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diff --git a/1731-h/1731-h.htm b/1731-h/1731-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d2e883e --- /dev/null +++ b/1731-h/1731-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2442 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Sister Songs, by Francis Thompson</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Sister Songs, by Francis Thompson + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Sister Songs + An Offering to Two Sisters + + +Author: Francis Thompson + + + +Release Date: February 1, 2015 [eBook #1731] +[This file was first posted on November 4, 1998] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTER SONGS*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1908 Burns and Oates edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" + src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1><span class="smcap">Sister Songs</span><br /> +<i>An Offering to Two Sisters</i></h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>BY</i><br /> +FRANCIS THOMPSON</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" + src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">BURNS & OATES<br /> +28, ORCHARD STREET<br /> +LONDON, W.: 1908</p> +<h2><a name="pageiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +iii</span>PREFACE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">This</span> poem, though new in the sense +of being now for the first time printed, was written some four +years ago, about the same date as the <i>Hound of Heaven</i> in +my former volume.</p> +<p>One image in the <i>Proem</i> was an unconscious plagiarism +from the beautiful image in Mr. Patmore’s <i>St. +Valentine’s Day</i>:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“O baby Spring,<br /> +That flutter’st sudden ’neath the breast of Earth,<br +/> +A month before the birth!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Finding I could not disengage it without injury to the passage +in which it is embedded, I have preferred to leave it, with this +acknowledgment to a Poet rich enough to lend to the poor.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">FRANCIS THOMPSON.</p> +<p>1895.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pagev"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. v</span><i>To</i><br /> +Monica and Madeline (Sylvia) Meynell</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>SISTER +SONGS<br /> +An Offering to Two Sisters</h2> +<h3>The Proem</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Shrewd</span> winds and +shrill—were these the speech of May?<br /> + A ragged, slag-grey sky—invested so,<br /> + Mary’s spoilt nursling! wert thou wont to +go?<br /> + Or <i>thou</i>, Sun-god and +song-god, say<br /> +Could singer pipe one tiniest linnet-lay,<br /> + While Song did turn away his face from song?<br /> + Or who could +be<br /> + In spirit or in body hale for long,—<br /> + Old Æsculap’s best +Master!—lacking thee?<br /> + <a +name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>At length, +then, thou art here!<br /> + On the +earth’s lethèd ear<br /> + Thy voice of light rings out exultant, strong;<br /> +Through dreams she stirs and murmurs at that summons dear:<br /> + From its red leash my heart +strains tamelessly,<br /> +For Spring leaps in the womb of the young year!<br /> + Nay, was it not brought forth +before,<br /> + And we waited, +to behold it,<br /> + Till the +sun’s hand should unfold it,<br /> + What the year’s young bosom +bore?<br /> +Even so; it came, nor knew we that it came,<br /> + In the +sun’s eclipse.<br /> + Yet the birds have plighted +vows,<br /> +And from the branches pipe each other’s name;<br /> + Yet the season all the boughs<br +/> + Has kindled to the +finger-tips,—<br /> +Mark yonder, how the long laburnum drips<br /> +Its jocund spilth of fire, its honey of wild flame!<br /> +Yea, and myself put on swift quickening,<br /> +And answer to the presence of a sudden Spring.<br /> +From cloud-zoned pinnacles of the secret spirit<br /> + <a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +3</span>Song falls precipitant in dizzying streams;<br /> +And, like a mountain-hold when war-shouts stir it,<br /> +The mind’s recessèd fastness casts to light<br /> +Its gleaming multitudes, that from every height<br /> + Unfurl the flaming of a thousand dreams.<br /> +Now therefore, thou who bring’st the year to birth,<br /> + Who guid’st the bare and dabbled feet of +May;<br /> +Sweet stem to that rose Christ, who from the earth<br /> +Suck’st our poor prayers, conveying them to Him;<br /> + Be aidant, tender Lady, to my lay!<br /> + Of thy two maidens somewhat must I say,<br /> +Ere shadowy twilight lashes, drooping, dim<br /> + + +Day’s dreamy eyes from us;<br /> + + +Ere eve has struck and furled<br /> +The beamy-textured tent transpicuous,<br /> + Of webbèd coerule wrought and woven calms,<br +/> + Whence has paced forth the +lambent-footed sun.<br /> +And Thou disclose my flower of song upcurled,<br /> + Who from Thy fair irradiant +palms<br /> + Scatterest all love and loveliness as alms;<br /> + + +Yea, Holy One,<br /> +Who coin’st Thyself to beauty for the world!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +4</span><i>Then</i>, <i>Spring’s little children</i>, +<i>your lauds do ye upraise</i><br /> +<i>To Sylvia</i>, <i>O Sylvia</i>, <i>her sweet</i>, <i>feat +ways</i>!<br /> + <i>Your lovesome labours lay away</i>,<br /> + <i>And trick you out in holiday</i>,<br /> + + +<i>For syllabling to Sylvia</i>;<br /> +<i>And all you birds on branches</i>, <i>lave your mouths with +May</i>,<br /> + <i>To bear with me this burthen</i>,<br /> + + +<i>For singing to Sylvia</i>.</p> +<h3><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>Part the +First</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> leaves dance, +the leaves sing,<br /> +The leaves dance in the breath of the Spring.<br /> + I bid them +dance,<br /> + + +I bid them sing,<br /> + For the limpid +glance<br /> + + +Of my ladyling;<br /> +For the gift to the Spring of a dewier spring,<br /> +For God’s good grace of this ladyling!<br /> +I know in the lane, by the hedgerow track,<br /> + The long, broad grasses underneath<br /> +Are warted with rain like a toad’s knobbed back;<br /> + But here May weareth a rainless wreath.<br /> +In the new-sucked milk of the sun’s bosom<br /> +Is dabbled the mouth of the daisy-blossom;<br /> + The smouldering rosebud chars through its sheath;<br +/> +The lily stirs her snowy limbs,<br /> + <a +name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>Ere she +swims<br /> +Naked up through her cloven green,<br /> +Like the wave-born Lady of Love Hellene;<br /> +And the scattered snowdrop exquisite<br /> + Twinkles and +gleams,<br /> + As if the showers of the sunny beams<br /> +Were splashed from the earth in drops of light.<br /> + Everything<br /> + That is child of +Spring<br /> + Casts its bud or blossoming<br /> +Upon the stream of my delight.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Their voices</i>, <i>that scents are</i>, +<i>now let them upraise</i><br /> +<i>To Sylvia</i>, <i>O Sylvia</i>, <i>her sweet</i>, <i>feat +ways</i>!<br /> + <i>Their lovely mother them array</i>,<br /> + <i>And prank them out in holiday</i>,<br /> + + +<i>For syllabling to Sylvia</i>;<br /> +<i>And all the birds on branches lave their mouths with +May</i>,<br /> + <i>To bear with me this burthen</i>,<br /> + <i>For singing to Sylvia</i>.</p> +<h4><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>2.</h4> +<p class="poetry">While thus I stood in mazes bound<br /> + Of vernal sorcery,<br /> +I heard a dainty dubious sound,<br /> + As of goodly melody;<br /> +Which first was faint as if in swound,<br /> + Then burst so suddenly<br /> +In warring concord all around,<br /> + That, whence this thing might be,<br /> + + +To see<br /> +The very marrow longed in me!<br /> + It seemed of air, it seemed of ground,<br /> + And never any witchery<br /> + Drawn from pipe, or reed, or string,<br /> + Made such dulcet ravishing.<br /> + ’Twas like no earthly instrument,<br /> + Yet had something of them all<br /> + In its rise, and in its fall;<br /> +As if in one sweet consort there were blent<br /> + Those archetypes celestial<br /> +Which our endeavouring instruments recall.