Victorian Poetry

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

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

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

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. Break' From The Princess. A Medley From In Memoriam A.Contents Series Editor's Preface Introduction Duncan Wu Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806±1861) Sonnets from the Portuguese (extracts) From Aurora Leigh: First Book ix 1 6 8 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson (1809±1892) Mariana The Lady of Shalott Ulysses Morte d'Arthur `Break. 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 . The Charge of the Light Brigade From Maud I (`I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood') XXII (`Come into the garden. H. Break. H.

Alcona to J. walk with me' To Imagination Remembrance (`R. 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 . how happy! those are words' `Mild the mist upon the hill' `Come. what showers of spring' `Long neglect has worn away' `The night is darkening round me' `All hushed and still within the house' `O Dream. and A.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. Brenzaida') Julian M. where art thou now?' `How still. G.

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 .

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

Duncan Wu St Catherine's College. 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.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. They will be particularly helpful to students hard-pressed for time. those of the Essential Literature series are authoritative selection. who need a digest of the poetry of each historical period. Together. Based on correspondent volumes in the Blackwell Anthologies series. most of these volumes run to no more than 200 pages. Oxford . these volumes comprise a crucial resource for anyone who reads or studies poetry. In selecting the contents of each volume particular attention has been given to major writers whose works are widely taught at most schools and universities. compactness and ease of use.

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

but their reign had ended: Tennyson and Browning were remaking the art. it doubtless has its faults ± it is relentless in its subjectivity.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. almost oppressively so ± but it transcends the personal in addressing the anxieties arising from the nineteenth-century confrontation with evolutionary theories Tennyson had encountered in Robert Chambers's Vestiges of Creation and Charles Lyell's Principles of Geology. was the key to a new poetic. Auden. and welcomed an acquaintance with their author. idle tears'. through the dramatic monologue. was not published until 1850. 1983). comprehending moral failings with a clarity not always vouchsafed in life. a growing scepticism that was to find fuller expression in the poetry of Hardy and Housman later in the century. Tennyson: The Unquiet Heart (London: Faber. 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. 289±91. 4 In Memoriam lvi 15. The Ulysses who in Tennyson's poem declares his desire `To strive. Warwick Slinn helpfully contextualizes In Memoriam in his essay on Victorian poetry in A Companion to Victorian Literature and Culture ed. pp. Wordsworth possessed a copy of Tennyson's important 1842 Poems. 5 The Prelude.7 2 W. to seek. and is found in shorter poems such as `Tears. pp.2 The fruit of nearly 17 years' labour. 1999). Its potential would be further championed in the modern period by Eliot and Pound. 7 See for instance Pound's `Piere Vidal Old' and Eliot's `Prufrock'. 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. the same year as In Memoriam. 3 See in particular In Memoriam lv and lvi. `red in tooth and claw'. which concerns the uncontrollable emotions that run deeply in the human heart. is a product of the zeitgeist. the most successful long poem of its day. and on the other a work that speaks of the innermost anxieties of the age. exemplifying Auden's contention that Tennyson's gift was for expressing feelings of `lonely terror and desire for death'. p.4 the product of a cosmos lacking a benevolent deity. rather. it can be. which it is for us to infer. As readers of such poetry we are in a privileged position.5 For his part. 1973). therefore. E. In this sense In Memoriam. H. 226.2 Introduction grief for another.3 The natural world of In Memoriam is not invariably. besides much else. 6 See Robert Bernard Martin. on a level beyond the verbal. In such sonnets as `Surprised by joy' Wordsworth had attempted the same kind of investigation. 311±13. something rather important has happened. was to develop a new kind of psychological poetry ± one that explored the human mind from within. The influence of the Romantics was felt throughout the century. Wordsworth's most extensive examination of psychological process. to find. Herbert Tucker (Oxford: Blackwell. Tennyson and Browning exploited the form aware that our knowing so much more than their speakers. Edward Mendelson (London: Faber. And when the speaker of `A Toccata of Galuppi's' tells us that he feels `chilly and grown old'. Browning's major contribution. the divinely appointed one of Wordsworth. Forewords and Afterwords ed. Fra Pandolf ± there is something darker at work. . Tennyson's preoccupation with states of mind looks back to Wordsworth. in common with that of Tennyson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From Aurora Leigh And thinkers disagreed. woods. granges. ± Hills. where the cows push out Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths 'Twixt dripping ash-boughs. And shook my pulses and the elms' new leaves. the skies. While. vales. The happy violets hiding from the roads The primroses run down to. haply. And cottage gardens smelling everywhere. and I. But we. 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 . ± and he bore with me In melancholy patience. breaking into voluble ecstasy. Confused with smell of orchards. And clapped my hands. Even then was evil near us. netted in a silver mist. I flattered all the beauteous country round. And cattle grazing in the watered vales. But then the thrushes sang. ± The tangled hedgerows. overbold For what might be. the fields. he. who call things good and fair. carrying gold. ± 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. . In the beginning when God called all good. it is writ. certainly The thrushes still sang in it. As poets use . howsoe'er the world Went ill. . And cottage chimneys smoking from the woods. ± At which word His brow would soften. The evil is upon us while we speak: Deliver us from evil. not unkind.16 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. overfull Of what is. doubled up among the hills. as he related. indeed. let us pray. the clouds.' I said. `See. and called all very fair. And bade him mark that. `And see! is God not with us on the earth? And shall we put Him down by aught we do? Who says there's nothing for the poor and vile Save poverty and wickedness? behold!' And ankle-deep in English grass I leaped. and held my finger up. ± And then I turned. Farms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alfred (Lord) Tennyson, Morte d'Arthur 29 That all the decks were dense with stately forms Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream ± by these Three Queens with crowns of gold ± and from them rose A cry that shivered to the tingling stars, And, as it were one voice, an agony Of lamentation, like a wind, that shrills All night in a waste land, where no one comes, Or hath come, since the making of the world. Then murmured Arthur, `Place me in the barge,' And to the barge they came. There those three Queens Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept. But she, that rose the tallest of them all And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, And loosed the shattered casque, and chafed his hands, And called him by his name, complaining loud, And dropping bitter tears against his brow Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white And colourless, and like the withered moon Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east; And all his greaves and cuisses dashed with drops Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls ± That made his forehead like a rising sun High from the dais-throne ± were parched with dust; Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, Mixed with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. So like a shattered column lay the King; Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest, From spur to plume a star of tournament, Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere, `Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go? Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? For now I see the true old times are dead, When every morning brought a noble chance, And every chance brought out a noble knight. Such times have been not since the light that led The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved Which was an image of the mighty world; And I, the last, go forth companionless, And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.' And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: `The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils Himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
195

