there away. threaten me with shame. forgive my careless tongue! I scoffed as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung. `Our guests are darkly lodged. dreading every breeze That whirls the 'wildering drifts and bends the groaning trees. But neither sire nor dame.
eternal liberty. `Lord Julian. unless you deem it shame To own from conquered foe. A messenger of Hope comes every night to me. wilt melt my master's heart with groans? Ah sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones! My master's voice is low. Friend. When you my parents' lives ± my lost life can restore. Julian. Julian M. his aspect bland and kind. not more rough to see Than is the hidden ghost which has its home in me!' About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn: `My friend. Winds take a pensive tone and stars a tender fire. and A. alone. before!' Her head sank on her hands. for short life. I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom and desolate despair. never. And visions rise and change which kill me with desire ± 65 45 35 40 50 55 60 70 . its fair curls swept the ground. He comes with western winds. Dost think fond.110 Emily (Jane) Bronte. tell them. dreaming wretch that I shall grant thy prayer? Or better still. a once familiar name ± I can not wonder now at ought the world will do. `you have not heard me mourn.' she gently said. how former days upon my heart were borne. Rochelle È Hoarse laughed the jailor grim. too warmly. By ball or speedy knife or headsman's skilful blow ± A quick and welcome pang instead of lingering woe! Yet. yet. parted back the floating golden cloud. Alas. Then may I weep and sue ± but. G. But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind: And I am rough and rude. The dungeon seemed to swim in strange confusion round. And insult and contempt I lightly brook from you. too loving Child. can it be. How memory mirrored then the prisoner's joyous morn ± Too blithe. 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. And offers. half aloud. wildly gay! Was that the wintry close of thy celestial May? She knew me and she sighed. remember me? Nay start not at my words. Of all my playmates. And kneeling. with evening's wandering airs. you. `Is she so near to death?' I murmured. `Shall I be won to hear. all. With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars.
Earth's hope was not so dead. The struggle of distress and fierce impatience ends. He said. and A. My outward sense is gone. its home. dreadful is the check ± intense the agony When the ear begins to hear and the eye begins to see. if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm. or bright with heavenly shine If it but herald Death. the flagstones damp and foul. Then. When the pulse begins to throb. its harbour found. But first a hush of peace. Not daring now to touch one lock of silken hair ± As I had knelt in scorn. `You may be pleased. unanswering.' She ceased to speak and I. Mute music soothes my breast ± unuttered harmony That I could never dream till earth was lost to me. When. paced by the bolted door And shivered as he walked and as he shivered. watched her there. I'd leave this badge of mine with you Not doubting that you'd prove a jailor stern and true.Emily (Jane) Bronte. the vision is divine. the Unseen its truth reveals. The keeper. I saw. loosing off his belt the rusty dungeon key. the brain to think again. Rochelle 111 È Desire for nothing known in my maturer years When joy grew mad with awe at counting future tears. Julian M. yet did not see. my inward essence feels ± Its wings are almost free. a soundless calm descends. But duty will not let me linger here all day. to and fro. Measuring the gulf it stoops and dares the final bound! O. still to stay. Lord Julian. 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. swore ± While my cheek glowed in flame. The soul to feel the flesh and the flesh to feel the chain! Yet I would lose no sting. I heard and yet heard not the surly keeper growl. The more that anguish racks the earlier it will bless: And robed in fires of Hell. 105 85 75 80 90 95 100 110 . from sun or thunderstorm. would wish no torture less. heaven's home was not so dear: I read it in that flash of longing quelled by fear. My fingers in the links of that iron hard and chill. on the dank floor I knelt still. the captive's drooping lid Beneath its shady lash a sudden lightning hid.' I took the proffered charge. If I might go. I knew not whence they came. Then dawns the Invisible. G.
faint. she turned aside from noon's unwonted beam. the battle-standard wave But Julian had no heart to fill a patriot's grave. Another hand than mine my rightful banner held And gathered my renown on Freedom's crimson field. Rochelle È Then like a tender child whose hand did just enfold Safe in its eager grasp a bird it wept to hold. Yet I had no desire the glorious prize to gain ± It needed braver nerve to face the world's disdain. Oh. unswerving constancy. more than I could dream ± When. Then oft with taunting smile.' And I. contempt and calumny. Thus ruth and selfish love together striving tore The heart all newly taught to pity and adore. to scorn a coward's fear ± I held my peace like one whose conscience keeps him dumb And saw my kinsmen go ± and lingered still at home. I earned at last an equal love from thee! 145 125 115 120 130 135 140 150 . G. Rochelle. How the trumpet's voice might call. I heard my kindred tell `How Julian loved his hearth and sheltering rooftree well.112 Emily (Jane) Bronte. with calm mind. If I should break the chain I felt my bird would go. While foes were prowling near and Death gazed greedily And only Hope remained a faithful friend to me. Through thirteen anxious weeks of terror-blent delight I guarded her by day and guarded her by night. By never-doubting love. And by the patient strength that could that world defy. Yet I must break the chain or seal the prisoner's woe. When though the cage was wide ± the heaven around it lay ± Its pinion would not waft my wounded dove away. who am so quick to answer sneer with sneer. the dungeons teem with foes to gorge our hate ± Thou art too young to die by such a bitter fate!' With hurried blow on blow I struck the fetters through Regardless how that deed my after hours might rue. So ready to condemn. Short strife! what rest could soothe ± what peace could visit me While she lay pining there for Death to set her free? `Rochelle. Julian M. 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. and A. By suffering. When pierced with one wild glance from the troubled hazel eye It gushes into tears and lets its treasure fly.
`No coward soul is mine' 113 È `No coward soul is mine' No coward soul is mine No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere I see Heaven's glories shine And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear O God within my breast Almighty ever-present Deity Life. sustains. that in me hast rest As I Undying Life. Worthless as withered weeds Or idlest froth amid the boundless main To waken doubt in one Holding so fast by thy infinity So surely anchored on The steadfast rock of Immortality With wide-embracing love Thy Spirit animates eternal years Pervades and broods above. unutterably vain. creates and rears Though Earth and moon were gone And suns and universes ceased to be And thou wert left alone Every Existence would exist in thee There is not room for Death Nor atom that his might could render void Since thou are Being and Breath And what thou art may never be destroyed 25 5 10 15 20 .Emily (Jane) Bronte. dissolves. have power in thee Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts. Changes.
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers. flooding in. And as things have been. The `Help us or we perish. in yon smoke concealed. how slowly.Arthur Hugh Clough (1819±1861) `Say not the struggle naught availeth' Say not the struggle naught availeth. the main. If hopes were dupes. And when [we] feel our feet beneath us sink. There are who walk beside us. and whispers in our ear. And. look! the land is bright. 5 10 15 `That there are powers above us I admit' That there are powers above us I admit. Commands the waves. The labor and the wounds are vain. A hand that is not ours upstays our steps. And not by eastern windows only. 5 10 . comes in the light. Far back through creeks and inlets making Comes silent. It may be that in deed and not in fancy. It may be. That when we see the o'ertopping waves advance. An evanescent spectrum of disease. When daylight comes. In front the sun climbs slow. But westward. The enemy faints not nor faileth. things remain. For while the tired waves vainly breaking. A voice that is not ours commands the waves. Seem here no painful inch to gain. possess the field. but for you. and the cry That rises so spontaneous to the lips. fears may be liars.' is not nought. It may be true too That while we walk the troublous tossing sea.
I believe. why didst thou doubt? At any rate ± That there are beings above us. And when we lift up holy hands of prayer. `That there are powers above us I admit' 115 O thou of little faith.Arthur Hugh Clough. 15 . I will not say they will not give us aid.
With echoing straits between us thrown. And they are swept by balms of spring. At this vessel's prow I stand. they feel. The nightingales divinely sing. Across the sounds and channels pour. and sick of asking What I am. which bears me Forwards. estranging sea. salt. and what I ought to be. The islands feel the enclasping flow. Dotting the shoreless watery wild. Oh then a longing like despair Is to their farthest caverns sent. on starry nights. that their longing's fire Should be. a God their severance ruled! And bade betwixt their shores to be The unplumbed. And then their endless bounds they know. But when the moon their hollows lights. Now round us spreads the watery plain ± Oh might our marges meet again! Who ordered. as soon as kindled. cooled? Who renders vain their deep desire? A God. ± For surely once. from shore to shore.Matthew Arnold (1822±1888) To Marguerite In Returning a Volume of the Letters of Ortis Yes: in the sea of life enisled. 5 10 15 20 Self-Dependence Weary of myself. o'er the starlit sea. And in their glens. We mortal millions live alone. we were Parts of a single continent. And lovely notes. . forwards.
On my heart your mighty charm renew: Still. The tide is full. out in the tranquil bay. severely clear. These attain the mighty life you see. And the sea its long moon-silvered roll.' O air-born Voice! long since. In their own tasks all their powers pouring.Matthew Arnold.' I cried. sympathy. ye Waters. once more. Over the lit sea's unquiet way. on the French coast. In the rustling night-air came the answer ± `Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they. and fling. sweet is the night air! Only. ah. 5 10 . and unobservant In what state God's other works may be. and know that he. `Ah. from the long line of spray Where the ebb meets the moon-blanched land. nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul. `Resolve to be thyself. 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. compose me to the end. clear. `And with joy the stars perform their shining.' From the intense. `ye Stars. star-sown vault of heaven. Who finds himself. the moon lies fair Upon the Straits. For alone they live. loses his misery!' 25 5 10 15 20 30 Dover Beach The sea is calm tonight. and is gone. amusement. Calm me. still let me. Glimmering and vast. Feel my soul becoming vast like you. Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves suck back. These demand not that the things without them Yield them love. the cliffs of England stand. Come to the window. `Unaffrighted by the silence round them. `Bounded by themselves. the light Gleams. A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear. Undistracted by the sights they see.
long withdrawing roar. The Scholar-Gipsy At their return. and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery. and told them that the people he went with were not such impostors as they were taken for. but that they had a traditional kind of learning among them. Nor certitude. down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. who had formerly been of his acquaintance.118 Matthew Arnold. They quickly spied out their old friend among the gipsies. With tremulous cadence slow. Begin. 1661. and could do wonders by the power of imagination.' ± Glanvil's Vanity of Dogmatizing. let us be true To one another! for the world. nor light. nor peace. . who was by his poverty forced to leave his studies there. and then again begin. and give the world an account of what he had learned. Hath really neither joy. Among these extravagant people. nor love. at the full. Where ignorant armies clash by night. love. he quickly got so much of their love and esteem as that they discovered to him their mystery. and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight. which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams. he said. he intended. and cease. But now I only hear Its melancholy. by the insinuating subtilty of his carriage. and when he had compassed the whole secret. and he gave them an account of the necessity which drove him to that kind of life. After he had been a pretty while well exercised in the trade. So various. we Find also in the sound a thought. so beautiful. too. Hearing it by this distant northern sea. Retreating to the breath Of the night-wind. Ah. and at last to join himself to a company of vagabond gipsies. 15 20 25 30 35 The Scholar-Gipsy `There was very lately a lad in the University of Oxford. their fancy binding that of others: that himself had learned much of their art. nor help for pain. The sea of faith Was once. and bring The eternal note of sadness in. so new. there chanced to ride by a couple of scholars. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the ágean. to leave their company. up the high strand.
