Poems. (Privately Printed.): First Trial Book (partial), Princeton/Troxell (copy 1)

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Rossetti Archive Textual Transcription

Document Title: Poems. (Privately Printed.): First Trial Book (partial), Princeton/Troxell (copy 1)

Author: Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Date of publication: 1869 October 3

Printer: Strangeways and Walden

The full Rossetti Archive record for this transcribed document is available.

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POEMS.

(Privately Printed).

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Note: blank page

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M ost of these poems were written between 1847 and 1853; and are here printed, if not without revision, yet generally much in their original state. They are a few among a good many then written, but of the others I have now no complete copies. The ‘Sonnets and Songs’ are chiefly more recent work.] D. G. R. 1869.

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Note: Pages 1-4 not in these proofs.

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Eden Bower

It was Lilith the wife of Adam:
( Eden bower's in flower.)
Not a drop of her blood was human,
But she was made like a soft sweet woman.

Lilith stood on the skirts of Eden;
( And O the bower and the hour!)
She was the first that thence was driven;
With her was hell and with Eve was heaven.

In the ear of the Snake said Lilith :—
10 ( Eden bower's in flower.)
‘To thee I come when the rest is over;
A snake was I when thou wast my lover.

‘I was the fairest snake in Eden:
( And O the bower and the hour!)
By the earth's will, new form and feature
Made me a wife for the earth's new creature.

‘Take me thou as I come from Adam:
Eden bower's in flower.)
Once again shall my love subdue thee;
20The past is past and I am come to thee.

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‘O but Adam was thrall to Lilith!
( And O the bower and the hour!)
All the threads of my hair are golden,
And there in a net his heart was holden.

‘O and Lilith was queen of Adam!
( Eden bower's in flower.)
All the day and the night together
My breath could shake his soul like a feather.

‘What great joys had Adam and Lilith!—
30 ( And O the bower and the hour!)
Sweet close rings of the serpent's twining,
As heart in heart lay sighing and pining.

‘What bright babes had Lilith and Adam!—
( Eden bower's in flower.)
Shapes that coiled in the woods and waters,
Glittering sons and jewelled radiant daughters.

‘O thou God, the Lord God of Eden!
( And O the bower and the hour!)
Say, was this fair body for no man,
40That of Adam's flesh thou mak'st him a woman?

‘O thou Snake, the King-snake of Eden!
( Eden bower's in flower.)
God's strong will our necks are under,
But thou and I may cleave it in sunder.

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‘Help, sweet Snake, sweet lover of Lilith!
( And O the bower and the hour!)
And let God learn how I loved and hated
Man in the image of God created.

‘Help me once against Eve and Adam!
50 ( Eden bower's in flower.)
Help me once for this one endeavour,
And then my love shall be thine for ever!

‘Strong is God, the fell foe of Lilith:
( And O the bower and the hour!)
Nought in heaven or earth may affright him;
But join thou with me and we will smite him.

‘Strong is God, the great God of Eden:
( Eden bower's in flower.)
Over all he made he hath power;
60But lend me thou thy shape for an hour!

‘Lend thy shape for the love of Lilith!
( And O the bower and the hour!)
Look, my mouth and my cheek are ruddy,
And thou art cold, and fire is my body.

‘Lend thy shape for the hate of Adam!
( Eden bower's in flower.)
That he may wail my joy that forsook him,
And curse the day when the bride-sleep took him.

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‘Lend thy shape for the shame of Eden!
70 ( And O the bower and the hour!)
Is not the foe-God weak as the foeman
When love grows hate in the heart of a woman?

‘Would'st thou know the heart's hope of Lilith?
( Eden bower's in flower.)
Bring thy gemmed head close Then bring thou close thine head till it glisten
Along my breast, and lip me and listen.

‘Am I sweet, O sweet Snake of Eden?
And O the bower and the hour!)
Then ope thine ear to my warm mouth's cooing
80And learn what deed remains for our doing.

‘Thou didst hear when God said to Adam:—
( Eden bower's in flower.)
“Of all this wealth I have made thee warden;
Thou'rt free to eat of the trees of the garden:

‘“Only of one tree eat not in Eden;
( And O the bower and the hour!)
All save one I give to thy freewill,—
The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.”

‘O my love, come nearer to Lilith!
90 ( Eden bower's in flower.)
In thy sweet folds bind me and bend me,
And let me feel the shape thou shalt lend me!

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‘Lo! two babes for Eve and for Adam!
( And O the bower and the hour!)
Lo! sweet Snake, the travail and treasure,—
Two men-children born for their pleasure!

‘The first is Cain and the second Abel:
( Eden bower's in flower.)
The soul of one shall be made thy brother,
100And thy tongue shall lap the blood of the other.’
( And O the bower and the hour!)

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Note: Blank page, with a note written in a large hand diagonally across the page. The inscription is indecipherable on the microfilm image.

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The Blessed Damozel.

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 service meetly worn;
And her hair lying down Her hair that lay upon along her back
Was yellow like ripe corn.

Herseemed she scarce had been a day
One of God's choristers;
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.

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( To one, it is ten years of years.
20 . . . Yet now, and in this place,
Surely she lean'd 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 above the vast she bowed herself & stooped
Waste sea of worlds that swarm;
Added TextOut of the circling charm;

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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.
Her voice was like the voice the stars
60 Had when they sang together.

Added Text

( Ah Sweet! Just 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 trembling echoing stair? )

‘I wish that he were come to me,
For he will come,’ she said.
‘Have I not prayed in Heaven?—on earth,
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
70 To the deep wells of light;

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We will step down as to a stream,
And bathe there in God's sight.

‘We two will stand beside that shrine,
Occult, withheld, untrod,
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
80 That living mystic tree,
Within whose secret growth the Dove
Is sometimes felt to be,
While every leaf that His plumes touch
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,
90 Or some new thing to know.’

Added Text

( 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?)

Deleted Text

( Ah Sweet! Just now, in that bird's song,
Strove not her accents there,
Fain to be hearkened? When those bells
Possessed the midday air,
Was she not stepping to my side
Down all the trembling stair?)

Note: Pages 19-20 not in these proofs.

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Love's Nocturn Nocturn .

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 bouyance 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.

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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.

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50Master, it is 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?

Ah! might I, by thy good grace
Groping in the windy stair,
(Darkness and the breath of space
60 Like loud waters everywhere,)
Meeting mine own image there
Face to face,
Send it from that place to her!

Nay, not I; but oh! do thou,
Master, from thy shadowkind
Call my body's phantom now:
Bid it bear its face declin'd
Till its flight her slumbers find,
And her brow
70 Feel its presence bow like wind.