200

205

210

215

220

225

230

235

240

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

245

250

255

260

265

270

275

280

285

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.
290

295

300

`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.
5

10

15

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,

5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And all the silvery gossamers That twinkle into green and gold: Calm and still light on yon great plain That sweeps with all its autumn bowers. and haste away O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large. Some dolorous message knit below The wild pulsation of her wings. And see the sails at distance rise. 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. a calm despair: Calm on the seas. And in my heart. I cannot stay. These leaves that redden to the fall. if calm at all. To mingle with the bounding main: Calm and deep peace in this wide air. If any calm. I leave this mortal ark behind. `Comes he thus. And leave the cliffs. XII Lo! as a dove when up she springs To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe. And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep. my friend? Is this the end of all my care?' And circle moaning in the air: `Is this the end? Is this the end?' And forward dart again. And reach the glow of southern skies. and back return To where the body sits. 5 5 10 15 20 10 15 20 . And crowded farms and lessening towers. and learn That I have been an hour away. Like her I go.40 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. And on these dews that drench the furze. And saying. And linger weeping on the marge. and silver sleep. And waves that sway themselves in rest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And is it that the haze of grief Hath stretched my former joy so great? The lowness of the present state. And part it. the day prepared The daily burden for the back. Whatever fickle tongues may say. for I long to prove No lapse of moons can canker Love. Because it needed help of Love: Nor could I weary. and hath power to see 5 5 5 10 15 10 . If all was good and fair we met. And if that eye which watches guilt And goodness. In Memoriam 47 And many an old philosophy On Argive heights divinely sang. That sets the past in this relief ? Or that the past will always win A glory from its being far. But this it was that made me move As light as carrier-birds in air. And then. And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady. I loved the weight I had to bear. when we moved therein? XXV I know that this was Life. This earth had been the Paradise It never looked to human eyes Since Adam left his garden yet. XXIV And was the day of my delight As pure and perfect as I say? The very source and fount of Day Is dashed with wandering isles of night. heart or limb. I with it. ± the track Whereon with equal feet we fared. as now. And orb into the perfect star We saw not. XXVI Still onward winds the dreary way. giving half to him. When mighty Love would cleave in twain The lading of a single pain.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson.

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

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

Defects of doubt. That not one life shall be destroyed. Beneath all fancied hopes and fears Ay me! the sorrow deepens down. LIV Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill. That not a worm is cloven in vain. In Memoriam The seeming-wanton ripple break. So careless of the single life. I can but trust that good shall fall At last ± far off ± at last. to all. That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems. That nothing walks with aimless feet. That I. Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife. Or but subserves another's gain. Whose muffled motions blindly drown The bases of my life in tears. Behold! we know not anything. The tender-pencilled shadow play. To pangs of nature.50 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. When God hath made the pile complete. and taints of blood. Or cast as rubbish to the void. 5 5 15 10 15 20 10 . And every winter change to spring. And finding that of fifty seeds She often brings but one to bear. considering everywhere Her secret meaning in her deeds. 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. sins of will. LV The wish. 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.