And here till sun-down. whom at college erst he knew Met him. where the reaper was at work of late. While to my ear from uplands far away The bleating of the folded flocks is borne. Whereat he answered. years after. And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves. had arts to rule as they desired 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 . Here. Come. With distant cries of reapers in the corn ± All the live murmur of a summer's day. tired of knocking at Preferment's door. where he leaves His coat. But once. Go. as most men deemed. And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's book ± Come. his basket. And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest. His mates. comes back his stores to use. and of his way of life enquired. and his earthen cruise. The Scholar-Gipsy 119 Go. and rustle down their perfumed showers Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid. Here will I sit and wait. In this high field's dark corner. Screened is this nook o'er the high. to little good. Who.Matthew Arnold. One summer morn forsook His friends. Shepherd. and went to learn the Gipsy lore. and untie the wattled cotes: No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed. in the country lanes Two scholars. from the hill. half-reaped field. Shepherd. But came to Oxford and his friends no more. and again renew the quest. will I be. 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. Then here. And only the white sheep are sometimes seen Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanched green. And bower me from the August sun with shade. at noon. that the Gipsy crew. But when the fields are still. let me read the oft-read tale again. for they call you. Shepherd. And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers. Nor the cropped herbage shoot another head. And came. And roamed the world with that wild brotherhood. Shepherd. The story of the Oxford scholar poor Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain. Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats.
The Scholar-Gipsy The workings of men's brains. The same the Gipsies wore. For most. Thee. And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats.' he said. thou lov'st retired ground. And they can bind them to what thoughts they will: `And I.120 Matthew Arnold. In hat of antique shape. Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers ± the frail-leafed. But. And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place.' This said. will to the world impart: But it needs happy moments for this skill. Wanderer. On the warm ingle bench. and cloak of grey. That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray. Oxford riders blithe. Returning home on summer nights. And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream And then they land. As the slow punt swings round: And leaning backward in a pensive dream. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring. on thy trace. at the ferry. and returned no more. But rumours hung about the countryside. At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors. Seen by rare glimpses. Maidens. Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam. he would fly: And I myself seem half to know thy looks. Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . Or in my boat I lie Moored to the cool bank in the summer heats. who from the distant hamlets come To dance around the Fyfield elm in May. Or cross a stile into the public way. When fully learned. 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. pensive and tongue-tied. And watch the warm green muffled Cumnor hills. have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe. I know. mid their drink and clatter. Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills. he left them. And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers Plucked in shy fields and distant woodland bowers. And put the shepherds. `the secret of their art. the smock-frocked boors Had found him seated at their entering. and thou art seen no more.
Where at her open door the housewife darns. on the skirts of Bagley Wood Where most the Gipsies by the turf-edged way Pitch their smoked tents. nor fears at all. when haytime's here In June. But what ± I dream! Two hundred years are flown Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls. Have known thee watching. when they came from bathing. above Godstow Bridge. Have I not passed thee on the wooden bridge. And marked thee. Thy face towards Hinksey and its wintry ridge? And thou hast climbed the hill. while thick the snowflakes fall. Thou hast been seen. when the stars come out and shine. and soft abstracted air.Matthew Arnold. The Scholar-Gipsy 121 And. The line of festal light in Christ-Church hall ± Then sought thy straw in some sequestered grange. nor stops his meal. and many a scythe in sunshine flames. In Autumn. Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow. in winter. twirling in thy hand a withered spray. on the causeway chill Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go. But. And waiting for the spark from Heaven to fall. To bathe in the abandoned lasher pass. Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass Where black-winged swallows haunt the glittering Thames. And gained the white brow of the Cumnor range. thy figure spare. Have often passed thee near Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown: Marked thy outlandish garb. The springing pastures and the feeding kine. Through the long dewy grass move slow away. At some lone homestead in the Cumnor hills. thou wert gone. Turned once to watch. and every bush you see With scarlet patches tagged and shreds of grey. Thy dark vague eyes. who early range these slopes and late For cresses from the rills. So often has he known thee past him stray Rapt. or hanging on a gate To watch the threshers in the mossy barns. And once. And the grave Glanvil did the tale inscribe That thou wert wandered from the studious walls 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . Children. Above the forest ground called Thessaly ± The blackbird picking food Sees thee. all an April day.
Who hesitate and falter life away. and in some quiet churchyard laid. Which much to have tried. in hope. But thou possessest an immortal lot. but not. And each half lives a hundred different lives. O life unlike to ours! Who fluctuate idly without term or scope. brings. Of whom each strives. red-fruited yew-tree's shade. Because thou hadst ± what we. again. one business. alas. Thou waitest for the spark from Heaven and we. thou hast not felt the lapse of hours. no. and join a Gipsy tribe: And thou from earth art gone Long since. Light half-believers of our casual creeds. Some country nook. The Scholar-Gipsy To learn strange arts. with powers Fresh. like other men. And we ourselves shall go. The generations of thy peers are fled. For what wears out the life of mortal men? 'Tis that from change to change their being rolls: 'Tis that repeated shocks. where o'er thy unknown grave Tall grasses and white flowering nettles wave. Free from the sick fatigue. Who wait like thee. Till having used our nerves with bliss and teen. Exhaust the energy of strongest souls. Who never deeply felt. For whom each year we see Breeds new beginnings. nor clearly willed. And we imagine thee exempt from age And living as thou liv'st on Glanvil's page. like thee. For early didst thou leave the world. Under a dark. so? Thou hadst one aim. undiverted to the world without. and are ± what we have been. Thou hast not lived. not spent on other things. Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds. To the just-pausing Genius we remit Our worn-out life. in much been baffled. And numb the elastic powers. the languid doubt. why should'st thou perish. have not. again.122 Matthew Arnold. nor knows for what he strives. And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit. disappointments new. Whose vague resolves never have been fulfilled. 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 . Firm to their mark. ± No. thy fire. one desire: Else wert thou long since numbered with the dead ± Else hadst thou spent.
And waive all claim to bliss. And how the breast was soothed. our contact fear! Still fly. Before this strange disease of modern life. too near neighbour to Despair: But none has hope like thine. On some mild pastoral slope Emerge. Freshen thy flowers. And wish the long unhappy dream would end. Who most has suffered. Its heads o'ertaxed. a truant boy. And all his hourly varied anodynes. O born in days when wits were fresh and clear.Matthew Arnold. Roaming the country side. Tells us his misery's birth and growth and signs. takes dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne. And then we suffer and amongst us One. Sad Patience. to the nightingales. Wanderer. and how the head. or listen with enchanted ears. From the dark dingles. we await it. And all his store of sad experience he Lays bare of wretched days. and try to bear With close-lipped Patience for our only friend. Still clutching the inviolable shade. and keep thy solitude! Still nursing the unconquerable hope. And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames. And how the dying spark of hope was fed. By night. and resting on the moonlit pales. Thou through the fields and through the woods dost stray. And every doubt long blown by time away. The Scholar-Gipsy 123 And lose tomorrow the ground won today ± Ah! do not we. as Dido did with gesture stern From her false friend's approach in Hades turn. With dew. This for our wisest: and we others pine. as in former years. its divided aims. where none pursue. was rife ± Fly hence. but it still delays. plunge deeper in the bowering wood! Averse. Nursing thy project in unclouded joy. the silvered branches of the glade ± Far on the forest skirts. Wave us away. With a free onward impulse brushing through. With its sick hurry. 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 . its palsied hearts. await it too? Yes.
And snatched his rudder. 225 230 235 240 245 250 . Fade. Green bursting figs. Then fly our greetings. and like us unblest. our feverish contact fly! For strong the infection of our mental strife. And saw the merry Grecian coaster come. The young light-hearted Masters of the waves. To where the Atlantic raves Outside the Western Straits. The Scholar-Gipsy But fly our paths. And on the beach undid his corded bales. yet spoils for rest. Freighted with amber grapes. Which. Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily. Descried at sunrise an emerging prow Lifting the cool-haired creepers stealthily. The fringes of a southward-facing brow Among the ágean isles. Soon. And day and night held on indignantly O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale. and unbent sails There. And we should win thee from thy own fair life. And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made: And then thy glad perennial youth would fade. where down cloudy cliffs. and Chian wine. though it gives no bliss. and unfixed thy powers. fly our speech and smiles! ± As some grave Tyrian trader.124 Matthew Arnold. Like us distracted. and tunnies steeped in brine. and shook out more sail. and grow old at last and die like ours. Thy hopes grow timorous. soon thy cheer would die. the dark Iberians come. from the sea. Shy traffickers. through sheets of foam. And knew the intruders on his ancient home.
