• TO
• WILLIAM MICHAEL ROSSETTI.
• These Poems,
• TO SO MANY OF WHICH, SO MANY YEARS BACK,
• HE GAVE THE FIRST BROTHERLY HEARING,
• ARE NOW AT LAST DEDICATED.

   

• TO
• WILLIAM MICHAEL ROSSETTI,
• THESE POEMS,
• TO SO MANY OF WHICH, SO MANY YEARS BACK,
• HE GAVE THE FIRST BROTHERLY HEARING,
• ARE NOW AT LAST DEDICATED.
• 1870-1881.

     

---

   

• The blessed damozel leaned out
• From the gold bar of Heaven;
• Her eyes were deeper than the depth
• Of waters stilled at even;
• She had three lilies in her hand,
• And the stars in her hair were seven.

• Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,
• No wrought flowers did adorn,
• But a white rose of Mary's gift,
• 10 For a service meetly worn;
• Her hair that lay along her back
• Was yellow like ripe corn.

• Herseemed she scarce had been a day
• One of God's choristers;
  page: 2  
• The wonder was not yet quite gone
• From that still look of hers;
• Albeit, to them she left, her day
• Had counted as ten years.

• (To one, it is ten years of years.
• 20 . . . Yet now, and in this place,
• Surely she leaned o'er me—her hair
• Fell all about my face. . . .
• Nothing: the autumn fall of leaves.
• The whole year sets apace.)

• It was the rampart of God's house
• That she was standing on;
• By God built over the sheer depth
• The which is Space begun;
• So high, that looking downward thence
• 30 She scarce could see the sun.

• It lies in Heaven, across the flood
• Of ether, as a bridge.
• Beneath, the tides of day and night
• With flame and darkness ridge
• The void, as low as where this earth
• Spins like a fretful midge.

• Heard hardly, some of her new friends
• Amid their loving games
• Spake evermore among themselves
• 40 Their virginal chaste names;
• And the souls mounting up to God
• Went by her like thin flames.

• And still she bowed herself and stooped
• Out of the circling charm;
• Until her bosom must have made
• The bar she leaned on warm,
• And the lilies lay as if asleep
• Along her bended arm.

• From the fixed place of Heaven she saw
• 50 Time like a pulse shake fierce
• Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove
• Within the gulf to pierce
• Its path; and now she spoke as when
• The stars sang in their spheres.

• The sun was gone now; the curled moon
• Was like a little feather
• Fluttering far down the gulf; and now
• She spoke through the still weather.
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• Her voice was like the voice the stars
• 60 Had when they sang together.

• (Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song,
• Strove not her accents there,
• Fain to be hearkened? When those bells
• Possessed the mid-day air,
• Strove not her steps to reach my side
• Down all the echoing stair?)

• ‘I wish that he were come to me,
• For he will come,’ she said.
• ‘Have I not prayed in Heaven?—on earth,
• 70 Lord, Lord, has he not pray'd?
• Are not two prayers a perfect strength?
• And shall I feel afraid?

• ‘When round his head the aureole clings,
• And he is clothed in white,
• I'll take his hand and go with him
• To the deep wells of light;
• We will step down as to a stream,
• And bathe there in God's sight.

• ‘We two will stand beside that shrine,
• 80 Occult, withheld, untrod,
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• Whose lamps are stirred continually
• With prayer sent up to God;
• And see our old prayers, granted, melt
• Each like a little cloud.

• ‘We two will lie i'the shadow of
• That living mystic tree
• Within whose secret growth the Dove
• Is sometimes felt to be,
• While every leaf that His plumes touch
• 90 Saith His Name audibly.

• ‘And I myself will teach to him,
• I myself, lying so,
• The songs I sing here; which his voice
• Shall pause in, hushed and slow,
• And find some knowledge at each pause,
• Or some new thing to know.’

• (Alas! We two, we two, thou say'st!
• Yea, one wast thou with me
• That once of old. But shall God lift
• 100 To endless unity
• The soul whose likeness with thy soul
• Was but its love for thee?)

• ‘We two,’ she said, ‘will seek the groves
• Where the lady Mary is,
• With her five handmaidens, whose names
• Are five sweet symphonies,
• Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,
• Margaret and Rosalys.

• ‘Circlewise sit they, with bound locks
• 110 And foreheads garlanded;
• Into the fine cloth white like flame
• Weaving the golden thread,
• To fashion the birth-robes for them
• Who are just born, being dead.

• ‘He shall fear, haply, and be dumb:
• Then will I lay my cheek
• To his, and tell about our love,
• Not once abashed or weak:
• And the dear Mother will approve
• 120 My pride, and let me speak.

• ‘Herself shall bring us, hand in hand,
• To Him round whom all souls
• Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads
• Bowed with their aureoles:
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• And angels meeting us shall sing
• To their citherns and citoles.

• ‘There will I ask of Christ the Lord
• Thus much for him and me:—
• Only to live as once on earth
• 130 With Love,—only to be,
• As then awhile, for ever now
• Together, I and he.’

• She gazed and listened and then said,
• Less sad of speech than mild,—
• ‘All this is when he comes.’ She ceased.
• The light thrilled towards her, fill'd
• With angels in strong level flight.
• Her eyes prayed, and she smil'd.

• (I saw her smile.) But soon their path
• 140 Was vague in distant spheres:
• And then she cast her arms along
• The golden barriers,
• And laid her face between her hands,
• And wept. (I heard her tears.)

   

• Master of the murmuring courts
• Where the shapes of sleep convene!—
• Lo! my spirit here exhorts
• All the powers of thy demesne
• For their aid to woo my queen.
• What reports
• Yield thy jealous courts unseen?

• Vaporous, unaccountable,
• Dreamland lies forlorn of light,
• 10Hollow like a breathing shell.
• Ah! that from all dreams I might
• Choose one dream and guide its flight!
• I know well
• What her sleep should tell to-night.

• There the dreams are multitudes:
• Some whose buoyance waits not sleep,
• Deep within the August woods;
• Some that hum while rest may steep
• Weary labour laid a-heap;
• 20 Interludes,
• Some, of grievous moods that weep.

• Poets' fancies all are there:
• There the elf-girls flood with wings
• Valleys full of plaintive air;
• There breathe perfumes; there in rings
• Whirl the foam-bewildered springs;
• Siren there
• Winds her dizzy hair and sings.

• Thence the one dream mutually
• 30 Dreamed in bridal unison,
• Less than waking ecstasy;
• Half-formed visions that make moan
• In the house of birth alone;
• And what we
• At death's wicket see, unknown.

• But for mine own sleep, it lies
• In one gracious form's control,
• Fair with honorable eyes,
• Lamps of an auspicious soul:
• 40 O their glance is loftiest dole,
• Sweet and wise,
• Wherein Love descries his goal.

• Reft of her, my dreams are all
• Clammy trance that fears the sky:
• Changing footpaths shift and fall;
• From polluted coverts nigh,
• Miserable phantoms sigh;
• Quakes the pall,
• And the funeral goes by.

• 50Master, is it soothly said
• That, as echoes of man's speech
• Far in secret clefts are made,
• So do all men's bodies reach
• Shadows o'er thy sunken beach,—
• Shape or shade
• In those halls pourtrayed of each?

   

• And did'st thou know indeed, when at the font
• Together with thy name thou gav'st me his,
• That also on thy son must Beatrice
• Decline her eyes according to her wont,
• Accepting me to be of those that haunt
• The vale of magical sweet dark mysteries
• Where to the hills her poet's foot-track lies
• And wisdom's living fountain to his chaunt
• Trembles in music? This is that steep land
• 10 Where he that holds his journey stands at gaze
• Tow'rd sunset, when the clouds like a new height
• Seem piled to climb. These things I understand:
• For here, where day still soothes my lifted face,
• On thy bowed head, my father, fell the night.

   

• Give honour unto Luke Evangelist;
• For he it was (the aged legends say)
• Who first taught Art to fold her hands and pray.
• Scarcely at once she dared to rend the mist
• Of devious symbols: but soon having wist
• How sky-breadth and field-silence and this day
• Are symbols also in some deeper way,
• She looked through these to God and was God's priest.

• And if, past noon, her toil began to irk,
• 10And she sought talismans, and turned in vain
• To soulless self-reflections of man's skill,—
• Yet now, in this the twilight, she might still
• Kneel in the latter grass to pray again,
• Ere the night cometh and she may not work.

   

• And did'st thou know indeed, when at the font
• Together with thy name thou gav'st me his.
• That also on thy son must Beatrice
• Decline her eyes according to her wont,
• Accepting me to be of those that haunt
• The vale of magical sweet mysteries
• Where to the hills her poet's foot-track lies
• And wisdom's living fountain to his chaunt
• Trembles in music? This is that steep land
• 10 Where he that holds his journey stands at gaze
• Tow'rd sunset, when the clouds like a new height
• Seem piled to climb. These things I understand:
• For here, where day still soothes my lifted face,
• On thy bowed head, my father, fell the night.

   

• Give honour unto Luke Evangelist;
• For he it was (the aged legends say)
• Who first taught Art to fold her hands and pray.
• Scarcely at once she dared to rend the mist
• Of devious symbols: but soon having wist
• How sky-breadth and field-silence and this day
• Are symbols also in some deeper way,
• She looked through these to God and was God's priest.

• And if, past noon, her toil began to irk,
• 10And she sought talismans, and turned in vain
• To soulless self-reflections of man's skill,—
• Yet now, in this the twilight, she might still
• Kneel in the latter grass to pray again,
• Ere the night cometh and she may not work.

 

POEMS



Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

London:

F. S. Ellis, 33 King Street, Covent Garden.

1870.

   

• London:
• Strangeways and Walden, Printers,
• Castle St. Leicester Sq.

POEMS





BY

Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

London: F. S. Ellis, 33 King Street, Covent Garden.

1870.

 

• London:
• Strangeways and Walden, Printers,
• Castle St. Leicester Sq.

     

• As though the shaft the string forsook,
• The cymbals clashed, the chariots shook,
• And there was life in Nineveh?

• On London stones our sun anew
• The beast's recovered shadow threw.
• (No shade that plague of darkness knew,
• No light, no shade, while older grew
• By ages the old earth and sea.)
• Lo thou! could all thy priests have shown
• 10Such proof to make thy godhead known?
• From their dead Past thou liv'st alone;
• And still thy shadow is thine own
• Even as of yore in Nineveh.