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

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

thou too canst say. XCIV How pure at heart and sound in head. and enter. revolving near. They haunt the silence of the breast. The memory like a cloudless air. and touch. Should prove the phantom-warning true. And tho' the months. may come Where all the nerve of sense is numb. Spirit to Spirit. XCIII I shall not see thee. O. call The spirits from their golden day. In Memoriam 53 I might but say. And such refraction of events As often rises ere they rise. I hear a wind Of memory murmuring the past. Yea. Descend. like them. They might not seem thy prophecies. Imaginations calm and fair. With what divine affections bold Should be the man whose thought would hold An hour's communion with the dead. Dare I say No spirit ever brake the band That stays him from the native land Where first he walked when claspt in clay? No visual shade of some one lost. O. Ghost to Ghost. therefore from thy sightless range With gods in unconjectured bliss. But spiritual presentiments. My spirit is at peace with all. In vain shalt thou. or any. But he.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. Except. hear The wish too strong for words to name. That in this blindness of the frame My Ghost may feel that thine is near. the Spirit himself. tho' it spake and bared to view A fact within the coming year. The conscience as a sea at rest: 5 5 10 15 10 15 10 . from the distance of the abyss Of tenfold-complicated change.

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

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

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

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

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

and the Devil may pipe to his own. Why should I stay? can a sweeter chance ever come to me here? O. She may bring me a curse. I know not whence. Maud. and thought he would rise and speak And rave at the lie and the liar. she will let me alone. 2 For a breeze of morning moves. for the fiend best knows whether woman or man be the worse. night. And the planet of Love is on high. I will bury myself in myself. as he used to rave.Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. ah God. the moon-faced darling of all. having the nerves of motion as well as the nerves of pain. she promised then to be fair. And the musk of the rose is blown. Maud with her sweet purse-mouth when my father dangled the grapes. ± 19 What is she now? My dreams are bad. I am here at the gate alone. From: Maud 59 15 Would there be sorrow for me? there was love in the passionate shriek. For the black bat. I played with the girl when a child. 16 I am sick of the Hall and the hill. The dark old place will be gilt by the touch of a millionaire: I have heard. XXII 1 Come into the garden. Thanks. the ringing joy of the Hall. Come into the garden. Were it not wise if I fled from the place and the pit and the fear? 17 There are workmen up at the Hall: they are coming back from abroad. Maud. No. 18 Maud with her venturous climbings and tumbles and childish escapes. of the singular beauty of Maud. Maud the beloved of my mother. as I saw him. 60 65 70 75 5 10 . has flown. And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad. Maud the delight of the village. Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky. I am sick of the moor and the main. Love for the silent thing that had made false haste to the grave ± Wrapt in a cloak. there is fatter game on the moor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

15

20

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

5

10

15

20

25

30

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,
35

40

45

50

55

60

65

70

75

80

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!

85

90

95

100

105

110

115

120

125

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

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

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

by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. And here you catch me at an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar. that's crept to keep him company! Aha.' as who should say) And his weapon in the other. weke. Weke. . sir. brother Lippo's doings. . you know your betters! Then. How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! But you. And nip each softling of a wee white mouse. you'll take Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat. that they sweep the streets And count fair prize what comes into their net? He's Judas to a tittle. Whatever rat. it concerns you that your knaves Pick up a manner nor discredit you.Robert Browning. I' the house that caps the corner. yet unwiped! It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk. you make amends. Lord. if you must show your zeal. how d'ye call? Master ± a . Boh! you were best! Remember and tell me. A wood-coal or the like? or you should see! Yes. Cosimo of the Medici. sir. I'm the painter. ± for the slave that holds John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair With one hand (`Look you. the day you're hanged. lads! more beside!) And all's come square again. Who am I? Why. and you go the rounds. that man is! Just such a face! why. And please to know me likewise. who is lodging with a friend Three streets off ± he's a certain . The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up. Zooks. I'd like his face ± His. What. You know them and they take you? like enough! I saw the proper twinkle in your eye ± 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 . it's past midnight. one. 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. Do. up and down. . sir. now. since you style me so. Zooks. what's to blame? you think you see a monk! What. are we pilchards. Fra Lippo Lippi 75 With their triumphs and their glories and the rest! Love is best. ± harry out. elbowing on his comrade in the door With the pike and lantern. there. haps on his wrong hole. Fra Lippo Lippi I am poor brother Lippo. .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