But a white rose of Mary's gift On the neck meetly worn. ± By God built over the sheer depth In which Space is begun.) It was the terrace of God's house That she was standing on. . . Was yellow like ripe corn. She could scarce see the sun. The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers. that looking downward thence. . . She had three lilies in her hand. And the stars in her hair were seven. ± her hair Fell all about my face . Her robe. lying down her back. . (To one it is ten years of years: . . 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Yet now. even. ungirt from clasp to hem. . Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves. The whole year sets apace. here in this place Surely she leaned o'er me. . No wrought flowers did adorn. And her hair. Albeit to them she left. as a bridge. So high. Her seemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers.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. . . It lies from Heaven across the flood Of ether. . . her day Had counted as ten years.
withheld. And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. as when The stars sang in their spheres. to pierce The swarm: and then she spake. Playing at holy games. Went by her like thin flames.126 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. among themselves. she saw Time. Till her bosom's pressure must have made The bar she leaned on warm. Spake. shake fierce Through all the worlds. Their virginal chaste names. Her gaze still strove. For he will come. And we will step down as to a stream And bathe there in God's sight. Beyond all depth or height. And he is clothed in white. the tides of day and night With flame and blackness ridge The void. mounting up to God. From the fixt lull of heaven. and go with him To the deep wells of light. and stooped Into the vast waste calm. like a pulse. I'll take his hand. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 . `I wish that he were come to me. `We two will stand beside that shrine. And the souls. it was The peace of utter light And silence. untrod. some of her new friends. But in those tracts. Heard hardly.' she said. gentle-mouthed. In that steep gulph. And still she bowed herself. as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. has he not prayed? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? `When round his head the aureole clings. with her. `Have I not prayed in solemn heaven? On earth. Occult. no echo there. For no breeze may stir Along the steady flight Of seraphim. The Blessed Damozel Beneath.
With her five handmaidens. Gertrude. lying so. . `And I myself. white like flame. And where each need. Weaving the golden thread. To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born. `Circle-wise sit they. While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His name audibly. Margaret. will teach to him ± I myself. `will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is. `He shall fear haply. Then I will lay my cheek 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 . being dead. Alas for lonely Heaven! Alas For life wrung out alone! Alas. ± The songs I sing here. Into the fine cloth. hushed and slow. and be dumb. revealed. ± Her voice had caught their tone. Magdalen. expects Its patient period. with bound locks And bosoms covered. which his mouth Shall pause in. `We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Sometimes is felt to be. The Blessed Damozel 127 Whose lamps tremble continually With prayer sent up to God. Finding some knowledge at each pause And some new thing to know. whose names Are five sweet symphonies: ± Cecily.' (Alas! to her wise simple mind These things were all but known Before: they trembled on her sense. . though they would?) `We two. and though the end were reached? .Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 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. and Rosalys.' she said.
verily.128 Dante Gabriel Rossetti.) 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 .' She ceased. and let me speak. ± being as then At peace. filled With Angels.) But soon their flight Was vague 'mid the poised spheres. and listened.' She gazed. To Him round whom all souls Kneel ± the unnumbered solemn heads Bowed with their aureoles: And Angels. And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers. We two will live at once. Not once abashed or weak: And the dear Mother will approve My pride. (I saw her smile. hand in hand. The light thrilled past her. And peace shall be with us. Less sad of speech than mild: `All this is when he comes. and tell about our love. and she smiled. (I heard her tears. shall sing To their citherns and citoles. one life. but to be As then we were. `There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me: ± To have more blessing than on earth In nowise. And laid her face between her hands. Part I Youth and Change To his. and then said. Yea. And wept. `Herself shall bring us. `Yea. when he is come We will do thus and thus: Till this my vigil seem quite strange And almost fabulous. meeting us. in strong level lapse. verily. Her eyes prayed.
± Oh let thy silent song disclose to me That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree Like married music in Love's answering air. ± A spirit when her spirit looked through me. Fain had I watched her when.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. I was a child beneath her touch. ± Sweet fluttering sheet. ± A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood. First touched. Fire within fire. The bliss so long afar. at some fond thought. 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. desire in deity. Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Can rob this body of honour. at length so nigh. Whereof the articulate throbs accompany The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair. 5 10 . the hand now warm around my neck Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo! Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow. Where one shorn tress long stirred the longing ache: And next the heart that trembled for its sake Lies the queen-heart in sovereign overthrow. 5 10 Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Warmed by her hand and shadowed by her hair As close she leaned and poured her heart through thee. Methinks proud Love must weep When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap The sacred hour for which the years did sigh. ± a man When breast to breast we clung. Her bosom to the writing closelier pressed. and no man sees but I. Rests there attained. 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. till love's emulous ardours ran. even I and she. and the deep Calls to the deep. And her breast's secrets peered into her breast. even of her breath aware.
Is like a hand laid softly on the soul. the long wood's counterpart. Of thee what word remains ere speech be still? A wayfarer by barren ways and chill. Even now. whose voice. as for our love-world's new sunrise. attuned above All modulation of the deep-bowered dove. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture When. her soul sought My soul. What of the heart without her? Nay. without her thou art. whose summoning eyes. Her paths without her? Day's appointed sway Usurped by desolate night. thou my love. what kiss mine inmost heart can prove. Linked in gyves I saw them stand. Whose hand is like a sweet voice to control Those worn tired brows it hath the keeping of: ± What word can answer to thy word. Her dress without her? The tossed empty space Of cloud-rack whence the moon has passed away. through eyes raised an instant. Sheds doubled darkness up the labouring hill. O lovely and beloved. Her pillowed place Without her? Tears.130 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Steep ways and weary. and from the sudden confluence caught The words that made her love the loveliest. Whose kiss seems still the first. ± what gaze To thine. hand to hand: . ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love Life-thwarted. 5 10 Sonnet LIV: Love's Fatality Sweet Love. Love shackled with vain-longing. And cold forgetfulness of night or day. 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. Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture Thou lovely and beloved. Shed very dawn. ah me! for love's good grace. Where the long cloud. which now absorbs within its sphere My worshipping face. poor heart. till I am mirrored there Light-circled in a heaven of deep-drawn rays? What clasp.
Till eve bring rest when other good things pass. The sky and sea bend on thee. By sea or sky or woman. 5 10 Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty Under the arch of Life. for longing. thus leashed with me! Wing-footed thou. Terror and mystery. ± which can draw. Hers are the eyes which. I drew it in as simply as my breath. and will not let him shun The day. to one law. ± Life's iron heart.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. guard her shrine. Made moan: `Alas O love. while from hillock-eaves The deer gaze calling. Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew. in chains grown tame. Also his lips. wing-shouldered. ± Bound to thy body and soul. And here the lost hours the lost hours renew While I still lead my shadow o'er the grass. This is that Lady Beauty. As if. 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. even as in his whose wand Vainly all night with spell-wrought power has spanned The unyielding caves of some deep treasure-trove. over and beneath. the sun Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves. I saw Beauty enthroned.' 5 10 Part II: Change and Fate Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness This sunlight shames November where he grieves In dead red leaves. Nor know. But with a blessing every glade receives High salutation. being foresters of old. where love and death. in whose praise Thy voice and hand shake still. two writhen flakes of flame. though bough with bough be overrun. thy cowering self. The alloted bondman of her palm and wreath. that which I should do. and though her gaze struck awe. ± long known to thee 5 10 . dappled white and dun. once born free: And I. named with thy name. even Love's Fatality. Here dawn today unveiled her magic glass.
± let the first fruit be: Even as thou sayest. 'Mid hurrying crowds. young while the earth is old. Lilith. Till heart and body and life are in its hold. and left his straight neck bent And round his heart one strangling golden hair. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXI: Memorial Thresholds Á What place so strange. ± what passion of surprise Like frost-bound fire-girt scenes of long ago? Lo! this is none but I this hour. as once of yore: Or mocking winds whirl round a chaff-strown floor Thee and thy years and these my words and me. And still she sits. How passionately and irretrievably. City. And. whom shed scent And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine.132 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. ere the snake's. how many ways and days! Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty Of Adam's first wife. with what alone I know. it is told (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve. of thine a single simple door. O Lilith. pluck not. Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave. and lo! This is the very place which to mine eyes Those mortal hours in vain immortalize. her sweet tongue could deceive. must be Even yet my life-porch in eternity. Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty By flying hair and fluttering hem. In what fond flight. The rose and poppy are her flowers. Even with one presence filled. And her enchanted hair was the first gold. . for where Is he not found. ± though unrevealed snow With unimaginable fires arise At the earth's end. it is sweet and red. ± the beat Following her daily of thy heart and feet. 5 10 Sonnet LXXXII: Hoarded Joy I said: `Nay. By some new Power reduplicate.) That. subtly of herself contemplative. so went Thy spell through him.
± Then shalt thou see me smile. And the woods wail like echoes from the sea. And claim our fruit before its ripeness fade.' 5 10 Sonnet XCVII: A Superscription Look in my face. The tree's bent head Sees in the stream its own fecundity And bides the day of fulness. And eat it from the branch and praise the tree?' I say: `Alas! our fruit hath wooed the sun Too long. ± 'tis fallen and floats adown the stream. Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen. the last clusters! Pluck them every one.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Mark me. Too-late. ere the gleam Of autumn set the year's pent sorrow free. Shall not we At the sun's hour that day possess the shade. my name is Might-have-been. And let us sup with summer. 5 10 Sonnet CI: The One Hope When vain desire at last and vain regret Go hand in hand to death. and all is vain. Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen Which had Life's form and Love's. Lo. and turn apart Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes. ± 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. Sonnet CI: The One Hope 133 But let it ripen still. Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between. I am also called No-more. 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. but by my spell Is now a shaken shadow intolerable. ± 5 10 . Farewell. What shall assuage the unforgotten pain And teach the unforgetful to forget? Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet.
and wondered more: for there she lay. and slid away. Can day from darkness ever again take flight? Ah! gave not these two hearts their mutual pledge. So singly flagged the pulses of each heart. ± Not less nor more.134 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Under one mantle sheltered 'neath the hedge In gloaming courtship? And. through gleams Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day. Till from some wonder of new woods and streams He woke. Nuptial Sleep Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er But only the one Hope's one name be there. our English nightingale. ± `Leave me ± I do not know you ± go away!' 5 10 . ± but what part Can life now take? She cries in her locked heart. 5 10 `Found' (For a Picture) `There is a budding morrow in midnight:' ± So sang our Keats. as lamps across the bridge turn pale In London's smokeless resurrection-light. But o'er the deadly blight Of Love deflowered and sorrow of none avail Which makes this man gasp and this woman quail. Fawned on each other where they lay apart. Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams. And here. with sweet smart: And as the last slow sudden drops are shed From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled. O God! today He only knows he holds her. Nuptial Sleep At length their long kiss severed. And their dreams watched them sink. burnt red. yet still their mouths. Their bosoms sundered. with the opening start Of married flowers to either side outspread From the knit stem. Dark breaks to dawn. Slowly their souls swam up again. but even that word alone.