<br /> + <a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>So heavenly flutes made murmurous plain<br /> + To heavenly viols, that again<br /> + —Aching with music—wailed back pain;<br +/> + Regals release their notes, which rise<br /> + Welling, like tears from heart to eyes;<br /> + And the harp thrills with thronging sighs.<br /> + Horns in mellow flattering<br /> + Parley with the cithern-string:—<br /> + Hark!—the floating, long-drawn note<br /> + Woos the throbbing cithern-string!</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Their pretty</i>, <i>pretty prating those +citherns sure upraise</i><br /> +<i>For homage unto Sylvia</i>, <i>her sweet</i>, <i>feat +ways</i>:<br /> + <i>Those flutes do flute their vowelled lay</i>,<br +/> + <i>Their lovely languid language say</i>,<br /> + <i>For lisping to Sylvia</i>;<br +/> +<i>Those viols’ lissom bowings break the heart of +May</i>,<br /> + <i>And harps harp their burthen</i>,<br /> + <i>For singing to Sylvia</i>.</p> +<h4>3.</h4> +<p class="poetry"> Now at that music and that +mirth<br /> + Rose, as ’twere, veils from earth;<br /> + <a +name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>And I spied<br +/> + How beside<br /> + Bud, bell, bloom, an elf<br /> + Stood, or was the flower itself<br /> + ’Mid +radiant air<br /> + All the fair<br +/> + Frequence swayed in irised wavers.<br /> + Some against the gleaming rims<br /> + Their bosoms prest<br /> + Of the kingcups, to the brims<br /> + Filled with sun, and their white limbs<br /> + Bathèd in those golden lavers;<br /> + Some on the brown, glowing breast<br /> + Of that Indian maid, the pansy,<br /> + (Through its tenuous veils confest<br /> + Of swathing light), in a quaint fancy<br /> + Tied her knot of yellow favours;<br /> + Others dared open draw<br /> + Snapdragon’s dreadful jaw:<br /> + Some, just sprung from out the soil,<br /> + Sleeked and shook their rumpled fans<br /> + Dropt with sheen<br /> + <a +name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>Of moony +green;<br /> + Others, not yet extricate,<br /> + On their hands leaned their weight,<br /> + And writhed them free with mickle toil,<br /> + Still folded in their veiny vans:<br /> + And all with an unsought accord<br /> + Sang together from the sward;<br /> + Whence had come, and from sprites<br /> + Yet unseen, those delights,<br /> + As of tempered musics blent,<br /> + Which had given me such content.<br /> + For haply our best instrument,<br /> + Pipe or cithern, stopped or strung,<br /> + Mimics but some spirit tongue.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Their amiable voices</i>, <i>I bid them +upraise</i><br /> +<i>To Sylvia</i>, <i>O Sylvia</i>, <i>her sweet</i>, <i>feat +ways</i>;<br /> + <i>Their lovesome labours laid away</i>,<br /> + <i>To linger out this holiday</i><br /> + <i>In syllabling +to Sylvia</i>;<br /> +<i>While all the birds on branches lave their mouths with +May</i>,<br /> +<a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span><i>To bear +with me this burthen</i>,<br /> + <i>For singing to Sylvia</i>.</p> +<h4>4.</h4> +<p class="poetry"> Next I saw, wonder-whist,<br +/> + How from the atmosphere a mist,<br /> + So it seemed, slow uprist;<br /> + And, looking from those elfin swarms,<br /> + I was +’ware<br /> + How the air<br +/> + Was all populous with forms<br /> + Of the Hours, floating down,<br /> + Like Nereids through a watery town.<br /> + Some, with languors of waved arms,<br /> + Fluctuous oared their flexile way;<br /> + Some were borne half resupine<br /> +On the aërial hyaline,<br /> +Their fluid limbs and rare array<br /> +Flickering on the wind, as quivers<br /> +Trailing weed in running rivers;<br /> +And others, in far prospect seen,<br /> +Newly loosed on this terrene,<br /> + <a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>Shot in piercing swiftness came,<br /> + With hair a-stream like pale and goblin flame.<br /> + As crystálline ice in water,<br /> + Lay in air each faint daughter;<br /> + Inseparate (or but separate dim)<br /> + Circumfused wind from wind-like vest,<br /> + Wind-like vest from wind-like limb.<br /> + But outward from each lucid breast,<br /> + When some passion left its haunt,<br /> + Radiate surge of colour came,<br /> + Diffusing blush-wise, palpitant,<br /> + Dying all the filmy frame.<br /> + With some sweet tenderness they would<br /> +Turn to an amber-clear and glossy gold;<br /> + Or a fine sorrow, lovely to behold,<br /> +Would sweep them as the sun and wind’s joined flood<br /> + Sweeps a greening-sapphire sea;<br /> + Or they would glow enamouredly<br /> +Illustrious sanguine, like a grape of blood;<br /> +Or with mantling poetry<br /> +Curd to the tincture which the opal hath,<br /> +Like rainbows thawing in a moonbeam bath.<br /> +<a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>So paled +they, flushed they, swam they, sang melodiously.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Their chanting</i>, <i>soon fading</i>, +<i>let them</i>, <i>too</i>, <i>upraise</i><br /> +<i>For homage unto Sylvia</i>, <i>her sweet</i>, <i>feat +ways</i>;<br /> + <i>Weave with suave float their wavèd +way</i>,<br /> + <i>And colours take of holiday</i>,<br /> + <i>For +syllabling to Sylvia</i>;<br /> +<i>And all the birds on branches lave their mouths with +May</i>,<br /> + <i>To bear with me this burthen</i>,<br /> + <i>For singing +to Sylvia</i>.</p> +<h4>5.</h4> +<p class="poetry"> Then, through those +translucencies,<br /> + As grew my senses clearer clear,<br /> + Did I see, and did I hear,<br /> + How under an elm’s canopy<br /> + Wheeled a flight of Dryades<br /> + Murmuring measured melody.<br /> + Gyre in gyre their treading was,<br /> + Wheeling with an adverse flight,<br /> + In twi-circle o’er the grass,<br /> + <a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>These to left, and those to right;<br /> + + +All the band<br /> + Linkèd by each other’s hand;<br /> + Decked in raiment stainèd as<br /> + The blue-helmèd aconite.<br /> + And they advance with flutter, with grace,<br /> + + +To the dance<br /> + Moving on with a dainty pace,<br /> + As blossoms mince it on river swells.<br /> + Over their heads their cymbals shine,<br /> + Round each ankle gleams a twine<br /> + + +Of twinkling bells—<br /> + Tune twirled golden from their cells.<br /> + Every step was a tinkling sound,<br /> + As they glanced in their dancing-ground,<br /> + Clouds in cluster with such a sailing<br /> + Float o’er the light of the wasting moon,<br +/> + As the cloud of their gliding veiling<br /> + Swung in the sway of the dancing-tune.<br /> + There was the clash of their cymbals clanging,<br /> + Ringing of swinging bells clinging their feet;<br /> + And the clang on wing it seemed a-hanging,<br /> + <a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>Hovering round their dancing so fleet.—<br /> + I stirred, I rustled more than meet;<br /> + Whereat they broke to the left and right,<br /> + With eddying robes like aconite<br /> + + +Blue of helm;<br /> + And I beheld to the foot o’ the elm.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>They have not tripped those dances</i>, +<i>betrayed to my gaze</i>,<br /> +<i>To glad the heart of Sylvia</i>, <i>beholding of their +maze</i>;<br /> + <i>Through barky walls have slid away</i>,<br /> + <i>And tricked them in their holiday</i>,<br /> + <i>For other than for +Sylvia</i>;<br /> +<i>While all the birds on branches lave their mouths with +May</i>,<br /> + <i>And bear with me this burthen</i>,<br /> + <i>For singing to Sylvia</i>.</p> +<h4>6.</h4> +<p class="poetry"> Where its umbrage was +enrooted,<br /> + Sat +white-suited,<br /> + Sat green-amiced, and bare-footed,<br /> + Spring amid her minstrelsy;<br /> + There she sat amid her ladies,<br /> + <a +name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>Where the +shade is<br /> + Sheen as Enna mead ere Hades’<br /> + Gloom fell thwart Persephone.<br +/> + Dewy buds were interstrown<br /> + Through her tresses hanging down,<br /> + And her feet<br +/> + Were most +sweet,<br /> + Tinged like sea-stars, rosied brown.