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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/13672-h.zip b/13672-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f59aa63 --- /dev/null +++ b/13672-h.zip diff --git a/13672-h/13672-h.htm b/13672-h/13672-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a4f1cf5 --- /dev/null +++ b/13672-h/13672-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3886 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Unknown Eros</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Unknown Eros, by Coventry Patmore</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Unknown Eros, by Coventry Patmore + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Unknown Eros + +Author: Coventry Patmore + +Release Date: October 7, 2004 [eBook #13672] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNKNOWN EROS*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>This eBook was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.</p> +<h1>THE UNKNOWN EROS<br /> +by Coventry Patmore.</h1> +<h2>PREFACE TO THIRD EDITION.</h2> +<p>To this edition of “The Unknown Eros” are added all the +other poems I have written, in what I venture—because it has no +other name—to call “catalectic verse.” Nearly +all English metres owe their existence as metres to “catalexis,” +or pause, for the time of one or more feet, and, as a rule, the position +and amount of catalexis are fixed. But the verse in which this +volume is written is catalectic <i>par excellence</i>, employing the +pause (as it does the rhyme) with freedom only limited by the exigencies +of poetic passion. From the time of Drummond of Hawthornden to +our own, some of the noblest flights of English poetry have been taken +on the wings of this verse; but with ordinary readers it has been more +or less discredited by the far greater number of abortive efforts, on +the part sometimes of considerable poets, to adapt it to purposes with +which it has no expressional correspondence; or to vary it by rhythmical +movements which are destructive of its character.</p> +<p>Some persons, unlearned in the subject of metre, have objected to +this kind of verse that it is “lawless.” But it has +its laws as truly as any other. In its highest order, the lyric +or “ode,” it is a tetrameter, the line having the time of +eight iambics. When it descends to narrative, or the expression +of a less-exalted strain of thought, it becomes a trimeter, having the +time of six iambics, or even a dimeter, with the time of four; and it +is allowable to vary the tetrameter “ode” by the occasional +introduction of passages in either or both of these inferior measures, +but not, I think, by the use of any other. The license to rhyme +at indefinite intervals is counterbalanced, in the writing of all poets +who have employed this metre successfully, by unusual frequency in the +recurrence of the same rhyme. For information on the generally +overlooked but primarily important function of catalexis in English +verse I refer such readers as may be curious about the subject to the +Essay printed as an appendix to the later editions of my collected poems.</p> +<p>I do not pretend to have done more than very moderate justice to +the exceeding grace and dignity and the inexhaustible expressiveness +of which this kind of metre is capable; but I can say that I have never +attempted to write in it in the absence of that one justification of +and prime qualification for its use, namely, the impulse of some thought +that “voluntary moved harmonious numbers.”</p> +<p> COVENTRY PATMORE.<br /> +HASTINGS, 1890.</p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<h3>TO THE UNKNOWN EROS, ETC.</h3> +<p>PROEM.</p> +<h3>BOOK I.</h3> +<p>I. SAINT VALENTINE’S DAY<br /> +II. WIND AND WAVE<br /> +III. WINTER<br /> +IV. BEATA<br /> +V. THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW<br /> +VI. TRISTITIA<br /> +VII. THE AZALEA<br /> +VIII. DEPARTURE<br /> +IX. EURYDICE<br /> +X. THE TOYS<br /> +XI. TIRED MEMORY<br /> +XII. MAGNA EST VERITAS<br /> +XIII. 1867<br /> +XIV. ‘IF I WERE DEAD’<br /> +XV. PEACE<br /> +XVI. A FAREWELL<br /> +XVII. 1880-85.<br /> +XVIII. THE TWO DESERTS<br /> +XIX. CREST AND GULF<br /> +XX. ‘LET BE!’<br /> +XXI. ‘FAINT YET PURSUING’<br /> +XXII. VICTORY IN DEFEAT<br /> +XVIII. REMEMBERED GRACE<br /> +XXIV. VESICA PISCIS</p> +<h3>BOOK II.</h3> +<p>I. TO THE UNKNOWN EROS<br /> +II. THE CONTRACT<br /> +III. ARBOR VITAE<br /> +IV. THE STANDARDS<br /> +V. SPONSA DEI<br /> +VI. LEGEM TUAM DILEXI<br /> +VII. TO THE BODY<br /> +VIII. ‘SING US ONE OF THE SONGS OF SION’<br /> +IX. DELICIAE SAPIENTIAE DE AMORE<br /> +X. THE CRY AT MIDNIGHT<br /> +XI. AURAS OF DELIGHT<br /> +XII. EROS AND PSYCHE<br /> +XIII. DE NATURA DEORUM<br /> +XIV. PSYCHE’S DISCONTENT<br /> +XV. PAIN<br /> +XVI. PROPHETS WHO CANNOT SING<br /> +XVII. THE CHILD’S PURCHASE<br /> +XVIII. DEAD LANGUAGE</p> +<h3>AMELIA, ETC.</h3> +<p>AMELIA<br /> +L’ALLEGRO<br /> +REGINA COELI<br /> +THE OPEN SECRET<br /> +VENUS AND DEATH<br /> +MIGNONNE<br /> +ALEXANDER AND LYCON<br /> +SEMELE</p> +<h2>THE UNKNOWN EROS</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Deliciae meae esse cum filiis hominum.”<br /> +PROV. VIII. 31.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>PROEM.</h3> +<p> ‘Many speak wisely, some inerrably:<br /> +Witness the beast who talk’d that should have bray’d,<br /> +And Caiaphas that said<br /> +Expedient ’twas for all that One should die;<br /> +But what avails<br /> +When Love’s right accent from their wisdom fails,<br /> +And the Truth-criers know not what they cry!<br /> +Say, wherefore thou,<br /> +As under bondage of some bitter vow,<br /> +Warblest no word,<br /> +When all the rest are shouting to be heard?<br /> +Why leave the fervid running just when Fame<br /> +’Gan whispering of thy name<br /> +Amongst the hard-pleased Judges of the Course?<br /> +Parch’d is thy crystal-flowing source?<br /> +Pierce, then, with thought’s steel probe, the trodden ground,<br /> +Till passion’s buried floods be found;<br /> +Intend thine eye<br /> +Into the dim and undiscover’d sky<br /> +Whose lustres are the pulsings of the heart,<br /> +And promptly, as thy trade is, watch to chart<br /> +The lonely suns, the mystic hazes and throng’d sparkles bright<br /> +That, named and number’d right<br /> +In sweet, transpicuous words, shall glow alway<br /> +With Love’s three-stranded ray,<br /> +Red wrath, compassion golden, lazuline delight.’<br /> + Thus, in reproof of my despondency,<br /> +My Mentor; and thus I:<br /> + O, season strange for song!<br /> +And yet some timely power persuades my lips.<br /> +Is’t England’s parting soul that nerves my tongue,<br /> +As other Kingdoms, nearing their eclipse,<br /> +Have, in their latest bards, uplifted strong<br /> +The voice that was their voice in earlier days?<br /> +Is it her sudden, loud and piercing cry,<br /> +The note which those that seem too weak to sigh<br /> +Will sometimes utter just before they die?<br /> + Lo, weary of the greatness of her ways,<br /> +There lies my Land, with hasty pulse and hard,<br /> +Her ancient beauty marr’d,<br /> +And, in her cold and aimless roving sight,<br /> +Horror of light;<br /> +Sole vigour left in her last lethargy,<br /> +Save when, at bidding of some dreadful breath,<br /> +The rising death<br /> +Rolls up with force;<br /> +And then the furiously gibbering corse<br /> +Shakes, panglessly convuls’d, and sightless stares,<br /> +Whilst one Physician pours in rousing wines,<br /> +One anodynes,<br /> +And one declares<br /> +That nothing ails it but the pains of growth.<br /> + My last look loth<br /> +Is taken; and I turn, with the relief<br /> +Of knowing that my life-long hope and grief<br /> +Are surely vain,<br /> +To that unshapen time to come, when She,<br /> +A dim, heroic Nation long since dead,<br /> +The foulness of her agony forgot,<br /> +Shall all benignly shed<br /> +Through ages vast<br /> +The ghostly grace of her transfigured past<br /> +Over the present, harass’d and forlorn,<br /> +Of nations yet unborn;<br /> +And this shall be the lot<br /> +Of those who, in the bird-voice and the blast<br /> +Of her omniloquent tongue,<br /> +Have truly sung<br /> +Or greatly said,<br /> +To shew as one<br /> +With those who have best done,<br /> +And be as rays,<br /> +Thro’ the still altering world, around her changeless head.<br /> + Therefore no ’plaint be mine<br /> +Of listeners none,<br /> +No hope of render’d use or proud reward,<br /> +In hasty times and hard;<br /> +But chants as of a lonely thrush’s throat<br /> +At latest eve,<br /> +That does in each calm note<br /> +Both joy and grieve;<br /> +Notes few and strong and fine,<br /> +Gilt with sweet day’s decline,<br /> +And sad with promise of a different sun.<br /> + ’Mid the loud concert harsh<br /> +Of this fog-folded marsh,<br /> +To me, else dumb,<br /> +Uranian Clearness, come!<br /> +Give me to breathe in peace and in surprise<br /> +The light-thrill’d ether of your rarest skies,<br /> +Till inmost absolution start<br /> +The welling in the grateful eyes,<br /> +The heaving in the heart.<br /> +Winnow with sighs<br /> +And wash away<br /> +With tears the dust and stain of clay,<br /> +Till all the Song be Thine, as beautiful as Morn,<br /> +Bedeck’d with shining clouds of scorn;<br /> +And Thou, Inspirer, deign to brood<br /> +O’er the delighted words, and call them Very Good.<br /> +This grant, Clear Spirit; and grant that I remain<br /> +Content to ask unlikely gifts in vain.</p> +<h2> BOOK I.</h2> +<h3>I. SAINT VALENTINE’S DAY.</h3> +<p>Well dost thou, Love, thy solemn Feast to hold<br /> +In vestal February;<br /> +Not rather choosing out some rosy day<br /> +From the rich coronet of the coming May,<br /> +When all things meet to marry!<br /> + O, quick, praevernal Power<br /> +That signall’st punctual through the sleepy mould<br /> +The Snowdrop’s time to flower,<br /> +Fair as the rash oath of virginity<br /> +Which is first-love’s first cry;<br /> +O, Baby Spring,<br /> +That flutter’st sudden ’neath the breast of Earth<br /> +A month before the birth;<br /> +Whence is the peaceful poignancy,<br /> +The joy contrite,<br /> +Sadder than sorrow, sweeter than delight,<br /> +That burthens now the breath of everything,<br /> +Though each one sighs as if to each alone<br /> +The cherish’d pang were known?<br /> +At dusk of dawn, on his dark spray apart,<br /> +With it the Blackbird breaks the young Day’s heart;<br /> +In evening’s hush<br /> +About it talks the heavenly-minded Thrush;<br /> +The hill with like remorse<br /> +Smiles to the Sun’s smile in his westering course;<br /> +The fisher’s drooping skiff<br /> +In yonder sheltering bay;<br /> +The choughs that call about the shining cliff;<br /> +The children, noisy in the setting ray;<br /> +Own the sweet season, each thing as it may;<br /> +Thoughts of strange kindness and forgotten peace<br /> +In me increase;<br /> +And tears arise<br /> +Within my happy, happy Mistress’ eyes,<br /> +And, lo, her lips, averted from my kiss,<br /> +Ask from Love’s bounty, ah, much more than bliss!<br /> + Is’t the sequester’d and exceeding sweet<br /> +Of dear Desire electing his defeat?<br /> +Is’t the waked Earth now to yon purpling cope<br /> +Uttering first-love’s first cry,<br /> +Vainly renouncing, with a Seraph’s sigh,<br /> +Love’s natural hope?<br /> +Fair-meaning Earth, foredoom’d to perjury!<br /> +Behold, all-amorous May,<br /> +With roses heap’d upon her laughing brows,<br /> +Avoids thee of thy vows!<br /> +Were it for thee, with her warm bosom near,<br /> +To abide the sharpness of the Seraph’s sphere?<br /> +Forget thy foolish words;<br /> +Go to her summons gay,<br /> +Thy heart with dead, wing’d Innocencies fill’d,<br /> +Ev’n as a nest with birds<br /> +After the old ones by the hawk are kill’d.<br /> + Well dost thou, Love, to celebrate<br /> +The noon of thy soft ecstasy,<br /> +Or e’er it be too late,<br /> +Or e’er the Snowdrop die!</p> +<h3>II. WIND AND WAVE.</h3> +<p> The wedded light and heat,<br /> +Winnowing the witless space,<br /> +Without a let,<br /> +What are they till they beat<br /> +Against the sleepy sod, and there beget<br /> +Perchance the violet!<br /> +Is the One found,<br /> +Amongst a wilderness of as happy grace,<br /> +To make Heaven’s bound;<br /> +So that in Her<br /> +All which it hath of sensitively good<br /> +Is sought and understood<br /> +After the narrow mode the mighty Heavens prefer?<br /> +She, as a little breeze<br /> +Following still Night,<br /> +Ripples the spirit’s cold, deep seas<br /> +Into delight;<br /> +But, in a while,<br /> +The immeasurable smile<br /> +Is broke by fresher airs to flashes blent<br /> +With darkling discontent;<br /> +And all the subtle zephyr hurries gay,<br /> +And all the heaving ocean heaves one way,<br /> +’Tward the void sky-line and an unguess’d weal;<br /> +Until the vanward billows feel<br /> +The agitating shallows, and divine the goal,<br /> +And to foam roll,<br /> +And spread and stray<br /> +And traverse wildly, like delighted hands,<br /> +The fair and feckless sands;<br /> +And so the whole<br /> +Unfathomable and immense<br /> +Triumphing tide comes at the last to reach<br /> +And burst in wind-kiss’d splendours on the deaf’ning beach,<br /> +Where forms of children in first innocence<br /> +Laugh and fling pebbles on the rainbow’d crest<br /> +Of its untired unrest.</p> +<h3>III. WINTER.</h3> +<p> I, singularly moved<br /> +To love the lovely that are not beloved,<br /> +Of all the Seasons, most<br /> +Love Winter, and to trace<br /> +The sense of the Trophonian pallor on her face.<br /> +It is not death, but plenitude of peace;<br /> +And the dim cloud that does the world enfold<br /> +Hath less the characters of dark and cold<br /> +Than warmth and light asleep,<br /> +And correspondent breathing seems to keep<br /> +With the infant harvest, breathing soft below<br /> +Its eider coverlet of snow.<br /> +Nor is in field or garden anything<br /> +But, duly look’d into, contains serene<br /> +The substance of things hoped for, in the Spring,<br /> +And evidence of Summer not yet seen.<br /> +On every chance-mild day<br /> +That visits the moist shaw,<br /> +The honeysuckle, ’sdaining to be crost<br /> +In urgence of sweet life by sleet or frost,<br /> +’Voids the time’s law<br /> +With still increase<br /> +Of leaflet new, and little, wandering spray;<br /> +Often, in sheltering brakes,<br /> +As one from rest disturb’d in the first hour,<br /> +Primrose or violet bewilder’d wakes,<br /> +And deems ’tis time to flower;<br /> +Though not a whisper of her voice he hear,<br /> +The buried bulb does know<br /> +The signals of the year,<br /> +And hails far Summer with his lifted spear.<br /> +The gorse-field dark, by sudden, gold caprice,<br /> +Turns, here and there, into a Jason’s fleece;<br /> +Lilies, that soon in Autumn slipp’d their gowns of green,<br /> +And vanish’d into earth,<br /> +And came again, ere Autumn died, to birth,<br /> +Stand full-array’d, amidst the wavering shower,<br /> +And perfect for the Summer, less the flower;<br /> +In nook of pale or crevice of crude bark,<br /> +Thou canst not miss,<br /> +If close thou spy, to mark<br /> +The ghostly chrysalis,<br /> +That, if thou touch it, stirs in its dream dark;<br /> +And the flush’d Robin, in the evenings hoar,<br /> +Does of Love’s Day, as if he saw it, sing;<br /> +But sweeter yet than dream or song of Summer or Spring<br /> +Are Winter’s sometime smiles, that seem to well<br /> +From infancy ineffable;<br /> +Her wandering, languorous gaze,<br /> +So unfamiliar, so without amaze,<br /> +On the elemental, chill adversity,<br /> +The uncomprehended rudeness; and her sigh<br /> +And solemn, gathering tear,<br /> +And look of exile from some great repose, the sphere<br /> +Of ether, moved by ether only, or<br /> +By something still more tranquil.</p> +<h3>IV. BEATA.</h3> +<p> Of infinite Heaven the rays,<br /> +Piercing some eyelet in our cavern black,<br /> +Ended their viewless track<br /> +On thee to smite<br /> +Solely, as on a diamond stalactite,<br /> +And in mid-darkness lit a rainbow’s blaze,<br /> +Wherein the absolute Reason, Power, and Love,<br /> +That erst could move<br /> +Mainly in me but toil and weariness,<br /> +Renounced their deadening might,<br /> +Renounced their undistinguishable stress<br /> +Of withering white,<br /> +And did with gladdest hues my spirit caress,<br /> +Nothing of Heaven in thee showing infinite,<br /> +Save the delight.</p> +<h3>V. THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW.</h3> +<p> Perchance she droops within the hollow gulf<br /> +Which the great wave of coming pleasure draws,<br /> +Not guessing the glad cause!<br /> +Ye Clouds that on your endless journey go,<br /> +Ye Winds that westward flow,<br /> +Thou heaving Sea<br /> +That heav’st ’twixt her and me,<br /> +Tell her I come;<br /> +Then only sigh your pleasure, and be dumb;<br /> +For the sweet secret of our either self<br /> +We know.<br /> +Tell her I come,<br /> +And let her heart be still’d.<br /> +One day’s controlled hope, and then one more,<br /> +And on the third our lives shall be fulfill’d!<br /> +Yet all has been before:<br /> +Palm placed in palm, twin smiles, and words astray.<br /> +What other should we say?<br /> +But shall I not, with ne’er a sign, perceive,<br /> +Whilst her sweet hands I hold,<br /> +The myriad threads and meshes manifold<br /> +Which Love shall round her weave:<br /> +The pulse in that vein making alien pause<br /> +And varying beats from this;<br /> +Down each long finger felt, a differing strand<br /> +Of silvery welcome bland;<br /> +And in her breezy palm<br /> +And silken wrist,<br /> +Beneath the touch of my like numerous bliss<br /> +Complexly kiss’d,<br /> +A diverse and distinguishable calm?<br /> +What should we say!<br /> +It all has been before;<br /> +And yet our lives shall now be first fulfill’d,<br /> +And into their summ’d sweetness fall distill’d<br /> +One sweet drop more;<br /> +One sweet drop more, in absolute increase<br /> +Of unrelapsing peace.<br /> + O, heaving Sea,<br /> +That heav’st as if for bliss of her and me,<br /> +And separatest not dear heart from heart,<br /> +Though each ’gainst other beats too far apart,<br /> +For yet awhile<br /> +Let it not seem that I behold her smile.<br /> +O, weary Love, O, folded to her breast,<br /> +Love in each moment years and years of rest,<br /> +Be calm, as being not.<br /> +Ye oceans of intolerable delight,<br /> +The blazing photosphere of central Night,<br /> +Be ye forgot.<br /> +Terror, thou swarthy Groom of Bride-bliss coy,<br /> +Let me not see thee toy.<br /> +O, Death, too tardy with thy hope intense<br /> +Of kisses close beyond conceit of sense;<br /> +O, Life, too liberal, while to take her hand<br /> +Is more of hope than heart can understand;<br /> +Perturb my golden patience not with joy,<br /> +Nor, through a wish, profane<br /> +The peace that should pertain<br /> +To him who does by her attraction move.<br /> +Has all not been before?<br /> +One day’s controlled hope, and one again,<br /> +And then the third, and ye shall have the rein,<br /> +O Life, Death, Terror, Love!<br /> +But soon let your unrestful rapture cease,<br /> +Ye flaming Ethers thin,<br /> +Condensing till the abiding sweetness win<br /> +One sweet drop more;<br /> +One sweet drop more in the measureless increase<br /> +Of honied peace.</p> +<h3>VI. TRISTITIA.</h3> +<p> Darling, with hearts conjoin’d in such a +peace<br /> +That Hope, so not to cease,<br /> +Must still gaze back,<br /> +And count, along our love’s most happy track,<br /> +The landmarks of like inconceiv’d increase,<br /> +Promise me this:<br /> +If thou alone should’st win<br /> +God’s perfect bliss,<br /> +And I, beguiled by gracious-seeming sin,<br /> +Say, loving too much thee,<br /> +Love’s last goal miss,<br /> +And any vows may then have memory,<br /> +Never, by grief for what I bear or lack,<br /> +To mar thy joyance of heav’n’s jubilee.<br /> +Promise me this;<br /> +For else I should be hurl’d,<br /> +Beyond just doom<br /> +And by thy deed, to Death’s interior gloom,<br /> +From the mild borders of the banish’d world<br /> +Wherein they dwell<br /> +Who builded not unalterable fate<br /> +On pride, fraud, envy, cruel lust, or hate;<br /> +Yet loved too laxly sweetness and heart’s ease,<br /> +And strove the creature more than God to please.<br /> + For such as these<br /> +Loss without measure, sadness without end!<br /> +Yet not for this do thou disheaven’d be<br /> +With thinking upon me.<br /> +Though black, when scann’d from heaven’s surpassing bright,<br /> +This might mean light,<br /> +Foil’d with the dim days of mortality.<br /> +For God is everywhere.<br /> +Go down to deepest Hell, and He is there,<br /> +And, as a true but quite estranged Friend,<br /> +He works, ’gainst gnashing teeth of devilish ire,<br /> +With love deep hidden lest it be blasphemed,<br /> +If possible, to blend<br /> +Ease with the pangs of its inveterate fire;<br /> +Yea, in the worst<br /> +And from His Face most wilfully accurst<br /> +Of souls in vain redeem’d,<br /> +He does with potions of oblivion kill<br /> +Remorse of the lost Love that helps them still.<br /> + Apart from these,<br /> +Near the sky-borders of that banish’d world,<br /> +Wander pale spirits among willow’d leas,<br /> +Lost beyond measure, sadden’d without end,<br /> +But since, while erring most, retaining yet<br /> +Some ineffectual fervour of regret,<br /> +Retaining still such weal<br /> +As spurned Lovers feel,<br /> +Preferring far to all the world’s delight<br /> +Their loss so infinite,<br /> +Or Poets, when they mark<br /> +In the clouds dun<br /> +A loitering flush of the long sunken sun,<br /> +And turn away with tears into the dark.<br /> + Know, Dear, these are not mine<br /> +But Wisdom’s words, confirmed by divine<br /> +Doctors and Saints, though fitly seldom heard<br /> +Save in their own prepense-occulted word,<br /> +Lest fools be fool’d the further by false hope,<br /> +And wrest sweet knowledge to their own decline;<br /> +And (to approve I speak within my scope)<br /> +The Mistress of that dateless exile gray<br /> +Is named in surpliced Schools <i>Tristitia</i>.<br /> + But, O, my Darling, look in thy heart and see<br /> +How unto me,<br /> +Secured of my prime care, thy happy state,<br /> +In the most unclean cell<br /> +Of sordid Hell,<br /> +And worried by the most ingenious hate,<br /> +It never could be anything but well,<br /> +Nor from my soul, full of thy sanctity,<br /> +Such pleasure die<br /> +As the poor harlot’s, in whose body stirs<br /> +The innocent life that is and is not hers:<br /> +Unless, alas, this fount of my relief<br /> +By thy unheavenly grief<br /> +Were closed.<br /> +So, with a consecrating kiss<br /> +And hearts made one in past all previous peace,<br /> +And on one hope reposed,<br /> +Promise me this!</p> +<h3>VII. THE AZALEA.</h3> +<p> There, where the sun shines first<br /> +Against our room,<br /> +She train’d the gold Azalea, whose perfume<br /> +She, Spring-like, from her breathing grace dispersed.<br /> +Last night the delicate crests of saffron bloom,<br /> +For this their dainty likeness watch’d and nurst,<br /> +Were just at point to burst.<br /> +At dawn I dream’d, O God, that she was dead,<br /> +And groan’d aloud upon my wretched bed,<br /> +And waked, ah, God, and did not waken her,<br /> +But lay, with eyes still closed,<br /> +Perfectly bless’d in the delicious sphere<br /> +By which I knew so well that she was near,<br /> +My heart to speechless thankfulness composed.<br /> +Till ’gan to stir<br /> +A dizzy somewhat in my troubled head—<br /> +It <i>was</i> the azalea’s breath, and she <i>was</i> dead!<br /> +The warm night had the lingering buds disclosed,<br /> +And I had fall’n asleep with to my breast<br /> +A chance-found letter press’d<br /> +In which she said,<br /> +‘So, till to-morrow eve, my Own, adieu!<br /> +Parting’s well-paid with soon again to meet,<br /> +Soon in your arms to feel so small and sweet,<br /> +Sweet to myself that am so sweet to you!’</p> +<h3>VIII. DEPARTURE.</h3> +<p> It was not like your great and gracious ways!<br /> +Do you, that have nought other to lament,<br /> +Never, my Love, repent<br /> +Of how, that July afternoon,<br /> +You went,<br /> +With sudden, unintelligible phrase,<br /> +And frighten’d eye,<br /> +Upon your journey of so many days,<br /> +Without a single kiss, or a good-bye?<br /> +I knew, indeed, that you were parting soon;<br /> +And so we sate, within the low sun’s rays,<br /> +You whispering to me, for your voice was weak,<br /> +Your harrowing praise.<br /> +Well, it was well,<br /> +To hear you such things speak,<br /> +And I could tell<br /> +What made your eyes a growing gloom of love,<br /> +As a warm South-wind sombres a March grove.<br /> +And it was like your great and gracious ways<br /> +To turn your talk on daily things, my Dear,<br /> +Lifting the luminous, pathetic lash<br /> +To let the laughter flash,<br /> +Whilst I drew near,<br /> +Because you spoke so low that I could scarcely hear.<br /> +But all at once to leave me at the last,<br /> +More at the wonder than the loss aghast,<br /> +With huddled, unintelligible phrase,<br /> +And frighten’d eye,<br /> +And go your journey of all days<br /> +With not one kiss, or a good-bye,<br /> +And the only loveless look the look with which you pass’d:<br /> +’Twas all unlike your great and gracious ways.</p> +<h3>IX. EURYDICE.</h3> +<p> Is this the portent of the day nigh past,<br /> +And of a restless grave<br /> +O’er which the eternal sadness gathers fast;<br /> +Or but the heaped wave<br /> +Of some chance, wandering tide,<br /> +Such as that world of awe<br /> +Whose circuit, listening to a foreign law,<br /> +Conjunctures ours at unguess’d dates and wide,<br /> +Does in the Spirit’s tremulous ocean draw,<br /> +To pass unfateful on, and so subside?<br /> +Thee, whom ev’n more than Heaven loved I have,<br /> +And yet have not been true<br /> +Even to thee,<br /> +I, dreaming, night by night, seek now to see,<br /> +And, in a mortal sorrow, still pursue<br /> +Thro’ sordid streets and lanes<br /> +And houses brown and bare<br /> +And many a haggard stair<br /> +Ochrous with ancient stains,<br /> +And infamous doors, opening on hapless rooms,<br /> +In whose unhaunted glooms<br /> +Dead pauper generations, witless of the sun,<br /> +Their course have run;<br /> +And ofttimes my pursuit<br /> +Is check’d of its dear fruit<br /> +By things brimful of hate, my kith and kin,<br /> +Furious that I should keep<br /> +Their forfeit power to weep,<br /> +And mock, with living fear, their mournful malice thin.<br /> +But ever, at the last, my way I win<br /> +To where, with perfectly sad patience, nurst<br /> +By sorry comfort of assured worst,<br /> +Ingrain’d in fretted cheek and lips that pine,<br /> +On pallet poor<br /> +Thou lyest, stricken sick,<br /> +Beyond love’s cure,<br /> +By all the world’s neglect, but chiefly mine.<br /> +Then sweetness, sweeter than my tongue can tell,<br /> +Does in my bosom well,<br /> +And tears come free and quick<br /> +And more and more abound<br /> +For piteous passion keen at having found,<br /> +After exceeding ill, a little good;<br /> +A little good<br /> +Which, for the while,<br /> +Fleets with the current sorrow of the blood,<br /> +Though no good here has heart enough to smile.</p> +<h3>X. THE TOYS.</h3> +<p> My little Son, who look’d from thoughtful +eyes<br /> +And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise,<br /> +Having my law the seventh time disobey’d,<br /> +I struck him, and dismiss’d<br /> +With hard words and unkiss’d,<br /> +His Mother, who was patient, being dead.<br /> +Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep,<br /> +I visited his bed,<br /> +But found him slumbering deep,<br /> +With darken’d eyelids, and their lashes yet<br /> +From his late sobbing wet.<br /> +And I, with moan,<br /> +Kissing away his tears, left others of my own;<br /> +For, on a table drawn beside his head,<br /> +He had put, within his reach,<br /> +A box of counters and a red-vein’d stone,<br /> +A piece of glass abraded by the beach<br /> +And six or seven shells,<br /> +A bottle with bluebells<br /> +And two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art,<br /> +To comfort his sad heart.<br /> +So when that night I pray’d<br /> +To God, I wept, and said:<br /> +Ah, when at last we lie with tranced breath,<br /> +Not vexing Thee in death,<br /> +And Thou rememberest of what toys<br /> +We made our joys,<br /> +How weakly understood,<br /> +Thy great commanded good,<br /> +Then, fatherly not less<br /> +Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay,<br /> +Thou’lt leave Thy wrath, and say,<br /> +‘I will be sorry for their childishness.’</p> +<h3>XI. TIRED MEMORY.</h3> +<p> The stony rock of death’s insensibility<br /> +Well’d yet awhile with honey of thy love<br /> +And then was dry;<br /> +Nor could thy picture, nor thine empty glove,<br /> +Nor all thy kind, long letters, nor the band<br /> +Which really spann’d<br /> +Thy body chaste and warm,<br /> +Thenceforward move<br /> +Upon the stony rock their wearied charm.<br /> +At last, then, thou wast dead.<br /> +Yet would I not despair,<br /> +But wrought my daily task, and daily said<br /> +Many and many a fond, unfeeling prayer,<br /> +To keep my vows of faith to thee from harm.<br /> +In vain.<br /> +‘For ’tis,’ I said, ‘all one,<br /> +The wilful faith, which has no joy or pain,<br /> +As if ’twere none.’<br /> +Then look’d I miserably round<br /> +If aught of duteous love were left undone,<br /> +And nothing found.<br /> +But, kneeling in a Church, one Easter-Day,<br /> +It came to me to say:<br /> +‘Though there is no intelligible rest,<br /> +In Earth or Heaven,<br /> +For me, but on her breast,<br /> +I yield her up, again to have her given,<br /> +Or not, as, Lord, Thou wilt, and that for aye.’<br /> +And the same night, in slumber lying,<br /> +I, who had dream’d of thee as sad and sick and dying,<br /> +And only so, nightly for all one year,<br /> +Did thee, my own most Dear,<br /> +Possess,<br /> +In gay, celestial beauty nothing coy,<br /> +And felt thy soft caress<br /> +With heretofore unknown reality of joy.<br /> +But, in our mortal air,<br /> +None thrives for long upon the happiest dream,<br /> +And fresh despair<br /> +Bade me seek round afresh for some extreme<br /> +Of unconceiv’d, interior sacrifice<br /> +Whereof the smoke might rise<br /> +To God, and ’mind him that one pray’d below.<br /> +And so,<br /> +In agony, I cried:<br /> +‘My Lord, if thy strange will be this,<br /> +That I should crucify my heart,<br /> +Because my love has also been my pride,<br /> +I do submit, if I saw how, to bliss<br /> +Wherein She has no part.’<br /> +And I was heard,<br /> +And taken at my own remorseless word.<br /> +O, my most Dear,<br /> +Was’t treason, as I fear?<br /> +’Twere that, and worse, to plead thy veiled mind,<br /> +Kissing thy babes, and murmuring in mine ear,<br /> +‘Thou canst not be<br /> +Faithful to God, and faithless unto me!’<br /> +Ah, prophet kind!<br /> +I heard, all dumb and blind<br /> +With tears of protest; and I cannot see<br /> +But faith was broken. Yet, as I have said,<br /> +My heart was dead,<br /> +Dead of devotion and tired memory,<br /> +When a strange grace of thee<br /> +In a fair stranger, as I take it, bred<br /> +To her some tender heed,<br /> +Most innocent<br /> +Of purpose therewith blent,<br /> +And pure of faith, I think, to thee; yet such<br /> +That the pale reflex of an alien love,<br /> +So vaguely, sadly shown,<br /> +Did her heart touch<br /> +Above<br /> +All that, till then, had woo’d her for its own.<br /> +And so the fear, which is love’s chilly dawn,<br /> +Flush’d faintly upon lids that droop’d like thine,<br /> +And made me weak,<br /> +By thy delusive likeness doubly drawn,<br /> +And Nature’s long suspended breath of flame<br /> +Persuading soft, and whispering Duty’s name,<br /> +Awhile to smile and speak<br /> +With this thy Sister sweet, and therefore mine;<br /> +Thy Sister sweet,<br /> +Who bade the wheels to stir<br /> +Of sensitive delight in the poor brain,<br /> +Dead of devotion and tired memory,<br /> +So that I lived again,<br /> +And, strange to aver,<br /> +With no relapse into the void inane,<br /> +For thee;<br /> +But (treason was’t?) for thee and also her.</p> +<h3>XII. MAGNA EST VERITAS.</h3> +<p> Here, in this little Bay,<br /> +Full of tumultuous life and great repose,<br /> +Where, twice a day,<br /> +The purposeless, glad ocean comes and goes,<br /> +Under high cliffs, and far from the huge town,<br /> +I sit me down.<br /> +For want of me the world’s course will not fail:<br /> +When all its work is done, the lie shall rot;<br /> +The truth is great, and shall prevail,<br /> +When none cares whether it prevail or not.</p> +<h3>XIII. 1867. <a name="citation29"></a><a href="#footnote29">{29}</a></h3> +<p> In the year of the great crime,<br /> +When the false English Nobles and their Jew,<br /> +By God demented, slew<br /> +The Trust they stood twice pledged to keep from wrong,<br /> +One said, Take up thy Song,<br /> +That breathes the mild and almost mythic time<br /> +Of England’s prime!<br /> +But I, Ah, me,<br /> +The freedom of the few<br /> +That, in our free Land, were indeed the free,<br /> +Can song renew?