Where in groves the gracile Spring
Trembles, with mute orison
Confidently strengthening,
Water's voice and wind's as one
Shed an echo in the sun , .
Soft as Spring,
Master, bid it sing and moan.

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Song shall tell how glad and strong
Is the night she soothes alway;
80Moan shall grieve with that parched tongue
Of the brazen hours of day:
Sounds as of the springtide they,
Moan and song,
While the chill months long for May.

Not the prayers which with all leave
The world's fluent woes prefer,—
Not the praise the world doth give,
Dulcet fulsome whisperer;—
Let it yield man's my love to her,
90 And achieve
Strength that shall not grieve or err.

Wheresoe'er my sleep dreams befall,
Both at night-watch, (let it say,)
And where round the sundial
The reluctant hours of day,
Heartless, hopeless of their way,
Rest and call;—
There her glance doth fall and stay.

Suddenly her face is there:
100 So do mounting vapours wreathe
Subtle-scented transports where
The black firwood sets its teeth.
Part the boughs and look beneath,—
Lilies share
Secret waters there, and breathe.

Note: Pages 25-26 not in these proofs.

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Note: handwritten deletion symbol in right margin, next to epigraph

The Burden of Nineveh

‘BURDEN. Heavy calamity; The chorus of a song.’— Dictionary.

IN our Museum galleries
To-day I lingered o'er the prize
Dead Greece vouchsafes to living eyes,—
Her Art for ever in fresh wise
From hour to hour rejoicing me.
Sighing I turned at last to win
Once more the London dirt and din;
And as I made the swing-door spin
And issued, they were hoisting in
10 A wingèd beast from Nineveh.

A human face the creature wore,
And hoofs behind and hoofs before,
And flanks with dark runes fretted o'er.
'Twas bull, 'twas mitred Minotaur,
A dead disbowelled mystery;
The mummy of a buried faith
Stark from the charnel without scathe,
Its wings stood for the light to bathe,—
Such fossil cerements as might swathe
20 The very corpse of Nineveh.

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The print of its first rush-wrapping,
Wound ere it dried, still ribbed the thing.
What song did the brown maidens sing,
From purple mouths alternating,
When that was woven languidly?
What vows, what rites, what prayers preferr'd,
What songs has the strange image heard?
In what blind vigil stood interr'd
For ages, till an English word
30 Broke silence first at Nineveh?

Oh when upon each sculptured court,
Where even the wind might not resort,—
O'er which Time passed, of like import
With the wild Arab boys at sport,—
A living face looked in to see:—
Oh seemed it not—the spell once broke—
As though the carven warriors woke,
As though the shaft the string forsook,
The cymbals clashed, the chariots shook,
40 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
Such proof to make thy godhead known?

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Note: handwritten deletion symbol in right margin next to footnote
From their dead Past thou liv'st alone;
And still thy shadow is thine own
50 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
From sun and moon,—from lamps which came
For prayer,—from fifteen days of flame,
The last, while smouldered to a name
60 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:....
Ay, and who else?....till 'neath thy shade
Within his trenches newly made
Last year the Christian knelt and pray'd—
70 Not to thy strength—in Nineveh.*

Transcribed Footnote (page 29):

* During the excavations, the Tiyari workmen held their services in the shadow of the great bulls. ( Layard's Nineveh, ch.ix.) This poem was written when the sculptures were first brought to England.

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Note: handwritten deletion symbol in right margin next to line 82, comma insertion mark in left margin of same line

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
Of holiday, three files compact,
Shall learn to view thee as a fact
Connected with that zealous tract:
80 ‘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
Before whose feet men knelt unshod
Deem that in this unblest abode
Another scarce more unknown god
90 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
All strange to thine awakened eye?

Note: Pages 31-34 not in these proofs.

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Printer's Direction: Put first line of each paragraph in, to mark the beginnings.

Editorial Description: Note to printer at the top of the page.

Note: Two cancelled draft passages—for lines 22-23 and 110-112—are written (and cancelled) at the bottom and top of this page. Handwritten deletion symbols are in the right margin next to the title (referring to the asterisk) and the footnote. A line is drawn in the left margin next to the first line of the second stanza, indicating where the proposed indentation should occur.

Deleted Text

Lean hither from thy heavenly dais

Into our shadow bend thy face

O Mary Virgin, full of grace!

Deleted Text

How one short ? , thy sleep

Left thee as daylight darkened, and deep

Within thy heart the song swept loud

It was ?

Ave *

Transcribed Footnote (page 35):

* This hymn was written as a prologue to a series of designs. Art still identifies herself with all faiths for her own purposes: and the emotional influence here employed demands above all an inner standing-point.

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,)
That eve thou didst go forth to give
Thy flowers some drink that they might live

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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
Eating with Him the Passover,
40Didst thou discern confusedly
That holier sacrament, when He,
The bitter cup about to quaff,
Should break the bread and eat thereof?—
Or came not yet the knowledge, even
Till on some day forecast in Heaven

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His feet passed through thy door to press
Upon His Father's business?—
Or still was God's high secret kept?

Nay, but I think the whisper crept
50Like growth through childhood. Work and play,
Things common to the course of day,
Awed thee with meanings unfulfill'd;
And all through girlhood, something still'd
Thy senses like the birth of light,
When thou hast trimmed thy lamp at night
Or washed thy garments in the stream;
To whose white bed had come the dream
That He was thine and thou wast His
Who feeds among the field-lilies.
60O solemn shadow of the end
In that wise spirit long contain'd!
O awful end! and those unsaid
Long years when It was Finishèd!

Mind'st thou not (when the twilight gone
Left darkness in the house of John,)
Between the naked window-bars
That spacious vigil of the stars?—
For thou, a watcher even as they,
Wouldst rise from where throughout the day
70Thou wroughtest raiment for His poor;
And, finding the fixed terms endure
Of day and night which never brought

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Note: handwritten deletion symbol in right margin next to line 85
Sounds of His coming chariot,
Wouldst lift through cloud-waste unexplor'd
Those eyes which said, ‘How long, O Lord?’
Then that disciple whom He loved,
Well heeding, haply would be moved
To ask thy blessing in His name;
And that one thought in both, the same
80Though silent, then would clasp ye round
To weep together,—tears long bound,
Sick tears of patience, dumb and slow.
Yet, ‘Surely I come quickly,’—so
He said, from life and death gone home.
‘Amen; even so, Lord Jesus, come! ’

But oh! what human tongue can speak
That day when death was sent to break
From the tir'd spirit, like a veil,
Its covenant with Gabriel
90Endured at length unto the end?
What human thought can apprehend
That mystery of motherhood
When thy Beloved at length renew'd
The sweet communion severèd,—
His left hand underneath thine head
And His right hand embracing thee?—
Lo! He was thine, and this is He!