<br /> +A throng of children like to flowers were sown<br /> +About the grass beside, or clomb her knee:<br /> +I looked who were that favoured company.<br /> + And one there +stood<br /> + Against the +beamy flood<br /> +Of sinking day, which, pouring its abundance,<br /> +Sublimed the illuminous and volute redundance<br /> +Of locks that, half dissolving, floated round her face;<br /> + As see I +might<br /> + Far off a lily-cluster poised in sun<br /> + Dispread its gracile curls of +light<br /> + I knew what chosen child was there in place!<br /> + I knew there might no brows be, save of one,<br /> + With such Hesperian fulgence compassèd,<br /> +<a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>Which in +her moving seemed to wheel about her head.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>O Spring’s little children</i>, +<i>more loud your lauds upraise</i>,<br /> +<i>For this is even Sylvia</i>, <i>with her sweet</i>, <i>feat +ways</i>!<br /> + <i>Your lovesome labours lay away</i>,<br /> + <i>And prank you out in holiday</i>,<br /> + <i>For +syllabling to Sylvia</i>;<br /> +<i>And all you birds on branches</i>, <i>lave your mouths with +May</i>,<br /> + <i>To bear with me this +burthen</i><br /> + <i>For singing +to Sylvia</i>!</p> +<h4>7.</h4> +<p class="poetry">Spring, goddess, is it thou, desirèd +long?<br /> +And art thou girded round with this young train?—<br /> +If ever I did do thee ease in song,<br /> +Now of thy grace let me one meed obtain,<br /> + And list thou to +one plain.<br /> + Oh, keep still +in thy train<br /> +After the years when others therefrom fade,<br /> + This tiny, well-belovèd +maid!<br /> +To whom the gate of my heart’s fortalice,<br /> + With all which +in it is,<br /> +<a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>And the +shy self who doth therein immew him<br /> +’Gainst what loud leagurers battailously woo him,<br /> + I, bribèd +traitor to him,<br /> + Set open for one +kiss.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Then suffer</i>, <i>Spring</i>, <i>thy +children</i>, <i>that lauds they should upraise</i><br /> +<i>To Sylvia</i>, <i>this Sylvia</i>, <i>her sweet</i>, <i>feat +ways</i>;<br /> + <i>Their lovely labours lay away</i>,<br /> + <i>And trick them out in holiday</i>,<br /> + <i>For +syllabling to Sylvia</i>;<br /> +<i>And that all birds on branches lave their mouths with +May</i>,<br /> + <i>To bear with me this burthen</i>,<br /> + <i>For singing +to Sylvia</i>.</p> +<h4>8.</h4> +<p +class="poetry"> A +kiss? for a child’s kiss?<br /> + + +Aye, goddess, even for this.<br /> + Once, bright Sylviola! in days not far,<br /> +Once—in that nightmare-time which still doth haunt<br /> +My dreams, a grim, unbidden visitant—<br /> + + +Forlorn, and faint, and stark,<br /> +<a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>I had +endured through watches of the dark<br /> + The abashless inquisition of each star,<br /> +Yea, was the outcast mark<br /> + Of all those +heavenly passers’ scrutiny;<br /> + Stood bound and +helplessly<br /> +For Time to shoot his barbèd minutes at me;<br /> +Suffered the trampling hoof of every hour<br /> + In night’s +slow-wheelèd car;<br /> + Until the tardy dawn dragged me at length<br /> + From under those dread wheels; and, bled of +strength,<br /> + I waited the inevitable last.<br +/> + Then there came +past<br /> +A child; like thee, a spring-flower; but a flower<br /> +Fallen from the budded coronal of Spring,<br /> +And through the city-streets blown withering.<br /> +She passed,—O brave, sad, lovingest, tender +thing!—<br /> +And of her own scant pittance did she give,<br /> + That I might eat +and live:<br /> +Then fled, a swift and trackless fugitive.<br /> + Therefore I +kissed in thee<br /> +The heart of Childhood, so divine for me;<br /> + <a name="page20"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 20</span>And her, through what sore ways,<br +/> + And what unchildish days,<br /> +Borne from me now, as then, a trackless fugitive.<br /> + Therefore I kissed in thee<br /> + Her, child! and innocency,<br /> +And spring, and all things that have gone from me,<br /> + And that shall never be;<br /> +All vanished hopes, and all most hopeless bliss,<br /> + Came with thee to my kiss.<br /> +And ah! so long myself had strayed afar<br /> +From child, and woman, and the boon earth’s green,<br /> +And all wherewith life’s face is fair beseen;<br /> + Journeying its journey bare<br /> +Five suns, except of the all-kissing sun<br /> + Unkissed of +one;<br /> + Almost I had +forgot<br /> + The healing +harms,<br /> +And whitest witchery, a-lurk in that<br /> +Authentic cestus of two girdling arms:<br /> + And I remembered not<br /> + The subtle sanctities which dart<br /> +From childish lips’ unvalued precious brush,<br /> +<a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>Nor how it +makes the sudden lilies push<br /> + Between the loosening fibres of the heart.<br /> + Then, that thy +little kiss<br /> + Should be to me +all this,<br /> +Let workaday wisdom blink sage lids thereat;<br /> +Which towers a flight three hedgerows high, poor bat!<br /> + And straightway charts me out the empyreal air.<br +/> +Its chart I wing not by, its canon of worth<br /> +Scorn not, nor reck though mine should breed it mirth:<br /> +And howso thou and I may be disjoint,<br /> +Yet still my falcon spirit makes her point<br /> + Over the covert +where<br /> +Thou, sweetest quarry, hast put in from her!</p> +<p class="poetry">(<i>Soul</i>, <i>hush these sad numbers</i>, +<i>too sad to upraise</i><br /> +<i>In hymning bright Sylvia</i>, <i>unlearn’d in such +ways</i>!<br /> + <i>Our mournful moods lay we away</i>,<br /> + <i>And prank our thoughts in holiday</i>,<br /> + <i>For +syllabling to Sylvia</i>;<br /> +<i>When all the birds on branches lave their mouths with +May</i>,<br /> + <i>To bear with us this burthen</i>,<br /> + <i>For singing +to Sylvia</i>!)</p> +<h4><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>9.</h4> +<p class="poetry">Then thus Spring, bounteous lady, made +reply:<br /> +“O lover of me and all my progeny,<br /> + For grace to +you<br /> +I take her ever to my retinue.<br /> +Over thy form, dear child, alas! my art<br /> +Cannot prevail; but mine immortalising<br /> + Touch I lay upon +thy heart.<br /> + Thy soul’s +fair shape<br /> +In my unfading mantle’s green I drape,<br /> +And thy white mind shall rest by my devising<br /> + A Gideon-fleece amid life’s dusty drouth.<br +/> +If Even burst yon globèd yellow grape<br /> +(Which is the sun to mortals’ sealèd sight)<br /> + Against her +stainèd mouth;<br /> + Or if +white-handed light<br /> +Draw thee yet dripping from the quiet pools,<br /> + Still lucencies +and cools,<br /> +Of sleep, which all night mirror constellate dreams;<br /> +Like to the sign which led the Israelite,<br /> + Thy soul, +through day or dark,<br /> +A visible brightness on the chosen ark<br /> + <a name="page23"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 23</span>Of thy sweet body and pure,<br /> + + +Shall it assure,<br /> +With auspice large and tutelary gleams,<br /> +Appointed solemn courts, and covenanted streams.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Cease</i>, <i>Spring’s little +children</i>, <i>now cease your lauds to raise</i>;<br /> +<i>That dream is past</i>, <i>and Sylvia</i>, <i>with her +sweet</i>, <i>feat ways</i>.<br /> + <i>Our lovèd labour</i>, <i>laid away</i>,<br +/> + <i>Is smoothly ended</i>; <i>said our say</i>,<br /> + <i>Our syllable +to Sylvia</i>.<br /> +<i>Make sweet</i>, <i>you birds on branches</i>! <i>make sweet +your mouths with May</i>!<br /> + <i>But borne is this burthen</i>,<br /> + + +<i>Sung unto Sylvia</i>.</p> +<h3><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>Part +the Second</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">And</span> now, thou elder +nursling of the nest;<br /> + Ere all the intertangled west<br +/> + Be one +magnificence<br /> +Of multitudinous blossoms that o’errun<br /> +The flaming brazen bowl o’ the burnished sun<br /> + Which they do +flower from,<br /> +How shall I ’stablish <i>thy</i> memorial?<br /> +Nay, how or with what countenance shall I come<br /> + To plead in my +defence<br /> + For loving thee +at all?