like a ghostly cricket. creaking where a house was burned ± `Dust and ashes. doubtless. Dear dead women. too ± what's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old. mirth and folly were the crop. more kisses' ± `Did I stop them. 12 Yes. In you come with your cold music till I creep thro' every nerve. those solutions ± `Must we die?' Those commiserating sevenths ± `Life might last! we can but try!' 8 `Were you happy?' ± `Yes. 13 `Yours for instance: you know physics. some with deeds as well undone. 20 25 30 35 40 45 . What of soul was left. they praised you. Mathematics are your pastime. merely born to bloom and drop. While I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close reserve. souls shall rise in their degree. Butterflies may dread extinction. and I want the heart to scold. Told them something? Those suspensions. ± you'll not die. ± think to take my stand nor swerve. Venice spent what Venice earned. The soul. something of geology. 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.84 Robert Browning. when the kissing had to stop? 15 `Dust and ashes!' So you creak it. I wonder. when a million seemed so few?' Hark ± the dominant's persistence. it cannot be! 14 `As for Venice and its people. A Toccata of Galuppi's 7 What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive. you. till it must be answered to! 9 So an octave struck the answer. one by one. sigh on sigh.' ± `And are you still as happy?' ± `Yes ± And you?' ± `Then. Oh.' 10 Then they left you for their pleasure: till in due time. dead and done with. with such hair. Here on earth they bore their fruitage. Death stepped tacitly and took them where they never see the sun. sixths diminished. Some with lives that came to nothing. 11 But when I sit down to reason. is immortal ± where a soul can be discerned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Living and dying. close. With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek. With a malice that marks each word. Outside are the storms and strangers: we ± Oh. ± I and she! 5 10 15 20 . Never the Time and the Place Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying.102 Robert Browning. safe. if I strive to speak. 145 Never the Time and the Place Never the time and the place And the loved one all together! This path ± how soft to pace! This May ± what magic weather! Where is the loved one's face? In a dream that loved one's face meets mine. Uncoil thee from the waking man! Do I hold the Past Thus firm and fast Yet doubt if the Future hold I can? This path so soft to pace shall lead Thro' the magic of May to herself indeed! Or narrow if needs the house must be. But the house is narrow. warm sleep I and she. outside. the place is bleak Where. rain and wind combine With a furtive ear. Leave him ± still loftier than the world suspects. each sign! O enemy sly and serpentine.

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

where art thou now?' O Dream. how happy! those are words That once would scarce agree together . The summer-eve divine. Wastes beyond wastes below. 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. 5 10 15 `How still. I will not. `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. 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. The silent night of solemn calm. But nothing drear can move me.104 Emily (Jane) Bronte. The full moon's cloudless shine Were once entwined with thee But now. with weary pain ± Lost vision! 'tis enough for me ± Thou canst not shine again. where art thou now? Long years have passed away Since last from off thine angel brow I saw the light decay ± Alas.

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

`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. sweet mists of summer pall The horizon's mountain chain The damp stands on the long green grass As thick as morning's tears And dreamy scents of fragrance pass That breathe of other years 10 15 `Come. How fair soe'er it grew The vital sap once perished Will never flow again And surer than that dwelling dread. While moonbeams flash and fly so fast We scarce can say they smiled ± Come walk with me. 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.106 Emily (Jane) Bronte. walk with me. walk with me' Come. Can we not woo back old delights? The clouds rush dark and wild They fleck with shade our mountain heights The same as long ago And on the horizon rest at last In looming masses piled. There's only thee To bless my spirit now ± We used to love on winter nights To wander through the snow. come walk with me. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . 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.

newly-blown: But. all around. And Truth may rudely trample down The flowers of Fancy. with a voice divine. my true friend! I am not lone. Sure solacer of human cares. Where thou. Danger. What matters it. To Imagination 107 È The narrow dungeon of the dead Time parts the hearts of men ±' To Imagination When weary with the long day's care. Warm with ten thousand mingled rays Of suns that know no winter days? Reason. And sweeter hope. Thy world. may oft complain For Nature's sad reality And tell the suffering heart how vain Its cherished dreams must always be. indeed. Of real worlds. and darkness lie. I trust not to thy phantom bliss. and I. And cold suspicion never rise. where guile. still. and hate. And lost and ready to despair. While thou canst speak with such a tone! So hopeless is the world without. as bright as thine. and Liberty. With never-failing thankfulness. to bring The hovering vision back. I welcome thee. Benignant Power. and doubt. when hope despairs! 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 . untroubled sky. Yet. And whisper. The world within I doubly prize. Thy kind voice calls me back again: Oh.Emily (Jane) Bronte. and guilt. that. And earthly change from pain to pain. Have undisputed sovereignty. in evening's quiet hour. If but within our bosom's bound We hold a bright. and breathe New glories o'er the blighted spring And call a lovelier Life from Death. thou art ever there.