Bloom-down-cheeked peaches. 5 10 15 . Gone far away into the silent land. dewberries. Fair eves that fly. Wild free-born cranberries. come buy: Apples and quinces. When you can no more hold me by the hand. Lemons and oranges. ± All ripe together In summer weather. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember. Plump unpecked cherries. ± Morns that pass by. Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Remember me when I am gone away. Swart-headed mulberries. Apricots. you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had. Pine-apples. strawberries. Melons and raspberries. blackberries. Come buy.Christina G. Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. 5 10 Goblin Market Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. Crab-apples. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me. Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
' Laura said. Figs to fill your mouth. `Oh. How warm the wind must blow Through those fruit bushes. One bears a plate.' cried Lizzie. One hauls a basket. Covered close lest they should look. 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 . Lizzie veiled her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather. Down the glen tramp little men. Laura. Their offers should not charm us. no. Dates and sharp bullaces. One lugs a golden dish Of many pounds weight. no. come buy: Our grapes fresh from the vine.' Evening by evening Among the brookside rushes.' `No. With tingling cheeks and finger tips. Pricking up her golden head: `We must not look at goblin men. Pomegranates full and fine. You should not peep at goblin men. We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?' `Come buy. With clasping arms and cautioning lips. How fair the vine must grow Whose grapes are so luscious. `Laura. And whispered like the restless brook: `Look.' said Lizzie: `No. Damsons and bilberries. `Lie close. Laura reared her glossy head. Lizzie. look. Lizzie. come buy. Sweet to tongue and sound to eye. Rare pears and greengages. Laura bowed her head to hear. Goblin Market Come buy.' Lizzie covered up her eyes. Bright-fire-like barberries. Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries.136 Christina G. Citrons from the South. Come buy.' call the goblins Hobbling down the glen. Rossetti.
Brother with queer brother.' When they reached where Laura was They stood stock still upon the moss. 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 . come buy. The rat-paced spoke a word Of welcome. come buy. One crawled like a snail. Like a vessel at the launch When its last restraint is gone. Like a moonlit poplar branch. Like a lily from the beck. With their shrill repeated cry. Laura stared but did not stir. and the snail-paced even was heard. One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry. One tramped at a rat's pace. Signalling each other. One whisked a tail.' was still their cry. Goblin Market 137 Their evil gifts would harm us. One heaved the golden weight Of dish and fruit to offer her: `Come buy. The cat-faced purred. leaves. Laura stretched her gleaming neck Like a rush-imbedded swan. shut eyes and ran: Curious Laura chose to linger Wondering at each merchant man. Longed but had no money: The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste In tones as smooth as honey. One set his basket down. `Come buy. and rough nuts brown (Men sell not such in any town). Brother with sly brother. One had a cat's face.Christina G. Rossetti. Backwards up the mossy glen Turned and trooped the goblin men. One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry. One began to weave a crown Of tendrils. Leering at each other.' She thrust a dimpled finger In each ear. One reared his plate. She heard a voice like voice of doves Cooing all together: They sounded kind and full of loves In the pleasant weather.
And knew not was it night or day As she turned home alone. Do you not remember Jeanie. To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse. 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. And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusty heather. Found them no more but dwindled and grew grey. She never tasted such before. Lizzie met her at the gate Full of wise upbraidings: `Dear. She sucked until her lips were sore. Then fell with the first snow. How she met them in the moonlight. Then flung the emptied rinds away But gathered up one kernel-stone. Twilight is not good for maidens. Should not loiter in the glen In the haunts of goblin men. Sought them by night and day. Stronger than man-rejoicing wine.' She clipped a precious golden lock. Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: Sweeter than honey from the rock. Took their gifts both choice and many. She dropped a tear more rare than pearl. Rossetti. Goblin Market One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried `Pretty Goblin' still for `Pretty Polly. you should not stay so late.' ± One whistled like a bird.' They answered all together: `Buy from us with a golden curl. I have no coin. I have no silver either. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 . How should it cloy with length of use? She sucked and sucked and sucked the more Fruits which that unknown orchard bore. But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: `Good folk. Clearer than water flowed that juice.138 Christina G.' `You have much gold upon your head.
and pure the wave they drink With lilies at the brink. Not a bat flapped to and fro Round their nest: Cheek to cheek and breast to breast Locked together in one nest. Moon and stars gazed in at them. What peaches with a velvet nap. Neat like bees. And sugar-sweet their sap. hush. I'll bring you plums to-morrow Fresh on their mother twigs. Yet my mouth waters still. Cherries worth getting. You should not loiter so. my sister: I ate and ate my fill. Rossetti. Wind sang to them lullaby.' said Laura: `Nay. Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other's wings. They lay down in their curtained bed: Like two blossoms on one stem. hush. Like two wands of ivory Tipped with gold for awful kings. Lumbering owls forbore to fly. To-morrow night I will Buy more:' and kissed her: `Have done with sorrow. milked the cows.Christina G. Like two flakes of new-fallen snow. What melons icy-cold Piled on a dish of gold Too huge for me to hold. 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 . 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. Pellucid grapes without one seed: Odorous indeed must be the mead Whereon they grow. You cannot think what figs My teeth have met in.' `Nay.' Golden head by golden head. Early in the morning When the first cock crowed his warning. as sweet and busy. Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetched in honey.
sat and sewed. tumbling. hobbling. Next churned butter. The stars rise. Till Lizzie urged. Lizzie most placid in her look. One warbling for the mere bright day's delight. Let us get home before the night grows dark: 205 210 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 . One longing for the night. the wind not chill: Listening ever. not another maiden lags. Laura. And said the hour was early still. No wilful squirrel wags. In groups or single. Come. `O Laura. Laura in an absent dream. Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags. come. come buy. Of brisk fruit-merchant men. One content. Laura most like a leaping flame. one sick in part. I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look: You should not loiter longer at this brook: Come with me home. The beasts and birds are fast asleep. Let alone the herds That used to tramp along the glen.140 Christina G. whisking.' But Laura loitered still among the rushes And said the bank was steep.' With its iterated jingle Of sugar-baited words: Not for all her watching Once discerning even one goblin Racing. Then turning homewards said: `The sunset flushes Those furthest loftiest crags. Talked as modest maidens should: Lizzie with an open heart. Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat. `Come buy. Each glowworm winks her spark. the moon bends her arc. but not catching The customary cry. At length slow evening came: They went with pitchers to the reedy brook. whipped up cream. Goblin Market Aired and set to rights the house. The dew not fallen. Fed their poultry. Rossetti. They drew the gurgling water from its deep. Cakes for dainty mouths to eat.
nought discerning. Rossetti. Laura kept watch in vain In sullen silence of exceeding pain. It never saw the sun. `Come buy our fruits. as the fair full moon doth turn To swift decay and burn Her fire away. 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 . and wept As if her heart would break.' ± She never spied the goblin men Hawking their fruits along the glen: But when the noon waxed bright Her hair grew thin and grey. Watched for a waxing shoot. And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. It never felt the trickling moisture run: While with sunk eyes and faded mouth She dreamed of melons. Goblin Market 141 For clouds may gather Though this is summer weather. Dewed it with tears. her pitcher dripping all the way. as a traveller sees False waves in desert drouth With shade of leaf-crowned trees.Christina G. One day remembering her kernel-stone She set it by a wall that faced the south.' Must she then buy no more such dainty fruits? Must she no more such succous pasture find. And gnashed her teeth for baulked desire. Put out the lights and drench us through. and lay Silent till Lizzie slept. Day after day. Then sat up in a passionate yearning. But there came none. come buy. Trudged home. She dwindled. So crept to bed. Gone deaf and blind? Her tree of life drooped from the root: She said not one word in her heart's sore ache. come buy. That goblin cry. hoped for a root. night after night. Then if we lost our way what should we do?' Laura turned cold as stone To find her sister heard that cry alone. She never caught again the goblin cry: `Come buy. But peering thro' the dimness.
Full of airs and graces. Till Laura dwindling Seemed knocking at Death's door: Then Lizzie weighed no more Better and worse. clapping. But who for joys brides hope to have Fell sick and died In her gay prime. Fetched honey. With the first glazing rime. She thought of Jeanie in her grave. But put a silver penny in her purse. Longed to buy fruit to comfort her. Flying. crossed the heath with clumps of furze At twilight. crowing. leaping. With the first snowfall of crisp Winter time. Puffing and blowing. Laughed every goblin When they spied her peeping: Came towards her hobbling. She night and morning Caught the goblins' cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. Brought water from the brook: But sat down listless in the chimney-nook And would not eat. 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 . Come buy. come buy:' ± Beside the brook. Who should have been a bride. running. along the glen. Kissed Laura. Tended the fowls or cows. Chuckling. The voice and stir Poor Laura could not hear.142 Christina G. Goblin Market She no more swept the house. But feared to pay too dear. kneaded cakes of wheat. She heard the tramp of goblin men. Rossetti. Mopping and mowing. Clucking and gobbling. Tender Lizzie could not bear To watch her sister's cankerous care Yet not to share. In earliest Winter time. halted by the brook: And for the first time in her life Began to listen and look.