<br /> +I who can scarcely speak my fellows’ speech,<br /> +Love their love, or mine own love to them teach;<br /> +A bastard barred from their inheritance,<br /> + Who seem, in this dim shape’s uneasy nook,<br +/> +Some sun-flower’s spirit which by luckless chance<br /> + Has mournfully its tenement mistook;<br /> +<a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>When it +were better in its right abode,<br /> +Heartless and happy lackeying its god.<br /> +How com’st thou, little tender thing of white,<br /> +Whose very touch full scantly me beseems,<br /> +How com’st thou resting on my vaporous dreams,<br /> + Kindling a wraith there of earth’s vernal +green?<br /> + Even so as I +have seen,<br /> + In night’s aërial sea with no wind +blust’rous,<br /> +A ribbèd tract of cloudy malachite<br /> + Curve a shored +crescent wide;<br /> +And on its slope marge shelving to the night<br /> + The stranded moon lay quivering like a lustrous<br +/> + Medusa newly washed up from the +tide,<br /> +Lay in an oozy pool of its own deliquious light.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet hear how my excuses may prevail,<br /> + Nor, tender white orb, be thou opposite!<br /> +Life and life’s beauty only hold their revels<br /> +In the abysmal ocean’s luminous levels.<br /> + There, like the +phantasms of a poet pale,<br /> +The exquisite marvels sail:<br /> +Clarified silver; greens and azures frail<br /> +<a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>As if the +colours sighed themselves away,<br /> +And blent in supersubtile interplay<br /> + As if they swooned into each other’s arms;<br +/> + Repured +vermilion,<br /> + Like ear-tips +’gainst the sun;<br /> +And beings that, under night’s swart pinion,<br /> +Make every wave upon the harbour-bars<br /> + A beaten yolk of +stars.<br /> +But where day’s glance turns baffled from the deeps,<br /> + Die out those +lovely swarms;<br /> +And in the immense profound no creature glides or creeps.</p> +<p class="poetry">Love and love’s beauty only hold their +revels<br /> +In life’s familiar, penetrable levels:<br /> + What of its +ocean-floor?<br /> + I dwell there +evermore.<br /> + From almost +earliest youth<br /> + I raised the +lids o’ the truth,<br /> +And forced her bend on me her shrinking sight;<br /> +Ever I knew me Beauty’s eremite,<br /> + In antre of this lowly body set.<br /> + <a name="page27"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 27</span>Girt with a thirsty solitude of +soul.<br /> + Nathless I not +forget<br /> +How I have, even as the anchorite,<br /> + I too, imperishing essences that console.<br /> +Under my ruined passions, fallen and sere,<br /> + The wild dreams stir like little radiant girls,<br +/> +Whom in the moulted plumage of the year<br /> + Their comrades sweet have buried to the curls.<br /> +Yet, though their dedicated amorist,<br /> +How often do I bid my visions hist,<br /> + Deaf to them, pleading all their piteous fills;<br +/> +Who weep, as weep the maidens of the mist<br /> + Clinging the necks of the unheeding hills:<br /> +And their tears wash them lovelier than before,<br /> +That from grief’s self our sad delight grows more,<br /> +Fair are the soul’s uncrispèd calms, indeed,<br /> + Endiapered with many a spiritual form<br /> + Of +blosmy-tinctured weed;<br /> +But scarce itself is conscious of the store<br /> + Suckled by it, and only after storm<br /> +Casts up its loosened thoughts upon the shore.<br /> + To this end my deeps are +stirred;<br /> + <a name="page28"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 28</span>And I deem well why life unshared<br +/> + Was ordainèd me of yore.<br +/> + In pairing-time, we know, the +bird<br /> + Kindles to its deepmost +splendour,<br /> + And the tender<br /> + Voice is tenderest in its +throat;<br /> + Were its love, for ever nigh +it,<br /> + Never by it,<br /> + It might keep a vernal note,<br /> + The crocean and amethystine<br /> + + +In their pristine<br /> + Lustre linger on +its coat.<br /> + Therefore must my song-bower lone +be,<br /> + + +That my tone be<br /> + Fresh with dewy +pain alway;<br /> + She, who scorns my dearest care +ta’en,<br /> + + +An uncertain<br /> + Shadow of the +sprite of May.<br /> + And is my song sweet, as they +say?<br /> +’Tis sweet for one whose voice has no reply,<br /> + + +Save silence’s sad cry:<br /> +And are its plumes a burning bright array?<br /> +<a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>They burn +for an unincarnated eye<br /> +A bubble, charioteered by the inward breath<br /> + Which, ardorous for its own invisible lure,<br /> +Urges me glittering to aërial death,<br /> + I am rapt towards that bodiless paramour;<br /> +Blindly the uncomprehended tyranny<br /> + Obeying of my heart’s impetuous might.<br /> + The earth and all its planetary +kin,<br /> +Starry buds tangled in the whirling hair<br /> +That flames round the Phoebean wassailer,<br /> + Speed no more ignorant, more predestined flight,<br +/> + Than I, <i>her</i> viewless +tresses netted in.<br /> +As some most beautiful one, with lovely taunting,<br /> +Her eyes of guileless guile o’ercanopies,<br /> + Does her hid +visage bow,<br /> +And miserly your covetous gaze allow,<br /> + By inchmeal, coy +degrees,<br /> + +Saying—“Can you see me now?”<br /> +Yet from the mouth’s reflex you guess the wanting<br /> + Smile of the +coming eyes<br /> +In all their upturned grievous witcheries,<br /> + Before that +sunbreak rise;<br /> +<a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>And each +still hidden feature view within<br /> +Your mind, as eager scrutinies detail<br /> +The moon’s young rondure through the shamefast veil<br /> + Drawn to her gleaming chin:<br /> + + +After this wise,<br /> +From the enticing smile of earth and skies<br /> +I dream my unknown Fair’s refusèd gaze;<br /> +And guessingly her love’s close traits devise,<br /> + Which she with subtile +coquetries<br /> +Through little human glimpses slow displays,<br /> + Cozening my +mateless days<br /> + By sick, +intolerable delays.<br /> +And so I keep mine uncompanioned ways;<br /> +And so my touch, to golden poesies<br /> +Turning love’s bread, is bought at hunger’s price.<br +/> +So,—in the inextinguishable wars<br /> +Which roll song’s Orient on the sullen night<br /> +Whose ragged banners in their own despite<br /> +Take on the tinges of the hated light,—<br /> +So Sultan Phoebus has his Janizars.<br /> +<a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>But if +mine unappeasèd cicatrices<br /> + Might get them +lawful ease;<br /> +Were any gentle passion hallowed me,<br /> + Who must none other breath of passion feel<br /> + Save such as winnows to the fledgèd heel<br +/> + The tremulous Paradisal +plumages;<br /> + The conscious sacramental trees<br +/> + + +Which ever be<br /> + + +Shaken celestially,<br /> +Consentient with enamoured wings, might know my love for thee.<br +/> +Yet is there more, whereat none guesseth, love!<br /> + Upon the ending of my deadly night<br /> +(Whereof thou hast not the surmise, and slight<br /> +Is all that any mortal knows thereof),<br /> + Thou wert to me that earnest of day’s +light,<br /> +When, like the back of a gold-mailèd saurian<br /> + Heaving its slow length from Nilotic slime,<br /> +The first long gleaming fissure runs Aurorian<br /> + Athwart the yet dun firmament of prime.<br /> +Stretched on the margin of the cruel sea<br /> + Whence they had +rescued me,<br /> + With faint and painful pulses was I lying;<br /> + <a +name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>Not yet +discerning well<br /> +If I had ’scaped, or were an icicle,<br /> + Whose thawing is +its dying.<br /> +Like one who sweats before a despot’s gate,<br /> +Summoned by some presaging scroll of fate,<br /> +And knows not whether kiss or dagger wait;<br /> +And all so sickened is his countenance,<br /> +The courtiers buzz, “Lo, doomed!” and look at him +askance:—<br /> + At Fate’s +dread portal then<br /> + Even so stood I, +I ken,<br /> +Even so stood I, between a joy and fear,<br /> +And said to mine own heart, “Now if the end be +here!