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

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

I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom and desolate despair. But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind: And I am rough and rude. Then may I weep and sue ± but. all. A messenger of Hope comes every night to me. half aloud. He comes with western winds.110 Emily (Jane) Bronte. When you my parents' lives ± my lost life can restore. With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. Julian M. Winds take a pensive tone and stars a tender fire. its fair curls swept the ground. unless you deem it shame To own from conquered foe. never. his aspect bland and kind. how former days upon my heart were borne. and A. wilt melt my master's heart with groans? Ah sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones! My master's voice is low. `Lord Julian. Alas. 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. `you have not heard me mourn. yet. Of all my playmates. And offers. `Is she so near to death?' I murmured. can it be. 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. Rochelle È Hoarse laughed the jailor grim. Friend. And kneeling. parted back the floating golden cloud. remember me? Nay start not at my words. Dost think fond. dreaming wretch that I shall grant thy prayer? Or better still. wildly gay! Was that the wintry close of thy celestial May? She knew me and she sighed. And visions rise and change which kill me with desire ± 65 45 35 40 50 55 60 70 . a once familiar name ± I can not wonder now at ought the world will do. you. tell them. with evening's wandering airs. G. By ball or speedy knife or headsman's skilful blow ± A quick and welcome pang instead of lingering woe! Yet. And insult and contempt I lightly brook from you. before!' Her head sank on her hands. alone. eternal liberty. too warmly. too loving Child. `Shall I be won to hear. Julian. The dungeon seemed to swim in strange confusion round. for short life. How memory mirrored then the prisoner's joyous morn ± Too blithe.' she gently said.

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

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

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 . sustains. Changes. that in me hast rest As I Undying Life.Emily (Jane) Bronte. `No coward soul is mine' 113 È `No coward soul is mine' No coward soul is mine No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere I see Heaven's glories shine And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear O God within my breast Almighty ever-present Deity Life. have power in thee Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts. 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. dissolves. unutterably vain.

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

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

. And lovely notes. And they are swept by balms of spring. forwards. Across the sounds and channels pour. that their longing's fire Should be. At this vessel's prow I stand. and sick of asking What I am. Now round us spreads the watery plain ± Oh might our marges meet again! Who ordered. cooled? Who renders vain their deep desire? A God. The nightingales divinely sing. we were Parts of a single continent. o'er the starlit sea. salt. The islands feel the enclasping flow. 5 10 15 20 Self-Dependence Weary of myself. ± For surely once. But when the moon their hollows lights. With echoing straits between us thrown. estranging sea. We mortal millions live alone. on starry nights. and what I ought to be. And then their endless bounds they know. Oh then a longing like despair Is to their farthest caverns sent. Dotting the shoreless watery wild.Matthew Arnold (1822±1888) To Marguerite In Returning a Volume of the Letters of Ortis Yes: in the sea of life enisled. a God their severance ruled! And bade betwixt their shores to be The unplumbed. they feel. And in their glens. which bears me Forwards. from shore to shore. as soon as kindled.

ah. In their own tasks all their powers pouring. compose me to the end. `Ah. the cliffs of England stand. nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul. ye Waters. the light Gleams. the moon lies fair Upon the Straits. Come to the window. These demand not that the things without them Yield them love. as I gaze upon you.' O air-born Voice! long since. The tide is full. severely clear.' From the intense. from the long line of spray Where the ebb meets the moon-blanched land. On my heart your mighty charm renew: Still. `ye Stars. Glimmering and vast. sweet is the night air! Only. A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear.Matthew Arnold. and is gone. `And with joy the stars perform their shining. Undistracted by the sights they see. on the French coast. out in the tranquil bay.' I cried. Feel my soul becoming vast like you. clear. once more. sympathy. Dover Beach 117 And a look of passionate desire O'er the sea and to the stars I send: `Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me. amusement. `Bounded by themselves. and know that he. `Unaffrighted by the silence round them. and unobservant In what state God's other works may be. 5 10 . still let me. `Resolve to be thyself. For alone they live. and fling. Calm me. Over the lit sea's unquiet way. And the sea its long moon-silvered roll. Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves suck back. These attain the mighty life you see. star-sown vault of heaven. In the rustling night-air came the answer ± `Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they. loses his misery!' 25 5 10 15 20 30 Dover Beach The sea is calm tonight. Who finds himself.