Soul, is it Faith, or Love, or Hope,
That lets me see her standing up

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100Where the light of the Throne is bright?
Unto the left, unto the right,
The cherubim, arrayed, conjoint,
Float inward to a golden point,
And from between the seraphim
The glory issues like for a hymn.
O Mary Mother, be not loth
To listen,—thou whom the stars clothe,
Who sëest and mayst not be seen!
Hear us at last, O Mary Queen!
110Into our shadow bend thy face,
Bowing thee from the secret place,
O Mary Virgin, full of grace!

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Note: blank page

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Printer's Direction: too much space

Editorial Description: Note on the printing of the space between words "the" and "Pilgrim" in line 1.

THE STAFF AND SCRIP.

‘WHO owns these lands?’ the Pilgrim said.
‘Stranger, Queen Blanchelys.’
‘And who has thus harried them?’ he said.
‘It was Duke Luke did this:
God's ban be his!’

The Pilgrim said: ‘Where is your house?
I'll rest there, with your will.’
‘ Ye've You've but to climb these blackened boughs
And ye'll you'll see it over the hill,
10 For it burns still.’

‘Which road, to seek your Queen?’ said he.
‘Nay, nay, but with some wound
You'll fly back hither, it may be,
And by your blood i'the ground
My place be found.’

‘Friend, stay in peace. God keep thy your head,
And mine, where I will go;
For He is here and there,’ he said.
He passed the hill-side, slow,
20 And stood below.

page: 42

The Queen sat idle by her loom:
She heard the arras stir,
And looked up sadly: through the room
The sweetness sickened her
Of musk and myrrh.

Her women, standing two and two,
In silence combed the fleece.
The pilgrim said, ‘Peace be with you,
Lady;’ and bent his knees.
30 She answered, ‘Peace.’

Her eyes were like the wave within;
Like water-reeds the poise
Of her soft body, dainty thin;
And like the water's noise
Her plaintive voice.

For him, the stream had never well'd
In desert tracts malign
So sweet; nor had he ever felt
So faint in the sunshine
40 Of Palestine.

Right so, he knew that he saw weep
Each night through every dream
The Queen's own face, confused in sleep
With visages supreme
Not known to him.

page: 43

‘Lady,’ he said, ‘your lands lie burnt
And waste: to meet your foe
All fear: this I have seen and learnt.
Say that it shall be so,
50 And I will go.’

She gazed at him. ‘Your cause is just,
For I have heard the same:’
He said: ‘God's strength shall be my trust.
Fall it to good or grame,
'Tis in His name.’

‘Sir, you are thanked. My cause is dead.
Why should you toil to break
A grave, and fall therein?’ she said.
He did not pause but spake:
60 ‘For my vow's sake.’

‘Can such vows be, Sir—to God's ear,
Not to God's will?’ ‘My vow
Remains . : God heard me there as here,’
He said with reverent brow,
‘Both then and now.’

They gazed together, he and she,
The minute while he spoke;
And when he ceased, she suddenly
Looked round upon her folk
70 As though she woke.

page: 44

‘Fight, Sir,’ she said: ‘my prayers in pain
Shall be your fellowship.’
He whispered one among her train,—
‘ Tomorrow bid her keep
to-night thou'lt
This staff and scrip.’

She sent him a sharp sword, whose belt
About his body there
As sweet as her own arms he felt.
He kissed its blade, all bare,
80 Instead of her.

She sent him a green banner wrought
With one white lily stem,
To bind his lance with when he fought.
He writ upon the same
And kissed her name.

She sent him a white shield, whereon
She bade that he should trace
His will. He blent fair hues that shone,
And in a golden space
90 He kissed her face.

Right so, the sunset skies unseal'd,
Like lands he never knew,
Beyond to-morrow's battle-field
Lay open out of view
To ride into.

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His bloodied banner crossed his mouth
Where he had kissed her name.
‘O east, and west, and north, and south,
Fair flew my web, for shame,
100 To guide Death's aim!’

The tints were shredded from his shield
Where he had kissed her face.
‘Oh, of all gifts that I could yield,
Death only keeps its place,
My gift and grace!’

Then stepped a damsel to her side,
And spake, and needs must weep:
‘For his sake, lady, if he died,
He prayed of thee to keep
110 This staff and scrip.’

That night they hung above her bed,
Till morning wet with tears.
Year after year above her head
Her bed his token wears,
Five years, ten years.

That night the passion of her grief
Shook them as there they hung.
Each year the wind that shed the leaf
Shook them and in its tongue
120 A message flung.

page: 48

And once she woke with a clear mind
she would wake
That letters writ to calm
Her soul lay in the scrip; and to find
Only a torpid balm
And dust of palm.

They shook far off with palace sport
When joust and dance were rife;
And the hunt shook them from the court;
For hers, in peace or strife,
130 Was a Queen's life.

A Queen's death now: as now they shake
To chaunts gusts in chapel dim,—
Hung where she sleeps, not seen to wake,
(Carved lovely white and slim),
With them by him.

Stand up to-day, still armed, with her,
Good knight, before His brow
Who then as now was here and there,
Who had in mind thy vow
140 Then even as now.

The lists are set in Heaven to-day,
The bright pavilions shine;
Fair hangs thy shield, and none gainsay;
The trumpets sound in sign
That she is thine.

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Sig. E

Note: The variant cancellation of received line 213 is handwritten at the foot of the page and then crossed out.

Not tithed with days' and years' decease
He pays thy wage He owed,
But in this light of golden peace
Added TextBut with imperishable peace
Here in His own abode,
150 Thy jealous God.

page: [50]

Note: blank page

page: 51

SISTER HELEN.

Manuscript Addition:

“Dis, veux-tu prendre la vie
D'un homme ton ennemi?
Fais en cire son image
Et mets devant feu en cage.
Pour trois jours son nom diras:
Chair et cire se fondra.”

La Souricière aux Sourcières. 1461

Editorial Description: DGR added this passage as a possible epigraph for the poem, and although Swinburne urged him to keep it, DGR decided against the lines (which are of his own invention).

‘WHY did you melt your waxen man,
Sister Helen?
To-day is the third since you began.’
‘The time was long, yet the time ran,
Little brother.’
( O Mother, Mary Mother,
Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!)

‘But if you have done your work aright,
Sister Helen,
10 You'll let me play, for you said I might.’
‘Be very still in your play to-night,
Little brother.’
( O Mother, Mary Mother,
Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!)