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,
Your young life like mine be wasted. Her locks streamed like the torch Borne by a racer at full speed. She loathed the feast: Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung. Shaking with aguish fear. goblin-ridden?' ± She clung about her sister. She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. and pain. Ah! fool. Lizzie. Dropping like rain After long sultry drouth. Or like a caged thing freed. Or like an eagle when she stems the light Straight toward the sun. Her lips began to scorch. Or like the mane of horses in their flight. That juice was wormwood to her tongue. Met the fire smouldering there And overbore its lesser flame. Thirsty. Swift fire spread through her veins. Like a foam-topped waterspout Cast down headlong in the sea. Or like a flying flag when armies run. and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste. cankered. 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. Like a lightning-stricken mast. Goblin Market Clutched her hair: `Lizzie. Rossetti. She gorged on bitterness without a name. 480 485 490 495 500 505 510 515 520 .146 Christina G. She fell at last. Kissed and kissed and kissed her: Tears once again Refreshed her shrunken eyes. knocked at her heart. And beat her breast. have you tasted For my sake the fruit forbidden? Must your light like mine be hidden. Rent all her robe. Like a wind-uprooted tree Spun about. Undone in mine undoing And ruined in my ruin.
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
In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury Standing upfingered. When at night he thinks me sleeping I feel him boring sly Within my bones. 'tis but yon dark And wind-swept pine to me!' Yet I would bear my shortcomings With meet tranquillity.. doth a bird beshorn of wings Go earth-bound wilfully! . Yet I note the little chisel Of never-napping Time Defacing wan and grizzel The blazon of my prime.. I remain what I was then In each essential feature Of the fantasies of men. 1890.. O. Rest shall we. `Alas. Enough. and heaping Quaintest pains for by-and-by. She would not balm the breeze By murmuring `Thine for ever!' As she did upon this leaze. 5 10 15 20 . But she'd scorn my brave endeavour. `Hark! hark! The glorious distant sea!' And feel.150 Thomas Hardy. 25 30 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury The years have gathered grayly Since I danced upon this leaze With one who kindled gaily Love's fitful ecstasies! But despite the term as teacher. But for the charge that blessed things I'd liefer not have be. I would shun divinest duty To resume her worshipping.. with. As yet disquiet clings About us.. I'd go the world with Beauty. I would laugh with her and sing.. Still..
when. 5 10 A Broken Appointment You did not come. The Darkling Thrush 151 `I look into my glass' I look into my glass. And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres. And love alone can lend you loyalty. to make me grieve. undistrest By hearts grown cold to me. even though it be You love not me? 5 10 15 The Darkling Thrush I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray. 5 . And say. And shakes this fragile frame at eve With throbbings of noontide. and wore me numb. as the hope-hour stroked its sum. Was it not worth a little hour or more To add yet this: Once you. a woman. lets part abide. I. Part steals. came To soothe a time-torn man. But Time. Could lonely wait my endless rest With equanimity.Thomas Hardy. unto the store Of human deeds divine in all but name. But. And marching Time drew on. You love not me. `Would God it came to pass My heart had shrunk as thin!' For then. You did not come. And view my wasting skin.Ð Yet less for loss of your dear presence there Than that I thus found lacking in your make That high compassion which can overbear Reluctance for pure lovingkindness' sake Grieved I. ÐI know and knew it.
She sat here in her chair. So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around. I danced in a dream.152 Thomas Hardy. and small. That I could think there trembled through His happy goodnight air Some blessed Hope. Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom. frail. His crypt the cloudy canopy. whereof he knew And I was unaware. In blast-beruffled plume. Everything glowed with a gleam. At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead In a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited. Here was the former door Where the dead feet walked in. Bowing it higher and higher. Footworn and hollowed and thin. An aged thrush. Childlike. Yet we were looking away! 5 10 . The Self-Unseeing And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires. He who played stood there. gaunt. Blessings emblazoned that day. 31st December 1900 10 15 20 25 30 The Self-Unseeing Here is the ancient floor. The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry. The wind his death-lament. The land's sharp features seemed to be The Century's corpse outleant. And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I. Smiling into the fire.
the hurtle of hell Behind. Thou knowest the walls. where was a place? I whirled out wings that spell And fled with a fling of the heart to the heart of the Host. what with dread. sway of the sea. Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh? Over again I feel thy finger and find thee.Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844±1889) The Wreck of the Deutschland To the happy memory of five Franciscan nuns exiles by the Falck Laws drowned between midnight and morning of Dec. where was a. laced with fire of stress. O Christ. Lord of living and dead. 7th. O God. but you were dovewinged. My heart. altar and hour and night: The swoon of a heart that the sweep and the hurl of thee trod Hard down with a horror of height: And the midriff astrain with leaning of. fastened me flesh. Thou heardst me truer than tongue confess Thy terror. 1875 Part the First 1 Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread. I can tell. 3 The frown of his face Before me. Thou hast bound bones and veins in me. And after it almost unmade. 5 10 15 20 . World's strand. 2 I did say yes O at lightning and lashed rod. where.
I am bold to boast. wafting him out of it. a vein Of the gospel proffer. hearts are flushed by and melt ± But it rides time like riding a river (And here the faithful waver. maiden's knee. the faithless fable and miss). 4 I am soft sift In an hourglass ± at the wall Fast. 5 I kiss my hand To the stars. 8 Is out with it! Oh. and Glow. a pressure. to a poise. For I greet him the days I meet him. Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey. though in high flood yet ± What none would have known of it. tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder. and frightful sweat: Thence the discharge of it. His mystery must be instressed. a principle. Though felt before. all the way down from the tall Fells or flanks of the voel. glory in thunder. That guilt is hushed by. lovely-asunder Starlight. I steady as a water in a well. To flash from the flame to the flame then. there its swelling to be. 7 It dates from day Of his going in Galilee. only the heart. 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 bless when I understand. stressed. We lash with the best or worst Word last! How a lush-kept plush-capped sloe 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . being hard at bay. And it crowds and it combs to the fall. The dense and the driven Passion. always. The Wreck of the Deutschland Carrier-witted. to a pane. tower from the grace to the grace. but mined with a motion. Manger. Kiss my hand to the dappled-with-damson west: Since. But roped with. a drift. Christ's gift.154 Gerard Manley Hopkins.
To hero of Calvary. 10 With an anvil-ding And with fire in him forge thy will Or rather. last or first. Á God. as once at a crash Paul. Thou art lightning and love. rather then. but be adored King. with wrecking and storm. dogged in den. Gush! ± flush the man. flame. forget that there must The sour scythe cringe. Wave with the meadow. the being with it. not under thy feathers nor ever as guessing The goal was a shoal. but be adored. Part the Second 11 `Some find me a sword. Yet did the dark side of the bay of thy blessing Not vault them. in a flash. 12 On Saturday sailed from Bremen. we. Two hundred souls in the round ± O Father. Beyond saying sweet. sour or sweet. mouthed to flesh-burst. wanting it. a lingering-out sweet skõll. three-numbered form. warned of it ± men go. Wring thy rebel. Brim. though our flower the same. Christ's feet ± Never ask if meaning it. stealing as Spring Through him. out of us all Mastery. Â But we dream we are rooted in earth ± Dust! Flesh falls within sight of us. or flood' goes Death on drum. a winter and warm. Take settler and seamen. American-outward-bound. past telling of tongue. some The flange and the rail. Man's malice. Â Â Or as Austin. and the blear share come. melt him but master him still: Whether at once. I found it. And storms bugle his fame. 9 Be adored among men. Fang.Gerard Manley Hopkins. Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung: Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then. The Wreck of the Deutschland 155 Will. Make mercy in all of us. full! ± Hither then. the million of rounds of thy mercy not reeve even them in? 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 . tell men with women. of a fourth the doom to be drowned.
Sitting Eastnortheast. The Deutschland. Hope was twelve hours gone. For the infinite air is unkind. With a rope's end round the man. with the heart-break hearing a heart-broke rabble. The breakers rolled on her beam with ruinous shock. 16 One stirred from the rigging to save The wild woman-kind below.156 Gerard Manley Hopkins. handy and brave ± He was pitched to his death at a blow. The woman's wailing. Trenched with tears. 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. the whorl and the wheel Idle for ever to waft her or wind her with. the crying of child without check ± 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 . 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. the wind. Night roared. And frightful a nightfall folded rueful a day Nor rescue. in cursed quarter. Hope had mourning on. The Wreck of the Deutschland 13 Into the snows she sweeps. dandled the to and fro Through the cobbled foam-fleece. What could he do With the burl of the fountains of air. And canvas and compass. carved with cares. 14 She drove in the dark to leeward. and so the sky keeps. For all his dreadnought breast and braids of thew: They could tell him for hours. And the sea flint-flake. black-backed in the regular blow. shone. She struck ± not a reef or a rock But the combs of a smother of sand: night drew her Dead to the Kentish Knock. these she endured. on Sunday. Hurling the haven behind. ± they shook in the hurling and horrible airs. And she beat the bank down with her bows and the ride of her keel. only rocket and lightship. 15 Hope had grown grey hairs.