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> They say, +Earth’s beauty seems completest<br /> + To them that on +their death-beds rest;<br /> + Gentle lady! she smiles +sweetest<br /> + Just ere she +clasp us to her breast.<br /> +And I,—now <i>my</i> Earth’s countenance grew +bright,<br /> +Did she but smile me towards that nuptial-night?<br /> +But whileas on such dubious bed I lay,<br /> + + +One unforgotten day,<br /> + As a sick child waking sees<br /> + <a +name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>Wide-eyed +daisies<br /> + Gazing on it from its hand,<br /> + Slipped there for its dear +amazes;<br /> + So between thy father’s +knees<br /> + I saw +<i>thee</i> stand,<br /> + And through my +hazes<br /> +Of pain and fear thine eyes’ young wonder shone.<br /> +Then, as flies scatter from a carrion,<br /> + Or rooks in spreading gyres like broken smoke<br /> + Wheel, when some sound their quietude has broke,<br +/> +Fled, at thy countenance, all that doubting spawn:<br /> + The heart which I had questioned +spoke,<br /> +A cry impetuous from its depths was drawn,—<br /> +“I take the omen of this face of dawn!”<br /> +And with the omen to my heart cam’st thou.<br /> + Even with a +spray of tears<br /> +That one light draft was fixed there for the years.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> And +now?—<br /> +The hours I tread ooze memories of thee, Sweet!<br /> + Beneath my casual feet.<br /> + With rainfall as the lea,<br /> + <a +name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>The day is +drenched with thee;<br /> + In little exquisite surprises<br +/> +Bubbling deliciousness of thee arises<br /> + + +From sudden places,<br /> + Under the common traces<br /> +Of my most lethargied and customed paces.</p> +<p class="poetry"> As an Arab +journeyeth<br /> + Through a sand of Ayaman,<br /> + Lean Thirst, lolling its cracked +tongue,<br /> + Lagging by his side along;<br /> + And a rusty-wingèd Death<br +/> + Grating its low flight before,<br +/> + Casting ribbèd shadows +o’er<br /> + The blank desert, blank and +tan:<br /> +He lifts by hap toward where the morning’s roots are<br /> + + +His weary stare,—<br /> + Sees, although they plashless mutes are,<br /> + Set in a silver air<br /> + Fountains of gelid shoots are,<br /> + Making the daylight fairest +fair;<br /> + Sees the palm and tamarind<br /> +<a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>Tangle the +tresses of a phantom wind;—<br /> +A sight like innocence when one has sinned!<br /> +A green and maiden freshness smiling there,<br /> + While with +unblinking glare<br /> +The tawny-hided desert crouches watching her.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> ’Tis +a vision:<br /> + Yet the greeneries Elysian<br /> + He has known in tracts afar;<br /> + Thus the enamouring fountains +flow,<br /> + Those the very palms that grow,<br +/> +By rare-gummed Sava, or Herbalimar.—</p> +<p class="poetry"> Such a +watered dream has tarried<br /> + Trembling on my desert arid;<br /> + + +Even so<br /> + Its lovely +gleamings<br /> + + +Seemings show<br /> + Of things not +seemings;<br /> + + +And I gaze,<br /> + Knowing that, beyond my ways,<br +/> + + +Verily<br /> + <a +name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>All these +<i>are</i>, for these are she.<br /> + Eve no gentlier lays her cooling +cheek<br /> + On the burning brow of the sick +earth,<br /> + Sick with death, +and sick with birth,<br /> + Aeon to aeon, in secular fever twirled,<br /> + Than thy shadow +soothes this weak<br /> + And distempered +being of mine.<br /> +In all I work, my hand includeth thine;<br /> + Thou rushest +down in every stream<br /> +Whose passion frets my spirit’s deepening gorge;<br /> +Unhood’st mine eyas-heart, and fliest my dream;<br /> + Thou +swing’st the hammers of my forge;<br /> +As the innocent moon, that nothing does but shine,<br /> +Moves all the labouring surges of the world.<br /> + Pierce where thou wilt the springing thought in +me,<br /> +And there thy pictured countenance lies enfurled,<br /> + As in the cut fern lies the imaged tree.<br /> + This poor song that sings of +thee,<br /> + This fragile song, is but a curled<br /> + Shell outgathered from thy sea,<br +/> + And murmurous still of its nativity.<br /> + + +<a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>Princess +of Smiles!<br /> +Sorceress of most unlawful-lawful wiles!<br /> + Cunning pit for gazers’ +senses,<br /> + Overstrewn with innocences!<br /> + Purities gleam white like +statues<br /> + In the fair lakes of thine +eyes,<br /> + And I watch the sparkles that +use<br /> + + +There to rise,<br /> + + +Knowing these<br /> + Are bubbles from the calyces<br /> + Of the lovely thoughts that +breathe<br /> +Paving, like water-flowers, thy spirit’s floor beneath.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> O +thou most dear!<br /> +Who art thy sex’s complex harmony<br /> + God-set more facilely;<br /> + To thee may love draw near<br /> + Without one blame or fear,<br /> +Unchidden save by his humility:<br /> +Thou Perseus’ Shield! wherein I view secure<br /> +The mirrored Woman’s fateful-fair allure!<br /> +Whom Heaven still leaves a twofold dignity,<br /> +<a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>As +girlhood gentle, and as boyhood free;<br /> +With whom no most diaphanous webs enwind<br /> +The barèd limbs of the rebukeless mind.<br /> +Wild Dryad! all unconscious of thy tree,<br /> + + +With which indissolubly<br /> +The tyrannous time shall one day make thee whole;<br /> +Whose frank arms pass unfretted through its bole:<br /> + Who wear’st thy femineity<br +/> +Light as entrailèd blossoms, that shalt find<br /> +It erelong silver shackles unto thee.<br /> +Thou whose young sex is yet but in thy soul;—<br /> + As hoarded in the vine<br /> +Hang the gold skins of undelirious wine,<br /> +As air sleeps, till it toss its limbs in breeze:—<br /> + In whom the mystery which lures and sunders,<br /> + Grapples and thrusts apart; +endears, estranges;<br /> +—The dragon to its own Hesperides—<br /> + Is gated under slow-revolving changes,<br /> +Manifold doors of heavy-hingèd years.<br /> + So once, ere Heaven’s eyes were filled with +wonders<br /> + To see Laughter rise from +Tears,<br /> + <a name="page39"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 39</span>Lay in beauty not yet mighty,<br /> + Conchèd +in translucencies,<br /> + The antenatal Aphrodite,<br /> +Caved magically under magic seas;<br /> +Caved dreamlessly beneath the dreamful seas.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> “Whose +sex is in thy soul!”<br /> + What think we of +thy soul?<br /> + Which has no parts, and cannot +grow,<br /> + Unfurled not from an embryo;<br /> +Born of full stature, lineal to control;<br /> + And yet a pigmy’s yoke must undergo.<br /> +Yet must keep pace and tarry, patient, kind,<br /> +With its unwilling scholar, the dull, tardy mind;<br /> +Must be obsequious to the body’s powers,<br /> +Whose low hands mete its paths, set ope and close its ways;<br /> + Must do obeisance to the days,<br +/> +And wait the little pleasure of the hours;<br /> + Yea, ripe for kingship, yet must be<br /> +Captive in statuted minority!<br /> +So is all power fulfilled, as soul in thee.<br /> +<a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>So still +the ruler by the ruled takes rule,<br /> +And wisdom weaves itself i’ the loom o’ the fool.<br +/> +The splendent sun no splendour can display,<br /> +Till on gross things he dash his broken ray,<br /> +From cloud and tree and flower re-tossed in prismy spray.<br /> +Did not obstruction’s vessel hem it in,<br /> +Force were not force, would spill itself in vain<br /> +We know the Titan by his champèd chain.<br /> +Stay is heat’s cradle, it is rocked therein,<br /> +And by check’s hand is burnished into light;<br /> +If hate were none, would love burn lowlier bright?<br /> +God’s Fair were guessed scarce but for opposite sin;<br /> +Yea, and His Mercy, I do think it well,<br /> +Is flashed back from the brazen gates of Hell.<br /> + The heavens +decree<br /> +All power fulfil itself as soul in thee.