• That day whereof we keep record,
• When near thy city-gates the Lord
• Sheltered his Jonah with a gourd,
• This sun, (I said) here present, pour'd
• Even thus this shadow that I see.
• This shadow has been shed the same
• 20From sun and moon,—from lamps which came
• For prayer,—from fifteen days of flame,
• The last, while smouldered to a name
• Sardanapalus' Nineveh.

• Within thy shadow, haply, once
• Sennacherib has knelt, whose sons
• Smote him between the altar-stones:
• Or pale Semiramis her zones
• Of gold, her incense brought to thee,
• In love for grace, in war for aid: . . . .
• 30Ay, and who else? . . . . till 'neath thy shade
• Within his trenches newly made
• Last year the Christian knelt and pray'd—
• Not to thy strength—in Nineveh.*

• Now, thou poor god, within this hall
• Where the blank windows blind the wall
• From pedestal to pedestal,
• The kind of light shall on thee fall
• Which London takes the day to be:
• While school-foundations in the act
• 40Of holiday, three files compact,
• Shall learn to view thee as a fact
• Connected with that zealous tract:
• ‘Rome,—Babylon and Nineveh.’

• Deemed they of this, those worshippers,
• When, in some mythic chain of verse
• Which man shall not again rehearse,
• The faces of thy ministers
• Yearned pale with bitter ecstasy?
• Greece, Egypt, Rome,—did any god
• 50Before whose feet men knelt unshod
• Deem that in this unblest abode
• Another scarce more unknown god
• Should house with him, from Nineveh?

• Ah! in what quarries lay the stone
• From which this pigmy pile has grown,
• Unto man's need how long unknown,
• Since thy vast temples, court and cone,
• Rose far in desert history?
• Ah! what is here that does not lie
• 60All strange to thine awakened eye?
• Ah! what is here can testify
• (Save that dumb presence of the sky)
• Unto thy day and Nineveh?

• Why, of those mummies in the room
• Above, there might indeed have come
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• One out of Egypt to thy home,
• An alien. Nay, but were not some
• Of these thine own ‘antiquity?’
• And now,—they and their gods and thou
• 70All relics here together,—now
• Whose profit? whether bull or cow,
• Isis or Ibis, who or how,
• Whether of Thebes or Nineveh?

• The consecrated metals found,
• And ivory tablets, underground,
• Winged teraphim and creatures crown'd,
• When air and daylight filled the mound,
• Fell into dust immediately.
• And even as these, the images
• 80Of awe and worship,—even as these,—
• So, smitten with the sun's increase,
• Her glory mouldered and did cease
• From immemorial Nineveh.

• The day her builders made their halt,
• Those cities of the lake of salt
• Stood firmly 'stablished without fault,
• Made proud with pillars of basalt,
• With sardonyx and porphyry.

   

• Mother of the Fair Delight,
• Thou handmaid perfect in God's sight,
• Now sitting fourth beside the Three,
• Thyself a woman-Trinity,—
• Being a daughter borne to God,
• Mother of Christ from stall to rood,
• And wife unto the Holy Ghost:—
• Oh when our need is uttermost,
• Think that to such as death may strike
• 10Thou once wert sister sisterlike!
• Thou headstone of humanity,
• Groundstone of the great Mystery,
• Fashioned like us, yet more than we!

• Mind'st thou not (when June's heavy breath
• Warmed the long days in Nazareth,)
  page: 42  
• That eve thou didst go forth to give
• Thy flowers some drink that they might live
• One faint night more amid the sands?
• Far off the trees were as pale wands
• 20Against the fervid sky: the sea
• Sighed further off eternally
• As human sorrow sighs in sleep.
• Then suddenly the awe grew deep,
• As of a day to which all days
• Were footsteps in God's secret ways:
• Until a folding sense, like prayer,
• Which is, as God is, everywhere,
• Gathered about thee; and a voice
• Spake to thee without any noise,
• 30Being of the silence:—‘Hail,’ it said,
• ‘Thou that art highly favourèd;
• The Lord is with thee here and now;
• Blessed among all women thou.’

• Ah! knew'st thou of the end, when first
• That Babe was on thy bosom nurs'd?—
• Or when He tottered round thy knee
• Did thy great sorrow dawn on thee?—
• And through His boyhood, year by year

   

• A stumbling clatter as of horse hemmed round.
• Then, when she saw me hurry out of doors,
• My gun slung at my shoulder and my knife
• Stuck in my girdle, she smoothed down my hair
• And laughed to see me look so brave, and leaped
• Up to my neck and kissed me. She was still
• A child; and yet that kiss was on my lips
• So hot all day where the smoke shut us in.

• For now, being always with her, the first love
• 10I had—the father's, brother's love—was changed,
• I think, in somewise; like a holy thought
• Which is a prayer before one knows of it.
• The first time I perceived this, I remember,
• Was once when after hunting I came home
• Weary, and she brought food and fruit for me,
• And sat down at my feet upon the floor
• Leaning against my side. But when I felt
• Her sweet head reach from that low seat of hers
• So high as to be laid upon my heart,
• 20I turned and looked upon my darling there
• And marked for the first time how tall she was
• And my heart beat with so much violence
  page: 68  
• Under her cheek, I thought she could not choose
• But wonder at it soon and ask me why;
• And so I bade her rise and eat with me.
• And when, remembering all and counting back
• The time, I made out fourteen years for her
• And told her so, she gazed at me with eyes
• As of the sky and sea on a grey day,
• 30And drew her long hands through her hair, and asked me
• If she was not a woman; and then laughed:
• And as she stooped in laughing, I could see
• Beneath the growing throat the breasts half globed
• Like folded lilies deepset in the stream.

• Yes, let me think of her as then; for so
• Her image, Father, is not like the sights
• Which come when you are gone. She had a mouth
• Made to bring death to life,—the underlip
• Sucked in, as if it strove to kiss itself.
• 40Her face was ever pale, as when one stoops
• Over wan water; and the dark crisped hair
• And the hair's shadow made it paler still:—
• Deep-serried locks, the darkness of the cloud
• Where the moon's gaze is set in eddying gloom.

• For look you, when she stirs her hand, it shows
• The little hilt of horn and pearl,—even such
• A dagger as our women of the coast
• Twist in their garters.

• Father, I have done:
• And from her side now she unwinds the thick
• 50Dark hair; all round her side it is wet through,
• But like the sand at Iglio does not change.
• Now you may see the dagger clearly. Father,
• I have told all: tell me at once what hope
• Can reach me still. For now she draws it out
• Slowly, and only smiles as yet: look, Father,
• She scarcely smiles: but I shall hear her laugh
• Soon, when she shows the crimson blade to God.

   

• Lazy laughing languid Jenny,
• Fond of a kiss and fond of a guinea,
• Whose head upon my knee to-night
• Rests for a while, as if grown light
• With all our dances and the sound
• To which the wild tunes spun you round:
• Fair Jenny mine, the thoughtless queen
• Of kisses which the blush between
• Could hardly make much daintier ,— ;
• 10Whose eyes are as blue skies, whose hair
• Is countless gold incomparable:
• Fresh flower, scarce touched with signs that tell
• Of Love's exuberant hotbed:—Nay,
• Poor flower left torn since yesterday
• Until to-morrow leave you bare;
• Poor handful of bright spring-water
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• Flung in the whirlpool's shrieking face — ;
• Poor shameful Jenny, full of grace
• Thus with your head upon my knee;—
• 20Whose person or whose purse may be
• The lodestar of your reverie?

• This room of yours, my Jenny, looks
• A change from mine so full of books,
• Whose serried ranks hold fast, forsooth,
• So many captive hours of youth,—
• The hours they thieve from day and night
• To make one's cherished work come right,
• And leave it wrong for all their theft,
• Even as to-night my work was left:
• 30Until I vowed that since my brain
• And eyes of dancing seemed so fain,
• My feet should have some dancing too:—
• And thus it was I met with you.
• Well, I suppose 'twas hard to part,
• For here I am. And now, sweetheart,
• You seem too tired to get to bed.

• It was a careless life I led
• When rooms like this were scarce so strange
  page: 86  
• Not long ago. What breeds the change,—
• 40The many aims or the few years?
• Because to-night it all appears
• Something I do not know again.

• The cloud's not danced out of my brain,—
• The cloud that made it turn and swim
• While hour by hour the books grew dim.
• Why, Jenny, as I watch you there,—
• For all your wealth of loosened hair,
• Your silk ungirdled and unlac'd
• And warm sweets open to the waist,
• 50All golden in the lamplight's gleam,—
• You know not what a book you seem,
• Half-read by lightning in a dream!
• How should you know, my Jenny? Nay,
• And I should be ashamed to say:—
• Poor beauty, so well worth a kiss!
• But while my thought runs on like this
• With wasteful whims more than enough,
• I wonder what you're thinking of.

• If of myself you think at all,
• 60What is the thought?—conjectural
Note: Pages 87-100 not in this proof.
page: 101  
• Though all the memory's long outworn
• Of many a double-pillowed morn.
• I think I see you when you wake,
• And rub your eyes for me, and shake
• My gold, in rising, from your hair,
• A Danaë for a moment there.

• Jenny, my love rang true! for still
• Love at first sight is vague, until
• That tinkling makes him audible.

• 70 And must I mock you to the last,
• Ashamed of my own shame,—aghast
• Because some thoughts not born amiss
• Rose at a poor fair face like this?
• Well, of such thoughts so much I know:
• In my life, as in hers, they show,
• By a far gleam which I may near,
• A dark path I can strive to clear.

• Only one kiss. Goodbye, my dear.

   

• This is her picture as she was:
• It seems a thing to wonder on,
• As though mine image in the glass
• Should tarry when myself am gone.
• I gaze until she seems to stir,—
• Until mine eyes almost aver
• That now, even now, the sweet lips part
• To breathe the words of the sweet heart:—
• And yet the earth is over her.

• 10Alas! even such the thin-drawn ray
• That makes the prison-depths more rude,—
• The drip of water night and day
• Giving a tongue to solitude.
• Yet this, of all love's perfect prize,
• Remains; save what , in mournful guise ,

• Even than the old gaze tenderer:
• While hopes and aims long lost with her
• Stand round her image side by side,
• Like tombs of pilgrims that have died
• 20About the Holy Sepulchre.