18 Ah. thou Orion of light. lily showers ± sweet heaven was astrew in them. (O Deutschland. Why. and Luther. Christ's lily and beast of the waste wood: From life's dawn it is drawn down. Abel is Cain's brother and breasts they have sucked the same. The rash smart sloggering brine Blinds her. tears! is it? tears. What can it be.) 21 Loathed for a love men knew in them. double a desperate name! O world wide of its good! But Gertrude. this glee? the good you have there of your own? 19 Sister. a madrigal start! Never-eldering revel and river of youth. are two of a town. Have you! make words break from me here all alone. Banned by the land of their birth. but uttering truth. lily. Has one fetch in her: she rears herself to divine Ears. Do you! ± mother of being in me. river and earth Gnashed: but thou art above. touched in your bower of bone. Surf. Thou martyr-master: in thy sight Storm flakes were scroll-leaved flowers. such a melting. a sister calling A master. her master and mine! ± And the inboard seas run swirling and hawling. 22 Five! the finding and sake And cipher of suffering Christ. A prophetess towered in the tumult. one. The Wreck of the Deutschland 157 Till a lioness arose breasting the babble. Mark. O unteachably after evil. but she that weather sees one thing. and the call of the tall nun To the men in the tops and the tackle rode over the storm's brawling.Gerard Manley Hopkins. heart. snow. 20 She was first of a five and came Á Of a coifed sisterhood. Thy unchancelling poising palms were weighing the worth. Rhine refused them. Are you! turned for an exquisite smart. Thames would ruin them. a virginal tongue told. the mark is of man's make 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 .
to the throng that catches and quails Was calling `O Christ. 25 The majesty! what did she mean? Breathe. altogether. his Lovescape crucified And seal of his seraph-arrival! and these thy daughters Á Á And five-lived and leaved favour and pride. Are sisterly sealed in wild waters. Is it love in her of the being as her lover had been? Breathe. Or is it that she cried for the crown then. signal. christens her wild-worst Best.158 Gerard Manley Hopkins. come quickly': The cross to her she calls Christ to her. to the breaker. And they the prey of the gales. I was under a roof here. Á Before-time-taken. I was at rest. the men Woke thee with a We are perishing in the weather of Gennesareth. dearest prized and priced ± Stigma. nor was ever guessed what for the hearing? 27 No. The Wreck of the Deutschland And the word of it Sacrificed. ruddying of the rose-flake. to breathe in his all-fire glances. With the gnarls of the nails in thee. On a pastoral forehead of Wales. The jading and jar of the cart. The treasure never eyesight got. Drawn to the Life that died. The keener to come at the comfort for feeling the combating keen? 175 180 185 190 195 200 26 For how to the heart's cheering The down-dugged ground-hugged grey Hovers off. the jay-blue heavens appearing Of pied and peeled May! Blue-beating and hoary-glow height. Christ. What by your measure is the heaven of desire. father Francis. 23 Joy fall to thee. body of lovely Death. niche of the lance. arch and original Breath. To bathe in his fall-gold mercies. cinquefoil token For lettering of the lamb's fleece. or night. but it was not these. the thickly Falling flakes. 24 Away in the loveable west. They were else-minded then. 210 . She to the black-about air. But he scores it in scarlet himself on his own bespoken. still higher. 205 With belled fire and the moth-soft Milky Way.
does tempest carry the grain for thee? . come faster ± Strike you the sight of it? look at it loom there. Heaven and earth are word of. King. but pity of the rest of them! Heart. in his triumph. electrical horror. Head: He was to cure the extremity where he had cast her. she has thee for the pain. Do. O of a feathery delicacy. in wind's burly and beat of endragoned seas. Christ. . it is fathers that asking for ease Of the sodden-with-its-sorrowing heart. . in measure her mind's Á Burden. But here was heart-throe. . the only one. birth of a brain. but a blown beacon of light. 28 But how shall I . Word. There then! the Master. Let him ride. be a bell to. 215 220 225 230 235 240 31 Well. Jesu. despatch and have done with his doom there. Á For so conceived. then further it finds The appealing of the Passion is tenderer in prayer apart: Other. make me room there: Reach me a . ring of it. the breast of the Maiden could obey so. Fancy. for the Patience. 30 Jesu. maid's son. Thing that she . her pride. The Wreck of the Deutschland 159 Time's tasking. worded by? ± The Simon Peter of a soul! to the blast È Tarpeõan-fast. . I gather. 29 Ah! there was a heart right! There was single eye! Read the unshapeable shock night And knew the who and the why. What was the feast followed the night Thou hadst glory of this nun? ± Feast of the one woman without stain. so to conceive thee is done. Wording it how but by him that present and past. 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. heart's light. and Startle the poor sheep back! is the shipwrack then a harvest. deal. that heard and kept thee and uttered thee outright. lord it with living and dead. . Not danger. Ipse. .Gerard Manley Hopkins.
A released shower. Á Mid-numbered he in three of the thunder-throne! Not a dooms-day dazzle in his coming nor dark as he came. rare-dear Britain. high-priest. the heaven-haven of the reward: Our King back. More brightening her.160 Gerard Manley Hopkins. quenching ocean of a motionable mind. Remember us in the roads. but royally reclaiming his own. 265 Á Double-natured name. The heaven-flung. pent in prison. and granite of it: past all Grasp God. God's Grandeur 32 I admire thee. prince. bodes but abides. rose. and among our shoals. 260 A vein for the visiting of the past-prayer. The girth of it and the wharf of it and the wall. The-last-breath penitent spirits ± the uttermost mark Á Our passion-plunged giant risen. Ground of being. maiden-furled Miracle-in-Mary-of-flame. The recurb and the recovery of the gulf's sides. 34 Now burn. fetched in the storm of his strides. be a crimson-cresseted east. It will flame out. an ark For the listener. Pride. new born to the world. Stanching. hero of us. Of the Yore-flood. at our door Drowned. . Oh. as his reign rolls. Our hearts' charity's hearth's fire. master of the tides. 270 Kind. 275 280 God's Grandeur The world is charged with the grandeur of God. like shining from shook foil. be a dayspring to the dimness of us. upon English souls! Let him easter in us. 250 255 33 With a mercy that outrides The all of water. 35 Dame. heart-fleshed. our thoughts' chivalry's throng's Lord. not a lightning of fire hard-hurled. for the lingerer with a love glides Lower than death and the dark. of the year's fall. throned behind Death with a sovereignty that heeds but hides. The Christ of the Father compassionate. let flash to the shire.
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim. here Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then. their gear and tackle and trim. freckled (who knows how?) 5 . Landscape plotted and pieced ± fold. As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding Rebuffed the big wind. O my chevalier! Â Â No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine. strange. Whatever is fickle. Fall. finches' wings. springs ± Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings. dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon. and plough. Â Â And all trades. 5 10 Pied Beauty Glory be to God for dappled things ± For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow. And all is seared with trade. in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air. oh. at the brown brink eastward. Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls. And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil Is bare now. ± the achieve of. kingdom of daylight's dauphin. ah my dear. fallow. have trod. 5 10 The Windhover To Christ our Lord I caught this morning morning's minion. bleared. more dangerous. gall themselves. how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off. and blue-bleak embers. have trod. Pied Beauty 161 It gathers to a greatness. pride. plume. like the ooze of oil Crushed. original. off forth on swing. Why do men then now not reck his rod? Generations have trod. All things counter. morning. And though the last lights off the black West went Oh. the mastery of the thing! Brute beauty and valour and act. And for all this. and gash gold-vermilion. spare. nature is never spent. My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird. nor can foot feel.Gerard Manley Hopkins. and striding High there. a billion Times told lovelier. being shod. There lives the dearest freshness deep down things. smeared with toil. air.
even where we mean To mend her we end her. When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. Binsey Poplars With swift. he cursed at first. Rural scene. whose airy cages quelled. but mended Being anointed and all. not one That dandled a sandalled Shadow that swam or sank On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank. felled. Where we. till time when reason rambled in it and some Fatal four disorders. 5 10 15 20 Felix Randal Felix Randal the farrier. all contended? Sickness broke him. like this sleek and seeing ball But a prick will make no eye at all. 10 Binsey Poplars Felled 1879 My aspens dear. dim. That. Of a fresh and following folded rank Not spared. only ten or twelve Â Strokes of havoc unselve The sweet especial scene. adazzle. All felled. Ten or twelve. Sweet especial rural scene. are all felled. a rural scene. sweet. 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. Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun. slow. O is he dead then? my duty all ended. her being so slender. Who have watched his mould of man. God rest him all road ever he offended! 5 . since I had our sweet reprieve and ransom Tendered to him. Impatient. sour. Ah well. fleshed there. pining. big-boned and hardy-handsome Pining. though a heavenlier heart began some Months earlier.162 Gerard Manley Hopkins. He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him.
and lovely in eyes not his To the Father through the features of men's faces. | stars principal. | self Ân self steeped and pashed õ Â ± quite Â Â Â Disremembering. Thy tears that touched my heart. hearse-of-all night. her earliest stars. 5 10 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves Earnest. Selves ± goes itself. whelms. in throngs. . For earth | her being has unbound. poor Felix Randal. . equal. Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is ± Â Chrõst. earlstars. all thy more boisterous years. For Christ plays in ten thousand places. dragonflies draw flame. Â pack . and will end us. Our tale. As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring. pen. Â Â Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces. as5 Á Â tray or aswarm.Gerard Manley Hopkins. | womb-of-all. attuneable. Only the beakleaved boughs dragonish | damask the tool-smooth bleak light. each hung bell's Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name. Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 This seeing the sick endears them to us. home-of-all. Felix. . | her wild hollow hoarlight hung to the height Â Waste. dõsmembering | all now. Heart. How far from then forethought of. all through her. us too it endears. like each tucked string tells. ah let life wind 10 Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Off her once skeined stained veined varõety | upon. My tongue had taught thee comfort. all on two spools. | vaulty. stupendous Â Â Evening strains to be tõme's vast. you round me right Â Â Âur Â Â Â With: Our evening is over us. o night | whelms. child. part. touch had quenched thy tears. black. Â I say more: the just man justices. Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells. her dapple is at end. myself it speaks and spells. voluminous. When thou at the random grim forge. Lovely in limbs. Â Â Â Â Â Ever so black on it. overbend us. Crying What I do is me: for that I came. O our oracle! | Let life. Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west. earthless. powerful amidst peers. Didst fettle for the great grey drayhorse his bright and battering sandal! 10 `As Kingfishers Catch Fire' As kingfishers catch fire. waned. Â Â Fõre-featuring heaven.
ware of a world where bu these | two tell. white. õ `Thou art indeed just. I wonder. and not breed one work that wakes. selfstrung. verumtamen justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c. mind Â Â Â Â Â Ât But these two. si disputem tecum. wrong. and fresh wind shakes Them. birds build ± but not I build. of a rack Â Â Where. See. than thou dost Defeat. | thoughts agaõnst Â thoughts Ân groans grõnd. Lord. if I contend With thee. but strain. sheathe-and shelterless. the sots and thralls of lust Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend. but. banks and brakes Á Á Now. Lord' Justus quidem tu es. O thou lord of life. sir. | right. Mine. How wouldst thou worse. Why do sinners' ways prosper? and why must Disappointment all I endeavour end? Wert thou my enemy. 5 10 . each off the other. so what I plead is just. Time's eunuch. look. Sir. Domine. life upon thy cause. send my roots rain. leaved how thick! laced they are again With fretty chervil. O thou my friend. `Thou art indeed just. reckon but.164 Gerard Manley Hopkins. no. Lord' Â Â Â Now her all in two flocks. Thou art indeed just. selfwrung. thwart me? Oh. two folds ± black. reck but.