‘You said it must melt ere vesper-bell,
Sister Helen;
If now it be molten, all is well.’
‘Even so,—nay, peace! you cannot tell,
Little brother.’
20 ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?)

page: 52

‘Oh the waxen knave was plump to-day,
Sister Helen;
How like dead folk he has dropped away!’
‘Nay now, of the dead what can you say,
Little brother?’
( O Mother, Mary Mother,
What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?)

‘See, see, the sunken pile of wood,
30 Sister Helen,
Shines through the thinned wax red as blood!’
‘Nay now, when looked you yet on blood,
Little brother?’
( O Mother, Mary Mother,
How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!)

‘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,
40 Little brother,’
( O Mother, Mary Mother,
What rest to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

‘Here high up in the balcony,
Sister Helen,
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?)

page: 57

50 ‘Oh it's Holm of Holm now that rides fast,
Sister Helen,
For I know the white hair on the blast.’
‘The short short hour will soon be past,
Little 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!’
60‘What here should the mighty Baron seek,
Little brother!’
( O Mother, Mary Mother,
Oh vainly sought Is this the end , between Hell and Heaven!)

‘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,
70 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.’
‘Nay, flame cannot slay it, it shall thrive,
Little brother!’
( O Mother, Mary Mother,
Alas, alas, between Hell and Heaven!)

page: 58

‘He cries to you, kneeling in the road,
Sister Helen,
80 To go with him for the love of God!’
‘The way is long to his son's abode,
Little brother.’
( O Mother, Mary Mother,
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!’
90 ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
His dying knell, 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,
100 Sister Helen,
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!)

page: 59

‘Oh the wind is sad in the iron chill,
Sister Helen,
And weary sad they look by the hill.’
‘But he they mourn is Holm of Ewern's sadder still,
110 Little brother!’
( 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!)

120‘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,
Little brother!’
( O Mother, Mary Mother,
Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!)

page: [60]

Note: blank page

page: 61

STRATTON WATER.

‘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.’

page: 62

‘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.

Lord Sands has won the weltering slope
Whereon the white shape lay:
The clouds were still above the hill,
40 And the shape was still as they.

Oh pleasant is the gaze of life
And sad is death's blind head;
But awful are the living eyes
In the face of one thought dead !
.

page: 63

‘ O Jean, O love! and In God's name, Janet, is it me
Thy ghost has come to seek?’
‘Nay, wait another hour, Lord Sands,—
Be sure my ghost shall speak.’

A moment stood he as a stone,
50 Then grovelled to his knee.
‘ O Jean, O Jean my love, O love, O Janet, O my love, my love,
Rise up and come with me!’
‘O once before you bade me come,
And it's here you have brought me!’

‘O many's the sweet word of love , Lord Sands,
You've spoken oft to me;
But all that I have from you to-day
Is the rain on my body.

‘And many are the gifts of love many's the good gift, Lord Sands,
60 You've promised oft to me;
But the gift of yours I keep to-day
Is the babe in my body.

‘O it's not in any earthly bed
That first my babe I'll see;
For I have brought my body here
That the flood may cover me.’

His face was close against her face,
His hands of hers were fain:
O her wet cheeks were hot with tears,
70 Her wet hands cold with rain.

Added Text

“They told me you were dead, sweet love Janet,—
How could I guess the lie?”
“They told me you were false, Lord Sands,—
What could I do but die?”

page: 64

‘Now keep you well, my brother Hugh Giles,—
You told me she was dead!
Added TextThrough you I thought deemed her dead
As wan as your towers be to-day,
To-morrow they'll be red.

‘Look down, look down, my false mother,
80 That bade me not to grieve:
You'll look up when our marriage fires
Are lit to-morrow eve.

‘O more than one and more than two
The sorrow of this shall see:
But it's to-morrow, love, for them,—
To-day's for thee and me.’

He's drawn her face between his hands
And her pale mouth to his:
No bird that was so still that day
90 Chirps sweeter than his kiss.

Added Text

The flood was creeping round their feet.
“O love, love Janet, come away!
The hall is warm for the marriage-rite,
The bed for the birthday.”

“Nay, but I hear your mother cry,
‘Go bring this bride to bed!
And would she christen her babe unborn,
So wet she comes to wed?’

“I'll be your wife to cross your door
100 And meet your mother's e'e.
We plighted troth to wed i' the kirk,
And it's there I'll wed with ye.”

He's ta'en her by the short girdle
And by the dripping sleeve:
‘Go fetch Sir Jock my mother's priest,—
You'll ask of him no leave.

‘O it's one half-hour to reach the kirk
And one for the marriage-rite;
And kirk and castle and castle-lands
110 Shall be our babe's to-night.’

page: 65

Note: handwritten deletion symbol in right margin next to line 123

Sig. F

‘The flood's in the kirkyard, Lord Sands,
And round the belfry-stair.’
‘I bade ye fetch the priest,’ he said,
‘Myself shall bring him there.

‘It's for the lilt of wedding bells
We'll have the hail to pour,
And for the clink of bridle-reins
The plashing of the oar.’

Beneath them on the nether hill
120 A boat was floating wide:
Lord Sands swam out and caught the oars
And backed rowed to the hill-side.

He's wrapped her in a green mantle ,
And set her softly in;
Her hair was wet upon her face,
Her face was grey and thin;
And ‘Oh!’ she said, ‘lie still, my babe,
It's out you must not win!’

But woe's my heart for Father John!
130 As hard as he might pray,
There seemed no help but Noah's ark
Or Jonah's fish that day.

The first strokes that the oars struck
Were over the broad leas;
The next strokes that the oars struck,
They pushed beneath the trees;

page: 66

Note: A short word has been added, then crossed out, in the left margin next to line 145. It is indecipherable on the microfilm image.

The last stroke that the oars struck,
The good boat's head was met,
And there the door gate of the kirkyard
140 Stood like a ferry-gate.

He's set his hand upon the bar
And lightly leaped within:
He's lifted her to his left shoulder,
Her knees beside his chin.

The graves stood lay deep beneath the flood
Under the rain alone;
And when the foot-stone made him slip,
He held by the head-stone.

The empty boat thrawed i' the wind,
150 Against the postern tied.
‘Hold still, you've brought my love with me,
You shall take back my bride.’

Added Text

But woe's my heart for Father John
And the saints he clamoured to!
There's never a saint but Christopher
Might hale such buttocks through!

And ‘Oh!’ she said, ‘on men's shoulders
I well had thought to wend,
And well to travel with a priest,
160 But not to have cared or ken'd.