   

• Of Florence and of Beatrice
• Servant and singer from of old,
• O'er Dante's heart in youth had toll'd
• The knell that gave his Lady peace;
• And now in manhood flew the dart
• Wherewith his City pierced his heart.

• Yet if his Lady's home above
• Was Heaven, on earth she filled his soul;
• And if his City held control
• 10To cast the body forth to rove,
• The soul could soar from earth's vain throng,
• And Heaven and Hell fulfil the song.

• But at this court, peace still must wrench
• Her chaplet from the teeth of war:
• By day they held high watch afar,
• At night they cried across the trench;
• And still, in Dante's path, the fierce
• Gaunt soldiers wrangled o'er their spears.

• But vain seemed all the strength to him,
• 20 As golden convoys sunk at sea
• Whose wealth might root out penury:
• Because it was not, limb with limb,
• Knit like his heart-strings round the wall
• Of Florence, that her face ill pride might fall.

• Yet in the tiltyard, when the dust
• Cleared from the sundered press of knights
• Ere yet again it swoops and smites,
• He almost deemed his longing must
• Find force to wield that multitude
• 30 And hurl that strength the way he would.

• How should he move them,—fame and gain
• On all hands calling them at strife?
• He still might find but his one life
  page: 114  
• To give, by Florence counted vain;
• One heart the false hearts made her doubt;
• One voice she heard once and cast out.

• Oh! if his Florence could but come,
• A lily-sceptered damsel fair,
• As her own Giotto painted her
• 40On many shields and gates at home,—
• A lady crowned, at a soft pace
• Riding the lists round to the dais

• Till where Can Grande rules the lists,
• As young as Truth, as calm as Force,
• She draws her rein now, while her horse
• Bows at the turn of the white wrists;
• And when each knight within his stall
• Gives ear, she speaks and tells them all

• All the foul tale,—truth sworn untrue
• 50 And falsehood's triumph. All the tale?
• Great God! and must she not prevail
• To fire them ere they heard it through,—
• And hand achieve ere heart could rest
• That high adventure of her quest?

• To mark his ‘Viva Cane!’ scare
• The foe's shut front, till it would reel
• All blind with shaken points of steel.

• But there were places—held too sweet
• For eyes that had not the due veil
• 60 Of lashes and clear lids—as well
• In favour as his saddle-seat:
• Breath of low speech he scorned not there
• Nor light cool fingers in his hair.

• Yet if the child whom the sire's plan
• Made free of a deep treasure-chest
• Scoffed it with ill-conditioned jest,—
• We may be sure too that the man
• Was not mere thews, nor all content
• With lewdness swathed in sentiment.

• 70So you may read and marvel not
• That such a man as Dante—one
• Who, while Can Grande's deeds were done,
• Had drawn his robe round him and thought—
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• Now at the same guest-table far'd
• Where keen Uguccio wiped his beard.*

• Through leaves and trellis-work the sun
• Left the wine cool within the glass,—
• They feasting where no sun could pass:
• And when the women, all as one,
• 80 Rose up with brightened cheeks to go,
• It was a comely thing, we know.

• But Dante recked not of the wine;
• Whether the women stayed or went,
• His visage held one stern intent:
• And when the music had its sign
• To breathe upon them for more ease,
• Sometimes he turned and bade it cease.

• And as he spared not to rebuke
• The mirth, so oft in council he
• 90 To bitter truth bore testimony:
• And when the crafty balance shook
• Well poised to make the wrong prevail,
• Then Dante's hand would turn the scale.

• And if some envoy from afar
• Sailed to Verona's sovereign port
• For aid or peace, and all the court
• Fawned on its lord, ‘the Mars of war,
• Sole arbiter of life and death,’—
• Be sure that Dante saved his breath.

• 100And Can La Scala marked askance
• These things, accepting them for shame
• And scorn, till Dante's guestship came
• To be a peevish sufferance:
• His host sought ways to make his days
• Hateful; and such have many ways.

• There was a Jester, a foul lout
• Whom the court loved for graceless arts;
• Sworn scholiast of the bestial parts
• Of speech; a ribald mouth to shout
• 110 In Folly's horny tympanum
• Such things as make the wise man dumb.

• Much loved, him Dante loathed. And so,
• One day when Dante felt perplex'd
• If any day that could come next
  page: 122  
• Were worth the waiting for or no,
• And mute he sat amid their din,—
• Can Grande called the Jester in.

• Rank words, with such, are wit's best wealth
• Lords mouthed approval; ladies kept
• 120 Twittering with clustered heads, except
• Some few that took their trains by stealth
• And went. Can Grande shook his hair
• And smote his thighs and laughed i' the air.

• Then, facing on his guest, he cried,—
• ‘Say, Messer Dante, how it is
• I get out of a clown like this
• More than your wisdom can provide.’
• And Dante: ‘'Tis man's ancient whim
• That still his like seems good to him.’

• 130Also a tale is told, how once,
• At clearing tables after meat,
• Piled for a jest at Dante's feet
• Were found the din ner's well-picked bones;
• So laid, to please the banquet's lord,
• By one who crouched beneath the board.

   

• And if some envoy from afar
• Sailed to Verona's sovereign port
• For aid or peace, and all the court
• Fawned on its lord, ‘the Mars of war,
• Sole arbiter of life and death,’—!
• Be sure that Dante saved his breath.

• And Can La Scala marked askance
• These things, accepting them for shame
• And scorn, till Dante's guestship came
• 10To be a peevish sufferance:
• His host sought ways to make his days
• Hateful; and such have many ways.

• There was a Jester, a foul lout
• Whom the court loved for graceless arts;
• Sworn scholiast of the bestial parts
• Of speech; a ribald mouth to shout
• In Folly's horny tympanum
• Such things as make the wise man dumb.

• Much loved, him Dante loathed. And so,
• 20 One day when Dante felt perplex'd
• If any day that could come next
page: 122  
Note: In received line 288, the "igh" in "thighs" has been underlined in pen, and there is a small check mark in the left margin. Also, in the right margin beside received line 298, the letters "tr" have been written in pen and then crossed-out in a lighter ink or pencil.
• Were worth the waiting for or no,
• And mute he sat amid their din,—
• Can Grande called the Jester in.

• Rank words, with such, are wit's best wealth
• Lords mouthed approval; ladies kept
• Twittering with clustered heads, except
• Some few that took their trains by stealth
• And went. Can Grande shook his hair
• 30 And smote his thighs and laughed i' the air.

• Then, facing on his guest, he cried,—
• ‘Say, Messer Dante, how it is
• I get out of a clown like this
• More than your wisdom can provide.’
• And Dante: ‘'Tis man's ancient whim
• That still his like seems good to him.’!

• Also a tale is told, how once,
• At clearing tables after meat,
• Piled for a jest at Dante's feet
• 40Were found the diner's dinner's well-picked bones;
• So laid, to please the banquet's lord,
• By one who crouched beneath the board.

• Then smiled Can Grande to the rest:—
• ‘Our Dante's tuneful mouth indeed
• Lacks not the gift on flesh to feed!’
• ‘Fair host of min d e,’ replied the guest,
• ‘So many bones you'd not descry
• If so it chanced the dog were I.’*

• 50But wherefore should we turn the grout
• In a drained cup, or be at strife
• From the worn garment of a life
• To rip the twisted ravel out?
• Good needs expounding; but of ill
• Each hath enough to guess his fill.

• They named him Justicer-at-Law:
• Each month to bear the tale in mind
• Of hues a wench might wear unfin'd
• And of the load an ox might draw;
• 60 To cavil in the weight of bread
• And to see purse-thieves gibbeted.

• And when his spirit wove the spell
• (From under -even to over-noon
• In converse with itself alone,)
• As high as Heaven, as low as Hell,—
• He would be summoned and must go:
• For had not Gian stabbed Giacomo?

• Therefore the bread he had to eat
• Seemed brackish, less like corn than tares;
• 70 And the rush-strown accustomed stairs
• Each day were steeper to his feet;
• And when the night-vigil was done,
• His brows would ache to feel the sun.

• Nevertheless, when from his kin
• There came the tidings how at last
• In Florence a decree was pass'd
• Whereby all banished folk might win
• Free pardon, so a fine were paid
• And act of public penance made,—

• 80This Dante writ in answer thus,
• Words such as these: ‘That clearly they
• In Florence must not have to say,—

   

• Then smiled Can Grande to the rest:—
• ‘Our Dante's tuneful mouth indeed
• Lacks not the gift on flesh to feed!’
• ‘Fair host of min d e,’ replied the guest,
• ‘So many bones you'd not descry
• If so it chanced the dog were I.’*

• But wherefore should we turn the grout
• In a drained cup, or be at strife
• From the worn garment of a life
• 10To rip the twisted ravel out?
• Good needs expounding; but of ill
• Each hath enough to guess his fill.

• They named him Justicer-at-Law:
• Each month to bear the tale in mind
• Of hues a wench might wear unfin'd
• And of the load an ox might draw;
• To cavil in the weight of bread
• And to see purse-thieves gibbeted.

• And when his spirit wove the spell
• 20 (From under even to over-noon
• In converse with itself alone,)
• As high as Heaven, as low as Hell,—
• He would be summoned and must go:
• For had not Gian stabbed Giacomo?

• Therefore the bread he had to eat
• Seemed brackish, less like corn than tares;
• And the rush-strown accustomed stairs
• Each day were steeper to his feet;
• And when the night-vigil was done,
• 30 His brows would ache to feel the sun.

• Nevertheless, when from his kin
• There came the tidings how at last
• In Florence a decree was pass'd
• Whereby all banished folk might win
• Free pardon, so a fine were paid
• And act of public penance made,—

• This Dante writ in answer thus,
• Words such as these: ‘That clearly they
• In Florence must not have to say,—

   

• ‘Now close your eyes, for they're sick and sore,
• Sister Helen,
• And I'll play without the gallery door.’
• ‘Aye, let me rest,—I'll lie on the floor,
• Little brother.’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• What rest to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

• ‘Here high up in the balcony,
• Sister Helen,
• 10 The moon flies face to face with me.’
• ‘Aye, look and say whatever you see,
• Little brother.’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• What sight to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

• ‘Outside it's merry in the wind's wake,
• Sister Helen;
• In the shaken trees the chill stars shake.’
• ‘Hush, heard you a horse-tread as you spake,
• Little brother?’
• 20 ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• What sound to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

• ‘I hear a horse-tread, and I see,
• Sister Helen,
• Three horsemen that ride terribly.’
• ‘Little brother, whence come the three,
• Little brother?’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Whence should they come, between Hell and Heaven?)