Lads. From north and south the sign returns And beacons burn again. when the flame they watch not towers About the soil they trod. Look left. We pledge in peace by farm and town The Queen they served in war. From height to height 'tis heard. And fire the beacons up and down The land they perished for. The saviours come not home to-night: Themselves they could not save. 25 5 10 15 20 . To fields that bred them brave. It dawns in Asia. Because 'tis fifty years tonight That God has saved the Queen. `God save the Queen' we living sing. To skies that knit their heartstrings right. The dales are light between. look right. the hills are bright. Housman (1859±1936) From: A Shropshire Lad I 1887 From Clee to heaven the beacon burns. we'll remember friends of ours Who shared the work with God. And with the rest your voices ring. The shires have seen it plain. E. Now.A. And the Nile spills his overflow Beside the Severn's dead. Lads of the Fifty-third. tombstones show And Shropshire names are read.
Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters. And take from seventy springs a score. Trampled to the floor it spanned. IV Reveille Wake: the silver dusk returning Up the beach of darkness brims. belfries call. lad. II Loveliest of trees.166 A. It only leaves me fifty more. the empty highways crying `Who'll beyond the hills away?' Towns and countries woo together. fear you not: Be you the men you've been. From: A Shropshire Lad Oh. 5 5 30 10 10 15 20 . Forelands beacon. And the ship of sunrise burning Strands upon the eastern rims. And the tent of night in tatters Straws the sky-pavilioned land. Up. the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough. lad: thews that lie and cumber Sunlit pallets never thrive. Up. God will save her. And God will save the Queen. E. up. Twenty will not come again. of my threescore years and ten. About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow. 'tis late for lying: Hear the drums of morning play. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room. Get you the sons your fathers got. Hark. Never lad that trod on leather Lived to feast his heart with all. Morns abed and daylight slumber Were not meant for man alive. Now. And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Housman.
And the moving pageant file Warm and breathing through the street Where I lodge a little while. Housman. lad: when the journey's over There'll be time enough to sleep. XVI It nods and curtseys and recovers When the wind blows above. And set you at your threshold down. XIX To an Athlete Dying Young The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the marketplace. And the hater hates no more. the road all runners come. Up. The nettle nods. 5 5 5 10 15 . Man and boy stood cheering by. but blood's a rover. E. There revenges are forgot. Let me mind the house of dust Where my sojourn shall be long. From: A Shropshire Lad 167 Clay lies still. Breath's a ware that will not keep. Shoulder-high we bring you home. If the heats of hate and lust In the house of flesh are strong. XII When I watch the living meet. Lovers lying two and two Ask not whom they sleep beside. The man. The nettle on the graves of lovers That hanged themselves for love. In the nation that is not Nothing stands that stood before. he does not move. the lover That hanged himself for love. Today.A. And home we brought you shoulder-high. the wind blows over. The lover of the grave. Townsman of a stiller town. And the bridegroom all night through Never turns him to the bride.
That I thought hard to leave. And has she tired of weeping As she lies down at eve?' Ay. The harness jingles now. before its echoes fade. With lads to chase the leather. She lies not down to weep: 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . XXVII `Is my team ploughing. `Is football playing Along the river shore. Housman. Now I stand up no more?' Ay. And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears: Now you will not swell the rout Of lads that wore their honours out. And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup.168 A. the keeper Stands up to keep the goal. `Is my girl happy. No change though you lie under The land you used to plough. That I was used to drive And hear the harness jingle When I was man alive?' Ay. The goal stands up. the ball is flying. to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose. she lies down lightly. The fleet foot on the sill of shade. E. So set. From: A Shropshire Lad Smart lad. Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut. The lads play heart and soul. the horses trample.
XXX Others. I cheer a dead man's sweetheart. I am not the first. 'tis nothing new. if truth were told. Never ask me whose. And has he found to sleep in A better bed than mine?' Yes. Be still. 'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger When Uricon the city stood: 'Tis the old wind in the old anger. The gale. E. Have willed more mischief than they durst: If in the breathless night I too Shiver now. Have stood and sweated hot and cold. XXXI On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble. And thick on Severn snow the leaves. More than I.A. I lie as lads would choose. And fire and ice within me fight Beneath the suffocating night. But I like them shall win my way Lastly to the bed of mould Where there's neither heat nor cold. From: A Shropshire Lad 169 Your girl is well contented. Housman. they were there. I lie easy. it plies the saplings double. But then it threshed another wood. 5 5 25 30 10 15 10 . 'twas before my time. Then. Now I am thin and pine. Agued once like me were they. and sleep. the Roman At yonder heaving hill would stare: The blood that warms an English yeoman. my lad. His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves. But from my grave across my brow Plays no wind of healing now. The thoughts that hurt him. And through their reins in ice and fire Fear contended with desire. `Is my friend hearty. lad.
E. it plies the saplings double. what farms are those? That is the land of lost content. The tree of man was never quiet: Then 'twas the Roman. From: A Shropshire Lad There. 'twill soon be gone: Today the Roman and his trouble Are ashes under Uricon. XLIV Shot? so quick. XL Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills. You shot dead the household traitor. you could reason. 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 . like the wind through woods in riot. that was brave: Yours was not an ill for mending. you died as fits a man. But men may come to worse than dust. 'Twas best to take it to the grave. son of sorrow. Through him the gale of life blew high.170 A. so clean an ending? Oh that was right. Oh you had forethought. And early wise and brave in season Put the pistol to your head. The gale. lad. Souls undone. The happy highways where I went And cannot come again. What spires. ± Long time since the tale began. and better so than later After long disgrace and scorn. undoing others. Oh soon. And saw your road and where it led. The soul that should not have been born. now 'tis I. You would not live to wrong your brothers: Oh lad. I see it shining plain. Right you guessed the rising morrow And scorned to tread the mire you must: Dust's your wages. Housman.
E. and drink the air. The days when we had rest. 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. Housman. O soul. ± call to thought. never two. but lightless in the quarry I slept and saw not. and feel the sun. bright with rime And sparkling to the cruel clime. No cypress. it is but for a reason: Let us endure an hour and see injustice done. tears fell down. bring from hill and stream and plain Whatever will not flower again. From: A Shropshire Lad 171 Undishonoured. in this timeless grave to throw. Clean of guilt. And here. if now you grieve a little. whose flower is blue A single season.A. in days ere I was born. here's the wreath I've made: 'Tis not a gift that's worth the taking. Or shrivelled flax. Be still. Men loved unkindness then. Snap not from the bitter yew His leaves that live December through. no dreams. Or if one haulm whose year is o'er Shivers on the upland frore. pass hence and home. Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and foundedstrong. and I muse for why and never find the reason. Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry: Then it was well with me. be still. I did not mourn. But if the Christmas field has kept Awns the last gleaner overstept. But wear it and it will not fade. Now. Turn safe to rest. 5 25 5 10 15 20 10 . my soul. sombre on the snow. my soul. I pace the earth. for they were long. XLVI Bring. XLVIII Be still. ± Oh. no waking. be still. the arms you bear are brittle. To give him comfort: he and those Shall bide eternal bedfellows Where low upon the couch he lies Whence he never shall arise. clear of danger. Think rather. man. Break no rosemary.
the horned head: We poor lads. Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time Moping melancholy mad: Come. good Lord.' Why. To see the rate you drink your beer. Look not left nor right: In all the endless road you tread There's nothing but the night. 'tis clear. this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough. man. LXII `Terence. if 'tis dancing you would be. 5 15 5 10 15 20 25 30 . and all are vain: Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation ± Oh why did I awake? when shall I sleep again? LX Now hollow fires burn out to black. the old cow. It sleeps well. the verse you make. Housman.172 A. lad. But oh. And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders. pipe a tune to dance to. It gives a chap the belly-ache. 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. From: A Shropshire Lad Ay. she is dead. Say. Ale. lift your pack. look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation. man. There's brisker pipes than poetry. The cow. 'tis pleasant till 'tis past: The mischief is that 'twill not last. nought's to dread. And faith. There can't be much amiss. And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. Oh I have been to Ludlow fair And left my necktie God knows where. for what were hop-yards meant. Oh never fear. All thoughts to rive the heart are here. 'tis our turn now To hear such tunes as killed the cow. And leave your friends and go. Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse. E.
thence to more. 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 . He sampled all her killing store. since the world has still Much good. smiling. but much less good than ill. my things were wet. And down in lovely muck I've lain. ± I tell the tale that I heard told. They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up: They shook. And while the sun and moon endure Luck's a chance. Sate the king when healths went round. it was the old world yet. Mithridates. Therefore. It should do good to heart and head When your soul is in my soul's stead. Housman.A. The world. But take it: if the smack is sour. In the dark and cloudy day. And train for ill and not for good. the tale was all a lie. There was a king reigned in the East: There. And I myself a sterling lad. 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. but trouble's sure. if I may. And I will friend you. And easy. Then I saw the morning sky: Heigho. Happy till I woke again. 'Tis true. they stared as white's their shirt: Them it was their poison hurt. They get their fill before they think With poisoned meat and poisoned drink. Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer: Then the world seemed none so bad. I'd face it as a wise man would. The better for the embittered hour. He gathered all that springs to birth From the many-venomed earth. E. And nothing now remained to do But begin the game anew. I was I. seasoned sound. or near. They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat. From: A Shropshire Lad 173 And carried half way home. First a little. he died old. when kings will sit to feast.
The pine lets fall its cone. it needs not saying. Or beeches strip in storms for winter And stain the wind with leaves. For nature. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Where over elmy plains the highway Would mount the hills and shine. as I possessed a season. heartless. Will neither care nor know What stranger's feet may find the meadow And trespass there and go. And traveller's joy beguiles in autumn Hearts that have lost their own. The countries I resign. by waters idle.174 A. Possess. On russet floors. The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing In leafy dells alone. What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays. E. And full of shade the pillared forest Would murmur and be mine. Or marshalled under moons of harvest Stand still all night the sheaves. On acres of the seeded grasses The changing burnish heaves. Nor ask amid the dews of morning If they are mine or no. witless nature. Housman. For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways. From: Last Poems From: Last Poems XL Tell me not here.