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

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

Thee. the smock-frocked boors Had found him seated at their entering. have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe. Or in my boat I lie Moored to the cool bank in the summer heats. will to the world impart: But it needs happy moments for this skill. And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. Oxford riders blithe. At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring. Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers ± the frail-leafed. at the ferry. The same the Gipsies wore. Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 . In hat of antique shape. he left them. Maidens. The Scholar-Gipsy The workings of men's brains. And watch the warm green muffled Cumnor hills. Seen by rare glimpses. Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills.120 Matthew Arnold. `the secret of their art. Wanderer. pensive and tongue-tied. And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream And then they land. and cloak of grey. For most.' he said. And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place. On the warm ingle bench. and thou art seen no more. he would fly: And I myself seem half to know thy looks.' This said. on thy trace. Returning home on summer nights. mid their drink and clatter. That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray. As the slow punt swings round: And leaning backward in a pensive dream. And they can bind them to what thoughts they will: `And I. and returned no more. who from the distant hamlets come To dance around the Fyfield elm in May. thou lov'st retired ground. When fully learned. I know. But. And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers Plucked in shy fields and distant woodland bowers. But rumours hung about the countryside. 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. Or cross a stile into the public way. And put the shepherds. Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dante Gabriel Rossetti. revealed. Then I will lay my cheek 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 . Was thy part understood Or borne in trust? And for her sake Shall this too be found good? ± May the close lips that knew not prayer Praise ever. Finding some knowledge at each pause And some new thing to know. lying so. and though the end were reached? . and be dumb. Alas for lonely Heaven! Alas For life wrung out alone! Alas. Gertrude. and Rosalys. `And I myself. though they would?) `We two. `will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is. expects Its patient period. With her five handmaidens. hushed and slow. `He shall fear haply. with bound locks And bosoms covered. ± Her voice had caught their tone. The Blessed Damozel 127 Whose lamps tremble continually With prayer sent up to God. Margaret. `We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Sometimes is felt to be. While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His name audibly. whose names Are five sweet symphonies: ± Cecily.' she said. being dead. Into the fine cloth. And where each need. white like flame. `Circle-wise sit they. Magdalen. Weaving the golden thread. . To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born. will teach to him ± I myself. which his mouth Shall pause in.' (Alas! to her wise simple mind These things were all but known Before: they trembled on her sense. ± The songs I sing here. .

and listened. ± being as then At peace. To Him round whom all souls Kneel ± the unnumbered solemn heads Bowed with their aureoles: And Angels. and let me speak. and then said. `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. meeting us. And wept.' She ceased. We two will live at once.' She gazed. `Yea. one life. shall sing To their citherns and citoles. and she smiled. hand in hand. filled With Angels. Yea. Her eyes prayed. (I saw her smile. verily.) But soon their flight Was vague 'mid the poised spheres. in strong level lapse. Not once abashed or weak: And the dear Mother will approve My pride. And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers. (I heard her tears.) 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 FROM: THE HOUSE OF LIFE: A SONNET-SEQUENCE Part I Youth and Change Sonnet VI: The Kiss What smouldering senses in death's sick delay Or seizure of malign vicissitude . and tell about our love. And peace shall be with us.128 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Less sad of speech than mild: `All this is when he comes. but to be As then we were. Part I Youth and Change To his. The light thrilled past her. `Herself shall bring us. when he is come We will do thus and thus: Till this my vigil seem quite strange And almost fabulous. verily.

Fain had I watched her when. the hand now warm around my neck Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo! Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow. 5 10 . ± a man When breast to breast we clung. First touched. And her breast's secrets peered into her breast. Sonnet XI: The Love-Letter Can rob this body of honour. Fire within fire. even of her breath aware. The bliss so long afar. Rests there attained. ± A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood. 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. at length so nigh. ± A spirit when her spirit looked through me. ± Oh let thy silent song disclose to me That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree Like married music in Love's answering air.Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 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. Whereof the articulate throbs accompany The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair. and no man sees but I. at some fond thought. desire in deity. I was a child beneath her touch. ± Sweet fluttering sheet. Methinks proud Love must weep When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap The sacred hour for which the years did sigh. 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. 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. Her bosom to the writing closelier pressed.

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

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

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

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

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

you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. 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. ± All ripe together In summer weather. dewberries. Gone far away into the silent land. do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had. Lemons and oranges. Rossetti (1830±1894) Remember Remember me when I am gone away. 5 10 Goblin Market Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: `Come buy our orchard fruits. strawberries. come buy: Apples and quinces. When you can no more hold me by the hand. Melons and raspberries. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember. Plump unpecked cherries. Come buy. Bloom-down-cheeked peaches. blackberries. Wild free-born cranberries.Christina G. Pine-apples. Fair eves that fly. 5 10 15 . Apricots. Crab-apples. Swart-headed mulberries. ± Morns that pass by.