<br /> +Ill singing ’tis with blotting prison-bars,<br /> +How high soe’er, betwixt us and the stars;<br /> +Ill singing ’tis when there are none to hear;<br /> +And days are near<br /> +When England shall forget<br /> +The fading glow which, for a little while,<br /> +Illumes her yet,<br /> +The lovely smile<br /> +That grows so faint and wan,<br /> +Her people shouting in her dying ear,<br /> +Are not two daws worth two of any swan!<br /> + Ye outlaw’d Best, who yet are bright<br /> +With the sunken light,<br /> +Whose common style<br /> +Is Virtue at her gracious ease,<br /> +The flower of olden sanctities,<br /> +Ye haply trust, by love’s benignant guile,<br /> +To lure the dark and selfish brood<br /> +To their own hated good;<br /> +Ye haply dream<br /> +Your lives shall still their charmful sway sustain,<br /> +Unstifled by the fever’d steam<br /> +That rises from the plain.<br /> +Know, ’twas the force of function high,<br /> +In corporate exercise, and public awe<br /> +Of Nature’s, Heaven’s, and England’s Law<br /> +That Best, though mix’d with Bad, should reign,<br /> +Which kept you in your sky!<br /> +But, when the sordid Trader caught<br /> +The loose-held sceptre from your hands distraught,<br /> +And soon, to the Mechanic vain,<br /> +Sold the proud toy for nought,<br /> +Your charm was broke, your task was sped,<br /> +Your beauty, with your honour, dead,<br /> +And though you still are dreaming sweet<br /> +Of being even now not less<br /> +Than Gods and Goddesses, ye shall not long so cheat<br /> +Your hearts of their due heaviness.<br /> +Go, get you for your evil watching shriven!<br /> +Leave to your lawful Master’s itching hands<br /> +Your unking’d lands,<br /> +But keep, at least, the dignity<br /> +Of deigning not, for his smooth use, to be,<br /> +Voteless, the voted delegates<br /> +Of his strange interests, loves and hates.<br /> +In sackcloth, or in private strife<br /> +With private ill, ye may please Heaven,<br /> +And soothe the coming pangs of sinking life;<br /> +And prayer perchance may win<br /> +A term to God’s indignant mood<br /> +And the orgies of the multitude,<br /> +Which now begin;<br /> +But do not hope to wave the silken rag<br /> +Of your unsanction’d flag,<br /> +And so to guide<br /> +The great ship, helmless on the swelling tide<br /> +Of that presumptuous Sea,<br /> +Unlit by sun or moon, yet inly bright<br /> +With lights innumerable that give no light,<br /> +Flames of corrupted will and scorn of right,<br /> +Rejoicing to be free.<br /> + And, now, because the dark comes on apace<br /> +When none can work for fear,<br /> +And Liberty in every Land lies slain,<br /> +And the two Tyrannies unchallenged reign,<br /> +And heavy prophecies, suspended long<br /> +At supplication of the righteous few,<br /> +And so discredited, to fulfilment throng,<br /> +Restrain’d no more by faithful prayer or tear,<br /> +And the dread baptism of blood seems near<br /> +That brings to the humbled Earth the Time of Grace,<br /> +Breathless be song,<br /> +And let Christ’s own look through<br /> +The darkness, suddenly increased,<br /> +To the gray secret lingering in the East.</p> +<h3>XIV. ‘IF I WERE DEAD.’</h3> +<p> ‘If I were dead, you’d sometimes say, +Poor Child!’<br /> +The dear lips quiver’d as they spake,<br /> +And the tears brake<br /> +From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled.<br /> +Poor Child, poor Child!<br /> +I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song.<br /> +It is not true that Love will do no wrong.<br /> +Poor Child!<br /> +And did you think, when you so cried and smiled,<br /> +How I, in lonely nights, should lie awake,<br /> +And of those words your full avengers make?<br /> +Poor Child, poor Child!<br /> +And now, unless it be<br /> +That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee,<br /> +O God, have Thou <i>no</i> mercy upon me!<br /> +Poor Child!</p> +<h3>XV. PEACE.</h3> +<p> O England, how hast thou forgot,<br /> +In dullard care for undisturb’d increase<br /> +Of gold, which profits not,<br /> +The gain which once thou knew’st was for thy peace!<br /> +Honour is peace, the peace which does accord<br /> +Alone with God’s glad word:<br /> +‘My peace I send you, and I send a sword.’<br /> +O England, how hast thou forgot,<br /> +How fear’st the things which make for joy, not fear,<br /> +Confronted near.<br /> +Hard days? ’Tis what the pamper’d seek to buy<br /> +With their most willing gold in weary lands.<br /> +Loss and pain risk’d? What sport but understands<br /> +These for incitements! Suddenly to die,<br /> +With conscience a blurr’d scroll?<br /> +The sunshine dreaming upon Salmon’s height<br /> +Is not so sweet and white<br /> +As the most heretofore sin-spotted soul<br /> +That darts to its delight<br /> +Straight from the absolution of a faithful fight.<br /> +Myriads of homes unloosen’d of home’s bond,<br /> +And fill’d with helpless babes and harmless women fond?<br /> +Let those whose pleasant chance<br /> +Took them, like me, among the German towns,<br /> +After the war that pluck’d the fangs from France,<br /> +With me pronounce<br /> +Whether the frequent black, which then array’d<br /> +Child, wife, and maid,<br /> +Did most to magnify the sombreness of grief,<br /> +Or add the beauty of a staid relief<br /> +And freshening foil<br /> +To cheerful-hearted Honour’s ready smile!<br /> + Beneath the heroic sun<br /> +Is there then none<br /> +Whose sinewy wings by choice do fly<br /> +In the fine mountain-air of public obloquy,<br /> +To tell the sleepy mongers of false ease<br /> +That war’s the ordained way of all alive,<br /> +And therein with goodwill to dare and thrive<br /> +Is profit and heart’s peace?<br /> + But in his heart the fool now saith:<br /> +‘The thoughts of Heaven were past all finding out,<br /> +Indeed, if it should rain<br /> +Intolerable woes upon our Land again,<br /> +After so long a drought!’<br /> + ‘Will a kind Providence our vessel whelm,<br /> +With such a pious Pilot at the helm?’<br /> + ‘Or let the throats be cut of pretty sheep<br /> +That care for nought but pasture rich and deep?’<br /> + ‘Were ’t Evangelical of God to deal so foul +a blow<br /> +At people who hate Turks and Papists so?’<br /> + ‘What, make or keep<br /> +A tax for ship and gun,<br /> +When ’tis full three to one<br /> +Yon bully but intends<br /> +To beat our friends?’<br /> + ‘Let’s put aside<br /> +Our costly pride.<br /> +Our appetite’s not gone<br /> +Because we’ve learn’d to doff<br /> +Our caps, where we were used to keep them on.’<br /> + ‘If times get worse,<br /> +We’ve money in our purse,<br /> +And Patriots that know how, let who will scoff,<br /> +To buy our perils off.<br /> +Yea, blessed in our midst<br /> +Art thou who lately didst,<br /> +So cheap,<br /> +The old bargain of the Saxon with the Dane.’ <a name="citation35"></a><a href="#footnote35">{35}</a><br /> + Thus in his heart the fool now saith;<br /> +And, lo, our trusted leaders trust fool’s luck,<br /> +Which, like the whale’s ’mazed chine,<br /> +When they thereon were mulling of their wine,<br /> +Will some day duck.<br /> + Remnant of Honour, brooding in the dark<br /> +Over your bitter cark,<br /> +Staring, as Rispah stared, astonied seven days,<br /> +Upon the corpses of so many sons,<br /> +Who loved her once,<br /> +Dead in the dim and lion-haunted ways,<br /> +Who could have dreamt<br /> +That times should come like these!<br /> +Prophets, indeed, taught lies when we were young,<br /> +And people loved to have it so;<br /> +For they teach well who teach their scholars’ tongue!<br /> +But that the foolish both should gaze,<br /> +With feeble, fascinated face,<br /> +Upon the wan crest of the coming woe,<br /> +The billow of earthquake underneath the seas,<br /> +And sit at ease,<br /> +Or stand agape,<br /> +Without so much as stepping back to ’scape,<br /> +Mumbling, ‘Perchance we perish if we stay:<br /> +’Tis certain wear of shoes to stir away!’<br /> +Who could have dreamt<br /> +That times should come like these!<br /> +Remnant of Honour, tongue-tied with contempt,<br /> +Consider; you are strong yet, if you please.<br /> +A hundred just men up, and arm’d but with a frown,<br /> +May hoot a hundred thousand false loons down,<br /> +Or drive them any way like geese.<br /> +But to sit silent now is to suborn<br /> +The common villainy you scorn.<br /> +In the dark hour<br /> +When phrases are in power,<br /> +And nought’s to choose between<br /> +The thing which is not and which is not seen,<br /> +One fool, with lusty lungs,<br /> +Does what a hundred wise, who hate and hold their tongues,<br /> +Shall ne’er undo.<br /> +In such an hour,<br /> +When eager hands are fetter’d and too few,<br /> +And hearts alone have leave to bleed,<br /> +Speak; for a good word then is a good deed.</p> +<h3>XVI. A FAREWELL.</h3> +<p> With all my will, but much against my heart,<br /> +We two now part.<br /> +My Very Dear,<br /> +Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear.<br /> +It needs no art,<br /> +With faint, averted feet<br /> +And many a tear,<br /> +In our opposed paths to persevere.<br /> +Go thou to East, I West.<br /> +We will not say<br /> +There’s any hope, it is so far away.<br /> +But, O, my Best,<br /> +When the one darling of our widowhead,<br /> +The nursling Grief,<br /> +Is dead,<br /> +And no dews blur our eyes<br /> +To see the peach-bloom come in evening skies,<br /> +Perchance we may,<br /> +Where now this night is day,<br /> +And even through faith of still averted feet,<br /> +Making full circle of our banishment,<br /> +Amazed meet;<br /> +The bitter journey to the bourne so sweet<br /> +Seasoning the termless feast of our content<br /> +With tears of recognition never dry.</p> +<h3>XVII. 1880-85.</h3> +<p> Stand by,<br /> +Ye Wise, by whom Heav’n rules!<br /> +Your kingly hands suit not the hangman’s tools.<br /> +When God has doom’d a glorious Past to die,<br /> +Are there no knaves and fools?<br /> +For ages yet to come your kind shall count for nought.<br /> +Smoke of the strife of other Powers<br /> +Than ours,<br /> +And tongues inscrutable with fury fraught<br /> +‘Wilder the sky,<br /> +Till the far good which none can guess be wrought.<br /> +Stand by!<br /> +Since tears are vain, here let us rest and laugh,<br /> +But not too loudly; for the brave time’s come,<br /> +When Best may not blaspheme the Bigger Half,<br /> +And freedom for our sort means freedom to be dumb.<br /> + Lo, how the dross and draff<br /> +Jeer up at us, and shout,<br /> +‘The Day is ours, the Night is theirs!’<br /> +And urge their rout<br /> +Where the wild dawn of rising Tartarus flares.<br /> +Yon strives their Leader, lusting to be seen.<br /> +His leprosy’s so perfect that men call him clean!<br /> +Listen the long, sincere, and liberal bray<br /> +Of the earnest Puller at another’s hay<br /> +’Gainst aught that dares to tug the other way,<br /> +Quite void of fears<br /> +With all that noise of ruin round his ears!<br /> +Yonder the people cast their caps o’erhead,<br /> +And swear the threaten’d doom is ne’er to dread<br /> +That’s come, though not yet past.<br /> +All front the horror and are none aghast;<br /> +Brag of their full-blown rights and liberties,<br /> +Nor once surmise<br /> +When each man gets his due the Nation dies;<br /> +Nay, still shout ‘Progress!’ as if seven plagues<br /> +Should take the laggard who would stretch his legs.<br /> +Forward! glad rush of Gergesenian swine;<br /> +You’ve gain’d the hill-top, but there’s yet the brine.<br /> +Forward! to meet the welcome of the waves<br /> +That mount to ’whelm the freedom which enslaves.<br /> +Forward! bad corpses turn into good dung,<br /> +To feed strange futures beautiful and young.<br /> +Forward! God speed ye down the damn’d decline,<br /> +And grant ye the Fool’s true good, in abject ruin’s gulf<br /> +As the Wise see him so to see himself!<br /> + Ah, Land once mine,<br /> +That seem’d to me too sweetly wise,<br /> +Too sternly fair for aught that dies,<br /> +Past is thy proud and pleasant state,<br /> +That recent date<br /> +When, strong and single, in thy sovereign heart,<br /> +The thrones of thinking, hearing, sight,<br /> +The cunning hand, the knotted thew<br /> +Of lesser powers that heave and hew,<br /> +And each the smallest beneficial part,<br /> +And merest pore of breathing, beat,<br /> +Full and complete,<br /> +The great pulse of thy generous might,<br /> +Equal in inequality,<br /> +That soul of joy in low and high;<br /> +When not a churl but felt the Giant’s heat,<br /> +Albeit he simply call’d it his,<br /> +Flush in his common labour with delight,<br /> +And not a village-Maiden’s kiss<br /> +But was for this<br /> +More sweet,<br /> +And not a sorrow but did lightlier sigh,<br /> +And for its private self less greet,<br /> +The whilst that other so majestic self stood by!<br /> +Integrity so vast could well afford<br /> +To wear in working many a stain,<br /> +To pillory the cobbler vain<br /> +And license madness in a lord.<br /> +On that were all men well agreed;<br /> +And, if they did a thing,<br /> +Their strength was with them in their deed,<br /> +And from amongst them came the shout of a king!<br /> + But, once let traitor coward meet,<br /> +Not Heaven itself can keep its feet.<br /> +Come knave who said to dastard, ‘Lo,<br /> +The Deluge!’ which but needed ‘No!’<br /> +For all the Atlantic’s threatening roar,<br /> +If men would bravely understand,<br /> +Is softly check’d for evermore<br /> +By a firm bar of sand.<br /> +But, dastard listening knave, who said,<br /> +‘’Twere juster were the Giant dead,<br /> +That so yon bawlers may not miss<br /> +To vote their own pot-belly’d bliss,’<br /> +All that is past!<br /> +We saw the slaying, and were not aghast.<br /> +But ne’er a sun, on village Groom and Bride,<br /> +Albeit they guess not how it is,<br /> +At Easter or at Whitsuntide,<br /> +But shines less gay for this!</p> +<h3>XVIII. THE TWO DESERTS.</h3> +<p> Not greatly moved with awe am I<br /> +To learn that we may spy<br /> +Five thousand firmaments beyond our own.<br /> +The best that’s known<br /> +Of the heavenly bodies does them credit small.<br /> +View’d close, the Moon’s fair ball<br /> +Is of ill objects worst,<br /> +A corpse in Night’s highway, naked, fire-scarr’d, accurst;<br /> +And now they tell<br /> +That the Sun is plainly seen to boil and burst<br /> +Too horribly for hell.<br /> +So, judging from these two,<br /> +As we must do,<br /> +The Universe, outside our living Earth,<br /> +Was all conceiv’d in the Creator’s mirth,<br /> +Forecasting at the time Man’s spirit deep,<br /> +To make dirt cheap.<br /> +Put by the Telescope!<br /> +Better without it man may see,<br /> +Stretch’d awful in the hush’d midnight,<br /> +The ghost of his eternity.<br /> +Give me the nobler glass that swells to the eye<br /> +The things which near us lie,<br /> +Till Science rapturously hails,<br /> +In the minutest water-drop,<br /> +A torment of innumerable tails.<br /> +These at the least do live.<br /> +But rather give<br /> +A mind not much to pry<br /> +Beyond our royal-fair estate<br /> +Betwixt these deserts blank of small and great.<br /> +Wonder and beauty our own courtiers are,<br /> +Pressing to catch our gaze,<br /> +And out of obvious ways<br /> +Ne’er wandering far.</p> +<h3>XIX. CREST AND GULF.</h3> +<p> Much woe that man befalls<br /> +Who does not run when sent, nor come when Heaven calls;<br /> +But whether he serve God, or his own whim,<br /> +Not matters, in the end, to any one but him;<br /> +And he as soon<br /> +Shall map the other side of the Moon,<br /> +As trace what his own deed,<br /> +In the next chop of the chance gale, shall breed.<br /> +This he may know:<br /> +His good or evil seed<br /> +Is like to grow,<br /> +For its first harvest, quite to contraries:<br /> +The father wise<br /> +Has still the hare-brain’d brood;<br /> +’Gainst evil, ill example better works than good;<br /> +The poet, fanning his mild flight<br /> +At a most keen and arduous height,<br /> +Unveils the tender heavens to horny human eyes<br /> +Amidst ingenious blasphemies.<br /> +Wouldst raise the poor, in Capuan luxury sunk?<br /> +The Nation lives but whilst its Lords are drunk!<br /> +Or spread Heav’n’s partial gifts o’er all, like dew?<br /> +The Many’s weedy growth withers the gracious Few!<br /> +Strange opposites, from those, again, shall rise.<br /> +Join, then, if thee it please, the bitter jest<br /> +Of mankind’s progress; all its spectral race<br /> +Mere impotence of rest,<br /> +The heaving vain of life which cannot cease from self,<br /> +Crest altering still to gulf<br /> +And gulf to crest<br /> +In endless chace,<br /> +That leaves the tossing water anchor’d in its place!<br /> +Ah, well does he who does but stand aside,<br /> +Sans hope or fear,<br /> +And marks the crest and gulf in station sink and rear,<br /> +And prophesies ’gainst trust in such a tide:<br /> +For he sometimes is prophet, heavenly taught,<br /> +Whose message is that he sees only nought.<br /> + Nathless, discern’d may be,<br /> +By listeners at the doors of destiny,<br /> +The fly-wheel swift and still<br /> +Of God’s incessant will,<br /> +Mighty to keep in bound, tho’ powerless to quell,<br /> +The amorous and vehement drift of man’s herd to hell.</p> +<h3>XX. ‘LET BE!’</h3> +<p> Ah, yes; we tell the good and evil trees<br /> +By fruits: But how tell these?<br /> +Who does not know<br /> +That good and ill<br /> +Are done in secret still,<br /> +And that which shews is verily but show!<br /> +How high of heart is one, and one how sweet of mood:<br /> +But not all height is holiness,<br /> +Nor every sweetness good;<br /> +And grace will sometimes lurk where who could guess?<br /> +The Critic of his kind,<br /> +Dealing to each his share,<br /> +With easy humour, hard to bear,<br /> +May not impossibly have in him shrined,<br /> +As in a gossamer globe or thickly padded pod,<br /> +Some small seed dear to God.<br /> +Haply yon wretch, so famous for his falls,<br /> +Got them beneath the Devil-defended walls<br /> +Of some high Virtue he had vow’d to win;<br /> +And that which you and I<br /> +Call his besetting sin<br /> +Is but the fume of his peculiar fire<br /> +Of inmost contrary desire,<br /> +And means wild willingness for her to die,<br /> +Dash’d with despondence of her favour sweet;<br /> +He fiercer fighting, in his worst defeat,<br /> +Than I or you,<br /> +That only courteous greet<br /> +Where he does hotly woo,<br /> +Did ever fight, in our best victory.<br /> +Another is mistook<br /> +Through his deceitful likeness to his look!<br /> +Let be, let be:<br /> +Why should I clear myself, why answer thou for me?<br /> +That shaft of slander shot<br /> +Miss’d only the right blot.<br /> +I see the shame<br /> +They cannot see:<br /> +’Tis very just they blame<br /> +The thing that’s not.</p> +<h3>XXI. ‘FAINT YET PURSUING.’</h3> +<p> Heroic Good, target for which the young<br /> +Dream in their dreams that every bow is strung,<br /> +And, missing, sigh<br /> +Unfruitful, or as disbelievers die,<br /> +Thee having miss’d, I will not so revolt,<br /> +But lowlier shoot my bolt,<br /> +And lowlier still, if still I may not reach,<br /> +And my proud stomach teach<br /> +That less than highest is good, and may be high.<br /> +An even walk in life’s uneven way,<br /> +Though to have dreamt of flight and not to fly<br /> +Be strange and sad,<br /> +Is not a boon that’s given to all who pray.<br /> +If this I had<br /> +I’d envy none!<br /> +Nay, trod I straight for one<br /> +Year, month or week,<br /> +Should Heaven withdraw, and Satan me amerce<br /> +Of power and joy, still would I seek<br /> +Another victory with a like reverse;<br /> +Because the good of victory does not die,<br /> +As dies the failure’s curse,<br /> +And what we have to gain<br /> +Is, not one battle, but a weary life’s campaign.<br /> +Yet meaner lot being sent<br /> +Should more than me content;<br /> +Yea, if I lie<br /> +Among vile shards, though born for silver wings,<br /> +In the strong flight and feathers gold<br /> +Of whatsoever heavenward mounts and sings<br /> +I must by admiration so comply<br /> +That there I should my own delight behold.<br /> +Yea, though I sin each day times seven,<br /> +And dare not lift the fearfullest eyes to Heaven,<br /> +Thanks must I give<br /> +Because that seven times are not eight or nine,<br /> +And that my darkness is all mine,<br /> +And that I live<br /> +Within this oak-shade one more minute even,<br /> +Hearing the winds their Maker magnify.</p> +<h3>XXII. VICTORY IN DEFEAT.</h3> +<p> Ah, God, alas,<br /> +How soon it came to pass<br /> +The sweetness melted from thy barbed hook<br /> +Which I so simply took;<br /> +And I lay bleeding on the bitter land,<br /> +Afraid to stir against thy least command,<br /> +But losing all my pleasant life-blood, whence<br /> +Force should have been heart’s frailty to withstand.<br /> +Life is not life at all without delight,<br /> +Nor has it any might;<br /> +And better than the insentient heart and brain<br /> +Is sharpest pain;<br /> +And better for the moment seems it to rebel,<br /> +If the great Master, from his lifted seat,<br /> +Ne’er whispers to the wearied servant ‘Well!’<br /> +Yet what returns of love did I endure,<br /> +When to be pardon’d seem’d almost more sweet<br /> +Than aye to have been pure!<br /> +But day still faded to disastrous night,<br /> +And thicker darkness changed to feebler light,<br /> +Until forgiveness, without stint renew’d,<br /> +Was now no more with loving tears imbued,<br /> +Vowing no more offence.<br /> +Not less to thine Unfaithful didst thou cry,<br /> +‘Come back, poor Child; be all as ’twas before.’<br /> +But I,<br /> +‘No, no; I will not promise any more!<br /> +Yet, when I feel my hour is come to die,<br /> +And so I am secured of continence,<br /> +Then may I say, though haply then in vain,<br /> +“My only, only Love, O, take me back again!”‘<br /> + Thereafter didst thou smite<br /> +So hard that, for a space,<br /> +Uplifted seem’d Heav’n’s everlasting door,<br /> +And I indeed the darling of thy grace.<br /> +But, in some dozen changes of the moon,<br /> +A bitter mockery seem’d thy bitter boon.<br /> +The broken pinion was no longer sore.<br /> +Again, indeed, I woke<br /> +Under so dread a stroke<br /> +That all the strength it left within my heart<br /> +Was just to ache and turn, and then to turn and ache,<br /> +And some weak sign of war unceasingly to make.<br /> +And here I lie,<br /> +With no one near to mark,<br /> +Thrusting Hell’s phantoms feebly in the dark,<br /> +And still at point more utterly to die.<br /> +O God, how long!<br /> +Put forth indeed thy powerful right hand,<br /> +While time is yet,<br /> +Or never shall I see the blissful land!<br /> + Thus I: then God, in pleasant speech and strong,<br /> +(Which soon I shall forget):<br /> +‘The man who, though his fights be all defeats,<br /> +Still fights,<br /> +Enters at last<br /> +The heavenly Jerusalem’s rejoicing streets<br /> +With glory more, and more triumphant rites<br /> +Than always-conquering Joshua’s, when his blast<br /> +The frighted walls of Jericho down cast;<br /> +And, lo, the glad surprise<br /> +Of peace beyond surmise,<br /> +More than in common Saints, for ever in his eyes.’</p> +<h3>XXIII. REMEMBERED GRACE.</h3> +<p> Since succour to the feeblest of the wise<br /> +Is charge of nobler weight<br /> +Than the security<br /> +Of many and many a foolish soul’s estate,<br /> +This I affirm,<br /> +Though fools will fools more confidently be:<br /> +Whom God does once with heart to heart befriend,<br /> +He does so till the end:<br /> +And having planted life’s miraculous germ,<br /> +One sweet pulsation of responsive love,<br /> +He sets him sheer above,<br /> +Not sin and bitter shame<br /> +And wreck of fame,<br /> +But Hell’s insidious and more black attempt,<br /> +The envy, malice, and pride,<br /> +Which men who share so easily condone<br /> +That few ev’n list such ills as these to hide.<br /> +From these unalterably exempt,<br /> +Through the remember’d grace<br /> +Of that divine embrace,<br /> +Of his sad errors none,<br /> +Though gross to blame,<br /> +Shall cast him lower than the cleansing flame,<br /> +Nor make him quite depart<br /> +From the small flock named ‘after God’s own heart,’<br /> +And to themselves unknown.<br /> +Nor can he quail<br /> +In faith, nor flush nor pale<br /> +When all the other idiot people spell<br /> +How this or that new Prophet’s word belies<br /> +Their last high oracle;<br /> +But constantly his soul<br /> +Points to its pole<br /> +Ev’n as the needle points, and knows not why;<br /> +And, under the ever-changing clouds of doubt,<br /> +When others cry,<br /> +‘The stars, if stars there were,<br /> +Are quench’d and out!’<br /> +To him, uplooking t’ward the hills for aid,<br /> +Appear, at need display’d,<br /> +Gaps in the low-hung gloom, and, bright in air,<br /> +Orion or the Bear.</p> +<h3>XXIV. VESICA PISCIS.</h3> +<p> In strenuous hope I wrought,<br /> +And hope seem’d still betray’d;<br /> +Lastly I said,<br /> +‘I have labour’d through the Night, nor yet<br /> +Have taken aught;<br /> +But at Thy word I will again cast forth the net!’<br /> +And, lo, I caught<br /> +(Oh, quite unlike and quite beyond my thought,)<br /> +Not the quick, shining harvest of the Sea,<br /> +For food, my wish,<br /> +But Thee!<br /> +Then, hiding even in me,<br /> +As hid was Simon’s coin within the fish,<br /> +Thou sigh’d’st, with joy, ‘Be dumb,<br /> +Or speak but of forgotten things to far-off times to come.’</p> +<h2>BOOK II.</h2> +<h3>I. TO THE UNKNOWN EROS.</h3> +<p>What rumour’d heavens are these<br /> + Which not a poet sings,<br /> +O, Unknown Eros? What this breeze<br /> +Of sudden wings<br /> +Speeding at far returns of time from interstellar space<br /> +To fan my very face,<br /> +And gone as fleet,<br /> +Through delicatest ether feathering soft their solitary beat,<br /> +With ne’er a light plume dropp’d, nor any trace<br /> +To speak of whence they came, or whither they depart?<br /> +And why this palpitating heart,<br /> +This blind and unrelated joy,<br /> +This meaningless desire,<br /> +That moves me like the Child<br /> +Who in the flushing darkness troubled lies,<br /> +Inventing lonely prophecies,<br /> +Which even to his Mother mild<br /> +He dares not tell;<br /> +To which himself is infidel;<br /> +His heart not less on fire<br /> +With dreams impossible as wildest Arab Tale,<br /> +(So thinks the boy,)<br /> +With dreams that turn him red and pale,<br /> +Yet less impossible and wild<br /> +Than those which bashful Love, in his own way and hour,<br /> +Shall duly bring to flower?<br /> +O, Unknown Eros, sire of awful bliss,<br /> +What portent and what Delphic word,<br /> +Such as in form of snake forebodes the bird,<br /> +Is this?<br /> +In me life’s even flood<br /> +What eddies thus?<br /> +What in its ruddy orbit lifts the blood,<br /> +Like a perturbed moon of Uranus,<br /> +Reaching to some great world in ungauged darkness hid;<br /> +And whence<br /> +This rapture of the sense<br /> +Which, by thy whisper bid,<br /> +Reveres with obscure rite and sacramental sign<br /> +A bond I know not of nor dimly can divine;<br /> +This subject loyalty which longs<br /> +For chains and thongs<br /> +Woven of gossamer and adamant,<br /> +To bind me to my unguess’d want,<br /> +And so to lie,<br /> +Between those quivering plumes that thro’ fine ether pant,<br /> +For hopeless, sweet eternity?<br /> +What God unhonour’d hitherto in songs,<br /> +Or which, that now<br /> +Forgettest the disguise<br /> +That Gods must wear who visit human eyes,<br /> +Art Thou?<br /> +Thou art not Amor; or, if so, yon pyre,<br /> +That waits the willing victim, flames with vestal fire;<br /> +Nor mooned Queen of maids; or, if thou’rt she,<br /> +Ah, then, from Thee<br /> +Let Bride and Bridegroom learn what kisses be!<br /> +In what veil’d hymn<br /> +Or mystic dance<br /> +Would he that were thy Priest advance<br /> +Thine earthly praise, thy glory limn?<br /> +Say, should the feet that feel thy thought<br /> +In double-center’d circuit run,<br /> +In that compulsive focus, Nought,<br /> +In this a furnace like the sun;<br /> +And might some note of thy renown<br /> +And high behest<br /> +Thus in enigma be expressed:<br /> +‘There lies the crown<br /> +Which all thy longing cures.<br /> +Refuse it, Mortal, that it may be yours!<br /> +It is a Spirit, though it seems red gold;<br /> +And such may no man, but by shunning, hold.<br /> +Refuse it, till refusing be despair;<br /> +And thou shalt feel the phantom in thy hair.’</p> +<h3>II. THE CONTRACT.</h3> +<p> Twice thirty centuries and more ago,<br /> +All in a heavenly Abyssinian vale,<br /> +Man first met woman; and the ruddy snow<br /> +On many-ridgëd Abora turn’d pale,<br /> +And the song choked within the nightingale.<br /> +A mild white furnace in the thorough blast<br /> +Of purest spirit seem’d She as she pass’d;<br /> +And of the Man enough that this be said,<br /> +He look’d her Head.<br /> + Towards their bower<br /> +Together as they went,<br /> +With hearts conceiving torrents of content,<br /> +And linger’d prologue fit for Paradise,<br /> +He, gathering power<br /> +From dear persuasion of the dim-lit hour,<br /> +And doubted sanction of her sparkling eyes,<br /> +Thus supplicates her conjugal assent,<br /> +And thus she makes replies:<br /> + ‘Lo, Eve, the Day burns on the snowy height,<br /> +But here is mellow night!’<br /> + ‘Here let us rest. The languor of the light<br /> +Is in my feet.<br /> +It is thy strength, my Love, that makes me weak;<br /> +Thy strength it is that makes my weakness sweet.<br /> +What would thy kiss’d lips speak?’<br /> + ‘See, what a world of roses I have spread<br /> +To make the bridal bed.<br /> +Come, Beauty’s self and Love’s, thus to thy throne be led!’<br /> + ‘My Lord, my Wisdom, nay!<br /> +Does not yon love-delighted Planet run,<br /> +(Haply against her heart,)<br /> +A space apart<br /> +For ever from her strong-persuading Sun!<br /> +O say,<br /> +Shall we no voluntary bars<br /> +Set to our drift? I, Sister of the Stars,<br /> +And Thou, my glorious, course-compelling Day!’<br /> + ‘Yea, yea!<br /> +Was it an echo of her coming word<br /> +Which, ere she spake, I heard?<br /> +Or through what strange distrust was I, her Head,<br /> +Not first this thing to have said?<br /> +Alway<br /> +Speaks not within my breast<br /> +The uncompulsive, great and sweet behest<br /> +Of something bright,<br /> +Not named, not known, and yet more manifest<br /> +Than is the morn,<br /> +The sun being just at point then to be born?<br /> +O Eve, take back thy “Nay.”<br /> +Trust me, Beloved, ever in all to mean<br /> +Thy blissful service, sacrificial, keen;<br /> +But bondless be that service, and let speak—’<br /> + ‘This other world of roses in my cheek,<br /> +Which hide them in thy breast, and deepening seek<br /> +That thou decree if they mean Yea or Nay.’<br /> + ‘Did e’er so sweet a word such sweet gainsay!’<br /> + ‘And when I lean, Love, on you, thus, and smile<br /> +So that my Nay seems Yea,<br /> +You must the while<br /> +Thence be confirm’d that I deny you still.’<br /> + ‘I will, I will!’<br /> + ‘And when my arms are round your neck, like this,<br /> +And I, as now,<br /> +Melt like a golden ingot in your kiss,<br /> +Then, more than ever, shall your splendid word<br /> +Be as Archangel Michael’s severing sword!<br /> +Speak, speak!<br /> +Your might, Love, makes me weak,<br /> +Your might it is that makes my weakness sweet.’<br /> + ‘I vow, I vow!’<br /> + ‘And are you happy, O, my Hero and Lord;<br /> +And is your joy complete?’<br /> + ‘Yea, with my joyful heart my body rocks,<br /> +And joy comes down from Heaven in floods and shocks,<br /> +As from Mount Abora comes the avalanche.’<br /> + ‘My Law, my Light!<br /> +Then am I yours as your high mind may list.<br /> +No wile shall lure you, none can I resist!’<br /> + Thus the first Eve<br /> +With much enamour’d Adam did enact<br /> +Their mutual free contract<br /> +Of virgin spousals, blissful beyond flight<br /> +Of modern thought, with great intention staunch,<br /> +Though unobliged until that binding pact.<br /> +Whether She kept her word, or He the mind<br /> +To hold her, wavering, to his own restraint,<br /> +Answer, ye pleasures faint,<br /> +Ye fiery throes, and upturn’d eyeballs blind<br /> +Of sick-at-heart Mankind,<br /> +Whom nothing succour can,<br /> +Until a heaven-caress’d and happier Eve<br /> +Be join’d with some glad Saint<br /> +In like espousals, blessed upon Earth,<br /> +And she her Fruit forth bring;<br /> +No numb, chill-hearted, shaken-witted thing,<br /> +‘Plaining his little span,<br /> +But of proud virgin joy the appropriate birth,<br /> +The Son of God and Man.</p> +<h3>III. ARBOR VITAE.</h3> +<p> With honeysuckle, over-sweet, festoon’d;<br /> +With bitter ivy bound;<br /> +Terraced with funguses unsound;<br /> +Deform’d with many a boss<br /> +And closed scar, o’ercushion’d deep with moss;<br /> +Bunch’d all about with pagan mistletoe;<br /> +And thick with nests of the hoarse bird<br /> +That talks, but understands not his own word;<br /> +Stands, and so stood a thousand years ago,<br /> +A single tree.<br /> +Thunder has done its worst among its twigs,<br /> +Where the great crest yet blackens, never pruned,<br /> +But in its heart, alway<br /> +Ready to push new verdurous boughs, whene’er<br /> +The rotting saplings near it fall and leave it air,<br /> +Is all antiquity and no decay.