An Altar Flame

The Heart of the Night

and

Other Sonnets

by

Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

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The Original Holograph Manuscripts

Exhibiting interesting variations

from the published text

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Composed previous to the Year

1850



   

• Even as when utter summer makes the grain
• Bow heavily along through the whole land
• It seems to me whatever while I stand
• Where thou art standing; and upon my brain
• Thy presence weighs like a most awful strain
• Of music, heard in some cathedral fanned
• With the deep breath of prayer, while the priest's hand
• Uplifts the solemn sign which shall remain
• After the world. Thy beauty perfecteth
• 10 A noble calmness in me; it doth send
• Through my weak heart to my strong mind a rule
• Of life that they shall keep till shut of death:
• Death—an arched path too long to see the end,
• But which hath shadows that seem pure & cool.

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• From child to youth; from youth to weary man;
• From lethargy to fever of the heart;
• From faithful life to mouldering days apart;
• From doubt to dread; from dread to bale and ban;
• Thus much of change in thy swift cycle ran
• Till now. Alas! the soul—how soon must she
• Accept her primal immortality,—
• The flesh that dust wherein its course began?

• O Lord of work and will! O Lord of life!
• 10 O Lord, the awful Lord of love! though late,
• Even still renew this soul with duteous breath:
• That when the will is garnered in from strife,
• The work retrieved, the love regenerate,
• She may behold my This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!

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• Of her I thought who now is gone so far:
• And, the thought passing over, to fall thence
• Was like a fall from spirit into sense
• Or from the heaven of heavens to sun and star.
• None other than Love's self ordained the bar
• 'Twixt her and me; so that if, going hence,
• I met her, it could only seem a dense
• Film of the brain,—just nought, as phantoms are.

• Now when I passed your threshold and came in,
• 10 And glanced where you were sitting, & did see
• Your tresses in these braids and your hands thus,—
• I knew that other figure, grieved and thin,
• That seemed there, yea that was there, could not be,
• Though like God's wrath it stood dividing us.

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• I think I should not think upon her now:
• But then I have stood beside her listening,
• And watched her rose-breathed lips when she would sing:
• And I can scarcely yet imagine how
• I ever should despise that stately brow
• Or her sloped breast that's so superb a thing.
• There is so much of weary blood-running
• When from the heart one strives to tear a vow!

• And yet perchance—even as you tell me—soon
• 10 Her spirit of my spirit will leave hold,
• And when I hear her tread, I shall not blush
• Doubly, for love and shame. But then the moon
• Will certainly be up, and Death will fold
• Her hair round me, and God will whisper Hush!

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• She opened her moist crimson lips to sing;
• And from her throat that is so white & full
• The notes leaped like a fountain. A smooth lull
• Was o'er my heart: as when—a viol-string
• Having been broken—the first musical ring
• Once over, all the rest is but a dull
• Crude dissonance, howe'er thou twist & pull
• The sundered fragments. A most weary thing
• It is within the perished heart to seek
• 10 Pain, and not find it, but a clinging pall
• Like sleep upon the mind. The mere set plan
• Of life then comes, and grief that is not weak
• Because it has no tears. Life's all-in-all
• Was certainly at end when this began.

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• He turned his face apart, and gave a sigh
• And a strange whimper—such a pitiful thing
• As haunts the heart for days. “Yes, Love can bring
• Unto a pass so low that it seems high:
• And, when we see a brave & strong man cry
• With a poor infant's feeble sorrowing,
• It is much a nobler than when he doth passion than to wing
• Shafts of small angers & small prides,” thought I.

• There is a love so deaf that it can hear
• 10 Not even its own voice which bids it seek
• A name for its own meanness: it would find
• The outlet else. But thus it is a sheer
• Humility—an earnestness so meek
• That your knees bow and sharp tears make you blind.

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• That voice I hear,—how heard I cannot tell,—
• Although my home is this, seems from my home:
• There.....still it trails along and murmurs “Come”;
• Like the slow death of sound within a bell,
• Or like the humming whine in some pink shell
• Wet with the brittle beadage of the foam
• Which bird-eyed damsels stoop for when they roam
• By the old sea. Were't not exceeding well
• To shake my soul out of this tiresome life
• 10 For a call any whence and any whither?
• That voice knows well all the life I have or had,
• And mocks me not,—it's whisper is too sad.
• Even to attain calm sorrow lures me thither,
• Since here this search for joy wearies like strife.

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• Doubt spake no word in me as there I kneeled.
• Loathing, I could not praise: I could not thank
• God for the cup of evil that I drank:
• I dared not cry upon his strength to shield
• My soul from from weapons it was bent to wield
• Itself against itself. And so I sank
• Into the furnished phrases smooth & blank
• Which we all learn in childhood,— & did yield
• A barren prayer for life. My voice might mix
• 10 With hers, but mingled not. Hers was a full
• Grand burst of music, which the crownèd Seven
• Must have leaned sideways from their seats to fix
• In their calm minds. The seraph—songs fell dull
• Doubtless, when heard again, throughout all heaven.