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

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

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

They lay down in their curtained bed: Like two blossoms on one stem. hush. as sweet and busy. Like two wands of ivory Tipped with gold for awful kings. You should not loiter so. To-morrow night I will Buy more:' and kissed her: `Have done with sorrow. my sister: I ate and ate my fill.' Golden head by golden head. Yet my mouth waters still. Not a bat flapped to and fro Round their nest: Cheek to cheek and breast to breast Locked together in one nest. What melons icy-cold Piled on a dish of gold Too huge for me to hold. hush. milked the cows.' `Nay. You cannot think what figs My teeth have met in. Wind sang to them lullaby.Christina G. Neat like bees. And sugar-sweet their sap. Goblin Market 139 While to this day no grass will grow Where she lies low: I planted daisies there a year ago That never blow. and pure the wave they drink With lilies at the brink. Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetched in honey. What peaches with a velvet nap. Moon and stars gazed in at them.' said Laura: `Nay. I'll bring you plums to-morrow Fresh on their mother twigs. Early in the morning When the first cock crowed his warning. Like two flakes of new-fallen snow. Pellucid grapes without one seed: Odorous indeed must be the mead Whereon they grow. Cherries worth getting. Rossetti. 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 . Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other's wings. Lumbering owls forbore to fly.

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

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

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

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:

340

345

350

355

360

365

370

375

380

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;
385

390

395

400

405

410

415

420

425

430

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,

435

440

445

450

455

460

465

470

475

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

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.'
525

530

535

540

545

550

555

560

565

Thomas Hardy (1840±1928)
Neutral Tones
We stood by a pond that winter day, And the sun was white, as though chidden of God, And a few leaves lay on the starving sod, ± They had fallen from an ash, and were gray. Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove Over tedious riddles of years ago; And some words played between us to and fro ± On which lost the more by our love. The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing Alive enough to have strength to die; And a grin of bitterness swept thereby Like an ominous bird a-wing. . . . Since then, keen lessons that love deceives, And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree, And a pond edged with grayish leaves.
5

10

15

Nature's Questioning
When I look forth at dawning, pool, Field, flock, and lonely tree, All seem to gaze at me Like chastened children sitting silent in a school; Their faces dulled, constrained, and worn, As though the master's way Through the long teaching day Had cowed them till their early zest was overborne. Upon them stirs in lippings mere (As if once clear in call, But now scarce breathed at all)Ð `We wonder, ever wonder, why we find us here!
5

10

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.
25

15

20

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

5

10

15

20

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

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

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

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

Manger. to a pane. 7 It dates from day Of his going in Galilee. And it crowds and it combs to the fall. to a poise. wafting him out of it. always. But roped with. being hard at bay.154 Gerard Manley Hopkins. For I greet him the days I meet him. tower from the grace to the grace. 5 I kiss my hand To the stars. The dense and the driven Passion. 4 I am soft sift In an hourglass ± at the wall Fast. Though felt before. I steady as a water in a well. a drift. 6 Not out of his bliss Springs the stress felt Nor first from heaven (and few know this) Swings the stroke dealt ± Stroke and a stress that stars and storms deliver. but mined with a motion. I am bold to boast. a principle. His mystery must be instressed. though in high flood yet ± What none would have known of it. The Wreck of the Deutschland Carrier-witted. tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder. 8 Is out with it! Oh. stressed. a pressure. all the way down from the tall Fells or flanks of the voel. lovely-asunder Starlight. maiden's knee. only the heart. 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. Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey. To flash from the flame to the flame then. and bless when I understand. the faithless fable and miss). Christ's gift. glory in thunder. That guilt is hushed by. Kiss my hand to the dappled-with-damson west: Since. and frightful sweat: Thence the discharge of it. We lash with the best or worst Word last! How a lush-kept plush-capped sloe 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 . and Glow. there its swelling to be.

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

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

Rhine refused them. Christ's lily and beast of the waste wood: From life's dawn it is drawn down. one. this glee? the good you have there of your own? 19 Sister. A prophetess towered in the tumult. What can it be. touched in your bower of bone. Thames would ruin them. double a desperate name! O world wide of its good! But Gertrude. Are you! turned for an exquisite smart. snow. but she that weather sees one thing. The Wreck of the Deutschland 157 Till a lioness arose breasting the babble. Thy unchancelling poising palms were weighing the worth. and the call of the tall nun To the men in the tops and the tackle rode over the storm's brawling. but uttering truth.Gerard Manley Hopkins. lily. thou Orion of light. are two of a town. Surf. tears! is it? tears. Why. 20 She was first of a five and came Á Of a coifed sisterhood. her master and mine! ± And the inboard seas run swirling and hawling. Mark. 22 Five! the finding and sake And cipher of suffering Christ. The rash smart sloggering brine Blinds her. a virginal tongue told. and Luther. river and earth Gnashed: but thou art above. 18 Ah. a sister calling A master.) 21 Loathed for a love men knew in them. O unteachably after evil. heart. lily showers ± sweet heaven was astrew in them. the mark is of man's make 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 . Abel is Cain's brother and breasts they have sucked the same. Thou martyr-master: in thy sight Storm flakes were scroll-leaved flowers. Has one fetch in her: she rears herself to divine Ears. such a melting. a madrigal start! Never-eldering revel and river of youth. Do you! ± mother of being in me. Banned by the land of their birth. (O Deutschland. Have you! make words break from me here all alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways. as I possessed a season. Housman. 5 10 15 20 25 30 . Possess. Or beeches strip in storms for winter And stain the wind with leaves. Or marshalled under moons of harvest Stand still all night the sheaves. From: Last Poems From: Last Poems XL Tell me not here. heartless.174 A. Nor ask amid the dews of morning If they are mine or no. E. And traveller's joy beguiles in autumn Hearts that have lost their own. 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. by waters idle. witless nature. Will neither care nor know What stranger's feet may find the meadow And trespass there and go. And full of shade the pillared forest Would murmur and be mine. it needs not saying. For nature. The countries I resign. On russet floors. Where over elmy plains the highway Would mount the hills and shine. The pine lets fall its cone. On acres of the seeded grasses The changing burnish heaves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