‘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.

page: 69

DENNIS SHAND.

THE shadows fall along the wall,
It's night at Haye-la-Serre;
The maidens weave since day grew eve,
The lady's in her chair.

O passing slow the long hours go
With time to think and sigh,
When weary maidens weave beneath
A listless lady's eye.

It's two days that Earl Simon's gone
10 And it's the second night;
At Haye-la-Serre the lady's fair,
In June the moon is light.

O it's ‘Maids, ye'll wake till I come back,’
And the hound's i' the lady's chair;
No shuttles fly, the work stands by,
It's play at Haye-la-Serre.

The night is worn, the lamp's forlorn,
The shadows waste and fail;
ail
There's morning air at Haye-la-Serre,
20 The watching maids look pale.

page: 70

O all unmarked the birds at dawn
Where drowsy maidens be;
But heard too soon the lark's first tune
Beneath the trysting-tree.

‘Hold me thy hand, sweet Dennis Shand,
Says the Lady Joan de Haye,
‘That thou to-morrow do forget
To-day and yesterday.

Added Text

“For many a weary month month to come
30 My lord keeps house with me,
And sighing summer must lie cold
In winter's company.

“And many an hour I'll pass thee by
And see thee and be seen;
Yet not a glance may must never tell by chance
How sweet these hours have been.

Deleted Text

‘O it's the autumn nights are chill,
The winter nights are long,
And my lord'll bide at home o' nights
As long as the swallow's gone.

‘This summer he'll not be forth again
And not again till spring;
The wind is cold to him that's old
And the frost withering.

‘We've all to fear; there's Maud the spy,
There's Ann whose face I scor'd,
There's Blanch tells Huot everything,
40 And Huot loves my lord.

‘But O and it's my Dennis'll know,
When my eyes look weary dim,
Who finds the gold for his girdle-fee
And who keeps love for him.’

page: 73

Manuscript Addition:

“Ambition, cupidité,
Et la troisième, volupté,
Sont les sieurs de la Destinée
Après la vignt-première

année.” / ( Calendrier de la Vie. 1530)

Editorial Description: DGR thought to add this (invented) text as an epigraph to the poem, but finally decided against the idea.

THE CARD-DEALER.

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;
And not more lightly or more true
Fall there the dancers' feet
Than fall her cards on the bright board
As 'twere an heart that beat.

page: 74

Her fingers let them softly through,
20 Smooth polished silent things;
And each one as it falls reflects
In swift light-shadowings,
Crimson Bloodred and purple, green and blue,
The great eyes of her rings.

Whom plays she with? With thee, who lov'st
Those gems upon her hand;
With me, who search her secret brows;
With all men, bless'd or bann'd.
We play together, she and we,
30 Within a vain strange land:

A land without any order,—
Day even as night, (one saith,)—
Where who lieth down ariseth not
Nor the sleeper awakeneth;
A land of darkness as darkness itself
And of the shadow of death.

What be her cards, you ask? Even these:—
The heart, that doth but crave
Yet more, being More, havingfed; the diamond,
40 Skilled to make base seem brave;
The club, for smiting in the dark;
The spade, to dig a grave.

And do you ask what game she plays?
With me 'tis lost or won;

page: 77

Manuscript Addition: While so many mice are born of mountains, this note may be excusable.

Editorial Description: DGR wrote this addition to the prose note but then deleted it.

MY SISTER'S SLEEP.*

Transcribed Footnote (page 77):

* This little poem, written in 1847, was printed in a periodical at the outset of 1850, a month or two before the appearance of ‘ In Memoriam.’, with which the metre (to be met with in old English writers) is now identified.

SHE fell asleep on Christmas Eve:
Added TextAt length the long-ungranted shade
At length her eyes were in the shade
Added TextOf weary eyelids overweigh'd
Of weary lids; her arms, uplaid,
Added TextThe pain nought else might yet relieve.
Covered her bosom, I believe.

Our mother, who had leaned all day
Over the bed from chime to chime,
Then raised herself for the first time,
And as she sat her down, did pray.

Her little work-table was spread
10 With work to finish. For the glare
Made by her candle, she had care
To work some distance from the bed.

Without, there was a cold moon up,
Of winter radiance sheer and thin;
The hollow halo it was in
Was like an icy crystal cup.

page: 78

Through the small room, with subtle sound
Of flame, by vents the fireshine drove
And reddened. In its dim alcove
20The mirror shed a clearness round.

I had been sitting up some nights,
And my tired mind felt weak and blank;
Like a sharp strengthening wine it drank
The stillness and the broken lights.

Twelve struck. That sound, which all the years
Hear in each hour, crept off; and then
The ruffled silence spread again,
Like water that a pebble stirs.

Our mother rose from where she sat:
30 Her needles, as she laid them down,
Met lightly, and her silken gown
Settled: no other noise than that.

‘Glory unto the Newly Born!’
So, as said angels, she did say;
Because we were in Christmas Day,
Though it would still be long till morn.

Just then in the room over us
There was a pushing back of chairs,
As some who had sat unawares
40So late, now heard the hour, and rose.

page: 85

THE BALLAD OF DEAD LADIES.

(François Villon, 1450.)

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?
(How dire, O Love, thy sway hath been!)
Added Text(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?

White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies,
With a voice like any mermaiden,—
Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice,
20 And Ermengarde the lady of Maine,—

page: 86
And that good Joan whom Englishmen
At Rouen doomed and burned her there,—
Mother of God, where are they then?...
But where are the snows of yester-year?

Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,
Where they are gone, nor yet this year,
Except with this for an overword,—
But where are the snows of yester-year?

page: 85

THE BALLAD OF DEAD LADIES.

(François Villon, 1450.)

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 dull 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?

White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies,
With a voice like any mermaiden,—
Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice,
20 And Ermengarde the lady of Maine,—

page: 86
And that good Joan whom Englishmen
At Rouen doomed and burned her there,—
Mother of God, where are they then?...
But where are the snows of yester-year?

Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,
Where they are gone, nor yet this year,
Except with this for an overword,—
But where are the snows of yester-year?

page: 89

Printer's Direction: See overpage

Editorial Description: DGR's note to printer regarding the manuscript addition for this and the next page.

JOHN OF TOURS. ( Old French)

JOHN of Tours is back with peace,
But he comes home ill at ease.

‘Good-morrow, mother.’ ‘Good-morrow, son;
Your wife has borne you a little one.’

‘Go now, mother, go before,
Make me a bed upon the floor;

‘Very low your foot must fall,
That my wife hear not at all.’

As it neared the midnight toll,
10John of Tours gave up his soul.