• ‘They come by the hill-verge from Boyn e Bar,
• 30 Sister Helen,
• And one draws nigh, but two are afar.’
• ‘Look, look, do you know them who they are,
• Little brother?’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Who should they be, between Hell and Heaven?)

• ‘Oh, it's Weir Keith of Eastholm rides so fast,
• Sister Helen,
• For I know the white mane on the blast.’
• ‘The hour has come, has come at last,
• Little brother!’
• 40 ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Her hour at last, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘He has made a sign and called Halloo!
• Sister Helen,
• And he says that he would speak with you.’
• ‘Oh tell him I fear the frozen dew,
• Little brother.’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Why laughs she thus, between Hell and Heaven?)

• ‘The wind is loud, but I hear him cry,
• 50 Sister Helen,
• That Weir Keith of Ewern's like to die.’
• ‘And he and thou, and thou and I,
• Little brother.’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• And they and we, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘For three days now he has lain abed,
• Sister Helen,
• And he prays in torment to be dead.’
• ‘The thing may chance, if he have prayed,
• 60 Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• If he have prayed, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘But he has not ceased to cry to-day,
• Sister Helen,
• That you should take your curse away.’
• ‘ My prayer was heard,—he need but pray,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Shall God not hear, between Hell and Heaven?)

• 70‘But he says, till you take back your ban,
• Sister Helen,
• His soul would pass, yet never can.’
• ‘Nay then, shall I slay a living man,
• Little brother?’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• A living soul, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘But he calls for ever on your name,
• Sister Helen,
• And says that he melts before a flame.’
• 80‘My heart for his pleasure fared the same,
• Little brother.’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Fire at the heart, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘Here's Weir Keith of Westholm riding fast,
• Sister Helen,
• For I know the white plume on the blast.’
• ‘The hour, the sweet hour I forecast,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• 90 Is the hour sweet, between Hell and Heaven?)

• ‘He stops to speak, and he stills his horse,
• Sister Helen;
• But his words are drowned in the wind's course.’
• ‘Nay hear, nay hear, you must hear perforce,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• A word ill heard, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘Oh he says that Weir Keith of Ewern's cry,
• Sister Helen,
• 100 Is ever to see you ere he die.’
• ‘He sees me in earth, in moon and sky,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Earth, moon and sky, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘He sends a ring and a broken coin,
• Sister Helen,
• And bids you mind the banks of Boyne.’
• ‘What else he broke will he ever join,
• Little brother?’
• 110 ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Oh, never more, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘He yields you these and craves full fain,
• Sister Helen,
• You pardon him in his mortal pain.’
• ‘What else he took will he give again,
• Little brother?’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• No more again, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘He calls your name in an agony,
• 120 Sister Helen,
• That even dead Love must weep to see.’
• ‘Hate, born of Love, is blind as he,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Love turned to hate, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘Oh it's Weir Keith of Weir Keith now that rides fast,
• Sister Helen,
• For I know the white hair on the blast.’
• ‘The short short hour will soon be past,
• 130 Litle brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Will soon be past, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘He looks at me and he tries to speak,
• Sister Helen,
• But oh! his voice is sad and weak!’
• ‘What here should the mighty Baron seek,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Is this the end, between Hell and Heaven!)

• 140‘Oh his son still cries, if you forgive,
• Sister Helen,
• The body dies but the soul shall live.’
• ‘Fire shall forgive me as I forgive,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• As she forgives, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘Oh he prays you, as his heart would rive,
• Sister Helen,
• To save his dear son's soul alive.’
• 150‘Nay, flame cannot slay it, it shall thrive,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Alas, alas, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘He cries to you, kneeling in the road,
• Sister Helen,
• To go with him for the love of God!’
• ‘The way is long to his son's abode,
• Little brother.’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• 160 The way is long, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘O Sister Helen, you heard the bell,
• Sister Helen!
• More loud than the vesper-chime it fell.’
• ‘No vesper-chime, but a dying knell,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• His dying knell, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘Alas! but I fear the heavy sound,
• Sister Helen;
• 170 Is it in the sky or in the ground?’
• ‘Say, have they turned their horses round,
• Little brother?’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• What would she more, between Hell and Heaven?)

• ‘They have raised the old man from his knee,
• Sister Helen,
• And they ride in silence hastily.’
• ‘More fast the naked soul doth flee,
• Little brother!’
• 180 ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• The naked soul, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘Oh the wind is sad in the iron chill,
• Sister Helen,
• And weary sad they look by the hill.’
• ‘But he they mourne is Keith of Ewern's sadder still,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Most sad of all, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘See, see, the wax has dropped from its place,
• 190 Sister Helen,
• And the flames are winning up apace!’
• ‘Yet here they burn but for a space,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Here for a space, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘Ah! what white thing at the door has cross'd,
• Sister Helen?
• Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?’
• ‘A soul that's lost as mine is lost,
• 200 Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!)

   

• ‘Alas! but I fear the heavy sound,
• Sister Helen;
• Is it in the sky or in the ground?’
• ‘Say, have they turned their horses round,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• What would she more, between Hell and Heaven?)

• ‘They have raised the old man from his knee,
• Sister Helen,
• 10 And they ride in silence hastily.’
• ‘More fast the naked soul doth flee,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• The naked soul, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘Oh the wind is sad in the iron chill,
• Sister Helen,
• And weary sad they look by the hill.’
• ‘But Keith of Ewern's is sadder still,
• Little brother!’
• 20 ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Most sad of all, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘See, see, the wax has dropped from its place,
• Sister Helen,
• And the flames are winning up apace!’
• ‘Yet here they burn but for a space,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Here for a space, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘Ah! what white thing at the door has cross'd,
• 30 Sister Helen?
• Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?’
• ‘A soul that's lost as mine is lost,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!)

   

• ‘Alas! but I fear the heavy sound,
• Sister Helen;
• Is it in the sky or in the ground?’
• ‘Say, have they turned their horses round,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• What would she more, between Hell and Heaven?)

• ‘They have raised the old man from his knee,
• Sister Helen,
• 10 And they ride in silence hastily.’
• ‘More fast the naked soul doth flee,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• The naked soul, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘Oh the wind is sad in the iron chill,
• Sister Helen,
• And weary sad they look by the hill.’
• ‘But Keith of Ewern's is sadder still,
• Little brother!’
• 20 ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Most sad of all, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘See, see, the wax has dropped from its place,
• Sister Helen,
• And the flames are winning up apace!’
• ‘Yet here they burn but for a space,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Here for a space, between Hell and Heaven!)

• ‘Ah! what white thing at the door has cross'd,
• 30 Sister Helen?
• Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?’
• ‘A soul that's lost as mine is lost,
• Little brother!’
• ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
• Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!)

   

• ‘O have you seen the Stratton flood
• That's great with rain to-day?
• It runs beneath your wall, Lord Sands,
• Full of the new-mown hay.

• ‘I led your hounds to Hutton bank
• To bathe at early morn:
• They got their bath by Borrowbrake
• Above the standing corn.’

• Out from the castle-stair Lord Sands
• 10 Looked up the western lea;
• The rook was grieving on her nest,
• The flood was round her tree.

• Over the castle-wall Lord Sands
• Looked down the eastern hill:
• The stakes swam free among the boats,
• The flood was rising still.

• ‘What's yonder far below that lies
• So white against the slope?’
• ‘O it's a sail o' your bonny barks
• 20 The waters have washed up.

• ‘But I have never a sail so white,
• And the water's not yet there.’
• ‘O it's the swans o' your bonny lake
• The rising flood doth scare.’

• ‘The swans they would not hold so still,
• So high they would not win.’
• ‘O it's Joyce my wife has spread her smock
• And fears to fetch it in.’

• ‘Nay, knave, it's neither sail nor swans,
• 30 Nor aught that you can say;
• For though your wife might leave her smock,
• Herself she'd bring away.’

• Lord Sands has passed the turret-stair,
• The court, and yard, and all;
• The kine were in the byre that day,
• The nags were in the stall.

• ‘And oh!’ she said, ‘it's well this way
• That I thought to have fared,—
• Not to have lighted at the kirk
• But stopped in the kirkyard.

• ‘For it's oh and oh I prayed to God,
• Whose rest I hoped to win,
• That when to-night at your board-head
• You'd bid the feast begin,
• This water past your window-sill
• 170 Might bear my body in.’

• Now make the white bed warm and soft
• And greet the merry morn.
• The night the mother should have died
• The young son shall be born.

   

• Could you not drink her gaze like wine?
• Yet though its splendour swoon
• Into the silence languidly
• As a tune into a tune,
• Those eyes unravel the coiled night
• And know the stars at noon.

• The gold that's heaped beside her hand,
• In truth rich prize it were;
• And rich the dreams that wreathe her brows
• 10 With magic stillness there;
• And he were rich who should unwind
• That woven golden hair.

• Around her, where she sits, the dance
• Now breathes its eager heat;

   

• Along the grass sweet airs are blown
• Our way this day in Spring.
• Of all the songs that we have known
• Now which one shall we sing?
• Not that, my love, ah no!—
• Not this, my love? why, so!—
• Yet both were ours, but hours will come and go.

• The grove is all a pale frail mist,
• The new year sucks the sun.
• 10Of all the kisses that we kissed
• Now which shall be the one?
• Not that, my love, ah no!—
• Not this, my love?—heigh-ho
• For all the sweets that all the winds can blow!

• The branches cross above our eyes,
• The skies are in a net:
• And what's the thing beneath the skies
• We two would most forget?
• Not birth, my love, no, no,—
• 20 Not death, my love, no, no,—
• The love once ours, but ours long hours ago.

   

• So it is, my dear.
• All such things touch secret strings
• For heavy hearts to hear.
• So it is, my dear.

• Very like indeed:
• Sea and sky, afar, on high,
• Sand and strewn seaweed,—
• Very like indeed.

• But the sea stands spread
• 10As one wall with the flat skies,
• Where the lean black craft like flies
• Seem well-nigh stagnated,
• Soon to drop off dead.

• Seemed it so to us
• When I was thine and thou wast mine,
• And all these things were thus,
• But all our world in us?

• Could we be so now?
• Not if all beneath heaven's pall
• 20 Lay dead but I and thou,
• Could we be so now!