half a league' 55 `Here is the ancient floor' 152 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven 179 Hoarded Joy 132 Home-Thoughts. for they call you. from the hill' 119 Goblin Market 135 God's Grandeur 160 Grammarian's Funeral. pluck not. The 178 `Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife' `Let us begin and carry up this corpse' 98 64 6 . 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. The 149 In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury 150 In Memoriam A. how happy! those are words' 104 `I am poor brother Lippo. ± let the first fruit be' 132 `I went out to the hazel wood' 178 `I will arise and go now. The' 72 `GR-R-R ± there go. The 128 Lady of Shalott. H. 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. A 98 `grey sea and the long black land. and A. from Abroad 68 House of Life: A Sonnet-Sequence. The 19 Lake Isle of Innisfree. Shepherd. H.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. my heart's abhorrence!' 65 `Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths' 179 `Half a league. The 128 `How do I love thee? Let me count the ways' 7 `How still. Rochelle 109 `Just for a handful of silver he left us' Kiss. The 177 Lamentation of the Old Pensioner. G. and go to Innisfree' 177 `I wonder do you feel today' 97 Impercipient.

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

idle tears. Lord 164 `Thou lovely and beloved. so clean an ending?' 170 Shropshire Lad. this is stupid stuff ' 172 `That there are powers above us I admit' 114 `That with this bright believing band' 149 `That's my last Duchess painted on the wall' 63 `There is a budding morrow in midnight' 134 `This sunlight shames November where he grieves' 131 Thou art indeed just. The 175 `Strong Son of God. The 152 `Shot? so quick. The 118 `sea is calm tonight. ± but oh! most dread Desire of Love' 130 `Tears. 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.184 Index of Titles and First Lines Reveille 166 Rose of the World. A 133 Supreme Surrender 129 `Sweet Love. I know not what they mean' 31 `Tell me not here. A 83 Two in the Campagna 97 Ulysses 23 `Under the arch of Life. The 176 `Round the cape of a sudden came the sea' 72 `Say not the struggle naught availeth' 114 Scholar-Gipsy. immortal Love' 33 `Sunset and evening star' 61 Superscription. vanity!' `Wake: the silver dusk returning' 69 166 131 . The' 167 `To all the spirits of Love that wander by' 129 To an Athlete Dying Young 167 To Imagination 107 To Marguerite 116 Toccata of Galuppi's. thou my love' 130 `Thou mastering me' 153 `time you won your town the race. The 178 Sonnets from the Portuguese 6 Soul's Beauty 131 Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves 163 Stolen Child. where love and death' `Vanity. it needs not saying' 174 `Terence. The' 117 Self-Dependence 116 Self-Unseeing. saith the preacher.

The' 150 `Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd' 116 `You did not come' 151 1887 165 .Index of Titles and First Lines 185 `Warmed by her hand and shadowed by her hair' 129 `We sat together at one summer's end' 179 `We stood by a pond that winter day' 148 `Weary of myself. pool' 148 `When I watch the living meet' 167 `When vain desire at last and vain regret' 133 `When weary with the long day's care' 107 `When you are old and grey and full of sleep' 177 When You Are Old 177 `Where dips the rocky highland' 175 `Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles' 72 `Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?' 176 Who Goes with Fergus? 177 `Who will go drive with Fergus now' 177 Windhover. The' 160 Wreck of the Deutschland. ± though unrevealed snow' 132 `What smouldering senses in death's sick delay' 128 `What winter floods. what showers of spring' 103 `When I look forth at dawning. and sick of asking' 116 `What of her glass without her? The blank grey' 130 Á `What place so strange. The 153 `years have gathered grayly. The 161 `With blackest moss the flower-plots' 17 Without Her 130 `world is charged with the grandeur of God.