Poems. A New Edition (1881), proof Signature M (Delaware Museum, first proof, copy 1)

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Document Title: Poems. A New Edition (1881), proof Signature M (Delaware Museum, first proof, copy 1)

Author: Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Date of publication: 1881 May 12 (circa)

Publisher: F. S. Ellis

Printer: Strangeways and Walden

Issue: 1

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

page: 161

Sig. M

For weeks that I had borne her company
Into the Duomo; and those weeks had been
Much troubled, for then first the glimpses came
370 Of some impenetrable restlessness
Growing in her to make her changed and cold.
And as we entered there that day, I bent
My eyes on the fair Image, and I said
Within my heart, ‘Oh turn her heart to me!’
And so I left her to her prayers, and went
To gaze upon the pride of Monza's shrine,
Where in the sacristy the light still falls
Upon the Iron Crown of Italy,
On whose crowned heads the day has closed, nor yet
380 The daybreak gilds another head to crown.
But coming back, I wondered when I saw
That the sweet Lady of her prayers now stood
Alone without her; until further off,
Before some new Madonna gaily decked,
Tinselled and gewgawed, a slight German toy,
I saw her kneel, still praying. At my step
She rose, and side by side we left the church.
I was much moved, and sharply questioned her
Of her transferred devotion; but she seemed
390 Stubborn and heedless; till she lightly laughed

page: 162

And said: ‘The old Madonna? Aye indeed,
She had my old thoughts,—this one has my new.’
Then silent to the soul I held my way:
And from the fountains of the public place
Unto the pigeon-haunted pinnacles,
Bright wings and water winnowed the bright air;
And stately with her laugh's subsiding smile
She went, with clear-swayed waist and towering neck
And hands held light before her; and the face
400 Which long had made a day in my life's night
Was night in day to me; as all men's eyes
Turned on her beauty, and she seemed to tread
Beyond my heart to the world made for her.

Ah there! my wounds will snatch my sense again:
The pain comes billowing on like a full cloud
Of thunder, and the flash that breaks from it
Leaves my brain burning. That's the wound he gave,
The Austrian whose white coat I still made match
With his white face, only the two grew red
410 As suits his trade. The devil makes them wear
White for a livery, that the blood may show
Braver that brings them to him. So he looks
Sheer o'er the field and knows his own at once.

page: 163

Give me a draught of water in that cup;
My voice feels thick; perhaps you do not hear;
But you must hear. If you mistake my words
And so absolve me, I am sure the blessing
Will burn my soul. If you mistake my words
And so absolve me, Father, the great sin
420 Is yours, not mine: mark this: your soul shall burn
With mine for it. I have seen pictures where
Souls burned with Latin shriekings in their mouths:
Shall my end be as theirs? Nay, but I know
'Tis you shall shriek in Latin. Some bell rings,
Rings through my brain: it strikes the hour in hell.

You see I cannot, Father; I have tried,
But cannot, as you see. These twenty times
Beginning, I have come to the same point
And stopped. Beyond, there are but broken words
430 Which will not let you understand my tale.
It is that then we have her with us here,
As when she wrung her hair out in my dream
To-night, till all the darkness reeked of it.
Her hair is always wet, for she has kept
Its tresses wrapped about her side for years;
And when she wrung them round over the floor,

page: 164

I heard the blood between her fingers hiss;
So that I sat up in my bed and screamed
Once and again; and once to once, she laughed.
440 Look that you turn not now,—she's at your back:
Gather your robe up, Father, and keep close,
Or she'll sit down on it and send you mad.

At Iglio in the first thin shade o' the hills
The sand is black and red. The black was black
When what was spilt that day sank into it,
And the red scarcely darkened. There I stood
This night with her, and saw the sand the same.

What would you have me tell you? Father, father,
How shall I make you know? You have not known
450 The dreadful soul of woman, who one day
Forgets the old and takes the new to heart,
Forgets what man remembers, and therewith
Forgets the man. Nor can I clearly tell
How the change happened between her and me.
Her eyes looked on me from an emptied heart
When most my heart was full of her; and still
In every corner of myself I sought

page: 165

To find what service failed her; and no less
Than in the good time past, there all was hers.
460 What do you love? Your Heaven? Conceive it spread
For one first year of all eternity
All round you with all joys and gifts of God;
And then when most your soul is blent with it
And all yields song together,—then it stands
O' the sudden like a pool that once gave back
Your image, but now drowns it and is clear
Again,—or like a sun bewitched, that burns
Your shadow from you, and still shines in sight.
How could you bear it? Would you not cry out,
470 Among those eyes grown blind to you, those ears
That hear no more your voice you hear the same,—
‘God! what is left but hell for company,
But hell, hell, hell?’—until the name so breathed
Whirled with hot wind and sucked you down in fire?
Even so I stood the day her empty heart
Left her place empty in our home, while yet
I knew not why she went nor where she went
Nor how to reach her: so I stood the day
When to my prayers at last one sight of her
480 Was granted, and I looked on heaven made pale
With scorn, and heard heaven mock me in that laugh.

page: 166

O sweet, long sweet! Was that some ghost of you
Even as your ghost that haunts me now,—twin shapes
Of fear and hatred? May I find you yet
Mine when death wakes? Ah! be it even in flame,
We may have sweetness yet, if you but say
As once in childish sorrow: ‘Not my pain,
My pain was nothing: oh your poor poor love,
Your broken love!’

My Father, have I not
490 Yet told you the last things of that last day
On which I went to meet her by the sea?
O God, O God! but I must tell you all.