   

• Along the grass sweet airs are blown
• Our way this day in Spring.
• Of all the songs that we have known
• Now which one shall we sing?
• Not that, my love, ah no!—
• Not this, my love? why, so!—
• Yet both were ours, but hours will come and go.

• The grove is all a pale frail mist,
• The new year sucks the sun.
• 10Of all the kisses that we kissed
• Now which shall be the one?
• Not that, my love, ah no!—
• Not this, my love?—heigh-ho
• For all the sweets that all the winds can blow!

• The branches cross above our eyes,
• The skies are in a net:
• And what's the thing beneath the skies
• We two would most forget?
• Not birth, my love, no, no,—
• 20 Not death, my love, no, no,—
• The love once ours, but ours long hours ago.

   

• So it is, my dear.
• All such things touch secret strings
• For heavy hearts to hear.
• So it is, my dear.

• Very like indeed:
• Sea and sky, afar, on high,
• Sand and strewn seaweed,—
• Very like indeed.

• But the sea stands spread
• 10As one wall with the flat skies,
• Where the lean black craft like flies
• Seem well-nigh stagnated,
• Soon to drop off dead.

• Seemed it so to us
• When I was thine and thou wast mine,
• And all these things were thus,
• But all our world in us?

• Could we be so now?
• Not if all beneath heaven's pall
• 20 Lay dead but I and thou,
• Could we be so now!

   

• ‘How should I your true love know
• From another one?’
• ‘By his cockle-hat and staff
• And his sandal-shoon.’

• ‘And what signs have told you now
• That he hastens home?’
• ‘Lo! the spring is nearly gone,
• He is nearly come.’

• ‘For a token is there nought,
• 10 Say, that he should bring?’
• ‘He will bear a ring I gave
• And another ring.’

• ‘How may I, when he shall ask,
• Tell him who lies there?’
• ‘Nay, but leave my face unveiled
• And unbound my hair.’

• ‘Can you say to me some word
• I shall say to him?’
• ‘Say I'm looking in his eyes
• 20 Though my eyes are dim.’

   

• Christ sprang from David shepherd, and even so
• From David king; being born of high and low.

• The shepherd lays his crook, the king his crown,
• Here at Christ's feet, and high and low bow down.

• And high and low, Christ's self is shown here; even
• Christ the Good Shepherd, Christ the King of Heaven.

   

• ‘How should I your true love know
• From another one?’
• ‘By his cockle-hat and staff
• And his sandal-shoon.’

• ‘And what signs have told you now
• That he hastens home?’
• ‘Lo! the spring is nearly gone,
• He is nearly come.’

• ‘For a token is there nought,
• 10 Say, that he should bring?’
• ‘He will bear a ring I gave
• And another ring.’

• ‘How may I, when he shall ask,
• Tell him who lies there?’
• ‘Nay, but leave my face unveiled
• And unbound my hair.’

• ‘Can you say to me some word
• I shall say to him?’
• ‘Say I'm looking in his eyes
• 20 Though my eyes are dim.’

   

• Christ sprang from David shepherd, and even so
• From David king; being born of high and low.

• The shepherd lays his crook, the king his crown,
• Here at Christ's feet, and high and low bow down.

• And high and low, Christ's self is shown here; even
• Christ the Good Shepherd, Christ the King of Heaven.

   

• Andromeda, by Perseus saved and wed,
• Hankered each day to see the Gorgon's head:
• Till o'er a fount he held it, bade her lean,
• And mirrored in the wave was safely seen
• That death she lived by.

• Let not thine eyes know
• Any forbidden thing itself, although
• It once should save as well as kill; but be
• Its shadow upon life enough for thee.

   

• Tell me now in what hidden way is
• Lady Flora the lovely Roman?
• Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais,
• Neither of them the fairer woman?
• Where is Echo, beheld of no man,
• Only heard on river and mere,—
• She whose beauty was more than human? . . .
• But where are the snows of yester-year?

• Where's Héloise, the learned nun,
• 10 For whose sake Abeillard, I ween,
• Lost manhood and put priesthood on?
• (From Love he won such dule and teen!)
• And where, I pray you, is the Queen
• Who willed that Buridan should steer
• Sewed in a sack's mouth down the Seine? . . .
• But where are the snows of yester-year?

               

• As when desire, long darkling, dawns, and first
• The mother looks upon the newborn child,
• Even so my Lady stood at gaze and smiled
• When her soul knew at length the Love it nursed.
• Born with her life, creature of poignant thirst
• And exquisite hunger, at her heart Love lay
• Quickening in darkness, till a voice that day
• Cried on him, and bonds of birth were burst.

• Now, shielded in his wings, our faces yearn
• 10 Together, as his fullgrown feet now range
• The grove, and his warm hands our couch prepare:
• Till to his song our bodiless souls in turn
• Be born his children, when Death's nuptial change
• Leaves us for light the halo of his hair.

   

• O Thou who at Love's hour ecstatically
• Unto my lips dost evermore present
• The body and blood of Love in sacrament;
• Whom I have neared and felt thy breath to be
• The inmost incense of his sanctuary;
• Who without speech hast owned him, and intent
• Upon his will, thy life with mine hast blent,
• And murmured o'er the cup, Remember me!—

• O what from thee the grace, for me the prize,
• 10 And what to Love the glory,—when the whole
• Of the deep stair thou tread'st to the dim shoal
• And weary water of the place of sighs,
• And there dost work deliverance, as thine eyes
• Draw up my prisoned spirit to thy soul!

   

• At length their long kiss severed, with sweet smart:
• And as the last slow sudden drops are shed
• From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled,
• So singly flagged the pulses of each heart.
• Their bosoms sundered, with the opening start
• Of married flowers to either side outspread
• From the knit stem; yet still their mouths, burnt red,
• Fawned on each other where they lay apart.

• Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams,
• 10 And their dreams watched them sink, and slid away.
• Slowly their souls swam up again, through gleams
• Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day;
• Till from some wonder of new woods and streams
• He woke, and wondered more: for there she lay.

   

• To all the spirits of love that wander by
• Along the love-sown fallowfield of sleep
• My lady lies apparent; and the deep
• Calls to the deep; and no man sees but I.
• The bliss so long afar, at length so nigh,
• Rests there attained. Methinks proud Love must weep
• When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap
• The sacred hour for which the years did sigh.

• First touched, the hand now warm around my neck
• 10 Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo!
• Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow,
• Where one shorn tress long stirred the longing ache:
• And next the heart that trembled for its sake
• Lies the queen-heart in sovereign overthrow.

   

• O Lord of all compassionate control,
• O Love! let this my Lady's picture glow
• Under my hand to praise her name, and show
• Even of her inner self the perfect whole:
• That he who seeks her beauty's furthest goal,
• Beyond the light that the sweet glances throw
• And refluent wave of the sweet smile, may know
• The very sky and sea-line of her soul.

• Lo! it is done. Above the long lithe throat
• 10 The mouth's mould testifies of voice and kiss,
• The shadowed eyes remember and foresee.
• Her face is made her shrine. Let all men note
• That in all years (O Love, thy gift is this!)
• They that would look on her must come to me.

   

• Have you not noted, in some family
• Where two were born of a first marriage-bed,
• How still they own their gracious bond, though fed
• And nursed on the forgotten breast and knee?—
• How to their father's children they shall be
• In act and thought of one goodwill; but each
• Shall for the other have, in silence speech,
• And in a word complete community?

• Even so, when first I saw you, seemed it, love,
• 10 That among souls allied to mine was yet
• One nearer kindred than life hinted of.
• O born with me somewhere that men forget,
• And though in years of sight and sound unmet,
• Known for my soul's birth-partner well enough!

   

• Those envied places which do know her well,
• And are so scornful of this lonely place,
• Even now for once are emptied of her grace:
• Nowhere but here she is: and while Love's spell
• From his predominant presence doth compel
• All alien hours, an outworn populace,
• The hours of Love fill full the echoing space
• With sweet confederate music favorable.

• Now many memories make solicitous
• 10 The delicate love-lines of her mouth, till, lit
• With quivering fire, the words take wing from it;
• As here between our kisses we sit thus
• Speaking of things remembered, and so sit
• Speechless while things forgotten call to us.

   

• I stood where Love in brimming armfuls bore
• Slight wanton flowers and foolish toys of fruit:
• And round him ladies thronged in warm pursuit,
• Fingered and lipped and proffered the strange store:
• And from one hand the petal and the core
• Savoured of sleep; and cluster and curled shoot
• Seemed from another hand like shame's salute,—
• Gifts that I felt my cheek was blushing for.

• At last Love bade my Lady give the same:
• 10 And as I looked, the dew was light thereon;
• And as I took them, at her touch they shone
• With inmost heaven-hue of the heart of flame.
• And then Love said: ‘Lo! when the hand is hers,
• Follies of love are love's true ministers.’

   

• THOSE envied places which do know her well,
• And are so scornful of this lonely place,
• Even now for once are emptied of her grace:
• Nowhere but here she is: and while Love's spell
• From his predominant presence doth compel
• All alien hours, an outworn populace,
• The hours of Love fill full the echoing space
• With sweet confederate music favorable.

• Now many memories make solicitous
• 10 The delicate love-lines of her mouth, till, lit
• With quivering fire, the words take wing from it;
• As here between our kisses we sit thus
• Speaking of things remembered, and so sit
• Speechless while things forgotten call to us.

   

• I stood where Love in brimming armfuls bore
• Slight wanton flowers and foolish toys of fruit:
• And round him ladies thronged in warm pursuit,
• Fingered and lipped and proffered the strange store:
• And from one hand the petal and the core
• Savoured of sleep; and cluster and curled shoot
• Seemed from another hand like shame's salute,—
• Gifts that I felt my cheek was blushing for.

• At last Love bade my Lady give the same:
• 10 And as I looked, the dew was light thereon;
• And as I took them, at her touch they shone
• With inmost heaven-hue of the heart of flame.
• And then Love said: ‘Lo! when the hand is hers,
• Follies of love are love's true ministers.’

   

• Each hour until we meet is as a bird
• That wings from far his gradual way along
• The rustling covert of my soul,—his song
• Still loudlier trilled through leaves more deeply stirr'd:
• But at the hour of meeting, a clear word
• Is every note he sings, in Love's own tongue;
• Yet, Love, thou know'st the sweet strain suffers wrong,
• Through our contending kisses oft unheard.