<br /> +Rich, though rejected by the forest-pigs,<br /> +Its fruit, beneath whose rough, concealing rind<br /> +They that will break it find<br /> +Heart-succouring savour of each several meat,<br /> +And kernell’d drink of brain-renewing power,<br /> +With bitter condiment and sour,<br /> +And sweet economy of sweet,<br /> +And odours that remind<br /> +Of haunts of childhood and a different day.<br /> +Beside this tree,<br /> +Praising no Gods nor blaming, sans a wish,<br /> +Sits, Tartar-like, the Time’s civility,<br /> +And eats its dead-dog off a golden dish.</p> +<h3>IV. THE STANDARDS.</h3> +<p> That last,<br /> +Blown from our Sion of the Seven Hills,<br /> +Was no uncertain blast!<br /> +Listen: the warning all the champaign fills,<br /> +And minatory murmurs, answering, mar<br /> +The Night, both near and far,<br /> +Perplexing many a drowsy citadel<br /> +Beneath whose ill-watch’d walls the Powers of Hell,<br /> +With armed jar<br /> +And angry threat, surcease<br /> +Their long-kept compact of contemptuous peace!<br /> +Lo, yonder, where our little English band,<br /> +With peace in heart and wrath in hand,<br /> +Have dimly ta’en their stand,<br /> +Sweetly the light<br /> +Shines from the solitary peak at Edgbaston,<br /> +Whence, o’er the dawning Land,<br /> +Gleam the gold blazonries of Love irate<br /> +’Gainst the black flag of Hate. <a name="citation62"></a><a href="#footnote62">{62}</a><br /> +Envy not, little band,<br /> +Your brothers under the Hohenzollern hoof<br /> +Put to the splendid proof.<br /> +Your hour is near!<br /> +The spectre-haunted time of idle Night,<br /> +Your only fear,<br /> +Thank God, is done,<br /> +And Day and War, Man’s work-time and delight,<br /> +Begun.<br /> + Ho, ye of the van there, veterans great of cheer,<br /> +Look to your footing, when, from yonder verge,<br /> +The wish’d Sun shall emerge;<br /> +Lest once again the Flower of Sharon bloom<br /> +After a way the Stalk call heresy.<br /> +Strange splendour and strange gloom<br /> +Alike confuse the path<br /> +Of customary faith;<br /> +And when the dim-seen mountains turn to flame<br /> +And every roadside atom is a spark,<br /> +The dazzled sense, that used was to the dark,<br /> +May well doubt, ‘Is’t the safe way and the same<br /> +By which we came<br /> +From Egypt, and to Canaan mean to go?’<br /> +But know,<br /> +The clearness then so marvellously increas’d,<br /> +The light’ning shining Westward from the East,<br /> +Is the great promised sign<br /> +Of His victorious and divine<br /> +Approach, whose coming in the clouds shall be,<br /> +As erst was His humility,<br /> +A stumbling unto some, the first bid to the Feast.<br /> + Cry, Ho!<br /> +Good speed to them that come and them that go<br /> +From either gathering host,<br /> +And, after feeble, false allegiance, now first know<br /> +Their post.<br /> +Ho, ye<br /> +Who loved our Flag<br /> +Only because there flapp’d none other rag<br /> +Which gentlemen might doff to, and such be,<br /> +‘Save your gentility!<br /> +For leagued, alas, are we<br /> +With many a faithful rogue<br /> +Discrediting bright Truth with dirt and brogue;<br /> +And flatterers, too,<br /> +That still would sniff the grass<br /> +After the ’broider’d shoe,<br /> +And swear it smelt like musk where He did pass,<br /> +Though he were Borgia or Caiaphas.<br /> +Ho, ye<br /> +Who dread the bondage of the boundless fields<br /> +Which Heaven’s allegiance yields,<br /> +And, like to house-hatch’d finches, hop not free<br /> +Unless ’tween walls of wire,<br /> +Look, there be many cages: choose to your desire!<br /> +Ho, ye,<br /> +Of God the least beloved, of Man the most,<br /> +That like not leaguing with the lesser host,<br /> +Behold the invested Mount,<br /> +And that assaulting Sea with ne’er a coast.<br /> +You need not stop to count!<br /> + But come up, ye<br /> +Who adore, in any way,<br /> +Our God by His wide-honour’d Name of YEA.<br /> +Come up; for where ye stand ye cannot stay.<br /> +Come all<br /> +That either mood of heavenly joyance know,<br /> +And, on the ladder hierarchical,<br /> +Have seen the order’d Angels to and fro<br /> +Descending with the pride of service sweet,<br /> +Ascending, with the rapture of receipt!<br /> +Come who have felt, in soul and heart and sense,<br /> +The entire obedience<br /> +Which opes the bosom, like a blissful wife,<br /> +To the Husband of all life!<br /> +Come ye that find contentment’s very core<br /> +In the light store<br /> +And daisied path<br /> +Of Poverty,<br /> +And know how more<br /> +A small thing that the righteous hath<br /> +Availeth than the ungodly’s riches great.<br /> +Come likewise ye<br /> +Which do not yet disown as out of date<br /> +That brightest third of the dead Virtues three,<br /> +Of Love the crown elate<br /> +And daintiest glee!<br /> +Come up, come up, and join our little band.<br /> +Our time is near at hand.<br /> +The sanction of the world’s undying hate<br /> +Means more than flaunted flags in windy air.<br /> +Be ye of gathering fate<br /> +Now gladly ware.<br /> +Now from the matrix, by God’s grinding wrought,<br /> +The brilliant shall be brought;<br /> +The white stone mystic set between the eyes<br /> +Of them that get the prize;<br /> +Yea, part and parcel of that mighty Stone<br /> +Which shall be thrown<br /> +Into the Sea, and Sea shall be no more.</p> +<h3>V. SPONSA DEI.</h3> +<p> What is this Maiden fair,<br /> +The laughing of whose eye<br /> +Is in man’s heart renew’d virginity;<br /> +Who yet sick longing breeds<br /> +For marriage which exceeds<br /> +The inventive guess of Love to satisfy<br /> +With hope of utter binding, and of loosing endless dear despair?<br /> +What gleams about her shine,<br /> +More transient than delight and more divine!<br /> +If she does something but a little sweet,<br /> +As gaze towards the glass to set her hair,<br /> +See how his soul falls humbled at her feet!<br /> +Her gentle step, to go or come,<br /> +Gains her more merit than a martyrdom;<br /> +And, if she dance, it doth such grace confer<br /> +As opes the heaven of heavens to more than her,<br /> +And makes a rival of her worshipper.<br /> +To die unknown for her were little cost!<br /> +So is she without guile,<br /> +Her mere refused smile<br /> +Makes up the sum of that which may be lost!<br /> +Who is this Fair<br /> +Whom each hath seen,<br /> +The darkest once in this bewailed dell,<br /> +Be he not destin’d for the glooms of hell?<br /> +Whom each hath seen<br /> +And known, with sharp remorse and sweet, as Queen<br /> +And tear-glad Mistress of his hopes of bliss,<br /> +Too fair for man to kiss?<br /> +Who is this only happy She,<br /> +Whom, by a frantic flight of courtesy,<br /> +Born of despair<br /> +Of better lodging for his Spirit fair,<br /> +He adores as Margaret, Maude, or Cecily?<br /> +And what this sigh,<br /> +That each one heaves for Earth’s last lowlihead<br /> +And the Heaven high<br /> +Ineffably lock’d in dateless bridal-bed?<br /> +Are all, then, mad, or is it prophecy?<br /> +‘Sons now we are of God,’ as we have heard,<br /> +‘But what we shall be hath not yet appear’d.’<br /> +O, Heart, remember thee,<br /> +That Man is none,<br /> +Save One.<br /> +What if this Lady be thy Soul, and He<br /> +Who claims to enjoy her sacred beauty be,<br /> +Not thou, but God; and thy sick fire<br /> +A female vanity,<br /> +Such as a Bride, viewing her mirror’d charms,<br /> +Feels when she sighs, ‘All these are for his arms!’<br /> +A reflex heat<br /> +Flash’d on thy cheek from His immense desire,<br /> +Which waits to crown, beyond thy brain’s conceit,<br /> +Thy nameless, secret, hopeless longing sweet,<br /> +Not by-and-by, but now,<br /> +Unless deny Him thou!</p> +<h3>VI. LEGEM TUAM DILEXI.</h3> +<p> The ‘Infinite.’ Word horrible! +at feud<br /> +With life, and the braced mood<br /> +Of power and joy and love;<br /> +Forbidden, by wise heathen ev’n, to be<br /> +Spoken of Deity,<br /> +Whose Name, on popular altars, was ‘The Unknown,’<br /> +Because, or ere It was reveal’d as One<br /> +Confined in Three,<br /> +The people fear’d that it might prove<br /> +Infinity,<br /> +The blazon which the devils desired to gain;<br /> +And God, for their confusion, laugh’d consent;<br /> +Yet did so far relent,<br /> +That they might seek relief, and not in vain,<br /> +In dashing of themselves against the shores of pain.<br /> +Nor bides alone in hell<br /> +The bond-disdaining spirit boiling to rebel.<br /> +But for compulsion of strong grace,<br /> +The pebble in the road<br /> +Would straight explode,<br /> +And fill the ghastly boundlessness of space.<br /> +The furious power,<br /> +To soft growth twice constrain’d in leaf and flower,<br /> +Protests, and longs to flash its faint self far<br /> +Beyond the dimmest star.<br /> +The same<br /> +Seditious flame,<br /> +Beat backward with reduplicated might,<br /> +Struggles alive within its stricter term,<br /> +And is the worm.<br /> +And the just Man does on himself affirm<br /> +God’s limits, and is conscious of delight,<br /> +Freedom and right;<br /> +And so His Semblance is, Who, every hour,<br /> +By day and night,<br /> +Buildeth new bulwarks ’gainst the Infinite.<br /> +For, ah, who can express<br /> +How full of bonds and simpleness<br /> +Is God,<br /> +How narrow is He,<br /> +And how the wide, waste field of possibility<br /> +Is only trod<br /> +Straight to His homestead in the human heart,<br /> +And all His art<br /> +Is as the babe’s that wins his Mother to repeat<br /> +Her little song so sweet!<br /> +What is the chief news of the Night?<br /> +Lo, iron and salt, heat, weight and light<br /> +In every star that drifts on the great breeze!<br /> +And these<br /> +Mean Man,<br /> +Darling of God, Whose thoughts but live and move<br /> +Round him; Who woos his will<br /> +To wedlock with His own, and does distil<br /> +To that drop’s span<br /> +The atta of all rose-fields of all love!<br /> +Therefore the soul select assumes the stress<br /> +Of bonds unbid, which God’s own style express<br /> +Better than well,<br /> +And aye hath, cloister’d, borne,<br /> +To the Clown’s scorn,<br /> +The fetters of the threefold golden chain:<br /> +Narrowing to nothing all his worldly gain;<br /> +(Howbeit in vain;<br /> +For to have nought<br /> +Is to have all things without care or thought!)<br /> +Surrendering, abject, to his equal’s rule,<br /> +As though he were a fool,<br /> +The free wings of the will;<br /> +(More vainly still;<br /> +For none knows rightly what ’tis to be free<br /> +But only he<br /> +Who, vow’d against all choice, and fill’d with awe<br /> +Of the ofttimes dumb or clouded Oracle,<br /> +Does wiser than to spell,<br /> +In his own suit, the least word of the Law!)<br /> +And, lastly, bartering life’s dear bliss for pain;<br /> +But evermore in vain;<br /> +For joy (rejoice ye Few that tasted have!)<br /> +Is Love’s obedience<br /> +Against the genial laws of natural sense,<br /> +Whose wide, self-dissipating wave,<br /> +Prison’d in artful dykes,<br /> +Trembling returns and strikes<br /> +Thence to its source again,<br /> +In backward billows fleet,<br /> +Crest crossing crest ecstatic as they greet,<br /> +Thrilling each vein,<br /> +Exploring every chasm and cove<br /> +Of the full heart with floods of honied love,<br /> +And every principal street<br /> +And obscure alley and lane<br /> +Of the intricate brain<br /> +With brimming rivers of light and breezes sweet<br /> +Of the primordial heat;<br /> +Till, unto view of me and thee,<br /> +Lost the intense life be,<br /> +Or ludicrously display’d, by force<br /> +Of distance; as a soaring eagle, or a horse<br /> +On far-off hillside shewn,<br /> +May seem a gust-driv’n rag or a dead stone.<br /> +Nor by such bonds alone—<br /> +But more I leave to say,<br /> +Fitly revering the Wild Ass’s bray,<br /> +Also his hoof,<br /> +Of which, go where you will, the marks remain<br /> +Where the religious walls have hid the bright reproof.</p> +<h3>VII. TO THE BODY.</h3> +<p> Creation’s and Creator’s crowning good;<br /> +Wall of infinitude;<br /> +Foundation of the sky,<br /> +In Heaven forecast<br /> +And long’d for from eternity,<br /> +Though laid the last;<br /> +Reverberating dome,<br /> +Of music cunningly built home<br /> +Against the void and indolent disgrace<br /> +Of unresponsive space;<br /> +Little, sequester’d pleasure-house<br /> +For God and for His Spouse;<br /> +Elaborately, yea, past conceiving, fair,<br /> +Since, from the graced decorum of the hair,<br /> +Ev’n to the tingling, sweet<br /> +Soles of the simple, earth-confiding feet,<br /> +And from the inmost heart<br /> +Outwards unto the thin<br /> +Silk curtains of the skin,<br /> +Every least part<br /> +Astonish’d hears<br /> +And sweet replies to some like region of the spheres;<br /> +Form’d for a dignity prophets but darkly name,<br /> +Lest shameless men cry ‘Shame!’<br /> +So rich with wealth conceal’d<br /> +That Heaven and Hell fight chiefly for this field;<br /> +Clinging to everything that pleases thee<br /> +With indefectible fidelity;<br /> +Alas, so true<br /> +To all thy friendships that no grace<br /> +Thee from thy sin can wholly disembrace;<br /> +Which thus ’bides with thee as the Jebusite,<br /> +That, maugre all God’s promises could do,<br /> +The chosen People never conquer’d quite;<br /> +Who therefore lived with them,<br /> +And that by formal truce and as of right,<br /> +In metropolitan Jerusalem.<br /> +For which false fealty<br /> +Thou needs must, for a season, lie<br /> +In the grave’s arms, foul and unshriven,<br /> +Albeit, in Heaven,<br /> +Thy crimson-throbbing Glow<br /> +Into its old abode aye pants to go,<br /> +And does with envy see<br /> +Enoch, Elijah, and the Lady, she<br /> +Who left the roses in her body’s lieu.<br /> +O, if the pleasures I have known in thee<br /> +But my poor faith’s poor first-fruits be,<br /> +What quintessential, keen, ethereal bliss<br /> +Then shall be his<br /> +Who has thy birth-time’s consecrating dew<br /> +For death’s sweet chrism retain’d,<br /> +Quick, tender, virginal, and unprofaned!</p> +<h3>VIII. ‘SING US ONE OF THE SONGS OF SION.’</h3> +<p> How sing the Lord’s Song in so strange a +Land?<br /> +A torrid waste of water-mocking sand;<br /> +Oases of wild grapes;<br /> +A dull, malodorous fog<br /> +O’er a once Sacred River’s wandering strand,<br /> +Its ancient tillage all gone back to bog;<br /> +A busy synod of blest cats and apes<br /> +Exposing the poor trick of earth and star<br /> +With worshipp’d snouts oracular;<br /> +Prophets to whose blind stare<br /> +The heavens the glory of God do not declare,<br /> +Skill’d in such question nice<br /> +As why one conjures toads who fails with lice,<br /> +And hatching snakes from sticks in such a swarm<br /> +As quite to surfeit Aaron’s bigger worm;<br /> +A nation which has got<br /> +A lie in her right hand,<br /> +And knows it not;<br /> +With Pharaohs to her mind, each drifting as a log<br /> +Which way the foul stream flows,<br /> +More harden’d the more plagued with fly and frog!<br /> +How should sad Exile sing in such a Land?<br /> +How should ye understand?<br /> +What could he win but jeers,<br /> +Or howls, such as sweet music draws from dog,<br /> +Who told of marriage-feasting to the man<br /> +That nothing knows of food but bread of bran?<br /> +Besides, if aught such ears<br /> +Might e’er unclog,<br /> +There lives but one, with tones for Sion meet.<br /> +Behoveful, zealous, beautiful, elect,<br /> +Mild, firm, judicious, loving, bold, discreet,<br /> +Without superfluousness, without defect,<br /> +Few are his words, and find but scant respect,<br /> +Nay, scorn from some, for God’s good cause agog.<br /> +Silence in such a Land is oftenest such men’s speech.<br /> +O, that I might his holy secret reach;<br /> +O, might I catch his mantle when he goes;<br /> +O, that I were so gentle and so sweet,<br /> +So I might deal fair Sion’s foolish foes<br /> +Such blows!</p> +<h3>IX. DELICIAE SAPIENTIAE DE AMORE.</h3> +<p> Love, light for me<br /> +Thy ruddiest blazing torch,<br /> +That I, albeit a beggar by the Porch<br /> +Of the glad Palace of Virginity,<br /> +May gaze within, and sing the pomp I see;<br /> +For, crown’d with roses all,<br /> +’Tis there, O Love, they keep thy festival!<br /> +But first warn off the beatific spot<br /> +Those wretched who have not<br /> +Even afar beheld the shining wall,<br /> +And those who, once beholding, have forgot,<br /> +And those, most vile, who dress<br /> +The charnel spectre drear<br /> +Of utterly dishallow’d nothingness<br /> +In that refulgent fame,<br /> +And cry, Lo, here!<br /> +And name<br /> +The Lady whose smiles inflame<br /> +The sphere.<br /> +Bring, Love, anear,<br /> +And bid be not afraid<br /> +Young Lover true, and love-foreboding Maid,<br /> +And wedded Spouse, if virginal of thought;<br /> +For I will sing of nought<br /> +Less sweet to hear<br /> +Than seems<br /> +A music in their half-remember’d dreams.<br /> + The magnet calls the steel:<br /> +Answers the iron to the magnet’s breath;<br /> +What do they feel<br /> +But death!<br /> +The clouds of summer kiss in flame and rain,<br /> +And are not found again;<br /> +But the heavens themselves eternal are with fire<br /> +Of unapproach’d desire,<br /> +By the aching heart of Love, which cannot rest,<br /> +In blissfullest pathos so indeed possess’d.<br /> +O, spousals high;<br /> +O, doctrine blest,<br /> +Unutterable in even the happiest sigh;<br /> +This know ye all<br /> +Who can recall<br /> +With what a welling of indignant tears<br /> +Love’s simpleness first hears<br /> +The meaning of his mortal covenant,<br /> +And from what pride comes down<br /> +To wear the crown<br /> +Of which ’twas very heaven to feel the want.<br /> +How envies he the ways<br /> +Of yonder hopeless star,<br /> +And so would laugh and yearn<br /> +With trembling lids eterne,<br /> +Ineffably content from infinitely far<br /> +Only to gaze<br /> +On his bright Mistress’s responding rays,<br /> +That never know eclipse;<br /> +And, once in his long year,<br /> +With praeternuptial ecstasy and fear,<br /> +By the delicious law of that ellipse<br /> +Wherein all citizens of ether move,<br /> +With hastening pace to come<br /> +Nearer, though never near,<br /> +His Love<br /> +And always inaccessible sweet Home;<br /> +There on his path doubly to burn.<br /> +Kiss’d by her doubled light<br /> +That whispers of its source,<br /> +The ardent secret ever clothed with Night,<br /> +Then go forth in new force<br /> +Towards a new return,<br /> +Rejoicing as a Bridegroom on his course!<br /> +This know ye all;<br /> +Therefore gaze bold,<br /> +That so in you be joyful hope increas’d,<br /> +Thorough the Palace portals, and behold<br /> +The dainty and unsating Marriage-Feast.<br /> +O, hear<br /> +Them singing clear<br /> +‘Cor meum et caro mea’ round the ‘I am,’<br /> +The Husband of the Heavens, and the Lamb<br /> +Whom they for ever follow there that kept,<br /> +Or losing, never slept<br /> +Till they reconquer’d had in mortal fight<br /> +The standard white.<br /> +O, hear<br /> +From the harps they bore from Earth, five-strung, what music springs,<br /> +While the glad Spirits chide<br /> +The wondering strings!<br /> +And how the shining sacrificial Choirs,<br /> +Offering for aye their dearest hearts’ desires,<br /> +Which to their hearts come back beatified,<br /> +Hymn, the bright aisles along,<br /> +The nuptial song,<br /> +Song ever new to us and them, that saith,<br /> +‘Hail Virgin in Virginity a Spouse!’<br /> +Heard first below<br /> +Within the little house<br /> +At Nazareth;<br /> +Heard yet in many a cell where brides of Christ<br /> +Lie hid, emparadised,<br /> +And where, although<br /> +By the hour ’tis night,<br /> +There’s light,<br /> +The Day still lingering in the lap of snow.<br /> +Gaze and be not afraid<br /> +Ye wedded few that honour, in sweet thought<br /> +And glittering will,<br /> +So freshly from the garden gather still<br /> +The lily sacrificed;<br /> +For ye, though self-suspected here for nought,<br /> +Are highly styled<br /> +With the thousands twelve times twelve of undefiled.<br /> +Gaze and be not afraid<br /> +Young Lover true and love-foreboding Maid.<br /> +The full noon of deific vision bright<br /> +Abashes nor abates<br /> +No spark minute of Nature’s keen delight.<br /> +’Tis there your Hymen waits!<br /> +There where in courts afar, all unconfused, they crowd,<br /> +As fumes the starlight soft<br /> +In gulfs of cloud,<br /> +And each to the other, well-content,<br /> +Sighs oft,<br /> +‘’Twas this we meant!’<br /> +Gaze without blame<br /> +Ye in whom living Love yet blushes for dead shame.<br /> +There of pure Virgins none<br /> +Is fairer seen,<br /> +Save One,<br /> +Than Mary Magdalene.<br /> +Gaze without doubt or fear<br /> +Ye to whom generous Love, by any name, is dear.<br /> +Love makes the life to be<br /> +A fount perpetual of virginity;<br /> +For, lo, the Elect<br /> +Of generous Love, how named soe’er, affect<br /> +Nothing but God,<br /> +Or mediate or direct,<br /> +Nothing but God,<br /> +The Husband of the Heavens:<br /> +And who Him love, in potence great or small,<br /> +Are, one and all,<br /> +Heirs of the Palace glad,<br /> +And inly clad<br /> +With the bridal robes of ardour virginal.</p> +<h3>X. THE CRY AT MIDNIGHT.</h3> +<p> The Midge’s wing beats to and fro<br /> +A thousand times ere one can utter ‘O!’<br /> +And Sirius’ ball<br /> +Does on his business run<br /> +As many times immenser than the Sun.<br /> +Why should things not be great as well as small,<br /> +Or move like light as well as move at all?<br /> +St. Michael fills his place, I mine, and, if you please,<br /> +We will respect each other’s provinces,<br /> +I marv’lling not at him, nor he at me.<br /> +But, if thou must go gaping, let it be<br /> +That One who could make Michael should make thee.<br /> +O, foolish Man, meting things low and high<br /> +By self, that accidental quantity!<br /> +With this conceit, Philosophy stalks frail<br /> +As peacock staggering underneath his tail.<br /> +Who judge of Plays from their own penny gaff,<br /> +At God’s great theatre will hiss and laugh;<br /> +For what’s a Saint to them<br /> +Brought up in modern virtues brummagem?<br /> +With garments grimed and lamps gone all to snuff,<br /> +And counting others for like Virgins queer,<br /> +To list those others cry, ‘Our Bridegroom’s near!’<br /> +Meaning their God, is surely quite enough<br /> +To make them rend their clothes and bawl out, ‘Blasphemy!’</p> +<h3>XI. AURAS OF DELIGHT.</h3> +<p> Beautiful habitations, auras of delight!<br /> +Who shall bewail the crags and bitter foam<br /> +And angry sword-blades flashing left and right<br /> +Which guard your glittering height,<br /> +That none thereby may come!<br /> +The vision which we have<br /> +Revere we so,<br /> +That yet we crave<br /> +To foot those fields of ne’er-profaned snow?<br /> + I, with heart-quake,<br /> +Dreaming or thinking of that realm of Love,<br /> +See, oft, a dove<br /> +Tangled in frightful nuptials with a snake;<br /> +The tortured knot,<br /> +Now, like a kite scant-weighted, flung bewitch’d<br /> +Sunwards, now pitch’d,<br /> +Tail over head, down, but with no taste got<br /> +Eternally<br /> +Of rest in either ruin or the sky,<br /> +But bird and vermin each incessant strives,<br /> +With vain dilaceration of both lives,<br /> +’Gainst its abhorred bond insoluble,<br /> +Coveting fiercer any separate hell<br /> +Than the most weary Soul in Purgatory<br /> +On God’s sweet breast to lie.<br /> +And, in this sign, I con<br /> +The guerdon of that golden Cup, fulfill’d<br /> +With fornications foul of Babylon,<br /> +The heart where good is well-perceiv’d and known,<br /> +Yet is not will’d;<br /> +And Him I thank, who can make live again,<br /> +The dust, but not the joy we once profane,<br /> +That I, of ye,<br /> +Beautiful habitations, auras of delight,<br /> +In childish years and since had sometime sense and sight,<br /> +But that ye vanish’d quite,<br /> +Even from memory,<br /> +Ere I could get my breath, and whisper ‘See!’<br /> + But did for me<br /> +They altogether die,<br /> +Those trackless glories glimps’d in upper sky?<br /> +Were they of chance, or vain,<br /> +Nor good at all again<br /> +For curb of heart or fret?<br /> +Nay, though, by grace,<br /> +Lest, haply, I refuse God to His face,<br /> +Their likeness wholly I forget,<br /> +Ah, yet,<br /> +Often in straits which else for me were ill,<br /> +I mind me still<br /> +I <i>did</i> respire the lonely auras sweet,<br /> +I <i>did</i> the blest abodes behold, and, at the mountains’ feet,<br /> +Bathed in the holy Stream by Hermon’s thymy hill.</p> +<h3>XII. EROS AND PSYCHE.</h3> +<p> ‘Love, I heard tell of thee so oft!<br /> +Yea, thrice my face and bosom flush’d with heat<br /> +Of sudden wings,<br /> +Through delicatest ether feathering soft<br /> +Their solitary beat.<br /> +Long did I muse what service or what charms<br /> +Might lure thee, blissful Bird, into mine arms;<br /> +And nets I made,<br /> +But not of the fit strings.<br /> +At last, of endless failure much afraid,<br /> +To-night I would do nothing but lie still,<br /> +And promise, wert thou once within my window-sill,<br /> +Thine unknown will.<br /> +In nets’ default,<br /> +Finch-like me seem’d thou might’st be ta’en with salt;<br /> +And here—and how thou mad’st me start!—<br /> +Thou art.’<br /> + ‘O Mortal, by Immortals’ cunning led,<br /> +Who shew’d you how for Gods to bait your bed?<br /> +Ah, Psyche, guess’d you nought<br /> +I craved but to be caught?<br /> +Wanton, it was not you,<br /> +But I that did so passionately sue;<br /> +And for your beauty, not unscath’d, I fought<br /> +With Hades, ere I own’d in you a thought!’<br /> + ‘O, heavenly Lover true,<br /> +Is this thy mouth upon my forehead press’d?<br /> +Are these thine arms about my bosom link’d?<br /> +Are these thy hands that tremble near my heart,<br /> +Where join two hearts, for juncture more distinct?<br /> +By thee and by my maiden zone caress’d,<br /> +What dim, waste tracts of life shine sudden, like moonbeams<br /> +On windless ocean shaken by sweet dreams!<br /> +Ah, stir not to depart!<br /> +Kiss me again, thy Wife and Virgin too!<br /> +O Love, that, like a rose,<br /> +Deckest my breast with beautiful repose,<br /> +Kiss me again, and clasp me round the heart,<br /> +Till fill’d with thee am I<br /> +As the cocoon is with the butterfly!<br /> +—Yet how ’scape quite<br /> +Nor pluck pure pleasure with profane delight?<br /> +How know I that my Love is what he seems!<br /> +Give me a sign<br /> +That, in the pitchy night,<br /> +Comes to my pillow an immortal Spouse,<br /> +And not a fiend, hiding with happy boughs<br /> +Of palm and asphodel<br /> +The pits of hell!’<br /> + ‘’Tis this:<br /> +I make the childless to keep joyful house.<br /> +Below your bosom, mortal Mistress mine,<br /> +Immortal by my kiss,<br /> +Leaps what sweet pain?<br /> +A fiend, my Psyche, comes with barren bliss,<br /> +A God’s embraces never are in vain.’<br /> + ‘I own<br /> +A life not mine within my golden zone.<br /> +Yea, how<br /> +’Tis easier grown<br /> +Thine arduous rule to don<br /> +Than for a Bride to put her bride-dress on!<br /> +Nay, rather, now<br /> +’Tis no more service to be borne serene,<br /> +Whither thou wilt, thy stormful wings between.<br /> +But, Oh,<br /> +Can I endure<br /> +This flame, yet live for what thou lov’st me, pure?’<br /> + ‘Himself the God let blame<br /> +If all about him bursts to quenchless flame!<br /> +My Darling, know<br /> +Your spotless fairness is not match’d in snow,<br /> +But in the integrity of fire.<br /> +Whate’er you are, Sweet, I require.<br /> +A sorry God were he<br /> +That fewer claim’d than all Love’s mighty kingdoms three!’<br /> + ‘Much marvel I<br /> +That thou, the greatest of the Powers above,<br /> +Me visitest with such exceeding love.<br /> +What thing is this?<br /> +A God to make me, nothing, needful to his bliss,<br /> +And humbly wait my favour for a kiss!<br /> +Yea, all thy legions of liege deity<br /> +To look into this mystery desire.’<br /> + ‘Content you, Dear, with them, this marvel to admire,<br /> +And lay your foolish little head to rest<br /> +On my familiar breast.<br /> +Should a high King, leaving his arduous throne,<br /> +Sue from her hedge a little Gipsy Maid,<br /> +For far-off royal ancestry bewray’d<br /> +By some wild beauties, to herself unknown;<br /> +Some voidness of herself in her strange ways<br /> +Which to his bounteous fulness promised dainty praise;<br /> +Some power, by all but him unguess’d,<br /> +Of growing king-like were she king-caress’d;<br /> +And should he bid his dames of loftiest grade<br /> +Put off her rags and make her lowlihead<br /> +Pure for the soft midst of his perfumed bed,<br /> +So to forget, kind-couch’d with her alone,<br /> +His empire, in her winsome joyance free;<br /> +What would he do, if such a fool were she<br /> +As at his grandeur there to gape and quake,<br /> +Mindless of love’s supreme equality,<br /> +And of his heart, so simple for her sake<br /> +That all he ask’d, for making her all-blest,<br /> +Was that her nothingness alway<br /> +Should yield such easy fee as frank to play<br /> +Or sleep delighted in her Monarch’s breast,<br /> +Feeling her nothingness her giddiest boast,<br /> +As being the charm for which he loved her most?<br /> +What if this reed,<br /> +Through which the King thought love-tunes to have blown,<br /> +Should shriek, “Indeed,<br /> +I am too base to trill so blest a tone!”<br /> +Would not the King allege<br /> +Defaulted consummation of the marriage-pledge,<br /> +And hie the Gipsy to her native hedge?’<br /> + ‘O, too much joy; O, touch of airy fire;<br /> +O, turmoil of content; O, unperturb’d desire,<br /> +From founts of spirit impell’d through brain and blood!<br /> +I’ll not call ill what, since ’tis thine, is good,<br /> +Nor best what is but second best or third;<br /> +Still my heart fails,<br /> +And, unaccustom’d and astonish’d, quails,<br /> +And blames me, though I think I have not err’d.<br /> +’Tis hard for fly, in such a honied flood,<br /> +To use her eyes, far more her wings or feet.<br /> +Bitter be thy behests!</p> +<p>Lie like a bunch of myrrh between my aching breasts.<br /> +Some greatly pangful penance would I brave.<br /> +Sharpness me save<br /> +From being slain by sweet!’<br /> + ‘In your dell’d bosom’s double peace<br /> +Let all care cease!<br /> +Custom’s joy-killing breath<br /> +Shall bid you sigh full soon for custom-killing death.<br /> +So clasp your childish arms again around my heart:<br /> +’Tis but in such captivity<br /> +The unbounded Heav’ns know what they be!<br /> +And lie still there,<br /> +Till the dawn, threat’ning to declare<br /> +My beauty, which you cannot bear,<br /> +Bid me depart.<br /> +Suffer your soul’s delight,<br /> +Lest that which is to come wither you quite:<br /> +For these are only your espousals; yes,<br /> +More intimate and fruitfuller far<br /> +Than aptest mortal nuptials are;<br /> +But nuptials wait you such as now you dare not guess.’<br /> + ‘In all I thee obey! And thus I know<br /> +That all is well:<br /> +Should’st thou me tell<br /> +Out of thy warm caress to go<br /> +And roll my body in the biting snow,<br /> +My very body’s joy were but increased;<br /> +More pleasant ’tis to please thee than be pleased.<br /> +Thy love has conquer’d me; do with me as thou wilt,<br /> +And use me as a chattel that is thine!<br /> +Kiss, tread me under foot, cherish or beat,<br /> +Sheathe in my heart sharp pain up to the hilt,<br /> +Invent what else were most perversely sweet;<br /> +Nay, let the Fiend drag me through dens of guilt;<br /> +Let Earth, Heav’n, Hell<br /> +’Gainst my content combine;<br /> +What could make nought the touch that made thee mine!<br /> +Ah, say not yet, farewell!’<br /> + ‘Nay, that’s the Blackbird’s note, the +sweet Night’s knell.<br /> +Behold, Beloved, the penance you would brave!’<br /> + ‘Curs’d when it comes, the bitter thing we +crave!<br /> +Thou leav’st me now, like to the moon at dawn,<br /> +A little, vacuous world alone in air.<br /> +I will not care!<br /> +When dark comes back my dark shall be withdrawn!<br /> +Go free;<br /> +For ’tis with me<br /> +As when the cup the Child scoops in the sand<br /> +Fills, and is part and parcel of the Sea.<br /> +I’ll say it to myself and understand.<br /> +Farewell!<br /> +Go as thou wilt and come! Lover divine,<br /> +Thou still art jealously and wholly mine;<br /> +And this thy kiss<br /> +A separate secret by none other scann’d;<br /> +Though well I wis<br /> +The whole of life is womanhood to thee,<br /> +Momently wedded with enormous bliss.<br /> +Rainbow, that hast my heaven sudden spann’d,<br /> +I am the apple of thy glorious gaze,<br /> +Each else life cent’ring to a different blaze;<br /> +And, nothing though I be<br /> +But now a no more void capacity for thee,<br /> +’Tis all to know there’s not in air or land<br /> +Another for thy Darling quite like me!<br /> +Mine arms no more thy restless plumes compel!<br /> +Farewell!<br /> +Whilst thou art gone, I’ll search the weary meads<br /> +To deck my bed with lilies of fair deeds!