Come away. Come away. Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night. Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery.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. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. And of reddest stolen cherries. Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries. To and fro we leap And chase the forthy bubbles. hand in hand. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. Weaving olden dances. There we've hid our faery vats. hand in hand. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight. Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car. 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 . While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep.
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. as the leaves grow on the tree. We and the labouring world are passing by: Amid men's souls. For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand. foam of the sky. But I. Under the passing stars. 5 The Rose of the World Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips. She bid me take life easy. And Usna's children died. Mournful that no new wonder may betide. In a field by the river my love and I did stand. Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. hand in hand. To the waters and the wild With a faery. and now am full of tears. with all their mournful pride.176 William Butler Yeats. For he comes. She bid me take love easy. with her would not agree. Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam. as the grass grows on the weirs. 5 10 . 35 40 45 50 Down by the Salley Gardens Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet. being young and foolish. Down by the Salley Gardens Give them unquiet dreams. 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. Away with us he's going. Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams. Come away. Lives on this lonely face. But I was young and foolish. And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. that waver and give place Like the pale waters in their wintry race. the human child. O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery. hand in hand.
And evening full of the linnet's wings. And bending down beside the glowing bars. in your dim abode: Before you were. and go to Innisfree. 5 10 Who Goes with Fergus? Who will go drive with Fergus now. how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. There midnight's all a glimmer. And dance upon the level shore? Young man. And loved your beauty with love false or true. a hive for the honey bee. archangels. Who Goes with Fergus? 177 Bow down. I will arise and go now. take down this book. Weary and kind one lingered by His seat. and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once. a little sadly. And I shall have some peace there. And pierce the deep wood's woven shade. or any hearts to beat.William Butler Yeats. 15 The Lake Isle of Innisfree I will arise and go now. lift up your russet brow. 5 10 When You Are Old When you are old and grey and full of sleep. And nodding by the fire. But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you. Murmur. for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore. . And live alone in the bee-loud glade. How many loved your moments of glad grace. and noon a purple glow. for peace comes dropping slow. Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings. of clay and wattles made: Nine bean rows will I have there. And a small cabin build there. or on the pavements grey. He made the world to be a grassy road Before her wandering feet. and of their shadows deep. And loved the sorrows of your changing face. And slowly read. While I stand on the roadway. I hear it in the deep heart's core.
I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me. And rules the shadows of the wood. And when white moths were on the wing. And brood on hopes and fear no more. My contemplations are of Time That has transfigured me. And the white breast of the dim sea And all dishevelled wandering stars. And no more turn aside and brood Upon love's bitter mystery. And crazy rascals rage their fill At human tyranny. Ere Time transfigured me.178 William Butler Yeats. 5 10 . And hooked a berry to a thread. Because a fire was in my head. And yet the beauties that I loved Are in my memory. maid. My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics. And cut and peeled a hazel wand. 5 10 The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner Although I shelter from the rain Under a broken tree. For Fergus rules the brazen cars. And moth-like stars were flickering out. I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. Though lads are making pikes again For some conspiracy. There's not a woman turns her face Upon a broken tree. The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner And lift your tender eyelids. But something rustled on the floor. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame. 5 10 15 The Song of Wandering Aengus I went out to the hazel wood.
have only my dreams. in all kinds of weather. `A line will take us hours maybe. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. That beautiful mild woman. being poor. and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers. And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon. 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. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Enwrought with golden and silver light. I said. Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought. And kiss her lips and take her hands. schoolmasters. I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I.William Butler Yeats. and clergymen The martyrs call the world. Better go down upon your marrow-bones And scrub a kitchen pavement. 15 20 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths. or break stones Like an old pauper.' And thereupon That beautiful mild woman for whose sake 5 10 15 . and talked of poetry. And walk among long dappled grass. The golden apples of the sun. And you and I. Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands. your close friend. 5 Adam's Curse We sat together at one summer's end. For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these. The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light. I will find out where she has gone.
the daughter of Houlihan. Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland There's many a one shall find out all heartache On finding that her voice is sweet and low Replied. And in the trembling blue-green of the sky A moon. But purer than a tall candle before the Holy Rood Is Cathleen. The wind has bundled up the clouds high over Knocknarea. Like heavy flooded waters our bodies and our blood. the daughter of Houlihan. Yet now it seems an idle trade enough. and that I strove To love you in the old high way of love. But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet Of Cathleen. But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes Of Cathleen. That it had all seemed happy. 5 10 15 .180 William Butler Yeats. The yellow pool has overflowed high up on Clooth-na-Bare. We saw the last embers of daylight die. I had a thought for no one's but your ears: That you were beautiful. 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.' We sat grown quiet at the name of love. and yet we'd grown As weary-hearted as that hollow moon. 20 25 30 35 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland The old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand.' I said. There have been lovers who thought love should be So much compounded of high courtesy That they would sigh and quote with learned looks Precedents out of beautiful old books. Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies. Angers that are like noisy clouds have set our hearts abeat. the daughter of Houlihan. For the wet winds are blowing out of the clinging air. And thrown the thunder on the stones for all that Maeve can say. `To be born woman is to know ± Although they do not talk of it at school ± That we must labour to be beautiful. Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand. `It's certain there is no fine thing Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring.
Break 31 `Bring. the arms you bear are brittle' 171 `Beloved. be still. thou hast brought me many flowers' 7 Binsey Poplars 162 Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church. The 125 Body's Beauty 132 Break. . The 69 `blessed Damozel leaned out. | vaulty. . earthless. with sweet smart' 134 Aurora Leigh 8 Autumn Idleness 131 `Be still. he but only kissed' 7 . walk with me' 106 Crossing the Bar 61 Darkling Thrush. 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. my soul. A 151 `But do not let us quarrel any more' 91 Charge of the Light Brigade. The 55 Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came 85 `Cold in the earth and the deep snow piled above thee!' `Come. dragonflies draw flame' 163 `At length their long kiss severed. Break.Index of Titles and First Lines Adam's Curse 179 `Ah. voluminous. attuneable. . stupendous' 163 Felix Randal 162 `First time he kissed me. in this timeless grave to throw' 171 Broken Appointment. The' 125 Blessed Damozel. equal. 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.
± let the first fruit be' 132 `I went out to the hazel wood' 178 `I will arise and go now. A 98 `grey sea and the long black land.182 Index of Titles and First Lines Found 134 Fra Lippo Lippi 75 `From Clee to heaven the beacon burns' 165 `Glory be to God for dappled things' 161 `Go. pluck not. and A. 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. how happy! those are words' 104 `I am poor brother Lippo. for they call you. The 178 `Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife' `Let us begin and carry up this corpse' 98 64 6 . Shepherd. The' 72 `GR-R-R ± there go. H. The 128 `How do I love thee? Let me count the ways' 7 `How still. The 177 Lamentation of the Old Pensioner. from the hill' 119 Goblin Market 135 God's Grandeur 160 Grammarian's Funeral. The 128 Lady of Shalott. 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. The 19 Lake Isle of Innisfree. my heart's abhorrence!' 65 `Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths' 179 `Half a league. G. The 149 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury 150 In Memoriam A. H. from Abroad 68 House of Life: A Sonnet-Sequence. half a league' 55 `Here is the ancient floor' 152 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven 179 Hoarded Joy 132 Home-Thoughts. and go to Innisfree' 177 `I wonder do you feel today' 97 Impercipient. Rochelle 109 `Just for a handful of silver he left us' Kiss.
The' `On either side the river lie' 19 `On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble' 169 One Hope. this is very sad to find!' 83 `Oh. A Medley. Baldassaro. to be in England' 68 `old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand.Index of Titles and First Lines 183 `Long neglect has worn away' 103 `Look in my face. where art thou now?' 104 `Of Adam's first wife. The 64 Love Among the Ruins 72 Love-Letter. whose airy cages quelled' 162 `My first thought was. The 31 Prisoner. The 133 `Others. Lilith. The' 103 `No coward soul is mine' 113 `Now hollow fires burn out to black' 172 Nuptial Sleep 134 `O Dream. The 129 `Loveliest of trees. it is told' 132 `Of writing many books there is no end' 8 `Oh Galuppi. 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. 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 109 `rain set early in tonight. 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' 67 Red Hanrahan's Song about Ireland 180 `Remember me when I am gone away' 135 Remember 135 Remembrance 108 133 180 .
I know not what they mean' 31 `Tell me not here. it needs not saying' 174 `Terence. 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. vanity!' `Wake: the silver dusk returning' 69 166 131 .184 Index of Titles and First Lines Reveille 166 Rose of the World. idle tears. The 176 `Round the cape of a sudden came the sea' 72 `Say not the struggle naught availeth' 114 Scholar-Gipsy. The 152 `Shot? so quick. The' 117 Self-Dependence 116 Self-Unseeing. saith the preacher. so clean an ending?' 170 Shropshire Lad. where love and death' `Vanity. A 133 Supreme Surrender 129 `Sweet Love. 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. immortal Love' 33 `Sunset and evening star' 61 Superscription. Lord 164 `Thou lovely and beloved. A 83 Two in the Campagna 97 Ulysses 23 `Under the arch of Life. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love' 130 `Tears. The 175 `Strong Son of God. thou my love' 130 `Thou mastering me' 153 `time you won your town the race. The 178 Sonnets from the Portuguese 6 Soul's Beauty 131 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 Stolen Child. 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.
The 161 `With blackest moss the flower-plots' 17 Without Her 130 `world is charged with the grandeur of God. ± though unrevealed snow' 132 `What smouldering senses in death's sick delay' 128 `What winter floods. The 153 `years have gathered grayly. what showers of spring' 103 `When I look forth at dawning. The' 160 Wreck of the Deutschland. and sick of asking' 116 `What of her glass without her? The blank grey' 130 Á `What place so strange.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 . 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.