• What of that hour at last, when for her sake
• 10 No wing may fly to me nor song may flow;
• When, wandering round my life unleaved, I know
• The bloodied feathers scattered in the brake,
• And think how she, far from me, with like eyes
• Sees through the untuneful bough the wingless skies?

   

• Not in thy body is thy life at all
• But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
• Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
• What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
• Look on thyself without her, and recall
• The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
• That lived but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
• O'er vanished hours and hours eventual.

• Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
• 10 Which, stored apart, is all love hath to show
• For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
• Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
• 'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
• Lies all that golden hair undimmed in death.

   

• There came an image in Life's retinue
• That had Love's wings and bore his gonfalon:
• Fair was the web, and nobly wrought thereon,
• O soul-sequestered face, thy form and hue!
• Bewildering sounds, such as Spring wakens to,
• Shook in its folds; and through my heart its power
• Sped trackless as the immemorable hour
• When birth's dark portal groaned and all was new.

• But a veiled woman followed, and she caught
• 10 The banner round its staff, to furl and cling,—
• Then plucked a feather from the bearer's wing,
• And held it to his lips that stirred it not,
• And said to me, ‘Behold, there is no breath:
• I and this Love are one, and I am Death.’

       

• I SAT with Love upon a woodside well,
• Leaning across the water, I and he;
• Nor ever did he speak nor looked at me,
• But touched his lute wherein was audible
• The certain secret thing he had to tell:
• Only our mirrored eyes met silently
• In the low wave; and that sound came to be
• The passionate voice I knew; and my tears fell.

• And at their fall, his eyes beneath grew hers;
• 10And with his foot and with his wing-feathers
• He swept the spring that watered my heart's drouth.
• Then the dark ripples spread to waving hair,
• And as I stooped, her own lips rising there
• Bubbled with brimming kisses at my mouth.

   

• This feast-day of the sun, his altar there
• In the broad west has blazed for vesper-song;
• And I have loitered in the vale too long
• And gaze now a belated worshipper.
• Yet may I not forget that I was 'ware,
• So journeying, of his face at intervals
• Transfigured where the fringed horizon falls,—
• A fiery bush with coruscating hair.

• And now that I have climbed and won this height,
• 10 I must tread downward through the sloping shade
• And travel the bewildered tracks till night.
• Yet for this hour I still may here be stayed
• And see the gold air and the silver fade
• And the last bird fly into the last light.

       

• Eat thou and drink; to-morrow thou shalt die.
• Surely the earth, that's wise being very old,
• Needs not our help. Then loose me, love, and hold
• Thy sultry hair up from my face; that I
• May pour for thee this yellow wine, brim-high,
• Till round the glass thy fingers glow like gold.
• We'll drown all hours: thy song, while hours are toll'd,
• Shall leap, as fountains veil the changing sky.

• Now kiss, and think that there are really those,
• 10 My own high-bosomed lady, who increase
• Vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose our way!
• Through many days they toil; then comes a day
• They die not,—never having lived,—but cease;
• And round their narrow lips the mould falls close.

   

• Get thee behind me. Even as, heavy-curled,
• Stooping against the wind, a charioteer
• Is caught snatched from out his chariot by the hair,
• So shall Time be; and as the void car, hurled
• Abroad by reinless steeds, even so the world:
• Yea, even as chariot-dust upon the air,
• It shall be sought and not found anywhere.
• Get thee behind me, Satan. Oft unfurled,
• Thy perilous wings can beat and break like lath
• 10 Much mightiness of men to win thee praise.
• Leave these weak feet to tread in narrow ways.
• Thou still, upon the broad vine-sheltered path,
• Mayst wait the turning of the phials of wrath
• For certain years, for certain months and days.

   

• As when two men have loved a woman well,
• Each hating each, through Love's and Death's deceit;
• Since not for either this stark marriage-sheet
• And the long pauses of this wedding-bell;
• Yet o'er her grave the night and day dispel
• At last their feud forlorn, with cold and heat;
• Nor other than dear friends to death may fleet
• The two lives left that most of her can tell:—

• So separate hopes, which in a soul had wooed
• 10 The one same Peace, strove with each other long,
• And Peace before their faces perished since:
• So through that soul, in restless brotherhood,
• They roam together now, and wind among
• Its bye-streets, knocking at the dusty inns.

   

• Beholding youth and hope in mockery caught
• From life; and mocking pulses that remain
• When the soul's death of bodily death is fain;
• Honour unknown, and honour known unsought;
• And penury's sedulous self-torturing thought
• On gold, whose master therewith buys his bane;
• And longed-for woman longing all in vain
• For lonely man with love's desire distraught;
• And wealth, and strength, and power, and pleasantness,
• 10 Given unto bodies of whose souls men say,
• None poor and weak, slavish and foul, as they:—
• Beholding these things, I behold no less
• The blushing morn and blushing eve confess
• The shame that loads the intolerable day.

   

• Around the vase of Life at your slow pace
• He has not crept, but turned it with his hands,
• And all its sides already understands.
• There, girt, one breathes alert for some great race;
• Whose road runs far by sands and fruitful space;
• Who laughs, yet through the jolly throng has pass'd;
• Who weeps, nor stays for weeping; who at last,
• A youth, stands somewhere crowned, with silent face.

• And he has filled this vase with wine for blood,
• 10 With blood for tears, with spice for burning vow,
• With watered flowers for buried love most fit;
• And would have cast it shattered to the flood,
• Yet in Fate's name has kept it whole; which now
• Stands empty till his ashes fall in it.

   

• Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been;
• I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell;
• Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell
• Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between;
• Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen
• Which had Life's form and Love's, but by my spell
• Is now a shaken shadow intolerable,
• Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen.

• Mark me, how still I am! But should there dart
• 10 One moment through thy soul the soft surprise
• Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs,—
• Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart
• Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart
• Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes.

   

• When vain all desire at last and vain all regret
• Go hand in hand to death, and all is vain,
• What shall assuage the unforgotten pain
• And teach the unforgetful to forget?
• Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet,—
• 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
• 10 Between the scriptured petals softly blown
• Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown,
• Let no such joys as other souls count fair
• But only the one Hope's one name be there,—
• Not less nor more, but even that word alone.

   

• Between the hands, between the brows,
• Between the lips of Love-Lily,
• A spirit is born whose birth endows
• My blood with fire to burn through me;
• Who breathes upon my gazing eyes,
• Who laughs and murmurs in mine ear,
• At whose least touch my colour flies,
• And whom my life grows faint to hear.

• Within the voice, within the heart,
• 10 Within the mind of Love-Lily,
• A spirit is born who lifts apart
• His tremulous wings and looks at me;
• Who on my mouth his finger lays,
• And shows, while whispering lutes confer,
• That Eden of Love's watered ways
• Whose winds and spirits worship her.

• Brows, hands, and lips, heart, mind, and voice,
• Kisses and words of Love-Lily,—
• Oh! bid me with your joy rejoice
• 20 Till riotous longing rest in me!
• Ah! let not hope be still distraught,
• But find in her its gracious goal,
• Whose speech Truth knows not from her thought
• Nor Love her body from her soul.

   

• Peace in her chamber, wheresoe'er
• It be, a holy place:
• The thought still brings my soul such grace
• As morning meadows wear.

• Whether it still be small and light,
• A maid's who dreams alone,
• As from her orchard-gate the moon
• Its ceiling showed at night:

• Or whether, in a shadow dense
• 10 As nuptial hymns invoke,
• Innocent maidenhood awoke
• To married innocence:

• There still the thanks unheard await
• The unconscious gift bequeathed;
• And there my soul this hour has breathed
• An air inviolate.

   

• Between the hands, between the brows,
• Between the lips of Love-Lily,
• A spirit is born whose birth endows
• My blood with fire to burn through me;
• Who breathes upon my gazing eyes,
• Who laughs and murmurs in mine ear,
• At whose least touch my colour flies,
• And whom my life grows faint to hear.

• Within the voice, within the heart,
• 10 Within the mind of Love-Lily,
• A spirit is born who lifts apart
• His tremulous wings and looks at me;
• Who on my mouth his finger lays,
• And shows, while whispering lutes confer,
• That Eden of Love's watered ways
• Whose winds and spirits worship her.

• Brows, hands, and lips, heart, mind, and voice,
• Kisses and words of Love-Lily,—
• Oh! bid me with your joy rejoice
• 20 Till riotous longing rest in me!
• Ah! let not hope be still distraught,
• But find in her its gracious goal,
• Whose speech Truth knows not from her thought
• Nor Love her body from her soul.

   

• Peace in her chamber, wheresoe'er
• It be, a holy place:
• The thought still brings my soul such grace
• As morning meadows wear.

• Whether it still be small and light,
• A maid's who dreams alone,
• As from her orchard-gate the moon
• Its ceiling showed at night:

• Or whether, in a shadow dense
• 10 As nuptial hymns invoke,
• Innocent maidenhood awoke
• To married innocence:

• There still the thanks unheard await
• The unconscious gift bequeathed;
• And there my soul this hour has breathed
• An air inviolate.

   

• In a soft-complexioned sky,
• Fleeting rose and kindling grey,
• Have you seen Aurora fly
• At the break of day?
• So my maiden, so my plighted may
• Blushing cheek and gleaming eye
• Lifts to look my way.

• Where the inmost leaf is stirred
• With the heart-beat of the grove,
• 10 Have you heard a hidden bird
• Cast her note above?
• So my lady, so my lovely love,
• Echoing Cupid's prompted word,
• Makes a tune thereof.

• Have you seen, at heaven's mid-height,
• In the moon-wrack's ebb and tide,
• Venus leap forth burning white,
• Dian pale and hide?
• So my bright breast-jewel, so my bride,
• 20 One sweet night, when fear takes flight,
• Shall leap against my side.

   

• I have been here before,
• But when or how I cannot tell:
• I know the grass beyond the door,
• The sweet keen smell,
• The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

• You have been mine before,—
• How long ago I may not know:
• But just when at that swallow's soar
• Your neck turned so,
• 10Some veil did fall,—I knew it all of yore.

• Then, now,—perchance again! . . . .
• O round mine eyes your tresses shake!
• Shall we not lie as we have lain
• Thus for Love's sake,
• And sleep, and wake, yet never break the chain?

   

• A little while a little love
• The hour yet bears for thee and me
• Who have not drawn the veil to see
• If still our heaven be lit above.
• Thou merely, at the day's last sigh,
• Hast felt thy soul prolong the tone;
• And I have heard the night-wind cry
• And deemed its speech mine own.