<br /> +And, if thou choose to come this eventide,<br /> +A touch, my Love, will set my casement wide.<br /> +Farewell, farewell!<br /> +Be my dull days<br /> +Music, at least, with thy remember’d praise!’<br /> + ‘Bitter, sweet, few and veil’d let be<br /> +Your songs of me.<br /> +Preserving bitter, very sweet,<br /> +Few, that so all may be discreet,<br /> +And veil’d, that, seeing, none may see.’</p> +<h3>XIII. DE NATURA DEORUM.</h3> +<p> ‘Good-morrow, Psyche! What’s +thine errand now?<br /> +What awful pleasure do thine eyes bespeak,<br /> +What shame is in thy childish cheek,<br /> +What terror on thy brow?<br /> +Is this my Psyche, once so pale and meek?<br /> +Thy body’s sudden beauty my sight old<br /> +Stings, like an agile bead of boiling gold,<br /> +And all thy life looks troubled like a tree’s<br /> +Whose boughs wave many ways in one great breeze.’<br /> + ‘O Pythoness, to strangest story hark:<br /> +A dreadful God was with me in the dark—’<br /> + ‘How many a Maid—<br /> +Has never told me that! And thou’rt afraid—’<br /> + ‘He’ll come no more,<br /> +Or come but twice,<br /> +Or thrice,<br /> +Or only thrice ten thousand times thrice o’er!’<br /> + ‘For want of wishing thou mean’st not to miss.<br /> +We know the Lover, Psyche, by the kiss!’<br /> + ‘If speech of honey could impart the sweet,<br /> +The world were all in tears and at his feet!<br /> +But not to tell of that in tears come I, but this:<br /> +I’m foolish, weak, and small,<br /> +And fear to fall.<br /> +If long he stay away, O frightful dream, wise Mother,<br /> +What keeps me but that I, gone crazy, kiss some other!’<br /> + ‘The fault were his! But know,<br /> +Sweet little Daughter sad,<br /> +He did but feign to go;<br /> +And never more<br /> +Shall cross thy window-sill,<br /> +Or pass beyond thy door,<br /> +Save by thy will.<br /> +He’s present now in some dim place apart<br /> +Of the ivory house wherewith thou mad’st him glad.<br /> +Nay, this I whisper thee,<br /> +Since none is near,<br /> +Or, if one were, since only thou could’st hear,<br /> +That happy thing which makes thee flush and start,<br /> +Like infant lips in contact with thy heart,<br /> +Is He!’<br /> + ‘Yea, this I know, but never can believe!<br /> +O, hateful light! when shall mine own eyes mark<br /> +My beauty, which this victory did achieve?’<br /> + ‘When thou, like Gods and owls, canst see by dark.’<br /> + ‘In vain I cleanse me from all blurring error—’<br /> + ‘’Tis the last rub that polishes the mirror.’<br /> + ‘It takes fresh blurr each breath which I respire.’<br /> + ‘Poor Child, don’t cry so! Hold it to +the fire.’<br /> + ‘Ah, nought these dints can e’er do out again!’<br /> + ‘Love is not love which does not sweeter live<br /> +For having something dreadful to forgive.’<br /> + ‘Sadness and change and pain<br /> +Shall me for ever stain;<br /> +For, though my blissful fate<br /> +Be for a billion years,<br /> +How shall I stop my tears<br /> +That life was once so low and Love arrived so late!’<br /> + ‘Sadness is beauty’s savour, and pain is<br /> +The exceedingly keen edge of bliss;<br /> +Nor, without swift mutation, would the heav’ns be aught.’<br /> + ‘How to behave with him I’d fain be taught.<br /> +A maid, meseems, within a God’s embrace,<br /> +Should bear her like a Goddess, or, at least, a Grace.’<br /> + ‘When Gods, to Man or Maid below,<br /> +As men or birds appear,<br /> +A kind ’tis of incognito,<br /> +And that, not them, is what they choose we should revere.’<br /> + ‘Advise me what oblation vast to bring,<br /> +Some least part of my worship to confess!’<br /> + ‘A woman is a little thing,<br /> +And in things little lies her comeliness.’<br /> + ‘Must he not soon with mortal tire to toy?’<br /> + ‘The bashful meeting of strange Depth and Height<br /> +Breeds the forever new-born babe, Delight;<br /> +And, as thy God is more than mortal boy,<br /> +So bashful more the meeting, and so more the joy.’<br /> + ‘He loves me dearly, but he shakes a whip<br /> +Of deathless scorpions at my slightest slip.<br /> +Mother, last night he call’d me “Gipsy,” so<br /> +Roughly it smote me like a blow!<br /> +Yet, oh,<br /> +I love him, as none surely e’er could love<br /> +Our People’s pompous but good-natured Jove.<br /> +<i>He</i> used to send me stately overture;<br /> +But marriage-bonds, till now, I never could endure!’<br /> + ‘How should great Jove himself do else than miss<br /> +To win the woman he forgets to kiss;<br /> +Or, won, to keep his favour in her eyes,<br /> +If he’s too soft or sleepy to chastise!<br /> +By Eros, her twain claims are ne’er forgot;<br /> +Her wedlock’s marr’d when either’s miss’d:<br /> +Or when she’s kiss’d, but beaten not,<br /> +Or duly beaten, but not kiss’d.<br /> +Ah, Child, the sweet<br /> +Content, when we’re both kiss’d and beat!<br /> +—But whence these wounds? What Demon thee enjoins<br /> +To scourge thy shoulders white<br /> +And tender loins!’<br /> + ‘’Tis nothing, Mother. Happiness at play,<br /> +And speech of tenderness no speech can say!’<br /> + ‘How learn’d thou art!<br /> +Twelve honeymoons profane had taught thy docile heart<br /> +Less than thine Eros, in a summer night!’<br /> + ‘Nay, do not jeer, but help my puzzled plight:<br /> +Because he loves so marvellously me,<br /> +And I with all he loves in love must be,<br /> +How to except myself I do not see.<br /> +Yea, now that other vanities are vain,<br /> +I’m vain, since him it likes, of being withal<br /> +Weak, foolish, small!’<br /> + ‘How can a Maid forget her ornaments!<br /> +The Powers, that hopeless doom the proud to die,<br /> +Unask’d smile pardon upon vanity,<br /> +Nay, praise it, when themselves are praised thereby.’<br /> + ‘Ill-match’d I am for a God’s blandishments!<br /> +So great, so wise—’<br /> + ‘Gods, in the abstract, are, no doubt, most wise;<br /> +But, in the concrete, Girl, they’re mysteries!<br /> +He’s not with thee,<br /> +At all less wise nor more<br /> +Than human Lover is with her he deigns to adore.<br /> +He finds a fair capacity,<br /> +And fills it with himself, and glad would die<br /> +For that sole She.’<br /> + ‘Know’st thou some potion me awake to keep,<br /> +Lest, to the grief of that ne’er-slumbering Bliss,<br /> +Disgraced I sleep,<br /> +Wearied in soul by his bewildering kiss?’<br /> + ‘The Immortals, Psyche, moulded men from sods<br /> +That Maids from them might learn the ways of Gods.<br /> +Think, would a wakeful Youth his hard fate weep,<br /> +Lock’d to the tired breast of a Bride asleep?’<br /> + ‘Ah, me, I do not dream,<br /> +Yet all this does some heathen fable seem!’<br /> + ‘O’ermuch thou mind’st the throne he +leaves above!<br /> +Between unequals sweet is equal love.’<br /> + ‘Nay, Mother, in his breast, when darkness blinds,<br /> +I cannot for my life but talk and laugh<br /> +With the large impudence of little minds!’<br /> + ‘Respectful to the Gods and meek,<br /> +According to one’s lights, I grant<br /> +’Twere well to be;<br /> +But, on my word,<br /> +Child, any one, to hear you speak,<br /> +Would take you for a Protestant,<br /> +(Such fish I do foresee<br /> +When the charm’d fume comes strong on me,)<br /> +Or powder’d lackey, by some great man’s board,<br /> +A deal more solemn than his Lord!<br /> +Know’st thou not, Girl, thine Eros loves to laugh?<br /> +And shall a God do anything by half?<br /> +He foreknew and predestinated all<br /> +The Great must pay for kissing things so small,<br /> +And ever loves his little Maid the more<br /> +The more she makes him laugh.’<br /> + ‘O, Mother, are you sure?’<br /> + ‘Gaze steady where yon starless deep the gaze revolts,<br /> +And say,<br /> +Seest thou a Titan forging thunderbolts,<br /> +Or three fair butterflies at lovesome play?<br /> +And this I’ll add, for succour of thy soul:<br /> +Lines parallel meet sooner than some think;<br /> +The least part oft is greater than the whole;<br /> +And, when you’re thirsty, that’s the time to drink.’<br /> + ‘Thy sacred words I ponder and revere,<br /> +And thank thee heartily that some are clear.’<br /> + ‘Clear speech to men is mostly speech in vain.<br /> +Their scope is by themselves so justly scann’d,<br /> +They still despise the things they understand;<br /> +But, to a pretty Maid like thee, I don’t mind speaking plain.’<br /> + ‘Then one boon more to her whom strange Fate mocks<br /> +With a wife’s duty but no wife’s sweet right:<br /> +Could I at will but summon my Delight—’<br /> + ‘Thou of thy jewel art the dainty box;<br /> +Thine is the charm which, any time, unlocks;<br /> +And this, it seems, thou hitt’st upon last night.<br /> +Now go, Child! For thy sake<br /> +I’ve talk’d till this stiff tripod makes my old limbs ache.’</p> +<h3>XIV. PSYCHE’S DISCONTENT.</h3> +<p> ‘Enough, enough, ambrosial plumed Boy!<br /> +My bosom is aweary of thy breath.<br /> +Thou kissest joy<br /> +To death.<br /> +Have pity of my clay-conceived birth<br /> +And maiden’s simple mood,<br /> +Which longs for ether and infinitude,<br /> +As thou, being God, crav’st littleness and earth!<br /> +Thou art immortal, thou canst ever toy,<br /> +Nor savour less<br /> +The sweets of thine eternal childishness,<br /> +And hold thy godhead bright in far employ.<br /> +Me, to quite other custom life-inured,<br /> +Ah, loose from thy caress.<br /> +’Tis not to be endured!<br /> +Undo thine arms and let me see the sky,<br /> +By this infatuating flame obscured.<br /> +O, I should feel thee nearer to my heart<br /> +If thou and I<br /> +Shone each to each respondently apart,<br /> +Like stars which one the other trembling spy,<br /> +Distinct and lucid in extremes of air.<br /> +O, hear me pray—’<br /> + +‘Be prudent in thy prayer!<br /> +A God is bond to her who is wholly his,<br /> +And, should she ask amiss,<br /> +He may not her beseeched harm deny.’<br /> + ‘Not yet, not yet!<br /> +’Tis still high day, and half my toil’s to do.<br /> +How can I toil, if thus thou dost renew<br /> +Toil’s guerdon, which the daytime should forget?<br /> +The long, long night, when none can work for fear,<br /> +Sweet fear incessantly consummated,<br /> +My most divinely Dear,<br /> +My Joy, my Dread,<br /> +Will soon be here!<br /> +Not, Eros, yet!<br /> +I ask, for Day, the use which is the Wife’s:<br /> +To bear, apart from thy delight and thee,<br /> +The fardel coarse of customary life’s<br /> +Exceeding injucundity.<br /> +Leave me awhile, that I may shew thee clear<br /> +How Goddess-like thy love has lifted me;<br /> +How, seeming lone upon the gaunt, lone shore,<br /> +I’ll trust thee near,<br /> +When thou’rt, to knowledge of my heart, no more<br /> +Than a dream’s heed<br /> +Of lost joy track’d in scent of the sea-weed!<br /> +Leave me to pluck the incomparable flower<br /> +Of frailty lion-like fighting in thy name and power;<br /> +To make thee laugh, in thy safe heaven, to see<br /> +With what grip fell<br /> +I’ll cling to hope when life draws hard to hell,<br /> +Yea, cleave to thee when me thou seem’st to slay,<br /> +Haply, at close of some most cruel day,<br /> +To find myself in thy reveal’d arms clasp’d,<br /> +Just when I say,<br /> +My feet have slipp’d at last!<br /> +But, lo, while thus I store toil’s slow increase,<br /> +To be my dower, in patience and in peace,<br /> +Thou com’st, like bolt from blue, invisibly,<br /> +With premonition none nor any sign,<br /> +And, at a gasp, no choice nor fault of mine,<br /> +Possess’d I am with thee<br /> +Ev’n as a sponge is by a surge of the sea!’<br /> + ‘Thus irresistibly by Love embraced<br /> +Is she who boasts her more than mortal chaste!’<br /> + ‘Find’st thou me worthy, then, by day and night,<br /> +But of this fond indignity, delight?’<br /> + ‘Little, bold Femininity,<br /> +That darest blame Heaven, what would’st thou have or be?’<br /> + ‘Shall I, the gnat which dances in thy ray,<br /> +Dare to be reverent? Therefore dare I say,<br /> +I cannot guess the good that I desire;<br /> +But this I know, I spurn the gifts which Hell<br /> +Can mock till which is which ’tis hard to tell.<br /> +I love thee, God; yea, and ’twas such assault<br /> +As this which made me thine; if that be fault;<br /> +But I, thy Mistress, merit should thine ire<br /> +If aught so little, transitory and low<br /> +As this which made me thine<br /> +Should hold me so.’<br /> + ‘Little to thee, my Psyche, is this, but much to +me!’<br /> + ‘Ah, if, my God, that be!’<br /> + ‘Yea, Palate fine,<br /> +That claim’st for thy proud cup the pearl of price,<br /> +And scorn’st the wine,<br /> +Accept the sweet, and say ’tis sacrifice!<br /> +Sleep, Centre to the tempest of my love,<br /> +And dream thereof,<br /> +And keep the smile which sleeps within thy face<br /> +Like sunny eve in some forgotten place!’</p> +<h3>XV. PAIN.</h3> +<p> O, Pain, Love’s mystery,<br /> +Close next of kin<br /> +To joy and heart’s delight,<br /> +Low Pleasure’s opposite,<br /> +Choice food of sanctity<br /> +And medicine of sin,<br /> +Angel, whom even they that will pursue<br /> +Pleasure with hell’s whole gust<br /> +Find that they must<br /> +Perversely woo,<br /> +My lips, thy live coal touching, speak thee true.<br /> +Thou sear’st my flesh, O Pain,<br /> +But brand’st for arduous peace my languid brain,<br /> +And bright’nest my dull view,<br /> +Till I, for blessing, blessing give again,<br /> +And my roused spirit is<br /> +Another fire of bliss,<br /> +Wherein I learn<br /> +Feelingly how the pangful, purging fire<br /> +Shall furiously burn<br /> +With joy, not only of assured desire,<br /> +But also present joy<br /> +Of seeing the life’s corruption, stain by stain,<br /> +Vanish in the clear heat of Love irate,<br /> +And, fume by fume, the sick alloy<br /> +Of luxury, sloth and hate<br /> +Evaporate;<br /> +Leaving the man, so dark erewhile,<br /> +The mirror merely of God’s smile.<br /> +Herein, O Pain, abides the praise<br /> +For which my song I raise;<br /> +But even the bastard good of intermittent ease<br /> +How greatly doth it please!<br /> +With what repose<br /> +The being from its bright exertion glows,<br /> +When from thy strenuous storm the senses sweep<br /> +Into a little harbour deep<br /> +Of rest;<br /> +When thou, O Pain,<br /> +Having devour’d the nerves that thee sustain,<br /> +Sleep’st, till thy tender food be somewhat grown<br /> +again;<br /> +And how the lull<br /> +With tear-blind love is full!<br /> +What mockery of a man am I express’d<br /> +That I should wait for thee<br /> +To woo!<br /> +Nor even dare to love, till thou lov’st me.<br /> +How shameful, too,<br /> +Is this:<br /> +That, when thou lov’st, I am at first afraid<br /> +Of thy fierce kiss,<br /> +Like a young maid;<br /> +And only trust thy charms<br /> +And get my courage in thy throbbing arms.<br /> +And, when thou partest, what a fickle mind<br /> +Thou leav’st behind,<br /> +That, being a little absent from mine eye,<br /> +It straight forgets thee what thou art,<br /> +And ofttimes my adulterate heart<br /> +Dallies with Pleasure, thy pale enemy.<br /> +O, for the learned spirit without attaint<br /> +That does not faint,<br /> +But knows both how to have thee and to lack,<br /> +And ventures many a spell,<br /> +Unlawful but for them that love so well,<br /> +To call thee back.</p> +<h3>XVI. PROPHETS WHO CANNOT SING.</h3> +<p> Ponder, ye just, the scoffs that frequent go<br /> +From forth the foe:<br /> + ‘The holders of the Truth in Verity<br /> +Are people of a harsh and stammering tongue!<br /> +The hedge-flower hath its song;<br /> +Meadow and tree,<br /> +Water and wandering cloud<br /> +Find Seers who see,<br /> +And, with convincing music clear and loud,<br /> +Startle the adder-deafness of the crowd<br /> +By tones, O Love, from thee.<br /> +Views of the unveil’d heavens alone forth bring<br /> +Prophets who cannot sing,<br /> +Praise that in chiming numbers will not run;<br /> +At least, from David until Dante, none,<br /> +And none since him.<br /> +Fish, and not swim?<br /> +They think they somehow should, and so they try;<br /> +But (haply ’tis they screw the pitch too high)<br /> +’Tis still their fates<br /> +To warble tunes that nails might draw from slates.<br /> +Poor Seraphim!<br /> +They mean to spoil our sleep, and do, but all their gains<br /> +Are curses for their pains!’<br /> + Now who but knows<br /> +That truth to learn from foes<br /> +Is wisdom ripe?<br /> +Therefore no longer let us stretch our throats<br /> +Till hoarse as frogs<br /> +With straining after notes<br /> +Which but to touch would burst an organ-pipe.<br /> +Far better be dumb dogs.</p> +<h3>XVII. THE CHILD’S PURCHASE.</h3> +<p>A PROLOGUE.</p> +<p> As a young Child, whose Mother, for a jest,<br /> +To his own use a golden coin flings down,<br /> +Devises blythe how he may spend it best,<br /> +Or on a horse, a bride-cake, or a crown,<br /> +Till, wearied with his quest,<br /> +Nor liking altogether that nor this,<br /> +He gives it back for nothing but a kiss,<br /> +Endow’d so I<br /> +With golden speech, my choice of toys to buy,<br /> +And scanning power and pleasure and renown,<br /> +Till each in turn, with looking at, looks vain,<br /> +For her mouth’s bliss,<br /> +To her who gave it give I it again.<br /> + Ah, Lady elect,<br /> +Whom the Time’s scorn has saved from its respect,<br /> +Would I had art<br /> +For uttering this which sings within my heart!<br /> +But, lo,<br /> +Thee to admire is all the art I know.<br /> +My Mother and God’s; Fountain of miracle!<br /> +Give me thereby some praise of thee to tell<br /> +In such a Song<br /> +As may my Guide severe and glad not wrong<br /> +Who never spake till thou’dst on him conferr’d<br /> +The right, convincing word!<br /> +Grant me the steady heat<br /> +Of thought wise, splendid, sweet,<br /> +Urged by the great, rejoicing wind that rings<br /> +With draught of unseen wings,<br /> +Making each phrase, for love and for delight,<br /> +Twinkle like Sirius on a frosty night!<br /> +Aid thou thine own dear fame, thou only Fair,<br /> +At whose petition meek<br /> +The Heavens themselves decree that, as it were,<br /> +They will be weak!<br /> + Thou Speaker of all wisdom in a Word,<br /> +Thy Lord!<br /> +Speaker who thus could’st well afford<br /> +Thence to be silent;—ah, what silence that<br /> +Which had for prologue thy ‘Magnificat?’—<br /> +O, Silence full of wonders<br /> +More than by Moses in the Mount were heard,<br /> +More than were utter’d by the Seven Thunders;<br /> +Silence that crowns, unnoted, like the voiceless blue,<br /> +The loud world’s varying view,<br /> +And in its holy heart the sense of all things ponders!<br /> +That acceptably I may speak of thee,<br /> +<i>Ora pro me</i>!<br /> + Key-note and stop<br /> +Of the thunder-going chorus of sky-Powers;<br /> +Essential drop<br /> +Distill’d from worlds of sweetest-savour’d flowers<br /> +To anoint with nuptial praise<br /> +The Head which for thy Beauty doff’d its rays,<br /> +And thee, in His exceeding glad descending, meant,<br /> +And Man’s new days<br /> +Made of His deed the adorning accident!<br /> +Vast Nothingness of Self, fair female Twin<br /> +Of Fulness, sucking all God’s glory in!<br /> +(Ah, Mistress mine,<br /> +To nothing I have added only sin,<br /> +And yet would shine!)<br /> +<i>Ora pro me</i>!<br /> + Life’s cradle and death’s tomb!<br /> +To lie within whose womb,<br /> +There, with divine self-will infatuate,<br /> +Love-captive to the thing He did create,<br /> +Thy God did not abhor,<br /> +No more<br /> +Than Man, in Youth’s high spousal-tide,<br /> +Abhors at last to touch<br /> +The strange lips of his long-procrastinating Bride;<br /> +Nay, not the least imagined part as much!<br /> +<i>Ora pro me</i>!<br /> + My Lady, yea, the Lady of my Lord,<br /> +Who didst the first descry<br /> +The burning secret of virginity,<br /> +We know with what reward!<br /> +Prism whereby<br /> +Alone we see<br /> +Heav’n’s light in its triplicity;<br /> +Rainbow complex<br /> +In bright distinction of all beams of sex,<br /> +Shining for aye<br /> +In the simultaneous sky,<br /> +To One, thy Husband, Father, Son, and Brother,<br /> +Spouse blissful, Daughter, Sister, milk-sweet Mother;<br /> +<i>Ora pro me</i>!<br /> + Mildness, whom God obeys, obeying thyself<br /> +Him in thy joyful Saint, nigh lost to sight<br /> +In the great gulf<br /> +Of his own glory and thy neighbour light;<br /> +With whom thou wast as else with husband none<br /> +For perfect fruit of inmost amity;<br /> +Who felt for thee<br /> +Such rapture of refusal that no kiss<br /> +Ever seal’d wedlock so conjoint with bliss;<br /> +And whose good singular eternally<br /> +’Tis now, with nameless peace and vehemence,<br /> +To enjoy thy married smile,<br /> +That mystery of innocence;<br /> +<i>Ora pro me</i>!<br /> + Sweet Girlhood without guile,<br /> +The extreme of God’s creative energy;<br /> +Sunshiny Peak of human personality;<br /> +The world’s sad aspirations’ one Success;<br /> +Bright Blush, that sav’st our shame from shamelessness;<br /> +Chief Stone of stumbling; Sign built in the way<br /> +To set the foolish everywhere a-bray;<br /> +Hem of God’s robe, which all who touch are heal’d;<br /> +To which the outside Many honour yield<br /> +With a reward and grace<br /> +Unguess’d by the unwash’d boor that hails Him to His face,<br /> +Spurning the safe, ingratiant courtesy<br /> +Of suing Him by thee;<br /> +<i>Ora pro me</i>!<br /> + Creature of God rather the sole than first;<br /> +Knot of the cord<br /> +Which binds together all and all unto their Lord;<br /> +Suppliant Omnipotence; best to the worst;<br /> +Our only Saviour from an abstract Christ<br /> +And Egypt’s brick-kilns, where the lost crowd plods,<br /> +Blaspheming its false Gods;<br /> +Peace-beaming Star, by which shall come enticed,<br /> +Though nought thereof as yet they weet,<br /> +Unto thy Babe’s small feet,<br /> +The Mighty, wand’ring disemparadised,<br /> +Like Lucifer, because to thee<br /> +They will not bend the knee;<br /> +<i>Ora pro me</i>!<br /> + Desire of Him whom all things else desire!<br /> +Bush aye with Him as He with thee on fire!<br /> +Neither in His great Deed nor on His throne—<br /> +O, folly of Love, the intense<br /> +Last culmination of Intelligence,—<br /> +Him seem’d it good that God should be alone!<br /> +Basking in unborn laughter of thy lips,<br /> +Ere the world was, with absolute delight<br /> +His Infinite reposed in thy Finite;<br /> +Well-match’d: He, universal being’s Spring,<br /> +And thou, in whom are gather’d up the ends of everything!<br /> +<i>Ora pro me</i>!<br /> + In season due, on His sweet-fearful bed,<br /> +Rock’d by an earthquake, curtain’d with eclipse,<br /> +Thou shar’d’st the rapture of the sharp spear’s head,<br /> +And thy bliss pale<br /> +Wrought for our boon what Eve’s did for our bale;<br /> +Thereafter, holding a little thy soft breath,<br /> +Thou underwent’st the ceremony of death;<br /> +And, now, Queen-Wife,<br /> +Sitt’st at the right hand of the Lord of Life,<br /> +Who, of all bounty, craves for only fee<br /> +The glory of hearing it besought with smiles by thee!<br /> +<i>Ora pro me</i>!<br /> + Mother, who lead’st me still by unknown ways,<br /> +Giving the gifts I know not how to ask,<br /> +Bless thou the work<br /> +Which, done, redeems my many wasted days,<br /> +Makes white the murk,<br /> +And crowns the few which thou wilt not dispraise.<br /> +When clear my Songs of Lady’s graces rang,<br /> +And little guess’d I ’twas of thee I sang!<br /> + Vainly, till now, my pray’rs would thee compel<br /> +To fire my verse with thy shy fame, too long<br /> +Shunning world-blazon of well-ponder’d song;<br /> +But doubtful smiles, at last, ’mid thy denials lurk;<br /> +From which I spell,<br /> +‘Humility and greatness grace the task<br /> +Which he who does it deems impossible!’</p> +<h3>XVIII. DEAD LANGUAGE.</h3> +<p> ‘Thou dost not wisely, Bard.<br /> +A double voice is Truth’s, to use at will:<br /> +One, with the abysmal scorn of good for ill,<br /> +Smiting the brutish ear with doctrine hard,<br /> +Wherein She strives to look as near a lie<br /> +As can comport with her divinity;<br /> +The other tender-soft as seem<br /> +The embraces of a dead Love in a dream.<br /> +These thoughts, which you have sung<br /> +In the vernacular,<br /> +Should be, as others of the Church’s are,<br /> +Decently cloak’d in the Imperial Tongue.<br /> +Have you no fears<br /> +Lest, as Lord Jesus bids your sort to dread,<br /> +Yon acorn-munchers rend you limb from limb,<br /> +You, with Heaven’s liberty affronting theirs!’<br /> +So spoke my monitor; but I to him,<br /> +‘Alas, and is not mine a language dead?’</p> +<h2>AMELIA, ETC.</h2> +<h3>AMELIA.</h3> +<p>Whene’er mine eyes do my Amelia greet<br /> +It is with such emotion<br /> +As when, in childhood, turning a dim street,<br /> +I first beheld the ocean.<br /> + There, where the little, bright, surf-breathing town,<br /> +That shew’d me first her beauty and the sea,<br /> +Gathers its skirts against the gorse-lit down<br /> +And scatters gardens o’er the southern lea,<br /> +Abides this Maid<br /> +Within a kind, yet sombre Mother’s shade,<br /> +Who of her daughter’s graces seems almost afraid,<br /> +Viewing them ofttimes with a scared forecast,<br /> +Caught, haply, from obscure love-peril past.<br /> +Howe’er that be,<br /> +She scants me of my right,<br /> +Is cunning careful evermore to balk<br /> +Sweet separate talk,<br /> +And fevers my delight<br /> +By frets, if, on Amelia’s cheek of peach,<br /> +I touch the notes which music cannot reach,<br /> +Bidding ‘Good-night!’<br /> +Wherefore it came that, till to-day’s dear date,<br /> +I curs’d the weary months which yet I have to wait<br /> +Ere I find heaven, one-nested with my mate.<br /> + To-day, the Mother gave,<br /> +To urgent pleas and promise to behave<br /> +As she were there, her long-besought consent<br /> +To trust Amelia with me to the grave<br /> +Where lay my once-betrothed, Millicent:<br /> +‘For,’ said she, hiding ill a moistening eye,<br /> +‘Though, Sir, the word sounds hard,<br /> +God makes as if He least knew how to guard<br /> +The treasure He loves best, simplicity.’<br /> + And there Amelia stood, for fairness shewn<br /> +Like a young apple-tree, in flush’d array<br /> +Of white and ruddy flow’r, auroral, gay,<br /> +With chilly blue the maiden branch between;<br /> +And yet to look on her moved less the mind<br /> +To say ‘How beauteous!’ than ‘How good and kind!’<br /> + And so we went alone<br /> +By walls o’er which the lilac’s numerous plume<br /> +Shook down perfume;<br /> +Trim plots close blown<br /> +With daisies, in conspicuous myriads seen,<br /> +Engross’d each one<br /> +With single ardour for her spouse, the sun;<br /> +Garths in their glad array<br /> +Of white and ruddy branch, auroral, gay,<br /> +With azure chill the maiden flow’r between;<br /> +Meadows of fervid green,<br /> +With sometime sudden prospect of untold<br /> +Cowslips, like chance-found gold;<br /> +And broadcast buttercups at joyful gaze,<br /> +Rending the air with praise,<br /> +Like the six-hundred-thousand-voiced shout<br /> +Of Jacob camp’d in Midian put to rout;<br /> +Then through the Park,<br /> +Where Spring to livelier gloom<br /> +Quicken’d the cedars dark,<br /> +And, ’gainst the clear sky cold,<br /> +Which shone afar<br /> +Crowded with sunny alps oracular,<br /> +Great chestnuts raised themselves abroad like cliffs of bloom;<br /> +And everywhere,<br /> +Amid the ceaseless rapture of the lark,<br /> +With wonder new<br /> +We caught the solemn voice of single air,<br /> +‘Cuckoo!’<br /> + And when Amelia, ’bolden’d, saw and heard<br /> +How bravely sang the bird,<br /> +And all things in God’s bounty did rejoice,<br /> +She who, her Mother by, spake seldom word,<br /> +Did her charm’d silence doff,<br /> +And, to my happy marvel, her dear voice<br /> +Went as a clock does, when the pendulum’s off.<br /> +Ill Monarch of man’s heart the Maiden who<br /> +Does not aspire to be High-Pontiff too!<br /> +So she repeated soft her Poet’s line,<br /> +‘By grace divine,<br /> +Not otherwise, O Nature, are we thine!’<br /> +And I, up the bright steep she led me, trod,<br /> +And the like thought pursued<br /> +With, ‘What is gladness without gratitude,<br /> +And where is gratitude without a God?’<br /> +And of delight, the guerdon of His laws,<br /> +She spake, in learned mood;<br /> +And I, of Him loved reverently, as Cause,<br /> +Her sweetly, as Occasion of all good.<br /> +Nor were we shy,<br /> +For souls in heaven that be<br /> +May talk of heaven without hypocrisy.<br /> + And now, when we drew near<br /> +The low, gray Church, in its sequester’d dell,<br /> +A shade upon me fell.<br /> +Dead Millicent indeed had been most sweet,<br /> +But I how little meet<br /> +To call such graces in a Maiden mine!<br /> +A boy’s proud passion free affection blunts;<br /> +His well-meant flatteries oft are blind affronts;<br /> +And many a tear<br /> +Was Millicent’s before I, manlier, knew<br /> +That maidens shine<br /> +As diamonds do,<br /> +Which, though most clear,<br /> +Are not to be seen through;<br /> +And, if she put her virgin self aside<br /> +And sate her, crownless, at my conquering feet,<br /> +It should have bred in me humility, not pride.<br /> +Amelia had more luck than Millicent:<br /> +Secure she smiled and warm from all mischance<br /> +Or from my knowledge or my ignorance,<br /> +And glow’d content<br /> +With my—some might have thought too much—superior age,<br /> +Which seem’d the gage<br /> +Of steady kindness all on her intent.<br /> +Thus nought forebade us to be fully blent.<br /> + While, therefore, now<br /> +Her pensive footstep stirr’d<br /> +The darnell’d garden of unheedful death,<br /> +She ask’d what Millicent was like, and heard<br /> +Of eyes like her’s, and honeysuckle breath,<br /> +And of a wiser than a woman’s brow,<br /> +Yet fill’d with only woman’s love, and how<br /> +An incidental greatness character’d<br /> +Her unconsider’d ways.<br /> +But all my praise<br /> +Amelia thought too slight for Millicent,<br /> +And on my lovelier-freighted arm she leant,<br /> +For more attent;<br /> +And the tea-rose I gave,<br /> +To deck her breast, she dropp’d upon the grave.<br /> +‘And this was her’s,’ said I, decoring with a band<br /> +Of mildest pearls Amelia’s milder hand.<br /> +‘Nay, I will wear it for <i>her</i> sake,’ she said:<br /> +For dear to maidens are their rivals dead.<br /> + And so,<br /> +She seated on the black yew’s tortured root,<br /> +I on the carpet of sere shreds below,<br /> +And nigh the little mound where lay that other,<br /> +I kiss’d her lips three times without dispute,<br /> +And, with bold worship suddenly aglow,<br /> +I lifted to my lips a sandall’d foot,<br /> +And kiss’d it three times thrice without dispute.<br /> +Upon my head her fingers fell like snow,<br /> +Her lamb-like hands about my neck she wreathed.<br /> +Her arms like slumber o’er my shoulders crept,<br /> +And with her bosom, whence the azalea breathed,<br /> +She did my face full favourably smother,<br /> +To hide the heaving secret that she wept!<br /> + Now would I keep my promise to her Mother;<br /> +Now I arose, and raised her to her feet,<br /> +My best Amelia, fresh-born from a kiss,<br /> +Moth-like, full-blown in birthdew shuddering sweet,<br /> +With great, kind eyes, in whose brown shade<br /> +Bright Venus and her Baby play’d!<br /> + At inmost heart well pleased with one another,<br /> +What time the slant sun low<br /> +Through the plough’d field does each clod sharply shew,<br /> +And softly fills<br /> +With shade the dimples of our homeward hills,<br /> +With little said,<br /> +We left the ‘wilder’d garden of the dead,<br /> +And gain’d the gorse-lit shoulder of the down<br /> +That keeps the north-wind from the nestling town,<br /> +And caught, once more, the vision of the wave,<br /> +Where, on the horizon’s dip,<br /> +A many-sailed ship<br /> +Pursued alone her distant purpose grave;<br /> +And, by steep steps rock-hewn, to the dim street<br /> +I led her sacred feet;<br /> +And so the Daughter gave,<br /> +Soft, moth-like, sweet,<br /> +Showy as damask-rose and shy as musk,<br /> +Back to her Mother, anxious in the dusk.<br /> +And now ‘Good-night!’<br /> +Me shall the phantom months no more affright.<br /> +For heaven’s gates to open well waits he<br /> +Who keeps himself the key.</p> +<h3>L’ALLEGRO.</h3> +<p> Felicity!<br /> +Who ope’st to none that knocks, yet, laughing weak,<br /> +Yield’st all to Love that will not seek,<br /> +And who, though won, wilt droop and die,<br /> +Unless wide doors bespeak thee free,<br /> +How safe’s the bond of thee and me,<br /> +Since thee I cherish and defy!<br /> +Is’t Love or Friendship, Dearest, we obey?<br /> +Ah, thou art young, and I am gray;<br /> +But happy man is he who knows<br /> +How well time goes,<br /> +With no unkind intruder by,<br /> +Between such friends as thou and I!<br /> +’Twould wrong thy favour, Sweet, were I to say,<br /> +’Tis best by far,<br /> +When best things are not possible,<br /> +To make the best of those that are;<br /> +For, though it be not May,<br /> +Sure, few delights of Spring excel<br /> +The beauty of this mild September day!