<br /> +For supreme Spirit subject was to clay,<br /> + And Law from its own servants learned a law,<br /> +And Light besought a lamp unto its way,<br /> + And Awe was +reined in awe,<br /> + At one small house of Nazareth;<br +/> + <a +name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>And +Golgotha<br /> +Saw Breath to breathlessness resign its breath,<br /> +And Life do homage for its crown to death.</p> +<p class="poetry">So is all power, as soul in thee increased!<br +/> + But, knowing this, in knowledge’s despite<br +/> + I fret against the law severe that stains<br /> + Thy spirit with +eclipse;<br /> + When—as a nymph’s carven head sweet +water drips,<br /> + For others oozing so the cool delight<br /> + Which cannot steep her stiffened mouth of +stone—<br /> +Thy nescient lips repeat maternal strains.<br /> + + +Memnonian lips!<br /> +Smitten with singing from thy mother’s east,<br /> + And murmurous with music not their own:<br /> + Nay, the lips flexile, while the mind alone<br /> + A passionless +statue stands.<br /> + Oh, pardon, +innocent one!<br /> + Pardon at thine unconscious +hands!<br /> +“Murmurous with music not their own,” I say?<br /> +And in that saying how do I missay,<br /> + <a +name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>When from the +common sands<br /> +Of poorest common speech of common day<br /> +Thine accents sift the golden musics out!<br /> + And ah, we poets, I misdoubt,<br +/> + Are little more +than thou!<br /> +We speak a lesson taught we know not how,<br /> + And what it is that from us +flows<br /> +The hearer better than the utterer knows.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Thou +canst foreshape thy word;<br /> + The poet is not +lord<br /> + Of the next syllable may come<br +/> + With the returning pendulum;<br /> + And what he plans to-day in +song,<br /> +To-morrow sings it in another tongue.<br /> + Where the last leaf fell from his +bough,<br /> + He knows not if a leaf shall +grow,<br /> + Where he sows he doth not reap,<br +/> + He reapeth where he did not +sow;<br /> + He sleeps, and dreams forsake his +sleep<br /> + To meet him on his waking way.<br +/> +Vision will mate him not by law and vow:<br /> + <a name="page43"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 43</span>Disguised in life’s most +hodden-grey,<br /> +By the most beaten road of everyday<br /> +She waits him, unsuspected and unknown.<br /> + + +The hardest pang whereon<br /> +He lays his mutinous head may be a Jacob’s stone.<br /> +In the most iron crag his foot can tread<br /> + + +A Dream may strew her bed,<br /> + And suddenly his limbs entwine,<br +/> +And draw him down through rock as sea-nymphs might through +brine.<br /> +But, unlike those feigned temptress-ladies who<br /> +In guerdon of a night the lover slew,<br /> +When the embrace has failed, the rapture fled,<br /> +Not he, not he, the wild sweet witch is dead!<br /> + + +And, though he cherisheth<br /> +The babe most strangely born from out her death,<br /> +Some tender trick of her it hath, maybe,—<br /> + + +It is not she!</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet, even as the air is rumorous of fray<br /> + Before the first shafts of the sun’s +onslaught<br /> + From gloom’s black harness +splinter,<br /> + <a name="page44"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 44</span>And Summer move on Winter<br /> +With the trumpet of the March, and the pennon of the May;<br /> + As gesture outstrips thought;<br +/> +So, haply, toyer with ethereal strings!<br /> +Are thy blind repetitions of high things<br /> +The murmurous gnats whose aimless hoverings<br /> + Reveal song’s summer in the +air;<br /> +The outstretched hand, which cannot thought declare,<br /> + Yet is +thought’s harbinger.<br /> +These strains the way for thine own strains prepare;<br /> +We feel the music moist upon this breeze,<br /> +And hope the congregating poesies.<br /> + Sundered yet by thee from us<br /> + Wait, with wild eyes luminous,<br +/> +All thy wingèd things that are to be;<br /> +They flit against thee, Gate of Ivory!<br /> +They clamour on the portress Destiny,—<br /> +“Set her wide, so we may issue through!<br /> +Our vans are quick for that they have to do!”<br /> + Suffer still your young desire;<br +/> +Your plumes but bicker at the tips with fire,<br /> +<a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>Tarry +their kindling; they will beat the higher.<br /> +And thou, bright girl, not long shalt thou repeat<br /> +Idly the music from thy mother caught;<br /> + Not vainly has +she wrought,<br /> +Not vainly from the cloudward-jetting turret<br /> +Of her aërial mind, for thy weak feet,<br /> +Let down the silken ladder of her thought.<br /> + She bare thee with a double pain,<br /> + Of the body and the spirit;<br /> + Thou thy fleshly weeds hast ta’en,<br /> + Thy diviner weeds inherit!<br /> +The precious streams which through thy young lips roll<br /> +Shall leave their lovely delta in thy soul:<br /> + Where sprites of so essential kind<br /> + + +Set their paces,<br /> + Surely they shall leave behind<br /> + + +The green traces<br /> + Of their sportance in the mind,<br /> + And thou shalt, ere we well may know it,<br /> + Turn that +daintiness, a poet,—<br /> + + +Elfin-ring<br /> + Where sweet +fancies foot and sing.<br /> + <a name="page46"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 46</span>So it may be, so it <i>shall</i> +be,—<br /> + Oh, take the prophecy from me!<br +/> +What if the old fastidious sculptor, Time,<br /> + This crescent marvel of his +hands<br /> + Carveth all too painfully,<br /> +And I who prophesy shall never see?<br /> +What if the niche of its predestined rhyme,<br /> + Its aching niche, too long expectant stands?<br /> + Yet shall he after sore delays<br +/> + On some exultant day of days<br /> + The white enshrouding childhood +raise<br /> +From thy fair spirit, finished for our gaze;<br /> + While we (but ’mongst that +happy “we”<br /> + + +The prophet cannot be!)<br /> +While we behold with no astonishments,<br /> +With that serene fulfilment of delight<br /> + + +Wherewith we view the sight<br /> + When the stars pitch the golden +tents<br /> +Of their high campment on the plains of night.<br /> +Why should amazement be our satellite?<br /> + + +What wonder in such things?<br /> +If angels have hereditary wings,<br /> + <a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>If not by Salic law is handed down<br /> + + +The poet’s crown,<br /> + To thee, born in the purple of the throne,<br /> + The laurel must +belong:<br /> + Thou, in thy +mother’s right<br /> +Descendant of Castalian-chrismed kings—<br /> + O Princess of the Blood of +Song!</p> +<p class="poetry">Peace; too impetuously have I been winging<br +/> + Toward vaporous heights which beckon and beguile<br +/> + I sink back, saddened to my inmost +mind;<br /> +Even as I list a-dream that mother singing<br /> + The poesy of sweet tone, and sadden, while<br /> + Her voice is cast in troubled wake +behind<br /> + The keel of her keen spirit. +Thou art enshrined<br /> +In a too primal innocence for this eye—<br /> +Intent on such untempered radiancy—<br /> +Not to be pained; my clay can scarce endure<br /> +Ungrieved the effluence near of essences so pure.<br /> + + +Therefore, little, tender maiden,<br /> + + +Never be thou overshaden<br /> + + +With a mind whose canopy<br /> + <a name="page48"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 48</span>Would shut out the sky from thee;<br +/> +Whose tangled branches intercept Heaven’s light:<br /> + I will not feed my unpastured +heart<br /> + On thee, green pleasaunce as thou +art,<br /> +To lessen by one flower thy happy daisies white.<br /> +The water-rat is earth-hued like the runlet<br /> + Whereon he swims; and how in me should lurk<br /> +Thoughts apt to neighbour thine, thou creature sunlit?<br /> + If through long +fret and irk<br /> +Thine eyes within their browed recesses were<br /> +Worn caves where thought lay couchant in its lair;<br /> +Wert thou a spark among dank leaves, ah ruth!<br /> +With age in all thy veins, while all thy heart was youth;<br /> + Our contact might run smooth.<br +/> +But life’s Eoan dews still moist thy ringèd hair;<br +/> + Dian’s chill finger-tips<br +/> +Thaw if at night they happen on thy lips;<br /> +The flying fringes of the sun’s cloak frush<br /> +The fragile leaves which on those warm lips blush;<br /> + And joy only lurks +retirèd<br /> + In the dim gloaming of thine +irid.