Deleted Text

‘Tell me now, my mother, my dear,
What's the singing that I hear?’

‘Daughter, it's the priests in rows
Going round about our house.’

‘Tell me though, my mother, my dear,
What's the knocking that I hear?’

‘Daughter, it's the carpenter
Mending planks upon the stair.’

page: 90

Note: DGR adds eight couplets in manuscript on this page to replace the deleted six couplets (two on this page, four from the previous page).

‘Well, but tell, my mother, my dear,
20What's the crying that I hear?’

‘Daughter, the children are awake,
Crying with their teeth that ache.’

Added Text

“Tell me now, my mother my dear,
What's the crying that I hear?”

“Daughter, the children are awake,
Crying with their teeth that ache.”

“Tell me though, my mother my dear,
What's the knocking that I hear?”

“Daughter, it's the carpenter
30Mending planks upon the stair.”

“Tell me too, my mother my dear,
What's the singing that I hear?”

“Daughter, it's the priests in rows
Going round about our house.”

“Tell me then, my mother my dear
What's the dress that I should wear?”

“Daughter, blue or red as you choose any reds or blues,
But the black is most in use.”

‘Nay, but say, my mother my dear,
40Why do you stand fall weeping here?’

‘Oh! the truth must be said,—
It's that John of Tours is dead.’

‘Mother, let the sexton know
That the grave must be for two;

‘Aye, and still have room to spare,
For you must shut lay the baby there.’

page: 91

MY FATHER'S CLOSE. ( Old French.)

INSIDE my father's close,
(Fly away O my heart away!)
Sweet apple-blossom blows
So sweet.

Three king's daughters fair,
(Fly away O my heart away!)
They lie below it there
So sweet.

‘Ah!’ says the eldest one,
10 (Fly away O my heart away!)
‘I think the day's begun
So sweet.’

‘Ah!’ says the second one,
(Fly away O my heart away!)
‘Far off I hear the drum
So sweet.’

page: 92

‘Ah!’ says the youngest one,
(Fly away O my heart away!)
‘It's my true love, my own,
20 So sweet.

‘Oh! if he fight and win,’
(Fly away O my heart away!)
‘I keep my love for him,
So sweet:
Oh! if he let him lose or win,
He hath it still complete.’

Note: Pages 93-94 not in these proofs.

more about Sonnets and Songs, Towards a Work to be Called The House of Life.

Note: Pages 95-100 not in these proofs.

page: 101

THE CHOICE. ( Three Sonnets.)

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,
hear no
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, in reach of our true wealth! and yet might choose our way!
Eleven long days they toil; upon the twelfth
Added TextThrough 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.

page: 102

II.

WATCH thou and fear; to-morrow thou shalt die.
Or art thou sure thou shalt have time for death?
Is not the day which God's word promiseth
To come man knows not when? In yonder sky,
Now while we speak, the sun sets speeds forth: Can I
Or thou assure him of his goal? God's breath
Perchance even at this moment quickeneth
The air to a flame; till spirits, always nigh
Though screened and hid, shall walk the daylight here.
10 And dost thou prate of that which man shall do?
Canst thou, who hast but plagues, presume to be
Glad in his gladness that comes after thee?
Will his strength slay thy worm in Hell? Go to:
Cover thy countenance, and watch, and fear.

page: 104

HOARDED JOY.

I SAID: ‘Nay, pluck not,—let the first fruit be ;
Even as thou sayest, it is sweet and red,
But let it ripen still. The tree's bent head
Sees in the stream its own fecundity
And bides the day of fulness. Shall not we
At the sun's hour that day possess the shade,
And claim our fruit before its ripeness fade,
And eat it from the branch and praise the tree?’

I say: ‘Alas! our fruit hath wooed the sun
10 Too long,—'tis fallen and floats adown the stream.
Lo, the last clusters! Pluck them every one,
And let us sup with summer; ere the gleam
Of autumn set the year's pent sorrow free,
And the woods wail like echoes from the sea.’

page: [104verso]

Note: blank page

page: 106

Manuscript Addition: delete sign Stet

Editorial Description: DGR cancelled the final s indreams (line 7) but then called for its restoration.

LOST DAYS.

THE lost days of my life until to-day,
What were they, could I see them on the street
Lie as they fell? Would they be ears of wheat
Sown once for food but trodden into clay?
Or golden coins squandered and still to pay?
Or drops of blood dabbling the guilty feet?
Or such spilt water as in dreams must cheat
The throats of men in Hell, who thirst alway?

I do not see them here; but after death
10 God knows I know the faces I shall see,
Each one a murdered self, with low last breath.
‘I am thyself,—what hast thou done to me?’
‘And I—and I—thyself,’ (lo! each one saith,)
‘And thou thyself to all eternity!’

page: [106verso]

Note: blank page

page: 109

LOST ON BOTH SIDES.

AS when two men have loved a woman well,
Each hating each, through Love's and Death's deceit,
Since not for either this strait 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.

page: [109verso]

Note: blank page

page: 112

NEWBORN DEATH. ( Two Sonnets.)

TO-DAY Death seems to me an infant child
Which her worn mother Life upon my knee
Has set to grow my friend and play with me;
If haply so my heart might be beguil'd
To find no terrors in a face so mild,—
If haply so my weary heart might be
Unto the newborn milky eyes of thee,
O Death, before resentment reconcil'd.

How long, O Death? And shall thy feet depart
10 Still a young child's with mine, or wilt thou stand
Fullgrown the helpful daughter of my heart,
What time with thee indeed I reach the strand
Of the pale wave which knows thee what thou art,
And drink it in the hollow of thy hand?

page: 113

Printer's Direction: Further in

Editorial Description: DGR's note to the printer next to line 10, which is misprinted to the left.

II.

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?

page: 112

NEWBORN DEATH. ( Two Sonnets.)

TO-DAY Death seems to me an infant child
Which her worn mother Life upon my knee
Has set to grow my friend and play with me;
If haply so my heart might be beguil'd
To find no terrors in a face so mild,—
If haply so my weary heart might be
Unto the newborn milky eyes of thee,
O Death, before resentment reconcil'd.

How long, O Death? And shall thy feet depart
10 Still a young child's with mine, or wilt thou stand
Fullgrown the helpful daughter of my heart,
What time with thee indeed I reach the strand
Of the pale wave which knows thee what thou art,
And drink it in the hollow of thy hand?

page: 113

II.

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?

page: 116

Manuscript Addition: Substitute for this the poem of the same title at page 43 of the new set of proofs.

Editorial Description: DGR crosses out the entire text. The new proofs are the Exhumation Proofs.