Midway upon my journey, when I stopped
To buy the dagger at the village fair,
I saw two cursed rats about the place
I knew for spies—blood-sellers both. That day
Was not yet over; for three hours to come
I prized my life: and so I looked around
For safety. A poor painted mountebank
500 Was playing tricks and shouting in a crowd.
I knew he must have heard my name, so I
Pushed past and whispered to him who I was,
And of my danger. Straight he hustled me

page: 167

Into his booth, as it were in the trick,
And brought me out next minute with my face
All smeared in patches and a zany's gown;
And there I handed him his cups and balls
And swung the sand-bags round to clear the ring
For half an hour. The spies came once and looked;
510 And while they stopped, and made all sights and sounds
Sharp to my startled senses, I remember
A woman laughed above me. I looked up
And saw where a brown-shouldered harlot leaned
Half through a tavern window thick with vine.
Some man had come behind her in the room
And caught her by her arms, and she had turned
With that coarse empty laugh on him, as now
He munched her neck with kisses, while the vine
Crawled in her back.

And three hours afterwards,
520 When she that I had run all risks to meet
Laughed as I told you, my life burned to death
Within me, for I thought it like the laugh
Heard at the fair. She had not left me long;
But all she might have changed to, or might change to,
(I know nought since—she never speaks a word—)

page: 168

Seemed in that laugh. Have I not told you yet,
Not told you all this time what happened, Father,
When I had offered her the little knife,
And bade her keep it for my sake that loved her,
530 And she had laughed? Have I not told you yet?

‘Take it,’ I said to her the second time,
‘Take it and keep it.’ And then came a fire
That burnt my hand; and then the fire was blood,
And sea and sky were blood and fire, and all
The day was one red blindness; till it seemed,
Within the whirling brain's eclipse, that she
Or I or all things bled or burned to death.
And then I found her laid against my feet
And knew that I had stabbed her, and saw still
540 Her look in falling. For she took the knife
Deep in her heart, even as I bade her then,
And fell; and her stiff bodice scooped the sand
Into her bosom.

And she keeps it, see,
Do you not see she keeps it?—there, beneath
Wet fingers and wet tresses, in her heart.
For look you, when she stirs her hand, it shows

page: 169

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:
550 And from her side now she unwinds the thick
Dark 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 steel to God.

page: 170

Printer's Direction: This must be removed. It can / come (followed by the enclosed MS The Leaf) / before the last translation (Francesca da / Rimini) at end / of the book. / Only the / English / must be / there / printed / as / text / & / the / Italian / as / footnote

Editorial Description: DGR's note to the printer

more about Youth and Lordship (Italian Street Song)

GIOVENTÙ E SIGNORÌA.

È giovine il signore,
Ed ama molt a e cose,—
I canti, le rose,
La forza e l'amore.

Note: Translated version of the poem appears in two columns at bottom of page.

Transcribed Footnote (page 170): * YOUTH AND LORDSHIP.

My young lord's the lover
Of earth and sky above,
Of youth's sway and youth's play,
Of songs and flowers and love.

Yet for love's desire
Green youth lacks the daring;
Though one dream of fire,
All his hours ensnaring,
Burns the boy past bearing,—
10 The dream that girls inspire.

My young lord's the lover
Of every burning thought
That Love's will, that Love's skill
Within his breast has wrought.

Lovely girl, look on him,
Soft as music's measure;
Yield him, when you've won him,
Joys and tears toys at pleasure;
But to win your treasure,
20 Softly look upon him.

My young lord's the lover
Of every tender grace

Column Break

That woman, to woo man ,
Can wear in form or face.

Take him to your bosom
Now, girl, or never;
Let not your new blossom
Of sweet kisses sever;
Only guard for ever
30 Your boast within your bosom.

My young lord's the lover
Of every secret thing,
Love-hidden, love-bidden
This day to banqueting.

Lovely girl, with vaunting
Never tempt to-morrow:
From all shapes enchanting
Any joy can borrow,
Still the spectre Sorrow
40 Rises up for haunting.

And now my lord's the lover
Of ah! so many a sweet,—
Of roses, of spouses,
As many as love may greet.

page: 171

Quel du che più vuole
Ancor non osa:
Ahi più che il sole,
Più ch' ogni rosa,
La cara cosa,
10Donna a gioi v re.

È giovine il signore,
Ed ama quelle cose
Che ardor dispose
In cuore all' amore.

Bella fanciulla,
Guardalo in viso;
Non mancar nulla,
Motto o sorriso;
Ma viso a viso ,
20Guarda a gradire.

È giovine il signore,
Ed ama tutte cose . ,
V i ezzose, giojose,
Te r nenti all' amore.

page: 172

Prendilo in braccio
Adesso o mai;
Per più mi taccio,
Chè tu lo sai;
Bacialo e l'avrai,
30Ma non lo dire.

È giovine il signore,
Ed ama ben le cose
Che Amor nascose,
Che mostragli Amore.

Deh trionfando
Non farne p in ruova;
Ahimè! che g quando
Gioja più giova,
Allor si trova
40Presso al finire.

È giovine il signore . ,
Ed ama tante cose,
Le rose, le spose,
Quant i e gli dona Amore.

page: 173

THE BURDEN OF NINEVEH.

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 ; :

page: 174

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.

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:—
O seemed it not—the spell once broke—
As though the carven warriors woke,

page: 175

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?
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.

page: 176

Printer's Direction: small caps

Editorial Description: DGR's correction for “Rome” in line 80

Printer's Direction: X

Editorial Description: printer's mark signaling the correction called for in line 80

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.*

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.’

Transcribed Footnote (page 176):

* During the excavations, the Tiyari workmen held their services

in the shadow of the great bulls. ( Layard's ‘Nineveh,’ ch. ix.)

Electronic Archive Edition: 1

Source File: 1-1881.sigm1.del.rad.xml