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• At length I sickened, standing in the sun
• Truthful and for the Truth, whose only fees
• Are madness and sharp death. I bowed my knees
• And said: “As long as the world's years have run,
• These accents have been said & these things done:
• That which is mine abasement is their ease:
• They say, “Go to—all this is as we please:
• Shall we, being many, step aside for one?”

• And thus it is that though the air be new,
• 10 And my brow finds the coolness it hath sought
• Through the slow-stricken night,—the daily curse
• Weighs on my soul of what I waken to:
• For though I loathe the price, this must be bought.
• ... Thou fool! Would'st buy from man what God confers?

   

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• The thoughts in me are very calm & high
• That think upon your love: yet by your leave
• You shall not greatly marvel that this eve
• Or nightfall—yet scarce nightfall—the strong sky
• Leaves me thus sad. Now if you ask me why,
• I cannot teach you, dear; but I believe
• It is that man will always interweave
• Grace Life with fresh want, life with the wish or fear to die.

• It may be therefore,—though the matter touch
• 10 Nowise our love,—that I so often look
• Sad in your presence, often feeling so.
• And of the reason I can tell thus much:—
• Man's soul is like the music in a book
• Which were not music but for high & low.

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• Some few birds still beat on, weary & late,
• To where the Sunset brooded far alone.
• I knew the whole poor heart that was mine own,
• Yet did not cry aloud nor feebly prate,
• But held hard silentness. The evil weight
• Of wing had long been sore, though Hope had flown
• Till then in somewise: now, Hope's flight was grown
• So weak, she needs must leave the race to Fate.

• Fate beateth at the forehead hard, and must
• 10Come in, even though the mist of grief be thick
• Shading the brain: it must come in, & will.
• It shall work madness, but it may not kill.
• 'Twere too much ruth—the body's mortal thrust,
• When heart & mind & spirit are all sick.

   

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• At length the then of my long hope was now;
• Yet had my spirit an extreme unrest:
• I knew the good past better was grown best
• At length, but could not just as yet tell how.
• So I lay straight along, and thrust my brow
• Under the heights of grass. Hours struck. The west,
• I knew, must be at change; but gazed not, lest
• The heat against my naked face— (no bough
• For shade)— should tease me mad, like poisoned spice.
• 10 I lay along, letting my whole self think,
• Pressing my brow down that the thoughts might fix:
• Just as a dicer who holds loaded dice,
• Sure of his cast, keeps trifling with his drink
• Ere he will throw, and still must taste & mix.

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• I know not how it is, I have the knack,
• In lazy moods, of seeking no excuse;
• But holding that man's ease must be the juice
• Of man's philosophy, I give the sack
• To thought, and lounge at shuffle on the track
• Of what employment seems of the least use:
• And in such ways I find a constant sluice
• For drowzy humours. Be thou loth to rack
• And hack thy brain for thought, which may lurk there
• 10 Or may not. Without pain of thought, the eyes
• Can see, the ears can hear, the sultry mouth
• Can taste the summer's favour. Towards the South
• Let earth sway round, while this my body lies
• In warmth, and has the sun on face & hair.

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• Upon a Flemish road, when noon was deep,
• I passed a little consecrated shrine,
• Where among simple pictures ranged in line,
• The blessed Mary holds her Son asleep.
• To kneel here, shepherd-children leave their sheep
• When they feel grave because silence broods at heart of the sunshine,
• And again kneel here in the day's decline;
• And here, when their life ails them, come to weep.

• Night being full, I passed on the same road
• 10 By the same shrine; within, a lamp was lit
• Which through the silence depth of clear utter darkness glowed.
• Thus, after heat of life, when doubts arise
• Dim-hurting, faith's pure lamp must strengthen beam onit,
• How oft unlit, alas! how oft that dies.

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• One scarce would think that we can be the same
• Who used, in those first childish Junes, to creep
• With held breath through the underwood, & leap
• Outside into the sun. Since this mine aim
• Took me unto itself, the joy which came
• Into my eyes at once sits hushed & deep;
• Nor even the sorrow moans, but falls asleep
• And has ill dreams. For you—your very name
• Seems altered in mine ears, and cannot send
• 10 Heat through my heart, as in those days afar
• Wherein we lived indeed with the real life.
• Yet why should we feel shame, my dear sweet friend?
• Are they most honoured who without a scar
• Pace forth, all trim & fresh, from the splashed strife?

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• The lilies stand before her like a screen
• Through which, upon this warm & solemn day,
• God surely hears. For there she kneels to pray
• To whom our prayers belong—Mary the Queen
• She was Faith's Present, parting what had been
• From what began with her and is for aye.
• On either side God's twofold system lay:
• With meek bowed face a virgin prayed between.

• So prays she, and the Dove flies in to her,
• 10 And she has turned. Within the porch is one
• Who looks as though deep awe made him to smile.
• Heavy with heat, the plants yield shadow there;
• The loud flies cross each other in the sun;
• And the aisle-pillars meet the poplar-aisle.