<br /> +So with me walk,<br /> +And view the dreaming field and bossy Autumn wood,<br /> +And how in humble russet goes<br /> +The Spouse of Honour, fair Repose,<br /> +Far from a world whence love is fled<br /> +And truth is dying because joy is dead;<br /> +And, if we hear the roaring wheel<br /> +Of God’s remoter service, public zeal,<br /> +Let us to stiller place retire<br /> +And glad admire<br /> +How, near Him, sounds of working cease<br /> +In little fervour and much peace;<br /> +And let us talk<br /> +Of holy things in happy mood,<br /> +Learnt of thy blest twin-sister, Certitude;<br /> +Or let’s about our neighbours chat,<br /> +Well praising this, less praising that,<br /> +And judging outer strangers by<br /> +Those gentle and unsanction’d lines<br /> +To which remorse of equity<br /> +Of old hath moved the School divines.<br /> +Or linger where this willow bends,<br /> +And let us, till the melody be caught,<br /> +Harken that sudden, singing thought,<br /> +On which unguess’d increase to life perchance depends.<br /> +He ne’er hears twice the same who hears<br /> +The songs of heaven’s unanimous spheres,<br /> +And this may be the song to make, at last, amends<br /> +For many sighs and boons in vain long sought!<br /> +Now, careless, let us stray, or stop<br /> +To see the partridge from the covey drop,<br /> +Or, while the evening air’s like yellow wine,<br /> +From the pure stream take out<br /> +The playful trout,<br /> +That jerks with rasping check the struggled line;<br /> +Or to the Farm, where, high on trampled stacks,<br /> +The labourers stir themselves amain<br /> +To feed with hasty sheaves of grain<br /> +The deaf’ning engine’s boisterous maw,<br /> +And snatch again,<br /> +From to-and-fro tormenting racks,<br /> +The toss’d and hustled straw;<br /> +Whilst others tend the shedded wheat<br /> +That fills yon row of shuddering sacks,<br /> +Or shift them quick, and bind them neat,<br /> +And dogs and boys with sticks<br /> +Wait, murderous, for the rats that leave the ruin’d ricks;<br /> +And, all the bags being fill’d and rank’d fivefold, they +pour<br /> +The treasure on the barn’s clean floor,<br /> +And take them back for more,<br /> +Until the whole bared harvest beauteous lies<br /> +Under our pleased and prosperous eyes.<br /> +Then let us give our idlest hour<br /> +To the world’s wisdom and its power;<br /> +Hear famous Golden-Tongue refuse<br /> +To gander sauce that’s good for goose,<br /> +Or the great Clever Party con<br /> +How many grains of sifted sand,<br /> +Heap’d, make a likely house to stand,<br /> +How many fools one Solomon.<br /> +Science, beyond all other lust<br /> +Endow’d with appetite for dust,<br /> +We glance at where it grunts, well-sty’d,<br /> +And pass upon the other side.<br /> +Pass also by, in pensive mood,<br /> +Taught by thy kind twin-sister, Certitude,<br /> +Yon puzzled crowd, whose tired intent<br /> +Hunts like a pack without a scent.<br /> +And now come home,<br /> +Where none of our mild days<br /> +Can fail, though simple, to confess<br /> +The magic of mysteriousness;<br /> +For there ’bide charming Wonders three,<br /> +Besides, Sweet, thee,<br /> +To comprehend whose commonest ways,<br /> +Ev’n could that be,<br /> +Were coward’s ’vantage and no true man’s praise.</p> +<h3>REGINA COELI.</h3> +<p>Say, did his sisters wonder what could Joseph see<br /> +In a mild, silent little Maid like thee?<br /> +And was it awful, in that narrow house,<br /> +With God for Babe and Spouse?<br /> +Nay, like thy simple, female sort, each one<br /> +Apt to find Him in Husband and in Son,<br /> +Nothing to thee came strange in this.<br /> +Thy wonder was but wondrous bliss:<br /> +Wondrous, for, though<br /> +True Virgin lives not but does know,<br /> +(Howbeit none ever yet confess’d,)<br /> +That God lies really in her breast,<br /> +Of thine He made His special nest!<br /> +And so<br /> +All mothers worship little feet,<br /> +And kiss the very ground they’ve trod;<br /> +But, ah, thy little Baby sweet<br /> +Who was indeed thy God!</p> +<h3>THE OPEN SECRET.</h3> +<p>The Heavens repeat no other Song,<br /> +And, plainly or in parable,<br /> +The Angels trust, in each man’s tongue,<br /> +The Treasure’s safety to its size.<br /> +In shameful Hell<br /> +The Lily in last corruption lies,<br /> +Where known ’tis, rotten-lily-wise,<br /> +By the strange foulness of the smell.<br /> +Earth, that, in this arcanum, spies<br /> +Proof of high kinship unconceiv’d,<br /> +By all desired and disbeliev’d,<br /> +Shews fancies, in each thing that is,<br /> +Which nothing mean, not meaning this,<br /> +Yea, does from her own law, to hint it, err,<br /> +As ’twere a trust too huge for her.<br /> +Maiden and Youth pipe wondrous clear<br /> +The tune they are the last to hear.<br /> +’Tis the strange gem in Pleasure’s cup.<br /> +Physician and Philosopher,<br /> +In search of acorns, plough it up,<br /> +But count it nothing ’mong their gains;<br /> +Nay, call it pearl, they’d answer, ‘Lo,<br /> +Blest Land where pearls as large as pumpkins grow!’<br /> +And would not even rend you for your pains.<br /> +To tell men truth, yet keep them dark<br /> +And shooting still beside the mark,<br /> +God, as in jest, gave to their wish,<br /> +The Sign of Jonah and the Fish.<br /> +’Tis the name new, on the white stone,<br /> +To none but them that have it known;<br /> +And even these can scarce believe, but cry,<br /> +‘When turn’d was Sion’s captivity,<br /> +Then were we, yea, and yet we seem<br /> +Like them that dream!’<br /> +In Spirit ’tis a punctual ray<br /> +Of peace that sheds more light than day;<br /> +In Will and Mind<br /> +’Tis the easy path so hard to find;<br /> +In Heart, a pain not to be told,<br /> +Were words mere honey, milk, and gold;<br /> +I’ the Body ’tis the bag of the bee;<br /> +In all, the present, thousandfold amends<br /> +Made to the sad, astonish’d life<br /> +Of him that leaves house, child, and wife,<br /> +And on God’s ’hest, almost despairing, wends,<br /> +As little guessing as the herd<br /> +What a strange Phoenix of a bird<br /> +Builds in this tree,<br /> +But only intending all that He intends.<br /> + To this, the Life of them that live,<br /> +If God would not, thus far, give tongue,<br /> +Ah, why did He his secret give<br /> +To one that has the gift of song?<br /> +But all He does He doubtless means,<br /> +And, if the Mystery that smites Prophets dumb<br /> +Here, to the grace-couch’d eyes of some,<br /> +Shapes to its living face the clinging shroud,<br /> +Perchance the Skies grow tired of screens,<br /> +And ’tis His Advent in the Cloud.</p> +<h3>VENUS AND DEATH.</h3> +<p>With fetters gold her captivated feet<br /> +Lay, sunny sweet;<br /> +In that palm was the poppy, Sleep; in this<br /> +The apple, Bliss;<br /> +Against the mild side of his Spouse and Mother<br /> +One small God throve, and in’t, meseem’d, another.<br /> +By these a Death-in-Life did foully breathe<br /> +Out of a face that was one grate of teeth.<br /> +Lift, O kind Angels, lift her eyelids loth,<br /> +Lest he devour her and her Godlets both!</p> +<h3>MIGNONNE.</h3> +<p>Whate’er thou dost thou’rt dear.<br /> +Uncertain troubles sanctify<br /> +That magic well-spring of the willing tear,<br /> +Thine eye.<br /> +Thy jealous fear,<br /> +With not the rustle of a rival near;<br /> +Thy careless disregard of all<br /> +My tenderest care;<br /> +Thy dumb despair<br /> +When thy keen wit my worship may construe<br /> +Into contempt of thy divinity;<br /> +They please me too!<br /> +But should it once befall<br /> +These accidental charms to disappear,<br /> +Leaving withal<br /> +Thy sometime self the same throughout the year,<br /> +So glowing, grave and shy,<br /> +Kind, talkative and dear<br /> +As now thou sitt’st to ply<br /> +The fireside tune<br /> +Of that neat engine deft at which thou sew’st<br /> +With fingers mild and foot like the new moon,<br /> +O, then what cross of any further fate<br /> +Could my content abate?<br /> +Forget, then, (but I know<br /> +Thou canst not so,)<br /> +Thy customs of some praediluvian state.<br /> +I am no Bullfinch, fair my Butterfly,<br /> +That thou should’st try<br /> +Those zigzag courses, in the welkin clear;<br /> +Nor cruel Boy that, fledd’st thou straight<br /> +Or paused, mayhap<br /> +Might catch thee, for thy colours, with his cap.</p> +<h3>ALEXANDER AND LYCON.</h3> +<p>‘What, no crown won,<br /> +These two whole years,<br /> +By man of fortitude beyond his peers,<br /> +In Thrace or Macedon?’<br /> + ‘No, none.<br /> +But what deep trouble does my Lycon feel,<br /> +And hide ’neath chat about the commonweal?’<br /> + ‘Glaucé but now the third time did again<br /> +The thing which I forbade. I had to box her ears.<br /> +’Twas ill to see her both blue eyes<br /> +Settled in tears<br /> +Despairing on the skies,<br /> +And the poor lip all pucker’d into pain;<br /> +Yet, for her sake, from kisses to refrain!’<br /> + ‘Ho, Timocles, take down<br /> +That crown.<br /> +No, not that common one for blood with extreme valour spilt,<br /> +But yonder, with the berries gilt.<br /> +’Tis, Lycon, thy just meed.<br /> +To inflict unmoved<br /> +And firm to bear the woes of the Beloved<br /> +Is fortitude indeed.’</p> +<h3>SEMELE.</h3> +<p>No praise to me!<br /> +My joy ’twas to be nothing but the glass<br /> +Thro’ which the general boon of Heaven should pass,<br /> +To focus upon thee.<br /> +Nor is’t thy blame<br /> +Thou first should’st glow, and, after, fade i’ the flame.<br /> +It takes more might<br /> +Than God has given thee, Dear, so long to feel delight.<br /> +Shall I, alas,<br /> +Reproach thee with thy change and my regret?<br /> +Blind fumblers that we be<br /> +About the portals of felicity!<br /> +The wind of words would scatter, tears would wash<br /> +Quite out the little heat<br /> +Beneath the silent and chill-seeming ash,<br /> +Perchance, still slumbering sweet.</p> +<h3><br /> +NOTES.</h3> +<p><a name="footnote29"></a><a href="#citation29">{29}</a> In +this year the middle and upper classes were disfranchised by Mr. Disraeli’s +Government, and the final<br /> +destruction of the liberties of England by the Act of 1884 rendered +inevitable.</p> +<p><a name="footnote35"></a><a href="#citation35">{35}</a> The +Alabama Treaty.</p> +<p><a name="footnote62"></a><a href="#citation62">{62}</a> This +Piece was written in the year 1874, soon after the publication of an +incendiary pamphlet by Mr. Gladstone against the English Catholics, +occasioned by the Vatican Council.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNKNOWN EROS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 13672-h.htm or 13672-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/6/7/13672 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Unknown Eros + +Author: Coventry Patmore + +Release Date: October 7, 2004 [eBook #13672] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNKNOWN EROS*** + + +This eBook was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset. + + + + + +THE UNKNOWN EROS +by Coventry Patmore. + + +PREFACE TO THIRD EDITION. + + +To this edition of "The Unknown Eros" are added all the other poems I have +written, in what I venture--because it has no other name--to call +"catalectic verse." Nearly all English metres owe their existence as +metres to "catalexis," or pause, for the time of one or more feet, and, as +a rule, the position and amount of catalexis are fixed. But the verse in +which this volume is written is catalectic par excellence, employing the +pause (as it does the rhyme) with freedom only limited by the exigencies +of poetic passion. From the time of Drummond of Hawthornden to our own, +some of the noblest flights of English poetry have been taken on the wings +of this verse; but with ordinary readers it has been more or less +discredited by the far greater number of abortive efforts, on the part +sometimes of considerable poets, to adapt it to purposes with which it +has no expressional correspondence; or to vary it by rhythmical movements +which are destructive of its character. + +Some persons, unlearned in the subject of metre, have objected to this kind +of verse that it is "lawless." But it has its laws as truly as any other. +In its highest order, the lyric or "ode," it is a tetrameter, the line +having the time of eight iambics. When it descends to narrative, or the +expression of a less-exalted strain of thought, it becomes a trimeter, +having the time of six iambics, or even a dimeter, with the time of four; +and it is allowable to vary the tetrameter "ode" by the occasional +introduction of passages in either or both of these inferior measures, but +not, I think, by the use of any other. The license to rhyme at indefinite +intervals is counterbalanced, in the writing of all poets who have employed +this metre successfully, by unusual frequency in the recurrence of the same +rhyme. For information on the generally overlooked but primarily important +function of catalexis in English verse I refer such readers as may be +curious about the subject to the Essay printed as an appendix to the later +editions of my collected poems. + +I do not pretend to have done more than very moderate justice to the +exceeding grace and dignity and the inexhaustible expressiveness of which +this kind of metre is capable; but I can say that I have never attempted to +write in it in the absence of that one justification of and prime +qualification for its use, namely, the impulse of some thought that +"voluntary moved harmonious numbers." + + COVENTRY PATMORE. +HASTINGS, 1890. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +TO THE UNKNOWN EROS, ETC. + + +PROEM. + + + +BOOK I. + + +I. SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY +II. WIND AND WAVE +III. WINTER +IV. BEATA +V. THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW +VI. TRISTITIA +VII. THE AZALEA +VIII. DEPARTURE +IX. EURYDICE +X. THE TOYS +XI. TIRED MEMORY +XII. MAGNA EST VERITAS +XIII. 1867 +XIV. 'IF I WERE DEAD' +XV. PEACE +XVI. A FAREWELL +XVII. 1880-85. +XVIII. THE TWO DESERTS +XIX. CREST AND GULF +XX. 'LET BE!' +XXI. 'FAINT YET PURSUING' +XXII. VICTORY IN DEFEAT +XVIII. REMEMBERED GRACE +XXIV. VESICA PISCIS + + + +BOOK II. + + +I. TO THE UNKNOWN EROS +II. THE CONTRACT +III. ARBOR VITAE +IV. THE STANDARDS +V. SPONSA DEI +VI. LEGEM TUAM DILEXI +VII. TO THE BODY +VIII. 'SING US ONE OF THE SONGS OF SION' +IX. DELICIAE SAPIENTIAE DE AMORE +X. THE CRY AT MIDNIGHT +XI. AURAS OF DELIGHT +XII. EROS AND PSYCHE +XIII. DE NATURA DEORUM +XIV. PSYCHE'S DISCONTENT +XV. PAIN +XVI. PROPHETS WHO CANNOT SING +XVII. THE CHILD'S PURCHASE +XVIII. DEAD LANGUAGE + + + +AMELIA, ETC. + + +AMELIA +L'ALLEGRO +REGINA COELI +THE OPEN SECRET +VENUS AND DEATH +MIGNONNE +ALEXANDER AND LYCON +SEMELE + + + + +THE UNKNOWN EROS + + + "Deliciae meae esse cum filiis hominum." + PROV. VIII. 31. + + + +PROEM. + + + 'Many speak wisely, some inerrably: +Witness the beast who talk'd that should have bray'd, +And Caiaphas that said +Expedient 'twas for all that One should die; +But what avails +When Love's right accent from their wisdom fails, +And the Truth-criers know not what they cry! +Say, wherefore thou, +As under bondage of some bitter vow, +Warblest no word, +When all the rest are shouting to be heard? +Why leave the fervid running just when Fame +'Gan whispering of thy name +Amongst the hard-pleased Judges of the Course? +Parch'd is thy crystal-flowing source? +Pierce, then, with thought's steel probe, the trodden ground, +Till passion's buried floods be found; +Intend thine eye +Into the dim and undiscover'd sky +Whose lustres are the pulsings of the heart, +And promptly, as thy trade is, watch to chart +The lonely suns, the mystic hazes and throng'd sparkles bright +That, named and number'd right +In sweet, transpicuous words, shall glow alway +With Love's three-stranded ray, +Red wrath, compassion golden, lazuline delight.' + Thus, in reproof of my despondency, +My Mentor; and thus I: + O, season strange for song! +And yet some timely power persuades my lips. +Is't England's parting soul that nerves my tongue, +As other Kingdoms, nearing their eclipse, +Have, in their latest bards, uplifted strong +The voice that was their voice in earlier days? +Is it her sudden, loud and piercing cry, +The note which those that seem too weak to sigh +Will sometimes utter just before they die? + Lo, weary of the greatness of her ways, +There lies my Land, with hasty pulse and hard, +Her ancient beauty marr'd, +And, in her cold and aimless roving sight, +Horror of light; +Sole vigour left in her last lethargy, +Save when, at bidding of some dreadful breath, +The rising death +Rolls up with force; +And then the furiously gibbering corse +Shakes, panglessly convuls'd, and sightless stares, +Whilst one Physician pours in rousing wines, +One anodynes, +And one declares +That nothing ails it but the pains of growth. + My last look loth +Is taken; and I turn, with the relief +Of knowing that my life-long hope and grief +Are surely vain, +To that unshapen time to come, when She, +A dim, heroic Nation long since dead, +The foulness of her agony forgot, +Shall all benignly shed +Through ages vast +The ghostly grace of her transfigured past +Over the present, harass'd and forlorn, +Of nations yet unborn; +And this shall be the lot +Of those who, in the bird-voice and the blast +Of her omniloquent tongue, +Have truly sung +Or greatly said, +To shew as one +With those who have best done, +And be as rays, +Thro' the still altering world, around her changeless head. + Therefore no 'plaint be mine +Of listeners none, +No hope of render'd use or proud reward, +In hasty times and hard; +But chants as of a lonely thrush's throat +At latest eve, +That does in each calm note +Both joy and grieve; +Notes few and strong and fine, +Gilt with sweet day's decline, +And sad with promise of a different sun. + 'Mid the loud concert harsh +Of this fog-folded marsh, +To me, else dumb, +Uranian Clearness, come! +Give me to breathe in peace and in surprise +The light-thrill'd ether of your rarest skies, +Till inmost absolution start +The welling in the grateful eyes, +The heaving in the heart. +Winnow with sighs +And wash away +With tears the dust and stain of clay, +Till all the Song be Thine, as beautiful as Morn, +Bedeck'd with shining clouds of scorn; +And Thou, Inspirer, deign to brood +O'er the delighted words, and call them Very Good. +This grant, Clear Spirit; and grant that I remain +Content to ask unlikely gifts in vain. + + + + + BOOK I. + + +I. SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY. + + +Well dost thou, Love, thy solemn Feast to hold +In vestal February; +Not rather choosing out some rosy day +From the rich coronet of the coming May, +When all things meet to marry! + O, quick, praevernal Power +That signall'st punctual through the sleepy mould +The Snowdrop's time to flower, +Fair as the rash oath of virginity +Which is first-love's first cry; +O, Baby Spring, +That flutter'st sudden 'neath the breast of Earth +A month before the birth; +Whence is the peaceful poignancy, +The joy contrite, +Sadder than sorrow, sweeter than delight, +That burthens now the breath of everything, +Though each one sighs as if to each alone +The cherish'd pang were known? +At dusk of dawn, on his dark spray apart, +With it the Blackbird breaks the young Day's heart; +In evening's hush +About it talks the heavenly-minded Thrush; +The hill with like remorse +Smiles to the Sun's smile in his westering course; +The fisher's drooping skiff +In yonder sheltering bay; +The choughs that call about the shining cliff; +The children, noisy in the setting ray; +Own the sweet season, each thing as it may; +Thoughts of strange kindness and forgotten peace +In me increase; +And tears arise +Within my happy, happy Mistress' eyes, +And, lo, her lips, averted from my kiss, +Ask from Love's bounty, ah, much more than bliss! + Is't the sequester'd and exceeding sweet +Of dear Desire electing his defeat? +Is't the waked Earth now to yon purpling cope +Uttering first-love's first cry, +Vainly renouncing, with a Seraph's sigh, +Love's natural hope? +Fair-meaning Earth, foredoom'd to perjury! +Behold, all-amorous May, +With roses heap'd upon her laughing brows, +Avoids thee of thy vows! +Were it for thee, with her warm bosom near, +To abide the sharpness of the Seraph's sphere? +Forget thy foolish words; +Go to her summons gay, +Thy heart with dead, wing'd Innocencies fill'd, +Ev'n as a nest with birds +After the old ones by the hawk are kill'd. + Well dost thou, Love, to celebrate +The noon of thy soft ecstasy, +Or e'er it be too late, +Or e'er the Snowdrop die! + + + +II. WIND AND WAVE. + + + The wedded light and heat, +Winnowing the witless space, +Without a let, +What are they till they beat +Against the sleepy sod, and there beget +Perchance the violet! +Is the One found, +Amongst a wilderness of as happy grace, +To make Heaven's bound; +So that in Her +All which it hath of sensitively good +Is sought and understood +After the narrow mode the mighty Heavens prefer? +She, as a little breeze +Following still Night, +Ripples the spirit's cold, deep seas +Into delight; +But, in a while, +The immeasurable smile +Is broke by fresher airs to flashes blent +With darkling discontent; +And all the subtle zephyr hurries gay, +And all the heaving ocean heaves one way, +'Tward the void sky-line and an unguess'd weal; +Until the vanward billows feel +The agitating shallows, and divine the goal, +And to foam roll, +And spread and stray +And traverse wildly, like delighted hands, +The fair and feckless sands; +And so the whole +Unfathomable and immense +Triumphing tide comes at the last to reach +And burst in wind-kiss'd splendours on the deaf'ning beach, +Where forms of children in first innocence +Laugh and fling pebbles on the rainbow'd crest +Of its untired unrest. + + + +III. WINTER. + + + I, singularly moved +To love the lovely that are not beloved, +Of all the Seasons, most +Love Winter, and to trace +The sense of the Trophonian pallor on her face. +It is not death, but plenitude of peace; +And the dim cloud that does the world enfold +Hath less the characters of dark and cold +Than warmth and light asleep, +And correspondent breathing seems to keep +With the infant harvest, breathing soft below +Its eider coverlet of snow. +Nor is in field or garden anything +But, duly look'd into, contains serene +The substance of things hoped for, in the Spring, +And evidence of Summer not yet seen. +On every chance-mild day +That visits the moist shaw, +The honeysuckle, 'sdaining to be crost +In urgence of sweet life by sleet or frost, +'Voids the time's law +With still increase +Of leaflet new, and little, wandering spray; +Often, in sheltering brakes, +As one from rest disturb'd in the first hour, +Primrose or violet bewilder'd wakes, +And deems 'tis time to flower; +Though not a whisper of her voice he hear, +The buried bulb does know +The signals of the year, +And hails far Summer with his lifted spear. +The gorse-field dark, by sudden, gold caprice, +Turns, here and there, into a Jason's fleece; +Lilies, that soon in Autumn slipp'd their gowns of green, +And vanish'd into earth, +And came again, ere Autumn died, to birth, +Stand full-array'd, amidst the wavering shower, +And perfect for the Summer, less the flower; +In nook of pale or crevice of crude bark, +Thou canst not miss, +If close thou spy, to mark +The ghostly chrysalis, +That, if thou touch it, stirs in its dream dark; +And the flush'd Robin, in the evenings hoar, +Does of Love's Day, as if he saw it, sing; +But sweeter yet than dream or song of Summer or Spring +Are Winter's sometime smiles, that seem to well +From infancy ineffable; +Her wandering, languorous gaze, +So unfamiliar, so without amaze, +On the elemental, chill adversity, +The uncomprehended rudeness; and her sigh +And solemn, gathering tear, +And look of exile from some great repose, the sphere +Of ether, moved by ether only, or +By something still more tranquil. + + + +IV. BEATA. + + + Of infinite Heaven the rays, +Piercing some eyelet in our cavern black, +Ended their viewless track +On thee to smite +Solely, as on a diamond stalactite, +And in mid-darkness lit a rainbow's blaze, +Wherein the absolute Reason, Power, and Love, +That erst could move +Mainly in me but toil and weariness, +Renounced their deadening might, +Renounced their undistinguishable stress +Of withering white, +And did with gladdest hues my spirit caress, +Nothing of Heaven in thee showing infinite, +Save the delight. + + + +V. THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW. + + + Perchance she droops within the hollow gulf +Which the great wave of coming pleasure draws, +Not guessing the glad cause! +Ye Clouds that on your endless journey go, +Ye Winds that westward flow, +Thou heaving Sea +That heav'st 'twixt her and me, +Tell her I come; +Then only sigh your pleasure, and be dumb; +For the sweet secret of our either self +We know. +Tell her I come, +And let her heart be still'd. +One day's controlled hope, and then one more, +And on the third our lives shall be fulfill'd! +Yet all has been before: +Palm placed in palm, twin smiles, and words astray. +What other should we say? +But shall I not, with ne'er a sign, perceive, +Whilst her sweet hands I hold, +The myriad threads and meshes manifold +Which Love shall round her weave: +The pulse in that vein making alien pause +And varying beats from this; +Down each long finger felt, a differing strand +Of silvery welcome bland; +And in her breezy palm +And silken wrist, +Beneath the touch of my like numerous bliss +Complexly kiss'd, +A diverse and distinguishable calm? +What should we say! +It all has been before; +And yet our lives shall now be first fulfill'd, +And into their summ'd sweetness fall distill'd +One sweet drop more; +One sweet drop more, in absolute increase +Of unrelapsing peace. + O, heaving Sea, +That heav'st as if for bliss of her and me, +And separatest not dear heart from heart, +Though each 'gainst other beats too far apart, +For yet awhile +Let it not seem that I behold her smile. +O, weary Love, O, folded to her breast, +Love in each moment years and years of rest, +Be calm, as being not. +Ye oceans of intolerable delight, +The blazing photosphere of central Night, +Be ye forgot. +Terror, thou swarthy Groom of Bride-bliss coy, +Let me not see thee toy. +O, Death, too tardy with thy hope intense +Of kisses close beyond conceit of sense; +O, Life, too liberal, while to take her hand +Is more of hope than heart can understand; +Perturb my golden patience not with joy, +Nor, through a wish, profane +The peace that should pertain +To him who does by her attraction move. +Has all not been before? +One day's controlled hope, and one again, +And then the third, and ye shall have the rein, +O Life, Death, Terror, Love! +But soon let your unrestful rapture cease, +Ye flaming Ethers thin, +Condensing till the abiding sweetness win +One sweet drop more; +One sweet drop more in the measureless increase +Of honied peace. + + + +VI. TRISTITIA. + + + Darling, with hearts conjoin'd in such a peace +That Hope, so not to cease, +Must still gaze back, +And count, along our love's most happy track, +The landmarks of like inconceiv'd increase, +Promise me this: +If thou alone should'st win +God's perfect bliss, +And I, beguiled by gracious-seeming sin, +Say, loving too much thee, +Love's last goal miss, +And any vows may then have memory, +Never, by grief for what I bear or lack, +To mar thy joyance of heav'n's jubilee. +Promise me this; +For else I should be hurl'd, +Beyond just doom +And by thy deed, to Death's interior gloom, +From the mild borders of the banish'd world +Wherein they dwell +Who builded not unalterable fate +On pride, fraud, envy, cruel lust, or hate; +Yet loved too laxly sweetness and heart's ease, +And strove the creature more than God to please. + For such as these +Loss without measure, sadness without end! +Yet not for this do thou disheaven'd be +With thinking upon me. +Though black, when scann'd from heaven's surpassing bright, +This might mean light, +Foil'd with the dim days of mortality. +For God is everywhere. +Go down to deepest Hell, and He is there, +And, as a true but quite estranged Friend, +He works, 'gainst gnashing teeth of devilish ire, +With love deep hidden lest it be blasphemed, +If possible, to blend +Ease with the pangs of its inveterate fire; +Yea, in the worst +And from His Face most wilfully accurst +Of souls in vain redeem'd, +He does with potions of oblivion kill +Remorse of the lost Love that helps them still. + Apart from these, +Near the sky-borders of that banish'd world, +Wander pale spirits among willow'd leas, +Lost beyond measure, sadden'd without end, +But since, while erring most, retaining yet +Some ineffectual fervour of regret, +Retaining still such weal +As spurned Lovers feel, +Preferring far to all the world's delight +Their loss so infinite, +Or Poets, when they mark +In the clouds dun +A loitering flush of the long sunken sun, +And turn away with tears into the dark. + Know, Dear, these are not mine +But Wisdom's words, confirmed by divine +Doctors and Saints, though fitly seldom heard +Save in their own prepense-occulted word, +Lest fools be fool'd the further by false hope, +And wrest sweet knowledge to their own decline; +And (to approve I speak within my scope) +The Mistress of that dateless exile gray +Is named in surpliced Schools Tristitia. + But, O, my Darling, look in thy heart and see +How unto me, +Secured of my prime care, thy happy state, +In the most unclean cell +Of sordid Hell, +And worried by the most ingenious hate, +It never could be anything but well, +Nor from my soul, full of thy sanctity, +Such pleasure die +As the poor harlot's, in whose body stirs +The innocent life that is and is not hers: +Unless, alas, this fount of my relief +By thy unheavenly grief +Were closed. +So, with a consecrating kiss +And hearts made one in past all previous peace, +And on one hope reposed, +Promise me this! + + + +VII. THE AZALEA. + + + There, where the sun shines first +Against our room, +She train'd the gold Azalea, whose perfume +She, Spring-like, from her breathing grace dispersed. +Last night the delicate crests of saffron bloom, +For this their dainty likeness watch'd and nurst, +Were just at point to burst. +At dawn I dream'd, O God, that she was dead, +And groan'd aloud upon my wretched bed, +And waked, ah, God, and did not waken her, +But lay, with eyes still closed, +Perfectly bless'd in the delicious sphere +By which I knew so well that she was near, +My heart to speechless thankfulness composed. +Till 'gan to stir +A dizzy somewhat in my troubled head-- +It was the azalea's breath, and she was dead! +The warm night had the lingering buds disclosed, +And I had fall'n asleep with to my breast +A chance-found letter press'd +In which she said, +'So, till to-morrow eve, my Own, adieu! +Parting's well-paid with soon again to meet, +Soon in your arms to feel so small and sweet, +Sweet to myself that am so sweet to you!' + + + +VIII. DEPARTURE. + + + It was not like your great and gracious ways! +Do you, that have nought other to lament, +Never, my Love, repent +Of how, that July afternoon, +You went, +With sudden, unintelligible phrase, +And frighten'd eye, +Upon your journey of so many days, +Without a single kiss, or a good-bye? +I knew, indeed, that you were parting soon; +And so we sate, within the low sun's rays, +You whispering to me, for your voice was weak, +Your harrowing praise. +Well, it was well, +To hear you such things speak, +And I could tell +What made your eyes a growing gloom of love, +As a warm South-wind sombres a March grove. +And it was like your great and gracious ways +To turn your talk on daily things, my Dear, +Lifting the luminous, pathetic lash +To let the laughter flash, +Whilst I drew near, +Because you spoke so low that I could scarcely hear. +But all at once to leave me at the last, +More at the wonder than the loss aghast, +With huddled, unintelligible phrase, +And frighten'd eye, +And go your journey of all days +With not one kiss, or a good-bye, +And the only loveless look the look with which you pass'd: +'Twas all unlike your great and gracious ways. + + + +IX. EURYDICE. + + + Is this the portent of the day nigh past, +And of a restless grave +O'er which the eternal sadness gathers fast; +Or but the heaped wave +Of some chance, wandering tide, +Such as that world of awe +Whose circuit, listening to a foreign law, +Conjunctures ours at unguess'd dates and wide, +Does in the Spirit's tremulous ocean draw, +To pass unfateful on, and so subside? +Thee, whom ev'n more than Heaven loved I have, +And yet have not been true +Even to thee, +I, dreaming, night by night, seek now to see, +And, in a mortal sorrow, still pursue +Thro' sordid streets and lanes +And houses brown and bare +And many a haggard stair +Ochrous with ancient stains, +And infamous doors, opening on hapless rooms, +In whose unhaunted glooms +Dead pauper generations, witless of the sun, +Their course have run; +And ofttimes my pursuit +Is check'd of its dear fruit +By things brimful of hate, my kith and kin, +Furious that I should keep +Their forfeit power to weep, +And mock, with living fear, their mournful malice thin. +But ever, at the last, my way I win +To where, with perfectly sad patience, nurst +By sorry comfort of assured worst, +Ingrain'd in fretted cheek and lips that pine, +On pallet poor +Thou lyest, stricken sick, +Beyond love's cure, +By all the world's neglect, but chiefly mine. +Then sweetness, sweeter than my tongue can tell, +Does in my bosom well, +And tears come free and quick +And more and more abound +For piteous passion keen at having found, +After exceeding ill, a little good; +A little good +Which, for the while, +Fleets with the current sorrow of the blood, +Though no good here has heart enough to smile. + + + +X. THE TOYS. + + + My little Son, who look'd from thoughtful eyes +And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise, +Having my law the seventh time disobey'd, +I struck him, and dismiss'd +With hard words and unkiss'd, +His Mother, who was patient, being dead. +Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, +I visited his bed, +But found him slumbering deep, +With darken'd eyelids, and their lashes yet +From his late sobbing wet. +And I, with moan, +Kissing away his tears, left others of my own; +For, on a table drawn beside his head, +He had put, within his reach, +A box of counters and a red-vein'd stone, +A piece of glass abraded by the beach +And six or seven shells, +A bottle with bluebells +And two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art, +To comfort his sad heart. +So when that night I pray'd +To God, I wept, and said: +Ah, when at last we lie with tranced breath, +Not vexing Thee in death, +And Thou rememberest of what toys +We made our joys, +How weakly understood, +Thy great commanded good, +Then, fatherly not less +Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay, +Thou'lt leave Thy wrath, and say, +'I will be sorry for their childishness.' + + + +XI. TIRED MEMORY. + + + The stony rock of death's insensibility +Well'd yet awhile with honey of thy love +And then was dry; +Nor could thy picture, nor thine empty glove, +Nor all thy kind, long letters, nor the band +Which really spann'd +Thy body chaste and warm, +Thenceforward move +Upon the stony rock their wearied charm. +At last, then, thou wast dead. +Yet would I not despair, +But wrought my daily task, and daily said +Many and many a fond, unfeeling prayer, +To keep my vows of faith to thee from harm. +In vain. +'For 'tis,' I said, 'all one, +The wilful faith, which has no joy or pain, +As if 'twere none.' +Then look'd I miserably round +If aught of duteous love were left undone, +And nothing found. +But, kneeling in a Church, one Easter-Day, +It came to me to say: +'Though there is no intelligible rest, +In Earth or Heaven, +For me, but on her breast, +I yield her up, again to have her given, +Or not, as, Lord, Thou wilt, and that for aye.' +And the same night, in slumber lying, +I, who had dream'd of thee as sad and sick and dying, +And only so, nightly for all one year, +Did thee, my own most Dear, +Possess, +In gay, celestial beauty nothing coy, +And felt thy soft caress +With heretofore unknown reality of joy. +But, in our mortal air, +None thrives for long upon the happiest dream, +And fresh despair +Bade me seek round afresh for some extreme +Of unconceiv'd, interior sacrifice +Whereof the smoke might rise +To God, and 'mind him that one pray'd below. +And so, +In agony, I cried: +'My Lord, if thy strange will be this, +That I should crucify my heart, +Because my love has also been my pride, +I do submit, if I saw how, to bliss +Wherein She has no part.' +And I was heard, +And taken at my own remorseless word. +O, my most Dear, +Was't treason, as I fear? +'Twere that, and worse, to plead thy veiled mind, +Kissing thy babes, and murmuring in mine ear, +'Thou canst not be +Faithful to God, and faithless unto me!' +Ah, prophet kind! +I heard, all dumb and blind +With tears of protest; and I cannot see +But faith was broken. Yet, as I have said, +My heart was dead, +Dead of devotion and tired memory, +When a strange grace of thee +In a fair stranger, as I take it, bred +To her some tender heed, +Most innocent +Of purpose therewith blent, +And pure of faith, I think, to thee; yet such +That the pale reflex of an alien love, +So vaguely, sadly shown, +Did her heart touch +Above +All that, till then, had woo'd her for its own. +And so the fear, which is love's chilly dawn, +Flush'd faintly upon lids that droop'd like thine, +And made me weak, +By thy delusive likeness doubly drawn, +And Nature's long suspended breath of flame +Persuading soft, and whispering Duty's name, +Awhile to smile and speak +With this thy Sister sweet, and therefore mine; +Thy Sister sweet, +Who bade the wheels to stir +Of sensitive delight in the poor brain, +Dead of devotion and tired memory, +So that I lived again, +And, strange to aver, +With no relapse into the void inane, +For thee; +But (treason was't?) for thee and also her. + + + +XII. MAGNA EST VERITAS. + + + Here, in this little Bay, +Full of tumultuous life and great repose, +Where, twice a day, +The purposeless, glad ocean comes and goes, +Under high cliffs, and far from the huge town, +I sit me down. +For want of me the world's course will not fail: +When all its work is done, the lie shall rot; +The truth is great, and shall prevail, +When none cares whether it prevail or not. + + + +XIII. 1867. {29} + + + In the year of the great crime, +When the false English Nobles and their Jew, +By God demented, slew +The Trust they stood twice pledged to keep from wrong, +One said, Take up thy Song, +That breathes the mild and almost mythic time +Of England's prime! +But I, Ah, me, +The freedom of the few +That, in our free Land, were indeed the free, +Can song renew? +Ill singing 'tis with blotting prison-bars, +How high soe'er, betwixt us and the stars; +Ill singing 'tis when there are none to hear; +And days are near +When England shall forget +The fading glow which, for a little while, +Illumes her yet, +The lovely smile +That grows so faint and wan, +Her people shouting in her dying ear, +Are not two daws worth two of any swan! + Ye outlaw'd Best, who yet are bright +With the sunken light, +Whose common style +Is Virtue at her gracious ease, +The flower of olden sanctities, +Ye haply trust, by love's benignant guile, +To lure the dark and selfish brood +To their own hated good; +Ye haply dream +Your lives shall still their charmful sway sustain, +Unstifled by the fever'd steam +That rises from the plain. +Know, 'twas the force of function high, +In corporate exercise, and public awe +Of Nature's, Heaven's, and England's Law +That Best, though mix'd with Bad, should reign, +Which kept you in your sky! +But, when the sordid Trader caught +The loose-held sceptre from your hands distraught, +And soon, to the Mechanic vain, +Sold the proud toy for nought, +Your charm was broke, your task was sped, +Your beauty, with your honour, dead, +And though you still are dreaming sweet +Of being even now not less +Than Gods and Goddesses, ye shall not long so cheat +Your hearts of their due heaviness. +Go, get you for your evil watching shriven! +Leave to your lawful Master's itching hands +Your unking'd lands, +But keep, at least, the dignity +Of deigning not, for his smooth use, to be, +Voteless, the voted delegates +Of his strange interests, loves and hates. +In sackcloth, or in private strife +With private ill, ye may please Heaven, +And soothe the coming pangs of sinking life; +And prayer perchance may win +A term to God's indignant mood +And the orgies of the multitude, +Which now begin; +But do not hope to wave the silken rag +Of your unsanction'd flag, +And so to guide +The great ship, helmless on the swelling tide +Of that presumptuous Sea, +Unlit by sun or moon, yet inly bright +With lights innumerable that give no light, +Flames of corrupted will and scorn of right, +Rejoicing to be free. + And, now, because the dark comes on apace +When none can work for fear, +And Liberty in every Land lies slain, +And the two Tyrannies unchallenged reign, +And heavy prophecies, suspended long +At supplication of the righteous few, +And so discredited, to fulfilment throng, +Restrain'd no more by faithful prayer or tear, +And the dread baptism of blood seems near +That brings to the humbled Earth the Time of Grace, +Breathless be song, +And let Christ's own look through +The darkness, suddenly increased, +To the gray secret lingering in the East. + + + +XIV. 'IF I WERE DEAD.' + + + 'If I were dead, you'd sometimes say, Poor Child!' +The dear lips quiver'd as they spake, +And the tears brake +From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled. +Poor Child, poor Child! +I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song. +It is not true that Love will do no wrong. +Poor Child! +And did you think, when you so cried and smiled, +How I, in lonely nights, should lie awake, +And of those words your full avengers make? +Poor Child, poor Child! +And now, unless it be +That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee, +O God, have Thou no mercy upon me! +Poor Child! + + + +XV. PEACE. + + + O England, how hast thou forgot, +In dullard care for undisturb'd increase +Of gold, which profits not, +The gain which once thou knew'st was for thy peace! +Honour is peace, the peace which does accord +Alone with God's glad word: +'My peace I send you, and I send a sword.' +O England, how hast thou forgot, +How fear'st the things which make for joy, not fear, +Confronted near. +Hard days? 'Tis what the pamper'd seek to buy +With their most willing gold in weary lands. +Loss and pain risk'd? What sport but understands +These for incitements! Suddenly to die, +With conscience a blurr'd scroll? +The sunshine dreaming upon Salmon's height +Is not so sweet and white +As the most heretofore sin-spotted soul +That darts to its delight +Straight from the absolution of a faithful fight. +Myriads of homes unloosen'd of home's bond, +And fill'd with helpless babes and harmless women fond? +Let those whose pleasant chance +Took them, like me, among the German towns, +After the war that pluck'd the fangs from France, +With me pronounce +Whether the frequent black, which then array'd +Child, wife, and maid, +Did most to magnify the sombreness of grief, +Or add the beauty of a staid relief +And freshening foil +To cheerful-hearted Honour's ready smile! + Beneath the heroic sun +Is there then none +Whose sinewy wings by choice do fly +In the fine mountain-air of public obloquy, +To tell the sleepy mongers of false ease +That war's the ordained way of all alive, +And therein with goodwill to dare and thrive +Is profit and heart's peace? + But in his heart the fool now saith: +'The thoughts of Heaven were past all finding out, +Indeed, if it should rain +Intolerable woes upon our Land again, +After so long a drought!' + 'Will a kind Providence our vessel whelm, +With such a pious Pilot at the helm?' + 'Or let the throats be cut of pretty sheep +That care for nought but pasture rich and deep?' + 'Were 't Evangelical of God to deal so foul a blow +At people who hate Turks and Papists so?' + 'What, make or keep +A tax for ship and gun, +When 'tis full three to one +Yon bully but intends +To beat our friends?' + 'Let's put aside +Our costly pride. +Our appetite's not gone +Because we've learn'd to doff +Our caps, where we were used to keep them on.' + 'If times get worse, +We've money in our purse, +And Patriots that know how, let who will scoff, +To buy our perils off. +Yea, blessed in our midst +Art thou who lately didst, +So cheap, +The old bargain of the Saxon with the Dane.' {35} + Thus in his heart the fool now saith; +And, lo, our trusted leaders trust fool's luck, +Which, like the whale's 'mazed chine, +When they thereon were mulling of their wine, +Will some day duck. + Remnant of Honour, brooding in the dark +Over your bitter cark, +Staring, as Rispah stared, astonied seven days, +Upon the corpses of so many sons, +Who loved her once, +Dead in the dim and lion-haunted ways, +Who could have dreamt +That times should come like these! +Prophets, indeed, taught lies when we were young, +And people loved to have it so; +For they teach well who teach their scholars' tongue! +But that the foolish both should gaze, +With feeble, fascinated face, +Upon the wan crest of the coming woe, +The billow of earthquake underneath the seas, +And sit at ease, +Or stand agape, +Without so much as stepping back to 'scape, +Mumbling, 'Perchance we perish if we stay: +'Tis certain wear of shoes to stir away!' +Who could have dreamt +That times should come like these! +Remnant of Honour, tongue-tied with contempt, +Consider; you are strong yet, if you please. +A hundred just men up, and arm'd but with a frown, +May hoot a hundred thousand false loons down, +Or drive them any way like geese. +But to sit silent now is to suborn +The common villainy you scorn. +In the dark hour +When phrases are in power, +And nought's to choose between +The thing which is not and which is not seen, +One fool, with lusty lungs, +Does what a hundred wise, who hate and hold their tongues, +Shall ne'er undo. +In such an hour, +When eager hands are fetter'd and too few, +And hearts alone have leave to bleed, +Speak; for a good word then is a good deed. + + + +XVI. A FAREWELL. + + + With all my will, but much against my heart, +We two now part. +My Very Dear, +Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear. +It needs no art, +With faint, averted feet +And many a tear, +In our opposed paths to persevere. +Go thou to East, I West. +We will not say +There's any hope, it is so far away. +But, O, my Best, +When the one darling of our widowhead, +The nursling Grief, +Is dead, +And no dews blur our eyes +To see the peach-bloom come in evening skies, +Perchance we may, +Where now this night is day, +And even through faith of still averted feet, +Making full circle of our banishment, +Amazed meet; +The bitter journey to the bourne so sweet +Seasoning the termless feast of our content +With tears of recognition never dry. + + + +XVII. 1880-85. + + + Stand by, +Ye Wise, by whom Heav'n rules! +Your kingly hands suit not the hangman's tools. +When God has doom'd a glorious Past to die, +Are there no knaves and fools? +For ages yet to come your kind shall count for nought. +Smoke of the strife of other Powers +Than ours, +And tongues inscrutable with fury fraught +'Wilder the sky, +Till the far good which none can guess be wrought. +Stand by! +Since tears are vain, here let us rest and laugh, +But not too loudly; for the brave time's come, +When Best may not blaspheme the Bigger Half, +And freedom for our sort means freedom to be dumb. + Lo, how the dross and draff +Jeer up at us, and shout, +'The Day is ours, the Night is theirs!' +And urge their rout +Where the wild dawn of rising Tartarus flares. +Yon strives their Leader, lusting to be seen. +His leprosy's so perfect that men call him clean! +Listen the long, sincere, and liberal bray +Of the earnest Puller at another's hay +'Gainst aught that dares to tug the other way, +Quite void of fears +With all that noise of ruin round his ears! +Yonder the people cast their caps o'erhead, +And swear the threaten'd doom is ne'er to dread +That's come, though not yet past. +All front the horror and are none aghast; +Brag of their full-blown rights and liberties, +Nor once surmise +When each man gets his due the Nation dies; +Nay, still shout 'Progress!' as if seven plagues +Should take the laggard who would stretch his legs. +Forward! glad rush of Gergesenian swine; +You've gain'd the hill-top, but there's yet the brine. +Forward! to meet the welcome of the waves +That mount to 'whelm the freedom which enslaves. +Forward! bad corpses turn into good dung, +To feed strange futures beautiful and young. +Forward! God speed ye down the damn'd decline, +And grant ye the Fool's true good, in abject ruin's gulf +As the Wise see him so to see himself! + Ah, Land once mine, +That seem'd to me too sweetly wise, +Too sternly fair for aught that dies, +Past is thy proud and pleasant state, +That recent date +When, strong and single, in thy sovereign heart, +The thrones of thinking, hearing, sight, +The cunning hand, the knotted thew +Of lesser powers that heave and hew, +And each the smallest beneficial part, +And merest pore of breathing, beat, +Full and complete, +The great pulse of thy generous might, +Equal in inequality, +That soul of joy in low and high; +When not a churl but felt the Giant's heat, +Albeit he simply call'd it his, +Flush in his common labour with delight, +And not a village-Maiden's kiss +But was for this +More sweet, +And not a sorrow but did lightlier sigh, +And for its private self less greet, +The whilst that other so majestic self stood by! +Integrity so vast could well afford +To wear in working many a stain, +To pillory the cobbler vain +And license madness in a lord. +On that were all men well agreed; +And, if they did a thing, +Their strength was with them in their deed, +And from amongst them came the shout of a king! + But, once let traitor coward meet, +Not Heaven itself can keep its feet. +Come knave who said to dastard, 'Lo, +The Deluge!' which but needed 'No!' +For all the Atlantic's threatening roar, +If men would bravely understand, +Is softly check'd for evermore +By a firm bar of sand. +But, dastard listening knave, who said, +''Twere juster were the Giant dead, +That so yon bawlers may not miss +To vote their own pot-belly'd bliss,' +All that is past! +We saw the slaying, and were not aghast. +But ne'er a sun, on village Groom and Bride, +Albeit they guess not how it is, +At Easter or at Whitsuntide, +But shines less gay for this! + + + +XVIII. THE TWO DESERTS. + + + Not greatly moved with awe am I +To learn that we may spy +Five thousand firmaments beyond our own. +The best that's known +Of the heavenly bodies does them credit small. +View'd close, the Moon's fair ball +Is of ill objects worst, +A corpse in Night's highway, naked, fire-scarr'd, accurst; +And now they tell +That the Sun is plainly seen to boil and burst +Too horribly for hell. +So, judging from these two, +As we must do, +The Universe, outside our living Earth, +Was all conceiv'd in the Creator's mirth, +Forecasting at the time Man's spirit deep, +To make dirt cheap. +Put by the Telescope! +Better without it man may see, +Stretch'd awful in the hush'd midnight, +The ghost of his eternity. +Give me the nobler glass that swells to the eye +The things which near us lie, +Till Science rapturously hails, +In the minutest water-drop, +A torment of innumerable tails. +These at the least do live. +But rather give +A mind not much to pry +Beyond our royal-fair estate +Betwixt these deserts blank of small and great. +Wonder and beauty our own courtiers are, +Pressing to catch our gaze, +And out of obvious ways +Ne'er wandering far. + + + +XIX. CREST AND GULF. + + + Much woe that man befalls +Who does not run when sent, nor come when Heaven calls; +But whether he serve God, or his own whim, +Not matters, in the end, to any one but him; +And he as soon +Shall map the other side of the Moon, +As trace what his own deed, +In the next chop of the chance gale, shall breed. +This he may know: +His good or evil seed +Is like to grow, +For its first harvest, quite to contraries: +The father wise +Has still the hare-brain'd brood; +'Gainst evil, ill example better works than good; +The poet, fanning his mild flight +At a most keen and arduous height, +Unveils the tender heavens to horny human eyes +Amidst ingenious blasphemies. +Wouldst raise the poor, in Capuan luxury sunk? +The Nation lives but whilst its Lords are drunk! +Or spread Heav'n's partial gifts o'er all, like dew? +The Many's weedy growth withers the gracious Few! +Strange opposites, from those, again, shall rise. +Join, then, if thee it please, the bitter jest +Of mankind's progress; all its spectral race +Mere impotence of rest, +The heaving vain of life which cannot cease from self, +Crest altering still to gulf +And gulf to crest +In endless chace, +That leaves the tossing water anchor'd in its place! +Ah, well does he who does but stand aside, +Sans hope or fear, +And marks the crest and gulf in station sink and rear, +And prophesies 'gainst trust in such a tide: +For he sometimes is prophet, heavenly taught, +Whose message is that he sees only nought. + Nathless, discern'd may be, +By listeners at the doors of destiny, +The fly-wheel swift and still +Of God's incessant will, +Mighty to keep in bound, tho' powerless to quell, +The amorous and vehement drift of man's herd to hell. + + + +XX. 'LET BE!' + + + Ah, yes; we tell the good and evil trees +By fruits: But how tell these? +Who does not know +That good and ill +Are done in secret still, +And that which shews is verily but show! +How high of heart is one, and one how sweet of mood: +But not all height is holiness, +Nor every sweetness good; +And grace will sometimes lurk where who could guess? +The Critic of his kind, +Dealing to each his share, +With easy humour, hard to bear, +May not impossibly have in him shrined, +As in a gossamer globe or thickly padded pod, +Some small seed dear to God. +Haply yon wretch, so famous for his falls, +Got them beneath the Devil-defended walls +Of some high Virtue he had vow'd to win; +And that which you and I +Call his besetting sin +Is but the fume of his peculiar fire +Of inmost contrary desire, +And means wild willingness for her to die, +Dash'd with despondence of her favour sweet; +He fiercer fighting, in his worst defeat, +Than I or you, +That only courteous greet +Where he does hotly woo, +Did ever fight, in our best victory. +Another is mistook +Through his deceitful likeness to his look! +Let be, let be: +Why should I clear myself, why answer thou for me? +That shaft of slander shot +Miss'd only the right blot. +I see the shame +They cannot see: +'Tis very just they blame +The thing that's not. + + + +XXI. 'FAINT YET PURSUING.' + + + Heroic Good, target for which the young +Dream in their dreams that every bow is strung, +And, missing, sigh +Unfruitful, or as disbelievers die, +Thee having miss'd, I will not so revolt, +But lowlier shoot my bolt, +And lowlier still, if still I may not reach, +And my proud stomach teach +That less than highest is good, and may be high. +An even walk in life's uneven way, +Though to have dreamt of flight and not to fly +Be strange and sad, +Is not a boon that's given to all who pray. +If this I had +I'd envy none! +Nay, trod I straight for one +Year, month or week, +Should Heaven withdraw, and Satan me amerce +Of power and joy, still would I seek +Another victory with a like reverse; +Because the good of victory does not die, +As dies the failure's curse, +And what we have to gain +Is, not one battle, but a weary life's campaign. +Yet meaner lot being sent +Should more than me content; +Yea, if I lie +Among vile shards, though born for silver wings, +In the strong flight and feathers gold +Of whatsoever heavenward mounts and sings +I must by admiration so comply +That there I should my own delight behold. +Yea, though I sin each day times seven, +And dare not lift the fearfullest eyes to Heaven, +Thanks must I give +Because that seven times are not eight or nine, +And that my darkness is all mine, +And that I live +Within this oak-shade one more minute even, +Hearing the winds their Maker magnify. + + + +XXII. VICTORY IN DEFEAT. + + + Ah, God, alas, +How soon it came to pass +The sweetness melted from thy barbed hook +Which I so simply took; +And I lay bleeding on the bitter land, +Afraid to stir against thy least command, +But losing all my pleasant life-blood, whence +Force should have been heart's frailty to withstand. +Life is not life at all without delight, +Nor has it any might; +And better than the insentient heart and brain +Is sharpest pain; +And better for the moment seems it to rebel, +If the great Master, from his lifted seat, +Ne'er whispers to the wearied servant 'Well!' +Yet what returns of love did I endure, +When to be pardon'd seem'd almost more sweet +Than aye to have been pure! +But day still faded to disastrous night, +And thicker darkness changed to feebler light, +Until forgiveness, without stint renew'd, +Was now no more with loving tears imbued, +Vowing no more offence. +Not less to thine Unfaithful didst thou cry, +'Come back, poor Child; be all as 'twas before.' +But I, +'No, no; I will not promise any more! +Yet, when I feel my hour is come to die, +And so I am secured of continence, +Then may I say, though haply then in vain, +"My only, only Love, O, take me back again!"' + Thereafter didst thou smite +So hard that, for a space, +Uplifted seem'd Heav'n's everlasting door, +And I indeed the darling of thy grace. +But, in some dozen changes of the moon, +A bitter mockery seem'd thy bitter boon. +The broken pinion was no longer sore. +Again, indeed, I woke +Under so dread a stroke +That all the strength it left within my heart +Was just to ache and turn, and then to turn and ache, +And some weak sign of war unceasingly to make. +And here I lie, +With no one near to mark, +Thrusting Hell's phantoms feebly in the dark, +And still at point more utterly to die. +O God, how long! +Put forth indeed thy powerful right hand, +While time is yet, +Or never shall I see the blissful land! + Thus I: then God, in pleasant speech and strong, +(Which soon I shall forget): +'The man who, though his fights be all defeats, +Still fights, +Enters at last +The heavenly Jerusalem's rejoicing streets +With glory more, and more triumphant rites +Than always-conquering Joshua's, when his blast +The frighted walls of Jericho down cast; +And, lo, the glad surprise +Of peace beyond surmise, +More than in common Saints, for ever in his eyes.' + + + +XXIII. REMEMBERED GRACE. + + + Since succour to the feeblest of the wise +Is charge of nobler weight +Than the security +Of many and many a foolish soul's estate, +This I affirm, +Though fools will fools more confidently be: +Whom God does once with heart to heart befriend, +He does so till the end: +And having planted life's miraculous germ, +One sweet pulsation of responsive love, +He sets him sheer above, +Not sin and bitter shame +And wreck of fame, +But Hell's insidious and more black attempt, +The envy, malice, and pride, +Which men who share so easily condone +That few ev'n list such ills as these to hide. +From these unalterably exempt, +Through the remember'd grace +Of that divine embrace, +Of his sad errors none, +Though gross to blame, +Shall cast him lower than the cleansing flame, +Nor make him quite depart +From the small flock named 'after God's own heart,' +And to themselves unknown. +Nor can he quail +In faith, nor flush nor pale +When all the other idiot people spell +How this or that new Prophet's word belies +Their last high oracle; +But constantly his soul +Points to its pole +Ev'n as the needle points, and knows not why; +And, under the ever-changing clouds of doubt, +When others cry, +'The stars, if stars there were, +Are quench'd and out!' +To him, uplooking t'ward the hills for aid, +Appear, at need display'd, +Gaps in the low-hung gloom, and, bright in air, +Orion or the Bear. + + + +XXIV. VESICA PISCIS. + + + In strenuous hope I wrought, +And hope seem'd still betray'd; +Lastly I said, +'I have labour'd through the Night, nor yet +Have taken aught; +But at Thy word I will again cast forth the net!' +And, lo, I caught +(Oh, quite unlike and quite beyond my thought,) +Not the quick, shining harvest of the Sea, +For food, my wish, +But Thee! +Then, hiding even in me, +As hid was Simon's coin within the fish, +Thou sigh'd'st, with joy, 'Be dumb, +Or speak but of forgotten things to far-off times to come.' + + + + +BOOK II. + + +I. TO THE UNKNOWN EROS. + + +What rumour'd heavens are these + Which not a poet sings, +O, Unknown Eros? What this breeze +Of sudden wings +Speeding at far returns of time from interstellar space +To fan my very face, +And gone as fleet, +Through delicatest ether feathering soft their solitary beat, +With ne'er a light plume dropp'd, nor any trace +To speak of whence they came, or whither they depart? +And why this palpitating heart, +This blind and unrelated joy, +This meaningless desire, +That moves me like the Child +Who in the flushing darkness troubled lies, +Inventing lonely prophecies, +Which even to his Mother mild +He dares not tell; +To which himself is infidel; +His heart not less on fire +With dreams impossible as wildest Arab Tale, +(So thinks the boy,) +With dreams that turn him red and pale, +Yet less impossible and wild +Than those which bashful Love, in his own way and hour, +Shall duly bring to flower? +O, Unknown Eros, sire of awful bliss, +What portent and what Delphic word, +Such as in form of snake forebodes the bird, +Is this? +In me life's even flood +What eddies thus? +What in its ruddy orbit lifts the blood, +Like a perturbed moon of Uranus, +Reaching to some great world in ungauged darkness hid; +And whence +This rapture of the sense +Which, by thy whisper bid, +Reveres with obscure rite and sacramental sign +A bond I know not of nor dimly can divine; +This subject loyalty which longs +For chains and thongs +Woven of gossamer and adamant, +To bind me to my unguess'd want, +And so to lie, +Between those quivering plumes that thro' fine ether pant, +For hopeless, sweet eternity? +What God unhonour'd hitherto in songs, +Or which, that now +Forgettest the disguise +That Gods must wear who visit human eyes, +Art Thou? +Thou art not Amor; or, if so, yon pyre, +That waits the willing victim, flames with vestal fire; +Nor mooned Queen of maids; or, if thou'rt she, +Ah, then, from Thee +Let Bride and Bridegroom learn what kisses be! +In what veil'd hymn +Or mystic dance +Would he that were thy Priest advance +Thine earthly praise, thy glory limn? +Say, should the feet that feel thy thought +In double-center'd circuit run, +In that compulsive focus, Nought, +In this a furnace like the sun; +And might some note of thy renown +And high behest +Thus in enigma be expressed: +'There lies the crown +Which all thy longing cures. +Refuse it, Mortal, that it may be yours! +It is a Spirit, though it seems red gold; +And such may no man, but by shunning, hold. +Refuse it, till refusing be despair; +And thou shalt feel the phantom in thy hair.' + + + +II. THE CONTRACT. + + + Twice thirty centuries and more ago, +All in a heavenly Abyssinian vale, +Man first met woman; and the ruddy snow +On many-ridged Abora turn'd pale, +And the song choked within the nightingale. +A mild white furnace in the thorough blast +Of purest spirit seem'd She as she pass'd; +And of the Man enough that this be said, +He look'd her Head. + Towards their bower +Together as they went, +With hearts conceiving torrents of content, +And linger'd prologue fit for Paradise, +He, gathering power +From dear persuasion of the dim-lit hour, +And doubted sanction of her sparkling eyes, +Thus supplicates her conjugal assent, +And thus she makes replies: + 'Lo, Eve, the Day burns on the snowy height, +But here is mellow night!' + 'Here let us rest. The languor of the light +Is in my feet. +It is thy strength, my Love, that makes me weak; +Thy strength it is that makes my weakness sweet. +What would thy kiss'd lips speak?' + 'See, what a world of roses I have spread +To make the bridal bed. +Come, Beauty's self and Love's, thus to thy throne be led!' + 'My Lord, my Wisdom, nay! +Does not yon love-delighted Planet run, +(Haply against her heart,) +A space apart +For ever from her strong-persuading Sun! +O say, +Shall we no voluntary bars +Set to our drift? I, Sister of the Stars, +And Thou, my glorious, course-compelling Day!' + 'Yea, yea! +Was it an echo of her coming word +Which, ere she spake, I heard? +Or through what strange distrust was I, her Head, +Not first this thing to have said? +Alway +Speaks not within my breast +The uncompulsive, great and sweet behest +Of something bright, +Not named, not known, and yet more manifest +Than is the morn, +The sun being just at point then to be born? +O Eve, take back thy "Nay." +Trust me, Beloved, ever in all to mean +Thy blissful service, sacrificial, keen; +But bondless be that service, and let speak--' + 'This other world of roses in my cheek, +Which hide them in thy breast, and deepening seek +That thou decree if they mean Yea or Nay.' + 'Did e'er so sweet a word such sweet gainsay!' + 'And when I lean, Love, on you, thus, and smile +So that my Nay seems Yea, +You must the while +Thence be confirm'd that I deny you still.' + 'I will, I will!' + 'And when my arms are round your neck, like this, +And I, as now, +Melt like a golden ingot in your kiss, +Then, more than ever, shall your splendid word +Be as Archangel Michael's severing sword! +Speak, speak! +Your might, Love, makes me weak, +Your might it is that makes my weakness sweet.' + 'I vow, I vow!' + 'And are you happy, O, my Hero and Lord; +And is your joy complete?' + 'Yea, with my joyful heart my body rocks, +And joy comes down from Heaven in floods and shocks, +As from Mount Abora comes the avalanche.' + 'My Law, my Light! +Then am I yours as your high mind may list. +No wile shall lure you, none can I resist!' + Thus the first Eve +With much enamour'd Adam did enact +Their mutual free contract +Of virgin spousals, blissful beyond flight +Of modern thought, with great intention staunch, +Though unobliged until that binding pact. +Whether She kept her word, or He the mind +To hold her, wavering, to his own restraint, +Answer, ye pleasures faint, +Ye fiery throes, and upturn'd eyeballs blind +Of sick-at-heart Mankind, +Whom nothing succour can, +Until a heaven-caress'd and happier Eve +Be join'd with some glad Saint +In like espousals, blessed upon Earth, +And she her Fruit forth bring; +No numb, chill-hearted, shaken-witted thing, +'Plaining his little span, +But of proud virgin joy the appropriate birth, +The Son