<br /> +<a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>Then since +my love drags this poor shadow, me,<br /> +And one without the other may not be,<br /> + From both I +guard thee free.<br /> + It still is much, yes, it is +much,<br /> +Only—my dream!—to love my love of thee;<br /> + And it is much, yes, it is +much,<br /> +In hands which thou hast touched to feel thy touch<br /> +In voices which have mingled with thine own<br /> + To hear a double +tone.<br /> +As anguish, for supreme expression prest,<br /> + Borrows its saddest tongue from +jest,<br /> + Thou hast of absence so create<br +/> + A presence more importunate;<br /> + And thy voice pleads its sweetest +suit<br /> + + +When it is mute.<br /> + I thank the once accursèd +star<br /> + + +Which did me teach<br /> +To make of Silence my familiar,<br /> +Who hath the rich reversion of thy speech,<br /> +Since the most charming sounds thy thought can wear,<br /> +Cast off, fall to that pale attendant’s share;<br /> + And thank the gift which made my +mind<br /> +<a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>A +shadow-world, wherethrough the shadows wind<br /> +Of all the loved and lovely of my kind.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Like a +maiden Saxon, folden,<br /> + As she flits, in +moon-drenched mist;<br /> + Whose curls streaming +flaxen-golden,<br /> + By the misted +moonbeams kist,<br /> + Dispread their filmy floating +silk<br /> + Like honey +steeped in milk:<br /> + So, vague goldenness remote,<br /> + Through my thoughts I watch thee +float.<br /> +When the snake summer casts her blazoned skin<br /> +We find it at the turn of autumn’s path,<br /> +And think it summer that rewinded hath,<br /> + + +Joying therein;<br /> +And this enamouring slough of thee, mine elf,<br /> + I take it for thyself;<br /> +Content. Content? Yea, title it content.<br /> +The very loves that belt thee must prevent<br /> +My love, I know, with their legitimacy:<br /> +As the metallic vapours, that are swept<br /> +Athwart the sun, in his light intercept<br /> + + +<a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>The very +hues<br /> +Which <i>their</i> conflagrant elements effuse.<br /> + But, my love, my heart, my +fair,<br /> + That only I should see thee +rare,<br /> +Or tent to the hid core thy rarity,—<br /> + This were a mournfulness more piercing far<br /> + Than that those other loves my own must bar,<br /> +Or thine for others leave thee none for me.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But on a +day whereof I think,<br /> + One shall dip his hand to drink<br +/> + In that still water of thy +soul,<br /> + And its imaged tremors race<br /> + Over thy joy-troubled face,<br /> + As the intervolved reflections +roll<br /> + From a shaken fountain’s +brink,<br /> + With swift light wrinkling its +alcove.<br /> + From the hovering wing of Love<br +/> +The warm stain shall flit roseal on thy cheek,<br /> + Then, sweet blushet! whenas he,<br +/> +The destined paramount of thy universe,<br /> + Who has no worlds to sigh for, ruling thee,<br /> + <a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>Àscends his vermeil throne of empery,<br /> + One grace alone +I seek.<br /> +Oh! may this treasure-galleon of my verse,<br /> +Fraught with its golden passion, oared with cadent rhyme,<br /> +Set with a towering press of fantasies,<br /> + Drop safely down +the time,<br /> + Leaving mine islèd self behind it far<br /> +Soon to be sunken in the abysm of seas,<br /> +(As down the years the splendour voyages<br /> + From some long ruined and night-submergèd +star),<br /> +And in thy subject sovereign’s havening heart<br /> +Anchor the freightage of its virgin ore;<br /> + Adding its +wasteful more<br /> +To his own overflowing treasury.<br /> +So through his river mine shall reach thy sea,<br /> + Bearing its +confluent part;<br /> + In his pulse +mine shall thrill;<br /> +And the quick heart shall quicken from the heart that’s +still.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah! help, my Dæmon that hast served me +well!<br /> + <a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>Not at this last, oh, do not me disgrace!<br /> + I faint, I sicken, darkens all my sight,<br /> + As, poised upon this unprevisioned height,<br /> + I lift into its +place<br /> +The utmost aery traceried pinnacle.<br /> +So; it is builded, the high tenement,<br /> + —God +grant—to mine intent!<br /> +Most like a palace of the Occident,<br /> + Up-thrusting, toppling maze on +maze,<br /> + + +Its mounded blaze,<br /> +And washèd by the sunset’s rosy waves,<br /> +Whose sea drinks rarer hue from those rare walls it laves.<br /> + Yet wail, my spirits, wail!<br /> +So few therein to enter shall prevail!<br /> +Scarce fewer could win way, if their desire<br /> +A dragon baulked, with involuted spire,<br /> +And writhen snout spattered with yeasty fire.<br /> +For at the elfin portal hangs a horn<br /> + Which none can wind aright<br /> + Save the appointed knight<br /> +Whose lids the fay-wings brushed when he was born.<br /> + <a name="page54"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 54</span>All others stray forlorn,<br /> +Or glimpsing, through the blazoned windows scrolled<br /> +Receding labyrinths lessening tortuously<br /> + In half obscurity;<br /> +With mystic images, inhuman, cold,<br /> + That flameless torches hold.<br /> + But who can wind that horn of might<br /> +(The horn of dead Heliades) aright,—<br /> + + +Straight<br /> +Open for him shall roll the conscious gate;<br /> +And light leap up from all the torches there,<br /> +And life leap up in every torchbearer,<br /> +And the stone faces kindle in the glow,<br /> +And into the blank eyes the irids grow,<br /> +And through the dawning irids ambushed meanings show.<br /> + Illumined this +wise on,<br /> +He threads securely the far intricacies,<br /> + With brede from Heaven’s wrought vesture +overstrewn;<br /> +Swift Tellus’ purfled tunic, girt upon<br /> +With the blown chlamys of her fluttering seas;<br /> + <a name="page55"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 55</span>And the freaked kirtle of the +pearlèd moon:<br /> +Until he gain the structure’s core, where stands—<br +/> + + +A toil of magic hands—<br /> +The unbodied spirit of the sorcerer,<br /> + + +Most strangely rare,<br /> + As is a vision remembered in the +noon;<br /> +Unbodied, yet to mortal seeing clear,<br /> +Like sighs exhaled in eager atmosphere.<br /> +From human haps and mutabilities<br /> +It rests exempt, beneath the edifice<br /> + To which itself +gave rise;<br /> +Sustaining centre to the bubble of stone<br /> +Which, breathed from it, exists by it alone.<br /> + Yea, ere Saturnian earth her child consumes,<br /> +And I lie down with outworn ossuaries,<br /> +Ere death’s grim tongue anticipates the tomb’s<br /> + <i>Siste +viator</i>, in this storied urn<br /> + My living heart +is laid to throb and burn,<br /> + Till end be ended, and till ceasing cease.</p> +<p class="poetry">And thou by whom this strain hath parentage;<br +/> + Wantoner between the yet untreacherous claws<br /> + <a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>Of newly-whelped existence! ere he pause,<br /> +What gift to thee can yield the archimage?<br /> + For coming +seasons’ frets<br /> + What aids, what +amulets,<br /> + What softenings, +or what brightenings?<br /> +As Thunder writhes the lash of his long lightnings<br /> + About the growling heads of the brute main<br /> + Foaming at mouth, until it wallow again<br /> + In the scooped oozes of its bed of pain;<br /> +So all the gnashing jaws, the leaping heads<br /> +Of hungry menaces, and of ravening dreads,<br /> + + +Of pangs<br /> +Twitch-lipped, with quivering nostrils and immitigate fangs,<br +/> +I scourge beneath the torment of my charms<br /> +That their repentless nature fear to work thee harms.