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• Mystery: God, man's life, born into man
• Of woman. There abideth on her brow
• The ended pang of knowledge, the which now
• Is calm assured. Since first her task began
• She hath known all. What sterner anguish than
• She oft hath suffered, who for many a space
• Of nights and days hath wept upon her face
• While like a heavy flood the darkness ran?

• All hath been told her touching her dear son,
• 10 And all shall be accomplished. Where he sits
• Even now, a babe, he holds the symbol fruit
• Perfect and chosen. Until God permits,
• His soul's elect still have the absolute
• Harsh nether darkness, & make painful moan.

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• Mystery: Catherine, the bride of Christ.
• She kneels, and on her hand the holy Child
• Now sets the ring. Her life is hushed and mild,
• Laid in God's knowledge—ever unenticed
• From Him, and in the end thus fitly priced.
• Awe, and the music which is near her, wrought
• Of angels, have possessed her eyes in thought:
• Her utter joy is hers and hath sufficed.

• There is a pause while Mary Virgin turns
• 10 The leaf and reads. With eyes on the spread book,
• The damsel at her knees reads after her.
• John whom He loved, & John His harbinger,
• Listen and watch. Whereon soe'er thou look,
• The light is starred in gems & the gold burns.

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• Though God, as one that is an householder,
• Called these to labour in His vineyard first,
• Before the husk of darkness was well burst
• Bidding them grope their way out and bestir,
• (Who, questioned of their wages, answered, “Sir,
• Unto each man a penny:”) though the worst
• Burthen of heat was theirs & the dry thirst:
• Though God has since found none such as these were
• To do their work like them:—Because of this
• 10 Stand not ye idle in the market-place.
• Which of ye knoweth he is not that last
• Who may be first by faith & will?—that his
• Is not the hand which after the set days
• And hours shall give a future to their past?

1849

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• “I am not as these are,” the poet saith
• When young, and the young painter, among men
• At bay where pencil come th s not nor neither pen,
• And shut about with his own frozen breath.
• To others for whom only rhyme wins faith
• For As singers,— and paint for painters only paint as painters,— proudly then
• He turns in the cold silence; and again
• Shrinking, “I am not as these are,” he saith.

• And say that this is so, what follows it?
• 10 For were thine eyes set backwards in thine head,
• Such words were well; but they see on, and far.
• Unto the lamps lights of the [???] great Past, new-lit
• Among the early wood Fair for the Future's track, look thou instead,—
• Say thou instead, “I am not as these are.”

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• God said, Let there be light; and there was light.
• Then heard we sounds as though the Earth did sing
• And the earth's angel cried upon the wing:
• We saw priests fall together & turn white:
• And covered covered in the dust from the sun's sight,
• A king was spied, and yet another king.
• We said: “The round world keeps its balancing;
• On this globe they and we are opposite,—
• If it is day with us, with them 'tis night.
• 10 Still, Man, in thy just pride remember this:—
• Thou hadst not made that thy sons' sons shall ask
• What the word King may mean in their day's task,
• But for the light that led: and if light is,
• It is because God said, Let there be light.”

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• O bocca che nell' ora del disìo
• Tante volte guardai e tenui pace,—
• Che i tanti spirti dell' occhio tenace
• Baciar tutt ora, e mai il labbro mio!—
• Ahi da te, bocca, che piacer vogl' io,
• O che speranza che non sia fallace?
• Qual tuo sorriso, dimmi se ti piace,
• E quai parole, per l'amor di Dio?

• Deh povera speranza! e come vuoi
• 10Raggiungere il piacer, con ali avorte,
• Alle gemelle sorridenti porte?
• Ogni parola che verebbe poi
• Più amorosa ahi più sarìa per noi
• Radice del silenzio della morte!

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• O bocca che nell' ora del compenso
• Tante volte baciai, e tante volte
• Sentii da te, con mille voti accolte,
• Quelle parole d'immortal consenso:—
• Deh possa dei tuoi baci il sacro incenso
• Ravvolger sempre in nuvole più folte
• Le antiche tante omai larve sepolte,
• Empiendo il ciel del nostro amore immenso!

• Vieni, beata bocca, O vieni ancora!
• 10Lunghi pensando a te, l'amor disìa
• Dolce rugiada in tua rosata via.
• Non sei tu quella in cui ora ed ogn'ora
• Io vivo sol,— cui sol nell'alma mia
• Mercede invita Amore, e Amore adora?

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• She knew it not:—most perfect pain
• To learn: this too she knew not. Strife
• For me, calm hers, as from the first.
• 'Twas but another bubble burst
• Upon the curdling draught of life,—
• My silent patience mine again.

• As who, of forms that crowd unknown
• Within a distant mirror's shade,
• Deems such an one himself, and makes
• 10 Some sign: but when the image shakes
• No whit, he finds his thought betray'd,
• And must seek elsewhere for his own.