• A little while a little love
• 10 The scattering autumn hoards for us
• Whose bower is not yet ruinous
• Nor quite unleaved our songless grove.
• Only across the shaken boughs
• We hear the flood-tides seek the sea,
• And deep in both our hearts they rouse
• One wail for thee and me.

• A little while a little love
• May yet be ours who have not said
• The word it makes our eyes afraid
• 20To know that each is thinking of.
• Not yet the end: be our lips dumb
• In smiles a little season yet:
• I'll tell thee, when the end is come,
• How we may best forget.

   

• Say, is it day, is it dusk in thy bower,
• Thou whom I long for, who longest for me?
• Oh! be it light, be it night, 'tis Love's hour,
• Love's that is fettered as Love's that is free.
• Free Love has leaped to that innermost chamber,
• Oh! the last time, and the hundred before:
• Fettered Love, motionless, can but remember,
• Yet something that sighs from him passes the door.

• Nay, but my heart when it flies to thy bower,
• 10 What does it find there that knows it again?
• There it must droop like a shower-beaten flower,
• Red at the rent core and dark with the rain.
• Ah! yet what shelter is still shed above it,—
• What waters still image its leaves torn apart?
• Thy soul is the shade that clings round it to love it,
• And tears are its mirror deep down in thy heart.

• What were my prize, could I enter thy bower,
• This day, to-morrow, at eve or at morn?

   

• A little while a little love
• The hour yet bears for thee and me
• Who have not drawn the veil to see
• If still our heaven be lit above.
• Thou merely, at the day's last sigh,
• Hast felt thy soul prolong the tone;
• And I have heard the night-wind cry
• And deemed its speech mine own.

• A little while a little love
• 10 The scattering autumn hoards for us
• Whose bower is not yet ruinous
• Nor quite unleaved our songless grove.
• Only across the shaken boughs
• We hear the flood-tides seek the sea,
• And deep in both our hearts they rouse
• One wail for thee and me.

• A little while a little love
• May yet be ours who have not said
• The word it makes our eyes afraid
• 20To know that each is thinking of.
• Not yet the end: be our lips dumb
• In smiles a little season yet:
• I'll tell thee, when the end is come,
• How we may best forget.

   

• Say, is it day, is it dusk in thy bower,
• Thou whom I long for, who longest for me?
• Oh! be it light, be it night, 'tis Love's hour,
• Love's that is fettered as Love's that is free.
• Free Love has leaped to that innermost chamber,
• Oh! the last time, and the hundred before:
• Fettered Love, motionless, can but remember,
• Yet something that sighs from him passes the door.

• Nay, but my heart when it flies to thy bower,
• 10 What does it find there that knows it again?
• There it must droop like a shower-beaten flower,
• Red at the rent core and dark with the rain.
• Ah! yet what shelter is still shed above it,—
• What waters still image its leaves torn apart?
• Thy soul is the shade that clings round it to love it,
• And tears are its mirror deep down in thy heart.

• What were my prize, could I enter thy bower,
• This day, to-morrow, at eve or at morn?

   

• And thou, O Life, the lady of all bliss,
• With whom, when our first heart beat full and fast,
• I wandered till the haunts of men were pass'd,
• And in fair places found all bowers amiss
• Till only woods and waves might hear our kiss,
• While to the winds all thought of Death we cast:—
• Ah! Life, and must I have from thee at last
• No smile to greet me and no babe but this?

• Lo! Love, the child once ours; and Song, whose hair
• 10 Blew like a flame and blossomed like a wreath;
• And Art, whose eyes were worlds by God found fair;
• These o'er the book of Nature mixed their breath
• With neck-twined arms, as oft we watched them there:
• And did these die that thou mightst bear me Death?

   

• When all desire at last and all regret
• Go hand in hand to death, and all is vain,
• What shall assuage the unforgotten pain
• And teach the unforgetful to forget?
• Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet,—
• 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
• 10 Between the scriptured petals softly blown
• Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown,—
• Let no such joys as other souls count fair
  Added TextAh! let no other written spell soe'er
• But only the one Hope's one name be there,—
• Not less nor more, but even that word alone.

   

• Mother, is this the darkness of the end,
• The Shadow of Death? and is that outer sea
• Infinite imminent Eternity?
• And does the death-pang by man's seed sustain'd
• In Time's each instant cause thy face to bend
• Its silent prayer upon the Son, while he
• Blesses the dead with his hand silently
• To his long day which hours no more offend?

• Mother of grace, the pass is difficult,
• 10 Keen as these rocks, and the bewildered souls
• Throng it like echoes, blindly shuddering through.
• Thy name, O Lord, each spirit's voice extols,
• Whose peace abides in the dark avenue
• Amid the bitterness of things occult.

   

• WATER, for anguish of the solstice:—nay,
• But dip the vessel slowly,—nay, but lean
• And hark how at its verge the wave sighs in
• Reluctant. Hush! Beyond all depth away
• The heat lies silent at the brink of day:
• Now trails the hand upon the viol-string
• That sobs, and the brown faces cease to sing,
• Sad with the whole of pleasure. Her eyes stray
• In sunshine; from her mouth the pipe will creep
• 10 And leave it pouting; shadowed here, the grass
• Is cool against her naked side. Let be:—
• Say nothing now unto her lest she weep,
• Nor name this ever. Be it as it was,—
• Life touching lips with Immortality.

   

• Mother, is this the darkness of the end,
• The Shadow of Death? and is that outer sea
• Infinite imminent Eternity?
• And does the death-pang by man's seed sustain'd
• In Time's each instant cause thy face to bend
• Its silent prayer upon the Son, while he
• Blesses the dead with his hand silently
• To his long day which hours no more offend?

• Mother of grace, the pass is difficult,
• 10 Keen as these rocks, and the bewildered souls
• Throng it like echoes, blindly shuddering through.
• Thy name, O Lord, each spirit's voice extols,
• Whose peace abides in the dark avenue
• Amid the bitterness of things occult.

   

• Water, for anguish of the solstice:—nay,
• But dip the vessel slowly,—nay, but lean
• And hark how at its verge the wave sighs in
• Reluctant. Hush! Beyond all depth away
• The heat lies silent at the brink of day:
• Now trails the hand the hand trails upon the viol-string
• That sobs, and the brown faces cease to sing,
• Sad with the whole of pleasure. Whither stray
• Her eyes now; from whose mouth the slim pipes creep
• 10 And leave it pouting; while the shadowed grass
• Is cool against her naked side? Let be:—
• Say nothing now unto her lest she weep,
• Nor name this ever. Be it as it was,—
• Life touching lips with Immortality.

   

• Scarcely, I think; yet it indeed may be
• The meaning reached him, when this music rang
• Clear through his frame, a sweet possessive pang,
• And he beheld these rocks and that ridged sea.
• But I believe that, leaning tow'rds them, he
• Just felt their hair carried across his face
• As each girl passed him; nor gave ear to trace
• How many feet; nor bent assuredly
• His eyes from the blind fixedness of thought
• 10 To know the dancers. It is bitter glad
• Even unto tears. Its meaning filleth it,
• A secret of the wells of Life: to wit:—
• The heart's each pulse shall keep the sense it had
• With all, though the mind's labour run to nought.

       

• A remote sky, prolonged to the sea's brim:
• One rock-point standing buffeted alone,
• Vexed at its base with a foul beast unknown,
• Hell-birth of geomaunt and teraphim:
• A knight, and a winged creature bearing him,
• Reared at the rock: a woman fettered there,
• Leaning into the hollow with loose hair
• And throat let back and heartsick trail of limb.

• The sky is harsh, and the sea shrewd and salt:
• 10 Under his lord the griffin-horse ramps blind
• With rigid wings and tail. The spear's lithe stem
• Thrills in the roaring of those jaws; behind,
• That evil length of body chafes at fault.
• She doth not hear nor see—she knows of them.

   

• Clench thine eyes now,—'tis the last instant, girl:
• Draw in thy senses, set thy knees, and take
• One breath for all: thy life is keen awake,—
• Thou mayst not swoon. Was that the scattered whirl
• Of its foam drenched thee?—or the waves that curl
• And split, bleak spray wherein thy temples ache?
• Or was it his the champion's blood to flake
• Thy flesh?—or thine own blood's anointing, girl?

• Now, silence: for the sea's is such a sound
• 10 As irks not silence; and except the sea,
• All now is still. Now the dead thing doth cease
• To writhe, and drifts. He turns to her: and she,
• Cast from the jaws of Death, remains there, bound,
• Again a woman in her nakedness.

   

• This is that blessed Mary, pre-elect
• God's Virgin. Gone is a great while, and she
• Dwelt young in Nazareth of Galilee.
• Unto God's will she brought devout respect,
• Profound simplicity of intellect,
• And supreme patience. From her mother's knee
• Faithful and hopeful; wise in charity;
• Strong in grave peace; in pity circumspect.

• So held she through her girlhood; as it were
• 10 An angel-watered lily, that near God
• Grows and is quiet. Till, one dawn at home,
• She woke in her white bed, and had no fear
• At all,—yet wept till sunshine, and felt awed:
• Because the fulness of the time was come.

   

• Clench thine eyes now,—'tis the last instant, girl:
• Draw in thy senses, set thy knees, and take
• One breath for all: thy life is keen awake,—
• Thou mayst not swoon. Was that the scattered whirl
• Of its foam drenched thee?—or the waves that curl
• And split, bleak spray wherein thy temples ache?
• Or was it his the champion's blood to flake
• Thy flesh?—or thine own blood's anointing, girl?

• Now, silence: for the sea's is such a sound
• 10 As irks not silence; and except the sea,
• All now is still. Now the dead thing doth cease
• To writhe, and drifts. He turns to her: and she,
• Cast from the jaws of Death, remains there, bound,
• Again a woman in her nakedness.

   

• This is that blessed Mary, pre-elect
• God's Virgin. Gone is a great while, and she
• Dwelt young in Nazareth of Galilee.
• Unto God's will she brought devout respect,
• Profound simplicity of intellect,
• And supreme patience. From her mother's knee
• Faithful and hopeful; wise in charity;
• Strong in grave peace; in pity circumspect.

• So held she through her girlhood; as it were
• 10 An angel-watered lily, that near God
• Grows and is quiet. Till, one dawn at home,
• She woke in her white bed, and had no fear
• At all,—yet wept till sunshine, and felt awed:
• Because the fulness of the time was come.