of God and Man. + + + +III. ARBOR VITAE. + + + With honeysuckle, over-sweet, festoon'd; +With bitter ivy bound; +Terraced with funguses unsound; +Deform'd with many a boss +And closed scar, o'ercushion'd deep with moss; +Bunch'd all about with pagan mistletoe; +And thick with nests of the hoarse bird +That talks, but understands not his own word; +Stands, and so stood a thousand years ago, +A single tree. +Thunder has done its worst among its twigs, +Where the great crest yet blackens, never pruned, +But in its heart, alway +Ready to push new verdurous boughs, whene'er +The rotting saplings near it fall and leave it air, +Is all antiquity and no decay. +Rich, though rejected by the forest-pigs, +Its fruit, beneath whose rough, concealing rind +They that will break it find +Heart-succouring savour of each several meat, +And kernell'd drink of brain-renewing power, +With bitter condiment and sour, +And sweet economy of sweet, +And odours that remind +Of haunts of childhood and a different day. +Beside this tree, +Praising no Gods nor blaming, sans a wish, +Sits, Tartar-like, the Time's civility, +And eats its dead-dog off a golden dish. + + + +IV. THE STANDARDS. + + + That last, +Blown from our Sion of the Seven Hills, +Was no uncertain blast! +Listen: the warning all the champaign fills, +And minatory murmurs, answering, mar +The Night, both near and far, +Perplexing many a drowsy citadel +Beneath whose ill-watch'd walls the Powers of Hell, +With armed jar +And angry threat, surcease +Their long-kept compact of contemptuous peace! +Lo, yonder, where our little English band, +With peace in heart and wrath in hand, +Have dimly ta'en their stand, +Sweetly the light +Shines from the solitary peak at Edgbaston, +Whence, o'er the dawning Land, +Gleam the gold blazonries of Love irate +'Gainst the black flag of Hate. {62} +Envy not, little band, +Your brothers under the Hohenzollern hoof +Put to the splendid proof. +Your hour is near! +The spectre-haunted time of idle Night, +Your only fear, +Thank God, is done, +And Day and War, Man's work-time and delight, +Begun. + Ho, ye of the van there, veterans great of cheer, +Look to your footing, when, from yonder verge, +The wish'd Sun shall emerge; +Lest once again the Flower of Sharon bloom +After a way the Stalk call heresy. +Strange splendour and strange gloom +Alike confuse the path +Of customary faith; +And when the dim-seen mountains turn to flame +And every roadside atom is a spark, +The dazzled sense, that used was to the dark, +May well doubt, 'Is't the safe way and the same +By which we came +From Egypt, and to Canaan mean to go?' +But know, +The clearness then so marvellously increas'd, +The light'ning shining Westward from the East, +Is the great promised sign +Of His victorious and divine +Approach, whose coming in the clouds shall be, +As erst was His humility, +A stumbling unto some, the first bid to the Feast. + Cry, Ho! +Good speed to them that come and them that go +From either gathering host, +And, after feeble, false allegiance, now first know +Their post. +Ho, ye +Who loved our Flag +Only because there flapp'd none other rag +Which gentlemen might doff to, and such be, +'Save your gentility! +For leagued, alas, are we +With many a faithful rogue +Discrediting bright Truth with dirt and brogue; +And flatterers, too, +That still would sniff the grass +After the 'broider'd shoe, +And swear it smelt like musk where He did pass, +Though he were Borgia or Caiaphas. +Ho, ye +Who dread the bondage of the boundless fields +Which Heaven's allegiance yields, +And, like to house-hatch'd finches, hop not free +Unless 'tween walls of wire, +Look, there be many cages: choose to your desire! +Ho, ye, +Of God the least beloved, of Man the most, +That like not leaguing with the lesser host, +Behold the invested Mount, +And that assaulting Sea with ne'er a coast. +You need not stop to count! + But come up, ye +Who adore, in any way, +Our God by His wide-honour'd Name of YEA. +Come up; for where ye stand ye cannot stay. +Come all +That either mood of heavenly joyance know, +And, on the ladder hierarchical, +Have seen the order'd Angels to and fro +Descending with the pride of service sweet, +Ascending, with the rapture of receipt! +Come who have felt, in soul and heart and sense, +The entire obedience +Which opes the bosom, like a blissful wife, +To the Husband of all life! +Come ye that find contentment's very core +In the light store +And daisied path +Of Poverty, +And know how more +A small thing that the righteous hath +Availeth than the ungodly's riches great. +Come likewise ye +Which do not yet disown as out of date +That brightest third of the dead Virtues three, +Of Love the crown elate +And daintiest glee! +Come up, come up, and join our little band. +Our time is near at hand. +The sanction of the world's undying hate +Means more than flaunted flags in windy air. +Be ye of gathering fate +Now gladly ware. +Now from the matrix, by God's grinding wrought, +The brilliant shall be brought; +The white stone mystic set between the eyes +Of them that get the prize; +Yea, part and parcel of that mighty Stone +Which shall be thrown +Into the Sea, and Sea shall be no more. + + + +V. SPONSA DEI. + + + What is this Maiden fair, +The laughing of whose eye +Is in man's heart renew'd virginity; +Who yet sick longing breeds +For marriage which exceeds +The inventive guess of Love to satisfy +With hope of utter binding, and of loosing endless dear despair? +What gleams about her shine, +More transient than delight and more divine! +If she does something but a little sweet, +As gaze towards the glass to set her hair, +See how his soul falls humbled at her feet! +Her gentle step, to go or come, +Gains her more merit than a martyrdom; +And, if she dance, it doth such grace confer +As opes the heaven of heavens to more than her, +And makes a rival of her worshipper. +To die unknown for her were little cost! +So is she without guile, +Her mere refused smile +Makes up the sum of that which may be lost! +Who is this Fair +Whom each hath seen, +The darkest once in this bewailed dell, +Be he not destin'd for the glooms of hell? +Whom each hath seen +And known, with sharp remorse and sweet, as Queen +And tear-glad Mistress of his hopes of bliss, +Too fair for man to kiss? +Who is this only happy She, +Whom, by a frantic flight of courtesy, +Born of despair +Of better lodging for his Spirit fair, +He adores as Margaret, Maude, or Cecily? +And what this sigh, +That each one heaves for Earth's last lowlihead +And the Heaven high +Ineffably lock'd in dateless bridal-bed? +Are all, then, mad, or is it prophecy? +'Sons now we are of God,' as we have heard, +'But what we shall be hath not yet appear'd.' +O, Heart, remember thee, +That Man is none, +Save One. +What if this Lady be thy Soul, and He +Who claims to enjoy her sacred beauty be, +Not thou, but God; and thy sick fire +A female vanity, +Such as a Bride, viewing her mirror'd charms, +Feels when she sighs, 'All these are for his arms!' +A reflex heat +Flash'd on thy cheek from His immense desire, +Which waits to crown, beyond thy brain's conceit, +Thy nameless, secret, hopeless longing sweet, +Not by-and-by, but now, +Unless deny Him thou! + + + +VI. LEGEM TUAM DILEXI. + + + The 'Infinite.' Word horrible! at feud +With life, and the braced mood +Of power and joy and love; +Forbidden, by wise heathen ev'n, to be +Spoken of Deity, +Whose Name, on popular altars, was 'The Unknown,' +Because, or ere It was reveal'd as One +Confined in Three, +The people fear'd that it might prove +Infinity, +The blazon which the devils desired to gain; +And God, for their confusion, laugh'd consent; +Yet did so far relent, +That they might seek relief, and not in vain, +In dashing of themselves against the shores of pain. +Nor bides alone in hell +The bond-disdaining spirit boiling to rebel. +But for compulsion of strong grace, +The pebble in the road +Would straight explode, +And fill the ghastly boundlessness of space. +The furious power, +To soft growth twice constrain'd in leaf and flower, +Protests, and longs to flash its faint self far +Beyond the dimmest star. +The same +Seditious flame, +Beat backward with reduplicated might, +Struggles alive within its stricter term, +And is the worm. +And the just Man does on himself affirm +God's limits, and is conscious of delight, +Freedom and right; +And so His Semblance is, Who, every hour, +By day and night, +Buildeth new bulwarks 'gainst the Infinite. +For, ah, who can express +How full of bonds and simpleness +Is God, +How narrow is He, +And how the wide, waste field of possibility +Is only trod +Straight to His homestead in the human heart, +And all His art +Is as the babe's that wins his Mother to repeat +Her little song so sweet! +What is the chief news of the Night? +Lo, iron and salt, heat, weight and light +In every star that drifts on the great breeze! +And these +Mean Man, +Darling of God, Whose thoughts but live and move +Round him; Who woos his will +To wedlock with His own, and does distil +To that drop's span +The atta of all rose-fields of all love! +Therefore the soul select assumes the stress +Of bonds unbid, which God's own style express +Better than well, +And aye hath, cloister'd, borne, +To the Clown's scorn, +The fetters of the threefold golden chain: +Narrowing to nothing all his worldly gain; +(Howbeit in vain; +For to have nought +Is to have all things without care or thought!) +Surrendering, abject, to his equal's rule, +As though he were a fool, +The free wings of the will; +(More vainly still; +For none knows rightly what 'tis to be free +But only he +Who, vow'd against all choice, and fill'd with awe +Of the ofttimes dumb or clouded Oracle, +Does wiser than to spell, +In his own suit, the least word of the Law!) +And, lastly, bartering life's dear bliss for pain; +But evermore in vain; +For joy (rejoice ye Few that tasted have!) +Is Love's obedience +Against the genial laws of natural sense, +Whose wide, self-dissipating wave, +Prison'd in artful dykes, +Trembling returns and strikes +Thence to its source again, +In backward billows fleet, +Crest crossing crest ecstatic as they greet, +Thrilling each vein, +Exploring every chasm and cove +Of the full heart with floods of honied love, +And every principal street +And obscure alley and lane +Of the intricate brain +With brimming rivers of light and breezes sweet +Of the primordial heat; +Till, unto view of me and thee, +Lost the intense life be, +Or ludicrously display'd, by force +Of distance; as a soaring eagle, or a horse +On far-off hillside shewn, +May seem a gust-driv'n rag or a dead stone. +Nor by such bonds alone-- +But more I leave to say, +Fitly revering the Wild Ass's bray, +Also his hoof, +Of which, go where you will, the marks remain +Where the religious walls have hid the bright reproof. + + + +VII. TO THE BODY. + + + Creation's and Creator's crowning good; +Wall of infinitude; +Foundation of the sky, +In Heaven forecast +And long'd for from eternity, +Though laid the last; +Reverberating dome, +Of music cunningly built home +Against the void and indolent disgrace +Of unresponsive space; +Little, sequester'd pleasure-house +For God and for His Spouse; +Elaborately, yea, past conceiving, fair, +Since, from the graced decorum of the hair, +Ev'n to the tingling, sweet +Soles of the simple, earth-confiding feet, +And from the inmost heart +Outwards unto the thin +Silk curtains of the skin, +Every least part +Astonish'd hears +And sweet replies to some like region of the spheres; +Form'd for a dignity prophets but darkly name, +Lest shameless men cry 'Shame!' +So rich with wealth conceal'd +That Heaven and Hell fight chiefly for this field; +Clinging to everything that pleases thee +With indefectible fidelity; +Alas, so true +To all thy friendships that no grace +Thee from thy sin can wholly disembrace; +Which thus 'bides with thee as the Jebusite, +That, maugre all God's promises could do, +The chosen People never conquer'd quite; +Who therefore lived with them, +And that by formal truce and as of right, +In metropolitan Jerusalem. +For which false fealty +Thou needs must, for a season, lie +In the grave's arms, foul and unshriven, +Albeit, in Heaven, +Thy crimson-throbbing Glow +Into its old abode aye pants to go, +And does with envy see +Enoch, Elijah, and the Lady, she +Who left the roses in her body's lieu. +O, if the pleasures I have known in thee +But my poor faith's poor first-fruits be, +What quintessential, keen, ethereal bliss +Then shall be his +Who has thy birth-time's consecrating dew +For death's sweet chrism retain'd, +Quick, tender, virginal, and unprofaned! + + + +VIII. 'SING US ONE OF THE SONGS OF SION.' + + + How sing the Lord's Song in so strange a Land? +A torrid waste of water-mocking sand; +Oases of wild grapes; +A dull, malodorous fog +O'er a once Sacred River's wandering strand, +Its ancient tillage all gone back to bog; +A busy synod of blest cats and apes +Exposing the poor trick of earth and star +With worshipp'd snouts oracular; +Prophets to whose blind stare +The heavens the glory of God do not declare, +Skill'd in such question nice +As why one conjures toads who fails with lice, +And hatching snakes from sticks in such a swarm +As quite to surfeit Aaron's bigger worm; +A nation which has got +A lie in her right hand, +And knows it not; +With Pharaohs to her mind, each drifting as a log +Which way the foul stream flows, +More harden'd the more plagued with fly and frog! +How should sad Exile sing in such a Land? +How should ye understand? +What could he win but jeers, +Or howls, such as sweet music draws from dog, +Who told of marriage-feasting to the man +That nothing knows of food but bread of bran? +Besides, if aught such ears +Might e'er unclog, +There lives but one, with tones for Sion meet. +Behoveful, zealous, beautiful, elect, +Mild, firm, judicious, loving, bold, discreet, +Without superfluousness, without defect, +Few are his words, and find but scant respect, +Nay, scorn from some, for God's good cause agog. +Silence in such a Land is oftenest such men's speech. +O, that I might his holy secret reach; +O, might I catch his mantle when he goes; +O, that I were so gentle and so sweet, +So I might deal fair Sion's foolish foes +Such blows! + + + +IX. DELICIAE SAPIENTIAE DE AMORE. + + + Love, light for me +Thy ruddiest blazing torch, +That I, albeit a beggar by the Porch +Of the glad Palace of Virginity, +May gaze within, and sing the pomp I see; +For, crown'd with roses all, +'Tis there, O Love, they keep thy festival! +But first warn off the beatific spot +Those wretched who have not +Even afar beheld the shining wall, +And those who, once beholding, have forgot, +And those, most vile, who dress +The charnel spectre drear +Of utterly dishallow'd nothingness +In that refulgent fame, +And cry, Lo, here! +And name +The Lady whose smiles inflame +The sphere. +Bring, Love, anear, +And bid be not afraid +Young Lover true, and love-foreboding Maid, +And wedded Spouse, if virginal of thought; +For I will sing of nought +Less sweet to hear +Than seems +A music in their half-remember'd dreams. + The magnet calls the steel: +Answers the iron to the magnet's breath; +What do they feel +But death! +The clouds of summer kiss in flame and rain, +And are not found again; +But the heavens themselves eternal are with fire +Of unapproach'd desire, +By the aching heart of Love, which cannot rest, +In blissfullest pathos so indeed possess'd. +O, spousals high; +O, doctrine blest, +Unutterable in even the happiest sigh; +This know ye all +Who can recall +With what a welling of indignant tears +Love's simpleness first hears +The meaning of his mortal covenant, +And from what pride comes down +To wear the crown +Of which 'twas very heaven to feel the want. +How envies he the ways +Of yonder hopeless star, +And so would laugh and yearn +With trembling lids eterne, +Ineffably content from infinitely far +Only to gaze +On his bright Mistress's responding rays, +That never know eclipse; +And, once in his long year, +With praeternuptial ecstasy and fear, +By the delicious law of that ellipse +Wherein all citizens of ether move, +With hastening pace to come +Nearer, though never near, +His Love +And always inaccessible sweet Home; +There on his path doubly to burn. +Kiss'd by her doubled light +That whispers of its source, +The ardent secret ever clothed with Night, +Then go forth in new force +Towards a new return, +Rejoicing as a Bridegroom on his course! +This know ye all; +Therefore gaze bold, +That so in you be joyful hope increas'd, +Thorough the Palace portals, and behold +The dainty and unsating Marriage-Feast. +O, hear +Them singing clear +'Cor meum et caro mea' round the 'I am,' +The Husband of the Heavens, and the Lamb +Whom they for ever follow there that kept, +Or losing, never slept +Till they reconquer'd had in mortal fight +The standard white. +O, hear +From the harps they bore from Earth, five-strung, what music springs, +While the glad Spirits chide +The wondering strings! +And how the shining sacrificial Choirs, +Offering for aye their dearest hearts' desires, +Which to their hearts come back beatified, +Hymn, the bright aisles along, +The nuptial song, +Song ever new to us and them, that saith, +'Hail Virgin in Virginity a Spouse!' +Heard first below +Within the little house +At Nazareth; +Heard yet in many a cell where brides of Christ +Lie hid, emparadised, +And where, although +By the hour 'tis night, +There's light, +The Day still lingering in the lap of snow. +Gaze and be not afraid +Ye wedded few that honour, in sweet thought +And glittering will, +So freshly from the garden gather still +The lily sacrificed; +For ye, though self-suspected here for nought, +Are highly styled +With the thousands twelve times twelve of undefiled. +Gaze and be not afraid +Young Lover true and love-foreboding Maid. +The full noon of deific vision bright +Abashes nor abates +No spark minute of Nature's keen delight. +'Tis there your Hymen waits! +There where in courts afar, all unconfused, they crowd, +As fumes the starlight soft +In gulfs of cloud, +And each to the other, well-content, +Sighs oft, +''Twas this we meant!' +Gaze without blame +Ye in whom living Love yet blushes for dead shame. +There of pure Virgins none +Is fairer seen, +Save One, +Than Mary Magdalene. +Gaze without doubt or fear +Ye to whom generous Love, by any name, is dear. +Love makes the life to be +A fount perpetual of virginity; +For, lo, the Elect +Of generous Love, how named soe'er, affect +Nothing but God, +Or mediate or direct, +Nothing but God, +The Husband of the Heavens: +And who Him love, in potence great or small, +Are, one and all, +Heirs of the Palace glad, +And inly clad +With the bridal robes of ardour virginal. + + + +X. THE CRY AT MIDNIGHT. + + + The Midge's wing beats to and fro +A thousand times ere one can utter 'O!' +And Sirius' ball +Does on his business run +As many times immenser than the Sun. +Why should things not be great as well as small, +Or move like light as well as move at all? +St. Michael fills his place, I mine, and, if you please, +We will respect each other's provinces, +I marv'lling not at him, nor he at me. +But, if thou must go gaping, let it be +That One who could make Michael should make thee. +O, foolish Man, meting things low and high +By self, that accidental quantity! +With this conceit, Philosophy stalks frail +As peacock staggering underneath his tail. +Who judge of Plays from their own penny gaff, +At God's great theatre will hiss and laugh; +For what's a Saint to them +Brought up in modern virtues brummagem? +With garments grimed and lamps gone all to snuff, +And counting others for like Virgins queer, +To list those others cry, 'Our Bridegroom's near!' +Meaning their God, is surely quite enough +To make them rend their clothes and bawl out, 'Blasphemy!' + + + +XI. AURAS OF DELIGHT. + + + Beautiful habitations, auras of delight! +Who shall bewail the crags and bitter foam +And angry sword-blades flashing left and right +Which guard your glittering height, +That none thereby may come! +The vision which we have +Revere we so, +That yet we crave +To foot those fields of ne'er-profaned snow? + I, with heart-quake, +Dreaming or thinking of that realm of Love, +See, oft, a dove +Tangled in frightful nuptials with a snake; +The tortured knot, +Now, like a kite scant-weighted, flung bewitch'd +Sunwards, now pitch'd, +Tail over head, down, but with no taste got +Eternally +Of rest in either ruin or the sky, +But bird and vermin each incessant strives, +With vain dilaceration of both lives, +'Gainst its abhorred bond insoluble, +Coveting fiercer any separate hell +Than the most weary Soul in Purgatory +On God's sweet breast to lie. +And, in this sign, I con +The guerdon of that golden Cup, fulfill'd +With fornications foul of Babylon, +The heart where good is well-perceiv'd and known, +Yet is not will'd; +And Him I thank, who can make live again, +The dust, but not the joy we once profane, +That I, of ye, +Beautiful habitations, auras of delight, +In childish years and since had sometime sense and sight, +But that ye vanish'd quite, +Even from memory, +Ere I could get my breath, and whisper 'See!' + But did for me +They altogether die, +Those trackless glories glimps'd in upper sky? +Were they of chance, or vain, +Nor good at all again +For curb of heart or fret? +Nay, though, by grace, +Lest, haply, I refuse God to His face, +Their likeness wholly I forget, +Ah, yet, +Often in straits which else for me were ill, +I mind me still +I did respire the lonely auras sweet, +I did the blest abodes behold, and, at the mountains' feet, +Bathed in the holy Stream by Hermon's thymy hill. + + + +XII. EROS AND PSYCHE. + + + 'Love, I heard tell of thee so oft! +Yea, thrice my face and bosom flush'd with heat +Of sudden wings, +Through delicatest ether feathering soft +Their solitary beat. +Long did I muse what service or what charms +Might lure thee, blissful Bird, into mine arms; +And nets I made, +But not of the fit strings. +At last, of endless failure much afraid, +To-night I would do nothing but lie still, +And promise, wert thou once within my window-sill, +Thine unknown will. +In nets' default, +Finch-like me seem'd thou might'st be ta'en with salt; +And here--and how thou mad'st me start!-- +Thou art.' + 'O Mortal, by Immortals' cunning led, +Who shew'd you how for Gods to bait your bed? +Ah, Psyche, guess'd you nought +I craved but to be caught? +Wanton, it was not you, +But I that did so passionately sue; +And for your beauty, not unscath'd, I fought +With Hades, ere I own'd in you a thought!' + 'O, heavenly Lover true, +Is this thy mouth upon my forehead press'd? +Are these thine arms about my bosom link'd? +Are these thy hands that tremble near my heart, +Where join two hearts, for juncture more distinct? +By thee and by my maiden zone caress'd, +What dim, waste tracts of life shine sudden, like moonbeams +On windless ocean shaken by sweet dreams! +Ah, stir not to depart! +Kiss me again, thy Wife and Virgin too! +O Love, that, like a rose, +Deckest my breast with beautiful repose, +Kiss me again, and clasp me round the heart, +Till fill'd with thee am I +As the cocoon is with the butterfly! +--Yet how 'scape quite +Nor pluck pure pleasure with profane delight? +How know I that my Love is what he seems! +Give me a sign +That, in the pitchy night, +Comes to my pillow an immortal Spouse, +And not a fiend, hiding with happy boughs +Of palm and asphodel +The pits of hell!' + ''Tis this: +I make the childless to keep joyful house. +Below your bosom, mortal Mistress mine, +Immortal by my kiss, +Leaps what sweet pain? +A fiend, my Psyche, comes with barren bliss, +A God's embraces never are in vain.' + 'I own +A life not mine within my golden zone. +Yea, how +'Tis easier grown +Thine arduous rule to don +Than for a Bride to put her bride-dress on! +Nay, rather, now +'Tis no more service to be borne serene, +Whither thou wilt, thy stormful wings between. +But, Oh, +Can I endure +This flame, yet live for what thou lov'st me, pure?' + 'Himself the God let blame +If all about him bursts to quenchless flame! +My Darling, know +Your spotless fairness is not match'd in snow, +But in the integrity of fire. +Whate'er you are, Sweet, I require. +A sorry God were he +That fewer claim'd than all Love's mighty kingdoms three!' + 'Much marvel I +That thou, the greatest of the Powers above, +Me visitest with such exceeding love. +What thing is this? +A God to make me, nothing, needful to his bliss, +And humbly wait my favour for a kiss! +Yea, all thy legions of liege deity +To look into this mystery desire.' + 'Content you, Dear, with them, this marvel to admire, +And lay your foolish little head to rest +On my familiar breast. +Should a high King, leaving his arduous throne, +Sue from her hedge a little Gipsy Maid, +For far-off royal ancestry bewray'd +By some wild beauties, to herself unknown; +Some voidness of herself in her strange ways +Which to his bounteous fulness promised dainty praise; +Some power, by all but him unguess'd, +Of growing king-like were she king-caress'd; +And should he bid his dames of loftiest grade +Put off her rags and make her lowlihead +Pure for the soft midst of his perfumed bed, +So to forget, kind-couch'd with her alone, +His empire, in her winsome joyance free; +What would he do, if such a fool were she +As at his grandeur there to gape and quake, +Mindless of love's supreme equality, +And of his heart, so simple for her sake +That all he ask'd, for making her all-blest, +Was that her nothingness alway +Should yield such easy fee as frank to play +Or sleep delighted in her Monarch's breast, +Feeling her nothingness her giddiest boast, +As being the charm for which he loved her most? +What if this reed, +Through which the King thought love-tunes to have blown, +Should shriek, "Indeed, +I am too base to trill so blest a tone!" +Would not the King allege +Defaulted consummation of the marriage-pledge, +And hie the Gipsy to her native hedge?' + 'O, too much joy; O, touch of airy fire; +O, turmoil of content; O, unperturb'd desire, +From founts of spirit impell'd through brain and blood! +I'll not call ill what, since 'tis thine, is good, +Nor best what is but second best or third; +Still my heart fails, +And, unaccustom'd and astonish'd, quails, +And blames me, though I think I have not err'd. +'Tis hard for fly, in such a honied flood, +To use her eyes, far more her wings or feet. +Bitter be thy behests! + +Lie like a bunch of myrrh between my aching breasts. +Some greatly pangful penance would I brave. +Sharpness me save +From being slain by sweet!' + 'In your dell'd bosom's double peace +Let all care cease! +Custom's joy-killing breath +Shall bid you sigh full soon for custom-killing death. +So clasp your childish arms again around my heart: +'Tis but in such captivity +The unbounded Heav'ns know what they be! +And lie still there, +Till the dawn, threat'ning to declare +My beauty, which you cannot bear, +Bid me depart. +Suffer your soul's delight, +Lest that which is to come wither you quite: +For these are only your espousals; yes, +More intimate and fruitfuller far +Than aptest mortal nuptials are; +But nuptials wait you such as now you dare not guess.' + 'In all I thee obey! And thus I know +That all is well: +Should'st thou me tell +Out of thy warm caress to go +And roll my body in the biting snow, +My very body's joy were but increased; +More pleasant 'tis to please thee than be pleased. +Thy love has conquer'd me; do with me as thou wilt, +And use me as a chattel that is thine! +Kiss, tread me under foot, cherish or beat, +Sheathe in my heart sharp pain up to the hilt, +Invent what else were most perversely sweet; +Nay, let the Fiend drag me through dens of guilt; +Let Earth, Heav'n, Hell +'Gainst my content combine; +What could make nought the touch that made thee mine! +Ah, say not yet, farewell!' + 'Nay, that's the Blackbird's note, the sweet Night's knell. +Behold, Beloved, the penance you would brave!' + 'Curs'd when it comes, the bitter thing we crave! +Thou leav'st me now, like to the moon at dawn, +A little, vacuous world alone in air. +I will not care! +When dark comes back my dark shall be withdrawn! +Go free; +For 'tis with me +As when the cup the Child scoops in the sand +Fills, and is part and parcel of the Sea. +I'll say it to myself and understand. +Farewell! +Go as thou wilt and come! Lover divine, +Thou still art jealously and wholly mine; +And this thy kiss +A separate secret by none other scann'd; +Though well I wis +The whole of life is womanhood to thee, +Momently wedded with enormous bliss. +Rainbow, that hast my heaven sudden spann'd, +I am the apple of thy glorious gaze, +Each else life cent'ring to a different blaze; +And, nothing though I be +But now a no more void capacity for thee, +'Tis all to know there's not in air or land +Another for thy Darling quite like me! +Mine arms no more thy restless plumes compel! +Farewell! +Whilst thou art gone, I'll search the weary meads +To deck my bed with lilies of fair deeds! +And, if thou choose to come this eventide, +A touch, my Love, will set my casement wide. +Farewell, farewell! +Be my dull days +Music, at least, with thy remember'd praise!' + 'Bitter, sweet, few and veil'd let be +Your songs of me. +Preserving bitter, very sweet, +Few, that so all may be discreet, +And veil'd, that, seeing, none may see.' + + + +XIII. DE NATURA DEORUM. + + + 'Good-morrow, Psyche! What's thine errand now? +What awful pleasure do thine eyes bespeak, +What shame is in thy childish cheek, +What terror on thy brow? +Is this my Psyche, once so pale and meek? +Thy body's sudden beauty my sight old +Stings, like an agile bead of boiling gold, +And all thy life looks troubled like a tree's +Whose boughs wave many ways in one great breeze.' + 'O Pythoness, to strangest story hark: +A dreadful God was with me in the dark--' + 'How many a Maid-- +Has never told me that! And thou'rt afraid--' + 'He'll come no more, +Or come but twice, +Or thrice, +Or only thrice ten thousand times thrice o'er!' + 'For want of wishing thou mean'st not to miss. +We know the Lover, Psyche, by the kiss!' + 'If speech of honey could impart the sweet, +The world were all in tears and at his feet! +But not to tell of that in tears come I, but this: +I'm foolish, weak, and small, +And fear to fall. +If long he stay away, O frightful dream, wise Mother, +What keeps me but that I, gone crazy, kiss some other!' + 'The fault were his! But know, +Sweet little Daughter sad, +He did but feign to go; +And never more +Shall cross thy window-sill, +Or pass beyond thy door, +Save by thy will. +He's present now in some dim place apart +Of the ivory house wherewith thou mad'st him glad. +Nay, this I whisper thee, +Since none is near, +Or, if one were, since only thou could'st hear, +That happy thing which makes thee flush and start, +Like infant lips in contact with thy heart, +Is He!' + 'Yea, this I know, but never can believe! +O, hateful light! when shall mine own eyes mark +My beauty, which this victory did achieve?' + 'When thou, like Gods and owls, canst see by dark.' + 'In vain I cleanse me from all blurring error--' + ''Tis the last rub that polishes the mirror.' + 'It takes fresh blurr each breath which I respire.' + 'Poor Child, don't cry so! Hold it to the fire.' + 'Ah, nought these dints can e'er do out again!' + 'Love is not love which does not sweeter live +For having something dreadful to forgive.' + 'Sadness and change and pain +Shall me for ever stain; +For, though my blissful fate +Be for a billion years, +How shall I stop my tears +That life was once so low and Love arrived so late!' + 'Sadness is beauty's savour, and pain is +The exceedingly keen edge of bliss; +Nor, without swift mutation, would the heav'ns be aught.' + 'How to behave with him I'd fain be taught. +A maid, meseems, within a God's embrace, +Should bear her like a Goddess, or, at least, a Grace.' + 'When Gods, to Man or Maid below, +As men or birds appear, +A kind 'tis of incognito, +And that, not them, is what they choose we should revere.' + 'Advise me what oblation vast to bring, +Some least part of my worship to confess!' + 'A woman is a little thing, +And in things little lies her comeliness.' + 'Must he not soon with mortal tire to toy?' + 'The bashful meeting of strange Depth and Height +Breeds the forever new-born babe, Delight; +And, as thy God is more than mortal boy, +So bashful more the meeting, and so more the joy.' + 'He loves me dearly, but he shakes a whip +Of deathless scorpions at my slightest slip. +Mother, last night he call'd me "Gipsy," so +Roughly it smote me like a blow! +Yet, oh, +I love him, as none surely e'er could love +Our People's pompous but good-natured Jove. +He used to send me stately overture; +But marriage-bonds, till now, I never could endure!' + 'How should great Jove himself do else than miss +To win the woman he forgets to kiss; +Or, won, to keep his favour in her eyes, +If he's too soft or sleepy to chastise! +By Eros, her twain claims are ne'er forgot; +Her wedlock's marr'd when either's miss'd: +Or when she's kiss'd, but beaten not, +Or duly beaten, but not kiss'd. +Ah, Child, the sweet +Content, when we're both kiss'd and beat! +--But whence these wounds? What Demon thee enjoins +To scourge thy shoulders white +And tender loins!' + ''Tis nothing, Mother. Happiness at play, +And speech of tenderness no speech can say!' + 'How learn'd