THE SEA-LIMIT.

Deleted Text

CONSIDER the sea's listless chime:
Time's self it is, made audible,—
The murmur of the earth's own shell.
Secret continuance sublime
Is the sea's end: our sight may pass
No furlong further. Since time was,
This sound hath told the lapse of time.

No stagnance that death wins:it hath
The mournfulness of ancient life,
10 Enduring always at dull strife.
As the world's heart of rest and wrath,
Its painful pulse is in the sands.
Last utterly, the whole sky stands,
Grey and not known, along its path.

page: [116verso]

Note: blank page

Note: Pages 117-118 not in these proofs.

page: 119

THE WOODSPURGE.

The wind flapped loose, the wind was still,
Shaken out dead from tree and hill:
I had walked on at the wind's will,—
I sat now, for the wind was still.

Between my knees my forehead was,—
My lips, drawn in, said not Alas!
My hair was over in the grass,
My naked ears heard the day pass.

Mine eyes, wide open, had the run
10Of some ten weeds to fix upon , ;
Among the which those few, out of the sun;
The woodspurge bloomed/ flowered, three cups in one.

From perfect grief there need not be
Knowledge Wisdomor even memory:
One thing then learnt remains to me,—
The woodspurge has a cup of three.

page: [119verso]

Note: blank page

page: 121

Printer's Direction: 113

Editorial Description: Pagination note in unknown hand.

FIRST LOVE REMEMBERED.

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 For there my soul this hour has breathed
An air inviolate.

page: [121verso]

Note: blank page

page: 133

Note: A word has been written above the title that is indecipherable on the microfilm image. Horizontal lines are drawn beneath this word and below the poem.

LOVESIGHT.

WHEN do I see thee most, beloved one?
When in the light the spirits of mine eyes
Before thy face, their altar, solemnize
The worship of that Love through thee made known?
Or when in the dusk hours, (we two alone,)
Close-kissed and eloquent of still replies
Thy twilight-hidden glimmering visage lies,
And my soul only sees thy soul its own?

O Love, my love! if I no more should see
10Thyself, nor on the earth the shadow of thee,
Nor image of thine eyes in any spring,—
How then should sound upon Life's darkening slope
The ground-whirl of the perished leaves of Hope,
The wind of Death's imperishable wing?

page: [133verso]

Note: blank page

page: 135

NUPTIAL SLEEP.

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,
Moaned to 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.

page: [135verso]

Note: blank page

page: 136

SUPREME SURRENDER.

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 one day control doth from his harvest reap
The sacred hour for which the years did sigh.

First touched, the hand now warm beneath 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.

page: [136verso]

Note: blank page

page: 136

SUPREME SURRENDER.

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 one day doth from his harvest reap
The sacred hour for which the years did sigh.

First touched, the hand now warm beneath 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.

page: [136verso]

Note: blank page

page: 137

LOVE'S LOVERS.

SOME ladies love the jewels in Love's zone ,
And gold-tipped darts he hath for painless play
In idle scornful hours he flings away;
And some that listen to his lute's soft tone
Do love to deem the silver praise their own;
Some prize his blindfold sight; and there be they
Who kissed his wings which brought him yesterday
And thank his wings to-day that he is flown.

My lady only loves the heart of Love:
10 Therefore Love's heart, my lady, hath for thee
His bower of unimagined flower and tree:
There kneels he now, and all-anhungered of
Thine eyes grey-lit in shadowing hair above,
Seals with thy mouth his immortality.

page: [137verso]

Note: blank page

page: 138

PASSION LOVE AND WORSHIP.

LOVE brought to us a white-stoled One flame-winged brought a white-winged harp-player
Even as where my lady and I lay all alone;
Saying: ‘Behold, this minstrel is unknown;
Bid him depart, for I am minstrel here:
Only my strains are to my servants Love's dear ones dear.’
Then said I: ‘ Through thy music's passionate 'Mid thine hautbois' rapturous tone
Even now, Lord Love, I heard Unto my lady still this harp make s moan,
And still methought the note was she deems the cadence deep and clear.’

Then said my lady: ‘ Even as thou art Love, “Thou art Passion of Love,
10 Lo, this is Worship this man hath for me.
Added TextAnd this Love's Worship: both he plights to me.
Thy mastering music walks the sunlit sea:
But where wan water rests throbs within the grove
And the wan moon is all the light thereof,
This harp still makes my name its voluntary.’

page: [138verso]

Note: blank page

page: 138

PASSION AND WORSHIP.

One flame-winged brought a white-winged harp-player
Even where my lady and I lay all alone;
Saying: ‘Behold, this minstrel is unknown;
Bid him depart, for I am minstrel here:
Only my strains are to Love's dear ones dear.’
Then said I: ‘'Mid thine hautbo y's rapturous tone
is'
Unto my lady still this harp makes moan,
And still she deems the cadence deep and clear.’

Then said my lady: ‘Thou art Passion of Love,
10 And this Love's Worship: both he plights to me.
Thy mastering music walks the sunlit sea:
But where wan water throbs within trembles in the grove
And the wan moon is all the light thereof,
This harp still makes my name its voluntary.’

page: [138verso]

Note: blank page

page: 139

Printer's Direction: This line further in

Editorial Description: DGR's note to the printer beside line 6, which is misprintd too far left.

THE PORTRAIT.

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.

page: [139verso]

Note: blank page

page: 140

Sig. N

Added TextThe Birth-Bond

NEAREST KINDRED.

HAVE you not noted, in some family
Where two were born of a first marriage-bed,
How still they own their fragrant/perfect 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 birth life hinted of.
O born with me somewhere that men forget,
And though in years of sight and sound unmet,
Known for my life's own sister soul's birth-partner well enough!

page: [140verso]

Note: blank page

page: 141

LOVE'S BAUBLES.

I STOOD where Love in brimming armfuls bore
Slight wanton flowers and foolish toys of fruit:
And round him ladies thronged in close 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 high true ministers.’

page: [141verso]

Note: blank page

page: 141

LOVE'S BAUBLES.

I STOOD where Love in brimming armfuls bore
Slight wanton flowers and foolish toys of fruit:
And round him ladies thronged in close 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.’

page: [141versa]

Note: blank page

Note: Pages 142-144 not in these proofs.

page: 145

SLEEPLESS DREAMS.

GIRT in dark growths, yet glimmering with one star,
O night desirous as the nights of youth!
Why should my heart within thy spell, forsooth,
Now beat, as the bride's finger-pulses are
Quickened within the girdling golden bar?
What wings are these that fan my pillow smooth?
And why does Sleep, waved back by Joy and Ruth,
Tread softly round and gaze at me from far?