<br /> +And as yon Apollonian harp-player,<br /> + Yon wandering +psalterist of the sky,<br /> +With flickering strings which scatter melody,<br /> +The silver-stolèd damsels of the sea,<br /> + Or lake, or +fount, or stream,<br /> + Enchants from their ancestral heaven of waters<br /> +<a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>To Naiad +it through the unfrothing air;<br /> + My song enchants so out of +undulous dream<br /> + The glimmering shapes of its dim-tressèd +daughters,<br /> +And missions each to be thy minister.<br /> + + +Saying; “O ye,<br /> +The organ-stops of being’s harmony;<br /> +The blushes on existence’s pale face,<br /> + Lending it +sudden grace;<br /> +Without whom we should but guess Heaven’s worth<br /> +By blank negations of this sordid earth,<br /> + (So haply to the blind may +light<br /> +Be but gloom’s undetermined opposite);<br /> +Ye who are thus as the refracting air<br /> +Whereby we see Heaven’s sun before it rise<br /> +Above the dull line of our mortal skies;<br /> +As breathing on the strainèd ear that sighs<br /> +From comrades viewless unto strainèd eyes,<br /> +Soothing our terrors in the lampless night;<br /> +Ye who can make this world where all is deeming<br /> +What world ye list, being arbiters of seeming;<br /> +Attend upon her ways, benignant powers!<br /> +<a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>Unroll ye +life a carpet for her feet,<br /> +And cast ye down before them blossomy hours,<br /> +Until her going shall be clogged with sweet!<br /> +All dear emotions whose new-bathèd hair,<br /> +Still streaming from the soul, in love’s warm air<br /> +Smokes with a mist of tender fantasies;<br /> + + +All these,<br /> +And all the heart’s wild growths which, swiftly bright,<br +/> +Spring up the crimson agarics of a night,<br /> +No pain in withering, yet a joy arisen;<br /> +And all thin shapes more exquisitely rare,<br /> + + +More subtly fair,<br /> +Than these weak ministering words have spell to prison<br /> +Within the magic circle of this rhyme;<br /> +And all the fays who in our creedless clime<br /> + + +Have sadly ceased<br /> +Bearing to other children childhood’s proper feast;<br /> +Whose robes are fluent crystal, crocus-hued,<br /> + Whose wings are wind a-fire, whose +mantles wrought<br /> + From spray that +falling rainbows shake<br /> + <a name="page59"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 59</span>These, ye familiars to my wizard +thought,<br /> + Make things of journal custom unto +her;<br /> + + +With lucent feet imbrued,<br /> + If young Day tread, a glorious +vintager,<br /> +The wine-press of the purple-foamèd east;<br /> +Or round the nodding sun, flush-faced and sunken,<br /> + + +His wild bacchantes drunken<br /> +Reel, with rent woofs a-flaunt, their westering rout.<br /> +—But lo! at length the day is lingered out,<br /> +At length my Ariel lays his viol by;<br /> +We sing no more to thee, child, he and I;<br /> + + +The day is lingered out:<br /> + + +In slow wreaths folden<br /> + Around yon +censer, spherèd, golden,<br /> + + +Vague Vesper’s fumes aspire;<br /> + + +And glimmering to eclipse<br /> + + +The long laburnum drips<br /> +Its honey of wild flame, its jocund spilth of fire.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <i>Now pass your ways</i>, +<i>fair bird</i>, <i>and pass your ways</i>,<br /> + + +<i>If you will</i>;<br /> + + +<a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span><i>I have +you through the days</i>!<br /> + + +<i>A flit or hold you still</i>,<br /> + + +<i>And perch you where you list</i><br /> + + +<i>On what wrist</i>,—<br /> + <i>You are mine +through the times</i>!<br /> +<i>I have caught you fast for ever in a tangle of sweet +rhymes</i>.<br /> + <i>And in your +young maiden morn</i>,<br /> + + +<i>You may scorn</i>,<br /> + + +<i>But you must be</i><br /> + <i>Bound and +sociate to me</i>;<br /> +<i>With this thread from out the tomb my dead hand shall tether +thee</i>!</p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p class="poetry">Go, sister-songs, to that sweet sister-pair<br +/> +For whom I have your frail limbs fashionèd,<br /> + And framèd +feateously;—<br /> +For whom I have your frail limbs fashionèd<br /> +With how great shamefastness and how great dread,<br /> +<a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>Knowing +you frail, but not if you be fair,<br /> + Though framèd +feateously;<br /> + Go unto them from me.<br /> +Go from my shadow to their sunshine sight,<br /> + Made for all sights’ +delight;<br /> +Go like twin swans that oar the surgy storms<br /> +To bate with pennoned snows in candent air:<br /> + Nigh with abasèd head,<br +/> +Yourselves linked sisterly, that sister-pair,<br /> + And go in presence there;<br /> +Saying—“Your young eyes cannot see our forms,<br /> +Nor read the yearning of our looks aright;<br /> +But time shall trail the veilings from our hair,<br /> +And cleanse your seeing with his euphrasy,<br /> +(Yea, even your bright seeing make more bright,<br /> + Which is all sights’ +delight),<br /> +And ye shall know us for what things we be.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Whilom, within a poet’s calyxed +heart,<br /> +A dewy love we trembled all apart;<br /> + Whence it took rise<br /> + Beneath your radiant eyes,<br /> +<a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>Which +misted it to music. We must long,<br /> +A floating haze of silver subtile song,<br /> + Await love-laden<br /> + Above each maiden<br /> +The appointed hour that o’er the hearts of you—<br /> + As vapours into dew<br /> + Unweave, whence they were +wove,—<br /> +Shall turn our loosening musics back to love.”</p> +<h2><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>Inscription</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> the last stir +of bubbling melodies<br /> +Broke as my chants sank underneath the wave<br /> +Of dulcitude, but sank again to rise<br /> +Where man’s embaying mind those waters lave,<br /> +(For music hath its Oceanides<br /> +Flexuously floating through their parent seas,<br /> + And such are these),<br /> +I saw a vision—or may it be<br /> +The effluence of a dear desired reality?<br /> + I saw two spirits high,—<br +/> +Two spirits, dim within the silver smoke<br /> + Which is for ever woke<br /> +By snowing lights of fountained Poesy.<br /> +Two shapes they were familiar as love;<br /> + They were those souls, whereof<br +/> +One twines from finest gracious daily things,<br /> +Strong, constant, noticeless, as are heart-strings<br /> +<a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>The golden +cage wherein this song-bird sings;<br /> +And the other’s sun gives hue to all my flowers,<br /> +Which else pale flowers of Tartarus would grow,<br /> +Where ghosts watch ghosts of blooms in ghostly bowers;—<br +/> + + +For we do know<br /> +The hidden player by his harmonies,<br /> +And by my thoughts I know what still hands thrill the keys.</p> +<p class="poetry">And to these twain—as from the +mind’s abysses<br /> +All thoughts draw toward the awakening heart’s sweet +kisses,<br /> +With proffer of their wreathen fantasies,—<br /> + Even so to +these<br /> +I saw how many brought their garlands fair,<br /> +Whether of song, or simple love, they were,—<br /> +Of simple love, that makes best garlands fair.<br /> +But one I marked who lingered still behind,<br /> +As for such souls no seemly gift had he:<br /> + He was not of their strain,<br /> +Nor worthy of so bright beings to entertain,<br /> +<a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>Nor fit +compeer for such high company.<br /> +Yet was he, surely, born to them in mind,<br /> +Their youngest nursling of the spirit’s kind.<br /> + Last stole this one,<br /> +With timid glance, of watching eyes adread,<br /> +And dropped his frightened flower when all were gone;<br /> +And where the frail flower fell, it witherèd.<br /> +But yet methought those high souls smiled thereon;<br /> +As when a child, upstraining at your knees<br /> +Some fond and fancied nothings, says, “I give you +these!”</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTER SONGS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1731-h.htm or 1731-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/3/1731 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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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