thou art! +Twelve honeymoons profane had taught thy docile heart +Less than thine Eros, in a summer night!' + 'Nay, do not jeer, but help my puzzled plight: +Because he loves so marvellously me, +And I with all he loves in love must be, +How to except myself I do not see. +Yea, now that other vanities are vain, +I'm vain, since him it likes, of being withal +Weak, foolish, small!' + 'How can a Maid forget her ornaments! +The Powers, that hopeless doom the proud to die, +Unask'd smile pardon upon vanity, +Nay, praise it, when themselves are praised thereby.' + 'Ill-match'd I am for a God's blandishments! +So great, so wise--' + 'Gods, in the abstract, are, no doubt, most wise; +But, in the concrete, Girl, they're mysteries! +He's not with thee, +At all less wise nor more +Than human Lover is with her he deigns to adore. +He finds a fair capacity, +And fills it with himself, and glad would die +For that sole She.' + 'Know'st thou some potion me awake to keep, +Lest, to the grief of that ne'er-slumbering Bliss, +Disgraced I sleep, +Wearied in soul by his bewildering kiss?' + 'The Immortals, Psyche, moulded men from sods +That Maids from them might learn the ways of Gods. +Think, would a wakeful Youth his hard fate weep, +Lock'd to the tired breast of a Bride asleep?' + 'Ah, me, I do not dream, +Yet all this does some heathen fable seem!' + 'O'ermuch thou mind'st the throne he leaves above! +Between unequals sweet is equal love.' + 'Nay, Mother, in his breast, when darkness blinds, +I cannot for my life but talk and laugh +With the large impudence of little minds!' + 'Respectful to the Gods and meek, +According to one's lights, I grant +'Twere well to be; +But, on my word, +Child, any one, to hear you speak, +Would take you for a Protestant, +(Such fish I do foresee +When the charm'd fume comes strong on me,) +Or powder'd lackey, by some great man's board, +A deal more solemn than his Lord! +Know'st thou not, Girl, thine Eros loves to laugh? +And shall a God do anything by half? +He foreknew and predestinated all +The Great must pay for kissing things so small, +And ever loves his little Maid the more +The more she makes him laugh.' + 'O, Mother, are you sure?' + 'Gaze steady where yon starless deep the gaze revolts, +And say, +Seest thou a Titan forging thunderbolts, +Or three fair butterflies at lovesome play? +And this I'll add, for succour of thy soul: +Lines parallel meet sooner than some think; +The least part oft is greater than the whole; +And, when you're thirsty, that's the time to drink.' + 'Thy sacred words I ponder and revere, +And thank thee heartily that some are clear.' + 'Clear speech to men is mostly speech in vain. +Their scope is by themselves so justly scann'd, +They still despise the things they understand; +But, to a pretty Maid like thee, I don't mind speaking plain.' + 'Then one boon more to her whom strange Fate mocks +With a wife's duty but no wife's sweet right: +Could I at will but summon my Delight--' + 'Thou of thy jewel art the dainty box; +Thine is the charm which, any time, unlocks; +And this, it seems, thou hitt'st upon last night. +Now go, Child! For thy sake +I've talk'd till this stiff tripod makes my old limbs ache.' + + + +XIV. PSYCHE'S DISCONTENT. + + + 'Enough, enough, ambrosial plumed Boy! +My bosom is aweary of thy breath. +Thou kissest joy +To death. +Have pity of my clay-conceived birth +And maiden's simple mood, +Which longs for ether and infinitude, +As thou, being God, crav'st littleness and earth! +Thou art immortal, thou canst ever toy, +Nor savour less +The sweets of thine eternal childishness, +And hold thy godhead bright in far employ. +Me, to quite other custom life-inured, +Ah, loose from thy caress. +'Tis not to be endured! +Undo thine arms and let me see the sky, +By this infatuating flame obscured. +O, I should feel thee nearer to my heart +If thou and I +Shone each to each respondently apart, +Like stars which one the other trembling spy, +Distinct and lucid in extremes of air. +O, hear me pray--' + 'Be prudent in thy prayer! +A God is bond to her who is wholly his, +And, should she ask amiss, +He may not her beseeched harm deny.' + 'Not yet, not yet! +'Tis still high day, and half my toil's to do. +How can I toil, if thus thou dost renew +Toil's guerdon, which the daytime should forget? +The long, long night, when none can work for fear, +Sweet fear incessantly consummated, +My most divinely Dear, +My Joy, my Dread, +Will soon be here! +Not, Eros, yet! +I ask, for Day, the use which is the Wife's: +To bear, apart from thy delight and thee, +The fardel coarse of customary life's +Exceeding injucundity. +Leave me awhile, that I may shew thee clear +How Goddess-like thy love has lifted me; +How, seeming lone upon the gaunt, lone shore, +I'll trust thee near, +When thou'rt, to knowledge of my heart, no more +Than a dream's heed +Of lost joy track'd in scent of the sea-weed! +Leave me to pluck the incomparable flower +Of frailty lion-like fighting in thy name and power; +To make thee laugh, in thy safe heaven, to see +With what grip fell +I'll cling to hope when life draws hard to hell, +Yea, cleave to thee when me thou seem'st to slay, +Haply, at close of some most cruel day, +To find myself in thy reveal'd arms clasp'd, +Just when I say, +My feet have slipp'd at last! +But, lo, while thus I store toil's slow increase, +To be my dower, in patience and in peace, +Thou com'st, like bolt from blue, invisibly, +With premonition none nor any sign, +And, at a gasp, no choice nor fault of mine, +Possess'd I am with thee +Ev'n as a sponge is by a surge of the sea!' + 'Thus irresistibly by Love embraced +Is she who boasts her more than mortal chaste!' + 'Find'st thou me worthy, then, by day and night, +But of this fond indignity, delight?' + 'Little, bold Femininity, +That darest blame Heaven, what would'st thou have or be?' + 'Shall I, the gnat which dances in thy ray, +Dare to be reverent? Therefore dare I say, +I cannot guess the good that I desire; +But this I know, I spurn the gifts which Hell +Can mock till which is which 'tis hard to tell. +I love thee, God; yea, and 'twas such assault +As this which made me thine; if that be fault; +But I, thy Mistress, merit should thine ire +If aught so little, transitory and low +As this which made me thine +Should hold me so.' + 'Little to thee, my Psyche, is this, but much to me!' + 'Ah, if, my God, that be!' + 'Yea, Palate fine, +That claim'st for thy proud cup the pearl of price, +And scorn'st the wine, +Accept the sweet, and say 'tis sacrifice! +Sleep, Centre to the tempest of my love, +And dream thereof, +And keep the smile which sleeps within thy face +Like sunny eve in some forgotten place!' + + + +XV. PAIN. + + + O, Pain, Love's mystery, +Close next of kin +To joy and heart's delight, +Low Pleasure's opposite, +Choice food of sanctity +And medicine of sin, +Angel, whom even they that will pursue +Pleasure with hell's whole gust +Find that they must +Perversely woo, +My lips, thy live coal touching, speak thee true. +Thou sear'st my flesh, O Pain, +But brand'st for arduous peace my languid brain, +And bright'nest my dull view, +Till I, for blessing, blessing give again, +And my roused spirit is +Another fire of bliss, +Wherein I learn +Feelingly how the pangful, purging fire +Shall furiously burn +With joy, not only of assured desire, +But also present joy +Of seeing the life's corruption, stain by stain, +Vanish in the clear heat of Love irate, +And, fume by fume, the sick alloy +Of luxury, sloth and hate +Evaporate; +Leaving the man, so dark erewhile, +The mirror merely of God's smile. +Herein, O Pain, abides the praise +For which my song I raise; +But even the bastard good of intermittent ease +How greatly doth it please! +With what repose +The being from its bright exertion glows, +When from thy strenuous storm the senses sweep +Into a little harbour deep +Of rest; +When thou, O Pain, +Having devour'd the nerves that thee sustain, +Sleep'st, till thy tender food be somewhat grown +again; +And how the lull +With tear-blind love is full! +What mockery of a man am I express'd +That I should wait for thee +To woo! +Nor even dare to love, till thou lov'st me. +How shameful, too, +Is this: +That, when thou lov'st, I am at first afraid +Of thy fierce kiss, +Like a young maid; +And only trust thy charms +And get my courage in thy throbbing arms. +And, when thou partest, what a fickle mind +Thou leav'st behind, +That, being a little absent from mine eye, +It straight forgets thee what thou art, +And ofttimes my adulterate heart +Dallies with Pleasure, thy pale enemy. +O, for the learned spirit without attaint +That does not faint, +But knows both how to have thee and to lack, +And ventures many a spell, +Unlawful but for them that love so well, +To call thee back. + + + +XVI. PROPHETS WHO CANNOT SING. + + + Ponder, ye just, the scoffs that frequent go +From forth the foe: + 'The holders of the Truth in Verity +Are people of a harsh and stammering tongue! +The hedge-flower hath its song; +Meadow and tree, +Water and wandering cloud +Find Seers who see, +And, with convincing music clear and loud, +Startle the adder-deafness of the crowd +By tones, O Love, from thee. +Views of the unveil'd heavens alone forth bring +Prophets who cannot sing, +Praise that in chiming numbers will not run; +At least, from David until Dante, none, +And none since him. +Fish, and not swim? +They think they somehow should, and so they try; +But (haply 'tis they screw the pitch too high) +'Tis still their fates +To warble tunes that nails might draw from slates. +Poor Seraphim! +They mean to spoil our sleep, and do, but all their gains +Are curses for their pains!' + Now who but knows +That truth to learn from foes +Is wisdom ripe? +Therefore no longer let us stretch our throats +Till hoarse as frogs +With straining after notes +Which but to touch would burst an organ-pipe. +Far better be dumb dogs. + + + +XVII. THE CHILD'S PURCHASE. + + +A PROLOGUE. + + As a young Child, whose Mother, for a jest, +To his own use a golden coin flings down, +Devises blythe how he may spend it best, +Or on a horse, a bride-cake, or a crown, +Till, wearied with his quest, +Nor liking altogether that nor this, +He gives it back for nothing but a kiss, +Endow'd so I +With golden speech, my choice of toys to buy, +And scanning power and pleasure and renown, +Till each in turn, with looking at, looks vain, +For her mouth's bliss, +To her who gave it give I it again. + Ah, Lady elect, +Whom the Time's scorn has saved from its respect, +Would I had art +For uttering this which sings within my heart! +But, lo, +Thee to admire is all the art I know. +My Mother and God's; Fountain of miracle! +Give me thereby some praise of thee to tell +In such a Song +As may my Guide severe and glad not wrong +Who never spake till thou'dst on him conferr'd +The right, convincing word! +Grant me the steady heat +Of thought wise, splendid, sweet, +Urged by the great, rejoicing wind that rings +With draught of unseen wings, +Making each phrase, for love and for delight, +Twinkle like Sirius on a frosty night! +Aid thou thine own dear fame, thou only Fair, +At whose petition meek +The Heavens themselves decree that, as it were, +They will be weak! + Thou Speaker of all wisdom in a Word, +Thy Lord! +Speaker who thus could'st well afford +Thence to be silent;--ah, what silence that +Which had for prologue thy 'Magnificat?'-- +O, Silence full of wonders +More than by Moses in the Mount were heard, +More than were utter'd by the Seven Thunders; +Silence that crowns, unnoted, like the voiceless blue, +The loud world's varying view, +And in its holy heart the sense of all things ponders! +That acceptably I may speak of thee, +Ora pro me! + Key-note and stop +Of the thunder-going chorus of sky-Powers; +Essential drop +Distill'd from worlds of sweetest-savour'd flowers +To anoint with nuptial praise +The Head which for thy Beauty doff'd its rays, +And thee, in His exceeding glad descending, meant, +And Man's new days +Made of His deed the adorning accident! +Vast Nothingness of Self, fair female Twin +Of Fulness, sucking all God's glory in! +(Ah, Mistress mine, +To nothing I have added only sin, +And yet would shine!) +Ora pro me! + Life's cradle and death's tomb! +To lie within whose womb, +There, with divine self-will infatuate, +Love-captive to the thing He did create, +Thy God did not abhor, +No more +Than Man, in Youth's high spousal-tide, +Abhors at last to touch +The strange lips of his long-procrastinating Bride; +Nay, not the least imagined part as much! +Ora pro me! + My Lady, yea, the Lady of my Lord, +Who didst the first descry +The burning secret of virginity, +We know with what reward! +Prism whereby +Alone we see +Heav'n's light in its triplicity; +Rainbow complex +In bright distinction of all beams of sex, +Shining for aye +In the simultaneous sky, +To One, thy Husband, Father, Son, and Brother, +Spouse blissful, Daughter, Sister, milk-sweet Mother; +Ora pro me! + Mildness, whom God obeys, obeying thyself +Him in thy joyful Saint, nigh lost to sight +In the great gulf +Of his own glory and thy neighbour light; +With whom thou wast as else with husband none +For perfect fruit of inmost amity; +Who felt for thee +Such rapture of refusal that no kiss +Ever seal'd wedlock so conjoint with bliss; +And whose good singular eternally +'Tis now, with nameless peace and vehemence, +To enjoy thy married smile, +That mystery of innocence; +Ora pro me! + Sweet Girlhood without guile, +The extreme of God's creative energy; +Sunshiny Peak of human personality; +The world's sad aspirations' one Success; +Bright Blush, that sav'st our shame from shamelessness; +Chief Stone of stumbling; Sign built in the way +To set the foolish everywhere a-bray; +Hem of God's robe, which all who touch are heal'd; +To which the outside Many honour yield +With a reward and grace +Unguess'd by the unwash'd boor that hails Him to His face, +Spurning the safe, ingratiant courtesy +Of suing Him by thee; +Ora pro me! + Creature of God rather the sole than first; +Knot of the cord +Which binds together all and all unto their Lord; +Suppliant Omnipotence; best to the worst; +Our only Saviour from an abstract Christ +And Egypt's brick-kilns, where the lost crowd plods, +Blaspheming its false Gods; +Peace-beaming Star, by which shall come enticed, +Though nought thereof as yet they weet, +Unto thy Babe's small feet, +The Mighty, wand'ring disemparadised, +Like Lucifer, because to thee +They will not bend the knee; +Ora pro me! + Desire of Him whom all things else desire! +Bush aye with Him as He with thee on fire! +Neither in His great Deed nor on His throne-- +O, folly of Love, the intense +Last culmination of Intelligence,-- +Him seem'd it good that God should be alone! +Basking in unborn laughter of thy lips, +Ere the world was, with absolute delight +His Infinite reposed in thy Finite; +Well-match'd: He, universal being's Spring, +And thou, in whom are gather'd up the ends of everything! +Ora pro me! + In season due, on His sweet-fearful bed, +Rock'd by an earthquake, curtain'd with eclipse, +Thou shar'd'st the rapture of the sharp spear's head, +And thy bliss pale +Wrought for our boon what Eve's did for our bale; +Thereafter, holding a little thy soft breath, +Thou underwent'st the ceremony of death; +And, now, Queen-Wife, +Sitt'st at the right hand of the Lord of Life, +Who, of all bounty, craves for only fee +The glory of hearing it besought with smiles by thee! +Ora pro me! + Mother, who lead'st me still by unknown ways, +Giving the gifts I know not how to ask, +Bless thou the work +Which, done, redeems my many wasted days, +Makes white the murk, +And crowns the few which thou wilt not dispraise. +When clear my Songs of Lady's graces rang, +And little guess'd I 'twas of thee I sang! + Vainly, till now, my pray'rs would thee compel +To fire my verse with thy shy fame, too long +Shunning world-blazon of well-ponder'd song; +But doubtful smiles, at last, 'mid thy denials lurk; +From which I spell, +'Humility and greatness grace the task +Which he who does it deems impossible!' + + + +XVIII. DEAD LANGUAGE. + + + 'Thou dost not wisely, Bard. +A double voice is Truth's, to use at will: +One, with the abysmal scorn of good for ill, +Smiting the brutish ear with doctrine hard, +Wherein She strives to look as near a lie +As can comport with her divinity; +The other tender-soft as seem +The embraces of a dead Love in a dream. +These thoughts, which you have sung +In the vernacular, +Should be, as others of the Church's are, +Decently cloak'd in the Imperial Tongue. +Have you no fears +Lest, as Lord Jesus bids your sort to dread, +Yon acorn-munchers rend you limb from limb, +You, with Heaven's liberty affronting theirs!' +So spoke my monitor; but I to him, +'Alas, and is not mine a language dead?' + + + + +AMELIA, ETC. + + +AMELIA. + + +Whene'er mine eyes do my Amelia greet +It is with such emotion +As when, in childhood, turning a dim street, +I first beheld the ocean. + There, where the little, bright, surf-breathing town, +That shew'd me first her beauty and the sea, +Gathers its skirts against the gorse-lit down +And scatters gardens o'er the southern lea, +Abides this Maid +Within a kind, yet sombre Mother's shade, +Who of her daughter's graces seems almost afraid, +Viewing them ofttimes with a scared forecast, +Caught, haply, from obscure love-peril past. +Howe'er that be, +She scants me of my right, +Is cunning careful evermore to balk +Sweet separate talk, +And fevers my delight +By frets, if, on Amelia's cheek of peach, +I touch the notes which music cannot reach, +Bidding 'Good-night!' +Wherefore it came that, till to-day's dear date, +I curs'd the weary months which yet I have to wait +Ere I find heaven, one-nested with my mate. + To-day, the Mother gave, +To urgent pleas and promise to behave +As she were there, her long-besought consent +To trust Amelia with me to the grave +Where lay my once-betrothed, Millicent: +'For,' said she, hiding ill a moistening eye, +'Though, Sir, the word sounds hard, +God makes as if He least knew how to guard +The treasure He loves best, simplicity.' + And there Amelia stood, for fairness shewn +Like a young apple-tree, in flush'd array +Of white and ruddy flow'r, auroral, gay, +With chilly blue the maiden branch between; +And yet to look on her moved less the mind +To say 'How beauteous!' than 'How good and kind!' + And so we went alone +By walls o'er which the lilac's numerous plume +Shook down perfume; +Trim plots close blown +With daisies, in conspicuous myriads seen, +Engross'd each one +With single ardour for her spouse, the sun; +Garths in their glad array +Of white and ruddy branch, auroral, gay, +With azure chill the maiden flow'r between; +Meadows of fervid green, +With sometime sudden prospect of untold +Cowslips, like chance-found gold; +And broadcast buttercups at joyful gaze, +Rending the air with praise, +Like the six-hundred-thousand-voiced shout +Of Jacob camp'd in Midian put to rout; +Then through the Park, +Where Spring to livelier gloom +Quicken'd the cedars dark, +And, 'gainst the clear sky cold, +Which shone afar +Crowded with sunny alps oracular, +Great chestnuts raised themselves abroad like cliffs of bloom; +And everywhere, +Amid the ceaseless rapture of the lark, +With wonder new +We caught the solemn voice of single air, +'Cuckoo!' + And when Amelia, 'bolden'd, saw and heard +How bravely sang the bird, +And all things in God's bounty did rejoice, +She who, her Mother by, spake seldom word, +Did her charm'd silence doff, +And, to my happy marvel, her dear voice +Went as a clock does, when the pendulum's off. +Ill Monarch of man's heart the Maiden who +Does not aspire to be High-Pontiff too! +So she repeated soft her Poet's line, +'By grace divine, +Not otherwise, O Nature, are we thine!' +And I, up the bright steep she led me, trod, +And the like thought pursued +With, 'What is gladness without gratitude, +And where is gratitude without a God?' +And of delight, the guerdon of His laws, +She spake, in learned mood; +And I, of Him loved reverently, as Cause, +Her sweetly, as Occasion of all good. +Nor were we shy, +For souls in heaven that be +May talk of heaven without hypocrisy. + And now, when we drew near +The low, gray Church, in its sequester'd dell, +A shade upon me fell. +Dead Millicent indeed had been most sweet, +But I how little meet +To call such graces in a Maiden mine! +A boy's proud passion free affection blunts; +His well-meant flatteries oft are blind affronts; +And many a tear +Was Millicent's before I, manlier, knew +That maidens shine +As diamonds do, +Which, though most clear, +Are not to be seen through; +And, if she put her virgin self aside +And sate her, crownless, at my conquering feet, +It should have bred in me humility, not pride. +Amelia had more luck than Millicent: +Secure she smiled and warm from all mischance +Or from my knowledge or my ignorance, +And glow'd content +With my--some might have thought too much--superior age, +Which seem'd the gage +Of steady kindness all on her intent. +Thus nought forebade us to be fully blent. + While, therefore, now +Her pensive footstep stirr'd +The darnell'd garden of unheedful death, +She ask'd what Millicent was like, and heard +Of eyes like her's, and honeysuckle breath, +And of a wiser than a woman's brow, +Yet fill'd with only woman's love, and how +An incidental greatness character'd +Her unconsider'd ways. +But all my praise +Amelia thought too slight for Millicent, +And on my lovelier-freighted arm she leant, +For more attent; +And the tea-rose I gave, +To deck her breast, she dropp'd upon the grave. +'And this was her's,' said I, decoring with a band +Of mildest pearls Amelia's milder hand. +'Nay, I will wear it for her sake,' she said: +For dear to maidens are their rivals dead. + And so, +She seated on the black yew's tortured root, +I on the carpet of sere shreds below, +And nigh the little mound where lay that other, +I kiss'd her lips three times without dispute, +And, with bold worship suddenly aglow, +I lifted to my lips a sandall'd foot, +And kiss'd it three times thrice without dispute. +Upon my head her fingers fell like snow, +Her lamb-like hands about my neck she wreathed. +Her arms like slumber o'er my shoulders crept, +And with her bosom, whence the azalea breathed, +She did my face full favourably smother, +To hide the heaving secret that she wept! + Now would I keep my promise to her Mother; +Now I arose, and raised her to her feet, +My best Amelia, fresh-born from a kiss, +Moth-like, full-blown in birthdew shuddering sweet, +With great, kind eyes, in whose brown shade +Bright Venus and her Baby play'd! + At inmost heart well pleased with one another, +What time the slant sun low +Through the plough'd field does each clod sharply shew, +And softly fills +With shade the dimples of our homeward hills, +With little said, +We left the 'wilder'd garden of the dead, +And gain'd the gorse-lit shoulder of the down +That keeps the north-wind from the nestling town, +And caught, once more, the vision of the wave, +Where, on the horizon's dip, +A many-sailed ship +Pursued alone her distant purpose grave; +And, by steep steps rock-hewn, to the dim street +I led her sacred feet; +And so the Daughter gave, +Soft, moth-like, sweet, +Showy as damask-rose and shy as musk, +Back to her Mother, anxious in the dusk. +And now 'Good-night!' +Me shall the phantom months no more affright. +For heaven's gates to open well waits he +Who keeps himself the key. + + + +L'ALLEGRO. + + + Felicity! +Who ope'st to none that knocks, yet, laughing weak, +Yield'st all to Love that will not seek, +And who, though won, wilt droop and die, +Unless wide doors bespeak thee free, +How safe's the bond of thee and me, +Since thee I cherish and defy! +Is't Love or Friendship, Dearest, we obey? +Ah, thou art young, and I am gray; +But happy man is he who knows +How well time goes, +With no unkind intruder by, +Between such friends as thou and I! +'Twould wrong thy favour, Sweet, were I to say, +'Tis best by far, +When best things are not possible, +To make the best of those that are; +For, though it be not May, +Sure, few delights of Spring excel +The beauty of this mild September day! +So with me walk, +And view the dreaming field and bossy Autumn wood, +And how in humble russet goes +The Spouse of Honour, fair Repose, +Far from a world whence love is fled +And truth is dying because joy is dead; +And, if we hear the roaring wheel +Of God's remoter service, public zeal, +Let us to stiller place retire +And glad admire +How, near Him, sounds of working cease +In little fervour and much peace; +And let us talk +Of holy things in happy mood, +Learnt of thy blest twin-sister, Certitude; +Or let's about our neighbours chat, +Well praising this, less praising that, +And judging outer strangers by +Those gentle and unsanction'd lines +To which remorse of equity +Of old hath moved the School divines. +Or linger where this willow bends, +And let us, till the melody be caught, +Harken that sudden, singing thought, +On which unguess'd increase to life perchance depends. +He ne'er hears twice the same who hears +The songs of heaven's unanimous spheres, +And this may be the song to make, at last, amends +For many sighs and boons in vain long sought! +Now, careless, let us stray, or stop +To see the partridge from the covey drop, +Or, while the evening air's like yellow wine, +From the pure stream take out +The playful trout, +That jerks with rasping check the struggled line; +Or to the Farm, where, high on trampled stacks, +The labourers stir themselves amain +To feed with hasty sheaves of grain +The deaf'ning engine's boisterous maw, +And snatch again, +From to-and-fro tormenting racks, +The toss'd and hustled straw; +Whilst others tend the shedded wheat +That fills yon row of shuddering sacks, +Or shift them quick, and bind them neat, +And dogs and boys with sticks +Wait, murderous, for the rats that leave the ruin'd ricks; +And, all the bags being fill'd and rank'd fivefold, they pour +The treasure on the barn's clean floor, +And take them back for more, +Until the whole bared harvest beauteous lies +Under our pleased and prosperous eyes. +Then let us give our idlest hour +To the world's wisdom and its power; +Hear famous Golden-Tongue refuse +To gander sauce that's good for goose, +Or the great Clever Party con +How many grains of sifted sand, +Heap'd, make a likely house to stand, +How many fools one Solomon. +Science, beyond all other lust +Endow'd with appetite for dust, +We glance at where it grunts, well-sty'd, +And pass upon the other side. +Pass also by, in pensive mood, +Taught by thy kind twin-sister, Certitude, +Yon puzzled crowd, whose tired intent +Hunts like a pack without a scent. +And now come home, +Where none of our mild days +Can fail, though simple, to confess +The magic of mysteriousness; +For there 'bide charming Wonders three, +Besides, Sweet, thee, +To comprehend whose commonest ways, +Ev'n could that be, +Were coward's 'vantage and no true man's praise. + + + +REGINA COELI. + + +Say, did his sisters wonder what could Joseph see +In a mild, silent little Maid like thee? +And was it awful, in that narrow house, +With God for Babe and Spouse? +Nay, like thy simple, female sort, each one +Apt to find Him in Husband and in Son, +Nothing to thee came strange in this. +Thy wonder was but wondrous bliss: +Wondrous, for, though +True Virgin lives not but does know, +(Howbeit none ever yet confess'd,) +That God lies really in her breast, +Of thine He made His special nest! +And so +All mothers worship little feet, +And kiss the very ground they've trod; +But, ah, thy little Baby sweet +Who was indeed thy God! + + + +THE OPEN SECRET. + + +The Heavens repeat no other Song, +And, plainly or in parable, +The Angels trust, in each man's tongue, +The Treasure's safety to its size. +In shameful Hell +The Lily in last corruption lies, +Where known 'tis, rotten-lily-wise, +By the strange foulness of the smell. +Earth, that, in this arcanum, spies +Proof of high kinship unconceiv'd, +By all desired and disbeliev'd, +Shews fancies, in each thing that is, +Which nothing mean, not meaning this, +Yea, does from her own law, to hint it, err, +As 'twere a trust too huge for her. +Maiden and Youth pipe wondrous clear +The tune they are the last to hear. +'Tis the strange gem in Pleasure's cup. +Physician and Philosopher, +In search of acorns, plough it up, +But count it nothing 'mong their gains; +Nay, call it pearl, they'd answer, 'Lo, +Blest Land where pearls as large as pumpkins grow!' +And would not even rend you for your pains. +To tell men truth, yet keep them dark +And shooting still beside the mark, +God, as in jest, gave to their wish, +The Sign of Jonah and the Fish. +'Tis the name new, on the white stone, +To none but them that have it known; +And even these can scarce believe, but cry, +'When turn'd was Sion's captivity, +Then were we, yea, and yet we seem +Like them that dream!' +In Spirit 'tis a punctual ray +Of peace that sheds more light than day; +In Will and Mind +'Tis the easy path so hard to find; +In Heart, a pain not to be told, +Were words mere honey, milk, and gold; +I' the Body 'tis the bag of the bee; +In all, the present, thousandfold amends +Made to the sad, astonish'd life +Of him that leaves house, child, and wife, +And on God's 'hest, almost despairing, wends, +As little guessing as the herd +What a strange Phoenix of a bird +Builds in this tree, +But only intending all that He intends. + To this, the Life of them that live, +If God would not, thus far, give tongue, +Ah, why did He his secret give +To one that has the gift of song? +But all He does He doubtless means, +And, if the Mystery that smites Prophets dumb +Here, to the grace-couch'd eyes of some, +Shapes to its living face the clinging shroud, +Perchance the Skies grow tired of screens, +And 'tis His Advent in the Cloud. + + + +VENUS AND DEATH. + + +With fetters gold her captivated feet +Lay, sunny sweet; +In that palm was the poppy, Sleep; in this +The apple, Bliss; +Against the mild side of his Spouse and Mother +One small God throve, and in't, meseem'd, another. +By these a Death-in-Life did foully breathe +Out of a face that was one grate of teeth. +Lift, O kind Angels, lift her eyelids loth, +Lest he devour her and her Godlets both! + + + +MIGNONNE. + + +Whate'er thou dost thou'rt dear. +Uncertain troubles sanctify +That magic well-spring of the willing tear, +Thine eye. +Thy jealous fear, +With not the rustle of a rival near; +Thy careless disregard of all +My tenderest care; +Thy dumb despair +When thy keen wit my worship may construe +Into contempt of thy divinity; +They please me too! +But should it once befall +These accidental charms to disappear, +Leaving withal +Thy sometime self the same throughout the year, +So glowing, grave and shy, +Kind, talkative and dear +As now thou sitt'st to ply +The fireside tune +Of that neat engine deft at which thou sew'st +With fingers mild and foot like the new moon, +O, then what cross of any further fate +Could my content abate? +Forget, then, (but I know +Thou canst not so,) +Thy customs of some praediluvian state. +I am no Bullfinch, fair my Butterfly, +That thou should'st try +Those zigzag courses, in the welkin clear; +Nor cruel Boy that, fledd'st thou straight +Or paused, mayhap +Might catch thee, for thy colours, with his cap. + + + +ALEXANDER AND LYCON. + + +'What, no crown won, +These two whole years, +By man of fortitude beyond his peers, +In Thrace or Macedon?' + 'No, none. +But what deep trouble does my Lycon feel, +And hide 'neath chat about the commonweal?' + 'Glauce but now the third time did again +The thing which I forbade. I had to box her ears. +'Twas ill to see her both blue eyes +Settled in tears +Despairing on the skies, +And the poor lip all pucker'd into pain; +Yet, for her sake, from kisses to refrain!' + 'Ho, Timocles, take down +That crown. +No, not that common one for blood with extreme valour spilt, +But yonder, with the berries gilt. +'Tis, Lycon, thy just meed. +To inflict unmoved +And firm to bear the woes of the Beloved +Is fortitude indeed.' + + + +SEMELE. + + +No praise to me! +My joy 'twas to be nothing but the glass +Thro' which the general boon of Heaven should pass, +To focus upon thee. +Nor is't thy blame +Thou first should'st glow, and, after, fade i' the flame. +It takes more might +Than God has given thee, Dear, so long to feel delight. +Shall I, alas, +Reproach thee with thy change and my regret? +Blind fumblers that we be +About the portals of felicity! +The wind of words would scatter, tears would wash +Quite out the little heat +Beneath the silent and chill-seeming ash, +Perchance, still slumbering sweet. + + + + +NOTES. + + +{29} In this year the middle and upper classes were disfranchised by Mr. +Disraeli's Government, and the final +destruction of the liberties of England by the Act of 1884 rendered +inevitable. + +{35} The Alabama Treaty. + +{62} This Piece was written in the year 1874, soon after the publication of +an incendiary pamphlet by Mr. Gladstone against the English Catholics, +occasioned by the Vatican Council. + + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNKNOWN EROS*** + + +******* This file should be named 13672.txt or 13672.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/6/7/13672 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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