Nay, night! Would vain Love counterfeit in thee
Added TextNay, night deep-leaved! And would Love feign in thee
10 Some shadowy palpitating grove that bears
Rest for man's eyes and music for his ears?
O lonely night! art thou not known to me,
A thicket hung with masks of mockery
And watered with the wasteful warmth of tears?

page: [145verso]

Note: blank page

Note: Page 146 not in these proofs.

page: 147

PARTED LOVE.

What shall be said of this embattled day
And armed occupation of this night
By all thy foes beleaguered,—now when sight
Nor sound denotes the loved one far away?
Of O/ the live hours of death These thy vanquished hours what shalt thou say,—
As every sense to which she dealt delight
Now labours lonely o'er the stark noon-height
To reach the sunset's desolate disarray?

Stand still, fond fettered wretch! while Memory's art
10 Parades the Past before thy face, and lures
Thy spirit to her passionate portraitures:
Till the tempestuous tide-gates flung apart
Flood with wild will the hollows of thy heart,
And thy heart rends thee, and thy body endures.

page: [147verso]

Note: blank page

page: 148

Sig. O

BROKEN MUSIC.

THE mother will not turn, who thinks she hears
Her nursling's speech first grow articulate;
But breathless with averted eyes elate
She sits, with open lips and open ears,
That it may call her twice. 'Mid doubts and fears
Thus oft my soul has hearkened; till the song,
A central moan for days, at length found tongue,
And the sweet music welled and the sweet tears.

But now, whatever while the soul is fain
10 To list that wonted murmur, as it were
The speech-bound sea-shell's low importunate strain ,—
No breath of song, —thy voice alone is there,
O bitterly beloved! A and all her gain
Is but the pang of unpermitted prayer.

page: [148verso]

Note: blank page

more about Sonnets for Pictures. And Other Sonnets.

page: 157

FOR A VENETIAN PASTORALBYGIORGIONE. ( In the Louvre.)

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
m
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
sunset
doth
10 And leave s it pouting; shadowed here, the grass
Is cool against her naked side. Let be:—
Do not now speak unto her, Say no thing now unto herlest she weep.
Nor name this ever. Be it as it was,—
Life touching lips with Immortality.

page: [157verso]

Note: blank page

page: 168

CASSANDRA. Two Sonnets for a Design.*)

Transcribed Footnote (page 168):

* The subject shows Cassandra prophesying among her kindred, as Hector leaves them for his last battle. They are on the platform of a fortress, from which the Trojan troops are marching out. Helen is arming Paris; Priam soothes Hecuba; and Andromache holds the child to her bosom.

REND, rend thine hair, Cassandra: he will go.
Yea, rend thy garments, wring thine hands, and cry
T
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 make s 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.

page: 169

II.

‘O HECTOR, gone, gone, gone! O h Hector, thee
Two chariots wait, in Troy long bless e '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.’

page: 171

Editorial Description: In line 14 DGR marked caps for the initial m and k inmy kingdowm, then deleted the change.

ON THE ‘VITA NUOVA’ OF DANTE.

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.’

page: [171verso]

Note: blank page

page: 172

Printer's Direction: too much space

Editorial Description: DGR's note to the printer for the space between the title's words.

Printer's Direction: further in

Editorial Description: DGR's note to the printer for the misprinting of line 11.

more about Dantis Tenebrae. (In Memory of my Father.)

DANTIS TENEBRÆ. ( In Memory of my Father. )

AND didst 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,
Bend her deep
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.

page: [172verso]

Note: blank page

page: 172

DANTE'S ‘TENEBRÆ’. Dantis Tenebræ ( In Memory of my Father.)

AND didst thou know indeed, when at the font
Together with thy name thou gav'st me his,
That also on thy son must Beatrice
Bend her deep 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,
Upon thy On thy bowed head, my father, fell the night.

page: [172verso]

Note: blank page

page: 173

Printer's Direction: Aft Before this put Saint Luke the Painter at page 45 of the new proofs

Editorial Description: DGR's note to the printer; the proofs referred to are the Exhumation Proofs.

AUTUMN IDLENESS.

THIS sunlight shames November where he grieves
In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun
The day, though bough with bough be over-run:
But with a blessing every glade receives
High salutation; while from hillock-eaves
The deer gaze calling, dappled white and dun,
As if, being foresters of old, the sun
Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves.

Here dawn to-day unveiled her magic glass;
10 Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew;
Till eve bring rest when other good things pass.
And here the lost hours the lost hours renew
While I still lead my shadow o'er the grass,
Nor know, for longing, that which I should do.

page: [173verso]

Note: blank page

page: 174

Printer's Direction: Further this way [,] too far apart

Editorial Description: DGR's notes to the printer for the printing of the title's words. There are also several lines in the left margin that indicate the requested indentation format of the octave.

FAREWELL TO THE GLEN.

SWEET stream-fed glen, why say ‘farewell’ to thee
Who far'st so well and find'st for ever smooth
The brow of Time where man may read no ruth?
Nay, do thou rather say ‘farewell’ to me,
Who now fare forth in bitterer fantasy
Than when, where other trees might shade and soothe
Added TextThan once erst was mine where other trees shade might soothe
By other streams in fragrant days of youth,
Added TextBy other streams, what while in fragrant youth
The bliss of being sad made melancholy.

And yet , farewell! For better shalt thou fare
10 When children bathe sweet faces in thy flow
And happy lovers blend sweet shadows there
In hours to come, than when an hour ago
Thine echoes had but one man's sighs to bear
And thy trees whispered what he feared to know.

page: [174verso]

Note: blank page

page: 177

ON THE SITE OF A MULBERRY-TREE;

Planted by Wm Shakspeare; felled by the Rev. F. Gastrell.

THIS tree, here fall'n, no common birth or death
Shared with its kind. The world's enfranchised son,
Who found the trees of Life and Knowledge one,
Here set it, frailer than his laurel-wreath.
Shall not the wretch whose hand it fell beneath
Rank also singly—the supreme unhung?
Lo! murdered Sheppard, Turpin , pleading with black tongue
This viler thief's unsuffocated breath!

We'll search thy glossary, Shakspeare! whence almost,
10 And whence alone, some name shall be reveal'd
For this deaf drudge, to whom no length of ears
Sufficed to catch the music of the spheres;
Whose soul is carrion now,—too mean to yield
Some tailor's ninth allotment of a ghost.

Stratford-on-Avon.

page: [177verso]

Note: blank page

Electronic Archive Edition: 1

Source File: 1-1870.tb1.trox1.rad.xml