   

• Clench thine eyes now,—'tis the last instant, girl:
• Draw in thy senses, set thy knees, and take
• One breath for all: thy life is keen awake,—
• Thou mayst not swoon. Was that the scattered whirl
• Of its foam drenched thee?—or the waves that curl
• And split, bleak spray wherein thy temples ache?
• Or was it his the champion's blood to flake
• Thy flesh?—or thine own blood's anointing, girl?

• Now, silence: for the sea's is such a sound
• 10 As irks not silence; and except the sea,
• All now is still. Now the dead thing doth cease
• To writhe, and drifts. He turns to her: and she,
• Cast from the jaws of Death, remains there, bound,
• Again a woman in her nakedness.

   

• This is that blessed Mary, pre-elect
• God's Virgin. Gone is a great while, and she
• Dwelt young in Nazareth of Galilee.
• Unto God's will she brought devout respect,
• Profound simplicity of intellect,
• And supreme patience. From her mother's knee
• Faithful and hopeful; wise in charity;
• Strong in grave peace; in pity circumspect.

• So held she through her girlhood; as it were
• 10 An angel-watered lily, that near God
• Grows and is quiet. Till, one dawn at home,
• She woke in her white bed, and had no fear
• At all,—yet wept till sunshine, and felt awed:
• Because the fulness of the time was come.

   

• She hath the apple in her hand for thee,
• Yet almost in her heart would hold it back;
• She muses, with her eyes upon the track
• Of that which in thy spirit they can see.
• Haply, ‘Behold, he is at peace,’ saith she;
• ‘Alas! the apple for his lips,—the dart
• That follows its brief sweetness to his heart,—
• The wandering of his feet perpetually!’

• A little space her glance is still and coy;
• 10 But if she give the fruit that works her spell,
• Those eyes shall flame as for her Phrygian boy.
• Then shall her bird's strained throat the woe fortell
• And her far seas moan as a single shell,
• And her grove glow with love-lit fires of Troy.

   

• Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told
• (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,)
• That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive,
• And her enchanted hair was the first gold.
• And still she sits, young while the earth is old,
• And, subtly of herself contemplative,
• Draws men to watch the bright net she can weave,
• Till heart and body and life are in its hold.

• The rose and poppy are her flowers; for where
• 10 Is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent
• And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare?
• Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine, so went
• Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent,
• And round his heart one strangling golden hair.

   

• Under the arch of Life, where love and death,
• Terror and mystery, guard her shrine, I saw
• Beauty enthroned; and though her gaze struck awe,
• I drew it in as simply as my breath.
• Hers are the eyes which, over and beneath,
• The sky and sea bend on thee,—which can draw,
• By sea or sky or woman, to one law,
• The allotted bondman of her palm and wreath.

• This is that Lady Beauty, in whose praise
• 10 Thy voice and hand shake still,—long known to thee
• By flying hair and fluttering hem,—the beat
• Following her daily of thy heart and feet,
• How passionately and irretrievably,
• In what fond flight, how many ways and days!

   

• What of the end, Pandora? Was it thine,
• The deed that set these fiery pinions free?
• Ah! wherefore did the Olympian consistory
• In its own likeness make thee half divine?
• Was it that Juno's brow might stand a sign
• For ever? and the mien of Pallas be
• A deadly thing? and that all men might see
• In Venus' eyes the gaze of Proserpine?

• What of the end? These beat their wings at will,
• 10The ill-born things, the good things turned to ill,—
• Powers of the impassioned hours prohibited.
• Aye, hug the casket now! Whither they go
• Thou mayst not dare to think: nor canst thou know
• If Hope still pent there be alive or dead.

   

• ‘Why wilt thou cast the roses from thine hair?
• Nay, be thou all a rose,—wreath, lips, and cheek.
• Nay, not this house,—that banquet-house we seek;
• See how they kiss and enter; come thou there.
• This delicate day of love we two will share
• Till at our ear love's whispering night shall speak.
• What, sweet one,—hold'st thou still the foolish freak?
• Nay, when I kiss thy feet they'll leave the stair.’

• ‘Oh loose me! See'st thou not my Bridegroom's face
• 10 That draws me to Him? For His feet my kiss,
• My hair, my tears He craves to-day:—and oh!
• What words can tell what other day and place
• Shall see me clasp those blood-stained feet of His?
• He needs me, calls me, loves me: let me go!’

   

• Here meet together the prefiguring day
• And day prefigured. ‘Eating, thou shalt stand,
• Feet shod, loins girt, thy road-staff in thine hand,
• With blood-stained door and lintel,’—did God say
• By Moses' mouth in ages passed away.
• And now, where this poor household doth comprise
• At Paschal-Feast two kindred families,—
• Lo! the slain lamb confronts the Lamb to slay.

• The pyre is piled. What agony's crown attained,
• 10 What shadow of death the Boy's fair brow subdues
• Who holds that blood wherewith the porch is stained
• By Zachary the priest? John binds the shoes
• He deemed himself not worthy to unloose;
• And Mary culls the bitter herbs ordained.

   

• ‘Why wilt thou cast the roses from thine hair?
• Nay, be thou all a rose,—wreath, lips, and cheek.
• Nay, not this house,—that banquet-house we seek;
• See how they kiss and enter; come thou there.
• This delicate day of love we two will share
• Till at our ear love's whispering night shall speak.
• What, sweet one,—hold'st thou still the foolish freak?
• Nay, when I kiss thy feet they'll leave the stair.’

• ‘Oh loose me! See'st thou not my Bridegroom's face
• 10 That draws me to Him? For His feet my kiss,
• My hair, my tears He craves to-day:—and oh!
• What words can tell what other day and place
• Shall see me clasp those blood-stained feet of His?
• He needs me, calls me, loves me: let me go!’

   

• Here meet together the prefiguring day
• And day prefigured. ‘Eating, thou shalt stand,
• Feet shod, loins girt, thy road-staff in thine hand,
• With blood-stained door and lintel,’—did God say
• By Moses' mouth in ages passed away.
• And now, where this poor household doth comprise
• At Paschal-Feast two kindred families,—
• Lo! the slain lamb confronts the Lamb to slay.

• The pyre is piled. What agony's crown attained,
• 10 What shadow of death the Boy's fair brow subdues
• Who holds that blood wherewith the porch is stained
• By Zachary the priest? John binds the shoes
• He deemed himself not worthy to unloose;
• And Mary culls the bitter herbs ordained.

       

• Rend, rend thine hair, Cassandra: he will go.
• Yea, rend thy garments, wring thine hands, and cry
• From Troy still towered to the unreddened sky.
• See, all but she that bore thee mock thy woe:—
• He most whom that fair woman arms, with show
• Of wrath on her bent brows; for in this place
• This hour thou bad'st all men in Helen's face
• The ravished ravishing prize of Death to know.

• What eyes, what ears hath sweet Andromache,
• 10 Save for her Hector's form and step; as tear
• On tear makes salt the warm last kiss he gave?
• He goes. Cassandra's words beat heavily
• Like crows above his crest, and at his ear
• Ring hollow in the shield that shall not save.

   

• ‘O Hector, gone, gone, gone! O Hector, thee
• Two chariots wait, in Troy long bless'd and curs'd;
• And Grecian spear and Phrygian sand athirst
• Crave from thy veins the blood of victory.
• Lo! long upon our hearth the brand had we,
• Lit for the roof-tree's ruin: and to-day
• The ground-stone quits the wall,—the wind hath way,—
• And higher and higher the wings of fire are free.

• O Paris, Paris! O thou burning brand,
• 10 Thou beacon of the sea whence Venus rose,
• Lighting thy race to shipwreck! Even that hand
• Wherewith she took thine apple let her close
• Within thy curls at last, and while Troy glows
• Lift thee her trophy to the sea and land.’

       

• Rend, rend thine hair, Cassandra: he will go.
• Yea, rend thy garments, wring thine hands, and cry
• From Troy still towered to the unreddened sky.
• See, all but she that bore thee mock thy woe:—
• He most whom that fair woman arms, with show
• Of wrath on her bent brows; for in this place
• This hour thou bad'st all men in Helen's face
• The ravished ravishing prize of Death to know.

• What eyes, what ears hath sweet Andromache,
• 10 Save for her Hector's form and step; as tear
• On tear makes salt the warm last kiss he gave?
• He goes. Cassandra's words beat heavily
• Like crows above his crest, and at his ear
• Ring hollow in the shield that shall not save.

   

• ‘O Hector, gone, gone, gone! O Hector, thee
• Two chariots wait, in Troy long bless'd and curs'd;
• And Grecian spear and Phrygian sand athirst
• Crave from thy veins the blood of victory.
• Lo! long upon our hearth the brand had we,
• Lit for the roof-tree's ruin: and to-day
• The ground-stone quits the wall,—the wind hath way,—
• And higher and higher the wings of fire are free.

• O Paris, Paris! O thou burning brand,
• 10 Thou beacon of the sea whence Venus rose,
• Lighting thy race to shipwreck! Even that hand
• Wherewith she took thine apple let her close
• Within thy curls at last, and while Troy glows
• Lift thee her trophy to the sea and land.’

   

• Not that the earth is changing, O my God!
• Nor that the seasons totter in their walk,—
• Not that the virulent ill of act and talk
• Seethes ever as a winepress ever trod,—
• Not therefore are we certain that the rod
• Weighs in thine hand to smite thy world; though now
• Beneath thine hand so many nations bow,
• So many kings:—not therefore, O my God!—

• But because Man is parcelled out in men
• 10 Even thus; because, for any wrongful blow,
• No man not stricken asks, ‘I would be told
• Why thou dost strike;’ but his heart whispers then,
• ‘He is he, I am I.’ By this we know
• That the earth falls asunder, being old.

   

• As he that loves oft looks on the dear form
• And guesses how it grew to womanhood,
• And gladly would have watched the beauties bud
• And the mild fire of precious life wax warm:—
• So I, long bound within the threefold charm
• Of Dante's love sublimed to heavenly mood,
• Had marvelled, touching his Beatitude,
• How grew such presence from man's shameful swarm.

• At length within this book I found pourtrayed
• 10 Newborn that Paradisal Love of his,
• And simple like a child; with whose clear aid
• I understood. To such a child as this,
• Christ, charging well his chosen ones, forbade
• Offence: ‘for lo! of such my kingdom is.’